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Norman Osborn wasn’t a man who indulged in idle curiosity. Every thought, every decision, was calculated. He didn’t waste time wondering about things - he knew. And if he didn’t know, he found out. That was the secret to his success, the foundation of Oscorp, and the reason he’d survived in a world full of competitors who’d have happily slit his throat for the chance to take his place.
So when Peter Parker walked into Oscorp’s gleaming towers, a wide-eyed intern fresh out of Queens, Norman didn’t think much of him.
At first.
The boy was unremarkable in nearly every way. Skinny, awkward, with a mop of brown hair that always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. Norman had glanced at his resume - good grades, promising test scores, a science fair win here or there - but nothing that screamed "exceptional."
It wasn’t until the third day of Peter’s internship that Norman began to suspect there was more to the boy than met the eye.
The catalyst was small. A storage shelf in one of the lower-level labs had collapsed, scattering heavy crates across the floor. The crates weren’t dangerous, but they were bulky, awkward to handle, and filled with dense alloys that made them deceptively heavy.
Norman happened to be reviewing security footage when the incident caught his attention.
On the grainy feed, Peter paused mid-step, scratching the back of his head. He glanced around, as if checking to see if anyone else was going to handle the mess. When no one appeared, he crouched down, grabbed a crate with both hands, and lifted it back onto the shelf.
Norman froze.
The crate weighed at least 150 pounds. Peter handled it like it was made of Styrofoam.
Norman rewound the footage. Watched it again.
“Adrenaline response,” he muttered. It was the only logical explanation. People could do extraordinary things under stress. He filed the incident away in the back of his mind and moved on.
But it didn’t end there.
—
Over the following weeks, Norman began noticing more anomalies.
There was the time Peter adjusted the alignment on a centrifuge in the biochemistry lab. The machine’s base was notoriously difficult to move - most technicians avoided adjusting it entirely, opting to compensate for the misalignment instead. But Peter, oblivious to the struggle, gave the machine a quick nudge, perfectly centering it without breaking a sweat, and moved on with his day.
Then there was the spill.
A clumsy lab assistant knocked over a rack of glassware, sending shards flying everywhere. Peter, standing just a few feet away, moved so quickly to avoid the falling equipment that the footage barely registered his movement. One frame, he was standing still. The next, he was a foot to the left, completely unscathed.
Norman had rewound that clip at least a dozen times.
The boy’s movements were too deliberate, too fast, too controlled. It wasn’t adrenaline. It wasn’t luck. It was... unnatural.
Norman’s obsession grew as the incidents piled up. At first, he told himself they were mere anomalies, quirks of chance. But each occurrence chipped away at his skepticism, leaving behind a mounting certainty: Peter Parker was extraordinary.
One afternoon, Norman found himself reviewing footage from the experimental labs. Peter was standing near a containment tank holding an Oscorp-designed chemical compound - a volatile mix used for testing energy absorption. A scientist accidentally bumped into the control console, triggering a minor surge. A faint crackle of energy rippled through the air, harmless to most but strong enough to give anyone nearby a nasty shock.
Peter flinched before the surge reached him. Not as it hit him - before. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Norman caught it on the slowed footage. The boy’s body shifted a split second in advance, and when the wave hit, Peter merely scratched his arm like he’d brushed against a static charge.
Then there was the elevator incident. Oscorp’s older elevator systems were notoriously finicky, prone to sudden jerks as they ascended or descended. Norman had taken note of the problem but hadn’t prioritised it; after all, inconvenience wasn’t life-threatening.
But on one particular morning, the elevator Peter was in malfunctioned. Security footage showed the cabin dropping a solid three feet before the emergency brakes kicked in. Most people would have stumbled - or at least flinched. Peter, however, reacted as though he expected it. His knees bent instinctively, his body perfectly balanced, absorbing the impact without so much as a wobble.
Norman rewound the clip, analyzing every frame. Peter’s movements weren’t just reactive; they were deliberate, fluid, and impossibly fast. The timing was too precise to be natural.
The most damning evidence, however, came during what Norman privately referred to as “the coffee spill.” Peter had been walking through one of the break rooms, balancing a clipboard and a mug of coffee, when someone jostled into him. The mug tipped, the liquid arcing toward a stack of important documents on the counter.
What happened next was nothing short of astounding.
Peter’s hand shot out, fingers catching the falling mug by the handle. At the same time, his other hand darted toward the clipboard, tilting it at an angle that deflected the coffee midair, saving the documents entirely.
It all happened in the span of a heartbeat.
Peter laughed it off, muttering something about “quick reflexes” before leaving the room. But Norman had been watching from the adjoining lab, and his jaw had tightened at the sight. No human moved like that - at least, no unaltered human.
Every incident piled onto the last, forming a web of impossibilities. Peter Parker was strong. He was fast. He was perceptive in ways that defied logic.
And Norman Osborn was going to find out why.
Norman’s curiosity deepened and Peter stayed blissfully unaware of the scrutiny he was under.
But Norman couldn't investigate further without raising suspicion. Peter would notice if someone was following him. He would ask questions and Norman couldn't risk that.
There had to be another way.
A few days later, a solution presented itself.
—
Norman Osborn didn’t believe in coincidences. When opportunities arose, it was because he created them - or because he was sharp enough to take advantage of them when they came along.
The opportunity in question was a new Oscorp initiative: the Employee Wellness and Performance Program.
On the surface, it was innocuous - an annual fitness assessment designed to "ensure employees and interns were in peak physical and mental condition." A standard set of tests: cardiovascular endurance, grip strength, reflex speed, cognitive problem-solving under stress. It would be mandatory for all employees below a certain clearance level.
Peter, of course, qualified.
The idea was met with the usual groans and complaints from Oscorp’s workforce, but no one outright resisted. It was just another corporate hoop to jump through, and most assumed it was a cover for insurance liability or productivity metrics.
Norman knew better. He’d designed the tests himself.
On the surface, it was a well-constructed façade of corporate benevolence, designed to appease HR regulations and bolster Oscorp’s image as a cutting-edge, employee-focused company. Flyers and emails heralded it as a chance for employees to "optimize their physical and mental health while contributing to groundbreaking data on workplace performance." Participation wasn’t technically mandatory - but declining would raise eyebrows and could quietly tank someone’s career.
Behind the veneer of health and wellness, however, the program was anything but ordinary.
The tests were designed to push human limits, far beyond what anyone would reasonably expect from an office fitness assessment. Norman had personally overseen their development, weaving advanced technology into every stage. The grip strength test, for instance, appeared to be a simple dynamometer, but it used proprietary Oscorp alloys capable of withstanding pressure that would shatter industrial steel. The readings weren’t just about raw numbers - they tracked micro fluctuations in exertion, pinpointing levels of precision and control that bordered on superhuman.
The cardiovascular test was equally deceptive. Employees jogged on a treadmill while hooked to biometric sensors. Standard fare, at first glance. But Norman had calibrated the machines to simulate varying altitudes and resistances without warning. One moment, participants were running on a flat, sea-level surface; the next, they were essentially sprinting up a virtual mountain. The data wasn’t just about endurance; it measured recovery times, oxygen efficiency, and stress responses in real time.
Then there was the reflex station - a deceptively playful setup resembling an oversized game. Participants stood in a ring of mechanical arms equipped with soft, rubber-tipped extensions. The arms moved in unpredictable patterns, designed to tag the participant’s torso, limbs, or head. Avoiding them required a combination of agility, reaction speed, and spatial awareness. But the real trick lay in the sensors embedded in the walls and floor, which tracked subtle muscle twitches and anticipatory movements.
Norman’s personal favorite, though, was the cognitive stress test. Participants were seated in what looked like a standard interview room, given a series of puzzles to solve while wearing a harmless-looking headset. But as the test progressed, subtle environmental stressors were introduced - flickering lights, a low-frequency hum, faint drafts of cold air. The puzzles became increasingly complex, designed to overwhelm even the sharpest minds. What Norman was truly measuring wasn’t problem-solving; it was resilience under pressure, focus amidst chaos.
Each station was engineered to collect data beyond what any employee could consciously control. Reaction times were measured in milliseconds. Strength readings detected force fluctuations invisible to the naked eye. Even heart rate variability and cortisol levels were tracked, all under the guise of harmless "baseline health checks."
It was a trap, but a beautifully crafted one.
Norman didn’t need every participant to excel - on the contrary, he expected most to fail spectacularly. But Peter Parker? Norman suspected the boy would reveal something extraordinary. And if the results matched his suspicions, Norman would have his proof.
The Employee Wellness and Performance Program wasn’t just about identifying outliers. It was about identifying Peter Parker.
—
The day of the assessment arrived.
Peter, as usual, was running late. He skidded into the testing room with a sheepish grin, his ID badge askew and his lab coat barely clinging to his shoulders.
“Sorry! Traffic was - uh, well, you know how it is,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head.
The technician overseeing the assessment, a no-nonsense woman named Dr. Carver, raised an unimpressed eyebrow but waved him toward the first station.
Peter, clueless as ever, ambled over to the grip strength machine. He placed his hand on the sensor pad and squeezed, his brow furrowing in concentration.
Norman watched from behind a one-way mirror, his breath held.
The machine whirred, its internal sensors recalibrating as Peter’s grip exceeded the standard threshold. A soft beep indicated the upper limit had been reached. Peter, noticing nothing, let go and rubbed his hand.
“Huh. That thing’s harder than it looks,” he muttered, flexing his fingers.
Dr. Carver glanced at the readout, her neutral expression slipping for just a moment. “It... certainly is,” she said, scribbling something on her clipboard.
Norman smiled.
—
By the time Peter reached the reflex station, Norman had seen enough to confirm his suspicions: the boy wasn’t normal. His cardiovascular performance had matched that of a professional athlete. His strength tests had required manual recalibration to avoid breaking the equipment.
And now, as the reflex sensors beeped and blinked, Peter was practically dancing through the test. Tiny mechanical arms jutted out to tag him, their movements faster than the human eye could track, but Peter avoided them with ease, ducking and weaving like it was a game.
“Whoa, this is cool!” Peter exclaimed, laughing as he dodged yet another swipe.
Norman’s grin widened.
Yes, this was more than coincidence.
The question now wasn’t if Peter Parker was special.
The question was: What could Norman Osborn do with him?
—
Henchmen. The word rebounded in Norman's mind like some strange little rubber ball that has gotten stuck under the couch just out of arm's reach.
He’ll need money for it, from what he has found Peter isn't someone to hurt people but with enough money anyone can be bought.
The easiest thing would be to have the kid kidnapped, he has the contacts to make it happen. But it could get messy, especially if the wrong people heard about it, or if the kid has a family that would come looking for him, or even worse if the cops were called.
No, the best way to do this would be a slow approach, a subtle one - no matter how long it took.
If Norman plays his cards right, this could work, maybe not today or tomorrow but if he plans it correctly and has the patience to wait, he could get everything he wanted.
With his mind made up, Norman picked up his phone and began making calls.
—
In the weeks that followed, Peter noticed nothing amiss. He returned to his internship duties, oblivious to the fact that he was under closer observation than ever before.
Norman didn't act directly. That would attract attention, and Norman couldn't risk that yet. Instead, he relied on a small, discreet network of people who would do as he asked.
His first task was to collect intel. It took two weeks to secure a detailed profile of Peter's life.
Name: Peter Benjamin Parker.
Age: 18.
Family: Mother: Mary Fitzpatrick (deceased). Father: Richard Parker (deceased). Uncle: Benjamin "Ben" Parker (deceased) Aunt: May Parker. No siblings.
School: Midtown Science High School, 100% graduation rate.
Current residence: Forest Hills, Queens, with May Parker.
Interests: Photography, science, computer engineering.
Friends: Ned Leeds, Gwen Stacy, Michelle Jones.
Hobbies: Building electronics, playing video games, building Lego models.
Norman pored over every detail, analyzing the information until he knew it by heart. He cross-referenced Peter's schedule, his class rankings, his extracurricular activities. He reviewed every photo he could find online, and every security camera feed from the last month. He noted Peter's daily routines and habits, his friends and family, and the names of everyone who lived in his apartment complex.
Norman wanted to know everything about the boy, every possible weakness. Every possible crack and flaw that could aid in convincing the young intern he just *must* become Norman's henchman.
It would take time. But Norman was patient.
—
After gathering the intel, the next step was to build trust.
It was a delicate, tedious process. Norman had to play the part of the caring, benevolent boss, a man who was invested in the welfare of his employees and interns.
Norman wasn't a man accustomed to caring. The closest he'd come was a few half-hearted attempts at parenting, back when his son, Harry, was a child. But even then, it was always about his own reputation, his own self-image. Norman had never given a damn about Harry or anything that happened in his life.
This, however, was different. Norman wasn't looking for a son. He wasn't looking for a partner or a friend or even a pet.
He was looking for a weapon.
—
Getting Peter to stay late was deceptively easy and convincing him that drinking a cup of coffee would do no harm was hilariously facile.
Once the five doses of sleep serum had been ingested by the enhanced intern Norman had two of his security personnel carry the young man down to the lower levels and secure him to a table
in one of Oscorp’s restricted labs. Norman stood over the unconscious Peter, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The boy looked so ordinary, so unassuming, lying there with his tousled hair and slack expression. It was almost laughable to think this unremarkable teenager harbored abilities that could change the world.
"Run the preliminary scans," Norman ordered, his voice crisp and efficient.
The lab technicians moved quickly, attaching sensors to Peter's arms, chest, and head. Monitors flickered to life, displaying streams of data: heart rate, brain activity, muscle density. Norman watched the numbers climb, his anticipation growing with each new revelation.
As expected, Peter's vitals were far beyond the human norm. His muscle fibers exhibited tensile strength comparable to high-grade synthetic polymers. His neural activity was hyper-responsive, suggesting reflexes and sensory processing at a level no human should achieve.
"Fascinating," Norman murmured, leaning closer to the screen.
But the real test was yet to come.
Norman stepped back as one of the technicians prepared a small vial of glowing, green liquid – Oscorp’s prototype serum, designed to amplify physical and cognitive abilities. It was an early iteration, still unstable, but Norman had no intention of injecting Peter with it. Not yet.
Instead, he wanted to see how Peter’s body reacted to proximity. The serum emitted low-level electromagnetic waves, harmless to most, but potentially disruptive to enhanced biology.
The technician held the vial near Peter's arm.
Almost immediately, Peter's body reacted. His fingers twitched, his breathing hitched, and his heart rate spiked. The monitors registered a surge in neural activity, and Peter’s eyelids fluttered as if he were on the verge of waking.
"Step back," Norman instructed sharply.
The technician obeyed, retreating with the vial. Peter’s vitals began to stabilize, though his brow furrowed as if in discomfort. Norman’s mind raced, analyzing the data.
This was more than he’d hoped for. Peter’s physiology wasn’t just enhanced – it was reactive, adaptive. His body was actively responding to potential threats, even in an unconscious state.
Norman turned to his head technician. "Prepare a full genetic analysis. I want every strand of this boy’s DNA mapped by morning."
The technician hesitated. "Sir, if he wakes up—"
"He won’t," Norman snapped. "Double the sedative dosage if necessary. I don’t care how you do it, but I want results."
The technician nodded reluctantly, returning to their work.
Norman gazed down at Peter once more, his expression a mix of triumph and greed.
"You have no idea what you are, do you?" he muttered. "But don’t worry, Peter. I’ll find out for you."
As the lab buzzed with activity, Norman retreated to his office, his mind already leaping ahead to the possibilities. If Peter’s abilities could be harnessed, replicated... the implications were staggering. Oscorp wouldn’t just dominate the biotech industry – it would reshape the future of humanity.
All he had to do was break the boy.
And Norman Osborn was very, very good at breaking things.
—
Norman Osborn stood in the shadows of the lab, arms crossed, watching the boy stir. The rhythmic beeping of monitors filled the sterile air, punctuated by the faint hiss of automated systems. It was almost poetic, the way Peter Parker lay there - restrained, vulnerable, yet so obviously extraordinary.
The boy was starting to wake.
Norman’s lips curved into a small smile. For weeks, he’d suspected something was unusual about Parker. The sharp reflexes, the uncanny strength he tried to downplay, the faint bruises and cuts that healed far too quickly for a normal teenager. Norman hadn’t climbed to the top of Oscorp by ignoring the extraordinary when it stared him in the face.
No, Peter Parker was more than just a bright young mind. Norman knew it. And now, he had proof.
The boy’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then widening as awareness set in. He tugged at the restraints, panic flashing across his face. Norman stepped forward, letting the light catch him.
“Ah, Peter,” he said smoothly, keeping his tone light, almost conversational. “You’re awake. Excellent timing.”
Peter’s breathing quickened, his muscles taut against the bindings. Norman couldn’t help but admire the fight in him, even now.
“You’ve been keeping secrets, Peter.”
The boy froze. His expression was almost imperceptible - a flicker of fear, quickly buried under feigned confusion. But Norman saw it. He always saw it.
“I know what you are.”
There it was again, that brief flash of terror in Peter’s wide eyes. Norman relished the sight. Not because he enjoyed scaring the boy - no, this wasn’t about cruelty. It was about discovery. Understanding.
“You’re enhanced,” he said, letting the word hang in the air like a declaration.
Peter blinked, clearly caught off guard. Norman suppressed a chuckle. The boy was good at hiding things, but Norman had seen too much, uncovered too many clues to be misled now.
“What are you talking about?” Peter croaked, his voice hoarse.
Norman allowed himself a small smile. “Oh, don’t play coy. I’ve been watching you, Peter. The reflexes, the strength, the speed. No ordinary young man can do what you do. I’ve run the tests. The data doesn’t lie.”
Peter’s expression hardened, but there was something else there - calculation. He was scrambling for an angle, trying to piece together a way out. Norman admired that.
“Tests? What tests?” Peter asked, his voice carefully measured.
Norman ignored the question, stepping closer to the console where streams of data continued to process. “You’re extraordinary. A marvel of science and evolution,” he said, his voice tinged with awe. “But you’ve hidden it. Why? Did someone help you? Are you part of an experiment?”
The boy shook his head, feigning confusion. “You’ve got it wrong. I’m just… I’m just a kid from Queens.”
Norman let out a low chuckle. “Don’t insult my intelligence.” He gestured to the console, where the graphs were slowly filling in, inching closer to the truth. “The results are undeniable. You may not want to admit it, but I know what I see. You’re enhanced, Peter. And you’re wasting your potential.”
Peter’s silence spoke volumes. The boy was trapped, cornered by the weight of Norman’s evidence.
Norman turned his attention back to the screen, his excitement bubbling beneath his calm exterior. “The data is still processing,” he said, almost to himself. “But it won’t be long now. Soon, we’ll know exactly what makes you so special.”
He glanced back at the boy, who was watching him with a mix of defiance and dread. Norman’s smile widened.
Yes, Peter Parker was extraordinary. And Norman Osborn would be the one to unlock his secrets—no matter what it took.
Norman straightened, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced the length of the lab. His polished shoes echoed against the tiled floor, a counterpoint to the erratic beeping of Peter’s heart monitor.
“You’ve always been an interesting boy, Peter,” he mused aloud, as if addressing a colleague rather than a restrained teenager. “Your intelligence, your drive… I’ve admired it. But now, seeing what you’re truly capable of? It’s inspiring.”
He turned on his heel, his sharp gaze piercing through Peter’s feigned calm. “And frustrating.”
Peter flinched slightly, his fingers flexing against the restraints. Norman noted the movement - small, but telling.
“You’ve hidden yourself, Peter,” Norman continued, his voice dropping into a near whisper. “You’ve buried your potential under mediocrity, content to play the role of the ordinary. Why? Why squander a gift like yours?”
Peter’s jaw tightened, his eyes darting toward the console behind Norman. The boy was thinking, calculating. Norman couldn’t help but grin.
“You’re already trying to find an escape route,” he said, amused. “Good. That resourcefulness is part of what makes you extraordinary. But let me save you the trouble.”
He gestured broadly to the room. “This lab is built to contain forces far more dangerous than you. Strength, speed, agility - whatever enhancements you possess, I’ve accounted for them. You won’t leave until I decide to let you.”
Peter’s lips parted as if to speak, but he stopped himself. Norman waited, intrigued by the boy’s hesitation.
Finally, Peter muttered, “You’re wrong about me.”
Norman tilted his head, studying him. “Am I?”
“You’re looking for something that isn’t there,” Peter said, his voice steady now, though his eyes betrayed him. “I’m not enhanced. I’m just-”
“A kid from Queens,” Norman finished with a scoff. “Yes, you’ve said that already. And it’s a good cover, I’ll admit. But no lie can hold up forever, Peter.”
He stepped closer, leaning down so their faces were inches apart. He could see every detail now - the faint scar on Peter’s jaw, the bead of sweat trickling down his temple, the defiant set of his mouth.
“I don’t care what you are,” Norman said, his voice low and venomous. “I care about why. Why you, of all people? What unlocked this potential? And more importantly-” he straightened, gesturing to the data streaming on the screen-“how can I replicate it?”
Peter’s eyes widened, and Norman caught the slightest twitch in his jaw - a tell he’d seen in countless negotiations. Fear. Not for himself, Norman realized, but for something - or someone - else.
“You don’t want to help people,” Peter said suddenly, his voice trembling with barely concealed anger. “You just want to use it. To turn it into… into power.”
Norman chuckled softly. “And what’s wrong with power, Peter? You’d rather I squander it, like you have? Hide it away, pretend it doesn’t exist?”
“That’s not-” Peter began, but Norman cut him off with a raised hand.
“Don’t bother denying it,” he said sharply. “Your actions speak louder than your words. Every time you’ve used your abilities, you’ve tried to hide them. You’re afraid of what you are, Peter. I’m not.”
Peter’s breathing quickened, and Norman watched as the boy’s mind raced. He was preparing to lash out - Norman could see it in the tension in his arms, the way his body coiled like a spring.
Norman stepped back, giving him space. “Go ahead,” he said, his tone almost inviting. “Show me. Prove me right.”
Peter hesitated, his eyes darting between Norman and the restraints holding him down. He was calculating, weighing the risks.
Norman turned his back to him, walking toward the console. He let the silence stretch, let Peter sit with the tension. He wanted to see what the boy would do next - how far he’d go to protect his secret.
The data on the screen continued to fill in, line by line, revealing fragments of the truth Norman had been chasing. He could feel it, tantalizingly close.
“Do you feel it, Peter?” he asked, not turning around. “The inevitability of it all? The moment of revelation is coming. You can’t stop it.”
Behind him, he heard the faint creak of metal as Peter strained against the restraints. Norman smiled to himself.
“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “When the truth comes out, you’ll see. This isn’t about control or domination. It’s about potential. And yours, Peter…” He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with a manic light. “Yours is limitless.”
Norman turned back toward Peter, clasping his hands behind his back as he measured the boy’s expression. The panic had settled into something more defiant now—a mask of stubborn resolve that Norman both respected and despised.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Peter,” Norman said, though the words came out sharper than intended. He softened his tone, like a teacher trying to coax the truth from a reluctant student. “But I will, if it means understanding you.”
Peter said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line. Norman tilted his head, studying him as though he were a specimen under glass.
“You think you’re protecting someone, don’t you?” Norman guessed, stepping closer again. He watched Peter’s jaw tighten, the way his shoulders bunched under the restraints. “A family member, maybe. Or a friend.”
Peter’s eyes flicked away, a split-second movement, but it was enough.
“A friend,” Norman murmured, his mind already spinning. “Or… friends. Plural. Interesting.”
Peter’s voice broke through the tension, sharp and furious. “You don’t know anything about me!”
Norman chuckled, the sound low and condescending. “Oh, but I do, Peter. You care too much. That’s your weakness. Your emotions. Your connections. They’ll be your downfall.”
He leaned closer again, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And they’re exactly what will give you away.”
Peter’s breathing was ragged now, his chest heaving as though he were holding back a scream. Norman smiled, satisfied. He had him cornered, mentally if not physically.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Norman continued, pacing again, his footsteps a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Your generation is so obsessed with being unique. Special. Yet here you are, trying so desperately to convince me you’re nothing out of the ordinary.”
He stopped, turning back to Peter with a predator’s grin. “But I see through it. The awkward smiles, the stammering, the false humility—it’s all a facade. Underneath, you’re exceptional. A rare anomaly. And anomalies,” he said, his voice growing colder, “are meant to be studied.”
Peter pulled against the restraints again, his strength surging. Norman didn’t react, though he noted the way the metal strained under the pressure. The boy was strong—stronger than he had anticipated.
Norman reached for a small remote on the console and pressed a button. The restraints glowed faintly, emitting a soft hum as they tightened. Peter winced, his movements stilled.
“You see?” Norman said, gesturing to the scene before him. “Control, Peter. It’s all about control. Without it, you’re just another wildcard. Dangerous. Unpredictable. But with it…” He turned back to the console, his voice trailing off as he examined the data.
Norman froze, his gaze locked on the monitor. The results were extraordinary. Genetic markers spiking in ways that defied even his boldest hypotheses. Neural activity surging like wildfire. But then he saw it - something that made his breath catch in his throat.
A pattern in the DNA, unmistakable yet hauntingly familiar.
Norman leaned closer, his eyes scanning the sequence, dissecting it with ruthless precision. His chest tightened as the truth took shape. Spider DNA. Not just any spider, but his spider. The very creatures bred in Oscorp’s labs, injected with his experimental serum.
“No,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. But the evidence glared back at him, undeniable and damning.
He sank back, his mind spinning. Oscorp’s genetically modified spiders had been designed for perfection - enhanced strength, agility, resilience. And one of them had bitten Peter Parker.
His head jerked up, his breath shallow. The pieces slid into place with cruel precision. Peter’s enhanced reflexes. The uncanny strength. The bruises he tried to hide.
“Spider-Man,” Norman muttered, the name falling from his lips like a curse.
Something cracked inside him. The voice that had been lurking, waiting, surged forward like a wave breaking against a dam.
“Well, well… there it is,” it purred, its tone dripping with malice. “Isn’t this delicious, Norman? You’ve been dancing around it all along, and now you’ve found your prize.”
“No,” Norman growled, clutching his head. The room swayed, the fluorescent lights searing into his eyes. “It’s not possible. It can’t be.”
“But it is,” the voice sneered. “And you know what this means, don’t you? The boy has our power. Our gift. And you let it slip through your fingers!”
“Shut up!” Norman hissed, staggering back. His voice trembled with fury and fear.
Peter stirred on the table, his groggy voice cutting through Norman’s haze. “Norman? What are you talking about?”
Norman turned, his face twisted in a mix of triumph and torment. His eyes gleamed with something wild, unhinged.
“You,” he said, pointing at Peter, his voice low and venomous. “You’re… enhanced. My spiders. My work.”
Peter’s eyes widened, panic flickering across his face. “I don’t know what you’re-”
“Don’t lie to me!” Norman shouted, his voice cracking. He slammed a fist against the console, the sound reverberating through the lab. “I see it. I see you. The strength, the speed… the spider.”
Peter flinched, straining against the restraints. “Norman, you’re not making any sense-”
“Oh, but he is,” the voice cackled, rising in Norman’s mind. “Let me out, Norman. Let me handle this. You’ve done enough fumbling.”
Norman clutched his head, his breath coming in short gasps. “No,” he groaned. “Not now.”
“Now, Norman,” the voice growled, its tone deepening. “Let me show him who we are.”
Norman’s body shuddered violently. When he looked up, his expression had shifted. The mask of the calm, calculating CEO had cracked, revealing something darker beneath. His lips curled into a grin that wasn’t his own.
“Peter,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
Peter’s face paled. “Norman, you’re scaring me—”
“You should be scared!” Norman’s voice twisted, layered with an edge of malice. “You’re playing with powers you don’t understand. Powers that belong to me.”
Peter struggled, his voice rising. “Norman, listen to yourself! This isn’t you!”
Norman’s laughter filled the room, cold and sharp, as he leaned closer. “Oh, it’s me, Peter. It’s all me.”
And in the depths of Norman’s mind, the Goblin smiled.
—
Norman’s laughter echoed in the sterile lab, twisting into a jagged sound that made Peter’s blood run cold. The man standing before him wasn’t just Norman Osborn anymore. Something deeper, darker, had surfaced - something Peter could feel in the way Norman’s eyes gleamed, alive with cruel, manic energy.
Peter had come here to find out more about the Green Goblin, sure that Oscorp had something to do with the mess but he had never thought that the Goblin had been right under his nose this whole time.
Peter tugged at the restraints, his strength returning in uneven bursts. “Norman, you don’t have to do this. You can stop.”
Norman tilted his head, almost mockingly. “Stop?” He stepped closer, his grin feral. “Do you even realize what you’ve done, Peter? What you are?”
Peter’s throat tightened, his mind racing for a way to defuse the situation. “Norman, listen. You’re not thinking straight. Whatever you’ve seen, whatever you think-”
“Think?” Norman interrupted, his voice laced with venom. “I know.” He gestured wildly to the monitors still displaying their data, the spider-like sequences flashing in rhythm with Peter’s vital signs.
Norman’s breathing quickened as he circled the table like a predator stalking prey. “When I started this project, I dreamed of creating something… exceptional. A cure, a solution to the limitations of humanity.” He gestured at Peter, almost trembling. “But you - you’re not a cure. You’re a mutation.”
Peter flinched. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t ask for this-”
“Didn’t ask?” Norman’s voice cracked, his composure crumbling further. “You think that absolves you? I built everything- everything - and somehow it ended up in you.”
Peter shook his head, his voice steady despite the fear building in his chest. “I didn’t steal anything, Norman. I never wanted this to happen.”
Norman’s grin faltered, a flicker of humanity breaking through. But it was fleeting, crushed under the weight of something far darker.
“He’s lying,” the voice snarled in Norman’s mind, sharp and cutting. “Look at him. The strength, the reflexes. The spider. He’s been mocking you this whole time.”
Norman’s laughter returned, cruel and jagged. “Oh, this is rich. All this time, the great Spider-Man was hiding in plain sight. A boy playing hero.”
Peter tore at the restraints, snapping them as adrenaline surged through his veins. “Norman, stop! You’re letting it consume you!”
“Consume me?” Norman’s face twisted into something monstrous. “You think I’m being consumed? No, Peter.” His grin widened, his voice dropping to a sinister growl. “I’m finally free.”
The Goblin’s presence surged forward, overwhelming what was left of Norman. His body trembled as if charged with electricity, his eyes gleaming with unrestrained madness.
Peter braced himself, every muscle tense. This wasn’t just Norman Osborn anymore. It was the Goblin, unleashed and furious.
“You’ve taken everything from me, Peter,” the Goblin hissed, his voice layered with venom. “And now, I’m going to take everything from you.”
Peter pulled at his restraints, his mind racing for a way out. Norman - or what was left of him - lunged forward, the darkness finally consuming him whole.