Chapter 2: Transgenesis
For Peter Parker, life was more often than not, complete hell.
For instance, on this particular day, he was running as fast as he could to catch up with the school bus as it raced down the streets of Midtown. His legs hurting and his lungs burning, he put in one more desperate burst until he reached it, smacking the side of the vehicle and hoping someone would notice him.
And notice him they did, several students peeked down from behind their window, and a few of them pointed and laughed at his predicament. Luckily, someone must've informed the driver because the bus eventually slowed to a stop and propped open its doors, finally letting in the exhausted fifteen-year-old.
"I'm…really…sorry, Mr…Murch," Peter tried to explain through labored breaths. "I-uh, missed the connection bus over at Forest Hills so I had to-uh dash over to catch a train. And, well, you know the subway…"
The designated chaperone for the field trip cut him off with a roll of his eyes. "Parker, I really don't care. Just zip it and find a seat."
Coach Murch gave a gesture and the bus started up again rather abruptly. So abruptly that Peter had to catch himself on one of the bars on the seat to keep from falling over and it nearly knocked his glasses off. This earned a few more laughs from the students who saw it and Peter awkwardly shuffled toward the back.
"Nice run, Parker. You've made some serious improvements," said Flash Thompson, the newest starting quarterback for the football team. Peter just stared in bewilderment; it wasn't every day that Flash paid anyone a compliment, much less him. Peter had been the primary target for Flash and the jocks' insults and pranks since the third grade.
"Hey, I mean it. You were really hustlin' back there," Flash said with a look of approval.
"Well, um, thanks. That's real nice," Peter smiled awkwardly.
"Yeah, now why don't you hustle back to the front?" Flash's smile of approval turned to a nasty frown. "This is a geek-free zone."
Dejectedly, Peter made his way back towards the front of the bus, listening to the snickering of Flash and his entourage.
"Did you see Puny Parker's face? Dude actually bought it!"
Glumly, Peter looked around for another free spot but the only ones available were near the very front. Not wanting to sit next to Mr. Murch (the burly gym coach barely tolerated him to begin with), he reluctantly sat right behind Stan the bus driver.
"Late again, eh Mr. Parker?" the old bus driver asked rhetorically. Peter didn't answer and even if he wanted to say anything the old bus driver was unlikely to listen as he had already launched into another one of his rambles.
"I was never late for anything, or early. Punctuality, that's my credo. Sign of good character, you know. Too early you come off as over-eager, too late and no one trusts you. You'll be called unreliable for the rest of your life…"
Sighing, Peter pulled a worn and cracked Zune from out of his pocket and put in the earphones; too depressed to scroll through and look for a song he simply hit "Random." In a second the sound of a synthesizer began playing followed closely by Huey Lewis' voice.
Now it's always once upon a time, in New York City
It's a big old, bad old, tough old town, it's true.
But beginnings are contagious there
They're always setting stages there
They're always turning pages there for you.
This wasn't what Peter wanted to listen to at the moment, but he also didn't have the energy to switch to something else, so he let it play.
Ain't it great the way it all begins in New York City?
Right away, you're making time, and making friends.
Peter snorted at the last lyric, glancing back at his fellow classmates who were wrapped up in their little world. A world that didn't include him.
No one cares where you were yesterday
If they pick you out, you're on your way
To a once upon a time that never ends…
Donald Menken, the personal assistant to Norman Osborn, made his way to the top office of the newly constructed exhibit wing at OsCorp where his boss would be waiting. Beneath his cool exterior, he was undoubtedly nervous; no matter how professional or how long and faithfully you served, there was just no telling what could happen to you when Mr. Osborn was in a bad mood. His capricious nature had earned him the nickname "Stormin' Norman" among the lower peons (though none would call him that to his face) and his casual indifference towards firings could shake anyone.
And today, Mr. Osborn was in a particularly foul mood.
"Mr. Osborn, we have confirmation from the ground that all participants are properly set up and all displays are ready," Menken reported to his superior, who was busy staring down at the show floor. "We're ready to open for the public and everything's on schedule."
"He's alive," Osborn growled back.
"Sir?" Menken answered hesitantly.
"That prick, Tony Stark. They found him alive in the desert. And in one fell swoop, he managed to take away all the media drive I've been building up for months."
"Our press agents have reported more than a few papers and networks covering the event," Menken responded, trying to keep his tone as even as possible.
"Local press," Osborn shot back. "We'll be lucky if we get a whole segment dedicated to this on the 11 O'Clock."
Menken didn't respond, he had worked with him long enough that he could anticipate when his boss was about to start a rhetorical conversation.
"Actually, it's better that we're not in the media spotlight," his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That way no one has to see what an embarrassment this whole thing is bound to be. A new chapter in OsCorp's future is about to be written; I sink how much money on expansion? And what do we have here today? Delusional twits without a sense of reality, wash-ups hoping for one last chance at glory, and a boat-load of grad students desperate for some validation."
"It's a shame that your top picks were unavailable," Menken sensed that it was time to start speaking again.
Unavailable?" Osborn snorted. "With van Dyne dead, Richards still in quarantine…"
"And Dr. Pym being, well…Pym. This was the best we could do on such short notice." Menken paused to check his phone before returning to address his boss. "Apparently Adrian Toomes tried to set up on the show floor, security escorted him out as per protocol."
This brought a smirk from Osborn and his mood seemed to change in an instant. "That old buzzard never gives up, does he?" he asked his assistant. "What was he up to this time? Trying to convince people about his maglev-powered gizmos, or was he threatening litigation again?"
Menken relaxed, if there was a surefire way to avoid his boss's ire it was giving him someone else to step on. "We're not sure; security got him out only a few minutes after he entered. They say he protested quite loudly."
Osborn let out a short but derisive laugh before making his way out. "Tell the boys to keep up the good work. Now let's go and see if we can find any gold flakes in this mess."
Peter Parker was in heaven.
From the moment he entered the exhibit wing, his senses were overloaded by the sheer amount of scientific wonders around him. Everywhere he looked there was a booth or display table filled with something that he could spend the whole trip marveling at. But there was only a short field trip's worth of time so he resolved not to spend too much time in one place and see as much as possible. At least until he found something truly worth his time.
"Isn't this great?" he asked no one in particular, his face bursting with glee.
"Yeah, great," Flash replied, his face sunk with disappointment. "Our last field trip of the year and we're spending it at a stupid science fair."
"Oh c'mon, it's not that bad," Peter retorted. "This place has some of the best minds around showing off ideas that'll shape the future. Don't worry, if you can't understand the pictures, I'm sure they'll use small words for you."
"What'd you say?" the big football player asked threateningly, looking ready to pound the smaller student before Liz Allen stepped in.
"Look, Petey, just because this is your sort of thing, doesn't mean everyone else is going to enjoy it the same way you do. This is our last week of school and we were hoping to do something fun."
"But this is fun!" Peter protested. "I know it's not really your thing, but try to have an open mind. I'm sure you'll find something interesting."
Liz gave an uneasy shrug before Flash wrapped his arm around her shoulder and the two wandered off. Peter heard him mutter, "Coulda gone to Coney Island, but nooo…" Then putting aside the unpleasantries, Peter turned his attention back to the exhibit and dashed off. There was so much to see for just one field trip.
Peter took a small amount of satisfaction at seeing his classmates engrossed in the various exhibits, whatever complaints they had gave way to curiosity. At one display, Kenny "King" Kong was arguing with two men named Parks and Masaryk over their laser demonstration. Apparently, he was under the impression that they were shooting lasers at the moon to carve their names onto it. Elsewhere, Randy Robertson was watching in bemusement as one fellow listed as Gill was fumbling with a portable refrigeration system and trying not to freeze off one of his extremities while doing so. Even Flash and Sally Avril, the two classmates least interested in science (or learning in general), were enraptured by a demonstration of miniature drones flying on what looked like mechanical insect wings. But Peter had his sights set on something else, on someone else. After a few minutes of searching around the display hall, Peter found him. The one and only Otto Octavius.
He was a slightly portly and not particularly tall man; Peter surmised that he would soon be taller than the good doctor. At the moment he was pestering his assistant while the two of them were placing various bits of equipment around their display table.
"No, no. Stillwell, just put the hydraulics out, keep that undercover. I don't want anyone poking around at it before the judges have a chance to examine it. We save the big unveiling for Osborn."
Peter waited for a moment while Octavius continued berating his assistant until he gave an awkward cough to get his attention.
"Hmm? Yes, what can do for you?" The doctor asked, turning to face the nervous teenager.
"Doctor Octavius? I'm a huge fan of your work and I'm Peter Parker and I was really impressed by your work on nerve interface and…" Peter rambled excitedly.
"And you were hoping to meet. Is that right?"
Peter took a breath to steady himself before replying. "I doubt you remember, but we actually met once before. You were a guest judge at my science camp back when I was a kid."
"I haven't been to one of those in years," Octavius shrugged. "In any case, you lose track of all those model volcanoes after a while…"
"One of those was actually mine," Peter admitted sheepishly. "I was trying to demonstrate the negative effects of volcanic gasses on the environment and I was only eight and didn't know about mixing ethanol with nitrous oxide and…"
"And the whole building had to be evacuated," Otto chuckled as the memory came back to him. "Well, you certainly demonstrated the dangers of volcanic gasses. You got sent home after that, didn't you?"
"Yeaaah," Peter replied, wishing he could shrink into oblivion as one of his idols laid out the embarrassing memory.
"Experience is a good teacher, but it isn't always a kind one," a new voice spoke up from behind Peter who turned to see who was talking.
Opposite where Octavius was set up was another table, this one decorated in various models of molecular chains and cells, next to them were photographs of various single-cell organisms and invertebrates. The man who spoke up was a gangly fellow with short, buzzed dirty blonde hair, he looked familiar to Peter.
"Curt Connors," he introduced himself to the young teenager who gaped in amazement.
"Wait, the Doctor Connors, from ESU?"
"That's doctors," said another voice, a woman's this time. It came from a kindly-faced woman with dark auburn hair who just finished hefting a terrarium to the back of their display.
"Ah, this is my wife, Martha. And I'm sorry, but I didn't get your name, Mr…?"
"Parker!" Peter blurted out excitedly. "Peter Parker. I'm sorry; it's just an honor to meet you both. Your article on scincomorphs was a real eye-opener."
He was so excited at the chance of meeting two such prominent and local scientists that he failed to realize that he had used his right hand to shake Curt Connors' left. The good doctor appeared to be missing his whole right arm.
"Oh, sorry about that," Peter apologized quickly, flustered over such a simple mistake of etiquette.
"Quite all right, happens all the time," Curt smiled.
"I'm surprised a boy your age knows what scincomorphs are much less that you can pronounce it correctly," Martha said as she also shook the teenager's hand.
"Oh young Mr. Parker has always had a keen interest in the sciences," Octavius said before turning to his assistant. "Farley? Perhaps you could make yourself useful?"
The other man wandered off as Octavius walked out to join the Connors in front of their display; all the while, Peter was on cloud nine over meeting three of his idols all in one day.
"So what brings the two of you to this little convention?" Octavius asked. "Has ESU tightened its budget even more?"
"You know how it is; ambitious projects require money and there's only so much allocated to the lab," Curt replied.
"If you don't mind me asking," Peter interrupted. "But what are you showing today?"
"Like Otto, we're saving it for a big reveal," Martha chuckled.
"But make no mistake, what we've got in store is revolutionary for the field of genetic research," her husband added, looking like he was just bursting with anticipation.
"This is amazing," Peter was practically shaking with giddiness. "When the big unveiling happens, do you mind if I get a few photos?"
"Of course," Martha Connors replied warmly before digging through her pockets to hand him a pamphlet. "You know, you should follow our website, we're often looking for interns and if you've got the skill to match your curiosity, then ESU labs would be a perfect fit for you."
Peter didn't know what to say and didn't have any time to think of the appropriate gratitude either as Octavius' assistant had returned and directed their attention to the large crowd making their way towards them. In front of the crowd was Norman Osborn who had arrived to judge Octavius and the Connors' displays. Peter shifted through his bag trying to get his camera out while the three scientists scrambled back to their booths to get the best first impression they could. By the time Peter had his camera out; the accompanying crowd had pushed and jostled him away from the two displays. Frustrated, he backed up a bit further to try and get a wider view away from the people blocking his view.
"Mr. Osborn," Curt Connors began. "Ladies and gentlemen; today I would like to talk to you about genetics, the building blocks of life."
"For years scientists have studied the human genome in order to not only unlock the secrets of our past, but our futures as well," Martha continued. "Through testing, we try to understand the passing of hereditary conditions and disorders. Or the possible susceptibility of things like obesity, Huntington's, or cancer."
"Then there are the possibilities to consider outside our own species," Curt said; demonstrating to a few photos of different animals. "Antigen inhibitors and antibodies found in sharks or rays are already being studied in the treatment of Alzheimer's and Parkinson's. But what if we were to go beyond that? Use what we've learned not just for the improvement of old methods but in the building of something new?"
Peter was getting discouraged, not only had the crowd moved him back far enough that he had to strain to hear what was being said, but several tall audience members were now blocking his view. Grumbling, he moved further away and looked for a gap in the crowd. Hoping to at least get a photo of the presentation.
"Now this level of improvement is still years away, but that doesn't mean we don't have something to show for our efforts," Curt continued his speech. "We've made incredible progress in the creation of single-cell organisms, but our research has taken us even further than we could have possibly imagined. What began as an experiment of transgenesis has evolved into pure creation." He paused for dramatic effect as his wife moved the terrarium to the front where Osborn and the judges could see. The terrarium was divided into different sections, each one for a different species of spider with an accompanying photo and listed scientific name. "Ladies and gentlemen, the first of its kind, a new species of spider!"
Norman moved closer to examine each species individually before moving to the last section, the one with the entirely new creation. After a moment of consideration, his eyes darting back and forth, he turned his attention back to the Connors.
"Out of curiosity, did you create your new spider with some form of natural camouflage? Perhaps the ability to turn invisible?"
"No," Curt replied warily. "Why?"
"I only ask because there doesn't seem to be a 'brand new species of spider' in your case and I thought it better to ask before I jumped to any conclusions."
"What?" Martha asked in alarm, brushing past her husband to get a closer look at what Osborn was indicating.
Sure enough, the section dedicated to the brand new species of spider was bereft of any species of spider, newly created or not. The terrarium's lid was slightly ajar, barely noticeable at first glance but the crack it created could allow anything small enough to escape. Which was apparently what happened.
"Oh, um…if you could excuse us for a second," Curt said, directing his wife away from the crowd. He hoped his tone was even enough that no one heard the panic in his voice.
"Martha, do we have the backup specimens in the car?"
"Yes, but Curt-"
"Okay, if you could run over and fetch them real quick, I'll try to stall."
"Curt, I-"
"Trust me, I've done enough lectures that I know how to draw things out. So if you could just hurry along-"
"Curt!" Martha gave a whispered hiss to cut him off before directing his attention back to the crowd, which had moved on to Octavius' table opposite of them. Osborn was obviously not interested in whatever they had to display.
"I don't think we're getting a second chance at this," Martha said sadly as her husband's face dropped to wrecked defeat, helpless to do anything but watch as their would-be benefactor now seemed engrossed in Octavius' demonstration.
"Prosthetics and artificial limbs have grown in leaps and bounds, but it's a simple fact that we are still using the four prosthetic types and those just aren't enough for some," Octavius lectured. "But what I'm offering isn't just the next step in prosthetic ergonomics but in technological development itself."
Dr. Octavius pulled away the cloth covering his hidden display and revealed a robotic arm and hand, far more intricate in design than anything Osborn had ever seen before, attached to it were a few wires connected to a headband.
"If you and your judges would care to examine it further, you'll see no remote control or wireless interface," Octavius said offering those assembled a closer look at the arm. After they had looked through carefully and determined no outside signals were being sent or received, Otto slipped the headband on.
"Observe," he said quietly. After a few seconds of intense concentration, the robotic arm began to move. Then the hand flexed and rotated, the palm and fingers moved and clenched as if it was made from real tendons and ligaments. While the crowd oohed and aahed, Norman considered everything intently.
"Impressive, Otto," he remarked. "The hand structure is certainly more advanced than anything I've ever seen. But how do I know you didn't just preprogram the motions beforehand?"
"Simply give me a command, I think it and the hand does it."
"All right, give me a thumbs up."
After another few seconds, the robotic hand gave him a thumbs-up.
"Now wiggle the fingers while rotating the wrist."
This one took a bit longer and some more concentration but the hand accomplished the task.
"Now how about an obscene gesture?"
Octavius looked surprised at the request but shrugged and complied. Before the finger in question could be raised Osborn held up a hand to stop and chuckled.
"All right, Otto, you've demonstrated enough. It seems I've saved the best for last. Congratulations Dr. Octavius, we have a winner."
The assembled crowd applauded while Octavius gave a few polite nods in acknowledgment; seeing his chance, Peter readied his camera for the perfect snapshot. The right moment presented itself just a few seconds later as Dr. Octavius decided to give another demonstration, using the robotic arm to give a handshake to Norman Osborn. The shot was perfect. The crowd had parted just enough to give Peter a clear view. Everything was in focus. A Kodak moment if ever there was one.
Then he felt something sharp and piercing on his hand.
Peter yelped and grasped his hand, muttering an angry, incoherent string of what barely counted as cursing. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something crawl away, but there was no time to focus on that. He had to make sure he caught the big moment on film. To his dismay, he didn't. Whatever had happened, happened right as he took the shot and instead of Norman Osborn congratulating Dr. Octavius on his success, what was on his camera was nothing but a blur.
As the crowd and congratulations began to disperse, Otto caught sight of the Connors across from him, both of them looking despondent over the day's proceedings. Seeing Octavius watching them, Curt shrugged and gave a "congratulations" look to the other scientist. Octavius in turn smirked and using his robotic arm gave a wave to the couple before taking his leave with a none-too-gracious laugh. Martha bristled before letting things go with a sigh.
"Let's go home, Curt."
Her husband didn't say anything, but she could tell he was internally seething.
"Well, Menken. All things considered, today might not have been a total loss," Osborn said to his assistant.
"Sir, there's something you might want to see," Menken held up an electronic pad to his boss and played one of the videos. "This was taken from one of our security cameras."
The feed showed the displays used by Octavius and the Connors. While the three of them were talking with some kid, most likely on a field trip, Octavius' assistant circled around the Connors' display. It was only just noticeable but anyone paying attention could see him slightly opening the top of the terrarium and tapping at the glass until whatever was in there crawled out.
"What do you want to do, sir?" Menken asked. Osborn's face remained inscrutable.
"Nothing. I appreciate the effort made in securing one's place. It's a competitive world that requires cutthroat practices from time to time. Keep an eye on Octavius though."
Menken nodded and tapped the screen once more. "And here's the list of runners-up."
Osborn quickly scrolled through the list of names. "Jenkins, Hudak, Carr, whatever. Find them some department or the assembly line." He handed the pad back to his assistant. "We'll get what we need from the useful ones and natural selection will take care of the rest."
"Very good, sir."
Peter felt like he was miles away from everything and everyone. He should've tracked down Dr. Octavius and begged for another demonstration of the arm; at the very least he could've gotten a photo just for sentimental value. To show he was there when his idol unveiled the biggest leap in technology of the century.
But he couldn't help but let his mind wander back to what happened, to try and get a clearer picture of what he saw crawl away. He remembered sitting alone at OsCorp's cafeteria and eating something (might've been a pudding cup), and he remembered the bus ride back to Midtown and taking the connection back toward Queens.
"The doctor said the rash would clear up in a couple of days, but I knew a quack when I saw one," Stan the bus driver rambled on. "So with great ingenuity, I took my grandmother's old home remedy…"
Rash. At that word, Peter felt his hand begin to itch. The more he scratched though, the lighter his head began to feel. Everything looked blurry, even with his glasses on, especially with his glasses on. By the time the bus stopped at Forest Hills, everything felt weird, from his head down to his feet.
"Um, Pete? You alright?" a female voice asked. Who was it? Brown hair and Liz lived in Midtown, it must've been Jessica.
"I'm good, Sally. Thanks for asking," Peter slurred as he stumbled off the bus.
Peter wasn't sure how he made his way back home, he was barely aware of everything around him and could hardly see his hands in front of his face. But all the same, he managed to traverse the stairs in front of his house (each step felt like a hike uphill) and fumbled his keys into the doorknob.
"Hey, sport," Uncle Ben's voice came from the kitchen. "How was the field trip?"
"Good, good," Peter replied, trying his best to hide how ill he felt. "I'm gonna take a short rest, today was…overwhelming."
"Okay; May's making meatloaf tonight if you want…" Peter didn't hear the rest; he had summoned all of his strength to climb the stairs up to his room.
By the time he had dropped his glasses and stripped off his jacket and shoes, he had broken out in a cold sweat. His breathing was short and shallow and the itch had been replaced with a throbbing sensation. Looking at his hand, the bite marks he hadn't noticed before were now plain to see. It was impossible to miss now that the area around it had swollen to the size of a tangerine. And he could feel, no, see the veins in his arm pulsating.
"Oh no," was all he managed before he planted face-first onto his bed.
Somewhere in the City was an alleyway, observable to all but only noticeable to a few. In the middle of it, an old woman sat at a dingy, old folding table and drew a deck of cards. Her long, spidery fingers expertly riffled and shuffled the cards before concluding with a perfect bridge. Carefully, she drew the top card and laid it out. On the card was a young man carrying a bindle, blissfully stepping over the edge of a cliff. The old woman smiled.
"It begins."
And we have ourselves an origin story. I tried to go for as scientifically accurate as possible, such as Doctor Octavius mentioning the four types of prosthetics (transradial, transfemoral, transtibial and transhumeral if you're curious). But I have no doubt I messed up plenty of obvious scientific facts.
And here's a fun game, try to count how many Marvel characters, besides Peter's supporting cast, get mentioned in this chapter.
