Peter Parker: A Spider-Man Origin Story

The dim warehouse was alive with the hum of the stolen Oscorp prototype, its sleek, metallic casing glowing faintly in the dark. Mac Gargan stood over it, his eyes gleaming with anticipation as he watched Heller work furiously at the console. The other two crew members hovered nearby, their unease growing with each passing second.

"This thing… it's not stable," Heller muttered, sweat beading on his forehead. His fingers flew over the keyboard, deciphering lines of encrypted code. "We shouldn't even be touching it."

"Shut up and keep going," Gargan snapped, pacing impatiently. His hands clenched and unclenched, his frustration mounting. "You said you could make it work. Prove it."

Heller hesitated, his voice trembling. "Mac, this isn't a toy. Oscorp designed this for controlled experiments, not… whatever it is you're planning."

Gargan loomed over him, his tone sharp and dangerous. "I'm planning to stop being a joke, Heller. I'm planning to make sure people like Osborn never step on me again."

Before Heller could respond, the prototype let out a sudden, high-pitched whine. The glow on its surface intensified, pulsating with energy that made the air in the warehouse crackle. The crew stepped back instinctively, shielding their eyes.

"Mac, stop!" Heller shouted, but it was too late.

The device surged, releasing a blinding burst of light and an ear-splitting roar. Heller and the others were thrown to the ground, writhing in pain as the energy washed over them. But Gargan stood firm, his body trembling as the power coursed through him.

His screams echoed in the warehouse, a mix of agony and exhilaration. His muscles tightened and swelled, veins bulging as the transformation began. When the light finally faded, the room was silent save for the heavy breathing of the fallen crew.

Gargan dropped to his knees, his body slick with sweat. He stared at his trembling hands, now larger and thicker, his grip crushing a stray metal pipe into a mangled mess.

"Mac?" Heller's voice was weak, his face pale as he pushed himself up. "What… what just happened?"

Gargan slowly stood, his posture more imposing than ever. His eyes gleamed with a dangerous intensity. "I happened," he growled, his voice low and guttural. He flexed his fingers, marveling at his newfound strength. "This… this is power."

Peter Parker jolted awake, drenched in sweat. His breath came in shallow gasps as he stared at the ceiling, the images from his dream still vivid in his mind—webs stretching endlessly, spiders crawling toward him, their glowing eyes fixed on his.

The spider-sense tingled faintly at the base of his neck, a lingering echo of the unease that had plagued him all night. Peter sat up, rubbing his face. His reflection in the mirror caught his eye—dark circles under his eyes, his hair disheveled.

"Get it together, Parker," he muttered, forcing himself out of bed.

Downstairs, the smell of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon greeted him. Aunt May stood at the stove, humming softly as she flipped pancakes. Uncle Ben sat at the table, reading the paper, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. The scene was warm and familiar, yet Peter felt like an outsider looking in.

"Morning, kid," Ben said without looking up. His voice was warm, but his brow furrowed as he glanced over the edge of the paper. "You look like you wrestled with a tornado last night. Everything okay?"

Peter hesitated, grabbing a plate from the cabinet. "Yeah, just… didn't sleep great."

May turned from the stove, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Didn't sleep great? Peter, you look like you haven't slept at all. Are you feeling sick?"

Peter waved a dismissive hand, forcing a small smile. "I'm fine. Just a lot on my mind. School stuff."

Ben folded the paper and set it aside, leaning forward with his hands clasped. "School stuff? That's a new one. Usually, you're all about science this, project that. Now you're moping around like the world's ending."

Peter sat at the table, avoiding their gazes as he poured syrup onto his pancakes. "It's nothing. Just… you know, trying to figure things out."

"Figure things out?" Ben repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Peter, you're seventeen. You're supposed to be confused. Comes with the territory. But shutting us out? That's not gonna help."

"Ben," May said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. She turned to Peter, her expression softening. "We're just worried about you, sweetie. You've been so quiet lately. It's not like you."

Peter stared at his plate, his appetite fading under the weight of their concern. How could he tell them the truth? That he wasn't just tired or stressed—that he was changing into something he couldn't explain?

"I'm fine," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "Really."

Ben sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Fine. But remember, kid, whatever it is you're going through, you don't have to do it alone. We're here, okay? Always."

Peter nodded, swallowing hard. "Thanks, Uncle Ben. Aunt May."

May placed a glass of orange juice in front of him, her hand lingering on his shoulder. "You're stronger than you think, Peter," she said softly. "And whatever it is, you'll figure it out. One step at a time."

The warmth in her voice chipped away at the walls Peter had built around himself. He managed a small smile, picking at his pancakes to appease her. "These are great, Aunt May."

Ben smirked, picking up his coffee. "Of course they are. She's been perfecting that pancake recipe for years."

May rolled her eyes, giving Ben a playful swat on the arm before turning back to the stove.

For a moment, the tension in the room eased. Peter leaned back in his chair, letting the familiar rhythm of home wash over him. But deep down, he knew this peace was temporary. His world was changing, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep it from them.

After a few minutes, Ben stood, ruffling Peter's hair as he passed. "Hang in there, kid. You've got this."

Peter watched them go about their morning routines, a pang of guilt tightening in his chest. They cared so much, and here he was, hiding something huge from them. But how could he tell them the truth when he didn't even understand it himself?

Grabbing his backpack, Peter stood. "I should get to school," he said, slipping on his sneakers.

"Don't forget your lunch," May called, handing him a brown paper bag.

"Thanks," Peter mumbled, heading for the door.

Ben's voice stopped him just as he reached for the knob. "Hey, Pete."

Peter turned, glancing back at his uncle.

"Don't be afraid to ask for help," Ben said, his expression earnest. "Even the strongest people need someone to lean on."

Peter nodded, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. "I'll remember that," he said quietly before stepping out into the crisp morning air.

The fluorescent lights in Midtown High's science lab flickered slightly as Peter slumped into his seat. His head rested on his hand, and his gaze was unfocused, staring blankly at the periodic table on the wall. The hum of chatter around him barely registered as his thoughts churned.

"Earth to Parker," Gwen's voice cut through the fog.

Peter blinked, turning to see her standing beside him, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. She gestured to the empty stool next to him. "Do I get to sit, or are you saving this spot for your imaginary friend?"

Peter cracked a weak smile. "Sorry. Go ahead."

Gwen slid onto the stool, setting her books on the table. "Okay, what's the deal?" she asked, her tone half playful, half serious. "You've been acting… off."

"Off?" Peter repeated, fiddling with his pen. "I don't know what you mean."

Gwen leaned in, lowering her voice. "Come on, Pete. You've been zoning out, dodging questions, and—no offense—you look like you haven't slept in weeks. Spill."

Peter hesitated, glancing around the room. "It's nothing. Just… a lot on my mind."

"Like what?" Gwen pressed, tilting her head. "You're not failing chemistry, are you? Because if you are, I'm gonna need you to pull it together for this project."

Peter chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. "No, it's not that. I'm fine, Gwen. Really."

She didn't look convinced. Her hazel eyes narrowed as she studied him. "You know, you're a terrible liar."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Peter said, his tone dry.

Before Gwen could push further, the teacher clapped his hands, signaling the start of class. Gwen gave Peter one last lingering glance before turning to her notebook. Peter exhaled quietly, grateful for the temporary reprieve.

As the lesson progressed, Peter's focus wavered. His spider sense tingled faintly every now and then, like a distant alarm he couldn't turn off. He glanced across the room and caught sight of Harry Osborn sitting by himself, his shoulders tense and his expression stormy.

Harry hadn't spoken to Peter since the Oscorp trip, and the distance between them felt like a physical barrier. Peter sighed, guilt gnawing at him. He wanted to explain, to fix things, but how could he when he couldn't even admit the truth to himself?

During a break, Peter stood and took a hesitant step toward Harry's desk. But before he could say anything, Harry glanced up, his expression cold.

"Keep your secrets, Pete," Harry muttered, loud enough for only Peter to hear. "You're good at that."

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. He turned away, retreating to his seat as the weight of Harry's words settled over him.

The night air was heavy and still as Mac Gargan stepped out of the van, the stolen prototype cradled in his arms. He'd chosen a desolate alley for his test—a place where no one would interrupt him. Behind him, Heller hovered nervously, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket.

"Mac, you sure about this?" Heller asked, his voice wavering. "We don't even know what that thing does."

"That's the point," Gargan snapped, setting the device on the ground. He crouched over it, his fingers tracing the glowing lines on its surface. "This thing is gonna change everything."

Heller shifted uncomfortably. "Or it's gonna blow us all to hell."

"Then stay back if you're scared," Gargan said, his tone biting. "I didn't drag you here to babysit."

With a press of a button, the prototype hummed to life. The glowing lines brightened, casting eerie shadows on the alley walls. A low, vibrating hum filled the air, growing louder with each passing second.

"Mac, I really don't think—"

"Shut up!" Gargan barked, his eyes fixed on the device. He reached out, placing his hand on its surface.

The reaction was immediate. A surge of energy shot through Gargan, sending him sprawling backward. His crew scrambled, shouting in alarm, but Gargan didn't hear them. His entire body burned, his muscles convulsing as the energy coursed through him.

"Mac!" Heller shouted, taking a step forward, but another burst of energy sent him stumbling back.

As the light from the device faded, Gargan slowly pushed himself to his feet. His breaths were ragged, and his body trembled, but there was something different about him. His muscles were more defined, his posture more imposing. His eyes glinted with a dangerous intensity.

"Mac… you okay?" one of the crew members asked hesitantly.

Gargan smirked, flexing his fingers. "Better than okay," he said, his voice low and gravelly. He clenched his fists, feeling the raw power coursing through him. "I feel unstoppable."

Without warning, Gargan slammed his fist into the side of the van. The metal crumpled like paper, leaving a deep dent. The crew members exchanged nervous glances, but Gargan only laughed, the sound harsh and manic.

"This is just the beginning," he said, his eyes gleaming. "Norman Osborn thinks he's untouchable? We'll see how untouchable he is when I'm done."

Meanwhile, the hallway outside the Midtown High locker rooms was quiet, the usual after-school chaos reduced to a faint hum of distant chatter. Peter leaned against the cool metal of his locker, his backpack slung over one shoulder and his phone clutched tightly in his hand.

The news article about the Oscorp heist stared back at him, the bold headline declaring: "Prototype Stolen in Brazen Break-In: Oscorp Security Tightened." Peter's thumb hovered over the screen, scrolling through the details he already knew by heart. Images of shattered glass, scattered equipment, and the ominous glowing prototype filled his mind.

He exhaled shakily, shoving the phone into his pocket and gripping the edge of his locker. His knuckles whitened as the weight of it all settled over him. This is my fault, he thought. If I hadn't gone into that lab…

The memory of sneaking into Oscorp flashed through his mind—the strange, glowing spiders, the bite. It all felt so distant and surreal, yet the consequences were staring him in the face. What if the stolen tech was linked to the spider bite? What if it was all connected?

Peter slammed his locker shut harder than he intended, the sound echoing down the hallway. He winced, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed. The last thing he needed was more attention.

As he turned to leave, the faint tingling at the back of his neck returned—his spider sense. It wasn't the sharp, alarming spike he'd felt before, but a subtle, persistent hum that set his nerves on edge.

Peter froze, his eyes darting down the empty corridor. Nothing seemed out of place. The lockers, the fluorescent lights, the scuffed linoleum floor—all perfectly normal. And yet, the unease lingered.

"What is this?" he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

The sound of footsteps behind him made Peter stiffen. He turned to see a group of students passing by, laughing and chatting as they headed toward the exit. For a moment, he envied their carefree energy—the ease with which they navigated their lives without the weight of secrets and strange abilities.

Peter sighed, slinging his backpack higher on his shoulder. As he walked toward the exit, Harry's voice from earlier that day echoed in his mind: "Keep your secrets." The words cut deep, and Peter's chest tightened with guilt. He hated the distance between them, but how could he explain what he didn't fully understand himself?

He reached the double doors leading to the school's front steps and paused. His fingers brushed against the strap of his backpack as his gaze drifted to the fading light outside. The world felt heavier somehow, like it was waiting for him to make a move.

Peter squared his shoulders, determination flickering in his chest. He couldn't change what had happened at Oscorp, but maybe—just maybe—he could figure out what came next.