Peter Parker: A Spider-Man Origin Story

The boardroom at Oscorp was sleek and imposing, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the New York skyline. Norman Osborn stood at the head of the table, exuding confidence in his tailored suit as he gestured toward the holographic display projected above the table.

"We're on the verge of something revolutionary," Norman declared, his voice commanding the attention of the assembled scientists and executives. "Our work in cross-species genetics will not only redefine medicine but reshape humanity itself. This is the future of Oscorp."

Applause rippled through the room, though a few attendees exchanged wary glances. Among them was Dr. Otto Octavius, his ever-present glasses glinting under the harsh lights. Octavius leaned forward, his brow furrowed.

"Norman," Octavius began, his tone measured but firm, "while I admire your vision, some of these experiments are pushing ethical boundaries. We're venturing into dangerous territory. The potential for unintended consequences—"

Norman cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Progress always comes with risk, Otto. You, of all people, should know that. The question is whether the reward outweighs the cost. And trust me, the reward is monumental."

From the other end of the table, another figure leaned back in his chair, his demeanor far less composed. Mac Gargan, a brash and ambitious security consultant, smirked as he tapped a pen against the table.

"Monumental for Oscorp's pockets, sure," Gargan sneered. "But what about the people out there? You want to make superhumans? Why stop there? Imagine what we could do if we weaponized this tech—sold it to the highest bidder. Military contracts alone—"

"Enough," Norman snapped, his voice icy. "Oscorp does not deal in weapons. We're innovators, not arms dealers."

Gargan's smirk vanished, replaced by a scowl. "Innovators? You're sitting on a gold mine, Osborn. You're just too scared to use it."

Norman stepped closer, his gaze like a blade. "Let me make something clear, Gargan. You work for Oscorp. You do not dictate our vision or our direction. If you can't align with that, I suggest you find the door."

The tension in the room was palpable. Gargan's fists clenched, but he held his tongue. He pushed his chair back abruptly, the legs screeching against the polished floor.

"Fine," Gargan spat.

As he stormed out of the boardroom, his lips curled into a bitter smile. "You'll regret this, Osborn," he muttered under his breath. "You'll all regret this."

Norman adjusted his tie, regaining his composure as the room sat in stunned silence. "Now," he continued, as if nothing had happened, "let's move on to the next phase of our trials. Dr. Octavius, I trust you'll ensure there are no more… 'accidents.'"

Octavius nodded, though his expression remained troubled. "Of course, Mr. Osborn."

As the meeting adjourned, Norman returned to his office, his thoughts drifting to Gargan. He pressed a button on his desk, bringing up Gargan's personnel file. A man with a history of ambition and a dangerous lack of restraint, Gargan was the kind of person Norman hated to work with—but also the kind who could become a liability.

"Keep an eye on him," Norman murmured to himself. "Men like Gargan don't let things go."

Across town, Harry Osborn sat slumped on his bed, earbuds in and music blasting. His laptop lay open beside him, displaying Oscorp's financial reports—numbers and graphs that meant nothing to him.

He ripped the earbuds out with a frustrated groan, tossing them onto the desk.

It's always about Oscorp, Harry thought bitterly. His father's obsession consumed every part of their lives, leaving no room for anything—or anyone—else.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He picked it up, hesitating before scrolling through his messages. Nothing from Peter.

"Of course," Harry muttered, tossing the phone aside. Peter hadn't been himself lately, and Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "You better not be messing with Oscorp again, Pete," he muttered.

Peter sat on the edge of his bed, his room dimly lit by the faint orange glow of the setting sun outside. His hands rested on his knees, trembling slightly. They looked the same, but he knew they weren't.

He flexed his fingers, staring at the faint lines of his palms. The memory of his hand sticking to the wall replayed in his mind, along with the unmistakable feeling of power surging through his body.

"What's happening to me?" he whispered.

Harry's words from the bus echoed in his head: "Oscorp isn't what it seems. Trust me."

Peter's stomach twisted. He'd ignored Harry's warning. He'd let his curiosity get the better of him, sneaking into a place he had no business being in. Now, something was changing inside him, something he couldn't stop.

His gaze drifted to his desk, where a photo of Aunt May and Uncle Ben sat in a simple wooden frame. They were smiling in the picture, arms wrapped around him during a summer picnic. Peter's chest tightened as he thought about them.

"What would they think?" he murmured.

If Aunt May and Uncle Ben knew what he could do now—what was happening to him—would they still look at him the same way? Would they be proud? Or would they be afraid?

Peter's thoughts spiraled further, guilt clawing at him. He thought about the spider, the bite, the lab.

What if I brought something dangerous out of there? What if someone else gets hurt because of me?

The idea sent a shiver down his spine. He'd already seen the damage Oscorp was capable of. What if he'd made things worse by sneaking into that restricted area?

He pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts, but they came rushing back in waves.

Standing abruptly, Peter moved to the window and pushed it open, letting the cool evening air wash over him. He stared out at the quiet streets below, the city humming faintly in the distance.

For a fleeting moment, he wished he could go back to yesterday—to before the field trip, before the spider bite. Life had been simple then. He was just Peter Parker, the awkward, nerdy kid who kept his head down and tried to get through the day unnoticed.

But now? Now he felt like a stranger in his own skin.

He clenched the windowsill tightly, his knuckles whitening. A small crack formed in the wood beneath his grip, and he quickly released it, staring at the damage.

The physical strength was exciting, but it scared him too. He had no idea how far it went or what else he was capable of.

Peter turned back to his room, his gaze falling on the photo of Aunt May and Uncle Ben again. "I can't tell them," he said quietly. "Not yet."

The thought of their worried faces, of Uncle Ben's stern but loving lectures, made his chest ache. He couldn't bring them into this—not until he understood it himself.

Peter stood, pacing the room. His heart raced as he considered what to do next. Slowly, he placed a hand on the wall, his palm sticking effortlessly to the surface.

Taking a deep breath, Peter pressed his other hand against the wall, then his foot. Within seconds, he was climbing.

"Okay… okay…" he whispered, his nerves giving way to a thrill that sent shivers down his spine. He reached the ceiling, hanging upside down like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Peter laughed softly, his voice a mix of amazement and disbelief. "This is insane."

Dropping back to the floor, he turned his attention to a stack of heavy textbooks. He grabbed them all at once, lifting them easily with one hand. He moved to the desk, gripping its edge and lifting it an inch off the ground before setting it back down.

His movements grew faster, more precise, as he tested his reflexes—throwing a ball at the wall and catching it before it rebounded, dodging imaginary attacks in front of the mirror.

For the first time all day, Peter felt exhilarated.

But then it happened.

A sharp, tingling sensation shot through the back of his neck, making him freeze. His heart pounded as his eyes darted around the room, searching for something—anything—that might explain the feeling.

The spider sense pulsed again, stronger this time. It wasn't painful, but it was overwhelming, like an invisible alarm blaring in his head.

"What is that?" Peter whispered, backing toward the window. He peered outside, but the street was quiet.

The tingling faded, leaving him standing in silence, his breaths shallow.

"Something's coming," he murmured, his mind racing. He didn't know what it was, but he knew one thing for certain: his life was no longer ordinary.