Peter’s confusion caused him to raise a questioning eyebrow. "Come again?" he asked.

Norman Osborn released the young Parker’s wrist and allowed himself to relax in the limousine’s leather couch. "I said I want to offer you a job, Peter."

"And what kind of job would that be?" asked Peter.

"Peter… you seem like a smart young man. In fact, you would have to be to get a scholarship like yours. So I won’t lie to you," said Osborn. "You know as well as I do how bad things are out in the world. Terrorism, crime, apathy—people have no faith in their fellow man anymore. Meanwhile, criminals clog the streets, sell drugs to children, take whatever they like. Horrible state of affairs, isn’t it?"

"Well… yeah," said Peter. "But what’s that got to do with me?"

"You’ve been given a gift, son," said Osborn. He motioned to the newspaper with the artist’s rendition of Spider-Man. "Power beyond your fellow man. Power to make a difference in this world."

"…okay, why do I feel like I’m being recruited into a cult?" asked Peter, inching closer to the car’s door.

Osborn sighed. "You stopped this Lizard character, didn’t you?"

"Yeah."

"And why?" asked Osborn. "You gained nothing from it. You simply did it, right?"

"Because I was the only one who could," said Peter. "Because it was the right thing to do."

Osborn snapped and pointed his finger at Peter. "Exactly! Because it was the right thing to do. Don’t you see, son? You’re a hero."

Peter blushed a little and looked down at his feet. "No I’m not."

"Of course you are," said Osborn. "And with my help, I can make you one better. I can make you into a superhero."

Peter slowly turned his eyes back to Osborn. "What do you mean?"

"I mean giving you the resources you need to operate as an honest-to-god, real life superhero. The resources you need to locate criminals as well as protect your own identity, not to mention a professionally-designed costume."

"Are you serious?" asked Peter. "And for what? I mean… what do you get out of this?"

Osborn allowed a smile to creep onto his face. "Now… I admit, I’m not entirely altruistic—I do have other motivations. You allow me to film you."

"I’m sorry?" asked Peter.

"For television," said Osborn. "We’re going to turn your exploits into a weekly reality television show. Think of it—Spider-Man helping the helpless, cleaning up the city—it’ll be incredible. And of course, there will be profits for you."

"…profits?" asked Peter.

"Of course," said Osborn. "The royalties from licensing alone would be enough to set you up for life. You’ll be rich beyond your wildest dreams, Peter."

Peter shifted uncomfortably. "I dunno…"

"Don’t answer just yet," said Osborn. "You have my card, think it over and give me a call once you’ve made your decision."

"What about film crews?" asked Peter. "I mean, I can take care of myself, but I don’t want anyone else getting hurt because of me."

"Not even an issue," said Osborn. "We’re working on alternative forms of filming that won’t endanger any camera crews."

"Alright… let me think about it, then," said Peter.

"Of course," said Osborn. He looked out the window. "I believe this is your house." He extended his hand. "You have a good evening, son."

"I will, nice to meet you, Mr. Osborn," said Peter, shaking the man’s hand.

"Norman," he said with a grin.

"Right, Norman," said Peter. He was ready to pull away, but Osborn tightened his grip.

"One more thing—don’t tell Harry about any of this," said Osborn. "Let’s just keep this between us for now, okay?"

Peter nodded and let himself out of the limo.

Ben Parker stretched out on the couch in his living room. His glasses sat on the coffee table in front of him and he had a bottle of Sam Adams in one hand. The glow of the television set provided the only source of light in the room.

He heard the turning of the lock and the sound of the door opening and leaned up to look at the new arrival. His nephew stood in the doorway and Ben called out to him.

"Hey champ, have a good time?"

"Yeah," said Peter. He walked into the living room. Ben sat up on the couch to give Peter a place to sit. The young man took the offer and sat beside him.

"How’s MJ?" asked Ben.

"She’s doing good," said Peter. "We got a chance to catch up a little."

"Good, good," said Ben. He took a sip from the beer and offered it to his nephew. "Don’t tell your aunt."

Peter shrugged and took the bottle. After one sip, he started coughing and Ben smiled. "God, that stuff is horrible!" said Peter, his face contorted in disgust.

Ben took the bottle back from his nephew. "Acquired taste I guess."

"Yuck, that’s one taste I never wanna acquire," said Peter. He looked at the television. "What are you watching?"

"History Channel," said Ben. "Something about how the Mayans predicted the end of the world coming in 2012."

"Not too far away," said Peter.

"They said prophecies fall in line with American history or something," said Ben, rolling his eyes. "Problem is those prophecies are so vague they can apply to anything."

Ben took another sip of his beer and the two men sat there in silence, watching the program. Or at least, Ben watched the program. Peter was too busy running through the scenario he just encountered outside.

He turned. "Uncle Ben… remember what we talked about?"

"Gotta be more specific than that, son—we’ve had more than a few conversations," said Ben.

"I mean on the way back from campus."

"Oh…" said Ben. "Yeah, not easy to forget a thing like that."

"Well… I need some advice… like about what I should do," said Peter.

"I don’t know if this is the best time to discuss it, Pete. Can’t it wait until morning?"

"No… I don’t think so."

Ben looked and saw his nephew was serious. He nodded and set the bottle down on the coffee table and turned off the television set. Ben repositioned his body so he faced Peter. "What’s on your mind?"

"I was given an offer today… one that could help me out a lot," said Peter. "Using my powers for good… and I’d get paid for it, too."

Ben’s eyebrow rose. "Oh? And how do you figure that?"

"A producer came to me before I got in the house, offered me a chance to use my powers as the star of a reality TV show. About a superhero."

"And how did this producer find you?" asked Ben.

"Found out about the experiments Professor Connors was performing, discovered I was the prof’s lab assistant," said Peter. "And… well I accidentally webbed him in the eye when he started asking questions about Spider-Man."

"You webbed him?" asked Ben.

"Yeah… it was just kind of a reflex, I guess," said Peter.

"And then he offered you a job."

"He said he could provide me with resources to fight crime, a costume, all that stuff," said Peter. "And I’d get paid."

"What about school?" asked Ben.

"I’ll do it part-time," said Peter.

"It’s not like working at McDonald’s, Pete."

"I know, but I think it’s a good idea."

"Well, I don’t."

"Huh?" asked Pete. "But why not?"

Ben sighed. "Because it’s just not, okay? First off, it’s dangerous for you to be running around out there playing superhero in some flashy costume. That’s a surefire way to get yourself killed."

"But my powers—"

"—aren’t a good enough replacement for the right training." Ben sighed. "Besides, how much do we know about this producer anyway? For all we know, he could be some government spook investigating you. Or maybe he’s some crimeboss who’s trying to get an extra enforcer."

"Why can’t you just support me in this?" asked Peter. "I come to you for advice and you give me a lecture?"

"Pete, you don’t want advice—you want affirmation," said Ben. "You want me to tell you you’re doing the right thing."

"Think of everyone I could help, Uncle Ben," said Peter.

"And that’s the only reason you’re doing it?" asked Ben. "Not for the spotlight? Not for the money?"

"What’s that mean?" asked Peter, the anger rising in his voice.

"You’ve spent pretty much your entire life being an introvert, Pete," said Ben. "You almost never associated with any other kids outside of MJ. I’m not an idiot, Pete. I know you were never Mr. Popularity. So are you sure this isn’t just a chance for you to be in the spotlight for once?"

"…I can’t believe you just said that to me…" said Peter. He made a dash for the front door.

"Peter wait!" said Ben, trying to follow him. But by the time Ben reached the front door, Peter had already left the house. Ben could only watch as his nephew moved with great speed, hiding between other houses.

Oscorp

Norman Osborn found himself in his office. He was alone at the moment, looking over the various photos he had on the wall. Osborn moved to the bookshelf, reading the spines of each book.

The door opened and Dr. Mendel Stromm entered. Norman smiled at his employee. "Good evening, Dr. Stromm," he said. "How are you this evening?"

"Norman, it’s late," said Stromm. "What’s this all about?"

"Have you made any progress on our supervillain?" asked Osborn. "I’ve already spoken with Toomes and he’s hard at work at a mode of transport as well as some weapons."

"There’s nothing I’ve been able to do," said Stromm. "Even with Connors’ notes, it’s impossible to decipher just what he was doing."

"Then allow me to offer my assistance," said Norman. He held out a small, plastic vial. Inside was a single brown hair. Stromm took the vial and looked up at Osborn.

"What is this?" he asked.

"A strand of hair," said Osborn. "From Spider-Man."

Stromm’s eyes widened. "You found him?"

Osborn nodded. "But the details don’t matter. Can you gather the necessary DNA from this?"

"Well… I can try," said Stromm. "A blood sample would be ideal, but I suppose this can work."

"Then get to work," said Osborn. "I want to see progress by Monday morning."

"…but it’s almost Saturday morning," said Stromm.

"Then it looks like you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you," said Osborn. "Better get to it, Doctor."

Osborn Residence

Once Norman arrived home, he took off his jacket and left it on a couch. As he approached the bar, he loosened his tie. Picking up a carafe with a metal tag labeled SCOTCH, he poured himself a drink.

Drink in hand, Osborn took a seat by a large, bay window. There was a remote on the small table to the side. He picked it up and pressed the power button. The home’s sound system came on, feeding Bach through the massive speakers.

Norman sipped his drink and allowed himself to sink into the chair. Now that the summer was over and Harry was back in school, Norman was able to relax once more. Without having to worry about the constant annoyance his son posed.

All of a sudden, Osborn’s peaceful evening was disturbed by the sound of tapping. He looked over his shoulder and almost jumped when he saw the figure of Peter Parker standing outside the window. Or rather, hanging outside the window.

Osborn motioned for Peter to go around to the front of the house. Norman got up and met the young man there, opening the door for him. "There is a doorbell, you know," he said.

"I know," said Peter. "Thought this would be a better demonstration of… y’know… my thing."

"Your ‘thing’?" asked Osborn. Peter nodded.

Osborn turned away from the door and Peter stepped inside the house. "So… is Harry home?"

"Harry rarely comes home during the semester, thank god," said Norman. "What are you doing here, Peter?"

"I wanted to talk to you," said Peter. "About your offer."

"And?" asked Osborn.

"First off, let’s get some things straight," said Peter. "No contracts. No bloodtests. And that costume? It comes with a mask. Nobody knows who I am except for you. I don’t wanna put my family at risk."

"And payment?" asked Osborn.

"Cash and cash only," said Peter. "No checks. I don’t want Peter Parker connected to this at all. I don’t want anyone to know I’m Spider-Man or to find any way to link me to this."

Osborn extended his hand. "Done."

The two men shook.

"Now then…" said Osborn with a smile. "Let’s make a superhero."