Peter Parker: A Spider-Man Origin Story

Oscorp Tower buzzed with tension. Armed guards patrolled the hallways, and high-tech drones hovered near entrances. The once-quiet corporate floors now resembled a war zone. Norman Osborn stood in the center of a conference room, his fists planted firmly on the table as he glared at his staff.

"You're telling me," Norman growled, his voice like ice, "that a single man—an experiment—has run circles around all of you?"

One of the technicians flinched. "Sir, Gargan isn't just a man anymore. His strength, his resilience—he's… evolving."

Norman slammed a fist onto the table, silencing the room. "I don't pay you to make excuses. I pay you to fix problems. And this—this is a problem." He jabbed a finger at the holographic display of Gargan's latest attack.

Alaric Kane leaned against the wall, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Norman's fury. "We've got a team in place, Mr. Osborn," he said smoothly. "Oscorp Tower is the bait, and Gargan's too reckless to resist."

Norman's piercing gaze shifted to Alaric. "Then you better deliver, Kane. I want Gargan alive. No more collateral damage. No more delays."

Alaric smirked faintly, nodding. "Understood."

The morning sunlight streamed through Peter's window, but it did little to lift the weight pressing on him. Sitting at his desk, he stared at the remnants of last night's webbing experiment. The thin strands clung to the lamp and wall, gleaming faintly in the light.

Peter flexed his hand, remembering the strange sensation of the webbing shooting out. "What else can I do?" he muttered, a mix of curiosity and dread in his voice.

The TV in the corner of his room droned on, the anchor detailing Gargan's attack on the Oscorp convoy. Images of destroyed vehicles and injured guards flashed across the screen.

A knock on the door startled him. Aunt May poked her head in, her eyes warm but concerned. "Breakfast is ready, sweetheart. Don't let it get cold."

Peter nodded absently. "Thanks, Aunt May. I'll be right down."

As the door closed, Peter sighed, shoving the web-covered lamp under his bed. His secret was growing harder to contain, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep it hidden.

At Midtown High, the usual bustle of students felt distant to Peter. He moved through the hallways like a shadow, his thoughts consumed by the news reports and his newfound powers.

"Pete!" Gwen's voice pulled him back to reality. She jogged up beside him, her brow furrowed. "You okay? You've been, like, a ghost all morning."

Peter forced a smile. "Just… tired. That's all."

Gwen wasn't convinced. "You sure? You've been acting weird lately—dodging questions, zoning out…"

Before Peter could respond, Harry joined them, his expression more serious. "Yeah, man. Is this about the Oscorp thing? I know my dad can be… intense, but you've seemed off ever since that trip."

Peter tensed, his heart racing. "No, it's not that. Just… school stress, you know?"

Harry exchanged a glance with Gwen, both clearly unconvinced, but neither pressed further. Liz Allan appeared, her bright smile cutting through the tension.

"Hey, Peter!" she said, waving. "Don't forget, we've got the club meeting after school. You promised, remember?"

Peter nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah, I'll be there."

From across the hallway, Flash Thompson's voice boomed. "Well, if it isn't Parker and his little fan club."

Peter stiffened as Flash sauntered over, his trademark smirk in place. "Better watch yourself, Parker. Don't get too comfortable hanging around Liz."

Liz rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Flash? Don't you have something better to do?"

Flash's smile faltered, his gaze flicking between Liz and Peter. "Just looking out for you, babe."

Peter clenched his fists, but Gwen's hand on his arm stopped him from saying anything. "Ignore him," she whispered. "He's not worth it."

The streets outside Oscorp Tower were eerily quiet, the usual hum of city life replaced by the faint buzz of drones and the shuffle of armed guards. Alaric's team was in position, their trap set.

Inside the tower, Norman Osborn stood in front of a massive control panel, watching the surveillance feeds. His jaw tightened as he spotted Gargan's hulking figure moving through the shadows.

"He's here," Norman muttered. "Don't let him inside."

Gargan didn't wait for an invitation. He tore through the outer barricades, his raw strength demolishing the reinforced gates. Drones swarmed him, their taser rounds sparking against his skin, but he shrugged them off like mosquito bites.

The mercenaries moved in, their advanced weaponry lighting up the dark street. Gargan roared, his voice a guttural mix of rage and pain. His movements were more erratic now, his body twitching as if the power inside him was too much to contain.

From a nearby rooftop, Heller watched the chaos unfold, his heart sinking. Gargan's transformation had turned him into a monster—one that couldn't be reasoned with. "This has gone too far," Heller whispered. "I have to do something."

Gargan reached the tower's main entrance, ripping the reinforced doors off their hinges. Inside, the mercenaries regrouped, their weapons trained on him. But it wasn't enough.

Alaric Kane, watching from a secure vantage point, activated the tower's automated defenses. Turrets emerged from the walls, unleashing a hail of stun rounds. Gargan staggered, his growls turning into furious roars as he pushed forward, his determination unyielding.

As Gargan fought his way deeper into the tower, Heller slipped into a nearby alley, pulling out his phone. His hands shook as he scrolled through his contacts, hovering over Oscorp's emergency line.

"Do I turn him in?" Heller whispered to himself. "Or do I let this play out?"

A distant explosion from the tower made his decision for him. Swallowing hard, he dialed the number.

"This is Oscorp," a voice answered. "State your emergency."

"It's about Mac Gargan," Heller said, his voice trembling. "He's going to kill everyone if you don't stop him."

The night hung heavy over the city, a blanket of silence broken only by the distant hum of Oscorp's heightened security efforts. Oscorp Tower, a monolith of glass and steel, stood as a beacon of progress—or hubris—in the heart of Midtown. Tonight, though, it was a battleground.

Peter trudged along the sidewalk, his mind swirling with the evening's events. The academic club meeting had been productive, but he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had clung to him since discovering his webbing. His thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of alarms in the distance, followed by the unmistakable crack of gunfire.

He froze, his pulse quickening. His spider-sense flared, an electric buzz at the base of his skull. Turning a corner, he saw the scene unfold: Oscorp Tower was under siege. Smoke billowed from the lower levels, and shattered glass littered the streets. Security drones hovered in defensive formations, their lights cutting through the haze.

Peter ducked into a nearby alley, his instincts urging him to stay hidden. From the shadows, he watched as armed guards formed a perimeter around the building, shouting commands into their radios. The source of the chaos soon emerged—Mac Gargan.

Gargan's hulking frame was illuminated by the orange glow of the fires he'd left in his wake. His muscles rippled unnaturally, veins bulging beneath his skin as if they were ready to burst. He moved with terrifying purpose, ripping through security defenses like they were paper. A single swipe of his arm sent a drone crashing into a nearby lamppost, sparks showering the street.

Peter's breath caught as he crouched lower, his eyes locked on Gargan. The man wasn't just strong—he was unhinged. His every move radiated fury, a barely contained storm of rage and power.

"Osborn!" Gargan roared, his voice echoing through the night. "Come out and face me, you coward!"

Peter felt his stomach knot. The sheer destruction Gargan was causing made it clear this wasn't a random attack—it was personal.

The spider-sense buzzed again, more insistent this time. Peter realized why—Gargan was moving toward him.

Peter pressed himself against the cold brick wall of the alley, willing himself to stay calm as Gargan's heavy footsteps drew closer. The streetlights flickered, casting Gargan's massive shadow across the narrow alley. Peter's breath hitched as he realized just how close Gargan was.

Gargan paused, his glowing eyes scanning the darkness. He sniffed the air like a predator catching a scent. For a moment, Peter thought he was done for. The spider-sense screamed, urging him to run, but his legs felt like lead.

"Another Oscorp rat?" Gargan growled, his voice low and dangerous. He took a step into the alley, the metal grating beneath his boots groaning under his weight. "Come out and meet your end."

Peter's heart pounded, his mind racing with panic. What could he do against someone like Gargan? He didn't even fully understand his own abilities yet, let alone how to use them against a force like this.

The seconds stretched into an eternity as Gargan's gaze swept over the alley. Finally, his eyes landed on Peter. Their gazes locked.

Peter's body tensed, every instinct screaming at him to move, to do something. But Gargan merely sneered, his lip curling in disgust. "Get out of here before I tear you apart," he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. Without waiting for a response, he turned and stomped back toward the tower.

Peter exhaled shakily, the tension in his body releasing all at once. His knees buckled, and he crouched low, trying to steady his breathing. The distant sounds of sirens grew louder as reinforcements arrived at Oscorp Tower, but Peter couldn't move. His mind replayed the encounter, the raw power and rage in Gargan's eyes burned into his memory.

As the adrenaline ebbed, guilt began to creep in. He could have done something—should have done something. But what? He wasn't a hero. He was just a kid who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now everything felt so much bigger than him.

Peter stayed crouched in the shadows until Gargan disappeared into the night, his rampage leaving a trail of destruction behind him. The spider-sense finally quieted, but the silence it left was deafening. With shaking hands, Peter adjusted his backpack and slipped away from the scene, the weight of his inaction pressing heavily on his shoulders.

By the time Peter reached his apartment, the chaos at Oscorp Tower felt like a distant nightmare. But the fear and guilt clung to him, heavier with each step. He opened the door to find Aunt May and Uncle Ben waiting in the living room—and to his surprise, Gwen Stacy sitting on the couch.

"Gwen?" Peter asked, his voice cracking slightly. "What are you doing here?"

Gwen stood, her concern evident in her furrowed brow. "I was worried about you. You've been acting… different."

Aunt May stepped forward, her eyes scanning Peter's pale face. "You're home late. Everything okay, sweetheart?"

Peter avoided their gazes, dropping his backpack by the door. "I'm fine. Just a long day."

Uncle Ben crossed his arms, his expression serious but kind. "You don't look fine, Pete. Come on, talk to us."

Peter hesitated, his mind racing. Every word felt like a potential unraveling of the secrets he'd been hiding. Finally, he slumped onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. "I just… I feel like I can't do anything right," he admitted, his voice muffled.

May sat beside him, placing a comforting hand on his back. "Peter, you're still young. You don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Uncle Ben nodded. "She's right. But sometimes, doing the right thing feels impossible. It's scary. But those small moments of courage? They add up."

Gwen spoke next, her voice soft but firm. "You know, once I stood up for a friend who was being bullied. I was terrified, but I couldn't just stand there and do nothing. It wasn't about winning—it was about trying."

Peter looked up, his eyes meeting hers. "But what if trying makes things worse?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Gwen's gaze didn't waver. "Then you try again."

Peter stood abruptly, the overwhelming emotions bubbling to the surface. "I just need to be alone," he said quickly, retreating to his room. "Please… don't come in."

As the door clicked shut, May exchanged a worried glance with Ben. Gwen sighed, her concern etched across her face.

In an abandoned industrial building on the city's outskirts, Mac Gargan paced restlessly. The dim light from a flickering bulb cast long, distorted shadows across the room. He clutched his side, his fingers brushing against the bruised and discolored skin beneath his tattered shirt. The enhancements from the Oscorp prototype were pushing his body to its limits, and the toll was becoming undeniable.

Heller lingered near the edge of the room, his face pale and drawn. He watched as Gargan slammed a steel beam into the wall, the metal bending under the force of his rage.

"Mac," Heller began cautiously, his voice low. "You're pushing too hard. Your body—whatever that thing did to you—it's breaking down."

Gargan turned on him, his glowing eyes narrowing dangerously. "You think I don't know that?" he snarled, his voice guttural. "This… this is the price of power."

Heller swallowed hard, his hands trembling at his sides. "It doesn't have to be like this. If we go back to Oscorp—if we get help—"

"Help?" Gargan cut him off, laughing bitterly. "From Osborn? That snake? He did this to me, Heller. He made me into… this!" He gestured to his twisted, hulking form, his muscles spasming involuntarily. "I don't need help. I need revenge."

Heller hesitated, his gaze flicking to the makeshift cot in the corner where the remnants of the Oscorp prototype lay scattered. "Revenge isn't going to fix what's happening to you. It's just going to get you killed."

"Then let it!" Gargan roared, his voice echoing through the empty space. He stepped closer to Heller, his presence overwhelming. "If I'm going down, I'm taking Norman Osborn with me."

Heller flinched but held his ground, his fear overridden by a desperate need to get through to his former ally. "You're better than this, Mac. Or at least you used to be."

Gargan's expression darkened, his features twisting with fury. "The old Mac Gargan is dead," he said coldly. "This city—Norman—everyone is going to remember the name Scorpion."

With that, he turned away, his shoulders heaving as he struggled to control his breathing. Heller took a step back, his mind racing. He couldn't let this continue—not without trying to stop it. But as he watched Gargan descend further into madness, he realized that time was running out.

"Next time, Osborn," Gargan growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You won't escape."