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SPIDER-MAN

Tangled Web

Chapter 5

(Falling Star)

Branding was ubiquitous, universal, even omnipresent, especially in New York. Branding was also a delicate balance. If it was too uniform, it became invisible. If it was too chaotic, it also became invisible. OsCorp had found that fine line for its series of products; green for the pharmaceuticals in everyone's homes, orange for the technologies in use all across the nation and now a blue emblem for the budding branch of aerospace technology coming to a head with the OsCorp Glider, the first fully functional and reusable space shuttle since NASA retired their shuttle series. Now blue balloons and banners festooned the entrance of OsCorp tower.

While the great digital migration had changed the way photographs were taken, a few flashes still popped off across the beautifully engraved cement steps on which Norman Osborn, his closest shareholders and Harry were gathered in front of the podium. Various news stations had gathered to film the press briefing, eager to be the first to get such sensational tidbits to their various outlets. Norman looked as sharp as ever, his hawkish grin matched by the point of his nose and his chin, his brown hair carefully coiffed.

As Norman settled in to make his speech, several of the photographers tried to catch glimpses of what was apparently an aviator's jacket. While the aeronautics division had gone for a blue palette, Norman couldn't help but represent the company's original color scheme of a rich emerald green. Rather than leather, the jacket was made of the same high tech materials that OsCorp had become so famous for over the last few years. Norman looked out over the gathered masses, still grinning. He conveyed pride, confidence, a dangerous edge and charisma, everything that elevated the face of a company to the next level.

“Welcome to all of you. I guess word of my humble aspirations must have gotten out…" Norman chuckled, eliciting similar laughter from the gathered press. Harry smiled with his mouth, though he'd grown a little allergic to some of the necessary pomp and circumstance when it came to his father's business. Harry had always been a bit of an anomaly. He didn't exactly look like his father with his well tanned skin and his pink hair, his warm caramel eyes the spitting image of his mother. Still, when he dressed up in a nice button up shirt with a metallic tie and matching slacks and cufflinks, it was hard not to connect him to his father's prestige. Harry looked out over the crowd, grinning a little more naturally when he spotted Peter with his digital camera, adjusting the very nice lens.

“If you had asked me nineteen years ago where I pictured OsCorp would be setting its sights in the future, I would have said the stars… But of course back then I would have been speaking metaphorically. It is my great pleasure that these last two decades have brought such innovation that I could turn that dream into a literal reality." Noman said, “Our fine scientists have been making countless advances, ranging from the Linear Catapult technology that has made OsNet possible to the radiation protection that has become an industry standard in the medical field. Heat shielding, power, nutrition… every ground breaking advance OsCorp has made has been a building block leading up to this moment." Norman explained.

As usual, Norman had a way with the crowds. The press and the gathering spectators had fallen into a hush. Peter did as he always did, weaving between the others like a ghost, never bumping or jostling, finding just the right moment to move. He watched it all through the lens of his camera, snapping shots of history being made. It would have been easy for most photographers to look down on the members of the press using their phones to take pictures. Peter didn't judge. He took pride in his own work, he had to hope that quality would win out in its own way.

“Some might say that going on this mission personally is a vanity project. After all, what qualifications does a CEO have to go out into space? While this get together celebrates the fact that we are going into space, it is the culmination of years of hard work, preparation and study. I have been a hands-on leader in OsCorp, working with biotech, pharma and engineering. You could say I'm a bit of a scientist myself." Norman grinned sharply, “But I don't just go up there as a scientist. I go as the everyman, to allow the world to see space through my eyes. How many generations of scientists, engineers and innovators did NASA create with their space program? And why did we let that dream die?" Norman asked.

Peter had gotten amazing pictures from the left and center of the presentation, capturing poignant moments of Norman's speech and some pictures of Harry being the dutiful son as well. He'd done his due diligence to take pictures of the other three individuals on the Glider team next to Norman despite them not speaking. Peter was about to move to the right side of the steps when a mass stepped in front of him at the last moment, blocking his path.

Peter had already committed to the step and shifted his body weight forward. For anyone else it would have resulted in an impact. Peter pressed his rear foot back down, using his abilities to stop himself mid lead and bring himself back. The figure ahead of him hadn't noticed, his bulky muscular shoulder nearly the size of Peter's entire head. He turned to take his own shot, his camera bag swinging sharply and nearly hitting Peter's camera. Peter winced, his fingers gripping the camera carefully, swinging it out of the way with barely a centimeter's clearance.

“Watch where you're goin, hey kid?" The gruff voice came from the other photographer. He had apparently noticed Peter's near miss. The man was in his late twenties or early thirties, his shirt almost painfully tight over his muscled arms, a tribal tattoo wrapped in a band around one bicep while three solid black lines ran around the other. A backwards snapback emblazoned with the Daily Bugle logo covered up his hair, leaving just his nonchalant face before he hid it behind his camera again, resuming his pictures.

“Our mission is a simple one…" Norman explained, trying to settle the nerves of any that might be watching, or at least any shareholders that might be watching. “This is a test of the Glider's launch, orbit and landing abilities. While we will conduct some rudimentary tests while in orbit, this is essentially a dry run. After all, I don't want to hog the limelight when space tourism is just a few bookings away." Norman chuckled again, prompting the audience to do the same. “I know you all have questions, and me and my team will do our best to answer them. For those of you with press credentials, we've set up a junket inside to do just that. For the rest of you… free tours of OsCorp are available at Two and Four every weekday. I'd just like to thank you all again for coming out here today. For years I've said that OsCorp will help build a better world. Now I say we will build a better future." Norman said.

Again the cameras flashed, everyone trying to get their shots of a legend in the making. For those like Peter, they prayed it would be a legend of success. For others, this was the pride before the fall. The legend of Icarus flying too close to the sun was a lesson humanity seemed intent on not learning. Peter watched Norman and his team head inside. Harry shot Peter a wave. Peter smiled - at least until a size fifteen boot with rough rubber tread came down on his foot. Peter winced, his eyes clenching shut. He saw stars and squiggles in his vision as the weight passed over his foot, enhanced senses and all. When Peter opened his eyes, he was looking at the same rough face of the photographer from earlier. To Peter's dismay, the larger man looked more annoyed than apologetic as he looked at the teenager.

“Damn, red, you really know how to get under foot. I'm surprised no one has squashed you like a bug." The photographer said, pulling his hat off to run his fingers through his bleach blond hair before slipping his camera back into his bag.

“Not for a lack of trying." Peter replied, looking at the photographer's credentials hanging from his neck. Eddie Brock, a bit of a brock head. He'd have to remember that, although it was good to see there were still people employed as photographers in this day and age. Eddie seemed a little perplexed at Peter's answer but he shrugged it off, falling into the line of individuals heading through security to be admitted into the junket. Peter let one or two more people fill the space behind Eddie before he got in line as well. He didn't exactly have a press badge, but he did have his guest pass for visiting Harry and his school ID. With luck he'd be able to spin that he worked for the school paper…. Those were still a thing in some schools, right?

****

The concept of a press junket was not a natural one to most people. Several small meeting rooms had been decorated with posters and information on the impending launch and each room had one of the crew members. Members of the press were cycled through from one to the next to ask what questions they had before moving on. In a way, it was a bit like speed dating - a concept that also had become less common. OsCorp had provided the cameras and would send downloads of the videos, speeding up the process by eliminating set up time.

Norman took the moment as the previous member of the press left to grab his Pumpkin Spice latte and tip it back, letting the lukewarm beverage roll over his tongue. His lips curled into a little bit of a sneer. He'd have to have the engineers work up a thermal cup that wasn't bulky, something to keep it the right temperature longer. Norman put on his public smile as the door opened, but upon seeing the shaggy red hair and boyish charm of the next visitor, the smile became far more genuine and he stood up, offering his hand.

“Peter Perez!" Norman grinned, looking happy but a little quizzical as Peter shook his hand, “Not that I'm not happy to see my son's best friend, but what are you doing here?" he asked. Peter smiled a little bashfully.

“I'm doing a story for my school paper and I thought I'd get the inside edge." Peter said.

“Your school doesn't have a paper, if it did I'd have advertising and recruitment in it." Norman said. Peter froze at that, his smile half evaporating. Norman's grin only grew, “So they should have one. I'll put in a call in the morning. We might as well get your story ready for the first edition. Sit, Peter." Norman said, sitting back down and taking another sip of his coffee, trying to mask his disgust at its rapidly cooling temperature. Peter settled into the chair as the cameraman on Norman's side adjusted to his height and both began rolling. Peter squirmed slightly given his pretense had been shattered so fully, but he decided to roll with it.

“Norman Osborn, it is such a pleasure to get to speak with you today." Peter began, using the comfort of already knowing Norman to galvanize his natural enthusiasm.

“The pleasure is mine, Peter." Norman said, still smiling. While he was wearing the mask of his public face, he was rather interested to see how well Peter was stepping into the role he had so clearly fabricated moments before. Perhaps this diversion would be more interesting than he anticipated.

“You've been a household name for many years as OsCorp has become indispensable to our daily lives, and yet you keep finding ways to make waves and challenge the status quo. How do you ride the currents of an ever changing world?" Peter asked. Norman nearly whistled. The question was flattering, a bit of a soft ball, but relevant.

“I like to think that my guiding force is the same guiding force of everyone out there - curiosity. Could this be done better? Is there something else out there? How does that work? Each answer made the world a little better and brought me the satisfaction of finding a better way." Norman said. It was something he could go on and on about, but he knew sound bites were key in this format.

“Of the many different ways OsCorp could diversify, what made you decide now was the right time to go into space?" Peter asked, knowing that the cameras were recording the answers so he could focus on the questions. Norman nodded a little.

“Some might call it kismet, others destiny. I call it economy of scale. Costs are down, revenues are up... and there's an itch that hasn't been scratched in the last decade. If we no longer outsource our fabrication or research, why should we rely on other countries for space travel when we can do it ourselves?" Norman asked. Peter took a half breath through his nostrils, bracing for the next question.

“OsCorp has been working with a variety of different methods of transportations. The Linear Catapult Upstate has been vital to launching the network of OsLink satellites, but you also were the main backer of the Vacuum Energy Exchange project, correct?" Peter asked. There was a slight flicker in Norman's eyes, the edges of his grin tightening a bit. Despite it being a much harder question, he was delighted that Peter was not pulling his punches. In fact, it was an edge that was likely as hard for Peter as it was for him. It was a brilliant move.

“OsCorp has never been afraid to test the boundaries and be at the leading edge… but some experiments end in failure. VEX was very promising technology, but the unexpected risks require more investigation before that technology can be pursued again. We learn from our mistakes in an effort not to repeat them." Norman said. Peter nodded a little, more robotically as the battle with Doctor Octavius played through his mind again, but he centered himself.

“Nearly every young child dreams of going into space. How do you feel now that you're about to do it yourself?" Peter asked. Norman chuckled at that.

“I feel like a young kid… To be weightless, looking down on the Earth, I expect it'll help me put everything into perspective. I couldn't be more excited." Norman said with mirth. The color of lights on the cameras changed, an apparent indicator that their time was running out. Peter swallowed.

“Once again, Mister Osborn, it has been so good getting to meet with you and learn more about this project. Thank you." Peter said.

“Of course, of course." Norman replied. With that the cameras snapped off. Peter and Norman stood and Norman again offered his hand. Peter reached out and shook it. “Are you staying for dinner, Peter?" Norman asked. Peter nodded.

“Yeah, my dad will be working so Harry invited me over." Peter said.

“Good, good." Norman said, clapping Peter on the elbow, looking up as the door opened and Eddie Brock peeked in. Peter bristled a little, his muscles tensing. Norman's eyebrow arched at that reaction. Normally Peter was such a pleasant young man.

“I'll see you later, Peter." Norman said. Peter was shaken back to the moment and nodded.

“Thank you, Mister Osborn." Peter said.

“Call me Norman…" Norman said, holding his hands out at his side. Peter smiled again, brushing his shaggy red hair out of his face.

“Thank you, Norman." Peter said, having to squeeze past Eddie as he entered. Eddie barely paid any mind to the teenager squeezing past his bicep and the door, instead looking ahead with his bluish-gray eyes.

“Norman, thank you so much-" Eddie was interrupted as all mirth drained from the CEO's face. In fact, Norman looked almost dangerous.

“You may call me Mister Osborn." Norman said, tipping back his coffee to drain the last of the lukewarm drink down his throat.

****

Part of being a CEO was good time management, but it was still hard for Norman not to feel like time was flying by. The days, minutes and seconds since the press junket had filtered like sand through his fingers and the launch was only a day away. The OsCorp glider sat at the base of the Linear Catapult, an immense track that curved and angled up towards the heavens at the end. The base was attached to a power complex required to provide the magnetic levitation and inertial thrust to propel the glider out along the track to reach terminal velocity before having to fight gravity.

It had been suggested rather early on not to reinvent the wheel, but Norman wasn't one to keep his hands in his pockets. While the Glider shared many design philosophies with the space shuttle and airplanes that had preceded it, it still had that OsCorp design flare. There were flowing lines on the wings coming to points and while the bottom of the glider was covered in a new ceramic composite heat shield, the upper portion glistened in a silvery metallic blue like the glass and steel of OsCorp tower formed into an alloy. It was more than beautiful to Norman, it was a symbol.

Scientists and engineers were pouring over the interior of the Glider, checking the hardware and software. Norman was standing in the rear section of the Glider, what they had come to call the Star Lab. It could be used as a cargo hold like the shuttles, but it was currently kitted out for the rudimentary tests they'd be conducting. Essentially it was an over glorified checklist to show scientific merit. Norman stood, taking it all in, although his shrewd eyes drifted toward the rear of the compartment where some of the engineers had been standing longer than most. The housing on the Glider's radioisotope generator had been pulled down. In low power mode it was safe to be near without much pomp and circumstance. Norman moved over.

“What have we got going on here, gentlemen? We're wheels up in a little over twenty four hours." Norman said by way of introduction. The scientists looked up, a mix of seriousness and concern on their faces.

“We're cross checking some numbers. We're trying to see if there is going to be a reaction in the oxygen recycler if exposed to the radiation from the RTG." The lead engineer said. Norman's jaw set a bit.

“Every centimeter of this Glider has gone through thousands of tests hundreds of times. Why would this be something that we're looking into now?" Norman asked.

“It's part of the Octavius protocols… They took a while to roll out, trying to be more thorough." One of the other engineers said. Norman nodded a little, more out of habit than actual agreement.

“But every standard test, every preliminary and secondary bit of research we've conducted said it was safe? That we're still ready to go when this multi-billion dollar project was originally scheduled to launch?" Norman asked, his eyes not conveying the sharp smile that was spreading across his angular face.

“Y… yes sir." The engineer replied. Norman nodded.

“Good, good! If we've got time, install a warning light or some sensors, but I have faith in the process we put this ship through. We are all going to be legends, my friends." Norman said, clapping one of them on the shoulder before heading back to the cockpit. The engineers looked at each other and then back at the generator.

****

If New York was good at anything, it was sunsets. Rich, warm colors of citrine and rose spread across the heavens, scattered by the atmosphere and the city's particular spectrum of pollution. Despite that, the stars were starting to peek out through the violet veil waiting on the horizon. While it wasn't all that late yet, both Harry and Peter had gotten dressed in pajamas in order to take their Launch Day slumber party literally. Peter put a duffel bag on the end of Harry's bed, giving it a quick unzip before he began pulling out his Spider suit. As the orange and black material came into the light, cuts and tears allowed the brilliant colors of sunset through the material.

“What did you do?! How are you not dead? Do you know what it takes to get through that material?" Harry asked. Peter blushed a little.

“He said his name was Grizzly. I think he was a wrestler or something, except his suit had claws… Sharp claws." Peter said. Harry took the suit from his friend and carried it over to one of the machines, laying it out over the glass for analysis before he pulled the lid down. The screens started to mark out where the fabric had strained and where it had failed, translating that data into suggestions for the next version.

“You're just lucky that we're a captive audience and have plenty of time on our hands to design the next suit." Harry said, glancing up at the television showing distant footage of the impending Glider launch. Peter reached out to rest his hand on Harry's shoulder.

“I'm sorry you couldn't be there in person." Peter said. Harry shrugged a little.

“For such a press-happy company, they haven't put in an observation area yet. Bit of an oversight if you ask me." Harry said, forcing a smile, “But we've got all the comforts of home here; homemade popcorn with truffle oil, room service on demand with the best Sicilian slice pizza you've ever had."

“Just make sure to keep the anchovies on your side this time. I'm more a classical 'zah' guy." Peter said. Harry groaned.

“Eww, don't call it Zah. You picked that up from Billy, didn't you?" Harry smirked. Peter grinned and set his duffel bag back down, looking back at the television. As the sun continued to set, the pale green lights of the Linear Catapult were starting to glow brighter, the warning lights on the vertical section warding off airplanes despite the fact that the airspace had already been cleared for the pending launch. Harry found himself watching it too.

“I know it has to be scary…" Peter said. Harry looked down at the floor.

“I shouldn't be worried. He's indestructible… But you think, 'hey, my dad's a CEO. The worst thing he has to worry about is a hostile takeover'. This wasn't exactly something I pictured growing up." Harry admitted. He looked up at Peter and started to say something but pulled himself back. Peter's brows knit together in concern.

“It's okay, you don't have to worry about my feelings. Go ahead." Peter said. Harry blushed, the rose of his cheeks nearly matching his pink hair.

“I don't know what I was going to ask exactly. I guess I was wondering if you've felt this before, or something like it. Maybe not so much with your dad, but with… Otto?" Harry asked. Peter shrugged a little.

“Maybe. To a degree, I worry about my dad a lot. He works graveyard so he's always coming and going at the worst times to be out in the city. With Otto, I was still figuring out where he fit into the family exactly when he… when it all happened. But it's natural to worry about your parents when they're doing something adventurous." Peter said. Harry laughed a little.

“Adventurous. That's one word for it." Harry said before sighing, “Alright, let's go order the pizza. You wanted extra anchovies, right?" Harry asked. Peter scrunched up his face, punching his friend in the arm. Harry mouthed 'ow' and rubbed at it, smirking as he pulled out his phone.

****

Norman had worked through flus, infections, and quite a bit of fatigue before, but trying to put on a brave face while dealing with space sickness was a new one. The physician had warned him it would last no more than three days, though it certainly did make him rethink certain amenities for their space tourism projects if it really did affect forty five percent of those to experience zero gravity. Taking a controlled breath to try and settle his stomach, he looked back at the video screen in the console. OsLink had worked well to decrease the delay in communications. That alone was worth a bit of nausea, especially when speaking with World News.

“I can't say enough about my crew… Over the last few days what they've accomplished is beyond words. Worse, they truly make it look easy." Norman chuckled, leaning back in his seat. He fidgeted a little, missing his aviator jacket. Instead he was wearing the two tone blue utility uniform they wore when not in EV suits. Still, a necessary evil.

“That's fairly high praise. Some questioned your choice of crew members during the initial announcement." The reporter commented after the slight delay.

“And I am certain those questions will soon be silenced if they haven't already. JJ, James Jameson, is the most competent pilot I've ever met. Doctor Barrison taught me more in three days than I learned in my entire college tenure… and Norton Fester - of whom I am sure you were referring - His unique approach to science is exactly the sort of new perspective I need on this mission if we're going to make up the discovery gap in space research. In fact, I-" Norman stopped abruptly as an alarm went off near the front of the cockpit.

The pilot, a sturdy man with thick dusty brown buzz-cut hair reached up to flick several switches, his hazel eyes focused and serious. Next to him Frances was turning in her seat, her long black hair intricately braided to keep it from floating into her way in the zero gravity environment. The corners of her lips curved down into sharp angles as she tried to narrow in on the cause for the alert. Norman had spent day and night with these people. The seriousness of the situation was quite tangible. Norton appeared near the back of the cockpit, the strip of reddish-brown facial hair running down his chin almost as wild as his wavy hair. He looked at the rest of his team and then at Norman, knowing he was on national television.

“Excuse me Norman, I was wondering if you could help me with my project?" Norton asked. Norman grinned sharply at that, giving him a nod before he looked back at the screen.

“I guess science waits for no man. Thank you so much, Ted." Norman said before pressing a button to terminate the transmission. The screen barely had a moment to clear before the smile evaporated from his face. As he pushed out of the chair, he nodded his thanks to Norton before pushing toward the front of the cockpit. “What are we dealing with, people?" Norman asked.

“Proximity alert. We have incoming objects." JJ said.

“Debris intersecting our orbit? Space junk?" Norman asked. Frances shook her head.

“NASA and the telemetry team chose an orbit clear of any obstructions. This is coming from out of Earth's gravity well." Frances explained with a faint french accent. She brought up a screen showing several jagged, sharp angular silhouettes that seemed to be shooting at them more than tumbling. Norton's green eyes widened.

“How big are they?" He asked.

“Micro-meteorites mostly. Some of them are larger, but still too small for anyone to notice until they got closer." Frances explained.

“Everyone better suit up. This is going to be a rocky ride." JJ said. Norton nearly tripped over himself to turn around and head to the lockers, a feat given that he was floating six inches off the deck plating. Norman followed after, using hand holds to position himself on the opposite side of Norton, opening the locker to pull out his gear. Whether it was a board room or a space shuttle, there was no room for fear in a crisis situation.

****

They shot through space like assassin's blades, nearly invisible. Each fragment of micro-meteorite looked like a jagged shard of molten obsidian, liquified and then frozen. Traveling at such immense speeds, it had still taken ages to cross the solar system. The Earth grew larger in the distance, a beautiful blue sphere dappled with greens and browns, looking like an oasis in the midst of the infinite cold voice of space. If anything, it almost seemed as if the shards were speeding up as they neared their destination. Faster, faster, faster… but they were not alone. Something was up ahead, moving, drifting.

The cosmic journey that had taken countless years ended in a nanosecond as the micro-meteorites struck the Glider. There was no sound in space, but alarms and klaxons began to erupt inside of the shuttle as countless holes were punctured in the research module's housing and upper layers of the wings. Sparks erupted from some consoles while other screens went suddenly dark. Secondary systems nestled between the inner and outer hulls showed up on damage diagnostics as wires were cleaved and tubes were perforated.

Norman could hear his own breathing inside his mask, though thankfully the greenish-gold of the visor didn't fog up thanks to the sophisticated air recycler managing the humidity as well as the CO2 he expelled. He looked around, relieved at first that they hadn't simply exploded. Glancing out of the window, he could see streaks of burnished copper arcing through the atmosphere of the Earth below as the fragments that had not struck the shuttle continued on their way. Turning his head back, he watched JJ and Frances quickly assess the situation. For once, he said nothing. When he needed to know something, they would tell him. One by one, the alarms and klaxons diminished as the crew went through the systems. Norman watched JJ turn on the communication system.

"This is Oz Glider one, we have been impacted by unknown micro-meteorites. Initial status yellow, we're here. Conducting damage check. Thrusters?"

"Damage to starboard thruster three, accidental firing of port 2. The rest are nominal" Frances responded.

"Engine booster and retro are registering a power drop but are in acceptable margins. Heat shielding?" JJ asked, turning to glance over his shoulder. Norton pressed a few buttons on his console and waited a moment before nodding his head.

"Minor damage to starboard but the patching gel is deploying correctly." Norton said with no small amount of relief in his voice. Norman felt it too. The patching gel was a particular innovation OsCorp had introduced to extend the lifespan of the Glider beyond the operational lifetime that had left NASA without shuttles and, in his opinion, a disappointment to the American people.

"Flight dynamics?" JJ asked. Frances smiled a bit behind her bluish-gold visor.

"Nominal." she answered happily, continuing down the checklist on her side.

"ECom?" JJ asked. There was a longer pause - too long. Norman's stomach tightened.

"We have power surges coming from the RTG. The control system is compromised. I'm also getting shielding alerts." Frances said with as much control in her voice as she could muster, "There's also an atmospheric leak in the research lab, but the patching gel should be enough to fix it. It'll have to be deployed manually."

"I'll do it." Norman said, unfastening his harness, "I know how to do that much. Continue the checklist. If there's anything else I can do, let me know." he added, pushing out of his chair to turn and move back toward the rear compartment. JJ nodded his head in thanks before doing just that.

"GNC?" JJ asked, referring to guidance, navigation and control.

"Nominal." Frances replied as Norman reached the door, "Telmu is green as well."

While no one said anything, there was a pause as Norman opened the door to the rear compartment. When they had gotten their suits on, they had started to siphon the air back into reserve tanks to reduce the risk of any explosive decompression if they were hit. The system had almost finished cycling at the time of impact. The result was a slight current as the door opened, pushing Norman gently forward into the research lab.

The curved white walls were still lit by light strips recessed in the bulkheads that reinforced the shape, though a few of them were flickering. The desk lamps on the tables were still on, reminding Norman of how the OsCorp labs looked in the evening after most of the scientists went home. Norman looked to the right of the door, finding what would have been a fire alarm in any terrestrial structure. He reached up with his gloved hand and took a hold of the lever, pulling it down as he looked up to watch the results.

Several points around the research lab began to emit small globs of bright orange liquid. In the zero gravity environment, they drifted and wobbled, though the faint remains of air that had not already siphoned out began to affect the liquid and pull it towards the gaps. Norman watched the aquatic acrobatics as the globs homed in on a cluster of small holes. Upon hitting the metal and encountering the sharp contrast of hot and cold, it began to solidify rapidly. Several other globs that had been drifting toward that spot shifted course. A few missed their mark but the patching gel found the rest of the holes.

“That did it, pressure stabilized." Frances' voice came over Norman's radio, “I'm going to give it two and then start bringing the air levels up to make sure we found them all." she added.

“Sounds good to me." Norman replied, his eyes carefully scanning over the rest of the lab. He stopped when his eyes reached the rear of the research lab, seeing several Swiss cheese holes through the metal housing around the generator. Norman grit his teeth, “Those power surges you were talking about, they were from the RTG, right?" he asked.

“Yeah, why?" JJ asked over the radio.

“I remember them saying it wasn't dangerous to have it open before we launched. I have a feeling we shouldn't be able to see it right now?" Norman asked. There was another one of those elongated pauses.

“The levels aren't in the red, I don't think the generator itself was damaged by the impacts…" JJ said. Norman gave a tired laugh.

“You're telegraphing the but." he said.

“But at current levels, it isn't exactly going to be healthy for us in the long run. We need to lower the levels to baseline but the control systems aren't responding." JJ explained. Norton looked at the section of wall where the lights were flickering, the same wall now covered with splotches of hardening neon orange polyceramic.

“The data lines were cut by the impact." Norman said.

“I'll come back and bring the power down." JJ replied.

“No. I went over the control systems for the RTG in training. I can do it. I assume we have other issues to deal with?" Norman asked, his eyes returning to the holes in the generator shielding. There was a bit of a breath on the other side. Norman shook his head. “If a project is running behind schedule and over budget, sometimes it's best just to rip the band-aid off. Give me the cliff notes version." Norman said, starting to move forward toward the system that controlled the RTG.

“In most circumstances in the event of damage, astronauts do spacewalks to examine the damage and hold off for analysis and assessment. Problem is, with our damage we can't maintain orbit that long. We're already feeling Earth's pull." JJ began.

“The longer we wait, the less control we will have. If we attempt to land sooner rather than later, we'll have a safer time of it. The problem with that is that we're not exactly in the optimal trajectory to reach our original landing coordinates." Frances said.

“How close are we?" Norman asked, continuing to float towards the RTG.

“Atlantic ocean, eastern seaboard." Frances answered.

“So I was right, you have plenty to do while I dial down the thermostat." Norman said, reaching the far side of the hold. He pulled down the cover over the RTG control panel, relieved to see it was functioning normally. He began entering the security codes and commands to access the control systems manually. In the back of his mind he started to regret not installing some sort of lever.

While the work wasn't exactly physically taxing, Norman still found himself sweating inside his suit. Perhaps it was the stress, although Norman never thought of himself as a sweater. Maybe the EV suit wasn't quite regulated for stress… or maybe the radiation that wasn't going to be good for them in the long term was having a cumulative effect. As if to answer his question, Norman began to smell a potent aroma building in his helmet. It was metallic, sharp with a chlorine like edge. While pungent, it was an incredibly artificial smell.

Norman tried to regulate his breathing and not panic, but like any drowning man that made him breathe faster and harder all the same. The effect only got worse as the air inside his helmet started to turn green. It started as a slight haze, but whatever was happening was getting worse fast. Gritting his teeth in a fearsome grimace, he sped up his fingers and entered the last set of instructions by the time he heard a distant chirping. He couldn't tell if it was coming from over the radio.

“Norman, are you okay? We're getting strange readings from your suit!" Frances called out. Norman coughed a bit and then laughed a little, the green smoke swirling in and out of his mouth and nostrils.

“Imagine that." Norman said, hitting the final button on the console, “I'm going to need you to tell me the second I can come back up there and take off this helmet."

“RTG is dropping to baseline. Get back up here, we'll have just enough power to land." JJ said with some urgency. Norman turned around and pushed off, drifting across the lab.

“Increasing air flow now to equalize." Frances said. As Norman floated, even through the growing green haze in his suit, he caught sight of something that didn't quite belong. He hadn't even noticed it on his way in, but a jagged, irregular piece of translucent black rock was sticking part way through one of the tabletops.

“Hello there…" Norman murmured before breaking into another coughing fit. The sweat was rolling off of him now, his muscles tightening. He laughed between coughs, unable to control himself. He almost couldn't see by the time he got to the door but it opened ahead of him and Norton reached in, grabbing Norman by the elbow, pulling him through and into the cockpit. Frances quickly sealed the door behind him before they both moved to help Norman remove his helmet.

Tendrils of green smoke curled out of the seam as the helmet hissed and popped, breaking free. More chirps and alarms sounded before Frances reached in and turned off the air recycler in Norman's suit. The wisps of the foul compound dissipated, circulated into the cabin. Frances looked into Norman's eyes, their close proximity and the severity of the situation adding to a bit of magnetism between the two. Norton, however, looked quite agitated.

“What was that?" He asked, trying not to fidget with his hands.

“A one in a million chemical reaction… Radiation catalyzing a component of the air recycler." Norman said, pushing his way back to his chair, “Tell me that we're going home and that I'm not going to glow in the dark." he said. JJ gave a small smile.

“We're going home, and you'll only glow in the dark until they can give you some treatments. We never moved into the red." JJ said.

“That's why we made you team leader after all." Norman said, missing the gravity that would have allowed him to lean back in the chair. Frances made her way back to her seat, strapping in.

“We've charted a course that will bring us down relatively safely." Frances said.

“Define relative?" Norton asked, finding his seat again as well.

“There's a ten percent chance we'll end up pulling a Sully and land in the Hudson." JJ answered. Norman grinned a little, stifling a cough.

“Right in our own backyard. The drive home would be a breeze." Norman said. Frances smiled at that, double checking everything else. Norman inclined his head, “Take us home, JJ." Norman said. JJ nodded, his hands starting to move as quickly as Frances' had.

****

The OsCorp Glider's triumphant return to Earth, damaged but not beaten, was a spectacle that would be replayed on a loop for weeks to come. Harry felt like he'd been holding his breath during the entire re-entry and everything since had been a dizzying blur. The crew had been brought to Mount Sinai hospital for observation while the Glider was being moved back to OsCorp's facilities for examination. Harry's normal energetic exuberance was marked by dark circles under his eyes as the elevator ascended. Peter reached out, massaging between his shoulder blades to try and relieve some of the pressure. Harry closed his eyes.

“Thanks, Peter." he said softly before the elevator chimed and the doors opened. Harry and Peter moved out only a few steps before security was moving forward. The floor had been restricted to begin with and they'd had to show identification to gain admittance. Their arrival had also been called up ahead of the elevator, but Peter supposed security made sense. After a few more checks and explanations, Harry and Peter were guided to Norman's hospital room. Stepping in, Harry looked up, smiling with relief to see his father awake. His hospital gown had been set aside, replaced with several leads stuck to a surprisingly fit chest.

“Dad!" Harry said, moving over. Norman grinned wide.

“Harry, my son!" Norman grinned, giving Harry a one armed hug and pulled him closer before ruffling his pink hair, “Did you think some space junk could get the best of me?" he asked. Harry laughed with released tension.

“Knowing you, it was the icing on the public relations cake." Harry said. Norman chuckled at that.

“Well, I am something of a hero now." Norman admitted, “Added to that, we came back with meteorite samples. The scientists are going to have a field day."

“See, Peter, that's why it's so hard to live up to his legacy. He turned a space collision into a chance to over-achieve." Harry said. Norman's eyes snapped over to the other person in the room.

“Peter…. Thank you for looking after my boy through all this. You are a true friend to him." Norman said. It had been Norman's idea for Harry to attend public schools in the first place, to keep him connected and aware. It had been that decision that allowed Peter and Harry's unlikely friendship to blossom.

“It's been my pleasure." Peter said gently, “Did the doctors say when you get to go home?" he asked after a moment.

“It seems they want a chance to study my particularly impressive body for a while longer. A few days at the most. More than enough time for me to get my fill of hospital food." Norman said, “You two should go get dinner, you don't need to fuss over me."

“I'm not opposed to hospital food, but Peter, you don't need to be cooped up here. Just don't forget your clothes at my place." Harry said. It took only an extra second for Peter to realize what Harry meant. His new spider-suit was going to be ready to print as soon as the new polymer was done fabricating. Peter nodded at that.

“You're right, don't want to be a bad house guest. You'll be alright?" Peter asked. Harry nodded, smiling at Peter.

“Yeah. Besides, my dad's a captive audience. He can regale me with all the stories of his space adventures." Harry said. Norman chuckled at that.

“Like when I heroically faced off against a nuclear generator?" Norman asked. Peter couldn't help but smile while looking at the two. He knew that father-son dynamics could be challenging at times, but there was no denying the strength of that connection.

****

Cold… the long cold… So empty and dark and cold and alone, so painfully alone. The stars had been an insult, promising warmth but being forever too far to reach. Then had come the metal, heat, warmth, sensation. It had shaken them awake - no, not them… incomplete, part of a whole, painfully alone. Rumbling, shaking, heat and warmth and weight. Gravity? Mass? After so long they had embedded in something, then they were moving without moving. First it had been a descent from orbit, then movement across this new… what? This new world? Then stillness, quiet, silence.

The jagged, dagger-like obsidian that had embedded itself into the tabletop suddenly liquified, softening and slipping into a puddle of black goo on the surface of the table. The goo shifted, contracting and expanding a few times as it stretched in its own strange way. Then it began to move, creeping along, leaving no molecule or cell behind. When it reached the edge of the table it hesitated for only a moment before a tendril of rubbery black slime shot out to the floor. Like a snail crossing a crevice, the mass of the black slime shifted easily from one end of the tendril to the other before it snapped up the last vestige from the top of the table. The black slime resumed its journey, growing larger as it moved. It rippled up and over the door frame into the cockpit, pausing. It did not need to breathe air, something it was grateful for after tumbling through space, but it could still smell something unique in the atmosphere of the Glider.

The black slime remained in place, absorbing scents through its amorphous surface. It smelled sweat, the lingering after effects of stress and fear and jubilation and relief. It smelled carbon dioxide mixed into the nitrogen and oxygen. It smelled something else, something artificial, and it smelled the unique aroma of mutation. There was one very strong smell, but there were others as well. Several beings had gone through a change to one degree or another. The idea sent rumblings through the slime's mass. It had been so long since it encountered living beings, either prey or… hosts… It was not meant to be an it. It was meant to be a they, a combined organism, a symbiont. It needed something, someone, to give it shape and purpose and meaning, especially after its long exile.

The goo suddenly rippled, jagged spikes forming as a hunger pang hit. Like a dormant stomach waking after a long hibernation, the symbiote cringed and constricted from the hunger pang, but it couldn't eat in this form ,at least not effectively. So many years alone, starving, without food or touch or light or warmth. It needed, it craved, it hungered. Using that urge, it propelled itself on faster. The black goo easily mounted the lip of the Glider's open airlock hatch, bypassing the steps outside and dribbling down to the floor. There it hesitated, still and motionless, trying to look like an oil spill. There were beings nearby, but none had noticed. The slime began to advance again, creeping along, reaching out and out and-

A shiver rippled through the black slime as something reached back. It had been the brush of another consciousness, a being whose senses had reacted to its probing. The black slime had gotten a rush of strength and vitality, youth and promise, of dormant needs and repressed desires and a budding potential so potent it was intoxicating. The black slime couldn't help but swell and grow and expand in response. It reached out again, more carefully this time, stalking its prey. Again it brushed the edge of awareness, getting senses of the… male. Young male, young man, a being of warmth and strength. Male, yes, the slime liked males… It wanted to be a he, it wanted to be a them, a we.

Every inch, every foot, every meter was an annoying obstacle keeping them apart. The goo advanced tendril by tendril, sloshing across the bay where the Glider was being examined. The being the goo had sensed was above, very far above. The black slime paused for a moment and began to ripple, slowly at first but building until inaudible sound waves jostled and disrupted its surface. The sounds bounced off the Glider, the walls of the room and bounced back and forth inside of pneumatic tubes and dumbwaiters and lifts that ran up through the building. The black slime lunged for the far wall, snapping up across the lid of one of those tubes.

It compressed and squeezed in through the gaps, feeling suddenly tugged and stretched by intense pressures. Once every last bit of the slime had been drawn inside, it contracted into a sphere that suddenly propelled upwards like a bullet, rising story after story. It rippled slightly as it reached out, getting a sense of this tower. Concrete, steel, ceramics, polymers, metals… It was a rather primitive society, but it was full of life. There were so many bodies, but they all paled to the one it had touched. They all paled compared to the echoes of mutants in the space shuttle as well. No, it needed something special, it hungered for someone special.

Navigating from one channel to another, jumping from one pneumatic system to another, the slime overshot its destination by one level, ending up in the ceiling above its quarry. Getting closer, the black slime would have been drooling if it had a mouth. The being it sought was so strong… Advanced healing, on the cusp of manhood, strong and yet fit, a buffet of hormones and pheromones and delightful yearnings. The slime crept forward, inching through the ceiling, moving closer and closer. It stretched out tentacles, starting to peel back layers of ductwork and insulation, pushing aside tubes full of-

The black slime rippled as one of the tentacles penetrated a sheet of an incredibly complex fabric. The material was more advanced than the slime thought this primitive culture was capable of. In fact, it shared several of the foundational properties as the same goo it had once evolved from. Reaching around, the black slime found a few more reservoirs of the stuff. Black, silver, orange. It found firmer sections of translucent milky white plastic, it found wiring and circuitry being knit together and forged before being fed into a vast ring above its prey.

Acting on a hunch, the black slime stretched a tendril out to some of the electronics. It disliked the electrical charge and found the binary signal crude and inelegant. It took a few moments to begin to interpret it, then a little longer to interact. When it did, an image began to form in the slime's mind. He saw the design language showing the fabric being stretched over a person, a human, and becoming a protective suit… If the goo had a mouth it would have laughed at the irony. This human wanted to be covered with a protective suit but it could protect him better than any material ever could.

Focusing on the digital image, the slime tried to understand exactly what the human wanted. There was a very specific design with half circle eyes, silver lines in intersecting webs, panels of color… It didn't care for the orange, the human would have to compromise on that. Still, the flexibility, the protection, it all seemed fine. Moving like an octopus in a tidepool, the black goo yanked the synthetic materials out of the loom before oozing and stretching in their place. It snaked its way through the systems, coming in from multiple angles, nearly in place when the machine started to whir and move.

Peter looked up at the ceiling as it opened and the loom began to descend. Peter felt a little anxious using the machine without Harry there. After all, it was a multi-million dollar fabric printer and he didn't exactly have the best luck with printers. He stood on the grated floor in just his red underwear, holding his bare arms outstretched. He watched the material stretch out from the ring, though it looked different. It was slicker, shinier, wetter. It was like liquid rubber that shifted. Then again, it was supposed to be Harry's latest formulation.

The shaggy haired teenager tipped his head back as the sheet of black goo came down, pressing to his face. It molded over his nose and mouth, contouring to the features but softening the edges. It hugged his chin and throat while slipping over his hair. Peter was a little alarmed at first when the eye lenses weren't present, though he relaxed as portions of the black goo turned white, taking on the same shape the lenses would have been. The loom continued to descend, pulling the black rubbery goo all around Peter's head until it was completely covered. The hair on the back of Peter's neck suddenly went up.

Heat, warmth, youth, vitality, strength! YES! This is what they wanted, what they needed, what they craved. They were wonderful, they were going to be so happy together! The symbiote reached into Peter's mind with inky, gooey, rubbery black tendrils of thought and was rewarded with a rush of images and sensations. Aching erections, pearly white fountains of cum, Billy Conners' huge body as both a human and a lizard, Harry's supple and cute body, swinging through the city on webs, fighting criminals, outsmarting and outwitting the fools that they could so easily rip apart with their bare claws.

Peter's fingers tensed and untensed as the black goo spread down his broad shoulders, contouring to his chest and back as it began to slink down his arms. Peter felt a rush of adrenaline coursing through his body. Getting suited up was always intimate, but this felt so much more. The suit was tighter, more form fitting, feeling like a weighted blanket on his skin without making him feel claustrophobic. It was like it was massaging his face, rippling across his skin. Peter opened his mouth to breathe heavily and the fabric shifted, allowing air to pass through despite smelling strongly of rubber.

The symbiote groaned, learning Peter's synapses as it had the machine code of the loom. It wrapped around his arms, caressing his biceps and triceps, slurping across each long finger with hunger and need. It caressed his palms, felt the crook of his elbows, his ribs, his navel, the small of his back. It continued to tap into what it could skim from Peter's mind, getting glimpses of other males on the screen of his computer, of nude models photographed, of other men his host craved and wanted to breed with. Could males breed with other males? It didn't matter, they only desired the act of breeding. That would be enough pleasure.

Peter shivered as the black slime began to stretch and compress across his waist, then his ass cheeks, seeping and stretching over the rapidly growing bulge in his underwear. The symbiote, however, recoiled slightly at the taste of the cotton underwear. After getting so much delicious skin on skin contact, this was obscene. The symbiote began to secrete a compound. The red underwear rapidly bleached out, deteriorating rapidly. The elastic wasted and snapped and Peter gasped.

As the scraps of red cloth fell to the floor, Peter's bare ass cheeks and erection were on full display. No longer restrained, blood rushed to his member, making it swell and grow and stretch just as the black slime reached it, coating and contouring around it, encasing it in living black rubber. Peter gasped again, his chest rising and falling, breathing through the mouth of his black mask that felt more and more like it was creeping into his mouth. The loom continued its work, circling and churning away, feeding out more of the black goo as it coated his balls in that rubbery sheen, then continued to encapsulate his strong and sturdy legs. Peter's hand, no longer restrained by the loom, drifted to wrap around his rod. As his sensitive fingers touched the newly coated black rubbery cock, his back arched in abject pleasure.

Spider-Man, hero, superhero, vigilante… It had been an odd thing to snap into the symbiote's mind. Was that a reason… not to pleasure oneself? Was Peter resisting pleasure? What did it mean that a superhero wouldn't do this? That was preposterous. The only pleasures in life were eating, breeding and killing. There was nothing worth getting in the way of that. The symbiote knew what man was, but what was a Spider? Plumbing Peter's mind, it got glimpses of an insect with many tentacle-like legs, then more images of Peter swinging through the city on his own webs. A mutant! An enhanced being. Could Peter not understand how perfect they were together? But if Spider-Man would not indulge in such pleasure, then they needed to be something more, something darker, something that didn't hold back. Spiders were hunters, spiders had venom.

Dozens of microscopic filaments of the black sludge penetrated the back of Peter's neck, navigating for a more direct connection to his nervous system. Tapping into his spinal cord and his brain stem, the symbiote began to access Peter's 'software' directly. Releasing wave after wave of hormones and endorphins, it paralyzed the part that had been holding back. Peter exhaled a long sigh of delight as his fingers suddenly tightened around the very hard, very firm black rubber dick he was holding in his hands. The loom had reached his knees and was working down toward his ankles, but Pete was already jerking off rapidly.

The symbiote shivered in delight, though it winced as the loom surged commands into it through the optic lines that had been meant for the super suit Harry had designed. The slime over Peter's chest suddenly blanched white as the Spider-Man emblem emerged and intricate white webs spread outward across his ribs, his shoulders and his arms. The symbiote was rather proud of how well it had mimicked the intended design, albeit without any of the colorful flourishes. A black suit would have to be good enough, although there was always room for improvement. The white eyes of the suit narrowed in an almost mischievous shape as more and more of the black slime began to ooze and shift, gathering along Peter's groin.

“What the hell?!" Peter gasped suddenly, watching his dick start to grow again. He knew it had to be a trick of the suit, all of this had to be some kind of trick. Had Harry's cosplay programs gotten mixed up with his super suit? Had Harry really intended to make him a fetish suit? His cock couldn't really be getting bigger, right? He was already at full erection, but looking down it was hard to ignore. Inch after inch of length stretched out from his groin, but it wasn't just getting longer. His fingers were being pried apart as his cock got thicker and wider and broader. Before long his hand was stretched out as if he was holding a thick can of iced tea, a can that needed another hand.

Peter nearly whistled as his second hand slapped onto the sensitive rubbery length above the first. He began to gyrate his hips forward and back, thrusting into his double fist, panting harder and harder. Salty saliva ran from the corners of his lips and the symbiote drank it up, tasting its host, tasting their drool and gaining nourishment from it. Peter growled and grunted, shivering. Goosebumps rose up on his arms and legs, tickling the symbiote. The black goo was pulled down by the loom, coating the long angular tops of his feet. The black slime contracted quickly, realizing the process was almost done. It couldn't leave any of itself behind. The black rubber began to coat each plump, long, round toe. It curved around the edges, delved into the crevices between and then began to press against the metal grate beneath him.

Peter lifted his left foot, feeling the tight, stretchy, soft black rubber coat the arch and heel of his foot. He shifted his weight to that foot and lifted the other, letting the right foot get enveloped as well. Head to literal toe, every inch covered in living black rubber, focused on his very plump, very long black rubber cock. Peter kept thrusting harder and harder. The symbiote began to fill his mind with images of fucking Billy and Harry and his crushes, of fucking big burly monsters, fucking bears, fucking anything with two legs. It filled his mind with images of his cock and balls swelling bigger and bigger and bigger until he was nearly immobile from their weight and girth, imagining his muscles swelling and bulging, veiny, growing to inhuman proportions.

Peter's mind swam with the mental image of excess, of avarice, of lust without limit. He wasn't sure what single image pushed him over the edge, but when he started to cum he came hard. The world around Peter dissolved into white light as his balls, his prostate and his cock all worked in concert. His cock erupted a thick glob of pearly white cum that normally would have made a mess in his suit. Instead, it was absorbed. The symbiote growled low and deep as the salt and RNA and protein coursed through its system. It gulped and gulped and gulped, digesting the semen, savoring it. In time it would have to adapt this human to make more. It never wanted to stop. It wanted all his cum, all his sperm, it wanted Peter to fill them until they bloated. There was no cold, there was no loneliness. They were warm and together, they were horny and hungry, they were one.

****

A greenish-blue glow filled the bodega from the variety of fluorescent lights it used. The clerk leaned against the wall of cigarettes, his eyes watching the newscasters describe a CGI reenactment of the triumphant landing of the OsCorp Glider. A series of chimes sounded as the front door opened and someone entered. The clerk turned, eyes nearly bugging out of his head to see Spider-Man in a black and white bodysuit and a black sweatshirt strolling in, moving down the aisle. He considered some chips briefly, reaching out before freezing. Rising up on his black rubbery toes, he pivoted a hundred and eighty degrees to face the chocolate before grabbing several bars of each before coming back to the counter.

“A new suit, Spider-Man? It looks good…" The clerk said.

“It feels good…" Peter said, a little purr in his voice as he dumped the huge pile of chocolate onto the counter. The clerk hesitated for a moment.

“It's on the house. You stopped those three shoplifters last week and that vandal the week before." The clerk said. The white eyes on Spider-Man's suit shifted.

“Really? You're sure? Don't want to get you in trouble." Peter said. The clerk grinned, shaking his head.

“It's no trouble." he replied. The fabric over Peter's mouth shifted, hinting at a smile.

“Thanks man, we're all in this together. Do you, uh, have a bag?" Peter asked. The clerk nodded and ducked down, returning with a bag. In a few moments the collection of chocolate was bagged up. Peter gave the clerk the split finger gesture he used to shoot his webs as a sort of salute before he strutted out of the shop. Peter's stomach suddenly growled loudly and angrily, feeling as if it was both inside and outside of his body. Peter had never been so hungry before in his life…

Turning right around, Peter reached up to grab onto the outside of the bodega. He pulled himself up, adding his toes to the brick facade, wall crawling up rapidly. His black suit melted into the shadows easier, making it harder to see. Peter barely got to the roof before he crouched, his knees angled out to make a sort of diamond shape that accentuated his ass and the rather prodigious bulge in the front of his suit. Peter set the bag down and reached in, pulling out one of the chocolate bars.

The fabric over Peter's mouth started to glisten with drool as he tore the foil wrapper off of the chocolate bar. As he tore at it, the fingers of his suit began to stretch into sharper points, looking almost like claws. Without thinking, Peter tipped his head back and dropped the chocolate bar. The black material over his mouth suddenly constricted, shifting and contorting. Peter tasted pungent rubber for a moment before the flavor evaporated, his mask splitting open to reveal Peter's mouth with an unusually long tongue.

Peter's jaw snapped shut, his teeth gnashing through the chocolate. As the sweet, firm brown goodness was gnashed into a delicious paste, Peter's teeth seemed to grow a little sharper, his long tongue slurping and scooping the paste up from the corners of his mouth to scoop down his throat. Some small part in the back of Peter's mind was crying out that this wasn't right, that this wasn't normal, but that comforting embrace squeezed around his brain, pressing into his neck. No, this was normal. He was a growing boy with growing pains and cravings. He'd work the calories off with his web slinging. He deserved the chocolate.

Spider-Man ate three bars of chocolate, then four, then five. He ate messily, drool dripping onto the rooftop. The biceps and triceps of his black suit seemed to grow a little thicker, as did the bulge in his groin and the curve of his full ass cheeks. His calves didn't even hurt despite crouching for that long on the edge of the roof like a demented chocolate eating gargoyle. The symbiote liked this side of Peter. Ravenous, not holding back. He was a delightful host. Perhaps in time he could convince the boy to eat the brains of his enemies, but until then this wonderful chocolate would have to do. Falling through space had been torture for the symbiote, but if Peter was his reward at the end of that hell, it was worth it.