Harry stood in the center of Norman's cavernous office. The pitch went exactly as Harry had rehearsed it. Norman didn't hesitate. He immediately authorized the funding for the "Emily Osborn Research Center."
But it wasn't the corporate approval that left Harry shifting uncomfortably on his feet; it was Norman's reaction. Norman had steepled his fingers across his mahogany desk, a terrifyingly genuine smile creeping across his face. He looked genuinely proud. My son is actually proving useful to Peter Parker, Norman seemed to be thinking. Harry couldn't shake the creeping disgust. Since when did his cold, calculating father look at Peter like he was the golden child of the family?
Regardless of Norman's twisted paternal complex, the base was real. Oscorp quickly secured a sprawling, abandoned penthouse laboratory atop a Midtown high-rise. When Peter first swung through the open skylight to inspect it, he had to pause.
Wait a second, Peter thought, looking at the layout of the server racks and mechanical arms. Is this Doc Ock's lab from the PS4 game? Please tell me we aren't tempting fate.
Across town, Amadeus Cho, despite his usual barrage of paranoid questions, officially signed on. The Spider-Man support team was locked in.
Life resumed its chaotic rhythm.
High above Times Square, J. Jonah Jameson's red-faced broadcast blasted from the massive JumboTrons.
"We are thrilled to announce that, thanks to the tireless legal efforts of attorney Matt Murdock, a jury has found Mr. Luke Cage completely not guilty!" Jameson's voice boomed over the speakers, completely devoid of its usual venom. "The Defenders are actively working with the NYPD to dismantle gang violence! These are the guardians New York deserves!"
Jameson slammed a fist onto his news desk, his mustache bristling. "Instead of that wall-crawling menace, Spider-Man, who is now swinging around in a terrifying, pitch-black suit! What is he hiding in the dark?!"
"Whooo-hoooo!"
The cheerful scream echoing above the Manhattan traffic didn't belong to Peter. It belonged to Gwen Stacy.
Peter fired a black web-line, anchoring it to a steel construction crane. He swung in a massive, sweeping arc, his arm wrapped tightly around Gwen's waist. To protect her identity, Gwen had cobbled together a makeshift costume: a sleek white hoodie with pink lining, pulled tight over her face like a mask. She looked exactly like Spider-Gwen, minus the actual superpowers.
The wind roared in their ears. They hit the apex of the swing, experiencing a split second of absolute weightlessness, before plunging toward the asphalt. Gwen didn't scream in terror; she laughed, her hands thrown in the air like she was riding a roller coaster.
Peter fired another line, pulling them up sharply and sticking a flawless landing on the edge of a Chrysler Building gargoyle.
Gwen pulled back her white hood, her blonde hair messy from the wind. Her blue eyes were wide, practically glowing with adrenaline. "Can we fly around the city like this every single day?"
"Not every day," Peter chuckled, his massive white lenses narrowing into a smile. "I might actually take a day off eventually. Maybe."
"Can we go again?" Gwen grabbed his arm, bouncing on her toes. "That felt amazing!"
Peter's spider-sense gave a dull, throbbing pulse at the base of his skull. At the exact same moment, the police scanner integrated into his lenses flared to life with frantic static.
"Uh, negative on the second lap," Peter said, stepping back to the ledge. "A 10-10 in progress. I gotta go help. Do you need a lift down to the street?"
"Oh, no need. I'll just take the fire escape and stuff this hoodie in my backpack." Gwen smiled, giving him a mock salute. "Be careful out there, Spidey."
Peter gave a two-finger salute, fell backward off the gargoyle, and vanished into the city lights. Gwen watched the empty air, letting out a long sigh, counting the minutes until she could do that again.
Peter plummeted toward the flashing red and blue sirens below. He landed in a crouch on a streetlight, surveying the scene.
Captain George Stacy and four of his uniformed officers were entirely immobilized. Their boots, their squad cars, and even their drawn service weapons were cemented to the asphalt by a thick, bubbling layer of industrial yellow adhesive.
"Huh?" Peter tilted his head. "Wait. Super glue?"
A high-pressure nozzle hissed. A thick glob of liquid adhesive shot toward Peter's head. He flipped backward off the pole. The glue splattered against the metal casing, instantly hardening into a solid resin shell.
Peter landed gracefully on the street, facing the culprit. The guy wore a ridiculous green and yellow padded suit, wielding two massive caulking guns hooked to a heavy chemical tank on his back. A stolen duffel bag full of cash sat at his feet.
"I am Paste-Pot Pete!" the villain roared, raising his nozzles. "Prepare to die, Spider-Man!"
Peter Parker stared at him. The black symbiote shifted uncomfortably around his shoulders.
"I am speechless," Peter said, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Of all the names. Paste-Pot Pete? Really? Why does it even have 'Pete' in it? That's... never mind. Could you change it? Trapster? Glue-Master? The only good thing about 'Paste-Pot Pete' is that I'm currently trying not to laugh."
"Laugh at this, web-head!" Pete screamed, squeezing both triggers. "You're doomed because of my—"
Peter flicked both wrists. Two rapid-fire bursts of black webbing shot across the alley, plugging the barrels of the caulking guns perfectly.
"I plugged your guns," Peter interrupted. "No need to thank me."
Paste-Pot Pete blinked. The pressure gauge on his chest instantly spiked into the red.
Boom.
The chemical tanks ruptured. A tidal wave of white-hot super glue exploded outward, instantly entombing Paste-Pot Pete in a solid, rapidly hardening cocoon of his own making. He fell over like a rigid statue, hitting the pavement with a heavy thud.
Peter shook his head, walking over to where Captain Stacy was glued to the curb.
"Uh, thank you, Spider-Man," Stacy sighed, aggressively rubbing his temples. "Our standard-issue sidearms are completely useless against industrial epoxy." Stacy paused, pointing a thumb toward the sidewalk. "Oh, by the way. Some guy in a red bodysuit showed up a few minutes ago saying he was here to help you. He immediately walked into that toy store and got himself glued to the floor. You might want to check on him."
A red bodysuit? Peter thought, his stomach dropping. Helping me? Daredevil? Matt wouldn't be dumb enough to step in glue. Ant-Man?
Peter walked through the shattered glass doors of the toy store. The entire floor was covered in a thick layer of hardened adhesive.
In the center of the mess, completely submerged up to his neck in super glue, was a man in a red and black tactical suit. He had one arm freed, his hand raised high, giving Peter a thumbs-up exactly like the Terminator sinking into the molten steel.
Peter froze. No. Please, God, no. Not him.
I do not like this meat sack, Venom growled in Peter's mind.
Peter sighed heavily. He extended a thick black tendril of symbiote mass, wrapping it around the man's torso, and violently yanked him out of the glue. The sudden force ripped the red mask clean off, leaving the fabric stuck in the adhesive.
Wade Wilson landed perfectly on his feet. His scarred, tumor-riddled face broke into a massive, terrifyingly happy grin. He flashed a row of perfectly white teeth.
"Hey there, Spidey!" Wade cheered, aggressively invading Peter's personal space. "Did you miss me?!"
Peter stepped back, swatting Wade's hand away. "How are you here? You're supposed to be locked up in the Raft!"
"Turns out, the ACLU and the Avengers both agree that slapping a mutant-gene-inhibitor collar on a terminal cancer patient is a huge human rights violation!" Wade laughed, casually wiping a glob of glue off his tactical harness. "Anyway, I heard you're making a cameo in a Mad Max universe. You interested in taking a Canadian mercenary who absolutely hates Australians on a post-apocalyptic killing spree?"
Peter's white lenses widened. "Wait. The Avengers paid you to go with me to the Wasteland?"
"Yep! Good old Wade is immortal, morally flexible, and highly susceptible to bribery!" Wade unholstered a Desert Eagle, spinning it on his finger.
"But it's not time yet," Peter said, shaking his head. "The Web hasn't—"
Wade's scarred face twisted into a manic, fourth-wall-breaking grin. He stared directly into empty space over Peter's shoulder. "Now that I'm here, it's time for the main plot to trigger. Three. Two. One. Bang!"
Peter didn't even have time to blink.
His spider-sense detonated. It didn't just tingle; it screamed. A jagged spike of pure, blinding pain hit the base of his skull. The multiversal Web of Fate was violently pulling him under, tearing reality apart.
Time had just run out.