Oscorp at night was quieter than a library, but for me, it was a second home. I liked it that way—just me, my notes, the hum of machines, and the occasional hiss from containment chambers. Most kids had part-time jobs or sports practice. I had gene-editing spiders.
It sounds cooler than it is.
That night, I stayed late running some final adjustments. One of our genetically enhanced spiders had shown promising results—improved neurological response, increased muscle fiber regeneration, the works. Dr. Connors would've lectured me about overworking myself if he hadn't taken the week off.
I was just recording my observations when sleep crept up on me.
A blink. A yawn. A drift.
And pain.
A sharp, electric jolt hit my hand. I yelped, jumping out of my chair. My eyes locked onto a spider clinging to my skin, legs twitching, fangs still buried in me.
Instinct kicked in. I slapped it.
Hard.
The spider curled up and dropped dead. My breath hitched. I stared at my hand. Red. Swollen.
Then the dizziness hit.
My heart raced. My head pounded. Everything felt… heavier.
I stumbled out of the lab, barely making it to the elevator. The world outside was spinning, the bus ride home a blur of colors and motion sickness. I didn't care. I just needed to get to my room and sleep.
Peter, are you drunk?"
That was the first thing Uncle Ben said when I stepped through the front door, barely holding myself up on the banister.
I tried to smile. "No. Just… tired."
I didn't wait for a response. I took the stairs two at a time, got to my room, and collapsed onto the bed like a sack of bricks.
I blacked out.
I woke up to birds chirping. A normal sound. Too normal for how weird everything felt.
The sunlight was harsh—but I could see perfectly. No blur, no double vision. I reached for my glasses out of habit, but the moment I put them on, everything got worse.
I blinked and took them off. No more headaches. Huh.
That's when I noticed the rest.
My arms looked leaner. Stronger. I touched my stomach—was that a six-pack? Okay, weird. I hadn't seen the inside of a gym since middle school.
I stumbled to the bathroom and stared into the mirror.
That was… me?
Hair still messy. Same eyebrows. But the kid looking back had definition. Confidence in his jawline. Posture like he actually knew what he was doing.
Then I touched the sink.
And my hand wouldn't come off.
"What the hell?"
I tugged. It stayed stuck.
I pulled harder.
CRACK!
The entire sink ripped off the wall and hit the tile with a bang. Water sprayed everywhere.
"Peter, what's going on up there?!" Aunt May shouted from downstairs.
"Nothing!" I panicked. I tried holding the sink in place like that would make it better.
Footsteps. Door open.
She stared at me, at the burst pipe, at the puddle crawling toward the hallway.
"Peter Parker, what on earth—?!"
"I forgot to turn off the sink!" I said quickly, soaking wet and wide-eyed.
She stared at me for a few more seconds. Then sighed. "Your uncle's going to love this."
After she left, I just sat there, soaked and stunned.
My hand. The webbing. My body. The speed. The vision.
This wasn't a growth spurt.
This was something else.
Something terrifying.
The sink was unfixable. Uncle Ben came in with a wrench and an old towel, muttering about how plumbing should come with a manual written in English, not Martian.
Peter," Ben said after a moment, tightening the valve under the cabinet, "you been hitting the gym without telling us?"
"What?"
"You're looking… taller. And bulkier. Like someone replaced our boy with a track star."
I managed a weak laugh. "Guess I've just been drinking my milk."
He gave me a look that said, Yeah, right.
From downstairs, Aunt May called out, "You're buying a new sink, mister!"
After I cleaned up and changed, I tried to act like it was a normal day. Got dressed for school. Packed my bag. Ate a piece of toast I couldn't taste.
But my hands still stuck to everything. When I touched my phone, I nearly cracked the case trying to pry it off. When I opened the fridge, the handle came off with it. I almost webbed the cat by accident.
The worst part? It wasn't just my body. It was my brain, too.
Everything felt… louder. Faster. I could hear conversations down the street. I could see the scratch on the window three houses over. My mind was racing like it was trying to keep up with all the new information flooding in every second.
At school, I kept my head low. I didn't want anyone to notice that I could now read the fine print on the bulletin board from the other end of the hallway. Or that I could hear who was texting who during homeroom. I just wanted to make it through the day.
But then, Flash happened.
We crossed paths near my locker. It was almost a tradition by now. Flash sees me, Flash says something dumb, Flash tries to shove me for laughs. Only this time, when he swung his fist…
…I caught it.
The hallway fell silent.
He looked shocked. I looked more shocked.
"I—uh…" I tried to let go. But my hand stuck to his wrist. Panic surged through me.
"Let me go, freak!" he shouted.
"I'm trying!"
In panic, I yanked my hand away—and accidentally twisted his arm. He howled, dropping to the floor.
Everyone was staring.
Then came the familiar voice of doom: Principal Carter.
"You two! Office. Now."
"You broke his arm," the principal said flatly.
"It was an accident!" I insisted. "He hit me
first!"
Flash, of course, said, "I was just helping him with his locker."
Principal Carter sighed like we'd personally ruined his week. "You're both suspended until further notice
Back home, the silence was worse than any lecture.
Uncle Ben sat on the porch, sipping cold coffee, waiting for me.
"I heard," he said.
I nodded, unable to meet his eyes.
"Did hurting him make you feel better?"
"…No. I was just done with his bullshit
Peter I understand I do
He watched me for a moment. Then: " but With great power comes great responsibility."
I snapped. "Don't lecture me like You're my dad!"
He didn't flinch. Just looked tired.
And so I left
The city lights blurred around me as I walked, my mind a whirlwind of guilt and confusion. Power was supposed to feel good. But it didn't.
It felt like a curse.
And the worst hadn't even happened yet.
The streets felt colder that night, even though the summer air was still heavy with heat. I walked without thinking, every step pulling me further from home, further from everything familiar.
I just needed air.
Space.
Time to feel like myself again—whoever that was now.
I ducked into a corner store to grab something sweet and quiet the buzzing in my head. The cashier looked up from a comic book.
"That'll be $52.83."
I checked my wallet. Forty-five buck. Of course.
"I'm a little short," I said. "Can I come back and—"
"Sorry, kid. Store policy."
Fair enough. I turned to leave.
That's when the door slammed open behind me.
A man in a hoodie stormed in, waving a gun. "Empty the register. Now!"
I froze.
The cashier raised his hands. "Take it, just don't shoot."
The burglar didn't even look at me. He grabbed the cash, turned toward the exit… and stopped.
"You just gonna stand there, kid?" he barked at me.
I didn't move.
"You gonna stop me?" he added with a sneer, tossing a drink at my chest.
I stood there, frozen. Not scared. Not even angry.
Just… numb.
The man ran out. The cashier turned to me, stunned. "Why didn't you stop him?! You were right there!"
I couldn't answer. I just left.
The air outside hit different now. My pulse raced again—not from fear, but something else. Guilt.
And then—
Bang.
A single gunshot, just down the block.
I ran.
He was lying on the pavement when I reached him.
Uncle Ben.
His shirt stained red, his face pale, eyes dim. He tried to speak but couldn't.
"No… no, no, no—please, stay with me!" I knelt beside him, grabbing his hand. "Uncle Ben, I'm sorry—I shouldn't have said those things—I should've stopped him—!"
His hand squeezed mine faintly. His lips moved.
"Don't… blame yourself…"
And then he was gone.
I sat there, motionless, while the world spun around me. Sirens. Shouting. Footsteps.
It was him. The same man from the store. I let him go.
And now Uncle Ben was dead.
Because of me.
I didn't sleep that night. I didn't cry. I just… listened. To the words I'd ignored before. The ones Uncle Ben always said, like a broken record.
"With great power comes great responsibility."
Now, I understood what they meant. And why they mattered.
The funeral was two days later.
I stood in the rain, wearing a black suit that didn't quite fit and shoes that pinched my toes. None of it mattered. The only thing I could focus on was the fact that Uncle Ben wasn't standing next to me, complaining about how long the service was taking or asking if I remembered to water the plants before we left.
He was just… gone.
Aunt May held onto my arm. Her grip was tight, like I might disappear, too. I stayed silent. There were no words for what I felt.
Not anymore.
That night, I sat in my room staring at the ceiling.
It would be easy to pretend none of it had happened.
That I was just some high school kid with a few weird muscles and freaky reflexes.
But I couldn't pretend anymore.
I looked down at my hands—the same ones that let that burglar walk away. The same hands that could break a sink or stop a punch in mid-air.
And now, they had to do more.
I didn't sleep. Instead, I opened my laptop and started designing.
Not a machine. Not an experiment.
A suit.
Next chapter the city notices