Doctor Connors is Peter Parker's father

Peter stood at foot of glass skyscraper Oscorp, its faceted walls went high into sky, reflecting clouds. Air rang from city noise, mixed with quiet humming of air conditioners of tower. He took deep breath and pushed heavy glass door. Inside reigned anthill. People in business suits and white coats scurried across spacious marble atrium, their steps echoed under high vaults. Peter felt himself fly, flown into hive. — Excuse me! He was called by young voice. He turned around. Behind reception desk sat young girl in black jacket, with badge Oscorp on left side from her, with perfect smile and such same perfect makeup. — You to me? — confused Peter. — To you help? — clarified she, not losing friendliness. Peter came closer, feeling, how approaches panic. He not planned this conversation. — Aaaaa. Even not know… I came to Doctor… Doctor Connors, — blurted out he. Girl without shadow of doubt nodded. — Clear. Search yourself on left. Peter uncomprehendingly stared at her. — You but in interns recorded? — clarified she, already slightly less confidently. In head of Peter rushed alarming bells. Pass. At me there is pass of father, but, if I it present, his name will surface in system. And then Kurt all will find out. He quickly nodded. — Yes. Yes. Girl again smiled. — Well here. Your pass, — she made intriguing pause and showed with eyes at became levee. — …on left from you. Peter looked left and saw stand with plastic badges. His heart fell. — Ouuuu… — he drawled, doing view, that searches. — What, not can yourself to find? — asked receptionist. — Can, — hastily said Peter and at random grabbed first a random one card. Rodrigo Guevara. — Here, found! — he showed badge to girl. — Well done, Mr. Guevara, — approvingly said she, looking closer at name. — Gracias, — said Peter, smiling to her, walking away. — De nada, — easily answered she. Escalator smoothly carried him upward. From speakers flowed velvety female voice: "Welcome to Oscorp. Brainchild of our founder — Norman Osborn. Tower Oscorp — this is 108 floors of innovations. Our scientists work on advanced equipment, medical and chemical technologies. Future — in us themselves." On needed floor he joined group of schoolchildren. Ahead, shining with golden hair, stood Gwen Stacy. — Welcome to Oscorp. My name is Gwen Stacy. I study at Midtown Science School, and I am senior intern of doctor Connors. So today I conduct excursion. Peter put left hand to mouth and tilted head down. He put on glasses of father, which to him suited, trying to get lost behind backs of other kids. — From me not on step. Such rules. Remember about this, and all will be good. And if forget... — she not finished, and this "not" sounded ominously. Suddenly at elevator rose noise. — Let me through, let me through! Say, that this I, Rodrigo Guevara! I downstairs! Call upstairs! Say, that I, Rodrigo Guevara! I RODRIGO! Two security guards forcibly escorted out of building fragile guy in glasses. Gwen watched this together with group of kids. — Here see, what at us it happens with latecomers. Shall we begin!? She led group into huge hall, filled with various apparatus. — Stand all here, — she indicated on large place. And then from around corner came out he. Kurt Connors. In white, perfectly ironed coat, under which was visible light shirt and tie. He looked collected, confident, completely other person — not that, who cooked dinner on kitchen. — Hello, Gwen. — Doctor Connors, — she smiled to him with professional respect. He turned to group. — Greetings. My name is doctor Curtis Connors, and yes, you correctly noticed, I am left-handed. — Light chuckle ran through hall. — And I not cripple, I scientist. Leading in world specialist on herpetology, that is, on reptiles, if who not knows. He made pause, his voice became quieter, more serious. — But as patient with Parkinson's, who in horror observes, how body betrays her, or person with dystrophy of retina, who with each day loses vision, I dream to heal. I want to create world without defects. Who-something will guess, by what means? One of guys, standing ahead, timidly raised hand. — Yes? — encouraged him Kurt. — Stem cells. — confidently said he. — Perspective, — nodded Connors. — But I found solution more radical. Silence reigned. All thought. — No ideas? — asked he, smiling. Peter not endured. Voice sounded almost against his will. — Crossbreeding of species? — asked he, quietly. All turned to him. Gwen questioningly looked at list in tablet. His name there not was. — Illness Parkinson begins from that, that die off cells of brain, producing dopamine, but at zebrafish there is ability to grow cells on order. Need somehow to transmit this ability to that, about whom you spoke, and she... — Peter stumbled, selecting words, — herself will heal. Someone from behind snorted: — Well yes, only at her fin on neck will grow. Hall exploded with laughter. — Sh-sh. — he hissed to kids, looking at Peter smilingly. Laughter instantly subsided. — Khh. — he exhaled. He not expected, although knew, that Peter can much. Peter understood his idea. — This one of best students of our school, — reported she. — True? — surprised Connors, looking at her, and stepping away from us. — Second in his class. — Oooo, — he drawled, and his gaze for second lingered on Peter with barely perceptible pride. — Second? — asked her Peter. He thought, that first. — Yes. — answered she with barely concealed smile. — You sure? — asked Peter. — Absolutely. At this moment sounded quiet, but persistent ringing. Kurt took out telephone from pocket of lab coat, glanced at screen and dismissed call. — Guilty, duty calls. I leave you in competent hands of miss Stacy. Glad was to meet. — He slightly rose on tiptoes and lowered, as if bowing, and quickly walked away. — Let's stand in circle, — commanded Gwen. In center of hall appeared complex, shimmering hologram — Tree of Life. — Before you tree of life Oscorp. Tree of life of our planet quite branchy. In department of interspecies genetics... Peter took advantage of moment and began to back away, to exit from hall. — Hi. He froze, and turned around. Gwen stood directly before him, crossing arms on chest. He swallowed and cleared throat. She smiled. — How you here got, Rodrigo? — asked she, looking at his badge. — Well… ah, well yes… — stammering, began he. — What you here doing? — her voice was cheerful, but wary. — Working, — tried to lie Peter. Gwen laughed. — No. Not working. I wanted to make view, that I work here, but looks like, you yourself work here, and you not deceive. — You following me? — asked she, raising eyebrow. — Yes no, what you! — he waved hands. — Even not thought. Not following. I not knew, that you here. — Then why you here? — So, slipped through... I... I love science. — You love science, — repeated she with disbelief. — I live without it not can. — And you slipped through. I must return to group. So later all to me will tell. Only not expose me. — No. Not will. — trying to interrupt her, answered Peter. — Keep with others, — she nodded and returned to group. — So, guys. Now I will take you to bioreactor. Peter made view, that goes behind all, but, retreating back, bumped into someone solid. He turned around. Before him stood tall black man in perfectly fitting black suit. From his hands fell out black folder. — Sorry, you dropped, — murmured Peter, bending down to lift folder. His gaze fell on one of sheets. And blood froze in veins. On it, in corner, were those very two red circles, crossed out by line. ∅∅. Such same, as in folder of his father. Man silently, with one sharp motion, snatched from his hands folder, not uttering not word, and with quick steps headed into depth of corridor. Heart Peter wildly pounded. Not thinking, he went after him. Stranger went quickly, looking over shoulder. He stopped at inconspicuous metal door without identification signs and began to enter on panel complex graphical key: *Tap. Tap. From top to conduct left. From left edge up.* Door with quiet click opened. But before he managed to enter, from inside came out two men in dense protective suits. They something briefly discussed with person in suit, then closed door and went in opposite direction, their massive boots dully tapped on tiled floor. Peter, pressing against wall, observed from around corner. As soon as they disappeared from view, he approached door. Next to it on wall hung red sign with white letters: DIVISION FOR THE DEVELOPMENT OF BIOCOMPATIBLE MATERIALS. And to the left of the inscription are two familiar crossed—out circles. The door itself was marked with a modest sign: L3. On the right. He stood in front of her, feeling goosebumps running down his spine. This was the place. A place where his father didn't seem to want anyone to go. And now he was here. Heart Peter pounded so loudly, that, seemed, echo carried through sterile corridor. He looked around — no one. Fingers themselves remembered complex graphical pattern: *Tap. Tap. From top to conduct left. From left edge up.* Sounded quiet, but distinct click of unlocking. Peter pushed heavy metal door from himself and, looking over shoulder, quickly slipped inside, immediately slamming it behind himself. Air in laboratory L3 was cold and smelled of ozone and something chemically-sweet. Silence was disturbed only by monotonous humming and clicks of robot-manipulator, which with surgical precision transferred incomprehensible details from one table to another. Peter walked around it, and his gaze fell on large, complex apparatus. It resembled giant spinning wheel. Between its metal legs tightly was stretched finest, almost invisible thread. Peter came closer, peering. Along apparatus stood small transparent boxes. And in them... He sharply recoiled, heart going into heels. In boxes sat spiders. Dozens, hundreds of spiders. Different species, sizes and colors. Apparatus carefully, with help of microscopic needles, collected from them spiderweb and wound it on spools. Peter with disgust closed eyes and turned away. This was creepy. He forced himself to take step to main table, on which lay some metal plates with etched on them complex schemes. His attention was attracted by other door in depth of laboratory. From under it streamed flickering blue light. He approached and pushed it. Door yielded. New room was huge. In its center slowly rotated giant sphere, entangled with thick layers of spiderweb. It sparkled and shimmered under rays of ultraviolet lamps, installed on ceiling. Over all its surface swarmed thousands of spiders, weaving their webs. Spectacle was simultaneously mesmerizing and repulsive. Peter, enchanted, made several steps inside, finding himself under very dome of this creepy construction. He not restrained and pulled at one of hanging threads. It was incredibly strong and elastic. Suddenly sounded sharp screech, and sphere stopped. Dull sound echoed in silence. Peter froze, pressing finger to lips, as if this could help. And then all collapsed. Literally. Spiders, deprived of movement, massively poured down together with clumps of spiderweb. Sticky webs entangled Peter from head to feet. He, trying not to scream, closed eyes and began convulsively, but carefully to brush off from himself crawling creatures, trying them not to crush. Suddenly, the mechanism came alive again. The sphere twitched and began to spin slowly again, lifting the remnants of the web up. Peter, in a panic, rushed to the exit. *** At this time in office of Doctor Kurt Connors reigned tense silence. Doctor himself sat in his chair at table, and only hand something did in tablet. — In morning we received analysis of chain of mRNA, — quietly uttered he, not not raising gaze to interlocutor. — One disorder. Doctor Ratha, that very person in black suit, sat on edge of his table, violating all rules of subordination. — And more specifically? — his voice was silky and dangerous. — Dead end. All from zero. Again this algorithm of decay. — Kurt I looked at it on him. His face was tired. — This was predictable. Ratha slowly raised eyebrow. — Predictable? You but found approach. — This is so. Found. But will require time, — wearily answered Connors. — At him no time, — coldly cut off Ratha. — Norman Osborn is dying, doctor Connors. Save him, — pausing, he uttered. — …or to us will remove heads. Kurt lowered head, plunging into heavy reflections. *** At this moment Peter, finally, broke out of laboratory L3. He tried to walk as usually, but his steps were nervous, gaze ran around. Down his back crept goosebumps. He was noticed by Gwen. She interrupted her story to group and resolutely headed towards him. — Give here pass. — her voice sounded as steel. She extended hand. She extended hand. Peter foolishly smiled, trying to play fool. — And I... — Give here, — repeated she, not moving away hand. Peter exhaled, understanding, that game over. He reached for alien badge. And at this moment something small and tenacious crawled along his neck under collar, but he this not felt. — Sorry, — whispered he, taking off pass and extending it to Gwen. Suddenly sharp, burning pain pierced his neck. He cried out, not in strength to restrain it: — Oaaaaa! Gwen uncomprehendingly looked at him, frowned, took pass. Peter grabbed onto sore spot. What this was? As if into him thrust red-hot needle. He almost at run left building Oscorp, choking on surging nausea. Pain in neck pulsed, radiating to head. In subway he collapsed onto free seats, feeling, how world floats before eyes. He was hit by heat, then cold. He fell into heavy, painful sleep. He was awakened by icy drop, fallen on forehead. He opened eyes. Over him stood company of suspicious types. One of them, with bottle of cheap beer in hand, smirked. Peter tried to sit up, but his body not obeyed. Instead he... pushed off from seat and found himself on ceiling of car, sticking to it with hands and feet. In car hung dead silence. All recoiled from him in horror. Peter, nothing understanding, unstuck and fell down, heavily landing on floor. — Damn, I all in beer! — squealed some girl. Peter jumped to feet with inhuman speed. His movements were sharp, jerky. — Sorry! I not wanted, I not wanted, I.... — he in panic put hand on her shoulder, trying to apologize, but not could it to tear off. Palm stuck to fabric of her sweatshirt. — Hey hands removed! — growled one from company, coming closer. — I trying! — almost cried Peter, unsuccessfully jerking hand. — Yes smash you him! — shouted someone from crowd. Dude with all stupid yanked Peter from woman. Sounded sound of tearing fabric. Upper part of clothes of girl remained in hand of Peter, and she herself remained standing in one pink bra. In car hung shocked silence. — You what did? — roared her companion, covering her. — You what did, bastard? He rushed at Peter. That, driven by purest instinct, even not understood, how reacted. Light push — and dude flew onto neighboring seats, as rag doll. — Dude, sorry! — shouted Peter, but on him already flew another, from behind. Body of Peter reacted itself. He made incredible strength swing with leg, and second attacker collapsed on floor. Woman screamed: — Knock him out! Peter, almost not comprehending happening, laid on floor couple more people, muttering: — Sorry! Excuse me! One of gopniks, last remaining on feet, saw leaning under seat skateboard of Peter. — Not need, — implored Peter. — Please. Only not board. Will break but. That with all stupid hit him skateboard on arm. Sounded dry crunch. But broke not Peter, but deck of skateboard, fallen apart in half. Peter, gone mad from pain, fear and incomprehensible rage, delivered two lightning-fast blows. Gopnik collapsed unconscious. Gaze of Peter fell on metal handrail. In fit of uncontrolled strength he yanked it towards himself, tearing off from fastenings, and scattered with it stunned tough guys, shouting: — Sorry, I not wanted! Sorry! Stick slipped out of his hand and with crash fell. Peter with horror looked at his palm. — Next stop, Coney Island, — sounded mechanical voice of driver. — Next stop, Coney Island. Doors opened. Peter jumped out of car and rushed away, not making out road, not understanding, what with him happening. He ran so fast, as never in life, leaving behind only wind and own bewilderment. He ran home, to only person, who, as to him seemed, could know answer. To Kurt. *** Door into house opened with quiet, guilty click. Peter slipped inside, holding breath. In hallway burned light. Kurt waited. He sat in armchair in living room, not reading and not watching television. Simply sat, staring into emptiness, with undrunk cup of tea on table. His posture was tired, but tense. — You late, — uttered he, not turning head. His voice was even, without reproach, but in it was heard tired heaviness. — Yes, — forced out of himself Peter, taking off jacket and trying to do this as can more naturally. His hands trembled. He felt every dust speck on fabric, every movement of air around. All was too loud, too bright, too sharp. — Delayed... after excursion. Discussed. He went into kitchen, to hide face. Smell of left in oven dinner hit him in nose with such force, that he almost choked. Chicken with herbs. He felt every separate aroma — rosemary, thyme, garlic — as if sniffed them point-blank. Kurt rose and slowly followed him, stopping in doorway. He leaned against doorjamb, observing, as Peter pours himself glass of water. His only hand was clenched into fist. — And how? — asked Kurt. — Excursion? Interesting was? — Yes, very, — hastily said Peter, drinking water. Liquid seemed to him incredibly tasty and invigorating. He felt, how it spreads through body. — Gwen... miss Stacy well all explained. — And I? — voice of Kurt sounded quieter. — I not too... frightened your classmates? Peter falsely laughed. Sound came out sharp and unnatural. — No, what you! All were in delighted. Especially when you... about reptiles told. He felt on himself heavy, studying gaze. Kurt was silent several seconds, too long. — You some kind... wound up, — finally uttered he. — With you all in order? Not happened whether what after school? Maybe, again that Thompson? Peter sharply turned around, and world for moment swam. He grabbed onto edge of table, not to fall. — No! No, all normal. Just... tired. And head little hurts. He saw, as gaze of Kurt slid over his neck. There, under collar of t-shirt, was hidden small red spot — place of bite. It burned with fire. — Maybe, you nauseous? — persistently asked Kurt. His eyes narrowed. He made step forward. — You look pale. And movements some... sharp. "He sees all, — flashed in panicking mind of Peter. — He knows. He always all knows." — I in order, dad, truly, — he tried to smile, but smile came out crooked and tense. — Just overworked. Will go, maybe, lie down. He tried to pass by Kurt to stairs, but his own body betrayed him. He moved too fast, too jerkily, and barely not crashed into doorjamb, making awkward, sliding pirouette. Kurt froze, his eyebrows crept up. — Peter? — All good! — almost squealed Peter, recovering. — Leg went numb. Sat uncomfortably in metro. He not dared to look Kurt in eyes. He saw every little wrinkle on his face, every drop of moisture on his lips. Heard his heartbeat — even, but accelerated from worry. He felt smell of his cologne, tea on his breath, light smell of ozone from office, still clinging to his clothes. This was unbearable. — Okay, — finally said Kurt, and in his voice sounded capitulation. But his eyes, when Peter passed by, spoke of opposite. They were full of alarm and unresolved questions. — Go rest. If anything — I here. — Thank you, — whispered Peter and almost at run rushed upstairs. He flew into his room, slammed door and leaned against it with back, breathing heavily. Heart pounded like mad. He approached mirror and slowly pulled collar. Small dot at base of neck was red-purple and hot to touch. Around it diverged barely noticeable web of inflamed capillaries. He clenched fists. They were full of strength, which pulsed in him, as separate living being. He was afraid to touch them, to something not break. Downstairs were heard steps. Kurt walked in living room. Back and forth. Nervously. As predator in cage. Peter closed eyes. He lied. He lied to person, who raised him, who protected him, who was him father. He erected between them wall. And behind this wall raged storm, which he not could control. He not knew, what with him happening. But he knew one: to speak truth now — meant to bring down on Kurt all his fears, all his strange new abilities and, possibly, to bring upon himself anger, link with where he climbed in Oscorp. He not could this do. Not now. Not while not understands himself. He collapsed on bed, burying face into pillow, and groaned. From outside came sounds of city, which now seemed deafening. Sirens of ambulance for several blocks, someone's laughter from open window, hum of motors. And downstairs continued measured, anxious steps. Steps of person, who knew, that his son lies. And who, possibly, guessed, that reason of this lie far more terrible, than seems. Wall was erected. And on both its sides reigned loneliness and fear.