Chapter Five “The Road Less Traveled”
Octavious stood over a table with Peter’s costume stretched out, eyeing the attire carefully under a magnifying glass. The spandex was torn and burned in sections, evident by the singes spread throughout. Yet, the costume remained intact just enough to be practically wearable, revealing only bits of torso, chest, and thigh through small tears. The man rubbed a finger over the white armored pieces, each showing little to no damage.
“I must say the armor is made of a sturdy and fascinating material. It clearly aided in your protection,” Otto stated, narrowing his gaze on the material. He paused, glancing in the boy’s direction. “How are you feeling?”
Spitfire had finished strapping an ice pack onto Peter’s shoulder, concealing a visible bruise. Meanwhile, cream had been eased over several patches of pink flesh, where clear indications of deep burns were. Gashes began to seal themselves shut, and some swellings steadily dissipated from sight. Lastly, the bruises on Peter’s face and mouth remained, prompting Spitfire to bandage and treat each accordingly.
“I feel like I got hit by a train, Doc,” Peter bluntly spat, cursing sharply once Spitfire guided an alcoholic swab over the swollen lump on his cheek. Hissing, the boy glared at the woman. “Your bedside manner sucks.”
Dismissing the comment, Spitfire inhaled deeply before sighing. “Can it, smartass. Though to be fair, I’d be pissed too if I took a bullet train to the face.” The woman’s demeanor softened as she cupped Peter’s chin in her hands, making certain to avoid any of his open wounds. She paused to analyze his structure further with a furrowed brow. “The fact that you’re still in one piece, let alone alive, is a miracle in itself.”
Otto nodded, humming. “Outside of some bruising, lacerations, burns, and a concussion, I’d say you came off fairly well, given the severity of your circumstances.”
Arching a brow, Spitfire huffed. “It sounds like you were completely caught off guard. How is that possible, with your tingle-thing?”
Peter shook his head. “Spider-Sense, and it’s been working a bit too well, since my whole Man-Spider episode.” The boy rubbed a finger over his aching temple, exhaling. “I’m spending most of my time just trying to tune it out, so I can think straight.”
A dark glint flickered over Otto’s eyes as he peeked over his shades. “The idea that you withstood such physical trauma while remaining soundly intact shows you are truly a marvel of evolution!”
A desolate groan escaped from Peter’s mouth, matched only by his blank and exasperated stare. “Every time you do that, it gets scarier.”
Upon receiving a glare from Spitfire, Octavious forcefully cleared his throat. “Apologies, Mister Parker. The saying ‘time and place’ applies here.” Crossing his arms, the man diverted his attention from the costume and faced the boy with a stern expression. “I just hate that my old colleague would do such a thing. From the DNA I managed to save from the residue, you were drugged by a very potent hallucinogenic agent.”
Peter gagged, shaking his head. “I’m surprised anything survived. I’d rather get set on fire again than take another dip in the Hudson.”
“How potent are we talking?” Spitfire questioned, arching a brow.
Otto straightened his shades with a finger, huffing. “Enough to drive three bull elephants insane. All the more reason that I’m amazed with Parker’s resilience, considering he is still acclimating to his body’s recent biological changes.”
Taken aback, Spitfire’s mouth fell agape. “Three bull elephants?! That’s a bit excessive. This guy’s no ordinary illusionist, if he’s packing that kind of heat. Why go after Spider-Man with such force?” Trailing off, the woman frowned while staring intently at Octavius, and her glare only deepened as his demeanor remained undeterred. “You said that you two used to work together. What kind of work did you do exactly?”
His complexion paled, evident by the blue stain filling his cheeks, but Otto cleared his throat, turning to the side. “The kind of work one with a conscience would be ashamed of, but that is a story for another day.”
Just as Spitfire readied to pry further, Peter removed her hand from his shoulder and leaned forward. “So, he worked with Oscorp. I’m noticing that’s becoming a common denominator as of late. What else can you tell me about Jackpot, if that’s even his name? I remember you mentioning that he possibly changed it.” His vision spun momentarily, prompting the boy to slam his eyes shut. Eventually, his equilibrium settled back into place, and Peter groaned, holding an exhausted glare towards Octavious. “I’ll be happy once my Spider-Sense acclimates. I just couldn’t focus while Mysterio bombarded me.”
Otto pursed his lip, nodding. “His real name is Quentin Beck, and he is a former employee of Oscorp. We were former colleagues and coworkers under Norman Osborn. Beck was brilliant in engineering and robotics.”
Lifting a finger, Peter scoffed. “I found that out the hard way. The fake Spider-Man that had been ruining his shows was a robot. I managed to decommission it, but from what little I saw, the design was unlike anything I saw before. A very intricate design and surprisingly lifelike.”
Humming, Otto rubbed at his chin while furrowing his brow. “It would appear that he has improved the technology considerably since leaving Oscorp. Originally, Quentin was confined to using small drones that he controlled remotely, and Beck also designed special toxins to disorient those around him. To say he used them creatively would be an understatement.” Slow to respond further, Octavious tapped a finger against his forearm. “I recall Quentin always considering the usage of gas rather… crass, but the higher-ups only pushed for him to use it further.”
Frowning, Peter’s eyes widened as a thought came into mind. “You said drones. That explains the illusions. It’s all holograms! It’s how he gassed me… and set me on fire. Those drones were masking everything!” The corner of the boy’s mouth curled into a smile, before he winced involuntarily, throwing a hand over his swollen jaw. “It’s not magic! It’s just high-level technology! Smoke and mirrors!”
Spitfire tilted her head to the side, blinking. “And that’s a good thing?”
Peter waved a hand dismissively once the throbbing pain coursing through his face ceased. “High-end technology actually makes sense and is grounded in reality. Magic is illogical and breaks too many of the laws of physics. This means I can plan a counterattack for Mysterio.” As if another thought came into mind, Peter’s gaze fell, while his shoulders slumped. “Let me guess? Did Mister Jackpot and your boss have a falling out over creative control?”
Otto simply nodded in affirment. “Indeed. Quentin just found everything in poor taste and chose to leave Oscorp on his own accord. It would explain why he went so far as to change his appearance and identity.”
“That seems to be a running thing with him. Mysterio went to Hollywood to start over, but his visions were derailed before he quit there, too,” Peter muttered, standing from his seat, before walking towards the table where his costume was. Inhaling deeply before sighing, the boy shook his head, while rubbing a hand over the spider insignia. “This sucks. Jackpot– I mean, Quentin Beck– seems like a decent guy, and now, I have to bring him down.”
“Are you serious?” Spitfire growled, folding her arms. Once Peter began to slide his costume over his frame, the woman bit down onto her lip and raised a finger. “He just tried to kill you! I don’t care what his reasons are!”
After what seemed like an eternity, Peter stood in uniform with his mask in his grasp, and he clutched at his side, groaning. “I know. Beck’s committing fraud and tried to kill me, but he’s still Trixie’s father. If I go through with this, it’s going to break her heart.”
Spitfire opened her mouth, ready to respond, but she glanced to the side, rubbing the back of her head. “I didn’t think about that. Poor kid.”
Peter faced Octavious, pausing to put his mask on. “What do I do, Doc?”
Otto’s expression softened, as he placed a hand over the boy’s shoulder. “I do not envy your position, Parker, but I chose you to be my apprentice because you are a man of integrity. Just do what you feel is right.”
The man’s words only seemed to conflict Peter further, apparent as his masked eyes simply narrowed in response. Thoughts flooded his mind, while he slowly turned to exit. However, before Peter could make it out of the building, Spitfire rushed to his side. The woman placed both hands over his shoulders, her fiery gaze softening with every passing second.
“Look. Mysterio only beat you because you’re overthinking the entire thing,” she whispered, gently tightening her hold on the boy. A faint smile graced her usually steely features. “Just do what I do when I fly. Just let go and trust your instincts. You strike me as the kind of dude that’s at his best when the pressure’s at its highest point. I know you’ll do the right thing in the end, even if it sucks.”
As if contemplating the woman’s words, Spider-Man hesitantly nodded before taking his leave. In spite of the pain still coursing through his body, the boy broke into a sprint and vanished in a blur. Using all the strength in his legs, Peter jumped into the air and soared for several seconds, before firing a strand of webbing onto the side of the nearest building. Spectators watched as Spider-Man swung into the distance, pointing in awe and shock. Meanwhile, Peter glanced to the side and groaned. However, buzzing erupted from his side, before a number appeared within his mask’s lenses.
Cursing under his breath, Peter hastily landed onto the nearest rooftop and pressed a small button along the edge of his lens. “Hi, Trixie. What’s up?”
“What’s up?! You have a lot of nerve to act so casually, Parker!” Trixie barked, her face appearing on the phone’s screen. She fumed, biting down on her lip while the temperature in her face rose. “That fake Spider-Man showed up again, and I never heard back from you in the chaos! Care to explain yourself?!”
Cursing under his breath, Peter could only stammer about nervously. “Oh, right. Uh, I’m sorry about that. Things got so crazy,” he declared, looking around his surroundings frantically. Suddenly, the boy snapped his fingers as an idea came into mind, and he soon removed his mask, all while making certain his phone was aimed away. Before long, Peter pressed the camera icon on his screen, and his bruised visage took center on the phone, surrounded by flowers plastered along the edges. “I was just getting more soda before a mob of people just stampeded over me! I guess I blacked out, because the next thing I know I’m waking up in the hospital. The doctors told me that I have a concussion.”
Trixie’s eyes widened as she stared intently at the boy’s bruising and swelling. Slowly, but surely, her anger dissipated while her gaze softened. “A concussion? You poor thing. In that case, it could have been much worse.”
“Either way, I didn’t want you to worry,” Peter answered softly, using a finger to poke at the lump on his cheek.
Inhaling deeply before sighing, the girl shook her head, while managing a small smile. “I’m going to worry regardless, but I do appreciate the sentiment. That’s… considerate.” Like lightning to a rod, concern returned to the girl’s mind, and Trixie clutched at the phone, shaking it in her grasp. “Don’t change the subject! Are you okay? You look awful! Are you still at the hospital? Is there anything I can bring for you?” she questioned, her mouth moving faster than her brain could comprehend. The girl paced throughout her setting, retrieving her purse before tossing several items into its pocket. “Are you at the local hospital? I’m coming right over.”
Peter shook his head, chuckling nervously. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t care. I’m coming,” Trixie reaffirmed, narrowing her gaze.
Waving a hand dismissively, Peter managed a small smile. “Seriously, you don’t have to. I’m about to be discharged from here in a few minutes, and my aunt’s on her way to take me home.”
As if considering the boy’s words, Trixie’s demeanor softened before she gave a small nod. “Okay, but call me the moment you make it home. We have some leftover soup that I’m sure you could use.” Her image remained on the screen as she pursed her lips, glancing to the side shamefully. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault that you were hurt. I just wanted you to enjoy my father’s performance, and it’s been ruined twice in a row.”
Peter chuckled under his breath. “It’s not your fault, Trixie. It was just bad luck. Trust me. I’m used to things going wrong at the worst time. That’s the Parker Luck.” Sobering as the weight of reality steadily sank back into place, Peter’s gaze narrowed and brow lowered. “Something’s been bugging me, Trixie. Can I ask you something?”
Taken aback, Trixie blinked in response, before eventually nodding. “Um, sure. What’s wrong?”
“It’s about your dad,” Peter stated, trailing off while scratching the back of his head. His gaze fell, landing on the spider insignia over his chest, and he gathered his thoughts, nodding. “Don’t you think it’s a little convenient that a fake Spider-Man attacked your father not once, but twice?”
Trixie’s mouth fell agape before she frowned, her softened gaze morphing into a glare. “What are you insinuating all of a sudden? My father just defended himself from an attacker!”
Peter stood firm with a steady gaze, huffing. “Has your dad ever been attacked during his shows before? You admitted that Spider-Man was a fake, just from watching, and he seems to jump in right after a portion of the show had started.” He leaned forward, never averting his eyes from the screen. “It’s almost like it’s part of the show.”
“That’s enough!” Trixie exclaimed, staring intently at the boy. However, her disposition lightened, as her shoulders fell. Inhaling deeply, the girl rubbed at the bridge of her nose with two fingers, before letting out a low sigh. Her expression faltered further, evident by her quivering violet irises. “You’re clearly not thinking right, but seeing that you’re concussed, I’ll let it slide. Just… keep it to yourself. Something like this could ruin my father. He’s been trying so hard, and I’d hate for his career to get ruined again, because of word of mouth.”
“Trixie,” Peter whispered, opening his mouth to object.
Undeterred, Trixie slammed her hand against the wall and shook her head furiously. “Peter! Promise me that you won’t say a word!” She brushed a hand behind her ear, glancing away shamefully. “Please.”
Slamming his eyes shut, Peter shook his head and grumbled under his breath. A long silence filled the air as the boy contemplated the girl’s words. However, he let out an exasperated groan, before eventually yielding with a nod. As if satisfied with his response, Trixie mirrored his action and sighed.
“We’ll talk later. Thanks, Peter,” she muttered, pressing the red icon on the screen.
The call disconnected, leaving Peter to curse inwardly, before he leaned against an air conditioning unit and slid to a sitting position. The boy stared at his phone for what seemed like ages. However, his eyes widened at a realization, before his thumb scrolled through a list of names. Eventually, one name in particular filled the center of the screen, and Peter hesitated, humming as he swam through a whirlpool of thoughts filling his mind. Letting out a sigh, the boy tapped at the screen, until a ringing tone could be heard.
Peter let out a derelict groan as he wiggled in place, attempting to ignore the thumping at the center of his chest. “This was probably a mistake. I shouldn’t have…”
“Um, hi,” a soft voice answered, sending Peter’s already rapidly beating heart into overdrive. However, the source of the sound let out a content giggle. “Is that you, Peter?”
Blinking, Peter forced a chuckle and nodded. “Hi, uh, Fluttershy. Is this, uh, a bad time?”
Elated, Fluttershy grinned in response. “No! Um, I mean, I’m happy that you called.” Realizing what had transpired, the girl shielded her phone from prying eyes and curled into a ball. She faced the window, smiling. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good, all things considered. A lot has happened over the weekend. Really makes me wish I just went on that stupid camping trip.” Peter stated, placing a hand over his forehead. His eyes widened at a thought before he sighed. “Speaking of, how is that going? You girls enjoying s’mores and singing kumbaya over the fire?”
Brushing a hand through her long hair, Fluttershy shook her head. “So much has happened here, too. We can talk about it a little later. We should be back in Canterlot City in a couple of hours.” Twirling a strand of her hair across a finger, the girl’s eyes softened. “We’ve been hearing about what’s happening. They’re saying that Spider-Man has been attacking the arena lately, but I knew that it wasn’t you.”
Blinking, Peter tilted his head to the side and arched a brow. “Really? How’d you figure that? Is it because you knew that I wouldn’t stoop so low? That I’m too friendly?”
“Yes, and um, the imposter was too tall,” Fluttershy gently replied, smiling.
A blank stare formed on the boy’s face. “Am I really that short?” Shaking the thoughts from his mind, Peter raised a finger defensively. “Anyway. Yeah. It’s a long story, but the fake Spider-Man turned out to be a robot. Thing is, I know who is responsible, and I’m going to stop him. It’s just…” he trailed off, his eyes softening before he glanced skyward. “No matter what happens, a friend of mine is going to get hurt from this. I almost don’t know what to do.”
Fluttershy frowned as her gaze straightened. “Yes, you do. You’ve always done the right thing. It’s why you’re a hero. It’s why you’re my hero.” Many of the students began to clamor in the background, prompting the girl to use a free hand to shield her phone. Fluttershy held her mouth over its speaker, whispering, “I’ll be home soon. If you need to talk, I’m here for you.”
The screen darkened, prompting Peter to place the device within a hidden compartment under the spider insignia over the chestplate. “Okay. Guess there’s no way around it,” Peter whispered, pausing to slide his mask back over his face. With a nod, the boy hopped over the side of the building and descended into a glide. Firing a strand of webbing onto the nearest side of a building, Spider-Man swung over the streets of the city. “Time to pull back the curtain and start the final act!”
Within the halls of the arena, Quentin sat at the center of his dressing room, with a distant stare in his eyes. He stared somberly at the picture in his grasp, tracing a finger over the image of his daughter. However, his phone began to buzz loudly, vibrating at the corner of his desk. The man steadily freed himself from his self-induced trance, before walking over to the device. He could only release a low growl from his mouth upon recognizing the name and number glowing on its screen.
Beck opened his phone, slamming a hand over the desk afterward. “What do you want, Norman? I recall our deal being that you would never bother me or my family again.”
Huffing, Osborn eased back into his seat and folded his arms. “I am not one to break a deal, Quentin. Perhaps you should honor your side, before making assumptions.” Pressing an array of buttons nearby, this prompted an image of Spider-Man to appear at the center of Beck’s phone. Osborn rested his elbows over his desk, before cupping his hands together. “Care to explain? It’s hard to extract anything, when the target is still mobile.”
Slack-jawed, Beck fumbled in place, while nearly dropping his phone. “That’s impossible!” he exclaimed, eventually snatching the phone still. “How is he still moving?! I drugged him and set him on fire!”
“Pardon?” Norman questioned, furrowing his brow.
Beck yelled out, swatting the objects over his desk away. “It should have instantly incinerated him, but it didn’t! I even smashed him with a wrecking ball, and he just shrugged it off!” Burying his face in the palm of his hands, Quentin slowly lifted his gaze, before grabbing a vase and tossing it across the room. The decor shattered upon impact, causing water and flowers to scatter. “I walked him right in front of a bullet train, and what was left of him fell into the river! That’s enough to kill any man a thousand times over!”
Osborn hummed, taking in the information with a stern gaze. “Yet, Spider-Man not only survived, but he’s in good enough health that he is making a beeline towards your location. How interesting…?” Once Beck ceased his motions, holding a bewildered gaze, Norman simply crossed his arms in response, smiling evilly. “Based on social posts and our sources, Spider-Man is heading straight towards the arena. Safe to assume, he’s coming for you, Beck. For your sake, I suggest you try a little harder.”
Lowering his head, Beck slammed his eyes shut and exhaled. “Fine. If this is what I’m forced to become, so be it.” He straightened his posture, pausing to remove the tie from his neck. He took the phone in hand, frowning. “You’ll get your body this time, Norman. I’ll see to it personally. Call it my greatest performance yet!” Closing the phone, Beck huffed, before lowering his shoulders. Suddenly, he cackled maniacally, before raising both hands high overhead. “Come, Spider-Man! Enter the Great and Powerful Mysterio’s world!”
To be continued…