Chapter 3: Great Power

Peter dreamed.

He dreamed of faraway places he had only seen in books or movies. He dreamed of the vast cosmos he knew from the Hayden Planetarium and stars and planets that he had no knowledge of. He dreamed that he was tiny, the size of an insect. And he ran, straining himself trying to keep pace with the giants that surrounded him. The more he ran the hotter he got, every part of him felt like it was on fire and he cried up to the colossal people around him. Begging for them to slow down or at least lift him up so he could take a moment to rest without losing pace.


He woke up suddenly but not in a panic, as if a switch in his brain had flipped from "off" to "on." He took a moment to look around and get a feel for his surroundings, make sure things were real.

"Peter? Are you awake, dear?" He heard his Aunt May knock at the door.

"Huh? Yeah, just give me a second," Peter replied, his mind miles away after his strange dreams.

"Well hurry up and grab your shower, I'm making pancakes for breakfast."

Breakfast? Pancakes? Did he sleep through all afternoon and night yesterday? That would explain how hungry he was. Slipping out of bed and into the bathroom, he quickly washed and got dressed. It was only after he finished tugging his shirt over his head that he realized that he had navigated his morning routine without the assistance of his glasses.

This was odd; Peter put his glasses on but everything was a blur. He checked the small case where his contacts were kept to make sure he didn't put them on yesterday in his delirious haze (he never liked wearing them and only kept them for emergencies), but no, there they were. Peter moved his hand back in forth from his face, near and far, and everything remained in focus. More than that, the bite mark that had grown to such a large size yesterday had all but disappeared.

"Okay, this is weird," Peter muttered to himself before pocketing his glasses just in case and heading downstairs.

Downstairs, his Aunt May was finishing up with a batch of pancakes and was plating them, Uncle Ben was watching what seemed to be a press conference featuring Tony Stark, the millionaire industrialist who was recently found alive in Kunar.

"Hey, sport. How're you feeling?" Uncle Ben asked as he switched off the television and joined him at the breakfast table.

"Starving," Peter replied as he tucked into the plate of pancakes.

"Not surprising," Aunt May said. "You slept like the dead last night."

"We would've been worried if we hadn't heard you sawing all those logs last night," her husband chimed in. "That science fair must've been some field trip."

"Yeah, it was certainly something," Peter mumbled through a mouthful of pancakes as he involuntarily scratched where the bite used to be.

"Speaking of science, how is that little project of yours going, Peter? Some kind of brand new glue or something?" May asked as she poured herself a glass of orange juice.

"It's a biodegradable adhesive," Peter answered after swallowing. "And nothing new to report, unfortunately."

"Well, keep at it, sport," Uncle Ben gave his nephew an encouraging shake on his shoulder. "You're a smart kid, whatever problem you've run into you'll figure it out. I'd help you out, but I don't know an isotope from an icicle."

He chuckled at his little joke before finishing his cup of coffee. "Well, I'm off to work. Oh, Peter. Don't forget we're going to start painting the fence after school. Let's try to get our summer work done before summer ends, eh?" He winked at his nephew, gave his wife a peck on the cheek, and headed out the door.

"Speaking of school, shouldn't you hurry along?" Aunt May reminded her nephew. "You're always saying how that bus driver keeps getting earlier and earlier with his route."

Peter checked the clock, under normal circumstances he would have at least ten more minutes before having to head out, but normal was getting to be shorter and shorter these days. So he wolfed down the rest of his pancakes, grabbed his backpack, and grabbed an already prepared bag lunch from his aunt.

"Thanks, Aunt May," he gave her a quick half-hug. "You're a lifesaver."

By the time he was out the door, the bus had not only passed him by but was almost a block away. Stuffing his lunch into his backpack he tore off after the vehicle, hoping that the driver paid a bit more attention this time. He yelled for the bus to hold as it stopped at the sign at the end of the road and ran as fast as he could. Surprisingly, he managed to reach it before the other traffic had cleared and jumped aboard.

"I see you took my words of punctuality to heart," Stan the bus driver grinned. "And that's all you need, the right words for the right person. Why, I should've been a teacher. I'm so good at connecting with the youth. Who knows just how many brilliant minds I could've mentored…"

Peter once again wasn't listening to the old man's rambling, he was thinking about how easy it was to catch up to the bus this time. He wasn't a runner, that's for sure. The most running he tended to do was during P.E. or when Flash and his cronies would chase after him when they were younger and he was always winded and exhausted afterward.

Not so here. There wasn't any shortness of breath, no shakes from the sudden physical activity, if he wanted to he could've run right past the bus. Peter thought deeply about this, about the strange dreams, about how well he felt after yesterday's weird experience.

"I tell ya, at my age, I could've at least gotten some good tenure…"


Peter was still puzzling over this all the way to phys ed; so distracted that he might as well have been in another state until some jostling from the group of collected boys brought him back to reality.

"Alright, ladies," Coach Murch announced. "Since this is the last week of class I figured we'd have some fun." He pulled out a bright red rubber ball. "Dodgeball. So divide yourselves up and let's have a nice, friendly game."

Half the group was grinning in evil glee while the other half groaned in anticipation. Dodge ball games under Coach Murch were anything but nice or friendly. The largest, most athletic, and generally meanest group of boys went to one end the rest went to the other. Peter naturally went with the others. Coach Murch sat down and pulled out a sports magazine. He didn't need to pay attention, these games pretty much ended in just one way. He gave his whistle a tweet and the two teams scrambled for the balls in the middle of the court.

The first few moments went as well as expected, A.J. Patton made a valiant effort for the balls but was soon taken out. Steve Petty could only make a futile gesture of surrender before taking three all at once. Hinds managed to get one from the opposing team before getting taken out. One by one the teams diminished (mostly on Peter's side) until only three were left, Peter, Seymour, and Charles.

"Watch this," Flash snickered to his compatriots, spinning a ball in his hand. "Hey! Puny Parker, think fast!"

Even during the chaos that was dodgeball, Peter was still pretty out of it. But something suddenly clicked in his mind at Flash's words, and even before Flash threw the ball towards him Peter knew exactly where to move. Ducking at the last moment, the ball hit Seymour who had hidden behind Peter. For a second everyone was surprised by this, Charles Murphy could only gawk at his teammate, which got him tagged out a second later.

Peter was alone and on the opposing side was Flash's usual band of football flunkies. Judging by the jeering laughs they were pretty confident about their chances.

"Hey Parker," Flash said, holding his group back from another barrage. "Since I'm feeling generous, why don't you try and give it your all?" He rolled a single ball across the court until it lay at Peter's feet. "One free shot, none of us will do anything. C'mon, you can do it."

Peter looked at the ball at his feet and back at Flash who wasn't even hiding his obnoxious, raucous laughter. "Watch this, it's gonna be pathetic!"

Something was stirring inside of Peter; for years he had put up with Flash's bullying. He put up with the taunts, pranks, humiliations, and occasional beatdowns. He put up with the "accidental" tripping, the shoves into lockers, the gum in his hair, and even that swirly he got in the eighth grade. But no more, things were going to be different. He felt different.

THWOMP!

They were so caught up in their laughter that they didn't notice when the dodgeball went flying past their line and hit Randy Robertson in the leg, hard enough that he stumbled back.

If they were stunned by Peter's previous dodge, then they were completely gobsmacked by his brazen move. Coach Murch even put away his magazine to see what would happen next.

"Robertson, out."

As his teammate walked out of the playing area, Flash and the other's mood turned sour, their condescending smirks fell to bitter frowns. There was a hierarchy in the school and especially in sports. Peter actually taking out one of their own was an upset to that hierarchy and thus an affront to them all.

"Lucky shot, wimp," Flash gestured to his cronies who advanced to the middle line with the dodge balls in their hands. "Now it's gonna cost you."

"Hey Parker, think fast!" Kenny Kong made a motion to throw at his head before shifting his arm and throwing low, toward his legs. Peter knew this, how he knew this was a mystery but as the ball sailed toward his legs he jumped clear over it, doing an aerial split in the process. The ball bounced off the floor, ricocheted off the back wall, and landed in Peter's waiting hand (who didn't even have to look behind him to know where it was going to be), who then threw it straight into Kenny's gut.

"Kong, out," Murch said. His face was now scrunched up in bewilderment.

Flash was quite literally quivering with rage at this point, whatever insult or threat he wanted to say was locked behind his gritted teeth. No longer concerned with one-on-one, Carl King and "Tiny" McKeever both hurled their projectiles at Peter. Those who saw the dodge Peter did were instantly reminded of The Matrix as the young man bent backward almost 50 degrees and the balls sailed right over him. Grabbing one of them, he deflected a ball thrown by Flash and threw his own which smacked against McKeever and ricocheted against King.

"Out," said the coach, too stunned to remember that it was technically speaking, against the rules.

"That's it, Parker! You are dead!" Flash roared as he threw his last dodgeball with all his might against the defenseless boy.

Peter didn't even need to look in his direction, his arm shot up like lightning and caught it midair. The ball practically stuck to his flat palm.

"Thompson, out?" Coach Murch said questioningly, still trying to process this turn of events.

Peter turned his attention to Flash and gave the football player the most evil smirk he could manage. Flash could only manage a brief moment of panic before Peter threw the ball with all of his might.

THWOMP!

The ball collided with Flash's face and sent him flying back a few feet. When he hit the gym floor he went sliding another couple of feet before coming to a stop. Coach Murch and several other students (mostly the other jocks) ran up to where Flash lay and crowded around him. They could see the grid-like pattern from the dodgeball imprinted onto Flash's nose, brow, and forehead.

"Flash! Hey, man, speak to me!" Randy said, giving him a few concerned pats on the face.

"Alright, alright, give the kid some room," Murch said as he knelt down. "Thompson!" he yelled giving the concussed teenager some unnecessarily rough shakes to his shoulders and head. "Wake up!"

"Put me in, Coach," Thompson said woozily. "I can make the play."

"Parker," Coach Murch turned to the young man, his face glowering. "Hit the showers."

"What? What for?" Peter asked.

"Bad conduct, purposefully injuring another player, poor sportsmanship. Take your pick and get out of my gym."

"But I-"

"NOW!"

With a huff, Peter turned on his heel and marched out of the gymnasium. Several students were still staring in shock at this turn of events and several more were glaring daggers at him for daring to injure Flash. He shot a glare right back at them on his way out.

Passing through the weight room, Peter's frustrations were reaching a boiling point. Coach was mad at me for poor sportsmanship?! He thought. Ever since he got to Midtown High Coach Murch had overlooked the poor sportsmanship conducted by the usual crowd of bullies, heck he practically encouraged it. "Make 'em strong and ruthless for the games," he'd say. And any time the teams underperformed? It was time for them to sharpen their skills, on the smaller and weaker students like Peter.

Peter felt like kicking something. So he did. It was only after the loud crashing had settled that he realized what he had kicked, it was a weight rack and he had scattered entire rows of weight plates across the floor.

He didn't need his gym teacher yelling at him again, so he decided to clean up the mess he had made. As he bent down to pick up the weights, a thought crossed his mind that stopped him dead in his tracks.

I just kicked over that rack. There's gotta be over 200 pounds on that thing and I kicked it over like it was nothing. And that thing with the dodgeball, how did I do that?

He tentatively reached over and grabbed a 25-pound weight, it felt…light in his hands. Like a large metal Frisbee. Carefully, he moved it back and forth between his hands, it felt like it weighed nothing. It was the same for the 35. It was the same for 50. He tossed the heaviest plate up in the air and caught it without a problem. He did this a couple more times until a sudden sound distracted him. He tried to grab hold of it before it hit the ground but all he could manage was a brush from his fingertips.

The plate didn't hit the ground, it was held in place by his fingertips.

Peter stared in amazement, no matter how he moved his hand it didn't fall away. It was like his hand was magnetized.

"What is happening to me?"

The rest of the day was thankfully uneventful, word of his gym class escapade had spread and several people were looking at him in whispered curiosity, most of them gave him a wide berth. Peter spent the rest of the day in a ponderous mood trying to figure out what was happening, how it was happening, and just what it all meant. It was only when he was cleaning out his locker that he spied the brochure from ESU's science labs, the one the Connors gave him just yesterday; it seemed it was a lifetime ago.

Peter thought about this. He thought about how everything started changing the moment he showed up at their and Doctor Octavius' exhibit. About the things they said about genetic manipulation, that thing he saw crawling away when he was bit…

Peter didn't board the bus for Forest Hills, today he was going across town.


Martha Connors absentmindedly looked through her notes and charts; the school's budget announcement hadn't allowed much for the labs so she was going over what projects had to be cut and which could be shelved for hopefully a later date. Curt hadn't said much since yesterday, and today he had spent most of his time shut up in his office mulling over his findings. When he finally came out he stared at the various specimens on display, the protozoans, the skinks, and the spiders.

"We're going to have to table our ray project for the time being," she told her husband.

"I know," he didn't turn to face her.

"I spoke with the dean, unless we have some other breakthrough our resources could get cut again."

"I know."

"I wish Osborn was a little more considerate. We really could use that grant."

"Martha, I know!" Curt snapped.

For a moment none of them said anything. Sensing her husband's bad mood, Martha turned to leave before his voice stopped her.

"Martha, I'm-I'm sorry. It's been frustrating lately. I mean, what's the point of continuing this if people can't even give a little bit of time and see what we've created."

"I am sorry, I didn't mean for the specimen to get out," Martha apologized.

"Ah, it might've been you, might've been me. In any case, it was an accident. But if creating a new species of spider isn't enough to get the public's attention, maybe…Maybe something more drastic is needed," Curt's attention seemed to be wandering again.

"Like what?" she asked.

Before he could answer, the two of them heard an awkward "Hello?" coming from the entrance. A young man, probably no older than eighteen was peeking his head through the door and looking around. He wandered over toward the terrariums looking at the various species inside.

"Agelenopsis actuosa," he read the description below the glass screen. "Now there's a mouthful."

"Hello there, can we help you?" The Connors came over to greet him, giving him a quizzical look, as if they were trying to place a name that they had forgotten.

"Oh, yes, we met yesterday. You gave me this," Peter handed them back the pamphlet.

"Oh, right. Yes, yes. Sorry, I didn't recognize you without the…" Curt mimed an image of glasses on his face. "Park, wasn't it?"

"Parker," Peter corrected him.

"Listen, I know we mentioned yesterday about looking out for interns, but right now isn't the best time," Martha apologized.

"No, that's not it. Well, I mean it would've been cool to intern under you, but if it's not the right time," Peter mumbled before remembering why he had come in the first place. "Actually, I missed out on your demonstration and was hoping to see what you were showing off."

"Well, everyone missed out, but we'd be happy to show you," Curt directed Peter's attention back to the terrariums.

"We began with single-cell organisms for practice but with our findings, we soon moved up to basic invertebrates," Martha explained. "Pretty soon we were mixing genetic material of different arachnids together. The Slingshot spider, the Huntsman spider, Darwin's bark spider, the Flattie spider. The genetic traits of the fastest, the most agile, and the strongest spiders combined, all to create this."

She demonstrated to the last case, inside were large spiders Peter had never seen before. Their bodies were a vivid blue, almost ultramarine in color, with brilliant red markings all across the head, thorax, and legs.

No, I have seen those before, he thought. The more he thought about it, the clearer the memory was. That was the thing he saw crawling away at the OsCorp expo. That was the thing that had bitten him. This genetically altered spider, when it bit him could it have altered his own genetics? They said the said it carried the traits of speed and strength, could it have passed its traits onto him?

"Of course, creating a brand new species should have made a bigger splash, but good luck impressing today's more cynical public," Curt was speaking but saw that Peter was staring at the spiders in the case. "Mr. Parker?"

Peter snapped back to reality. "Huh? Sorry, I was-uh. I was admiring the coloration. Very eye-catching."

"Yes, we think that might've come from the Peacock spider, but we're not sure at this point. But we are playing with new sciences after all."

"Yeah, well, this has been incredibly enlightening. But I just remembered the time, and I should get going," Peter stammered as he headed for the door. "Good luck with your experiments, hope things work out for you!"

The Connors watched him dash out and stood there puzzling over his sudden exit.

"He's a strange young man," Martha said.

"He's scientifically minded, they're all a bit strange," Curt shrugged. "I mean, look at us."

Peter felt like he was miles away as he left the campus of ESU, a million thoughts buzzing through his head at the same time.

So I've got the genetic traits of a bio-engineered spider going through me, am I going to turn into some kind of human/arachnid hybrid? No, let's focus on what's happened thus far. I'm faster than I've ever been before, I'm strong, I have no idea how strong but it has to be-

Something in the back of his mind cut off his train of thought; it was like he knew the taxi wasn't going to stop at the crosswalk even before he looked. He knew to leap away even before the driver put his hand on the horn. And leap he did, a good six feet away even as the cab came to a screeching halt and would've hit him had he not jumped.

"Pay attention, ya weirdo!" the driver yelled before speeding off.

And I apparently have some kind of…Spider sense too. Peter thought as he hurried out of the street and ducked behind an empty alley. He dug around in his backpack until he pulled out a cracked and chipped tape recorder. His quickest and go-to tool for notes on science.

"Entry number, uh…one thousand nine hundred and sixty-two. Have just returned from the Connors and I have reason to believe that their genetically altered spider has transferred its own genetic traits onto me. I'm…well I'm strong, fast, I have super reflexes, a 50-pound weight stuck to my fingers! Oh, and my eyesight has apparently been fixed. I wonder what else I could…do…"

Peter's attention wandered to the wall he was leaning against, an idea forming in his mind, and it revolved around the weight that stuck to his fingers. How often did he see spiders crawling effortlessly up the walls of his house? Slowly, cautiously, he placed one hand against the side of the wall and then the other.

This is crazy, Peter. You don't really think you can scale the side of a building with your bare hands? Well, why not? Wouldn't be the first crazy thing to happen today.

He breathed a few times to steady himself and after a few false starts and second guesses, pushed up with his feet and pulled up with his hands.

He didn't know why he wasn't sliding back down like a normal person, by all accounts none of what was happening made any sense. But by the third step (figuratively speaking) it didn't matter. He was crawling up the side of the building using only his hands. The elation became overwhelming, suddenly all the problems, all the concerns, all the questions were gone. Left down on the ground he was leaving behind.

He ran across the top of the buildings, jumping from one to the other, whooping and laughing the whole way. He didn't even think about coming down until an hour later, he was too caught up in the excitement and wonder that came with the undeniable fact that he had superpowers.

No more timid teenager, this is the start of a new Peter Parker.

It was almost dark when he got back home to Queens, the smile was still plastered over his face. I could see part of the fence had been painted and he suddenly remembered the promise he made earlier that morning.

That was pre-super powers though, he thought as his aunt and uncle came out the front door to greet him.

"Hey there, sport," his uncle said. "You look like you've had a good day."

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I know I was supposed to be back to help paint the fence but it slipped my mind, I was out in the city and I decided to visit ESU," Peter apologized while slipping in a few truths.

"We're not here to talk about the fence," his aunt said looking concerned.

"We're here to talk about you giving Flash a concussion."


Adrian Toomes slipped through the corridors of OsCorp, the tall, spindly, old man kept his head low and avoided looking up at any security cameras and avoiding eye contact with any security. He hoped that his disguise as a delivery man was convincing, just lowly enough to avoid detection.

When he got to the office of Norman Osborn, he gripped the package in his hand tight and steeled himself, preparing for any kind of dismissal or rebuttal that could be thrown his way.

"Delivery for Mr. Osborn," he gave the most polite rap he could muster on the door.

Osborn didn't even look up as he told him to enter, his attention fixed on the paperwork he was filling out.

"Norman, I need to speak to you," Toomes began before getting cut off by a derisive laugh.

"Toomes! You never give up, do you? And here I thought you finally found a job appropriate to your skills. So what is it now, you tenacious, old bird?"

"I wanted to talk to you about my flight technology-"

"My flight technology, or did you forget that when you and Bestman signed over your company to me, you waived all product rights?"

"We both know I never agreed to that," Toomes seethed.

"Whether you like it or not, that's how the lawyers see it. Of course, you're free to create whatever you like. As long as it doesn't resemble or utilize anything that would fall under the domain of OsCorp property."

"But you're burying ground-breaking innovation!" Toomes protested, opening up the package he had with him. "If I could only show you-"

Osborn stopped him with a gesture. "Here's a lesson you might've missed. In the long run, the tech itself doesn't matter, it's how you market it. Who cares if you've got some newfangled bit of maglev? If the government can't even agree on building a maglev train, do you really think they'll let you renovate their entire air industry? Why, Roxxon would have your head on a platter just for daring to cut into their jet fuel sales. And besides, you've been at this for how long? Decades. Literal decades without anything that could be called successful. Who'd believe you somehow managed to make something now?"

The old man's fist had become white as he clenched them, his teeth were grinding against each other at that attack.

"Why you…Ignorant. Pompous. Short-sighted fool! I'm not going to let you destroy my life's work just because you can't see the big picture!"

Osborn stood up from his desk, his faux accommodating smile vanished and what was left was a look of disgusted contempt.

"Let's get one thing straight, I've only put up with your antics because I found them mildly amusing, like those old cartoons with the rabbit and the buzzard. But the joke stops here. I'll do what I want with my property if I choose to. And if I want to bury the last bit of relevancy from an old never-was, I'll do it. And there won't be a thing you can do to stop me."

Toomes suddenly felt the two hands on his shoulders, OsCorp's security started to lead him out. He said nothing, he only continued to glare at the other man.

"And Toomes?" Norman added before he left. "Break into my company again and I'll break something of yours."


And here's chapter 3, where Peter discovers his powers, Norman makes an enemy and I'm absolutely certain none of this will blowback in any way.

By now it should be clear that I'm drawing a lot from other Spider-Man influences in different media. Besides the comics, the major influences were the Sam Raimi movies, the PS4 game, and animated series like The Spectacular Spider-Man (probably the best adaptation in my opinion).

Next time we see what exactly happens with Peter and his newfound powers.

See you there!