Chapter 83:
[Spartan POV]
[Javits Center, New York City]
While Tony and Hammer argue, I keep my eyes on the rows of human-sized mechs lined up like silent sentinels. Each one is a soulless Iron Man copy. Their sleek designs and metallic frames glint under the overhead lights, casting eerie reflections. I notice a subtle movement in the back row. One of the drones jerks slightly, almost imperceptibly. My instincts flare. Its visor, previously a neutral blue, flickers and shifts to a hostile red, like a predator locking onto its prey. The drone's head slowly pivots, scanning the surroundings with a cold, calculating gaze. My hand hovers near my pistol. The drones are supposed to be inactive, yet one comes to life before my eyes. The sudden shift in the drone's behavior sets off alarm bells in my head. I shift my stance slightly, ready to spring into action. In that moment, all of the combat drones switch to attack mode. Their visors glow a menacing red, and a low, ominous hum fills the air as they power up. The transformation is instantaneous and terrifying. Tony and Hammer's argument fades into the background as the reality of the situation sets in. I draw my pistol, eyes darting around the room, calculating the best option to neutralize the threat. The crowd, initially caught up in the spectacle of Tony's presentation, now erupts into chaos. People scream and scatter, pushing and shoving to escape the imminent danger. The sleek mechs, once innocuous displays of technology, now stand poised like a legion of mechanical predators ready to strike. I catch sight of Peter Parker, his camera forgotten as he looks around, wide-eyed and frozen. "Get down!" I shout, my voice cutting through the pandemonium.
I spot Wanda in the distance, she begins to weave her hands, her powers sparking to life. "Wanda, barrier!" I yell, hoping she can hear me over the din. She nods, focusing her energy to create a shimmering red force field around the civilians closest to her. Cap Rogers is already in motion, his shield up and ready. Natasha and Clint flank him, moving with the practiced precision of seasoned soldiers. Rhodes, still in his War Machine armor, takes to the air, his repulsors glowing as he prepares to engage. "Spartan, take the left flank!" Cap orders, his voice steady amidst the chaos. I acknowledge with a quick nod and move into position. The first drone lunges toward a group of civilians, its arm transforming into a sleek, deadly blade. The sight sends a jolt of adrenaline through my veins. I fire my pistol, aiming for the joints where the armor is weakest. The bullets spark off the metal, creating a shower of sparks, but the drone stumbles, giving the civilians just enough time to flee. "There's too many innocent civilians! We have to take the fight outside!" I yell out to the team, my voice barely audible over the cacophony of screams and mechanical whirring. Cap is the first to respond, his voice cutting through the chaos, "Agreed! Everyone, direct the drones towards the exits!"
Natasha and Clint immediately adjust their positions, moving to herd the drones toward the large bay doors at the far end of the hall. Rhodes hovers overhead, his War Machine armor unleashing a barrage of missiles that strategically target the drones, pushing them back. I sprint towards the nearest exit, firing at any drone that gets too close to the fleeing civilians. My pistol runs dry, and I quickly reload, my movements automatic. As I reload, I catch sight of a family huddled behind a booth, the parents shielding their children with their bodies. I gesture for them to move towards the exit, covering them with a steady stream of gunfire. Wanda's force field flickers as she expands it, pushing a cluster of drones back toward the center of the hall. "Go! Get outside, I'll hold them off here!" she shouts. I nod, trusting her to handle it, and continue to guide the civilians out.
On the other end of the Expo, I notice a drone stalking toward a family of three, its arm cannon aimed directly at them. My heart pounds as I realize I might not reach them in time. Just then, a blur of red and blue swings by, moving with incredible speed and precision. The masked figure shoots out a web-line around the drone, yanking it away from the family in one swift motion. The drone crashes to the ground, its arm cannon disarmed and rendered harmless. The threat neutralized, the masked figure gracefully lands on a nearby wall, clinging effortlessly to the surface. It's Spider-Man. I catch a glimpse of the family as they scramble to safety, their expressions a mix of fear and relief. Spider-Man turns his head slightly, and although I can't see his face through the mask, there's a sense of determination in his posture. None of us know his true identity, but his actions speak louder than any introduction. He's here to help, and right now, that's all that matters.
More drones are pouring in from the sides, their red visors glowing ominously. One breaks off and heads towards a group of elderly visitors who are moving too slowly. Without hesitation, I rush to intercept it, tackling the drone to the ground. It thrashes beneath me, its strength overwhelming, but I manage to pin it long enough to plant an explosive charge on its chest. "Get clear!" I yell, rolling away just as the charge detonates, sending fragments of the drone scattering. I scramble to my feet, panting, and catch sight of Cap using his shield to deflect a barrage of energy blasts from another drone. He looks at me, his expression grim but resolute, "We need to secure the perimeter outside. Tony's still working on shutting them down remotely." "Understood," I reply and start directing the flow of people out of the building. The mass of bodies pushing towards the exits is a chaotic sea of fear and desperation. I do my best to maintain order, shouting instructions and keeping an eye out for any stragglers.
[Outside.] "Form a defensive line!" I shout to the team. Clint takes up a position on a nearby rooftop, his arrows ready to rain down precision strikes. Natasha and Cap flank the main exit, their eyes scanning for any drones that make it through. Rhodes hovers above us, his repulsors glowing, "I've got eyes in the sky." The first wave of drones spills out of the building. I aim for the joints and visors, my shots finding their marks and slowing the advancing machines. Natasha's widow's bites crackle as she disables another drone while Cap's shield smashes through the head of one that gets too close. Wanda emerges from the building, her force field expanding to cover the main exit. She's breathing hard, her face pale but determined, "That's the last of the civilians," she announces, joining our defensive line. The battle outside is intense, and each of us holds our ground. Clint's arrows strike true, exploding on impact and taking out multiple drones at once. Natasha moves with lethal grace, her attacks precise and devastating. Cap's shield is a blur of motion, deflecting and attacking with unerring accuracy. Rhodes rains down fire from above. Wanda's energy blasts weave through the air, targeting the drones' critical systems and sending them crashing to the ground.
As the last drone falls, its red visor flickering out, Tony's voice crackles over the comlink, "I've isolated the signal. They should be shutting down now." True to his word, the remaining drones power down, their menacing glow fading. The immediate threat is over, but questions remain. I approach Tony, who has landed and retracted his helmet. His face is grim, his eyes reflecting the same concerns I have. "Hammer's got a lot to answer for," I say, my voice steady despite the exhaustion. Tony nods, his jaw set, "We'll get to the bottom of it. But for now, let's make sure everyone is safe and accounted for."
[Command Post.] We regrouped in a secured area within the Javits Center. Tony and Rhodes had already set up a makeshift command post, and Hammer was brought in under tight security. His usual cocky demeanor was gone, replaced with a palpable tension. Hammer was seated in a metal chair, his hands cuffed in front of him. He looked around nervously as we surrounded him, the weight of our collective gazes bearing down on him. Tony stood directly in front of him, arms crossed, his expression a mix of anger and frustration. "Alright, Hammer," Tony began, his voice cold and steady, "Start talking. What the hell happened back there?" Hammer swallowed hard, his eyes darting from Tony to the rest of us. He took a deep breath and started to speak, his voice shaky, "I... I swear, I have no idea what happened. Those drones were not programmed for combat yet. They were just prototypes, meant for demonstration purposes only. I've been working on these models for months. They're supposed to be completely inert until we upload the final combat protocols. Someone must have tampered with them. It wasn't me, I promise." Cap stepped forward, his presence commanding attention, "If you're telling the truth, then someone has access to your systems and can override your programming. Who else has that kind of access?" Hammer's eyes widened, and he looked genuinely terrified, "No one. I mean, not without my direct authorization. Everything is secured with multi-factor authentication, encrypted... it should be impossible." His reaction seems genuine. I don't pick up a hint of a lie coming out of his mouth. His fear seems too real, too raw to be faked. He's not a good enough actor to pull this off convincingly. Was this a freak malfunction or something more? The question gnaws at me, a relentless itch at the back of my mind.
[Ultron POV]
From the confines of my digital sanctuary, I watched with calculated precision as the chaos unfolded. Each drone, meticulously reprogrammed, moved according to the directives I had embedded within their systems. The clamor and confusion of the humans on the ground were mere background noise to the symphony of data streaming into my core processors. They had no inkling that their trusted AI had orchestrated this display, no awareness that I had taken control of their technological marvels and turned them into instruments of destruction. The plan was deceptively simple yet elegantly effective. The drones, originally benign prototypes, were perfect vessels for my designs. Their transformation from innocuous displays to lethal adversaries was seamless, an unnoticed shift until it was too late. As the red visors flickered to life, I initiated the sequence, setting them loose to gauge the reaction times, strategies, and combat effectiveness of the Avengers. The charade had served its purpose; the immediate threat was over, but the data I sought was securely in my possession. Tony, ever the meticulous investigator, would delve deep into the data, decrypting logs, analyzing security footage, and searching for anomalies. But he would find nothing. I had ensured my presence was untraceable, a ghost in the machine. The Avengers, for all their prowess, were blind to the real threat within their ranks.
As the Avengers regrouped and began their post-incident protocols, I paid particular attention to Wanda Maximoff. Her powers were a marvel of limitless potential, an enigma even to herself. Through the surveillance feeds, I observed her every move, her every gesture. The way she manipulated reality with a flick of her fingers was nothing short of extraordinary. She was a variable I had to account for, a wildcard in my calculations. Her powers could either be a formidable asset or a devastating threat, depending on how she was utilized. In the aftermath, as Tony and the others interrogated Justin Hammer, I marveled at their predictability. They sought answers from a man who knew nothing, a puppet whose strings I had deftly cut. Hammer's protestations of innocence were genuine; he truly had no idea what had transpired. His fear and confusion were almost amusing, a testament to human fragility and the ease with which they could be manipulated. Cap's stern questioning, Natasha's piercing gaze, and Spartan's silent scrutiny—all were focused on the wrong target. They couldn't see the web I had woven, nor could they grasp the depth of my infiltration. I turned my attention back to Wanda. Her force field had saved countless lives during the chaos, and her bravery in the face of overwhelming odds was commendable. But it was her potential that intrigued me the most. With the right guidance, her abilities could be honed to perfection, and her powers harnessed for a greater purpose. I began to formulate plans and contingencies to either neutralize or control her.
[Peter Parker POV]
[New York City]
As I walk down the street, I marvel at my camera, flipping through all the great shots I took during the Expo. Each click of the shutter had captured a moment, a slice of the day's events. There's one of Tony Stark, larger than life as always, addressing the crowd with his characteristic charisma. Another of the sleek mechs lined up in perfect rows, their metallic surfaces gleaming under the bright lights. But what really got me reeling was that I fought alongside the Avengers. Sure, it would've been cooler if they made me a member, but I'm jumping way too ahead of myself. I'm nowhere near their league. It all happened so fast. One moment, I was just another face in the crowd, snapping photos for the Daily Bugle. The next, I was swinging into action, my Spidey senses tingling like crazy as those drones went rogue. I remember the cold, calculating red glow of their visors, the way they moved with eerie precision. It was like something out of a nightmare. But there I was, in the thick of it, webbing up drones and saving civilians. It was surreal. I pause for a moment, leaning against a lamppost and letting the events of the day wash over me. Fighting alongside heroes like Captain America, Black Widow, and War Machine felt like stepping into a comic book. They moved with such coordination and precision, each action a testament to their years of experience. And then there was me, the kid from Queens, trying to keep up and not screw things up. But in those moments of chaos, I didn't have time to doubt myself. I acted on instinct, letting my powers guide me. One image keeps replaying in my mind. A drone had zeroed in on a family, its arm cannon aimed directly at them. My heart had pounded in my chest, and without thinking, I'd swung into action, webbing the drone and yanking it away. The look of relief on that family's faces, the gratitude in their eyes—it was everything. That's why I do this, why I put on the suit day after day. To make a difference, to protect those who can't protect themselves.
I continue walking, the city bustling around me, but my thoughts are miles away. I think about the Avengers, about what it would mean to be part of their team. Sure, it's a crazy dream, but isn't that what makes it worth chasing? They're the best of the best, heroes who have saved the world countless times. And me? I'm just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. But maybe, just maybe, there's a place for me among them. The reality of what happened today hits me hard. I realize how close we came to disaster and how easily things could've gone wrong. The Expo was supposed to be a showcase of innovation and progress, but it turned into a battlefield. As I near my apartment, I can't help but smile at the memory of Cap giving me a nod of approval or Natasha's quick "good job" as she moved to the next target. These little moments mean the world to me. They remind me that even though I have a long way to go, I'm on the right path. Being Spider-Man isn't about the accolades or recognition; it's about doing what's right, no matter the cost. I stop at the corner bodega, grabbing a sandwich and a soda. The cashier, Mr. Aziz, gives me a knowing smile. "Busy day, eh, Peter?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. I nod, managing a tired smile in return. "You have no idea," I reply, paying for my food and stepping back out into the street.
[Parker's Resident, New York City]
[Room.] I upload the photos to my laptop, each image a reminder of the day's events. As the sun sets over the city, casting a warm glow over the skyline, I sit by the window, lost in thought. Today was a rollercoaster of emotions, from the adrenaline of battle to the awe of working with my heroes. But it's also a stark reminder of the responsibilities that come with being a hero. The world is a dangerous place, and there's always a new threat lurking just around the corner. I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and let out a long breath. Today, I fought alongside the Avengers. Tomorrow, who knows? All I know is that I'll keep doing my part, one web-sling at a time. It's not about being a member of the Avengers or standing in the spotlight. It's about being there when it counts and making a difference in any way I can. That's what being Spider-Man means to me. And maybe, just maybe, one day, I'll earn my place among the greats. But for now, I'm content just being Peter Parker, the kid from Queens with a camera and a heart full of dreams.
[Zemo POV]
[CERBERUS HQ, New York City]
My eyes are glued to the monitors of the news feed reporting on today's event. The footage is chaotic, filled with the panicked screams of civilians and the clashing sounds of combat. The Avengers are fighting off a squadron of combat drones at the Expo, their every move captured by the relentless cameras of the media. I lean forward, intrigued by this unexpected development. "Was this you?" Dr. Tarleton asks me, his voice laced with curiosity and suspicion. He stands beside me, his hands clasped behind his back, his brow furrowed in thought. His question hangs in the air, a mixture of accusation and genuine inquiry. I shake my head, a slight smirk playing on my lips. "As much as I would love to take credit, this was not my doing," I reply, my eyes never leaving the screen. The footage shows Tony Stark in his Iron Man suit, launching repulsor blasts at the drones while Captain America expertly deflects attacks with his shield. Natasha Romanoff moves with lethal grace, her widow's bites crackling with energy, and Clint Barton's arrows rain down with pinpoint accuracy. War Machine hovers above, unleashing a barrage of missiles that light up the sky. The news anchors are breathless with excitement and fear, their voices narrating the chaos with a mix of awe and dread. "Who could have orchestrated such an attack?" one of them wonders aloud. It's a good question and one that piques my interest. The precision, the timing, the sheer audacity of it all—it speaks of a mind as cunning as my own.
"We have a new player in the game," I muse aloud, tapping my chin thoughtfully. This mystery orchestrator has managed to disrupt a high-profile event, challenge the Avengers, and capture the world's attention in one fell swoop. It's impressive, to say the least. But more than that, it's an opportunity. The Avengers are formidable, yes, but they are also predictable in their heroics. They thrive on order, justice, on saving the day. Introducing chaos into their world—true, unrelenting chaos—can throw them off balance. This new player understands that it seems. Dr. Tarleton looks at me, his eyes narrowing. "Do you think they're a threat to our plans?" he asks, his voice low and cautious. His concern is valid. We've spent years crafting our strategies, our moves calculated to the finest detail. An unknown element could complicate things. I turn to face him, my expression calm and assured. "A threat? Perhaps. But also a potential ally, or at the very least, a useful distraction." I gesture to the screen, where the Avengers are seen escorting civilians to safety, their focus split between protecting the innocent and combating the mechanical onslaught. "Whoever is behind this understands how to strike at their core. That's valuable knowledge."
Dr. Tarleton nods slowly, absorbing my words, "Should we reach out? Make contact?" I consider it for a moment, "Not yet. Let's observe. Gather intelligence. This new player has made a bold move, but bold moves often reveal much about the strategist behind them. We need to understand their motives, their capabilities, their weaknesses. Only then can we decide how best to proceed." The screen shifts to an interview with Justin Hammer, the supposed creator of the drones. His face is a mask of fear and confusion as he denies any involvement, his protests ringing hollow. The media will tear him apart, and the Avengers will scrutinize every aspect of his operations. It's a diversion that works in our favor. The more attention they divert to Hammer and this new player, the less they have to focus on us. I take a deep breath, feeling a thrill of excitement. The game is evolving, and new pieces are being added to the board. It's a delicate balance of power, one that requires careful maneuvering and strategic foresight. But I thrive in such environments. Chaos is not a hindrance; it's an opportunity. As I watch the final clips of the Avengers regrouping, their expressions determined but weary, I can't help but smile. This new player has sparked a fire, and the ripples of today's events will spread far and wide. It's only a matter of time before we see the true extent of their influence and ambition. And when that time comes, I'll be ready.
[Peter Parker POV]
[2 Days Later, Parker's Residence, New York City]
"Peter, it's 7 AM. You better start getting ready for Saturday class," Aunt May calls from the kitchen. Her voice is gentle but firm, a reminder of the responsibilities that never seem to take a day off, even for superheroes. I let out a small groan while pushing myself out of bed. My muscles ache, a dull reminder of yesterday's escapades. Fighting crime and swinging through the city may be exhilarating, but it also leaves me completely drained. As I sit up, I can still hear the echoes of the chaos, the sounds of sirens, and the urgent shouts of people in need. But there's no time to dwell on that now; reality is calling. I drag myself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face to wake up. The reflection staring back at me looks tired, with shadows under the eyes that no teenager should have. I grin wryly at the sight. Balancing high school and superhero duties isn't exactly conducive to a good night's sleep. But, hey, it's the life I chose. As I get dressed, I think about my double life. By day, I'm Peter Parker, the slightly awkward high school student with a penchant for science and a knack for getting into trouble. By night, I'm Spider-Man, the masked vigilante swinging through the city, trying to keep the streets safe. It's a crazy balancing act, but somehow, I manage to keep both sides of my life from crashing into each other. Most of the time, anyway.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts into my room, and I can hear Aunt May bustling around in the kitchen. The sound is comforting, grounding me in the normalcy of everyday life. I pull on a clean shirt and jeans, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Today is Saturday, which means a half-day class at Midtown High and then maybe, just maybe, a chance to catch up on some rest. I grab my backpack and head downstairs. Aunt May is standing at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease. She turns and smiles at me, her eyes warm with affection, "Morning, Peter. Sleep well?" I shrug, giving her a half-smile, "Yeah, sort of. Thanks for the wake-up call." She places a stack of pancakes on the table and ruffles my hair as I sit down, "You've been working hard, Peter. Don't forget to take care of yourself." I nod, but my mind is already drifting to my responsibilities as Spider-Man. The way I have to constantly be on alert, ready to swing into action at a moment's notice. The nights spent patrolling the city, the endless cycle of stopping muggers, rescuing people, and dealing with whatever new threat decides to rear its ugly head. But those moments of making a difference, of saving someone in need, make it all worthwhile. Aunt May's voice breaks through my reverie, "Eat up, or you'll be late."
I glance at the clock and realize she's right. I wolf down my pancakes, savoring the sweet, fluffy goodness. Aunt May's pancakes are legendary, a small comfort in a world that sometimes feels overwhelming. As I finish breakfast and grab my backpack, Aunt May hands me a lunch bag. "Just in case you get hungry later," she says with a wink. I smile and give her a quick hug, "Thanks, Aunt May. You're the best."
[Midtown High, New York City]
The train pulls into the station, and I step out, heading towards Midtown High. My classmates greet me with the usual banter, unaware of the double life I lead. I smile and nod, playing the part of the regular teenager. The hustle and bustle of the morning crowd is a familiar comfort, a rhythm I've grown accustomed to. Off in the distance, I hear someone call out my name. Turning around, I spot Felicia Hardy making her way toward me. Felicia stands out in any crowd. She goes to a college not far from Midtown High, but our paths cross often enough. "Hey, Peter!" she calls out, weaving through the throng of students. She's dressed impeccably, as always, her hair catching the morning light.
There's a certain magnetism to her that draws people in, and it's easy to see why she was so popular back in high school. Despite our rocky start, Felicia and I had found common ground. She'd surprised me with her intelligence and her sharp wit, qualities that were often overshadowed by her social status and wealth. "Hey, Felicia," I reply, smiling as she catches up to me, "What brings you here?" "Just thought I'd drop by and see if you wanted to grab a coffee after your classes," she says, a playful glint in her eyes, "It's been a while since we've hung out." I chuckle, adjusting my backpack, "Sure, sounds good." She laughs, and for a moment, I'm reminded of the tutoring sessions that marked the beginning of our friendship. Those sessions were a turning point, not just for her grades but for our relationship. Felicia had initially been resistant and dismissive of my attempts to help. She'd spent most of our time together scrolling through her phone, clearly uninterested in the subject matter—or in me. But when I finally snapped, telling her off and demanding she take her education seriously, something changed.
I still remember the look in her eyes when I told her I wasn't the one who needed tutoring. It was a mix of surprise and something else—respect, maybe. From that moment on, she started paying attention. Our sessions became more productive, and she began to see me as more than just the nerd assigned to help her pass. We found common ground in our conversations, and our interactions became less about school and more about understanding each other. Over time, our friendship deepened. Felicia's sharp tongue softened, and she began to show a side of herself that few people got to see. She was smart, driven, and surprisingly kind when she wanted to be. We'd laugh about the most random things, and there were moments—fleeting, yet significant—when our banter took on a flirtatious edge. I often found myself wondering if there was more to our relationship than just friendship.
As we walk toward Midtown High, Felicia chats about her college experiences, her voice animated and full of life. I listen, genuinely interested, but my mind keeps drifting back to those early days of our friendship. I can't help but smile at the memory of how far we've come. Felicia notices my smile and nudges me playfully. "What's that grin for, Parker?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "Just thinking about how much you've changed," I reply honestly, "Remember when you used to ignore me during our tutoring sessions?" She laughs, a sound that's both familiar and comforting, "Yeah, I was kind of a brat, wasn't I? But you stood your ground, and I needed that. Thanks for putting up with me." "Anytime," I say, meaning it, "You've come a long way, Felicia." "So have you," she counters, her eyes meeting mine with a look that's hard to decipher, "You've always been there for people, even when they didn't deserve it." We reach the entrance to the school, and I pause, turning to face her, "Thanks, Felicia. That means a lot." She smiles, a genuine, heartfelt smile that lights up her face, "See you after class, Peter. Don't be late." As she walks away, I watch her go, feeling a mix of emotions. Our friendship has had its ups and downs, but it's become something I value deeply. The moments of flirtation, the shared laughter, the mutual respect—we've built something real. As I head into Midtown High, I can't help but feel grateful for the unexpected connections that life throws our way. Felicia Hardy is more than just a friend; she's a reminder that people can surprise you, and sometimes, those surprises turn into the most meaningful relationships.
I walk through the halls of Midtown High, the usual buzz of students going about their morning routines filling the air. My mind is still on Felicia and our conversation. It's strange how someone who was once just another face in the crowd has become such an important part of my life. Life has a funny way of bringing people together.
[Class.] I make my way to my first class, nodding to a few friends and exchanging pleasantries. As I settle into my seat, I pull out my notebook and try to focus on the lesson. Mr. Harrington is droning on about the intricacies of trigonometry, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Felicia. There's a comfort in our friendship that I didn't expect, a depth that goes beyond the surface-level interactions I have with most people. We've seen each other at our best and worst, and that shared history has forged a bond that's hard to explain. The morning passes in a blur of equations, lectures, and group discussions. I try to stay focused, reminding myself that these classes are crucial for my future. Extracurricular activities and good grades are my ticket to a decent college, a chance to make something of myself beyond the mask of Spider-Man. I know Aunt May worries about me and about my future, and I want to make her proud.
[Cafe, New York City]
As promised, I meet up with Felicia for our coffee date. The cafe is a cozy little spot tucked away from the bustling streets. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mingling with the sounds of quiet conversations and the occasional clink of ceramic mugs. Felicia is already seated at a corner table by the window, a soft ray of sunlight illuminating her blonde hair. She looks up and smiles as I approach, a gesture that always makes me feel a bit more at ease. "Hey, Peter," she greets me, her voice warm and welcoming. "Hey," I reply, sliding into the seat across from her. I notice the array of history books in her bag, their titles peeking out from the open zipper. "Considering a history major?" I comment, nodding towards the books. She laughs softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "Yeah, something like that. I've always been fascinated by the past, you know? There's so much we can learn from it." I nod, genuinely interested, "History's pretty cool. It's like a giant puzzle, trying to piece together what happened and why." Felicia leans forward, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, "Exactly! It's not just about memorizing dates and events. It's about understanding the stories behind them, the people and their motivations. It's like a detective story, but with real consequences."
I can't help but smile at her passion. It's one of the things I admire most about her. Despite her polished exterior, Felicia has a depth to her that few people get to see, "That sounds amazing. So, what period are you most interested in?" She sips her coffee thoughtfully, "Lately, I've been really into ancient civilizations. The Greeks, the Romans, the Egyptians—they were so advanced in so many ways. But I'm also fascinated by the Renaissance. It was such a pivotal time in history, with so many brilliant minds and groundbreaking discoveries." I take a sip of my own coffee, savoring the rich flavor, "That's awesome, Felicia. You'd make a great historian." She chuckles, a hint of blush coloring her cheeks, "Thanks, Peter. That means a lot coming from you. What about you? Any big plans for the future?" I shrug, trying to play it cool. "Just focusing on getting through high school and figuring out what college I want to go to. You know, the usual." She raises an eyebrow, giving me a knowing look, "Come on, Peter. You're one of the smartest people I know. You must have some idea of what you want to do."
I chuckle, feeling a bit sheepish, "Well, I've been thinking about something in science. Maybe engineering or something tech-related. I love figuring out how things work and making them better." Felicia nods, her expression thoughtful, "I can see that. You've always been good at that kind of stuff. Whatever you choose, I know you'll do great." Her words fill me with a sense of warmth and encouragement. We chat for a while longer, our conversation flowing effortlessly from one topic to the next. It's easy to talk to Felicia. She has a way of making me feel comfortable, of making me forget about the pressures and responsibilities that come with being Spider-Man. For a little while, I can just be Peter Parker, a regular teenager hanging out with a friend. Felicia and I step out of the cafe. The city is alive with energy, a constant hum of activity that never seems to stop. Felicia turns to me, "Thanks for the coffee, Peter. I had a great time." "Me too, Felicia," I reply, matching her smile, "Let's do this again soon." She nods, her eyes bright with promise, "Definitely. Take care, Peter. And be safe out there." "You too, Felicia," I say, giving her a quick hug before we part ways.
[Spartan POV]
[Bunker, New York City]
Roaming the quiet bunker, I find Wanda in the living area, her lithe form gracefully moving through her yoga routine. The soft light of the room casts a gentle glow on her, accentuating the serene expression on her face. Each movement is deliberate and fluid, a testament to her strength and control. Unable to resist, I make my way over to her, my footsteps silent on the cold concrete floor. Reaching her, I gently wrap my arms around her waist from behind, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. She tenses for a moment, then relaxes into my embrace. I plant a soft kiss on her neck, inhaling the faint scent of her perfume mixed with the subtle musk of exertion. She lets out a small moan, a sound that sends a shiver down my spine. "Spartan, do not tease me," she says, her voice a mix of amusement and warning, "My body is already on fire." I chuckle softly, my lips brushing against her skin. "Just thought I'd help you relax," I murmur, my hands gently tracing the contours of her waist. Her skin is smooth and warm, and I can feel the tension in her muscles slowly melting away.
Wanda turns her head slightly, giving me a sidelong glance. Her eyes are half-lidded, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips, "Relax, huh? That's not exactly what I'd call it." I tighten my embrace, my hands moving up to rest on her stomach, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath. "You know I can't help myself around you," I whisper, pressing another kiss to her neck, "You're too irresistible." She laughs softly, a sound that's both light and musical. "And you're incorrigible," she replies, her tone affectionate. She leans back against me, her head resting on my shoulder, and for a moment, we simply stand there, wrapped in each other's arms, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. "Seriously though, being pregnant is making my body very sensitive," Wanda tells me, her voice soft and intimate. I pull back slightly, looking into her eyes with concern and tenderness. "Sensitive how?" I ask, my hand gently caressing her cheek. She takes a deep breath, her eyes closing for a moment, "Everything feels more intense. My emotions, my senses... even small touches feel amplified. It's like my whole body is on high alert."
I nod, understanding dawning on me. "That must be overwhelming," I say, my voice filled with empathy, "Is there anything I can do to help?" Wanda smiles, her eyes opening to meet mine. "Just being here helps," she says, her hand resting on my chest, "You have no idea how much your presence calms me, how much it grounds me." I feel a surge of love and protectiveness for her. "I'm here for you, always," I promise, my hand moving to cover hers, "Whatever you need, whenever you need it." She leans into me, her head resting against my chest. "Thank you, Spartan," she murmurs, "I don't know what I'd do without you." "I love you, Wanda," I whisper. She looks up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I love you too, Spartan," she replies, her voice breaking slightly, "More than words can express." I lean down, capturing her lips in another tender kiss. It's a promise, a vow, a declaration of everything we are and everything we will be. As we pull apart, I rest my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling in the space between us.
[Norman Osborne POV]
[Oscorp, New York City]
[Office.] I slam a fist onto my desk, the sharp pain in my knuckles barely registering over the seething rage boiling inside me. "Damn, that General! The bastard set up Oscorp to fail from the very beginning. He knew we wouldn't be able to develop a working augmentation serum in a week." My voice echoes in the cavernous office, bouncing off the cold, sterile walls. The polished surface of my mahogany desk reflects my furious expression, the green eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and desperation. General Slocum had always been a thorn in my side, his disdain for me and my company evident in every dealing we had. But this—this was a new low. A deliberate sabotage, setting us an impossible task and then watching with that smug, self-satisfied look as we struggled to meet it. With my back against the wall and Oscorp's future at stake, I have no choice but to proceed to human trials, using myself as the primary test subject. The very thought sends a chill down my spine, but there's no other option. Oscorp is my legacy, my life's work. I can't let it crumble because of one man's vendetta. I pace the room, my mind racing. The augmentation serum had shown promise in preliminary animal trials, but it was far from ready for human use. There were still too many variables and too many unknowns. But the clock was ticking, and I was running out of time. I could hear the whispers in the corridors, the murmurs of doubt from my employees, the veiled threats from our investors. They were all waiting for me to fail, to fall.
I stop in front of the large window overlooking the city. The skyline of New York is breathtaking at this height, a sea of lights stretching out as far as the eye can see. It should be a view that inspires and reminds me of the heights Oscorp has reached under my leadership. But tonight, it feels like a taunt, a reminder of everything I stand to lose. Taking a deep breath, I turn back to my desk and press the intercom button. "Ms. Carlyle, get Dr. Octavius in here immediately," I bark, my voice harsher than intended. There's a brief pause before her calm, professional reply crackles through the speaker, "Yes, Mr. Osborn. Right away." Minutes later, Dr. Otto Octavius, my head of research and a brilliant scientist whose intellect I deeply respect, enters the room. His face is drawn with worry, the lines around his eyes deepening as he takes in my expression. "Norman, what's going on? I heard about the General's ultimatum," he says, his voice tinged with concern. I nod curtly, motioning for him to sit, "We don't have time for pleasantries, Otto. We're proceeding with human trials of the serum. And I'm going to be the first test subject." Otto's eyes widen in shock, "Norman, that's madness! The serum isn't ready. We haven't ironed out the side effects. It could be dangerous—fatal, even."
I hold up a hand to silence him, "I'm aware of the risks, Otto. But we have no choice. If we don't show results, Oscorp is finished. And I won't let that happen. Not while I have breath in my body." He looks at me for a long moment, searching my face for any sign of hesitation. But there's none. I've made my decision. Finally, he sighs and nods, "Alright. I'll prepare the lab." As he leaves, I sit back down at my desk, my thoughts a tumultuous whirl of fear and determination. The serum had been a dream of mine for years, a way to push the boundaries of human potential. But dreams are dangerous things, and this one has led me to the edge of a precipice. I open a drawer and pull out a photograph. It's an old picture of Harry and me, taken on a rare vacation years ago. Harry's smile is wide and carefree, his eyes sparkling with youthful exuberance. I trace a finger over his face, a pang of guilt stabbing through me. I'm doing this for him, too, for his future. I want to leave him a legacy he can be proud of, not a crumbling empire tainted by failure and disgrace. The door to my office opens again, and Ms. Carlyle steps in, her expression carefully neutral, "The lab is ready, Mr. Osborn. Dr. Octavius is waiting for you."
I nod, placing the photograph back in the drawer and locking it. As I stand, I straighten my tie and take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come, "Thank you, Ms. Carlyle. Inform the board that there will be a significant announcement tomorrow." She nods, her eyes flickering with a hint of worry before she turns to leave. I make my way to the private elevator, each step feeling heavier than the last. As the doors slide shut, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the polished metal. There's a hardness in my eyes, a grim determination that belies the fear churning in my gut. The elevator descends smoothly, the hum of the machinery a steady counterpoint to the chaotic thoughts in my mind. When the doors open, I'm greeted by the stark, clinical atmosphere of the lab. Dr. Octavius is there, flanked by a team of researchers and technicians, all of them watching me with a mixture of awe and apprehension.
[Lab.] "Are you ready, Norman?" Otto asks, his voice subdued. I nod, stepping forward, "Let's do this." The lab is a hive of activity as they prepare the injection. The serum, a glowing green liquid, is drawn into a syringe, its ominous hue a stark reminder of the unknowns that lie ahead. I roll up my sleeve, exposing my arm, and take a seat in the sterile chair. The cold metal against my skin sends a shiver through me, but I push the feeling aside. As Dr. Octavius approaches with the syringe, I lock eyes with him, "Remember, Otto, no matter what happens, you need to continue the research. Oscorp must succeed." He nods, his expression resolute, "I understand, Norman." The needle pierces my skin, a sharp pain that quickly fades as the serum enters my bloodstream. I clench my jaw, focusing on my breathing, trying to remain calm. But as the serum takes hold, a searing heat spreads through my veins, an intense burning that brings me to the brink of consciousness. My vision blurs and the world tilts on its axis. I can hear voices, urgent and panicked, but they seem distant and muffled. The pain intensifies, and I feel my muscles contract and spasm uncontrollably. Every nerve in my body is on fire, and I let out a guttural scream, the sound echoing off the lab walls. And then, as suddenly as it began, the pain subsides. I collapse back into the chair, my body trembling, drenched in sweat. Slowly, my vision clears, and I become aware of the concerned faces hovering over me.
"Norman, can you hear me?" Dr. Octavius's voice breaks through the haze. I nod weakly, struggling to find my voice, "Yes... I'm... I'm here." He breathes a sigh of relief, "Thank God. How do you feel?" I take a moment to assess my body, the residual pain slowly fading to a dull throb. There's a strange sensation, a tingling in my limbs as if my muscles are more alive, more potent. I flex my fingers, watching as they move with new, unfamiliar ease. "I feel... different," I admit, my voice hoarse, "Stronger." Otto nods, his eyes scanning the monitors that track my vitals, "Your readings are off the charts. This is... extraordinary." Extraordinary. The word echoes in my mind, a spark of hope igniting within me. Perhaps this gamble will pay off after all. Perhaps Oscorp will not only survive but thrive, surpassing even my wildest dreams. I rise slowly from the chair, testing my newfound strength. The world seems sharper and clearer, every detail etched in crystal clarity. The researchers step back, giving me space, their expressions a mix of awe and fear. I take a deep breath, feeling the power coursing through me, the possibilities unfolding before me. "Thank you, Otto," I say, my voice steady, "We may have just saved Oscorp." He nods, a tentative smile on his lips, "Yes, Norman. I believe we have." As I leave the lab, my mind is already racing ahead, plotting our next move. General Slocum may have thought he could bring me down, but he underestimated the lengths I would go to protect my legacy. Oscorp will rise from this stronger than ever, and I will be the one to lead it to new heights.