Chapter 2
The Oscorp lobby was nothing like Gwen expected. All white marble floors, glass-paneled walls, and softly humming tech embedded into the very architecture. Her reflection trailed after her as she walked, wide-eyed, clutching the strap of her messenger bag tighter against her shoulder.
“Try not to drool,” Rosie whispered beside her, nudging Gwen’s elbow playfully.
“I’m not drooling,” Gwen murmured back, but her eyes were glued to the massive kinetic sculpture turning gently in the center of the room—a metallic replica of DNA strands, hovering and spinning in midair.
Mr. Halpern clapped his hands at the front of their small group of students. “Alright, listen up! Welcome to the Oscorp Student Initiative program. You’ve all been selected because of your exceptional academic performance. You’ll be shadowing departments, observing research, and—if you’re lucky—maybe even helping out.”
Gwen glanced at Jordan, who stood a few students away, mouthing nerd squad assemble at her. She smiled.
The tour began in earnest. The group was guided down pristine corridors with their teacher, a stern-looking Oscorp intern, and a surprisingly cheerful security bot hovering behind them. Holograms popped up as they passed doors, explaining current experiments and breakthroughs. Gwen kept lagging behind, tugged in by every blinking screen and diagram.
Rosie occasionally reached back and pulled her forward. “Gwen, focus. We’re gonna get yelled at.”
“But look!” Gwen pointed to a window showing a sleek lab with robotic arms stitching synthetic fibers. “That’s the materials science wing! They’re making new adaptive suits!”
“Maybe they’ll let you wear one to ballet,” Rosie teased. “Laser tutus.”
They reached the genetics wing next—air locked, temperature controlled, and quiet. This was Gwen’s favorite so far. Tanks of glowing fluid lined the walls, filled with bioengineered flora and fauna. On the far end, a lab tech was feeding what looked like a cross between a gecko and a jellyfish. It stuck to the glass with a rubbery slurp.
“And here,” the intern guide said, “is where we’re experimenting with genetic modification—mostly for medical uses. There are several hybrid projects we’re running—adaptive immunity, DNA healing factors, et cetera.”
Gwen didn’t hear much of the explanation. Her eyes had locked on a clear container sitting off to the side, slightly behind a desk cluttered with open research notes and a half-eaten protein bar. Inside the container was a spider—black with hints of neon blue on its legs. It moved slowly, methodically, across the glass.
Something about it tugged at her.
She stepped closer, peering in. The spider paused too, and for a heartbeat, she swore it was looking at her.
“Miss Stacy,” Mr. Halpern called sharply. “Let’s not wander.”
“Sorry!” Gwen called, giving the spider one last look before hurrying after the group.
The tour ended in a wide, open room filled with glass partitions and low hums of computers and lab equipment. Sunlight filtered through vertical blinds, throwing striped shadows across the linoleum floor. A small stack of clipboards was passed around by the Oscorp intern.
“Okay,” Mr. Halpern said, adjusting his glasses. “You’ll each be observing in a different department today based on your interests and grades. Don’t touch anything unless someone tells you to. Do not eat anything labeled ‘experimental.’ And try not to blow anything up.”
A few kids laughed nervously. Gwen scanned the clipboards as they were passed. Rosie was headed to Environmental Innovation. Jordan had been placed in Cybernetic Engineering with a grin so big Gwen could practically hear the silent yes he mouthed.
Her own name came up last. She looked at her sheet.
Gwen Stacy – Genetics Modification / Bioengineering Division
Her eyes shot up instantly. The spider. The tanks. The weirdly hypnotic blue-and-black shimmer. She bit back a smile and handed the clipboard to the intern before slipping her assignment into her folder.
As the students dispersed, Mr. Halpern gave her a small nod. “They’ve got a few open projects in that division. You’ll be shadowing Dr. Ocampo. She’s one of the best researchers here.”
Gwen nodded, already bouncing on the balls of her feet.
A quiet voice caught her attention. “You’re the one who was staring at the spider, right?”
She turned to see a girl with honey-brown skin and curly auburn hair tied in a massive puff. Her badge read Layla K.
Gwen blinked. “Uh… yeah. It just looked cool.”
Layla smirked. “It’s called Subject 42B. Hybrid of four venomous species. Crazy regenerative ability, insane grip strength. It's supposed to be part of an exosuit neural response study, but they haven’t finished the neural link part. So right now it just… crawls around and looks judgmental.”
Gwen laughed. “That sounds like my cat.”
“I like you,” Layla grinned.
The Genetics department was a maze of chrome counters, sterile whiteboards scribbled with equations, and microscopes fitted with monitors. Dr. Ocampo was a brisk woman in her thirties, hair piled high on her head like she had no time for gravity. She waved Gwen over without so much as a hello.
“You’re the intern? Don’t touch anything red. Everything else, you can ask about.”
Gwen stood stiffly at first, but once Dr. Ocampo started explaining cell regeneration sequencing, she relaxed. The science was incredible. She spent the whole hour taking notes, eyes darting between a screen showing DNA breakdowns and a live feed of Subject 42B, now secured in a reinforced dome.
A soft alert pinged from the system—something about containment parameters, but the lab tech waved it off.
“Just a sensor glitch,” he muttered. “Happens all the time.”
Gwen, curious, glanced at the spider’s dome as it skittered across its perch.
Still looking right at her.
By the time Gwen was gathering her things, the sky outside Oscorp had faded into a warm amber haze, painting the skyline with purples and golds. The building buzzed softly with end-of-day movement—technicians logging off, researchers closing files, the sharp click of ID badges echoing down the hallways.
Her notebook was stuffed full of scribbles—some notes, some doodles of Subject 42B with a smug expression and a tiny crown. She zipped her bag shut, slinging it over her shoulder without noticing the small, silent passenger that had crawled inside while the spider’s dome sat cracked open for a maintenance check.
Subject 42B was remarkably good at slipping through unnoticed.
Oblivious, Gwen made her way out of the lab, waving goodbye to Layla, who was still hunched over a microscope.
“Break a leg at your performance!” Layla called.
“Thanks! Hopefully not literally!” Gwen replied with a grin, jogging toward the lift.
She had twenty minutes to get to the theater. Her leotard and costume were already packed. The moment she hit the dorms, she raced to change, pinning up her hair in a practiced twist, adjusting her tights, and smoothing the skirt that went over her leotard. She checked her bag again for her shoes—her fingers brushing past her phone, a water bottle, a pair of bobby pins—
Pinch.
“Ow.”
She jerked her hand back. A tiny prick on her middle finger. Barely even visible. She frowned, turned her bag over, and gave it a good shake, but nothing came out except an old cough drop and a broken pen cap.
“Weird,” she muttered, sucking on her finger before brushing it off.
Her phone buzzed. A message from her dad.
[Dad]: Sorry, kiddo. Work emergency. I’ll try to get to the next one.
And right after:
[Mom]: You know these things are always so last minute. You’ll be fine.
She stared at the messages for a beat, the silence sinking into her chest. Then, finally, another buzz.
[Rio]: Can’t wait to see you dance! You’re gonna kill it! I’m on my way.
A breath of relief.
“Okay,” Gwen whispered to herself in the mirror. “You’ve got this.”
She headed backstage as the crew called for places. Everything felt normal—until it didn’t.
The stage lights were blinding, and her feet felt heavy as the performance began. Her fingers tingled, the small pinch she’d ignored now radiating warmth that crawled up her arm in pulses.
She twirled on cue, but the world seemed to move a beat behind her. Her vision blurred at the edges—dull gold halos bleeding into every spotlight. She blinked hard, trying to clear it.
No time. The second movement had started.
She pushed forward. A perfect pirouette. Her legs obeyed. Her balance was solid. But her stomach churned, her mouth felt dry, and something just felt wrong. Like her blood was moving too fast.
Still, Gwen kept dancing. For Rio. For herself.
Unaware that deep inside her bag, Subject 42B curled up in the darkness—its job already done.
The applause was thunderous, but Gwen could barely hear it.
The stage lights bore down like miniature suns, searing through her blurred vision. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as she clutched the curtain for support, the silk of her costume clinging to her back with sweat. Her limbs trembled—not from exertion, but from something deeper. Something off.
She staggered offstage the moment the curtain fell, plastering on a grateful smile for her castmates as they hugged and whispered congratulations.
"That was amazing, Gwen!" someone said behind her.
"Yeah," she replied, her voice airy and distant. "Thanks."
Her bag lay in the corner of the dressing room, half-zipped. Gwen knelt, hands rummaging automatically for her water bottle, her fingers brushing past her pointe shoes and towel. The moment the cool water hit her lips, a wave of nausea rolled through her, like her body had finally decided to reject whatever was going on inside her.
She swallowed it down. Focus. Hydrate. You’re probably just dehydrated. You danced through worse. Right?
But then her knees buckled slightly as she stood. Her head swam.
“Gwen?” one of the younger girls blinked up at her from the bench, brow furrowed. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she lied. “Just—stage lights. A little dizzy. I’ll be fine.”
Her phone buzzed. She fumbled to pull it out. The screen glowed:
[Rio]: YOU WERE AMAZING! Front row the whole time. Your pirouette in the second act?? Iconic. Gonna wait for you by the steps!
A shaky laugh escaped her. Gwen blinked fast, the edges of her vision foggy, her heartbeat erratic in her ears like a drum being played out of rhythm. Her skin felt too tight. She rubbed at her arms, vaguely aware that her fingertips burned slightly.
Was she getting sick? Food poisoning? Her thoughts spiraled. Or maybe a fever from the late nights and stress—
No. No, something else. Her whole body felt like it was changing—coiling. Compressing.
She texted Rio back with fumbling thumbs:
[Gwen]: Gimme a sec. Costume change. Just a lil tired. Be right out xx
The phone felt hot in her hands. Or maybe that was her. Her skin tingled where the fabric touched it. Her leotard felt suffocating.
She stumbled into a bathroom stall, shut the door, and leaned her forehead against the cool metal wall. Her breath came in gasps now, her heart racing like she’d run a marathon.
And then—thunk.
Something hit the ceiling above her.
Her head snapped upward.
Was that a—
No.
She blinked again, this time slower.
For a split second, it felt like everything sharpened. The sound of shoes outside, the drip of a leaky faucet, the buzz of electricity in the walls. And her body—aches turning into something strange. Something electric. Alive.
Gwen gripped the sink to steady herself.
Something had changed.
She didn’t know how or why yet.
But deep in her chest, Gwen Stacy could feel it.
And it wasn’t going away.