The hospital room was quiet, sterile, and drowning in the soft hum of machines. Pale afternoon light filtered through the blinds, casting long shadows across the floor. In the center of it all lay a frail woman and her name was Emily Osborn, her once-lustrous brown hair now dulled and thinning, her vibrant green eyes barely able to stay open. Her skin looked paper-thin, her breathing shallow and slow.
By her bedside, Norman Osborn knelt in his expensive green suit, rumpled now with grief. His usually sharp, calculating blue eyes were glassy and red-rimmed, tears streaming silently down his face as he held her delicate hand in both of his.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, voice cracking. "I failed you, my love. Emily… please forgive me."
For a moment, he thought she hadn't heard. Then, slowly Emily raised her trembling hand and wiped the tears from his cheek. Her fingers barely brushed his skin, but the touch made him shudder.
She offered him a weak smile, her voice a whisper of its former warmth.
"Norman… I don't blame you. There are some things even you can't solve."
Norman bowed his head in shame, lips pressed tightly together.
"But… can you bring Harry?" she asked softly.
Norman nodded, squeezing her hand one last time before standing. He stepped into the hallway where a small figure sat curled on a bench. Seven-year-old Harry Osborn, with his mother's gentle brown hair and his father's bright blue eyes, looked up at the sound of the door creaking open.
Norman knelt beside him, voice barely steady.
"Harry… your mother wants to see you."
Harry said nothing just nodded and stood, his little hands clenched into fists as he followed his father into the room.
When he saw her and she was so still and so pale his lip quivered, and tears welled up in his wide eyes. He walked slowly to her side, each step heavier than the last.
"Mama…" he whispered, voice breaking.
Emily turned her head with effort and reached out, her hand brushing gently against his cheek. Her touch was cold, but filled with love. She cradled his face in both hands, her thumbs brushing away the tears that had already begun to fall.
"My sweet boy…" she said weakly. "I need you to promise me something. Can you do that for me?"
Harry nodded, biting his lip.
"You are so bright, Harry. So kind. I know you'll have a future full of things I'll never get to see. But you must promise me that no matter how much wealth you have… no matter what kind of power you gain… always give back to those who don't. Help people. Protect them. And never, ever use what you have to hurt or control."
Her voice faded with every word, but the meaning clung to the air like sunlight on dust.
Harry's chin trembled.
"I promise, Mama."
A smile tugged at the corner of Emily's lips.
"That's my boy…" she whispered. Her eyelids fluttered. "No matter what… Mama always loves you, Harry."
And then, slowly… her eyes closed. The heart monitor let out a steady tone and it was a flatline.
"Mama?" Harry whispered, panicked. "Mama?! MAMA WAKE UP!"
Norman stormed back into the room with a doctor on his heels.
"DO SOMETHING!" Norman shouted, grabbing the man by the collar. "SAVE HER NOW!"
But Harry didn't hear the yelling. Didn't hear the footsteps. Didn't even hear the sobbing.
He stood frozen, staring at his mother's still body, her hand slipping from his cheek.
The warmth was already gone.
Ten years later.
The morning sun crept through the massive windows of a Manhattan penthouse, casting golden light across a room too large for one person. The bed sat in the center of it all, untouched by chaos, as if curated more than lived in.
Harry Osborn, seventeen and impossibly composed for someone his age, blinked his eyes open at the soft chime of his alarm. No blaring buzzers. No chaos. Just orchestral tones echoing through the surround sound speakers of his private room.
He sat up, rubbed his face, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The silk sheets whispered around him as he stood, stretching quietly before heading into the enormous en suite bathroom. Steam soon curled through the frosted glass as he stepped under a rainfall showerhead that responded to his voice.
Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out with his hair damp, mind already shifting into routine. He dressed simply but sharply: dark jeans, white high-end sneakers, a navy jacket thrown over a Midtown High hoodie.
The hallway outside his room led directly to a private elevator, which whisked him down one floor to the penthouse living area which was an open concept space filled with towering bookshelves, modern art, and far too much silence.
As he entered the kitchen, his eyes caught on a large painting above the fireplace and it was a portrait of his parents. Norman in a deep green suit, eyes cold even on canvas; Emily, glowing and gentle beside him, her green eyes forever warm.
Harry paused. His fingers clenched slightly around the strap of his backpack.
"Morning, Mom," he whispered under his breath. Then looked away.
He made his way to the kitchen island, grabbed a banana, peeled it absentmindedly, and glanced at his watch.
7:32 a.m.
"Crap," he muttered, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
The elevator took him to the private garage below. Rows of expensive vehicles gleamed under soft white lights. There was sleek black Audis, silver Aston Martins, and one custom gold motorcycle gifted by his father.
Harry ignored them all, reaching instead for the keys of a blue Jeep Wrangler tucked near the end of the line. Not flashy. Just… normal.
He slid in, turned the key, and
drove up the ramp, merging into the waking chaos of New York traffic. As he turned onto 5th Avenue, the radio crackled to life.
"…two months since the attack on Harlem between two giant green titans. According to S.H.I.E.L.D. sources, the victor is being referred to as 'The Hulk,' while the defeated combatant has been officially dubbed… 'The Abomination.'"
Harry raised an eyebrow and laughed quietly to himself.
"That is a terrible name."
The city rolled past him in a blur of yellow cabs and impatient horns. He reached Midtown High in just under twenty minutes, pulled into the student parking lot, and slotted into his usual space.
The fluorescent lights of Midtown High flickered slightly as Harry stepped through the front doors, his polished sneakers tapping against the tiled floor. The hum of conversation, the screech of sneakers, the clang of lockers but it was just another morning at Midtown.
Harry made his way through the crowd with practiced ease, nodding slightly at classmates who recognized him. He stopped at his locker, twisted the combination dial, and opened it to grab a few textbooks.
Then he heard it.
Raised voices. The dull thud of books hitting the floor. A familiar tone that was mocking, loud, and cruel.
He glanced to his right and saw Flash Thompson, already mid-confrontation, his meaty fist clenched and ready to strike. Peter Parker stood against the lockers, books scattered at his feet, hands half-raised in defense. Beside them, Liz Allen, Flash's girlfriend, stood with arms crossed and frustration in her voice.
"Flash, stop! We were just talking about tutoring, that's it!"
But Flash wasn't listening. His goons stood nearby, chuckling under their breath like a pack of hyenas watching their alpha close in for the hit.
Just as Flash's arm reeled back but Harry was there.
He caught Flash's wrist mid-swing, grip firm, voice calm but unmistakably firm.
"Alright, Flash. Peter wasn't trying to hit on Liz. He's her tutor. So back off."
Flash turned, scowling. "This isn't over, Osborn!"
He yanked his arm back and stormed off, his entourage following like shadows. Liz sighed, exasperated, and crouched down to gather Peter's books.
"Sorry about him," she muttered, handing Peter a notebook. "We were just going over chemistry homework."
Harry watched her quietly, then asked the question he'd been thinking for months.
"Why are you still with him, Liz?"
She paused, her eyes lowering.
"My parents… they arranged it. They think being with Flash will bring prestige to the family. He's got hundreds of football scholarships lined up and a real shot at going pro. They want a piece of that fame."
Harry frowned, his chest tightening. "I'm sorry."
Liz gave him a small smile and stood. "It's not your fault."
She turned to Peter. "Let's meet after school, same café as last week?"
Peter nodded, still adjusting his glasses. "Yeah. Sounds good."
She handed him the rest of his books and walked away, blending into the crowd.
Harry offered a hand and pulled Peter up. "Why do I always have to save you?"
Peter smirked. "Because you're the muscle of this friendship. It's your job to protect the brain.
Harry shoved him lightly. They both laughed.
And then….
"Peter!"
A blur of blonde hair and anxious energy swept in and it was Gwen Stacy.
She threw her arms around Peter without hesitation, her voice breathless.
"I heard what happened with Flash so are you okay?"
She pulled back, her hands gently brushing his shoulders, his chest, checking for bruises. Peter, completely red in the face, stammered something unintelligible.
Then Gwen seemed to realize what she was doing. She froze, her own cheeks turning pink as she stepped back awkwardly, clearing her throat.
Harry just rolled his eyes.
"God," he muttered under his breath, "Even Stevie Wonder could see it."
The warning bell rang overhead, cutting through the moment.
They each had different classes. With a few quick goodbyes and a promise to meet up at lunch, the trio split off in separate directions.
The faint hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Harry stepped into his biology class, a yawn escaping him before he could suppress it. The classroom smelled faintly of formaldehyde and old textbooks, and the windows were half-open, letting in the city breeze and the distant wail of sirens.
Harry slid into his usual seat near the middle, dropped his backpack, and leaned back in his chair just as Dr. Curt Connors limped in with his usual uneven gait with his right sleeve pinned up where his arm used to be.
"Alright, class," Dr. Connors said, setting his leather satchel on the desk and removing his glasses. "Before we begin today's lesson on cellular regeneration, we have a new student joining us."
That perked up a few heads, including Harry's.
Dr. Connors gestured to the door. "Come in, Miss Watson."
The door creaked open, and in stepped a girl vibrant red hair. Her green eyes scanned the room confidently like she already knew people would stare, and she didn't care. She wore a Midtown High blazer over a band tee, skinny jeans, and high-top sneakers with little stars on the sides.
"Hey," she said casually, flashing a quick smile. "I'm Mary Jane Watson, but everyone just calls me MJ."
A few whispers rippled through the room.
Dr. Connors motioned to the seat beside Harry. "You can sit next to Mr. Osborn there in the middle row."
MJ gave a small nod and made her way over. As she pulled out the chair and sat down, she turned to Harry with a grin.
"So, you're the local rich kid I've heard about," she said, resting her chin on her hand.
Harry raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Wow. Only been here thirty seconds and you've already done your research."
"I'm efficient," she replied. "Mary Jane Watson, multitasker extraordinaire."
"Harry Osborn," he said, holding out a hand.
She shook it. "Nice to meet you, Harry. Love the hair, by the way very shampoo commercial."
"Thanks. I wake up looking like this. It's a curse."
MJ chuckled, and the tension in Harry's shoulders eased a little. She had a spark with a confidence that was natural, not forced. It was refreshing.
"You from around here?" he asked.
"Queens," she said. "Moved here this week. My aunt thought Midtown would give me a better shot at college."
"Well, you've already made it into the weirdest biology class in New York," Harry replied.
MJ glanced up as Dr. Connors began drawing diagrams on the whiteboard with his remaining hand. "You mean the one taught by a one-armed lizard expert?"
Harry leaned in slightly. "Wait till we do the gene editing unit. He gets… really into it."
MJ grinned. "Good. I like weird."
The bell rang, and class officially began.
The hallway buzzed with the usual chaos of students switching classes, lockers slamming, and the occasional squeak of sneakers on linoleum. Harry and MJ stepped out of their second-period math class, both laughing as the door shut behind them.
"I swear," MJ said between giggles, "Mr. Johnson looks like someone just told him math was illegal."
Harry snorted. "Or like he got trapped in a room full of students who keep asking, 'When are we ever gonna use this in real life?'"
"He literally said, 'Don't talk to me about real life, this is algebra,'" MJ said, doing a dead-on impression of their grumpy math teacher.
Harry nearly doubled over laughing. "You've known him for a hour and already have the voice down!"
MJ winked. "Told you I'm efficient."
Still laughing, they stepped into the lunchroom. The air was a mix of cafeteria food and perfume, and the noise level was just shy of chaos. Students clustered in groups, some hunched over phones, others waving fries like swords.
Harry grabbed a tray and nodded toward the lunch line. "C'mon, let's get fuel before we die of sarcasm withdrawal."
They filled their trays and MJ opted for pizza and a chocolate milk, Harry grabbed a sandwich and an apple and then he gestured toward a table in the back corner near the windows.
"I want you to meet my friends."
They walked over, and MJ quickly noticed a nervous-looking guy with tousled brown hair and glasses sitting next to a blonde girl with sharp eyes and an easy smirk. They were halfway through their lunches, deep in conversation, until they saw Harry approaching.
"Hey, guys," Harry greeted, setting his tray down. "We're expanding the circle of trust."
Peter looked up and blinked. "Hey, man. Who's…."
"This is Mary Jane Watson," Harry said, sliding into his seat. "MJ, these are my best friends: Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy."
MJ set her tray down with a smile and plopped into the seat next to Peter. "Hey there, Peter Parker. Harry's told me nothing about you, but I get the feeling you're the smart one."
Peter's ears instantly turned pink. "Uh… I mean…..I guess? I like science. A lot."
MJ leaned in just a bit, flashing a grin. "Good. I love a guy who knows his way around a lab coat."
Gwen raised an eyebrow, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork a little too hard.
Harry took a sip of his drink, watching it all unfold like a sitcom. MJ turned to Gwen. "And you must be Gwen. You've got great hair, by the way."
Gwen tilted her head, amused. "Thanks. I was about to compliment yours, but I got distracted."
MJ laughed.
Gwen and MJ exchanged a look and then both burst into laughter.
The group fell into an easy rhythm after that. Gwen and MJ traded music recs. Peter tried to hide behind his sandwich while MJ kept stealing fries off his tray. Harry leaned back, content.
Then the bell rang.
MJ and Gwen stood up, still laughing about something MJ said about Mr. Johnson's eyebrows. "C'mon, Gwen, you've got chem next, right?" MJ asked.
"Yeah. Let's go before the nerds catch up," Gwen said, smirking.
The two walked off like they'd known each other for years.
Harry turned to Peter, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and smirked. "You are cooked, buddy."
Peter blinked. "Wait, what? What does that mean?"
Harry just chuckled, grabbed his tray, and walked off. "You'll figure it out."
"Harry! Wait…what does 'cooked' mean?!"
Peter chased after him through the hallway, still trying to make sense of the chaos that had just entered his life.
Of course! Here's the scene written in a vivid, book-style tone with some natural dialogue and atmosphere:
The low hum of computers and idle conversation filled the classroom as students half-heartedly tapped at keyboards. Harry sat near the back, legs kicked up against a stool, idly spinning a mechanical pencil between his fingers. Peter sat beside him, typing rapidly as if solving a world crisis in code.
Their teacher, Mr. Delgado, clapped his hands once, drawing everyone's attention.
"Alright, everyone eyes up! I've got some exciting news because we're going on a field trip."
Harry immediately perked up. "Please say it's Stark Tower."
Mr. Delgado chuckled. "Nice try, Osborn. But you'll be heading somewhere just as interesting Oscorp Industries."
Peter's head snapped up. "No way!"
Mr. Delgado smiled. "Yes way. You'll get a chance to see cutting-edge technology up close biotech, military-grade AI, renewable energy systems, the works."
Peter was practically vibrating. "That's…that's the holy grail!"
Harry leaned over with a lazy grin. "You need to calm down before you short-circuit, dude."
"I can't help it," Peter said, adjusting his glasses. "Oscorp's quantum battery prototype is still just a rumor and they might actually show us! And their nanotech limb project oh man, I've only seen blurry patent filings…."
Harry snorted. "You are such a nerd. It's adorable."
Peter ignored him. "They built a self-healing polymer wall! You know how insane that is? You could shoot it and it would seal itself like nothing happened!"
Harry leaned back. "I mean, cool… but have they figured out how to make a vending machine that doesn't eat your dollar?"
Peter just shook his head, laughing.
The school bus rattled down the road as Midtown's brightest minds bounced around on old seats. Peter pressed his face against the window, pointing out the Oscorp tower as it came into view and it is tall, sleek, and gleaming with mirrored glass.
"That's it! That's Oscorp's HQ!" Peter said, practically shouting. "Top six floors are restricted R&D, the lower levels house corporate operations, and wait….wait, that's the wind turbine system! They integrated it into the sides of the building for passive energy generation. It's genius!"
Harry smirked. "You want me to ask if you can move in? Maybe bunk next to the server room?"
Peter waved him off. "Laugh now, but I swear, I'd sell a kidney to see what's behind their secure doors."
Harry laughed. "You'd sell a kidney to name a lab rat."
Inside, the group was greeted by a professional-looking tour guide in a crisp navy blazer with the Oscorp insignia stitched into her chest pocket.
"Welcome to Oscorp Industries," she said. "Where the future is engineered today. Please stay with your class at all times and refrain from touching any equipment unless given permission."
The group followed her through glass corridors and exhibition rooms filled with advanced prototypes. Drones hummed in suspended displays. A robotic arm delicately assembled microcircuits. In a sealed display, a regenerative nanogel stitched a synthetic wound shut on its own.
Peter trailed behind the group, practically glued to his phone's camera as he took pictures.
"This is incredible," he whispered. "Look at that actuator torque ratio which is perfect for prosthetics."
Harry walked beside him, amused. "You're gonna run out of storage space, man."
Peter was too mesmerized to answer.
Above them, unnoticed by most, a small containment breach had gone unresolved and it is one of many experimental spiders bred in Oscorp's cross-species division had escaped during maintenance. It crawled along the overhead beams, eight legs silent on metal, its crimson-and-black pattern marked with a tiny "616" on its back.
The spider hung from a single silk thread, slowly lowering… lower… until it brushed against Peter's shoulder, then landed softly.
Harry glanced back, noticing Peter still lagging behind.
"Yo, Peter," Harry said, grabbing his shoulder to get his attention. "Come on, man. They're leaving us behind."
Peter blinked and looked up then realized the group was already rounding a corner.
Just as Harry touched Peter's shoulder, the spider crawled over and sank its fangs into the back of Harry's hand.
"Ah! What the…" Harry flinched, yanking his hand back.
The spider jumped off instinctively, but Harry caught it under his other palm with a smack, killing it instantly. He frowned, shaking out the stinging hand.
Peter turned. "You okay?"
"Yeah, just a weird spider. Probably from one of the exhibits." He looked down at his hand with two small puncture marks, already fading. He wiped the remains of the spider on his pant leg and kept walking.
Peter raised an eyebrow. "You sure? That looked nasty."
Harry waved it off. "Please. You think I'd let a spider ruin my perfect hands?"
They hurried after the group, completely unaware that Harry Osborn's life had just changed forever.