Spiderman: Venom

With Oscorp settled and a new sense of financial freedom, Peter had decided to lay low for a while. Whatever had happened to him needed to be tested. With time off school, sneaking out to find somewhere quiet and out of the way seemed the best option.

Aunt May had taken to checking up on him every few hours since he'd gotten sick. While he appreciated her concern, it was becoming annoying.

Aunt May had granted him a week off school to make sure he wouldn't be sick again. She also had several meetings with the principal and the school board. Even though Peter wasn't a child anymore, leaving a sick student unattended was unacceptable.

Peter shook his head, though. With the NDA he'd signed with Oscorp in effect, she couldn't talk about the illness. And, as Peter was an academic student and not one of the football stars, Aunt May was likely to hit a roadblock. The school would just argue he was eighteen, old enough to take care of himself, and that he should have called someone to say he was sick.

Whoever decided to leave him there would likely get a slap on the wrist. If the school felt generous, maybe a note in their record—but Peter doubted much more would happen. He was a little fish in a small pond, surrounded by sharks.

Till then, he had a week to figure out exactly what had happened. The figure in the mirror was still him—not as short, still "cute," but now he had muscles. A lean six-pack that he knew he'd never have achieved without months of strict exercise and diet.

Whatever made him sick at Oscorp had also changed him. Did something escape from a lab? Did he have… super cancer? Peter began to hyperventilate. Super cancer.

He knew Oscorp studied lots of different infectious diseases.

Get a hold of yourself, Pete, he thought. Cancer doesn't give you abs. But then, what did?

He undressed and looked at himself in the mirror. Peter pulled poses, studying the muscle definition—until he realised that posing in the mirror was not only pointless, but he looked a bit silly. He hadn't become a big, muscular guy; his body was lean and wiry, built for speed, not strength.

Shaking his head, he thought, Maybe Gwen would like to see the new me? Maybe she'd be more willing to go to the end-of-year prom with me if I flashed her a little "Pete treat."

Laughing at his own silly joke, he decided to head out. Muscle tone was great, but muscle strength was what really counted.

Aunt May was at work, and after pulling on some loose clothes and a hoodie, he left a note:

Out for a bit, need some fresh air. Love you, before heading out.

It was still cold, and the late January air was refreshing as he slowly jogged toward Sunset Park. If there was anywhere in the area that was deserted, it would be down at the waterfront.

It wasn't too hard to find somewhere abandoned. It had been in the news most of the week. A local partygoer had made the mistake of setting up in what he thought was an abandoned warehouse. It turned out to be a meth lab, and the gang had just stepped out to make deliveries. Several gunshots and a few dead partygoers later, it had turned into the shoot-out of the week.

While the police tape was still up, there hadn't been any cops or scavengers in the building for a while now. The freshly posted "For Sale" sign showed that the realtor was trying to offload the building.

Peter knew they had no chance of selling it, as anyone local knew its new nickname: the "Partymethdeath House."

Of course, Peter knew he had the money from Oscorp. Maybe this was his chance to get a building and finally start on his first dream: Pete Tech, or maybe PTech. The name needed work, but he decided to head to city hall and register himself as a fledgling company.

Working for Oscorp was great, but he knew that he'd always be in Harry's shadow, even if they never spoke again. His history as Harry's tutor would follow him like a bad smell, subjecting him to constant scrutiny and accusations of nepotism.

Maybe branching out on his own was a better idea. Small, manageable tech companies were all the rage. If he had a unique idea, an original piece of tech, he could see it happening.

Peter made sure the street was deserted before lifting the yellow police tape. After making his way around the building, he entered through a side door. After busting it down, the police had just left it swinging.

Inside was a mess.

There was garbage everywhere, and stains from industrial cleansers had dyed the floor brown while mopping up blood.

The meth labs themselves had been stripped clean. Power and water fittings hung on hooks above stained kitchen counters.

Four hollowed-out portable offices had held the labs, and as Peter investigated, he found crude bunk beds for the workers, either kept there to cook or just too lazy to move.

The evidence collectors would have taken anything drug-related, while the cleanup crew took anything of value to be sold on. Even after that, the warehouse was still full of discarded counters, tables, and other random items.

Pallets and debris littered the floor, covered in bullet holes from shoddy barricades. While the shell casings were gone, the mess told the story of what had happened.

Surveying the nine-hundred-square-metre building, Peter's mind clicked over plans for labs, fabrication rooms, a server room, and even a small living area.

Of the several porta-cabins in the warehouse, one caught Peter's attention. Shoved into a corner, it stood out for being clean and painted, even the windows looking freshly wiped.

The deals must have taken place there. Inside, it smelled of cigarettes but was clean and had a carpet. Indents in the pile showed where furniture had once stood, though the cleanup crew must have taken it.

The building itself was sound. No holes in the walls or major floor damage. After checking a socket and faucet, he found there was no electricity or running water, but the windows and doors were functional, if a bit rusty.

It was perfect.

The first thing Peter did was secure the doors with interior locks. This was going to be his hideout, and the last thing he wanted was squatters taking over while he was at school.

He splurged a bit and fitted a new lock to the side door, making it look jammed rather than locked. He twisted the frame slightly so it appeared stuck from the outside.

Now, there was only one way in or out, and he had the only key.

Stowing his bag and removing his hoodie, he began thinking of ways to test whatever Oscorp had done to him.

There was a walkway he could run along to reach the windows, wrought-iron staircases for pull-ups, and plenty of space to practice gymnastics. As he searched his phone for exercise routines, his excitement grew.

For a week, Peter did nothing but come to the warehouse and test himself.

Starting small, he lifted pallets, crates, furniture—anything he could get his hands on. Eventually, he tried the portable office itself.

Lifting it gently at one end, he found he wasn't even straining.

He tried again and lifted it fully, only stopping when it began to creak worryingly.

Peter lay it back down and stared at his hands. Lifting it hadn't been a strain, and the rigid edge hadn't left a mark on his skin, let alone cut him.

A smile spread across his face. He was strong, and it seemed a lot harder to get hurt.

Next, he practised his agility, climbing up the scaffolding and leaping from girder to girder. The walkways near the large windows provided a makeshift climbing frame.

With ease, he rappelled and swung between the solid welded struts, flipping and catching himself from one side of the walkway to the other.

It was exhilarating to move so freely, and he lost track of time. Even as the sun began to set, Peter was too engrossed in testing his powers to notice.

It wasn't until he heard a rattle at the main door that he lost focus and missed his handhold. For a brief moment, a torch shone in the darkness, then flicked away.

Time seemed to slow as he fell. While the warehouse was only ten metres high, the fall would still be enough to seriously injure him.

As he fell, reaching out to grab anything, he felt a strange sensation, and a white line zipped out from his wrist. It snagged a walkway across from him.

He swung down, then back up, grabbed hold of the underside of the grating, and clung on.

A flashlight shone into the warehouse again, but finding no sign of anyone, the security guard left.

Peter had made sure the warehouse was messy enough that his presence would go unnoticed.

He let out a breath and tried to let himself down, but he was stuck. The thin line he'd shot out dangled next to him, but both his hands were firmly attached to the beam.

Testing one hand at a time, he realised he stuck when he wanted, not all the time.

Swinging back up to the walkway, Peter made his way back down. After checking the guard had left, he decided on one last test before heading home.

Peter stood on the ground and stared up at the walkway. He lifted his arm, pointed his wrist, and tensed his muscles, frowning when nothing happened.

It wasn't a fluke, he thought. If I did it once, I should be able to do it again.

Examining his wrist, he felt a dense knot in the muscle. When he prodded, a line of thick fluid spurted out.

Looking closer, he could see several small holes within the ridges of his skin. They were tiny, but when pressed, they acted as a font for the fluid.

Like a spider, Peter thought.

The fluid was sticky and fibrous, pulling apart like a web.

Maybe it was a spider that bit me, he thought, examining the mass.

Taking out his phone, he checked the time. While he watched, the white webbing dissolved into an airy foam, disappearing within minutes.

Hmm, he thought, not much use if it only lasts a few minutes.

Peter spent some time testing his web abilities. He found he could control the thickness, duration, and even shape of the web. By squeezing harder, he could create a thicker rope; a gentle squeeze produced a fine spray or foam.

With concentration, he could make simple shapes too—a ball or a small disc, like a squash ball or flyswatter.

Satisfied, Peter decided he'd experiment more later. But for now, he had school to finish.

Then a smile crossed his face, and he chuckled.

Flash, he thought. Let's see him try something now.