Peter Parker: A Spider-Man Origin Story

The backroom was dim, lit only by the flickering neon glow of a beer sign and a single dangling lightbulb that cast harsh shadows on the cracked walls. The air was thick with the smell of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke. Mac Gargan sat hunched over the table, his broad shoulders tense beneath his worn leather jacket. He tapped his fingers impatiently against a duffel bag sitting on the chair beside him.

Across from him sat Martin Heller, a former Oscorp technician with deep-set eyes and a nervous twitch in his fingers. Heller hadn't been much since Oscorp let him go—just another cog in the machine discarded when he wasn't useful anymore.

"I don't know about this, Mac," Heller said, his voice shaky as he glanced at the duffel bag. "Security at Oscorp is no joke. We're talking biometric scans, armed guards, cameras everywhere—"

"And?" Gargan interrupted, his voice low and dangerous. "You built half those systems, didn't you? You know where the blind spots are, how to bypass the locks. Don't tell me you're scared."

Heller rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting to the door. "It's not just about being scared. If we get caught—"

"We won't get caught," Gargan snapped, slamming a fist on the table. The sound echoed through the room, making Heller flinch. "You think Norman Osborn is gonna care if you play it safe? The guy's already forgotten you exist. He chews people up and spits them out. This is your chance to stick it to him. To make something of yourself."

Heller hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with a frayed thread on his sleeve. "And what about you? Why are you doing this?"

Gargan leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "Why do you think? I gave Oscorp years of my life—security, cleanup, anything they needed. And for what? A pat on the back and a pink slip. I'm done playing nice, Heller. I'm taking what's mine."

Heller swallowed hard, glancing at the duffel bag. "And you're sure about this? You know the kind of stuff they're working on—this isn't just tech. It's experimental, dangerous."

Gargan's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Good. Dangerous gets people to listen."

Heller looked at the door again, the weight of Gargan's words pressing down on him. He wasn't a brave man, but the allure of revenge—and money—was hard to ignore. "Fine," he muttered. "I'll get you in. But if this goes south—"

"It won't," Gargan said, cutting him off. He grabbed the duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder, standing abruptly. "You just do your job. I'll handle the rest."

As Gargan turned to leave, Heller called after him. "Mac… if you're wrong about this, it's not just Oscorp coming for us. Norman Osborn doesn't let things slide."

Gargan paused at the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the flickering neon light. "Let him come," he said coldly, before disappearing into the shadows.

The hum of fluorescent lights filled the classroom as students shuffled in, their chatter blending into a low murmur. Peter Parker sat near the window, his head resting on one hand as he stared blankly at the notebook in front of him. The words on the page blurred together, his mind drifting back to the previous night.

The memory of clinging to the ceiling, his heart pounding with equal parts fear and exhilaration, refused to leave him. No matter how much he tried to focus on something—anything—else, it kept replaying in his head.

"Parker," the teacher called, pulling Peter out of his thoughts.

"Huh? Yeah! Uh, I mean… here," Peter stammered, his voice cracking slightly. A few students laughed, and Peter's cheeks flushed as he sank lower in his seat.

Sliding into the chair beside him, Gwen Stacy smirked, her blonde hair catching the light as she turned to him. "You okay there, space cadet?"

Peter forced a laugh, straightening in his seat. "Yeah, just… running on low sleep. You know, classic Parker luck."

"Uh-huh," Gwen replied, her skeptical tone laced with amusement.

As the teacher began explaining the details of their upcoming group project, Peter tried to focus, scribbling half-hearted notes in his notebook. But Gwen, ever observant, leaned closer, her voice low enough that only he could hear.

"You've been acting weird lately," she said, her brow furrowing. "Distracted. Jumpy. What's going on?"

Peter hesitated, his pen hovering above the page. "What? Nothing! I'm fine. Just… busy. Lots of science stuff to think about."

Gwen arched an eyebrow, her sharp hazel eyes scanning his face. "Science stuff, huh? That's the best you've got?"

"Yep," Peter said, flashing her a grin that he hoped looked convincing. "I'm a science guy. You know me."

"Peter, you're a terrible liar," Gwen said flatly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

Peter shifted uncomfortably, tapping his pen against the desk. "What can I say? It's a gift."

Gwen didn't laugh. She tilted her head, studying him like she was trying to solve a puzzle. "Seriously, though. If something's wrong, you can tell me. You know that, right?"

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. How could he explain what was happening to him? How could he tell Gwen that he wasn't even sure who—or what—he was anymore?

"I'm fine," he said finally, forcing a casual tone. "Really. Just a lot on my plate right now."

Gwen didn't look convinced, but before she could press further, the teacher clapped his hands. "All right, everyone! Pair up with your assigned partners and get started."

The room filled with the sound of chairs scraping against the floor and students shuffling to find their partners. Peter exhaled in relief, using the commotion as an excuse to turn away from Gwen's piercing gaze.

As the students got to work, Peter's eyes drifted across the room to where Harry Osborn sat alone. Harry had his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on his notebook, though it didn't look like he was paying attention to anything the teacher had said.

For a moment, Peter considered going over to him, but the memory of their last conversation stopped him. Harry had been distant, almost cold, since the Oscorp trip. And Peter knew why.

He's still mad, Peter thought, guilt twisting in his stomach. He thinks I'm hiding something. And he's not wrong.

But what could Peter say? That Harry's suspicions were right? That he'd snuck into a restricted lab at Oscorp and now his life was spiraling out of control?

"Keep your secrets, Pete," Harry muttered under his breath, his pen moving absently across the page. "See where that gets you."

Peter clenched his jaw, turning back to Gwen. He wanted to explain, to fix things with Harry and reassure Gwen, but the words wouldn't come.

After school, Peter ducked into a small corner store to pick up a few groceries for Aunt May and Uncle Ben. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he browsed the aisles, tossing a loaf of bread and a carton of milk into his basket.

As he reached for a can of soup, a sharp tingling sensation shot through the back of his neck, making him freeze. His vision blurred for a moment, and the faint hum of the store seemed to grow louder.

Peter blinked, gripping the shelf for support. "What the…?"

He shook his head, brushing it off as a side effect of the spider bite. "Get it together, Parker," he muttered, heading for the register.

Outside, the evening air was cool and crisp. Peter adjusted his backpack, his mind still replaying the strange sensation. He was halfway across the street when it happened.

A car screeched around the corner, its tires squealing against the pavement. Peter turned, his eyes widening as the vehicle barreled toward him.

Time seemed to slow. His legs moved before his brain could process it, propelling him into the air with a leap far higher than any normal human should manage.

He landed in an alley, his hands slamming against the brick wall to steady himself. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the car speeding away.

"What was that?" Peter whispered, his voice shaking.

He glanced down at his hands, his fingers trembling slightly. His mind raced, the reality of his abilities becoming harder to ignore.

For a moment, he considered telling someone—Aunt May, Uncle Ben, Gwen. But the thought of their reactions stopped him cold.

"No," Peter muttered, pulling his hood up as he slipped out of the alley. "Not yet."