Spider-Man: Web Of Lies

"Peter? Wake up, we're here already."

I blink my eyes open, slowly adjusting to the sight of the towering Oscorp building ahead. Uncle Ben's voice is soft but steady, and there's a warmth in his smile as he reaches over to give my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Sorry, I just... had a really bad dream," I mumble, my hand instinctively going to the hard drive nestled beside me.

Ben chuckles, his eyes crinkling. "No need to be nervous, kid. You worked real hard to get here, and I'm proud of you. So is May, for that matter."

"Yeah, I know you're right." I say, though something about it all feels strangely light, like I'm floating. "You're right. I just..."

"Just nothing." He gives me a solid thumbs-up. "You earned this. Fair and square. Now go in there and show everyone why you're my favorite nephew."

I manage a smile. "I'm your only nephew."

"Details, details," he laughs softly, getting out of the car.

As I step out, still gripping the hard drive, I feel the sun's warmth, brighter than usual, almost too bright. The air smells sweet, like cotton candy, which doesn't make sense in front of Oscorp. But I shake it off, too caught up in the moment to worry about the details.

"Hey! Peter, what's up, man!" A voice calls out, and I turn to see Flash Thompson waving.

"Flash?" I blink, a little thrown. I'd known him all my life, he's been my best friend for...as long as I can remember and yet....Flash slaps my back in an easy, familiar way, nodding in approval.

"Finally getting the recognition you deserve, Parker," he says. "Let's see what you got."

I nod, feeling a strange mix of pride and confusion, but Uncle Ben's hand on my shoulder anchors me.

We walk together into the gleaming lobby of Oscorp, where I'm met with more familiar faces—smiling, nodding, clapping me on the back. Liz Allen catches my eye, beaming like I'm someone she's proud to know, and Charlie from my chemistry class waves, mouthing, "Good luck, man."

"See?" Uncle Ben nudges me gently. "You've got a whole crowd cheering for you. Told you."

I glance at him, my heart swelling. It's true, isn't it? This is what it feels like to be seen, respected.

Yet something nags at me, a whisper in the back of my mind, warning me to stay alert, to question it. But I bury the feeling as the doors open, revealing the large expo hall.

I scan the crowd, and my chest tightens when I see Gwen Stacy standing with... Harry Osborn.

He's got his arm slung over her shoulders, laughing like they're in on some private joke. Gwen notices me, offering a small smile, but Harry's stare is cold, assessing. His gaze makes my stomach churn, yet he says nothing.

I take a deep breath, gripping my hard drive. Focus. It's time to present my project.

I make my way to the podium, my heart racing, but Ben's words echo in my head. You earned this. Fair and square. With that, I plug in the hard drive and begin.

"Today, I'm presenting the 'Phoenix Protocol'." My voice carries through the hall, and I spot Ben's proud grin in the crowd. "It's a method of reconstituting data and material to their original forms, even after destruction or loss."

I pull up a visual—a sleek 3D model of a small device, shaped almost like an orb, that glows faintly as it hovers in the display. "Think of it as a way to bring back what's been lost, to recover what's...gone." The words resonate strangely, the weight of them settling in my chest as I glance at Ben.

I dive into the mechanics, explaining how the Phoenix Protocol can reassemble fragmented data or objects by mapping their unique energy signatures. It's a hopeful concept—one that could preserve the essence of things, the parts we think are lost forever.

The crowd murmurs in awe, nodding in appreciation, but I barely hear them. My gaze keeps drifting back to Ben, watching with pride, and for some reason, I feel an urge to hold onto this moment. I want to etch his approving smile, his gentle chuckle, deep into my memory, to preserve it as if... as if I might need it later.

When the applause hits, it feels distant, echoing around me. I step down, and Uncle Ben wraps me in a hug, his voice warm with pride. "You see? That's my Peter." He squeezes my shoulder, but his touch feels hazy, like he's slipping through my fingers.

"Thanks, Uncle Ben," I say, holding on just a little tighter. "For everything."

"You're gonna do amazing things, kid," he murmurs, his words like a promise.

But as I step back, a hollow ache lingers, and suddenly the world around me feels thin, stretched. Harry's smirk feels darker, Gwen's smile feels faint, and Ben's voice, even as he speaks, feels like it's fading. The bright light around me dims, and my chest tightens with a sense of impending loss.

In the back of my mind, the words repeat like a drumbeat: You've got nothing to be nervous about. You earned this. Fair and square. But the words feel like an echo, from far away.

For the briefest moment, I see something else—flashes of cracked walls, a shadow moving in the corner of my eye. And then, before I can blink, it's gone, and I'm left in the bright hall, still surrounded by smiles that somehow feel too perfect.

What is wrong with me?

"Hey, Peter." Ben says, grabbing my attention. "Who are you?"

I stare at him blankly for a while, feeling sick to my stomach, for a reason I can't explain. "W-What? What do you mean?"

Ben stares at me quietly for a few more moments, and the room goes quiet, then, he smiles and the chattering and conversations continue as if nothing had even happened. "I said we have to get back soon if we're gonna make it back in time for the marathon."

"Ye-Yeah. Okay." I say, unsure of what just happened.

"Petey, don't leave without even saying hi." Liz says, and behind her Charlie and Flash.

"H-Huh?" I say, my words catching in my throat for a second. "Sorry, guys. I just...feel off."

Ben grabs my shoulder. "I'll wait for you back in the car. Don't take too long player." He grins, and for a moment I'm confused, but then Liz grabs my hand and I realize he means me.

Because...I'm dating Liz Allen.

Right? I already know I am.

So, why's it so confusing to me?

It's not.

I know who I am. And where I am.

Liz kisses me in the cheek. "You did great out there. Although, I wish you'd give up all this geeky stuff and come back to the football team."

Flash slaps me on the back. "Nah, Pete's fine. Besides without him on the team it gives the other high schools a chance this year. Dudes a beast on that field."

I chuckle nervously. "Yeah..."

Liz moves closer to me. "Everything alright, Petey? Was it the party last night? You still hung over?"

I shake my head. "I uh...I don't drink?"

Liz shares confused glances with the others. "I have about ten videos of last night that say otherwise."

"Oh...well...yeah maybe it was last night then." I say, looking down to my feet. "I've gotta...go see uncle Ben. I need to make sure he's...okay." Then without even giving them another glance I bolt for the door, but that's when I hear something crunch beneath my foot.

It's a...spider?

I shake my head continuing out the door, seeing that Uncle Ben is in the car, where I expected him to be.

Because...everything's okay.

I'm okay.

I'm okay.

I'm...who am I...again?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A news report flickers across the screen, showing an old man's face—a grainy photo beside a headline: Elderly Man Killed by Wanted Thug. The anchor's voice drones on, describing the suspect: a man on the run for petty theft from a local wrestling company, now charged with murder.

I don't know why, but looking at that face on the screen makes my blood simmer, a surge of anger boiling up from nowhere. My fists clench involuntarily, my pulse throbbing in my ears.

Ben notices. He picks up the remote, quickly changing the channel to a cooking show. "You sure you're okay, kiddo?" He studies me with that soft, concerned look of his. "You've been acting a little off since the expo."

I try to pull myself together, forcing a tight smile. "I'm fine. I'm... okay," I say, though the words feel thin, like they're barely holding me together. I say it again, more to myself than to him. "Everything's okay. I think I'm just... tired."

Ben clicks over to a cooking show, and the upbeat host is talking about the best way to glaze a ham. I let out a small, unsteady laugh, realizing I've been holding my breath. Ben raises an eyebrow, giving me a soft grin.

"You're sure?" he asks. "You've been acting different since that big expo. Maybe you're just burnt out, hmm?"

I give him a small smile, shrugging. "Maybe. But you're right... I probably just need some rest."

The next few days pass in this cozy blur. It's surreal, but in the best way. I help Ben in the garden, like we used to when I was a kid, getting dirt under my nails as we pull weeds and plant tomatoes. We laugh, arguing about which ones need the most sunlight and where the basil should go. I haven't seen him laugh this freely in ages.

In the evenings, May insists we try new recipes together, so we cook in a way that feels clumsy but warm. We're messing up together, spilling flour and accidentally doubling the salt in the spaghetti sauce. She's buzzing around the kitchen, and Ben is pretending to know how to julienne onions, laughing as she corrects him. I can feel the warmth in my chest, growing stronger each day. With them, it feels like everything fits, like I'm where I'm supposed to be.

We take an afternoon to drive out to Coney Island. The boardwalk is crowded, but somehow I don't mind. We laugh at Ben's terrible attempts at the ring toss, and May drags us onto the Ferris wheel, even though Ben says he's terrified of heights. I'm in the middle of it all, watching their faces, this moment stretching out like it'll last forever.

Like we're invincible.

But sometimes, when I'm alone, a weird, nagging sensation pulls at the back of my mind, like a thread I can't quite grasp. It's there when I'm lying in bed, staring at the ceiling; it's there when I see a certain face on the news or walk past a construction site. It's like a memory that slips away the moment I reach for it.

One evening, we're watching TV after dinner, and a news report breaks in, the anchor's face tense as she explains an attack on Oscorp Tower.

The camera cuts to scenes of chaos—screaming people, police cars, and shattered glass everywhere. And then I see it. A creature, towering, its scales glistening green under the city lights, its monstrous claws tearing through everything in its path.

A lizard.

My chest tightens. The same weird déjà vu hits, stronger than ever. This feels familiar, wrong but right at the same time. Ben and May sit on either side of me, their faces frozen, horrified as the scene unfolds. People are running, screaming, bodies lying on the pavement, limp and unmoving.

I grip the edge of the couch, my hands clammy, watching helplessly. A voice at the back of my mind screams that I should do something—that I want to do something. But I can't.

I'm just a kid. A normal high-school kid.

My heart pounds as the creature claws its way through the city. The news cuts to a reporter on the ground, describing the carnage, the lives lost. Ben squeezes my shoulder, his eyes wide with worry. "What kind of thing would do that?" he whispers.

I swallow, looking away. I don't have an answer. The helplessness gnaws at me, twisting my stomach into knots. I'm watching, but every part of me feels like I'm failing—failing people I don't even know, people who, for some reason, feel as if they're depending on me.

"I don't know..." I finally manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

May leans over, placing a gentle hand on my arm. "We just have to hope the police get everyone to safety," she murmurs. But her words don't do anything to soothe the growing ache in my chest.

Then, a question comes to my mind again, that day during the expo. The weird thing when Ben asked me, "Who are you?" It seemed so random at the time, almost out of place, and he'd never acknowledged it. Although the question never left my mind, "Who am I?" As I watch the screen, watching the terror unfold, I can't help but feel that there's something I'm forgetting.

The question gnaws at me, even as I try to ignore it: Who am I? I can't shake the strange feeling that I'm missing something, a piece of myself buried somewhere just out of reach.

At school, I'm surrounded by people, friends, admirers—my girlfriend, Liz, who clings to my arm like it's her lifeline, laughing at everything I say, even when I barely say anything. She's in high spirits, but every smile I give feels stretched and fake. I'm popular, accepted, even envied here. It should feel great, right? But it doesn't. It just feels... hollow.

Lunchtime can't come fast enough, and I finally manage to slip away, telling Liz I need to grab something from my locker. I head out, dodging people in the halls, until I find a quiet spot in the school courtyard. I exhale, trying to shake off the tension, but the question lingers. Who am I?

That's when I hear a voice behind me. "Peter?" I turn around to see Gwen Stacy, looking just as surprised to see me as I am to see her. We haven't talked since grade school, but there's something familiar and calming about her, like we're reconnecting after years of knowing each other.

We chat for a bit, small talk that feels unexpectedly comforting, and before I know it, I'm spilling everything that's been on my mind. "I just feel... off, Gwen. Like I'm not really here, or like there's something I'm supposed to be doing, but I don't know what." The words come tumbling out, and she listens quietly, her blue eyes steady and thoughtful.

"My dad used to tell me," Gwen says after a moment, "that at the center of our being, we all have that answer. We know who we are, and what we want. It's just about finding that answer first, I suppose. But I always thought you could figure it out by knowing what you're not. So... who are you, Peter Parker?"

The question hits me like a punch. Images flash through my mind—moments, feelings, memories with Gwen I shouldn't be able to recall. I feel something deep inside, something I can't explain, as if a lost memory is on the verge of surfacing, but then... pain. A headache, sudden and sharp, makes me clutch my head.

Before I can even process it,Harry storms over, shoving me back. "Stay away from Gwen," he snaps, a warning in his tone. He grabs her arm, pulling her away with him. It's strange—I know I don't get along with Harry, we've been enemies for years, but as I watch them leave, I feel a pang of sadness.

It feels... wrong. As if we were once close.

The day only gets stranger from there. Later, I hear a commotion outside the school, and I catch a glimpse of a man in what looks like a scorpion costume, crashing through the gates, wreaking havoc. People scream, running in all directions. Helplessly, I watch as he grabs Harry in his claws, pulling him closer. My instincts scream at me to do something, to help—but I'm rooted to the spot, terrified, and unsure of what to do.

Finally, I muster the courage to confront him. "Let him go!" I shout, my voice shaking. The man just chuckles, lowering his grotesque, scorpion-shaped helmet toward me.

"Who are you?" he sneers, his voice dripping with mockery. Before I can answer, his tail whips around, hitting me square in the chest. Pain explodes through my ribs as I hit the ground, gasping for breath.

Sirens wail as the cops arrive, surrounding the Scorpion, who tries to escape in the chaos. Shots ring out, and in the confusion, I hear a strangled cry. I look up, horrified, to see Harry slump to the ground, hit by a stray bullet. The Scorpion makes his escape, leaving Harry motionless on the ground.

My vision blurs. I feel the urge to scream, to cry, to do something. I could've done something... but I didn't. And now, Harry's dead.

~~~

Weeks pass, and the funeral finally arrives.

There are hundreds of people here, more than I ever thought would show up. Most of them are strangers to me—suits and designer dresses, people who I'm almost positive Harry wouldn't have cared about. They're probably here because of Norman Osborn. The man could charm a crowd even at his own son's funeral.

I stand toward the back, not wanting to be seen, not really knowing where I belong. Gwen is up front with her family, tears streaking her face. Seeing her like that twists something in my chest. I feel guilty. I don't know why—I shouldn't. I couldn't have done anything.

Right?

I couldn't have done anything...

"Peter?" A voice pulls me from my thoughts.

I turn around, and my heart skips a beat. "C-Captain Stacy?" My voice cracks, and it surprises me how relieved I sound. How glad I am to see him standing there, alive.

He tilts his head, giving me a strange look. "Yeah...you okay, kid?"

"I..." The words catch in my throat. I feel like I can't breathe. "I'm glad you're okay," I finally manage, though it comes out shaky.

Captain Stacy raises an eyebrow. "Okay? Yeah, I'm fine. You sure you're okay? You don't look so hot."

I laugh nervously, running a hand through my hair. "I don't know. Lately, everything just feels...wrong. Like none of this is supposed to be happening. Not you, not Gwen, not Harry. It's like...like the pieces don't fit, you know?"

He watches me quietly for a second, then sighs. "I get what you mean. The world's changed a lot. Guys with powers, big tech, aliens—makes the rest of us feel pretty small sometimes. Even the best officers out there look like kids playing dress-up next to them."

His words sting, though I can't say why. I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "But it's more than that. It's like...I don't know. Like this is all my fault somehow. Like maybe if I—"

He cuts me off with a stern look. "Peter, stop. Whatever this is, it's not on you. No one's expecting a fifteen-year-old kid to take on the world's problems."

"I am." The words come out sharp, bitter. "I expect it."

He frowns, his gaze softening. "You're a good kid, Peter. But you've done enough. You've got nothing to prove to anyone. Let the rest of us handle it. You can rest easy now."

Rest easy? Done enough? What is he talking about? "What do you mean?" I ask, my voice shaking. "I've done enough? What have I done?"

He doesn't answer. He just smiles at me—sad and kind—and pats my shoulder. "Goodbye, Peter."

And then he walks away.

I don't know why, but watching him leave fills me with this unbearable weight, this ache I can't explain. It's like I'm losing something, someone, and I'm not ready. I want to call after him, to stop him, but my throat tightens, and all I can do is stand there, watching.

And for the first time in weeks, I feel it. The sense of loss, the emptiness, that nagging thought I keep pushing down. Who am I?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It isn't until a week later that I find out Captain Stacy is killed.

Killed by some rampaging monster in the streets, a big burly man who killed over a dozen other cops and still is on the loose, just like the lizard man, and the scorpion guy who killed Harry. Now there's another.

Then a week after that, there's a blackout, some man made of electricity killing hundreds, also free and at large.

But somehow, the more deaths the happen the more I feel responsible. Like somehow these men are my responsibility, Harry, and Captain Stacy...how could it be my fault?

Why do so many people keep dying? Why do I feel like I can even stop this? Why?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why?

"What's up, loser."

I turn to the voice, it's a girl, with brown hair and a piercing gaze. "W-Who are you?"

She smirks. "The better question is, who are you?"

"What?"

"What are you doing sitting up here? When you're supposed to be out there knocking those guys skulls around?" She says, joining me in leaning over the building looking down towards the street.

"What? How could I? I'm...just some kid."

Felicia smirks. "Yeah. A kid who runs around in spandex, and can lift a bus over his head."

Felicia? Wait...how do I know her name?

"I uh..." I'm unsure of what to say to her, of why I'm sure that her name is Felicia. How I'm sure what she's saying is correct. "I..."

Felicia looks at me, her gaze as cool as ever. "I need you, Peter. We all do. All of this, it's not right. So, hurry up and remember who you are already, Spider."

Then just like that.

I'm sure of it.

I'm not just Peter Parker.

I'm....I'm....

"Peter?"

Suddenly I'm back at home, sitting beside my uncle as he pauses the Star Trek movie. "What's the matter? You've barely said a word."

"Uncle Ben...." Tears fill my eyes as I look over to him, "I...I think I have to go. I think you have to go."

He looks at me confused, then he smiles. "Ah. I see. So, it's about that time."

"What?"

He stands before me, kneeling down on one knee as he gives me that smile that I remember so fondly. That smile that I know isn't with us anymore. "You've done so well, son. I think soon, I won't be able to tell you just how proud I am of you. How happy I am that you came into our lives."

"But I...I've done so much wrong. I've failed...I've let people be hurt and even killed. I..." I can barely speak anymore, my words failing me as tears begin to spill. "I need you. I can't do anything without you."

Uncle Ben chuckles. "Come now. Sure you might've had some hiccups, but who doesn't in life? Remember that time I didn't listen to your aunt when she said not to take that shortcut down to the Grand Canyon and ended up popping a tire, we all got stuck walking hours to the nearest gas station. Or that time I let that skunk inside the house?"

I chuckle. "Yeah, May never let you forget. But, I'm not really talking about anything that small."

Ben sighs. "Nobody is perfect, Peter. Trust me when I say I've had my fair share of mistakes that weren't small. But taking you in, loving you and raising you. That most definitely was not one of them. I love you, Peter Parker. You are my son. And for everyday that you are, you make me and your aunt so proud. You are enough."

I feel his embrace, and it's bittersweet.

Because this is the end.

My name is Peter Parker.

I was bitten by a radioactive spider.

I was given powers, which my family taught me to view as a great responsibility.

I don't always win.

In fact more often than not. I lose.

But I never give up.

Why?

Because I'm the Amazing Spider-Man.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My eyes snap open, and I'm met with the same dingy, cluttered room I'd been in before. My head is pounding, but I'm awake.

I'm here.

I'm Peter.

I'm—

"Felicia!" I shout, bolting upright. My heart races as the fragmented memories return: Quentin Beck. The fever dream. The trap. I scramble to my feet, scanning the room, but it's empty.

The sound of heavy breathing draws me toward the next room. I step into the wrecked living area and freeze. The place is in ruins—furniture overturned, shattered glass everywhere, and Felicia Hardy sitting on the couch, bloodied and bruised. Beneath her sprawls an unconscious Quentin Beck.

Her swollen lip curls into a smirk when she sees me. "Oh, look. Sleeping Beauty's finally up."

My chest tightens as I take in the scene—the destruction, the gash on her cheek, the exhaustion in her posture. "Felicia, what the hell happened here?"

She shrugs, leaning back like it's no big deal. "Your boy Beck tried his mind games on me. Didn't work. So he decided to get physical instead." She nods toward the limp figure on the floor. "Then, I kicked his ass."

I rush to her, gently tilting her face toward me to examine her injuries. "You're a mess. You should've—"

Her hand snaps up, pressing against my chest to stop me. "Save it, Parker. It was either him or us. You were down for the count, so I handled it."

She's right. Beck would've had me on a platter for Norman Osborn if she hadn't stepped in. I exhale, the tension easing just enough for a shaky smile. "Thank you, Felicia. You saved me. You're—"

"A good friend. Yeah, yeah, I know," she says, cutting me off with a wave of her hand.

I can't help but laugh, despite everything. "So...what now? We can't exactly call the cops. Not with my face on their dartboards."

Felicia shifts uncomfortably, wincing slightly. "Don't worry about that. I couldn't find anything on his computer about what he used to frame you, but I did dig up some juicy dirt. The kind that could ruin him if it ever went public. Turns out, you're not the only person Beck's framed. He's got skeletons in closets all over the world—selling military secrets, extortion, you name it. He's got enemies in prison who'd probably kill to thank him in person." Her smirk turns wicked. "When he wakes up, we'll...motivate him to come clean. On live TV. Trust me, he'll talk."

I glance at Beck's limp body, unease curling in my gut. "And what if he's more scared of Norman than he is of us?"

"Yeah, he's definitely scared of Norman, all right. I mean, who wouldn't be?" she says, standing slowly and stretching out a stiff shoulder. "But when it's Norman Osborn versus literally everyone else on the planet, I'm betting he'll fold."

I hesitate, then shoot her a sheepish look. "Hey, uh...speaking of digging through computers, you haven't, uh...looked through mine, right?"

Her grin widens. "Oh, don't worry. I definitely haven't seen your little secret Gwen folder."

My face goes hot, and I stammer, "I—I don't have a—"

"Relax, Parker," she says, laughing. "I'm just messing with you."

I try to muster some indignation, but all I feel is gratitude. Somehow, I can't even be mad. I'm just glad she's here. That I'm here.

"Thanks, Felicia. For everything. I mean it. I don't know where I'd be without you."

Her expression shifts, just for a moment—a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the sarcasm. "Don't say stuff like that. It's embarrassing."

She turns away, but before the moment passes completely, she adds, "But...I guess I should thank you too."

"For what?" I ask, surprised.

She looks at me, her cool demeanor softening into something earnest. "For trusting me."