"DRAWING from what we learned yesterday, you can illustrate the quantum—"
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Three cups of coffee and two Five-Hour Energy shots—that's what it was taking to keep me upright in class. Every muscle in my body ached, the residual pain from my battle with the Lizard still clawing at my insides. It was hard enough to focus on Mr. Octavius' lecture, let alone stay awake. My eyelids felt like they weighed a ton, and the lecture seemed to drift in and out of focus.
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Sleep had been elusive ever since the fight. My wounds, hastily patched up on my own, still throbbed. I couldn't risk going to a hospital—that was an easy way to get found out. But at this rate, I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep taking these hits without someone noticing something off. Sure, my body healed faster than normal, a lot faster, but the bruises turned to scars at their own pace, and my cracked ribs? Still a problem.
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"Hey, Pete," came a voice from beside me. "Pete."
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I glanced over at Harry, who was grinning ear to ear.
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"Yeah?" I muttered, trying to stay focused enough to avoid catching Professor Octavius' attention.
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"What's going on with you lately, man? You've been acting super weird the past few days. Is it about your old internship? That one guy, uh... what was his name?" Harry asked, his expression shifting to mild concern.
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"Doctor Connors," I replied quietly. The mention of his name brought back flashes of the chaos. The authorities had him locked up in a reinforced adamantium cage, courtesy of Oscorp. I had spent every spare moment researching ways to reverse what had happened to him. But so far? Nothing.
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"Yeah, Connors. Is that what's eating at you?" Harry pressed.
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I shook my head, fighting to keep my exhaustion out of my voice. "No. I'm just... tired."
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Before Harry could say more, the bell rang. I quickly shoved my things into my bag, ready to escape the classroom. But as I stood, a familiar voice came from my left.
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"That looks nasty."
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It was Felicia. Her eyes flicked to the swollen black eye I'd earned last night when my arm gave out mid-swing. I face-planted on the concrete, pain exploding through me. "Oh, this?" I tried to shrug it off with a smile that probably looked as pathetic as it felt. "Yeah, well, got in a few good shots of my own."
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Felicia's eyes narrowed in a way that told me she wasn't buying it, but before she could say anything, Harry slid an arm around her shoulders. "Listen, Pete," he said, puffing out his chest a bit, "if you need me to handle those jerks, just say the word. Flash wouldn't know what hit him." He flexed his arms for show, and Felicia rolled her eyes.
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"It's fine," I said, my voice tighter than I intended. We started walking out together, heading for lunch, but before I could finish my sentence, my back slammed hard into the lockers. The sharp clang echoed through the hall, and when I blinked, Flash Thompson was inches from my face, his breath hot and sour.
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"Flash," I muttered.
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"Parker," he grinned, like a cat toying with a mouse.
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Harry tried to step in, but Flash's goons caught him, shoving him against the lockers too. "Not so fast, Osborn. You're next. But first—" Flash's grin widened as he eyed me. "Parker's gonna tell me what I'm having for lunch."
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I bit down on the ache in my ribs, forcing a smirk. "Asparagus?" I asked, my voice tight with pain.
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The grin slid off his face, replaced by something darker. His fist clenched, ready to fly at me. But before he could land it, Felicia stepped forward, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
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"Let him go, Flash." She smiled sweetly, but there was an edge to her tone. "Really? Lunch money? Aren't you a little too old to be playing schoolyard bully? Kinda embarrassing, don't you think?"
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Flash's hand lowered, his bravado shrinking under the weight of her words. "Hey, not my fault Parker's too weak to stand up for himself." He leaned in closer, brushing invisible dust off my shoulders. "He just makes it so easy."
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Felicia crossed her arms, her eyes locked on mine in that unsettling, almost predatory way of hers. "Yeah, he does seem to attract trouble, doesn't he?" Her eyebrow arched, and I couldn't help but think of that night when she brought me to her place. She hadn't mentioned it since, but it hung between us, unspoken.
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Flash, not getting the hint, shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned at her. "Hey, when you get bored of Osborn over there, you know where to find me. I can show you a better time." He took a step forward, but Felicia, with a flick of her leg, tripped him flat on his face.
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"Oops," she said with a grin as Flash sputtered on the floor. "Would you believe me if I told you that was an accident?"
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Flash growled, blood leaking from his nose, but before he could get up, Felicia planted her foot on his back, forcing him back down. "Touch him again, and we'll see how many accidents you run into."
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"Hey, hey," I said, trying to ease the tension. "He gets it." My voice was calm, but my heart was racing. I locked eyes with Felicia, her gaze still sharp with amusement.
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Flash was a bleeding mess beneath her foot, but she didn't seem the least bit bothered.
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Reluctantly, she removed her foot, letting Flash stumble to his feet. He wiped the blood from his nose, throwing a glare our way. "W-Whatever. Crazy bitch." He stormed off with his lackeys in tow, leaving an uneasy silence behind.
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"Uh... thanks?" I muttered, unsure why Felicia had stepped in this time. She'd seen Flash and his crew rough me up plenty of times before, and she'd never so much as blinked.
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"Wow," Harry said, patting Felicia on the back. "You must have some killer leg muscles. He couldn't even lift his head."
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But Felicia wasn't listening. Her eyes stayed on me, a hint of something unreadable lurking behind them. Harry noticed too, glancing between us like he'd walked in on something. "Uh... what's going on?"
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Felicia smiled, then—without warning—leaned in and kissed Harry full on the lips. His eyes went wide as saucers, like a deer caught in headlights. For a second, I thought he might faint.
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When she pulled back, Harry was still frozen, a goofy grin spreading across his face. "Uh... wow... that was..."
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"So, your place after school?" Felicia asked with a playful grin, leaving Harry fumbling over his words.
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"Y-Yeah, sure!" he stammered. "I mean, we could go somewhere else if you want, I just thought—"
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"Your place is fine," she said, cutting him off with a finger to his lips.
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I wasn't sure what I was witnessing anymore. I cleared my throat. "Well, I'll see you guys later."
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"Wait, Peter," Felicia called after me. "You're coming too, right? Unless you've got something else to do." She winked, and something about the way she said it made my stomach twist.
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"Uh... no? I mean, I probably have homework or something... or, uh..." Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket—an alert about a break-in at an Oscorp facility. "Actually, I just remembered I have a physics test to study for. Gotta go!"
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I darted down the hall, leaving their confused glances behind me. The late bell rang, and I raced to my locker, grabbing my patched-up suit and stuffing it into my bag. The halls were empty, and I slipped out of the school unnoticed, adrenaline already kicking in.
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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The wind whipped past me as I swung through the city, the strain in my arms and body still there but lighter now. My fight with the Lizard had pushed me to my limits. This was different. I'd fought thugs and thieves before, but Connors... Connors was something else entirely.
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As I swung toward Oscorp, the sound of sirens reached my ears. Police cars were already converging on the building. I landed silently on the roof, prying open a vent, and slipped inside.
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The stench of chemicals and burning metal hit me hard. Typical Oscorp. I wrinkled my nose, crawling through the vents until I found an opening. Kicking the grate aside, I dropped down into the dark, cold belly of the facility.
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I could hear voices echoing from deeper inside the dimly lit facility, faint but urgent, like whispers in a cave.
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The air was thick with the smell of chemicals, burnt plastic, and something metallic that made my nose wrinkle.
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I crouched lower, sticking to the shadows as I moved down a narrow steel catwalk that overlooked the heart of the Oscorp factory floor. The faint flicker of fluorescent lights buzzed above me, casting long, jittery shadows against the walls.
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Below, rows of machines whirred in mechanical rhythm, their robotic arms moving with cold precision as they assembled sleek vials filled with a strange green liquid.
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The vials rolled down conveyor belts into crates, neatly packed and sealed, their contents glinting like venom under the harsh light.
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I couldn't tell what they were manufacturing, but it gave me the same uneasy feeling I got every time I walked into one of these places.
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I froze for a moment, listening. The voices were clearer now, low and businesslike.
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I moved silently along the catwalk, peering through the gaps in the floor toward a group of men gathered near a door at the far end of the factory.
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They were heading into a sterile-looking room, its walls stark white, standing out against the grittiness of the rest of the facility.
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The door slid open with a mechanical hiss, and I watched as they moved inside. I followed, crawling along a suspended vent that ran above the room.
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Through the grate below, I had a perfect view of what they were doing.
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There, standing in the middle of the room, was a large green suit.
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But it wasn't just any suit. I didn't know what I was looking at—the smooth, almost reptilian surface of the armor, the curved tail coiled menacingly behind it.
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One of the men, wearing a dark coat and gloves, stepped forward, running his hand over the metal. His fingers traced the contours of the armor, admiring it like a prize he'd been chasing for a long time.
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"This is it," one of them said, his voice low but filled with satisfaction. "This is what we were hired to find."
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The others nodded in agreement, their eyes gleaming with something between fear and greed.
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"What's the next step, Mac?" another man asked, glancing at the leader.
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The man named Mac who wore the black coat stepped back, eyeing the suit as if it were alive. "We open it. Make sure it's all intact."
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I shifted in the vent, my heart racing. The suit looked like a relic, locked away for a reason. Whoever hired these guys didn't just want it as a collector's item—they had plans for it, and none of them good.
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Mac moves closer to the suit, pressing a button on the side. With a hiss, the chestplate slid open, revealing the complex mechanisms inside—the muscle-like fibers, the reinforced frame, all designed to make a human stronger, faster, deadlier.
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The sound of it opening was like a predator waking up from a long sleep.
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The man stares at the open suit, his smile creeping wider. "This is going to change everything."
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I gripped the vent grate, the cold metal biting into my palm. My breath hitched in my throat, the exhaustion that had clung to me for days now like a second skin tightening its grip. My ribs screamed, and every joint in my body felt fused with fatigue.
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But I had no time to dwell on the pain. With a half-baked plan and no second thoughts, I dropped into the room below.
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The men whirled around, their expressions flashing from surprise to shock to outright fear in a matter of seconds.
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"Hey," I said, forcing a grin despite the gnawing ache inside me. "Any of you guys know who I talk to about a job interview here?" My voice cracked at the edges, but I hoped the bravado held up.
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Two of them didn't waste time with pleasantries. Their pistols were out in a heartbeat, the cold barrels gleaming under the overhead lights.
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"It's that Spider-Kid!" one of them barked, his voice breaking.
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The shots rang out, and I ducked, my body moving faster than my brain.
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I webbed his hand before he could fire again, yanking it hard enough for him to smack his buddy square in the face. A meaty thud echoed in the room as I pulled him down, the floor meeting his skull with a satisfying crack.
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"Spider-Kid?" I said, my voice harsher than I wanted. "Do I sound like a kid to you?" I webbed the second guy mid-motion and yanked him into my waiting palm, driving it into his chest. He hit the ground, winded and gasping.
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I didn't even have time to catch my breath. My senses—normally sharp, heightened—were dull, slow. I glance up, Mac was already in the suit. And clearly it wasn't just any suit.
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"Figures," he says, his voice low and gravelly, like he'd been waiting for this moment his whole life. "They paid me to test this baby out, and I can't think of a better opportunity than right now."
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"How much would I have to pay you to give up go to the cops and turn yourself in?" I shot back, desperation creeping into my voice, even as I webbed the chest plate of the suit. Before I could react, his hand shot out, grabbing the web like it was nothing.
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He yanked me toward him, his fist slamming into my chest with the force of a sledgehammer. The breath left my lungs in a violent rush, pain radiating through me like wildfire.
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Before I could process the blow, his tail—an armored, segmented nightmare—whipped down, slicing into my shoulder. I barely twisted out of the way, but the burn was immediate, searing into my flesh.
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"Okay," I gasped, clutching my shoulder, "that hurt."
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But something was wrong. My vision blurred, edges swimming in and out of focus. The room tilted, warping, like it was spinning on some sick axis. I tried to raise my hand, but it felt like I was moving underwater.
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"What's the matter, Spider?" Mac's voice was distant, warped, like I was hearing it through cotton. "Senses not so hot right now?"
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I tried to respond, but my throat was dry, burning. Sweat poured down my face, my body growing hotter, each breath a struggle.
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"What... what's happening...?" My words came out slurred, barely audible.
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He chuckled, his voice thick with malicious satisfaction. "You don't know, do you? A scorpion's sting releases a cocktail of neurotransmitters. First, you sweat. Then comes the nausea. Then you'll start drooling like a rabid dog before your heart gives out. That's when you die." He stepped closer, his armored fists clenching, the tail whipping back and forth like a coiled viper. "Normally, I don't kill kids, but for you, I'll make an exception."
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Panic surged in my chest, but I stumbled backward, firing a web. It connected, but before I could pull away, Mac gripped it, his strength overwhelming mine.
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With a grunt, he lifted me into the air like I weighed nothing, spinning me in wide circles, faster and faster. The room became a blur of motion, and I was sure I was going to hurl any second.
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"Sorry about this, kid," Mac sneered, his voice like gravel grinding against my skull. "But I've got big plans. And with this suit, no cop—no Spider—is gonna stand in my way."
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He let me go.
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I flew through the air, crashing through a concrete wall like it was paper. The impact sent a jagged shockwave of pain through my body, tearing through my already battered ribs.
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Before I could catch my breath, I smashed into something hard and unyielding—the corner of a metal dumpster—before finally hitting the alley floor with a bone-cracking thud.
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Everything hurt. My whole body was screaming, every nerve alight with pain. I tried to stand, clutching at the trash bin for balance, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.
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My vision swam, darkness creeping at the edges. I could feel blood pooling in my mouth, a sick, metallic taste that made my stomach turn.
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"T-That wasn't... fun," I muttered, my voice barely a whisper. I fumbled with my mask, pulling it off, feeling the cool air against my sweat-soaked face. I couldn't fight him like this. Not in this condition.
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But before I could even move, the world tilted. My legs gave out, and my body crumpled, collapsing against the cold, unforgiving concrete.
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The last thing I felt was the darkness swallowing me whole.
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Meow.
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Meow.
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A sharp sound cuts through the fog in my head. Soft fur brushes against my cheek, and I feel something nudging me. "H-Hey, cut it out," I mumble, weakly swiping at the cat rubbing its face against mine. My hand barely moves; everything feels heavy. My whole body is burning, soaked in sweat like I've been thrown into a furnace, and my chest is tight, each breath harder than the last.
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I blink, and the sky swims into view—dark now, but everything around me is blurry, smeared together. My vision flickers, shapes bending and warping. I can't get my bearings, and my limbs feel like they've been replaced with lead. Nausea twists in my gut, threatening to spill over with every move.
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I try to push myself up, but my legs buckle beneath me, and I crash back down. Pain explodes in my ribs, a sharp reminder of where Mac's fists and tail hit.
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I clutch my shoulder, feeling the burn from where his tail sliced me. But there's something else—something worse than just the physical damage. It's the poison. I can feel it crawling through my veins like fire ants, setting every nerve alight, making my muscles spasm and seize.
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If I don't get moving, I'm dead. I can feel it, creeping closer, shutting down parts of me one by one. But I can't go to the hospital. Not an option.
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I keep a stash between 63rd and 49th—a bag of supplies, a change of clothes. It's not far, but in my state, it feels like a million miles. I force my arm to lift, aim the web shooter, and fire.
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It barely sticks to the edge of the building, but I can't hesitate.
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I pull myself up, muscles screaming in protest. My legs shake so bad, I can't swing properly, so I crawl—dragging myself up with what little strength I have left.
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The rooftops blur together, twisting in and out of focus. I try to swing, but every move is off-balance.
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I smash into walls, scrape against ledges. Each hit sends another jolt of pain through my cracked ribs, and I feel blood welling up in my mouth.
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I spit it out, but it keeps coming. My chest feels like it's on fire, and every breath is a battle.
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It's getting worse. The poison, I can feel it spreading. My vision flickers again, black spots dancing in front of my eyes.
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I stumble across the last rooftop, legs threatening to give out, and drop into the alley below. I barely land on my feet before collapsing to my knees, gasping for air.
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My heart's racing, pounding so hard it feels like it's going to burst.
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There—under that pile of scrap. My bag. I stagger forward, nearly collapsing on top of it, my hands shaking as I dig it out.
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I can barely get the straps open. My fingers aren't working right, fumbling like they're not even mine.
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The suit feels like it's glued to my skin, sticky and soaked with sweat. I try to peel it off, but I fall over twice just trying to pull it free.
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Every muscle aches, and my head spins so badly I can hardly see straight. Finally, I manage to get into the clothes, but my legs buckle again, and I slump against the wall.
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I'm sweating more than ever, my body overheating, my heart racing out of control. I try to focus, try to think, but all I can feel is the poison, the pain in my ribs, and the burn in my lungs.
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I force myself to stand, but my legs won't cooperate. I stumble into the street, barely able to stay upright. The world spins, tilts, and my vision dims.
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I don't know how much longer I can keep going
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It feels like hours. Each step heavier than the last, each breath a battle I'm losing. By the time I reach the front steps, I'm not even sure if I'm still upright or just a puppet being yanked around by invisible strings.
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The house swims in front of me, and I can barely make out the shape of the door. My fist hits it—weakly at first—just a soft thud. I try again, harder this time, but it still sounds like a ghost knocking.
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No answer.
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I try one more time, putting every last shred of energy into pounding the door.
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Finally, I hear something from the other side. Footsteps. A Voice. The door swings open, and there she is—Felicia, backlit by the warm glow inside.
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For a second, the contrast between her and the hell I've been through feels surreal, like I'm looking at a dream.
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"Yeah, yeah! Roman, I swear if you didn't—" She freezes mid-sentence, her eyes locking onto mine. I try to smile, but all I manage is a shaky grimace before my knees buckle.
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I fall against her, limp as a ragdoll. She barely catches me, her small frame tensing under the dead weight of my body.
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"What the hell?!" Her voice is sharp, panicked.
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"Darn Stairs," I mutter, the joke coming out flat, lifeless. There's no energy left for humor, but it's all I've got.
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Felicia doesn't laugh. She's too busy dragging me inside, slamming the door shut behind us. The sudden warmth of the house is both a comfort and a torment, my fever burning hotter against it.
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She somehow manages to get me onto the couch, and I collapse like a sack of bones, my chest heaving as I fight for air. My vision blurs, narrowing into a tunnel. I can hear her voice, but it's distant, echoing in the fog of my mind.
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"Jesus,..." She kneels beside me, pressing a cool hand against my forehead. Her eyes widen, and she pulls her hand back like she's touched something scalding. "You're burning up. And your mouth—" She lifts my chin, her fingers tracing the dried blood at the corner of my lips. "God, what happened to you?"
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I try to speak, but the words die in my throat. My ribs feel like they're caving in, each breath a jagged knife twisting deeper.
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Felicia pulls up my shirt, her face tightening when she sees the bruises and scars—the leftover battle souvenirs from the Lizard, the deep purple mark where Mac's fist had landed earlier.
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Her eyes land on the gash in my shoulder, soaked in blood. She pulls her hand back, looking at the wet crimson on her fingers. "Peter, this is...this is bad. You need a hospital. I'm calling someone."
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She reaches for her phone, but I grab her wrist with the last of my strength. My grip is weak, barely enough to stop her, but she hesitates. Her eyes flash with anger, confusion.
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"No..." I croak, my voice barely above a whisper. "No hospital...please..."
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She stares at me, eyes searching mine for some kind of explanation. There's frustration there, but also something else—concern, fear. She's angry, but she's scared too.
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"This is insane," she mutters, shaking her head. "You can't keep doing this. You show up here, bloody and broken, and I'm just supposed to pretend it's normal? You better start talking, Peter. What the hell happened to you?"
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I swallow hard, my throat dry, the poison still gnawing at my insides. "Poison..." I manage to rasp. "Was...poisoned..."
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Felicia's expression shifts from anger to disbelief, her eyes wide with horror. "Poisoned?! Jesus, Peter..."
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But before I can say more, the world tilts. The pain, the heat, the exhaustion—it all crashes over me at once, dragging me under. My grip on her loosens, and I feel consciousness slipping away. Everything goes dark.
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Again.
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