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The holograms flickered in the dim light of Lab 4, casting a cool blue glow across Peter Parker’s exhausted face. It was 2:14 AM, and the air smelled faintly of ozone, solder, and the distinct, sugary scent of sour gummy worms.
"Kid, if you stare at that thruster equation any longer, your brain is going to short-circuit, and I don't think May has a replacement fuse for you," Tony Stark called out from across the workshop. He was wiping grease off his hands with a rag, leaning against a diagnostic console for the Mark 85 armor.
"Just five more minutes, Mr. Stark," Peter muttered, his eyes wide and bloodshot as his fingers danced across a holographic keyboard, dragging a floating cluster of variables into a tight algorithmic thread. "The dampeners are still fluctuating by zero-point-three percent whenever the flight stabilizers engage. If we don't recalibrate the feedback loop now, the boot thrusters will kick back during high-velocity maneuvers."
Tony sighed, though a small, proud smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Zero-point-three percent is a rounding error for anyone else, Underoos. For us, it’s an annoyance. Fine. Solve it, and then you’re going straight to bed. You have that school thing tomorrow."
"Decathlon trip," Peter corrected, yawning so hard his jaw clicked. "And it's not a 'thing,' it's a tour of the exhibition floors. Flash is already threatening to dunk my head in a corporate toilet if I can't prove my internship is real."
"Do you want me to have Pepper buy his parents' company and rename it Parker Industries?" Tony asked smoothly, tapping his own tablet. "Because I can. It takes about four clicks."
"Please don't," Peter laughed, rubbing his eyes. "I just want to survive the lobby."
"Right. Lobby. Got it." Tony walked over, swatting gently at the back of Peter's head to get him to move away from the workbench. "FRIDAY, override the kid's terminal. He’s done for the night."
The holographic screens instantly dissolved into a shower of golden sparks. "Terminal locked. Boss, the local Thai place down the street is still taking delivery orders. Shall I request the usual for two?" FRIDAY’s voice chimed warmly from the ceiling.
"Make it so, Fri. And tell them extra spice on the noodles," Tony said, turning back to Peter. "Go stumble upstairs to the living quarters and pass out. I’ll finish locking down the dampener sequence."
"Thanks, Mr. Stark," Peter mumbled, already half-asleep on his feet. He pulled his oversized science bowl hoodie tighter around his shoulders, shuffling backward out of the lab space.
On the corner of the workbench, resting right next to a brightly coloured, half-empty bag of gummy worms, lay a sleek, heavy piece of brushed platinum. It was stamped with a stark, minimalist SI logo and a bold, holographic LEVEL 5: FULL COMPOUND ACCESS.
Peter’s fingers brushed right past it as he grabbed his travel mug instead, completely oblivious as his exhausted brain focused entirely on the mental image of a pillow.
The platinum card sat silently under the soft workshop lights, perfectly forgotten, waiting for the morning rush.
The lobby of Stark Industries was exactly as intimidating as the brochures promised: all polished white marble, soaring glass ceilings, and security guards who looked like they retrained from the Secret Service.
For the Midtown High Decathlon team, it was holy ground. For Peter Parker, it was just the place where he usually tripped over his own shoelaces while trying to balance a stack of blueprints and a travel mug of Tony Stark’s hyper-caffeinated coffee.
"This is it, Parker," Flash Thompson hissed, shoving his way to the front of the group as their tour guide gathered their visitor passes. "The end of the line. I talked to the guy at the front gates, and he said they don't even have high school interns. You’re dead."
Peter let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He had been up until three in the morning helping Tony calibrate the dampeners on the Mark 85 armor, and his spider-sense was currently pinging not with danger, but with the impending, agonizing awkwardness of a public identity crisis.
"Drop it, Flash," Ned whispered defensively from Peter's left, though he was vibrating with excitement, eyes dart do the ceiling as if waiting for Iron Man to fly through the window. MJ didn't look up from her sketchbook, though she muttered, "Ten bucks says Flash cries before the third floor."
Their tour guide, a bright-eyed college junior named Chloe, clapped her hands to get their attention. "Alright, Midtown High! We’re about to go through the primary security turnstiles. I have your temporary visitor badges here. When I call your name, please step up, take your badge, and scan through."
One by one, the students stepped up. Flash grabbed his badge with an arrogant flourish, scanning it across the sleek glass sensor. The turnstile chimed a soft, pleasant green, and a synthesized voice intoned, “Visitor, Level One. Welcome.”
Flash smirked back at Peter, crossing his arms.
When Chloe reached the end of her stack, she frowned, shuffling the remaining plastic cards. "Uh, Peter Parker?"
"Present," Peter said weakly, stepping forward.
"That's weird," Chloe muttered, checking her digital tablet. "Your name was on the school roster, but the system didn't generate a visitor pass for you. It keeps spitting out an error code."
"Oh, what a tragedy!" Flash called out loudly, making sure the entire group—and the nearby security personnel—could hear. "Looks like the liar didn't even make it past the lobby. What's the matter, Parker? Forgot to hack yourself into the database today?"
Mr. Harrington fluttered his hands anxiously. "Now, Flash, let's not jump to conclusions. Miss Chloe, is there perhaps a glitch? Peter is quite a bright student, I'm sure he belongs on the tour."
"The system doesn't glitch, sir," Chloe said, her professional pride slightly stung. "If he doesn't have a badge, he can't pass the turnstiles. Security will have to escort him to the waiting area."
Peter groaned internally. He knew exactly why there wasn't a visitor badge. The Stark Industries mainframe, governed entirely by an artificial intelligence with a mother-hen streak, explicitly forbade the generation of temporary guest credentials for permanent personnel. And Peter's actual badge—the solid, brushed-platinum Level Five pass that gave him access to everything short of Tony's private living quarters—was currently sitting on his desk upstairs next to a half-eaten bag of gummy worms.
"Excuse me, what seems to be the problem here?"
The voice was sharp, polished, and carried the absolute authority of someone who ran the most heavily fortified front desk in the Western hemisphere.
Janice, the head receptionist of Stark Industries, stepped out from behind the massive, curved executive desk. She was wearing a tailored blazer, her sharp eyes scanning the high school group with the practiced skepticism of a woman who had personally turned away foreign dignitaries, rogue paparazzi, and the occasional disgruntled supervillain.
Chloe immediately straightened up. "Janice! Sorry, we just have a student whose name isn't generating a Level One visitor pass. I was just about to call security to have him wait outside."
Flash was practically vibrating with glee.
Janice walked over, her heels clicking perfectly against the marble. She reached out, taking Chloe's tablet to inspect the error code. Her eyes narrowed as she read the prompt: ERROR: USER CLASSIFICATION CONFLICT. PASS DENIED.
Janice slowly lowered the tablet. She looked past Mr. Harrington, past a smirking Flash, and locked her gaze directly onto Peter, who was currently trying very hard to disappear inside the collar of his science bowl hoodie.
"Peter?" Janice asked, her sharp tone instantly dropping into something entirely different—something dangerously close to maternal exasperation.
The entire Decathlon team went dead silent.
"Uh. Hey, Janice," Peter squeaked, offering a weak, tentative wave. "Good morning."
Janice marched right past the tour guide, stopping directly in front of Peter. She crossed her arms, looking him up and down. "Don't you 'good morning' me, kiddo. Look at you. Are you wearing the same hoodie from Tuesday? And what did I tell you about those dark circles under your eyes?"
"I was studying?" Peter offered.
"You were in the garage," Janice corrected flatly, popping her hip. "Mr. Stark called down to the desk at two in the morning demanding someone send up a delivery of local Thai food, and he specifically mentioned his intern was refusing to go to sleep until the thruster equation was solved."
Flash’s jaw didn't just drop; it practically unhinged from his face. Mr. Harrington blinked rapidly, his brain stalling out entirely.
"I forgot my badge upstairs," Peter mumbled, pointing a finger toward the ceiling. "And the system won't let me print a guest pass because..."
"Because you're a permanent fixture," Janice sighed, though her lips twitched into a fond smile. She reached into her blazer pocket, pulling out a master overrides keycard. She swiped it against the security terminal, overriding the turnstile lock manually.
Before Peter could even step through, the sleek overhead lighting in the lobby shifted from a cool white to a subtle, warm gold. The ambient speakers, usually reserved for quiet corporate jazz, chimed with a crisp, familiar accent.
"Good morning, Peter," FRIDAY’s voice echoed clearly throughout the massive lobby, causing half the students to jump in surprise. "Boss has been tracking your arrival since you entered the courtyard. He notes that you skipped breakfast this morning and has ordered a breakfast burrito to be sent to Lab 4. Would you like me to inform him that your academic tour has arrived?"
"Uh, no thanks, FRIDAY," Peter said, his face flushing a spectacular shade of crimson as thirty of his peers stared at him like he had just grown a second head. "Just tell him I'll be up after the exhibition floors."
"Understood, Peter. Welcome home."
Janice handed Chloe back her tablet, giving the stunned tour guide a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "He's clear, Chloe. Just let him walk through. And Peter?"
Peter paused halfway through the turnstile. "Yeah?"
"If I don't see a vegetable in your hand by lunchtime, I’m calling May," Janice warned, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at him.
"Yes, ma'am," Peter said meekly, stepping through the gate to wait on the other side. He turned back to his class, scratching the back of his neck as Flash looked on the verge of fainting. "Uh... sorry about that. We can keep going now."
The silence inside the Stark Industries express elevator was heavy enough to alter gravity.
Thirty Midtown High students stood packed together like sardines in a sleek, glass-walled capsule that was currently shooting upward at a speed that made everyone’s ears pop. Outside the glass, the sprawling expanse of Manhattan sank rapidly, replaced by a dizzying view of the city's skyline.
Inside the glass, all eyes were pinned directly on Peter Parker.
Flash Thompson looked like a man who had successfully swallowed a live bee. His face was a shifting patchwork of pale disbelief and blotchy red humiliation. He kept opening his mouth to speak, shutting it, and staring down at his own crisp, neon-blue "Visitor - Level 1" badge as if it had personally betrayed him.
"So," MJ said, her voice cutting through the hum of the elevator's repulsor-assisted engine. She didn't look up from her sketchbook, her charcoal pencil scratching out a quick caricature of Flash’s traumatized expression. "I believe that’s ten bucks you owe me, Flash."
"He hacked it," Flash finally choked out, his voice a full octave higher than usual. He whipped around to face Mr. Harrington, who was still bracing himself against the handrail, looking wildly overwhelmed. "Mr. Harrington, he had to have hacked it! There's no way Parker is on a first-name basis with the head of corporate security reception. And the AI? He probably built a localized signal jammer to trick the speakers!"
Ned let out a snort that he tried, and failed, to disguise as a cough. "Right, Flash. Because Peter routinely hacks multi-billion-dollar military-grade artificial intelligence matrices in his spare time just to avoid getting a visitor pass."
"He's a liar!" Flash hissed, though his argument was losing steam rapidly as the elevator smoothly bypassed the standard public floors.
Chloe, their tour guide, was staring at Peter with a look of profound re-evaluation. She cleared her throat, tapping her digital tablet nervously. "Um, Peter? Janice said your clearance was Level Five. As in... Platinum?"
Peter shifted his weight from foot to foot, desperately wishing his spider-suit had a cloaking function he could use in his civilian clothes. "Uh. Yeah. I guess so. Mr. Stark said it was just easier so I wouldn't keep getting locked out of the specialized labs whenever I went to grab a soldering iron."
"Level Five access means you can literally walk into the arc reactor containment cells," Chloe whispered, her eyes wide. "I’ve worked here for three years and I'm only a Level Two. I’m pretty sure the only people with Level Five are the Avengers, Colonel Rhodes, and Miss Potts."
"And Peter," Ned added helpfully, beaming with the radiant energy of a proud best friend. "Don't forget Peter."
Before Flash could combust on the spot, the elevator chimed—a pleasant, three-toned chord—and the glass doors slid open with a soft hiss.
"Exhibition Floor Three: Historical Innovations," FRIDAY’s voice announced overhead. The AI’s tone seemed to soften just a fraction as she added, "Peter, your breakfast burrito has arrived in Lab 4. Dummy accidentally knocked over a container of hydraulic fluid while trying to guard it from the research interns, but the foil wrapper remains intact."
"Thanks, FRIDAY. Tell him I'll be up in a bit and not to clean it up with the good microfiber towels," Peter sighed, completely oblivious to how insane that sentence sounded to a room full of high school honors students.
The class stepped out onto a massive, polished showroom floor. Suspended from the ceiling were decommissioned Stark drones, early arc reactor prototypes glowing with a faint blue light, and historical iterations of Tony's armor, dating all the way back to the bulky, silver Mark II.
The rest of the Decathlon team immediately scattered toward the glass display cases, murmuring in awe. But Flash remained rooted to the spot, staring at Peter with a mixture of anger and deep, existential confusion.
"This doesn't change anything, Parker," Flash muttered as he walked past, though he kept his distance, his posture stiff. "You're probably just... an errand boy. Yeah. A glorified delivery guy who fetches coffee for the real scientists. That's why the receptionist knows you. You bring her donuts."
Peter watched him stomp off toward a display of Stark-Fujikawa laser schematics. He let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding since the lobby.
"You know," MJ said, pausing beside him as Ned ran off to drool over an old repulsor gauntlet, "you could just tell him you're Spider-Man and end his entire biological existence right here."
Peter panicked, his eyes darting around to make sure no one was listening. "MJ! Shut up, please!"
A small, rare smile broke across her face. "Just offering options, Parker. Come on. Let's go watch Ned try to break into a secure display case."