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"Having a brilliant mind isn't enough," Dr. Otto said. "You must work hard. Intelligence isn't a privilege—it's a gift. And you use it for the good of mankind."
Peter absorbed the lecture silently.
A woman entered the lab—Rose, Otto's wife. After brief introductions, Otto and Peter dove into discussing nuclear fusion technology.
Otto was impressed. Peter's understanding of fusion mechanics was genuinely sophisticated for an undergraduate.
They talked for hours.
By evening, Peter had to leave. Mary Jane's play was tonight—he couldn't miss it again.
On the way to the theater, Peter's electric scooter was hit by a fleeing robbery suspect.
The car didn't even slow down. If Peter hadn't rolled clear with his enhanced reflexes, he would've been seriously injured.
Police cars pursued the suspects, sirens wailing. The robber in the passenger seat leaned out the window with a shotgun and fired at the pursuing officers.
BOOM.
One police car's tire exploded. The vehicle swerved out of control, sideswiped another patrol car, then launched off a parked sedan—airborne, tumbling directly toward a crowd of pedestrians on the sidewalk.
People screamed.
The car stopped in mid-air.
Spider-webs held it suspended, strands anchored to nearby buildings.
Spider-Man swung down from above.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
"It's Spider-Man!"
"Go get them, Spider-Man!"
Peter pursued the suspects, swinging between buildings. The robbers fired repeatedly—missed every shot.
When Peter got close enough, he shot webs at both criminals, immobilizing them, then hung them from a streetlight for the police.
The getaway car was still rolling. Peter decided to commandeer it—his scooter was totaled anyway.
Inside the car, Peter changed back into his regular clothes, keeping his Spider-Man suit hidden underneath.
He arrived at the theater and parked the battered vehicle right by the entrance.
A security guard approached immediately. "You can't park there. It'll be towed."
"It's not my car anyway," Peter said, hurrying inside.
The usher stopped him at the auditorium doors.
"I'm sorry, sir. Once the performance starts, we can't allow entry. It disturbs the other patrons."
Peter's shoulders slumped. "But I—"
"I'm sorry."
Defeated, Peter left the theater and found a spot across the street to wait.
Eventually, the performance ended. People filed out, chatting and laughing.
Peter spotted Mary Jane.
He started toward her, smiling—
A man approached her first. Her new boyfriend. They kissed.
Peter froze.
He stood there, watching the woman he loved kiss someone else.
The pain was physical.
Police sirens cut through the moment. Squad cars raced past.
Peter took one last look at Mary Jane, then turned away.
Time to be Spider-Man. At least that he could do.
Spider-Man swung between buildings, chasing the sirens.
Mid-swing, his web strand didn't shoot.
Peter plummeted.
WHAM.
He slammed into the side of a building, barely catching a window ledge.
"What—?!"
He aimed at the next building, tried again.
Nothing.
His web-shooters weren't working.
After several failed attempts, Peter gave up and climbed through a window into the building. He found the stairwell and started descending on foot.
He made it to the top floor before finding an elevator.
Halfway down, the elevator stopped. Someone got on.
The man saw Spider-Man and did a double-take.
Spider-Man takes elevators?
But he didn't say it aloud. Instead, he smiled nervously. "Big fan of your work."
"Thanks," Peter said quietly.
"No, really. What you do—it's amazing. My kid has a poster of you in his room."
Peter nodded politely, desperately wishing the elevator would move faster.
Finally, the doors opened. Peter escaped.
After changing back into civilian clothes, Peter retrieved his wrecked scooter and dragged it home.
The next day, after classes, Peter went to Oscorp.
Dr. Otto was ready to conduct his nuclear fusion demonstration. Peter had been invited to observe.
The laboratory was packed—Oscorp executives, investors, scientists, journalists.
Before starting the fusion experiment, Otto demonstrated his auxiliary invention: four mechanical arms designed to manipulate the reaction safely.
Otto stood on a platform, his back against the arms' central controller.
With Rose's assistance, the controller was locked into place along Otto's spine. Long needles penetrated deep into his nervous system.
At the top of the apparatus, a small blue chip glowed.
The inhibitor chip—designed to prevent the mechanical arms' artificial intelligence from overwhelming Otto's mind.
Everyone watched nervously.
Otto activated the arms.
Four massive metal appendages, each weighing hundreds of pounds, lifted smoothly into the air. They moved with fluid grace—Otto controlling them as naturally as his own limbs.
The crowd murmured in amazement.
Otto smiled. "Now for the main event."
In the center of the lab stood the fusion chamber—a massive device of curved metal and electromagnetic coils.
Otto retrieved the critical component: a fingernail-sized sample of tritium.
Tritium—a hydrogen isotope used in thermonuclear weapons and, potentially, in fusion reactions. Incredibly rare in nature. Only about twenty-five pounds existed on Earth.
Without Oscorp's resources, obtaining even this tiny amount would've been impossible.
Otto loaded the tritium into the reaction chamber.
"Initiating fusion sequence."
Laser beams converged on the tritium sample from multiple angles.
BOOM.
The tritium ignited.
A sphere of pure energy materialized—one meter in diameter, burning like a miniature sun. It hung suspended in the magnetic field, generating massive amounts of power.
The readout showed: 100 billion kilowatt-hours per second.
The crowd erupted in applause and cheers.
"It works!"
"He did it!"
"Sustainable fusion energy!"
But in the midst of the celebration, Peter noticed something.
His expression changed.
Something was wrong.