“Ladies and gentleman, it pains me with a heavy heart to confirm that the so-called Great and Powerful Mysterio is nothing more but a con man and a fraud,” Jameson stated, leaning forward against the desk. He paused, removing the thick cigar from his mouth before shaking his head. “Our proud and competent local law enforcement apprehended Jackpot yesterday, and he has openly confessed to hiring an actor to play Spider-Man in a coup to gain the trust of the people. With trust comes fame, with fame comes notoriety, and with notoriety comes profit.”
Jameson frowned, inhaling deeply before exhaling harshly. “It is well documented that I have no love loss for Spider-Man. I still say that wall-crawler should be strung up by his webs and arrested for the crimes he’s committed, but the justice system is built on integrity and honesty, things Mister Jackpot has clearly disregarded in his quest for fame.” Straightening his posture, the man pointed his cigar directly at the camera. “I am an optimist and admit that I was hoodwinked along with all of you. After that webbed freak attacked a good officer, I suppose I was just enthusiastic that someone could stop him. I should have stayed professional instead of urging on what was an unlawful approach.”
“It’s okay, Uncle Jameson. It’s only because we weren’t together when that phony was in town,” a soft voice declared from off-panel, prompting the camera to sharply shift towards the direction of the source. Suddenly, Diamond Tiara occupied the entirety of the screen with a wide grin while patting her poofy, violet hair. She raised a finger, waving it confidently. “Hello, everyone! I have returned from Camp Everfree! I must say that we have much to discuss, but we can go over that after the break! I am sad to hear that our Spider-Man issue has only worsened. Like moths to a flame, he’s become a draw for low-lives!”
“The truth is so obvious that even my niece has to spell it out! Spider-Man has attracted nothing but trouble since he moved to Canterlot City!” Jameson exclaimed from off camera. An awkward silence filled the air as the screen remained centered on Diamond, who hastily pointed to the side. Loud smacking and rattling echoed throughout the room. “Jared! For once in your life, focus! Get your head out of your–!” Jameson yelled, pausing once the camera finally shifted towards him. He awkwardly stood in place, towering over his desk, and the man chuckled sheepishly, easing back into his seat. “I’m just pleased to announce that I have a solution!”
The corner of Jameson’s mouth cracked to curl into what resembled a smirk, sending an unsettling chill through those in his proximity. “That hotshot vigilante’s days are numbered. I will officially be providing help to our local law enforcement through the gracious charity of Oscorp Industries. You will see the results of our labor soon! Your donations have also helped fund this project!” Easing back into his seat, Jameson propped his feet up onto the desk before easing the cigar back into his mouth. “Your continued support is appreciated! This is Just the Facts with J. Jonah Jameson!”
Somewhere within an office, a dark man stood with both arms crossed behind his back. He stared intently at a wide screen stretched across a wall holding multiple images of Spider-Man, each of a different time and locale. Pressing a hand against the projection, the man scrolled through the walls of text and photos. His smile only grew wider with every passing second, matched only by his brightened gaze. Suddenly, a blue-skinned woman entered the room with an electronic pad in her grasp, and she slowed to a halt once they were inches apart, her violet irises peeking over a small pair of glasses.
“It seems Quentin was unsuccessful in obtaining a DNA sample from Spider-Man,” the woman stated, tapping at the numbers on her device. After a few seconds, her face twisted with disgust, as her nose scrunched tightly. “That was uncharacteristically sloppy of him. He usually sees a job through with passable results.”
The man managed a chuckle, never averting his gaze from the giant screen. “Do go easy on him, Abacus. It wasn’t through a lack of trying. Beck is narcissistic, but he is a professional, especially when motivated. I can assure you that he went after Spider-Man with all that he had. It truly shows how impressive the specimen is.”
Using a finger to straighten her glasses, Cinch huffed under her breath. “I’m surprised, Norman. I anticipated that you would not have taken Beck’s failure well.”
Osborn smirked, closing his eyes momentarily. “If Spider-Man were to have been killed so easily, he would not have been worth our investment in the first place. However, he just proved to be the perfect candidate, by easily surviving Quentin’s tactics. So, it’s not a failure. I’d call it a successful field test.” He opened his eyes, narrowing his gaze on the largest photo of Spider-Man. “We are truly on the verge of achieving our goal of creating the perfect super soldier.”
Abacus nodded, allowing a small smile to grace her features. “Well, I suppose it is time for phase two? Shall we prepare Mister Gargan for surgery?” She soon hesitated, furrowing her brow. “There are signs that the procedure may have negative effects on the subject’s psyche.”
“That comes with the territory, Abacus. It’s why we will let Jameson handle the fallout, should anything come apart. For now, let’s see how Gargan’s body adjusts to the cybernetics and animal mutation injections. Begin Project Scorpion immediately,” Osborn declared, turning before pointing behind the woman. Abacus gave a small nod, exiting the room upon prompting. Once alone, Norman continued to stare intently at the photograph of Spider-Man for what seemed like ages, before his grim facade softened. “Just a little longer, Harry…”
Deep within the confines of Canterlot Penitentiary, Quentin sat in an orange prison uniform, while rubbing the bridge of his nose with a pair of fingers. The media had long pressed him, as if reveling in the confessions that he shared, but it paled in comparison to what he felt currently. The man peered up, sharing a glance with his wife, and Spectacle simply glared in his direction, her scowl seemingly permanent. Yet, Quentin glanced at the younger girl sitting behind the woman. Trixie had remained silent through the entirety of the visit, sitting in the corner of the room, with her gaze lowered and arms crossed.
“Yet another colossal failure. Color me surprised,” Spectacle quietly whispered, tapping a finger against her forearm impatiently. “I have no idea why I even bothered in the first place.”
Beck reached out, extending his hand. “I’m not asking you to forgive me. I just…”
“Good. Because I can’t and won’t. I wasted years of my life catering to your choices and failures. Now, all I have to show for it is this: a broken husband and city wide ridicule,” Spectacle coldly declared, standing from her seat. She ignored the man’s extended hand before turning sharply, making her way to the exit door. “Speak to your daughter. I’ve got nothing more to say to you.”
The woman stomped out, slamming the door behind her, and Jackpot inhaled deeply before letting out a defeated sigh. However, his demeanor lightened once Trixie slid into the available seat across the table from him. The pair sat in silence for what seemed like ages. Beck opened his mouth, ready to respond, but his words fell into his throat. His gaze fell as he yielded, throwing himself at the mercy of his daughter. Fortunately, Trixie’s hands fell over one of his own, and she gave a reassuring squeeze, as if sensing his uncertainty. Elated, the man shook his head in disbelief, while ignoring the pain in his eyes.
Beck pursed his lips. “I’m so sorry, Pumpkin.”
“It’s okay, Dad, but why did you do it?” Trixie questioned, her eyes softening. “You were already famous. Why fake the entire thing?”
Exhaling, the man cursed under his breath, before sharing a gaze with the girl. “I wasn’t famous enough. I felt if I took down Spider-Man, I would have earned enough fame to support you and your mother for the rest of our lives.” He returned Trixie’s gesture, gently squeezing her hand back with warmth. “I have failed you both for years. It doesn’t excuse my actions, but I wanted to make amends for not living up to your expectations.”
“Is that why you turned yourself in and confessed to everything?” Trixie questioned, frowning.
Slow to respond, Quentin nodded and huffed lightly. “Yes. Spider-Man proved to be the better showman, and… I wanted to preserve what little honor I had left by telling the truth.”
Sniffling, Trixie’s lips quivered, as her mind struggled to process the information she was given. “Don’t listen to Mom. I don’t care how she feels, and she doesn’t speak for me. I was always happy, just spending time with you. While I don’t condone what you did, I’m proud that you chose to do the right thing in the end,” choking back the sob lodged in her throat, the girl nodded fiercely. “You can and will come back from this. You just stumbled again. The Great and Powerful Mysterio will make his comeback!”
The officer standing behind Beck stepped forth, pointing a thumb behind his position. Dejected, the man’s shoulders slumped. “It seems our time is up for today, Pumpkin. I hope you’ll come visit again soon.”
“R-Right. I promise I’ll visit every chance I get,” Trixie whispered, pushing herself from the chair and into a standing position.
Quentin cleared his throat, causing the girl to stop upon reaching the door, and he soon hummed, while a half-hearted chuckle escaped from his mouth. “Please let me know how things go with your friend, Peter.”
“What friend?” Trixie darkly muttered, turning away sharply before her father could hope to interject.
Exhaling, Beck frowned, before throwing a hand over his face. He sank into his seat and moaned. “What have I done?”
“Hello, Quentin Beck,” a firm voice suddenly called out from the other side of the room. A man with dark skin and a long, black jacket entered the room with a narrowed gaze, crossing his arms once he took a seat at the table across from Quentin. He glanced at the guards, waving a hand dismissively, and this prompted everyone to exit the room, leaving the two men alone. After a brief duration, the individual in black huffed, before leaning forward. “My name is Colonel Nick Fury. I’m the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”
Slow to respond, Beck blinked in response, while furrowing his brow. “I’ve heard of you. What could you possibly want with me?”
Smirking, Fury held his ground and stared intently at the man. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you for some time, and I’m impressed with your technology and techniques.” He reached into his jacket, retrieving a folder before extending it to Beck. “I have a proposition for you.”
Quentin accepted the item, reading through the walls of texts and photos upon removing the documents from the folders. Hesitant, he arched a brow. “What’s in it for me?”
“Less prison time and a cleaner cell for starters,” Fury dismissively stated, shrugging while peeking at Quentin from the corner of his good eye. “Plus a little dirt on Oscorp. I know you’re building a case against them.”
Slack-jawed, the folder slipped from Quentin’s grasp. “How did you know about that?”
Fury huffed, ever stoic. “In my line of work, I make it a point to know everything.” He retrieved the folder, tilting his head to the side slightly. “Interested?”
After a brief duration, a small smile steadily formed on Beck’s face. “When do we start?”
“Any word from Miss Lulamoon?” Octavious questioned, furrowing his brow.
Peter shook his head, peeking up at the ceiling. “No word. I’ve tried calling her a few times, but she’s not answering. I hope she’s okay.”
“Give her time, my boy. It’s quite a personal endeavor she’s experiencing. Just– Fascinating!” Otto exclaimed giddily, losing his train of thought. Closely examining Peter from every conceivable angle, he alternated between an array of tools, from a stethoscope to a thermometer, and even a magnifying glass. Holding the tool mere inches away from the boy’s face, the man beamed, in spite of Peter’s bemused expression. “It’s only been twenty-four hours, and your physical wounds have all but healed! There’s not even a hint of scar tissue!”
Rolling his eyes, Peter grumbled under his breath while Octavious lifted his sleeve and examined his arm. “I feel like a guinea pig every time we do this, Doc. Just watch where you’re poking those– Ah!” he blurted out involuntarily, as the cold steel of the stethoscope slid underneath his shirt and brushed against his skin. Peter snatched his shirt down back into place, frowning while flustered. “We really have to work on your tact and establish personal boundaries! Give me a warning next time!”
Paying the boy no mind, Otto shifted back to the computer screen nearby, before taking a seat at the desk. “I do apologize, Parker. It’s just that your physical attributes continue to astound me. For all intents and purposes, you should still have some evidence of the injuries you sustained, but you don’t,” Octavious declared, emphasizing his words as he pointed at the images on the monitor. The man rubbed at his chin, humming. “I’m willing to even argue that the only symptom of Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy you suffered was a mild headache, and that was only for a few minutes. Astounding, considering the blunt force trauma was delivered via a bullet train at maximum velocity to the frontal lobe.”
Crossing his arms, Peter let out a low sigh, as he rubbed a finger over his temple. “Train to the face. Yeah. It still sucks, but would it be weird to admit that I still get worse headaches from my upgraded Spider-Sense? I mean, I was able to power through it against Mysterio, but it’s going to take some time before I really get used to it.”
“Evolution naturally takes time, my boy. With each experience, you will naturally grow and evolve both physically and mentally. You are truly becoming something beneficial to humanity,” Otto replied, nodding while straightening his shades with a finger.
Slow to respond, Peter’s thoughts trailed off, as his gaze fell to the side. “Speaking of, I can’t help but wonder about something,” he murmured, stepping forth until he was mere feet away from his colleague. Peter soon folded his arms and leaned against the desk. “You used to work with Oscorp. Do you have any idea why they would send Trixie’s father after me? Mysterio said that they wanted my DNA really badly.”
Sobering, a dark cloud seemingly formed over Otto’s head, as evident by his diminishing demeanor. “I can’t speak on their behalf, but I have theories,” he sighed, lowering his head shamefully. A low huff escaped from the man’s mouth, while he uncharacteristically removed his shades and revealed a saddened pair of brown irises. “I left Oscorp years ago because of their dissolving standards in morality. They cared more about the results and not the road taken to achieve them.”
“What do you mean?” Peter questioned, arching a brow.
Pursing his lips, Octavious considered his words carefully with a furrowed brow. “I believe they view you in the same light as I do: as the next evolutionary step that can benefit mankind. However, they want to obtain your biological structure by any means and potentially weaponize it.” The man cleared his throat, before placing the darkened eyeware back over his face. “At least, that’s my theory.”
Peter nodded, straightening his posture while raising both hands behind the back of his head. “It’s all we’ve got to go on, and we both know they have a bad reputation behind the scenes. Mister Jackpot wanted to get out for the sake of his family, and Oscorp blackmailed him to do their dirty work. Plus, it’s really looking like Oscorp’s the reason why Spitfire’s suit malfunctioned in the first place. They just really wanted her schematics and wanted her out of the way, when she wouldn’t play ball.” The boy’s brow lowered to resemble an exasperated glare, as he could only frown. “I knew there was a reason why I hated big corporations to begin with.”
Otto stood as well, placing a hand over Peter’s shoulder. “It’s all speculation, but I am proud that you are using your gift for the good of humanity.”
A small smile formed on Peter’s face. “Thanks, Doc, and I’m glad you left Oscorp before doing anything shady.”
“Well. A-Actually,” Otto whispered, stammering before taking a step back.
Just as he opened his mouth to elaborate, a soft set of knocks were heard at the door. Both Otto and Peter shared a glance, their gazes wide with bewilderment, but the older of the pair dismissed the thought, opening the door once he reached it. After a brief duration, a blonde individual walked into the room behind Octavious and steadily approached Peter with a warm smile. Otto stepped to the side, nodding. “Parker! I’d love to introduce you to–”
Peter’s eyes shot open as he stumbled in place, practically appearing before the man in a flash, and he nodded feverishly, slack-jawed. “Dr. Curt Conners!” he exclaimed, extending his right arm to the man. “What an honor! I’ve read about your work with biology, herpetology, and biochemistry!”
Curt chuckled sheepishly, awkwardly raising his left hand in response. “T-Thank you, Mister Parker. I’m flattered.”
Blinking, Peter was slow to respond, as his gaze steadily shifted to the man’s shoulder, and his complexion paled upon spotting the lack of a limb attached to it. “Oh, my God! I am so sorry!” Peter whimpered, quickly offering his other hand in proper response, and both men accepted the gesture, with the boy keeping his head lowered shamefully. “I’m such an idiot! I had forgotten about your accident!”
“It’s okay! I know you meant no harm! I’ll take it as a compliment!” Curt lightly declared, grinning until Peter eventually relinquished his grip. The man paused, attempting to shake blood flow back into his hand, and he huffed, stretching out his fingers. “Quite a grip you’ve got there. Otto’s told me quite a bit about you, too, Mister Parker. He says you’re brilliant.”
Otto soon stepped between the pair, chuckling while playfully patting the back of Peter's shoulder. “And lazy, depending on the circumstance.” After the trio shared a brief hint of laughter, Octavious turned his attention to his youngest compatriot and nodded. “Doctor Conners will be working with us from now on. I believe his expertise in biology and biochemistry will be most beneficial to the research we’ve recently discovered. I will inform Miss Sparkle of the news, once she returns from her camping trip. I’m certain she will be just as enthusiastic!”
Grinning, Peter’s gaze brightened. “It’s an honor, Doctor Conners!”
“The honor is all mine, Mister Parker,” Curt declared, his smile matching the boy’s.
Within the halls of Canterlot High, the world seemingly fixated its gaze on one individual. Under normal circumstances, this would have been a dream come true, but today, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Trixie wanted to shrink, as she lowered her head shamefully, avoiding the gazes of everyone around her. Yet, she could not escape from their laughter, while various groups grinned at her expense.
“Oh, look! It’s the Great and Powerful Fraud!” a girl exclaimed, sending everyone in the hallway into a sea of uproarious laughter.
A boy stepped forth, brushing his elbow against his closest friend’s side. “What’s the matter, Trixie? Your pops couldn’t perform his own tricks?”
Another girl emerged from the crowd, pointing a thumb behind her position. “Sure he can! He can disappear for the next five to ten years!”
The last comment sent every student in the hallway into an upheaval, their laughter growing in volume until their voices could be heard from the outside. Trixie bit down on her quivering lip, stifling her building sobs. She pulled the hood from her sweater over her head in a desperate attempt to shield herself from the rain of insults. Her mind raced as she struggled to find words to respond, but the girl uncharacteristically remained silent, her face flushing to a shade of pink. Yielding to her embarrassment, Trixie hastily retreated from the scene and kept her line of sight fixated on the ground, in a vain attempt to avoid the world’s piercing gaze.
However, just as she cut around the corner, the girl nearly collided into a blunt force, but as she peeked up, a familiar hazel gaze greeted her. Peter stood with his hands extended, gently gripping Trixie’s shoulders. The pair stood in silence for what seemed like ages, before the girl scoffed, pulling herself out of the boy’s grasp. Taken aback, Peter merely blinked in response, but his disposition soured as students around them began to snicker mischievously, apparent by his scowl and furrowed brow.
Ignoring their laughter, Peter returned his gaze to the girl. “Are you okay, Trixie? I’ve been trying to call you.” Inhaling deeply before sighing, the boy glanced to the side. “I’m sorry about what happened to your dad.”
“Somehow, I doubt that,” Trixie scoffed, snapping a glare in Peter’s direction. Frowning, Trixie shook her head and sniffled. “You’re just here to tell me that ‘I told you so’ and rub it in that you were right. Again.”
Peter’s eyes widened at the accusation before he stepped back, his mouth falling agape. “What? No! I would never say that.”
Leaning forth, Trixie’s glare only deepened, as her eyes ached and grew wet. “My father invited you into our house for dinner, and you repay his kindness with a vile accusation! I thought you would have had more faith in him! It doesn’t matter if you were right! Now you get to go back to your family and I have to go back to my mother!”
Peter winced in response, unable to defend himself from the reality of the situation. Tears began to pour down Trixie’s face, prompting the girl to wipe away at her cheeks with a free hand. Yet, she stood in place, before holding her gaze at the boy. Peter opened his mouth to respond, but his words failed him, as he glanced to the side with a look of uncertainty. Trixie narrowed her gaze, as if waiting on the boy to give any form of response. However, the pair stood in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time. Even the surrounding spectators bit their tongues, unsure of what to make of the situation.
Eventually, Trixie shook her head and frowned. “As usual, you were right. Now, my father’s a fraud and locked up while I’m stuck with my mother. I hope you’re happy.” The girl walked past Peter, avoiding his extended hand, but she paused, holding her saddened gaze skyward. “I need some space for a while. We’re still friends, Peter, but I’ll need time to figure everything out.”
“Trixie,” Peter stated, reaching out once more, until his hand hovered over the girl’s shoulder, “I’m sorry.”
Slow to respond, Trixie’s shoulders trembled, as her gaze fell. Soft sniffles escaped from the girl, before she forcefully cleared her throat, walking forth out of Peter’s reach. “Yes. I’m sorry, too.”
The walk home was slow and arduous, filled with self-doubt and endless thoughts. Trixie’s words struck harder than any blunt force trauma could manage. Spider-Man remained undefeated since his move to Canterlot City, but it seemed Peter Parker, while on the verge of a turn-around, managed to cost himself another chance at happiness. It was self-inflicted and unavoidable all the same, it felt, but there was a lingering thought hovering over the boy as he finally made it to the outskirts of his abode.
Peter slowly opened the door to his home once in range, peeking his head inside, and his eyes softened at the sight of May working diligently in her cooking. He glanced to the side, spotting Aria comfortably stretched across the couch, with a pair of buds in her ears. Faster than the boy could hope to react, fumes escaped from the kitchen and rushed into his nostrils. A soothing sensation clouded his mind, sending Peter into a blissful drift.
May turned, smiling widely upon taking in the sight of her nephew. Before long, the woman left the kitchen and openly embraced the boy without question. Peter quietly stood with May’s arms wrapped around his neck, sighing as Trixie’s words echoed throughout his mind. A newfound sense of appreciation began to swell from within his chest, evident as the boy returned the embrace with warmth.
The pair soon parted, sharing a smile while Aria dragged herself from the couch. Once inches apart, the girl managed a smile before reaching up and mushing a hand through Peter’s hair. May returned with a fresh slice of banana cream pie, fumes exuding from the treat. Grinning, Peter accepted the small plate, and he chomped down into the treat, allowing the savory goodness to melt within the confines of his mouth.
Aria arched a brow, smirking. “You’re usually far more gloomy than this. Everything okay?”
Peter paused, shrugging. “Almost nothing went right. Some days ahead are going to suck, but I have two amazing people looking out for me at home,” he trailed off, taking another bite of the pie. He stared lovingly at both women in his proximity, holding his smile. “Tell me there’s something better. Go ahead. Try.”
“Family is not an important thing. It’s everything.” - Michael J. Fox
The End