Peter Parker: A Spider-Man Origin Story

The plaza outside Oscorp Tower was a chaotic sea of shouting protesters, journalists, and Oscorp security guards trying to keep order. Signs waved in the air, bearing slogans like "Stop Oscorp's Monsters" and "Corporate Greed Kills." The chants of the protesters were relentless, their voices rising into a cacophony of anger and fear.

On the elevated platform at the front of the plaza, Norman Osborn adjusted his tie and stepped up to the podium. Flanked by two security officers, he surveyed the scene with a practiced calm, though his eyes betrayed his irritation. Cameras flashed as he began to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Norman said, his voice firm and commanding, amplified by the microphone. "I understand the concerns many of you have raised about the unfortunate events involving Mac Gargan. Let me assure you that Oscorp is fully committed to resolving this situation."

A reporter interrupted, her voice sharp and cutting through the noise. "Mr. Osborn, can you confirm Oscorp's direct involvement in Gargan's transformation?"

Norman's smile tightened, and he leaned into the microphone. "The transformation of Mac Gargan was an unauthorized and unsanctioned experiment conducted without the knowledge of Oscorp's senior leadership. While we regret the actions taken by certain individuals, I want to be clear: Oscorp is taking every measure to bring Mr. Gargan to justice."

The crowd erupted in a mix of jeers and angry shouts.

"Is that why your company keeps creating monsters?" another voice called out from the throng.

Norman's jaw tightened, but he kept his composure. "I understand the frustration, but I assure you, Oscorp's mission remains one of innovation and progress. The actions of one rogue individual will not define this company."

The protesters were relentless. "You're lying, Osborn!" someone shouted. "You're responsible for this mess!"

As the tension escalated, Norman's assistant stepped forward, whispering something into his ear. His expression darkened momentarily, but he recovered quickly.

"Thank you for your questions," Norman said, his tone icy as he wrapped up his statement. "Rest assured, Oscorp is working closely with law enforcement to ensure Mac Gargan is apprehended swiftly and without further harm to this city."

The press conference ended abruptly as Norman turned and strode back into the building, ignoring the shouted questions and protests.

Inside Oscorp Tower, Norman stormed through the sleek corridors, his polished shoes clicking sharply against the marble floors. He entered the boardroom, where Alaric Kane was waiting, leaning casually against the table.

"You better have good news," Norman snapped, slamming his briefcase onto the table.

Kane smirked faintly, his confidence unshaken by Norman's aggression. "We've got a lead. Gargan was spotted heading for Facility 17."

Norman's brow furrowed, his irritation deepening. "Facility 17? That houses some of our most sensitive technology."

"Exactly," Kane said, his tone calm. "If he gets in, it's game over for Oscorp's reputation. Not to mention the damage he could do with what's in there."

Norman clenched his fists, his mind racing. The stakes were higher than ever. Oscorp was already teetering on the edge of public scrutiny, and Gargan's rampage threatened to push it over.

"Intercept him," Norman ordered, his voice low but seething with authority. "I don't care what it takes. Take him down, and make sure this doesn't reach the press."

Kane straightened, his smirk fading as he nodded. "Understood."

As Kane left the room, Norman turned to the window, staring out at the city below. The distant sound of the protesters' chants reached his ears, grating against his nerves.

"This isn't over," he muttered, his reflection in the glass looking as cold and calculating as ever. "Not by a long shot."

The television flickered in the corner of the Parker apartment living room, casting pale blue light across the modest space. Peter Parker sat on the couch, his knees drawn up as he stared at the news broadcast, his face pale and tense. The anchor's voice was steady but laced with urgency.

"This just in: Oscorp has confirmed that a potential attack is imminent at one of its remote facilities. Unnamed sources suggest that the fugitive known as Scorpion may be planning another rampage. Oscorp security forces are reportedly on high alert—"

The image shifted to footage of the protests outside Oscorp Tower. Crowds surged against barricades, waving signs and shouting slogans. Norman Osborn appeared on-screen, addressing the media with a calm that didn't match the chaos surrounding him.

Peter's stomach twisted as he watched. He couldn't stop thinking about Scorpion's snarling face, the destruction he left behind, and the civilians Peter had barely managed to save. His spider-sense buzzed faintly, a subtle but persistent reminder that danger was brewing.

The couch shifted slightly as Aunt May sat down beside him, her warm eyes scanning his face. "You've been quiet all evening," she said gently. "What's on your mind, honey?"

Peter hesitated, his fingers tightening on the edge of the couch cushion. "Nothing. Just school stuff."

May tilted her head, her expression soft but skeptical. "Peter, I know you. When something's bothering you, you don't have to keep it to yourself."

Uncle Ben walked into the room, drying his hands on a dish towel. He leaned against the doorway, his brow furrowed with concern. "She's right, kid. You've been carrying something heavy lately. You know we're here for you."

Peter swallowed hard, avoiding their gazes. His mind raced with excuses, but the weight of his secret was too much to share. "I'm fine," he said quickly, standing up. "I just… I need some air."

"Peter—" May started, but he was already heading for the door.

Peter sat on the edge of the fire escape, the cool night air brushing against his face. Below, the streets of Queens bustled with their usual rhythm—cars honking, distant laughter, the faint hum of life carrying on.

But Peter didn't feel like he was part of that rhythm anymore. His world had shifted, fractured the moment he got his powers. The life he'd known before—the normalcy he craved—felt impossibly out of reach.

The thought trailed off, replaced by the image of Scorpion's rampage, the destruction he caused, and the people caught in the crossfire. Peter clenched his fists, his spider-sense buzzing faintly again.

He leaned back against the fire escape railing, staring up at the sky. "What am I supposed to do?" he whispered. "I didn't ask for this."

Back inside, Aunt May and Uncle Ben exchanged a worried glance.

"He's been like this for days," May said quietly. "Something's eating him up."

Ben sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "He's got a lot on his plate, May. He'll come to us when he's ready."

"I hope so," May said, her voice tinged with unease.

Peter slipped back inside and headed to his room, closing the door softly behind him. He paced for a moment, his thoughts a storm of doubt and determination. The news coverage replayed in his mind, and his spider-sense flared again, more insistent this time.

He grabbed a hoodie and pulled it over his head, zipping it up to hide his face as much as possible. He glanced at the small mirror above his dresser, his reflection a reminder of who he was—or who he wasn't.

"I'm not a hero," he muttered to himself. "I'm just… Peter."

But as he climbed out of his window and onto the fire escape, he knew that being Peter Parker wasn't enough to stop what was coming. He wasn't stepping into the role of a hero—he couldn't afford to.

Instead, he resolved to handle this his way: quietly, discreetly, and far from prying eyes.

As he disappeared into the night, the faint buzzing of his spider-sense guided him toward the inevitable confrontation waiting on the other side of the city.

The remote Oscorp facility stood on the outskirts of the city, its sleek, metallic structure looming against the dark industrial landscape. Tall fences lined with razor wire surrounded the perimeter, their sharp edges glinting under the flickering floodlights. Armed guards patrolled the area, their faces set with grim determination. Overhead, drones buzzed in synchronized patterns, their infrared scanners sweeping the grounds for any sign of an intruder.

Inside the facility, technicians worked with tense precision. Rows of advanced machinery hummed with life, glowing faintly in the dimly lit labs. The air was thick with anticipation, each person acutely aware of the threat that loomed closer with every passing second.

"Keep those containment units secured!" one of the supervisors barked. "If even one of those prototypes is damaged—"

A sudden, deafening crash cut him off. The ground shook, causing several workers to stumble. Heads turned toward the source of the noise—the main gate.

Outside, Scorpion stood in the wreckage of the smashed gate, his monstrous frame illuminated by the flickering lights of the ruined security posts. His tail lashed behind him, the barbed tip striking the ground with a sharp clang. His eyes glowed with a menacing green light, scanning the facility with a predator's focus.

"Time to make Osborn pay," he growled, his voice a guttural snarl.

"Contact base!" a guard shouted, raising his weapon. "He's here!"

Before the guard could finish, Scorpion lunged. He moved with a speed that belied his size, his tail whipping forward and sending the guard flying into a nearby wall. The other guards opened fire, the sound of gunfire ringing out into the night.

The bullets bounced harmlessly off Scorpion's scaly armor. He let out a guttural laugh, his tail smashing into the ground and sending a shockwave through the area. Several guards were knocked off their feet, their weapons skittering away.

"You call that security?" Scorpion sneered, tearing through the razor-wire fence as though it were paper. "You'll have to do better than that, Osborn!"

Inside the facility, alarms blared, their shrill cries echoing through the narrow halls. Technicians scrambled to secure sensitive equipment, locking down prototypes and data files. A young woman fumbled with a containment unit, her hands trembling as she struggled to input the access code.

"Hurry!" her coworker urged, his voice barely audible over the chaos. "He's getting closer!"

Another crash reverberated through the building, closer this time. The reinforced steel doors buckled inward, the groaning metal heralding Scorpion's arrival.

The technicians froze as Scorpion stepped into the lab, his massive frame filling the entrance. His glowing eyes swept over the room, landing on a row of containment units holding Oscorp's most advanced technology.

"Bingo," he muttered, his lips curling into a twisted grin.

One of the technicians mustered the courage to speak. "P-please… you don't have to do this!"

Scorpion's tail lashed out, smashing a nearby console and sending sparks flying. The technician yelped, diving for cover.

"Don't tell me what I have to do," Scorpion snarled, his voice dripping with venom. He approached the containment units, his claws slicing through the reinforced glass as though it were butter.

He reached inside, pulling out a sleek, glowing prototype. The device pulsed faintly, its energy humming in his grip. Scorpion examined it briefly before shoving it into a makeshift pouch strapped to his side.

"Osborn's toys," he said mockingly. "Let's see how he likes them being used against him."

---

From the shadows of a nearby storage area, Heller watched the carnage unfold. His hands trembled as he gripped a small communicator, debating whether to call for help or confront Scorpion himself.

"Mac," he called out, stepping into the light. His voice was steady, but his heart raced.

Scorpion froze, his tail twitching as he turned to face Heller. His glowing eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a sneer.

"Heller," he said slowly, his tone dripping with disdain. "I should've known you'd be skulking around."

"You don't have to do this," Heller said, his voice firm despite the fear gnawing at him. "This isn't the way to fix things."

Scorpion laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "Fix things? There's nothing to fix. This is who I am now." He gestured to his mutated body, his claws flexing. "Osborn made me into this. And now he gets to pay for it."

"You think this will make you whole again?" Heller asked, taking a cautious step forward. "All this destruction—it's not going to change what happened to you."

Scorpion's expression darkened. His tail lashed out, slamming into a nearby support beam and causing part of the ceiling to collapse. Heller barely managed to dive out of the way as debris rained down.

"Don't lecture me, Heller," Scorpion growled, his voice a low rumble. "You had your chance to stand by me. But you're just as weak as the rest of them."

Heller scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving. He knew there was no reasoning with the monster Gargan had become. Without another word, he turned and fled, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Scorpion watched him go, his sneer fading into a look of cold indifference. "Coward," he muttered before turning back to the prototypes.

As he advanced deeper into the facility, leaving destruction in his wake, the distant sound of sirens grew louder. But Scorpion didn't care. This was his war, and nothing would stop him—not Heller, not Oscorp, and certainly not the guards scrambling in his path.