Variant Strain

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Peter continued to walk as he spoke. The streets were emptier than he'd ever seen in Manhattan, but given everything that had happened in the past week, perhaps that wasn't too surprising.

The Gentek building wasn't too far behind him and at the time of night it felt like, this area would not have had a lot of people in it to begin with. Even less if they'd been smart and left the environs of a collapsed building.

He fought to keep from growling as he gripped the phone hard. He could almost feel the plastic material creaking under his fingers.

"Miss Watson is... unwell. She's resting right now," Osborn's voice rasped into his ear. "Her Aunt and yours are sitting with her. So are Miss Stacy and her father."

"How did you--?" Peter began to ask, but was interrupted by Osborn's gentle, amused laughter.

"When my son, Harry, made arrangements to rescue his friend's family out of New York, he was surprisingly thorough." Norman's voice rasped unpleasantly. "He made sure the Watson house was kept under surveilance when the security team missed Miss Watson and yourself."

He paused, obviously waiting for a response from Peter, but continued when he didn't receive it. "Miss Watson ran from the security team. And displayed some... interesting skills during the chase."

Peter ground his teeth. "Is that why she's 'unwell'?"

"Perhaps, Mr. Parker." Norman's dry voice had a touch of amusement to it now. "She was actually doing quite well up until she suddenly collapsed after throwing a two-hundred pound man through a wooden picket fence. It could have been the exhaustion, of course. We took her back with us to reuinite her with her friends and family and to make sure nothing worse happened to her."

"Right," Peter managed to snort out sarcastically, "Out of the goodness of your heart."

"Absolutely, Mr. Parker, Peter, may I call you Peter?" He continued without letting Peter actually respond, "We only want what's best for Miss Watson."

"Right." Peter snapped again, not sure what else to say.

"It's clear you wanted your family and friends safe and away from the rampant infection spreading through New York," He continued, "Now they are safe here in our home here in Salem Center. You have my word on that. But we do need to speak, Mr. Parker. You can rest assured that I will continue to ensure their safety."

He bit back a growl as he mentally supplied the obvious continuation of Osborn's words. 'As long as you cooperate.'

"What do you want, Mr. Osborn?" He asked, his voice dropping to a near snarl.

"I want you to come up here to meet with me." Osborn said smoothly.

There had been shuffling noises, then another voice. Strong, vibrant, filled with a concerned tone. He couldn't make out what was being said, precisely, but Osborn's voice turned peevish. "But I was speaking!" He all but whined at the other voice.

There were more shuffling noises and a new voice came on. "Hello? Is this Peter?" Harry Osborn spoke.

"Yes?" Peter had asked suspiciously.

"You don't know me," He replied. "I'm a family friend to the Watsons."

"And you've got MJ and Anna there with you, right?" Peter fought hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He forced himself to pay attention in case he missed something. Some vital clue that would help him get them out of this situation.

"Oh, Dad told you already?" There was some relief and a hint of fond exasperation. "Good. MJ's not feeling too well, but you guys have been through a lot. Are you alright?"

Peter made a non-comital grunt in response.

"She said you two managed to make it past the barricade, but then got separated." Harry continued. "We've been trying to reach you all day."

"What's wrong with MJ?" Peter cut in angrily, no longer able to keep from speaking.

"Oh, mostly just exhaustion and some dehydration. A couple of bruises. Nothing major, but she's resting right now." Harry replied. He laughed a little then added, "Mostly a lot of complaining."

"Ah." Peter said neutrally. Just a noise to indicate he was listening without giving anything away.

Harry continued, "Your Aunt's been very worried about you. Mr. Stacy and his daughter too."

"Why do you have her phone?" Peter demanded.

"I'm actually not sure why my dad had her phone. He must've picked it up from her bedside when we were visiting earlier today without realizing it." Harry let his voice drop, in a conspiratorial tone that Peter had a vague recollection of, "Between us, he does tend to be a little absent-minded."

"Your father implied--" Peter wasn't exactly sure what the older Osborn had been implying exactly, just that his tone had been soft and dry and menacing. Peter had been menaced nonchallantly enough by experts in the past week and knew menace when he heard it.

There came an amused snort from the other end, "Dad's been talking to corporate sharks for so long he's not really used to talking to 'normal people' anymore. Everything he says sounds like a threat."

Peter could hear an indignant exclamation by someone near the phone, but definitely not holding it. "I was trying to be reassuring!" Norman Osborn complained, a definite whine in his voice now.

"He said he wanted to see me." Peter replied flatly.

"Well, of course he would." Harry replied with obvious enthurisasm. "We'd all definitely want to see you. I know your Aunt would very much want that. She's been talking our ear off about you."

Peter really had no answer to that. "Er..."

"That's probably why dad wanted to see you, honestly. He's very impressed."

"What do you mean impressed?" Peter still wasn't certain what was going on, but he was growing more and more confused by how... genial Harry Osborn was being. This was actually something familiar from the few tattered memories he had from Brian Watson. Harry Osborn did act like this normally.

Harry's tone had turned genuinely puzzled. "Why wouldn't he be? You've got an early admission full ride college scholarship to NYU for a dual major in Chemistry and Physics. Then you not only managed to survive whatever's going on in Queens with MJ, but you managed to get out."

"That was... well, it wasn't that big of a deal..." Peter muttered in embarasment. He was just so confused.

"It is a big deal." Harry said confidently. "You're obviously smart. You're also tough and resourceful. Dad was talking about trying to convince you to come work for Oscorp before the college recruiters got their hands on you."

"Oh."

Was that really what Norman Osborn had meant? Or was it that they knew what he was? What he had?

Actually at this point Peter wasn't sure what he really had. Something had changed inside him. He'd had to rebuild himself somehow and he wasn't sure what parts he'd ended up using and what he hadn't, because the parts of him that knew how he'd rebuilt himself were the same parts that he couldn't allow access anymore.

"You alright, Peter? You went quiet." Harry asked.

"No. No, sir," Peter managed to say. "I'm fine."

"I can arrange for a car to come pick you up so you can see everyone." Harry continued.

That would be the normal person response wouldn't it? He remembered bits and pieces of his brief taste of Hive-dom. He remembered the feel of the OTHER that resided to the North. That hid itself in the heart of Westchester County, New York.

There was something where they were. And he had to get everyone else away from it.

Or did he? Mr. Osborn... Harry Osborn seemed nice. And reasonable. And Brian Watson's memories... what he'd kept of them painted the picture of an easily influenced man. Eager to please his father. A follower. Not a keeper of secrets. Not some sinister manipulator. Just a nice guy with more money than good sense.

"I'm sure your Aunt would love to see you, Peter." Harry continued reassuringly. "Do you want to speak to her? I can have the phone brought back to the clinic? Although she's got her phone on her."

"I... uh... yes, sir. I'll call her phone." Peter replied.

"Good. Now, where are you exactly?"

If their place was what he expected it to be, then this would be walking into the belly of the beast. Or would that be the beast's lair? Either way, he would be knowingly walking into danger.

This isn't even near the first time you've done something that stupid, his own voice drawled back at him. He wasn't sure if it was a nascent proto-form of the voices coming back or his own mind echoing his thoughts sarcastically at him.

Normal people don't expect other people's voices in their head. He told himself firmly, then tried to concentrate on what he was actually doing.

This way he would simply have them invite him in. No breaking in. He'd been worried about having to figure out how to bypass whatever security surrounded the Hive waiting for him further north, but now this would get him at least a foot in the door, so to speak.

He glanced up at the street sign and sighed. Still too close to Gentek tower. He walked and realized to his surprise he knew the neighborhood like the palm of his hand. He rattled off a cross-street several blocks further west than where he was currently. He needed a little time. He wanted to clear his head with a run. That would give him enough time.

"Excellent. I can have a car there for you in about twenty minutes."

"... in Manhattan?" Peter replied incredulously.

"We've got an office near that place," Harry replied. Peter realized that he was right. He knew that. That was why he picked that spot. Or at least why his subconcious picked it.

"It'll be another hour and a half to drive up here." Harry added brightly, "We'll make sure you're not bored on the ride."

He hung up and Peter had to wonder what that meant exactly?

Peter broke into a sprint and tried to stop thinking for a bit.

"My name is Peter Parker." He said under his breath as he ran.

Testing the phrase out. Trying to see if there were any unfamiliar thoughts that came with his name. Any other identities asserting themselves and feelings of uncertainty over his sense of self.

Nothing.

"My name," He repeated, putting emphasis on the words, "Is Peter Parker."

Not a twinge.

The running was coming easily. There weren't any hitches in his side or the usual difficulties that a teenager with very little exercise would normally have felt from running almost full tilt down the mostly empty sidewalk on a late night.

His eyes adjusted easily to the streetlights, shifting dark and light with no effort or strain on his part. He didn't have his glasses, but his eyesight was sharp. Sharper than ever.

"I am Peter Parker." He said softly, trying the phrase out and marveling at the fit of it.

The silence in his mind felt was becoming almost disturbing.

No response. Not a word.

He tried a leap as he ran. He easily cleared the top of the lamp post on sheer muscle power, but found he couldn't flare heat or shift his mass at all. He landed at the end of the leap lightly, his forward momentum translating smoothly into a forward roll from which he recovered and immediately resumed his run with no difficulties.

He wondered about trying to run all the way to Salem Center. The trip would be an hour and a half by car. He didn't have GPS in his head anymore, but if he had to guess, he could have probably made it there sooner by a combination of running and gliding, but he'd lost the majority of his Hydra abilities.

He was sure of that much.

He clenched a fist and tried to will heat to it. Or the rippling sensation as tendrils blurred out of his flesh to alter him.

Nothing.

No shape shifting, so by the same token, no claws, no talons, no blade arm or whip arm. No disguises. No convenient clothing changes. No mass shifting either, so no gravity smashes, no gliding and his leaps were limited to what his muscles could manage on their own.

On the other hand, his muscles were operating with a power and grace and efficiency that he could only dream of. They moved perfectly under his control, with no fatigue, no aches or pains. It was even better than when he had first become infected and had begun the tentative exploration of the limits of his body only a week ago.

He didn't slow as he glanced down at the phone, still clenched in his hand.

The phone's clock, if it was accurate, told him he had lost a total of eight hours. He was running away from the remains of Gentek Tower, which a news site he'd pulled up on his phone told him had suffered from another explosion within the past hour. Speculation ran that it had been some explosives that hadn't detonated at the same time as the ones that had originally collapsed the building.

Now, all that was left was an immense crater, with the majority of the parking lot having collapsed inward at the same time that the central structures had pretty much been destroyed. That had also resulted in the Oscorp security cordon (which had been set upon the parking area) getting caught up in the new damage.

His conversation with Osborn... with both Osborns... still played in his head, hastening his steps.

He stopped, glancing up at the street corner where he'd told Osborn that he wanted to be picked up.

There wasn't any doubt in his mind that whatever he'd sensed to the north was in Salem Center.

The Dorrek Chitauri.

He rolled the unfamiliar words around in his head, trying out varying accents and pronounciations and knowing with absolute certainty that he wasn't pronouncing it right. Couldn't pronounce it correctly, in fact. There were non-audible components to the words that didn't translate right.

Even the closest approximation of meaning that he could still fathom: the Emperor form. Just did not do the term justice. No more than Veranke meant just Goddess-Mother-Queen or any one of a dozen other singular words could.

It didn't quite translate.

Peter couldn't really understand the Chitauri language anymore, but he could still pick out individual words. He could still remember other phrases from the language, but it was difficult. Like someone who'd only finished Freshman French trying to muddle through the untranslated Les Miserables.

Which, he realized with a bit of amusement, he probably could read now.

He sighed, shoved the phone back in his pocket and waited.

He knew he was going to go somewhere that was most likely dangerous.

It was also where his Aunt May, MJ and everyone else was.

So he had to get them away from there.

He was also going into it without any of the powers he'd gotten used to in the past week.

He was going in sort of as a normal guy.

Granted, one in terrific, perhaps even super-human shape, but that really wasn't going to help him against a bullet.

Or a Hunter if they had those.

Or something worse.

He pushed his hands into his pockets, sighed and allowed his head to drop forward a bit.

He had to face facts. Even if he didn't have the physical enhancements he was still sporting, he would still have gone.

Maybe it wasn't was bad as he feared.

And now you've pretty much doomed yourself, His own voice drawled back at him.

It still wasn't Cletus's voice.

That was when the limo pulled up next to him, practically driving two of its tires onto the sidewalk.

The man who had driven the limo looked familiar. A large, well-muscled man in a suit, with close-cropped graying brown hair. Peter didn't know how he knew the man, only that he'd had the nagging sensation of having met him before. His usually impecable memory couldn't quite place him.

"Mr. Parker." The man said as he stepped out of the car. He had a broad mid-western accent. Now that he was moving, Peter could spot the tell-tale bulge of a hidden shoulder holster under his impecably tailored suit. He could also see how the man carried himself. Predatory. Quick. He might've been in his late forties, early fifties, but Peter had no doubt that the man knew how to defend himself.

Even if he hadn't seen the shoulder holster, the scent of gunpowder, gunoil and blood seemed to linger close to the man. That and some sort of musky aftershave.

Peter smiled weakly as he realized at least his enhanced sense of smell was still working.

He also realized that he was subconsciously analyzing the man in case he had to fight him. The man was in his fifties, but moved with confidence. Peter was reasonably certain he would win in a straight up confrontation. He frowned and shook his head at those thoughts. It disturbed him even more that they hadn't been delivered in Cain's grave bass.

He licked his lips and swallowed nervously, finally turning his full attention to the man before finally saying, "Yes."

"I'm Roderick Kingsley." The man said with a slight nod. "Mr. Osborn sent me to pick you up."

He walked around to the side of the car closest to the curb and opened the door. "If you'll just hop in. It's a bit of a drive, but there's wifi in the back, an entertainment system with some of the latest movies on the DVR and a fully stocked bar." He narrowed his eyes slightly then cracked a smile and added, "Given your age, I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be drinking, but after what you've been through, I think we can let you get away with a drink or two."

Peter smiled weakly and held a hand up, "No, I'm good."

That earned a nod and an approving smile from the older man who gestured to the door once more. "There's a selection of sodas as well and water, if you'd prefer. Mr. Osborn prefers to keep a well stocked bar."

Peter only hesitated for a moment longer before stepping in.

Inside was pure luxury. Leather upholstered seats that had some sort of memory foam padding. The aforementioned bar running along one side of the limo. There was a monitor folded into the ceiling.

Kingsley shut the door firmly behind him as he took a seat, then smoothly walked around the car and slipped into the driver's seat. "There's pillows and a blanket under the seat, if you need them." He called back. "If you need anything, please hit the intercom button next to the door."

Peter, somewhat overwhelmed, simply nodded.

The car accelerated smoothly away from the curb and the opaque divider slowly slid up between him and Kingsley.

Peter leaned back into the invitingly soft seat and stared out the tinted window as Manhattan flowed past.

He brushed his fingers against the arm rest which was upholstered in the same material as his seat and wondered if this particularly sureal dream was going to end sometime soon.

He fished out his phone once more and began to dial Aunt May's number. His heart beat was steady. His hands did not shake, nor were his palms sweaty, but he still felt nervous. Perfect physical control. His emotional state probably left something to be desired.

It probably was not normal to keep expecting voices in your head to pipe up. The constant disappointment of not having anyone reply back to his thoughts was really getting to him.

He took a deep breath, revelling in the mix of scents in the vehicle. Leather, real leather at that, then the melange of scents from the bar. There was strange prickling cold scent of aluminum that he guessed were canned sodas. Some sort of air freshener from when the car had last been washed...

Then he hit the send button.

The phone barely had a chance for half a ring before Aunt May's voice came on, "Peter? Peter, is that you?!" Her voice was high, almost quavering. He didn't think he'd ever heard her so upset.

"Hey, Aunt May." Peter said sheepishly.

"Don't you 'hey, Aunt May' me, young man!" She snapped almost hysterically. "I've been worried sick about you! I kept thinking the worst had happened when they found MJ, but not you!"

"I'm okay--" He said, but she cut him off.

"What happened?! One minute you and MJ were together in Queens with some soldiers, then the next thing we know she's in Staten Island and you're nowhere to be found!" May's voice was rising, "Do you have any idea how terrified I've been?! What were you doing?!"

He swallowed nervously and firmly resolved to absolutely not tell her what he'd really been doing. "We... it... er..." Unfortunately, his new abilities still did not include the ability to lie under pressure.

"I'm sorry, I worried you, Aunt May."

"You could have called." She said, still obviously upset, but somehow less so than a minute ago.

"Didn't really have signal until just now." He said semi-truthfully.

"Where are you?"

"In the limo Mr. Osborn sent." Peter replied.

There was a soft, relieved sigh from May at that. "Where have you been all this time, Peter? I need to know."

"Um... can we maybe talk about it later, Aunt May?" He hedged, but she was unrelenting.

She sighed once more and said, "Peter, it's not that I don't trust you, but I have been extremely worried. You saw how dangerous it was."

"Yes, Aunt May." He replied almost automatically.

"I need to know where you were. I know you're sensible. And I know you're safe now, but you need to tell me why you would wander off on your own like that. You're sixteen, Peter. I expect you to be more sensible than that."

"I..."

"We both know you couldn't lie your way out of a paper sack." She said firmly. "So I'm not giving you any time to think of something plausible."

"Manhattan. I've been in Manhattan since MJ and I separated."

"Why?" She asked, her voice hard, but he could practically feel the concern radiating from her tone.

"I... I was looking for what caused the outbreak." Peter admitted. "And trying to stop it from getting worse."

"Why you, Peter? Why didn't you tell someone--"

"There wasn't time." He cut in, then added, "And I did tell someone."

"Did you?" Her voice was dry, but Peter was telling the truth and he knew she could tell that.

"Captain Bradley. With the Thunderbolts. They're the soldiers in yellow outfits. I got my findings to him." Peter said carefully. "Manhattan was going to be next, but I think I got the information to him in time."

"What information was that?" May asked, curious now. No longer as worried.

"Who allowed the outbreak in Queens." Peter replied. "The person who manipulated things to make the evacuation as ineffective as possible."

"And if I tried to find this Captain Bradley... would he tell me the same thing?" May asked carefully.

Peter winced but admitted to her, "He might... but most of this is really classified. Er... and he thinks I'm Richard Parker."

"Why would--?"

Peter sighed, "Aunt May, you said it yourself. I'm sixteen. Why would he listen to me? He got the wrong idea and thought I was dad, so I just went with it. I had to get them to listen."

May paused. The connection hadn't dropped, he could still hear her breathing on the line. She sighed once more. "So... were you able to help them?"

"Yes."

"Peter, I just wish you'd let us know you were safe." Her voice merely carried tones of exasperated affection now. The remnants of the worry were still there, but she seemed calmer.

His own voice slyly drawled, Well, you only just got safe now, so technically you're doing exacly that.

Peter replied carefully. "I'm sorry."

"You're in the limo, you said?"

"Yes." He replied.

"You're on your way here?"

"Yes."

"I will see you soon then." May said with now evident relief. "Did you want to talk to anyone else?" Her tone had turned sly.

"Uh... Is MJ okay?" Peter asked, almost shyly.

"She's sleeping right now. She's fine, but the doctors say she's exhausted." May replied. "Anna was very worried about you too."

"Oh."

"The Stacey's are fine. They only just went to their rooms to get some rest. You'll be able to see everyone once you get here."

"That's great." Peter said with relief.

"Especially MJ."

"Aunt May!" Peter sputtered.

"I love you, Peter."

"I love you too, Aunt May."

"Stay out of trouble? Please? For me? I don't think I can take another week like this." The words were said lightly, but Peter could feel the weight of exhaustion in her tone.

"I'm in a car being driven by someone else, Aunt May." He said, smiling, "What kind of trouble could I get into?"

Now you've really doomed us, his own voice drawled morosely at him.

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