AS we pile into Norman's sleek black SUV, the plush leather seats swallow us, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm stepping into a high-stakes game where the rules are beyond my comprehension. Norman's hands grip the steering wheel with an almost mechanical precision, his focus locked on the road ahead. The quiet hum of the engine contrasts sharply with the tension simmering in the air.
Harry sits in the backseat next to me, his posture rigid, as if he's bracing for impact. He steals glances at his father, whose eyes remain fixed on the road, the silence hanging heavy between us. I can't help but feel like an intruder, caught in the middle of something I don't fully understand.
"So, Peter," Norman begins, his voice smooth but layered with an undercurrent of expectation. "I've heard quite a bit about your academic achievements. You're quite the overachiever, aren't you?"
"Uh, I just try to keep my grades up," I say, my voice coming out too light and airy, almost awkward. "Nothing special, really."
"Modesty is a virtue, but don't sell yourself short," he counters, glancing at me momentarily before returning his gaze to the road. "You should take pride in your accomplishments."
I nod, the pressure of his attention making me uncomfortable. I steal a look at Harry, who's staring out the window, the city lights blurring past us like memories he's trying to escape. There's a tightness in his jaw that speaks volumes, a silent communication that says he's not entirely comfortable being in the same space as his father right now.
The SUV glides through the streets, and I can see the school looming in the distance, its silhouette stark against the evening sky. Norman turns the radio down, and the quiet feels heavier.
"Harry," he says, breaking the silence again. "You're doing well in your studies, aren't you? I hope you're not letting distractions get in the way of your future."
Harry shifts in his seat, a subtle sign of discomfort. "Yeah, Dad. I'm doing fine," he replies, his tone clipped, almost defensive.
"Good," Norman replies, his voice carrying a note of finality. "I'd hate to think you were wasting your potential."
I watch as Harry clenches his fists, his knuckles white against his thigh. The tension crackles in the air, an unspoken conflict lingering just below the surface. I want to say something, to ease the discomfort, but I don't know how to navigate this delicate landscape between father and son.
Norman's eyes flick briefly to the rearview mirror, catching Harry's gaze for a moment before turning back to the road. The look he gives is searching, almost probing, as if trying to gauge something that remains hidden between them.
"Peter," Norman says, shifting the conversation back to me. "I trust you'll be there to support Harry if he ever finds himself in trouble. He can be a handful, but I know you'll watch out for him."
"Of course," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady, though I can feel Harry's tension radiating beside me.
Harry exhales slowly, the sound barely audible over the hum of the car. "Yeah, thanks, Pete."
As we approach the school, the lights illuminate the entrance, casting long shadows that seem to stretch and twist in the twilight. The atmosphere shifts.
"Here we are," Norman announces, pulling up to the front of the school. The parking lot is bustling with students and parents, the air electric with anticipation for Dr. Octavius's presentation.
Norman parks the SUV, the engine idling softly, and I glance over at Harry. His expression is a mix of apprehension. For as long as I can remember Harry and his father have always had this type of atmosphere around them, as if they were always thinking things but never explicitly saying it out loud, but it was never this bad.
"Let's make this a night to remember," Norman says, the words hanging in the air, carrying an edge that makes my heart race.
As we step out of the car, Norman turns to us, his expression a mix of business and intensity. "I've got some matters to address behind the scenes. I need to ensure everything goes according to plan. You boys find a seat in the back. I'll see you both after the presentation."
"Okay, see you then," I reply, trying to sound casual while Harry remains silent, his eyes fixed on the ground as his father strides into the auditorium, disappearing from view.
"Let's go, Pete," Harry says, his voice tight as he leads the way toward the front entrance.
"Right behind you," I answer, matching his pace but feeling the tension lingering between us.
As we step inside, the atmosphere envelops us like a thick fog. The auditorium is packed to the brim, a sea of students, parents, and faculty members buzzing with anticipation. Rows of chairs fill the space, all directed toward the stage, where a sleek presentation setup awaits. Bright lights illuminate the room, casting an energetic glow on the crowd as chatter fills the air, a collective excitement palpable in the atmosphere.
I glance around, taking in the sea of faces. Some are familiar, classmates eager for the latest innovations from Mr. Octavius, while others are unknown, all gathered to witness what promises to be a groundbreaking presentation. The buzz of conversation escalates, laughter intertwining with the hum of anticipation, and I can't help but feel the excitement bubbling up inside me, even amidst the underlying tension.
Harry leads us toward the back, and I can see a few empty seats near the aisle. As we settle into our chairs, I can feel Harry's restlessness beside me, his fingers tapping nervously against the armrest. I shoot him a reassuring glance, hoping to alleviate some of his anxiety, but he only offers a faint smile in return, his gaze wandering toward the stage.
"I guess you did decide to come after all." I hear a familiar voice from behind me, and I turn to see Gwen standing there, a warm smile on her face.
"Gwen?" I say, surprised. The realization hits me that I completely forgot to text her about coming, leaving me feeling like a jerk for not including her in my plans. "I... It was a last-minute thing. I'm sorry, I would've let you know."
Gwen chuckles softly, shaking her head. "Peter, it's fine. I'm just glad to see you and Harry are cool again."
"Y-Yeah, we are," I reply, relief flooding through me at the sight of my best friend back at my side. It feels like a small victory, one that lifts a weight off my shoulders.
Suddenly, I hear Liz calling from a few rows ahead. "Gwen! What are you doing? Come on!"
"Yeah, I just wanted to say hi to Pete really quickly. I'm coming!" Gwen calls back before turning to me. "I'll see you, Pete."
I watch her rush off to join her group, feeling a mix of happiness and disappointment. I wish we could've had more time to catch up.
"Tragic," Harry mutters from beside me, his voice dripping with mock sadness.
"Shut up," I reply, unable to suppress a grin as I shake my head at his teasing. The tension in the air lightens a little.
As the auditorium fills with chatter again, I can't help but glance back at where Gwen disappeared. There's something about her that makes everything feel a bit more normal, a bit more manageable. Just then, the lights dim further, drawing our attention back to the stage, where the presentation is about to begin.
The lights in the auditorium dim even further, and the chatter from the crowd quickly dies down. A hush of anticipation fills the room as a figure steps onto the stage. It's Mr. Octavius, a tall man, slightly hunched, with thinning hair and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He adjusts them as he approaches the podium, clearing his throat before speaking into the microphone.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the man begins, his voice steady and confident. "My name is Dr. Otto Octavius, and tonight, I'm thrilled to introduce you to something my team and I have been working on for quite some time."
There's a murmur of interest from the crowd as Dr. Octavius gestures to the large machine covered in a cloth behind him. He takes a step back, allowing the audience to fully take in the presence of the veiled device on stage.
"What you are about to witness is a breakthrough in energy harnessing and sustainable power," he continues. "We have been developing a set of mechanical arms, impervious to both heat and magnetism, designed specifically to handle hazardous materials and extreme energy sources. These arms will assist us in furthering our research on clean energy and make it possible to work with elements that were previously too dangerous or volatile to manipulate directly."
He turns toward the machine, pulling back the cloth to reveal a sleek, metallic contraption—a set of four robotic arms, each one gleaming under the stage lights. The arms are attached to a harness that could be worn on the back, and they look both intricate and powerful, their joints smooth and fluid.
"These arms will allow us to handle high-energy compounds without the fear of radiation, magnetism, or extreme temperatures," Dr. Octavius explains, his voice filled with pride. "We believe this is the key to unlocking new ways of harvesting and storing energy that could revolutionize how we power the world."
The audience is rapt, everyone leaning forward slightly in their seats. Even I can feel my heart racing, I never knew that Mr. Octavius was working on something so...incredible. Energy research...it could really change so many things about how we view science.
"And of course," Dr. Octavius continues, "none of this would have been possible without the help of someone who shares our vision for the future. A man who has generously provided us the funding and resources to make this dream a reality—Norman Osborn."
There's a ripple of applause as Norman stands up from his seat a few rows ahead of us. He strides up to the stage with the kind of confidence that only someone like him could muster, his presence commanding the room without needing to say a word.
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"Thank you, Otto," Norman says, smiling warmly at the doctor before turning to address the audience. "I have always believed in the power of science and innovation to shape our future. What Dr. Octavius and his team have developed here is nothing short of extraordinary. Their research not only pushes the boundaries of what we thought was possible, but it also opens doors to new opportunities, new solutions to problems we haven't even begun to solve."
Norman's gaze sweeps across the room, and when it lands on Harry and me, I can't help but feel the intensity of it all over again. There's something in the way he looks at us—at me—that makes my skin prickle.
"I am excited," Norman continues, "to see where this groundbreaking research will take us next. Energy has always been one of the greatest challenges of our time, and with the tools Dr. Octavius has created, I believe we are on the brink of something truly remarkable. The world will change, and we will be at the forefront of that change."
The applause is thunderous this time, but all I can focus on is the uneasy feeling swirling in the pit of my stomach. As Norman steps down from the stage, he exchanges a firm handshake with Dr. Octavius, both men smiling as if they've just secured the future in their grasp.
Harry leans over to me, his voice barely a whisper. "If my dad personally came to this, it must be a big deal."
A big deal is an understatement. If what he said is true, then they really could make what they're talking about a reality.
My mind racing as the rest of the presentation continues.
Dr. Octavius steps forward again, his voice rising with a touch of excitement. "Now, I'm sure many of you are eager to see how these mechanical arms function in real time. Let me show you what they're capable of."
With a few taps on the harness attached to the base of the robotic arms, he triggers the system. The metallic limbs spring to life, each moving with a fluidity that defies their massive structure. The crowd collectively leans in, eyes wide with fascination. Even I can't help but be awestruck. The precision, the sheer power of these things—they're incredible.
Dr. Octavius slips his arms through the harness, the mechanical limbs attaching to his spine with a series of soft clicks and whirs. He raises a hand, and the corresponding mechanical arm does the same, its motion as smooth and effortless as if it were his own limb. He moves across the stage, letting the arms lift him into the air with an ease that seems impossible.
"The neural interface allows me to control each arm as if it were an extension of my body," he says, smiling proudly. He performs a few more demonstrations, each more impressive than the last. He hovers, twists in midair, and even picks up a heavy piece of equipment from the stage with one of the arms like it's a toy.
The crowd murmurs in amazement, and I catch myself grinning. This is next-level stuff. The kind of invention that could redefine how we think about technology. "That's some crazy science," I think, unable to shake my admiration. "To control something like that with your mind? I've never seen anything like it."
But then, something changes. As Dr. Octavius continues to show off the arms, his movements start to slow, and the once-fluid grace of the mechanical limbs becomes jerky and erratic. He hesitates mid-sentence, blinking rapidly as if trying to clear his head. The crowd doesn't seem to notice at first, but I do. There's something wrong.
"Uh... Dr. Octavius?" Norman says from his seat, sensing the shift in the air.
Octavius doesn't respond. He stands there, silent for a moment, his eyes unfocused. Then, almost too quietly for anyone else to hear, he begins to mutter to himself.
"You... you planned this," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "You did this."
The room goes dead quiet. A nervous ripple passes through the audience as Dr. Octavius' mumblings grow louder, more frantic. His face twists into a snarl, and he suddenly jerks his head toward Norman, pointing one of the mechanical arms in his direction.
"You!" Octavius shouts, his voice filled with a kind of madness I haven't heard before. "You've sabotaged me, haven't you? You've always been plotting!"
Norman's face tightens, but he remains calm, standing up slowly from his seat. "Otto, calm down," he says, his voice low and measured. "There's no sabotage here. Let's not make a scene."
But Dr. Octavius doesn't seem to hear him. His breathing becomes erratic, and the arms start to move on their own, twitching and coiling like snakes preparing to strike. "You think I'm a fool, don't you?" he rages. "You've been using me, manipulating me for your own gain!"
"Otto, you're not well—" Norman starts, but before he can finish, one of the arms lunges toward him, fast as lightning.
Chaos erupts. Armed guards appear seemingly out of nowhere, rushing to Norman's side, but Octavius swats them away with ease, sending them flying like rag dolls. The auditorium descends into panic, people screaming and scrambling toward the exits, but the doors slam shut, trapping everyone inside.
I glance at Harry, who's frozen in shock, and realize I need to act fast. "I've got to suit up—now."
Without a word, I slip out of my seat, making sure Harry doesn't notice as I dart down the aisle. My heart is racing as I remember that I left my usual suit in my backpack... at Harry's house. "Great, Parker, real prepared this time," I mutter under my breath.
But I have a backup. I always keep an emergency suit under my locker at school. It's not perfect, but it'll have to do.
I bolt through the hallways, my mind a blur of adrenaline and strategy. After what feels like an eternity, I reach my locker, grabbing the hidden suit and throwing it on as quickly as I can. "Please don't let Harry be dead by the time I get back," I mutter, tugging the mask over my head.
I sprint back to the auditorium only to find the doors locked tight from the inside. A quick glance around reveals no easy entry, and I know I'll have to improvise.
"Windows," I think, spotting a small gap at the top of the building. With a leap, I web-sling myself up to the nearest window, prying it open just enough to slip through. Once inside, I take in the scene below: Dr. Octavius standing in the center of the chaos, his mechanical arms lashing out wildly, while Norman tries to keep his composure amidst the carnage.
I land softly on the stage, directly in front of Octavius. "Hey, Doc," I say, my voice cutting through the noise. "I think you've had enough show-and-tell for one night."
Dr. Octavius' wild eyes lock onto me, his expression a twisted blend of rage and paranoia. The mechanical arms writhe and curl above his head, ready to strike. "You... Spider-Man. You're working with him, aren't you?" he snarls, his voice filled with venom. "Why else would you be here? Along with Norman's guards? Yes, you've planned all of this, haven't you, Osborn!"
I glance at Norman, who's standing just behind one of his fallen guards, shock written across his face. The auditorium doors still sealed tight make me wonder how this all went south so quickly. How did the exits get locked? Was it part of some security measure? Or was this all Otto's doing?
Before I can think further, one of Otto's arms lashes out toward Norman, the steel claw coming down with brutal force.
"Not today!" I yell, launching a webline at Norman, pulling him out of the way just in time. The ground where he stood a second ago shatters as the arm smashes into the stage.
I shoot another web, yanking myself into the air, narrowly dodging a second blow from one of the mechanical arms. The crowd is already panicking, people rushing to the sealed doors, pounding on them, desperate to get out. I spot Gwen and Harry huddled together in the chaos, Gwen's face pale with fear, but Felicia... nowhere in sight. I shake off the thought—this isn't her scene anyway. No time to think about that now.
"I don't get it, Doc!" I shout, flipping through the air and launching web after web to keep Octavius' arms at bay. "Why are you doing this? What's the point?"
But he doesn't answer. He's not in the mood for conversation, clearly. Another arm shoots toward me, and I dodge again, but the stage crumples under its impact, sending debris flying into the crowd.
"Focus, Parker." I remind myself. "There are people in here. Keep them safe."
I web-sling across the stage, landing in front of a group of terrified students. "Get to the back, now!" I yell, webbing a chunk of falling debris before it can hit them. The kids scramble toward the far end of the auditorium as I turn back just in time to see one of Otto's arms coming straight for me. It hits me square in the chest, sending me flying into a wall.
Pain shoots through me, but I have to get back up. There's no time to wallow in it. I leap to my feet, firing webs as fast as I can, trying to pin down the mechanical arms, but Otto is relentless. He swings wildly, not caring who's in his path. Chairs are smashed to pieces, and chunks of the ceiling begin to fall as his arms rip into the walls.
The entire auditorium watches, huddled together toward the back of the room. There's no way out. I need to end this—fast.
"Doc!" I call, ducking under another swing. "You're gonna hurt someone! This isn't you!"
He doesn't respond. His eyes are wild, unfocused, lost in some madness I can't reach. One of the arms grabs a chunk of the stage and hurls it at me. I barely manage to dodge, rolling to the side and webbing another piece before it can hit a group of people nearby. My web fluid's running low. I've gotta be smart.
Octavius swings another arm, and I leap onto it, running along the length of the mechanical limb and firing webs as I go, trying to tie it down. But as I do, another arm catches me mid-jump, slamming me into the ground. I groan, feeling the impact deep in my bones.
"Gotta... keep moving..." I mumble, struggling to get to my feet.
Octavius isn't holding back. He's throwing everything at me, and I'm running on fumes. Another blow sends me skidding across the floor, and before I can react, an arm grabs me by the leg, lifting me into the air and slamming me back down hard. I gasp for air, my body screaming in pain.
"You can't stop me!" Octavius bellows, his voice echoing through the room. "None of you can! Osborn, you won't be able to stop what's coming for you!"
I feel the grip of his arm tighten around me, squeezing the air out of my lungs. Just as I'm about to pass out, I see him turn toward Norman again, pure rage in his eyes.
"No," I think, adrenaline surging through me. "I can't let him hurt anyone else."
With all my strength, I fire a web at Otto's face, temporarily blinding him, causing him to release me. I crash to the floor, gasping for air, but I don't have time to rest. I need to get the crowd out of here, and fast.
But how?
"I don't have any more time to play with you, boy," Dr. Octavius growls, his voice dripping with disdain. I'm still struggling to get back on my feet, pain shooting through every part of my body, as he makes his move. His mechanical arms sink into the walls with ease, pulling him upward toward the roof, the very same route I had used to sneak in.
But as he climbs, something catches my eye—the cracks in the roof. The ones that had started small, barely noticeable, now spread like spiderwebs, widening with every second. The entire ceiling is starting to buckle under the stress of the fight. The beams groan ominously, the cracks growing deeper and longer.
Then I see it—the roof begins to cave in. It's all coming down, and fast.
My heart pounds in my chest. I have two choices: stop Dr. Octavius from escaping or save the people still trapped in here.
For a split second, my instincts scream to chase after him. To stop him before he can disappear into the night, free to wreak havoc on the city again. But then I look down—Gwen, Harry, and everyone else are still in danger. They're helpless, huddling against the walls, waiting for a way out, and the roof is seconds from crushing them.
I clench my fists. I can't do both.
"Come on, Peter. You know what you have to do," I think to myself, the choice isn't even a choice, it's clear what I have to do.
I grit my teeth, watching as Dr. Octavius pulls himself higher and higher, the metal arms propelling him upward with terrifying speed. I hate this. I hate letting him go. But I can't let all these people die—not when I can save them.
With one last look at Octavius vanishing through the shattered roof I leap to my feet, ignoring the pain. The roof is caving in, and I only have seconds to act. People are screaming, huddling together in fear, and I know there's no way out for them unless I do something.
I fire webs at the collapsing roof, one after the other, anchoring it as best I can, using every ounce of my strength to hold it in place. "C'mon, Parker. You've got this. You've done crazier things before... right?"
The weight is unbearable. My arms are burning, my body feels like it's about to break, but I can't let go. Not yet. I grit my teeth, pulling harder, holding the roof together as long as I can.
Then, I hear the doors burst open. Police flood into the auditorium, guiding the panicked crowd out. I spot Harry and Gwen being led to safety, and I allow myself a brief moment of relief.
But I'm running out of time. I feel the webbing start to give, and my strength is fading fast. "Just a little longer," I tell myself. "Just hold it... a little longer..."
Finally, the last of the crowd is out. I see the officers nod to me as they retreat through the doors.
That's when my body finally gives out. The roof collapses, the weight too much for me to hold any longer. I drop to the floor, webbing still clinging to the falling debris as it crashes down around me. I hit the floor hard, rubble piling on top of me, heavy, suffocating.
I try to move, but nothing happens. I'm pinned. Every muscle screams in pain, my lungs burning with each shallow breath I manage to take. My mask is torn, half of it ripped away, exposing my face to the cold air and the crushing weight pressing down on me.
This can't be it. I can't go out like this.
I try again to push, to free myself, but the weight is too much. My body is spent, every ounce of strength I've relied on is gone, and for a terrifying moment, I feel a pang of helplessness I haven't felt in a long time. I'm stuck. Buried under all this debris. It's too heavy, and I...I can't do it.
I close my eyes, the crushing feeling in my chest no longer just physical. I think of Aunt May, of all the people I promised to protect, and then...Uncle Ben.
His voice comes to me like a whisper from the past. "With great power, there must also come great responsibility."
It's not just a saying. Not just a line I repeat to make sense of what happened that night. Uncle Ben didn't die just so I could fail. He died because I wasn't responsible enough to act when I had the chance. And I swore that I'd never let that happen again.
Spider-Man isn't just a mask. Spider-Man is me. Peter Parker is Spider-Man.
The memory of Uncle Ben feels like a lifeline. I think about all those moments he believed in me, long before I had powers, when I was just the awkward kid trying to figure out life. "You're stronger than you think, Peter." He always told me that. He knew me better than I knew myself.
My heart pounds as I take a deep breath, focusing on that voice, that belief. I can't give up. Not now. Not ever. People need me. Gwen. Harry. Aunt May.
I grit my teeth and summon every bit of strength I have left, feeling it ripple through my exhausted body. I begin to push. It feels impossible, like the weight of the entire world is pressing down on me, but I push anyway.
"Come on Spider-Man," I mutter through the pain. "Come on Spider-Man."
My arms shake as I try to lift the debris. It feels like nothing's moving, but I keep going. I have to. The weight presses down harder, but I dig deep, finding something buried inside me—something more than just strength. It's the will to keep going, to never give up.
"Come...on...Spider-Man!" I chant through gritted teeth, forcing the words out like they'll push the weight off me.
Little by little, the rubble starts to shift. My muscles scream, but I don't stop. I won't stop.
"Come on Spider-Man!" I yell, louder this time, my voice cracking but my spirit unbroken. My arms shake, my back strains, and finally, finally—I feel the debris lifting. Inch by inch, I rise, pushing harder than I ever have before, forcing the rubble off of me with everything I've got.
The weight lifts, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I can breathe again. I push one last time, and the debris crashes to the ground beside me, freeing me.
I'm on my knees, gasping for air, but I did it. I'm free. I'm alive.
Because I am Spider-Man.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Evading the cops was the easy part. Their focus was on the civilians, making sure everyone got out safely. So, here I am, sitting on a rooftop, nursing the bruises and aches from my run-in with Dr. Octavius. None of it adds up. The sudden shift in his attitude, the aggression, the way he snapped—and those words he kept muttering. "It's Norman's fault."
It sounded insane at first. But then I remembered something Dr. Connors said when he attacked Oscorp: "Osborn did this to me." I didn't make much of it then, just the ramblings of a man in pain. But now? It's starting to feel like a pattern. And there's Mac Gargan, who came after Harry for leverage—leverage against someone. Could that someone have been Norman?
Norman Osborn. The same guy who used to watch Lord of the Rings marathons with Harry and me. The same guy who was there for me after Uncle Ben died, when I didn't know how to face the world. That Norman Osborn?
I don't know what to think anymore.
But I can't shake this feeling that something's off. Too many weird things have been happening lately, and Oscorp always seems to be at the center. There's more to Norman Osborn than what he shows the world—more than what he's shown me.
Still, right now, I can't dwell on that. The bigger issue is that I failed. I let Dr. Octavius slip away, and God only knows what he's planning next. I have to stop him. I can't afford another mistake.
Because that's what being Spider-Man means—no matter the bruises, no matter the doubts, I have to keep going.
Because I have a responsibility.