⚠️ Death and violence mentioned in this chapter ⚠️

Jacob burst out of his office, his heart pounding in his chest as his bag slipped off his shoulder, spilling blueprints and tools across the floor. Fellow Oscorp workers stared in confusion as he hurriedly bent down, grabbing what he could while muttering under his breath.

"Shit, shit, shit!" His hands trembled, adrenaline rushing through his veins.

One of his coworkers, Janet, approached with a concerned look. "Jacob, what's going on? Are you alright?"

Jacob waved her off without looking up. "I can't explain right now. I need to go—urgent family matter."

Janet frowned, glancing at the mess around him. "Do you need help?"

"No, I'm fine!" he snapped, his voice harsher than intended. "Just... tell anyone who asks that I'm out for the day."

Without waiting for a response, Jacob gathered the last of his papers and bolted toward the parking garage. His mind was racing, fear clawing at him with every step. Gargan had completely lost it, and if he got anywhere near Jessica—or God forbid, Y/N—there'd be no stopping him.

The clatter of his shoes against the concrete echoed as he reached his car, fumbling with the keys before finally unlocking it and throwing himself into the driver's seat. His hands shook as he jammed the key into the ignition, the car roaring to life as he floored the gas pedal, tires screeching as he sped out of the Oscorp building.

"Come on, Norman, pick up," Jacob muttered, dialing Norman Osborn's number on his phone with one hand as he gripped the steering wheel with the other. His knuckles turned white from the pressure, his breaths shallow as he swerved through traffic.

The phone rang once... twice... three times... voicemail.

"Damn it!" Jacob slammed his hand against the steering wheel. "Norman, you need to call me back! This is about Gargan! He's gone off the rails, and I can't stop him alone! Pick up the damn phone!"

He ended the call and immediately redialed, frustration mounting with every unanswered ring. Norman's silence was deafening, and it only fueled Jacob's sense of dread. If Osborn had known this would happen... if he'd known that the suit would fuse with Gargan's skin and still let it go through...

"Come on, come on, come on!" Jacob cursed, weaving through cars as he ran a red light. Horns blared, but he didn't care. The only thing that mattered now was getting to his family before Gargan did.

He tried Norman again. Still no answer. Jacob clenched his teeth, almost throwing his phone across the seat in frustration. "You son of a—"

He tried once more, hands tightening on the steering wheel.

Nothing. Voicemail again. Jacob's stomach churned as his mind raced with possibilities. Gargan was beyond unstable, and Jacob didn't know how much time he had before the man made good on his threat to visit his wife.

And then, like a sudden punch to the gut, Jacob remembered: Y/N wasn't home. He was at Gwen's concert at Midtown. He might be safe there for the time being.

But Jessica? She was alone. Exposed.

Jacob's mind flashed back to Gargan's last words before storming out:

"Maybe I'll pay your wife a visit, Jacob. See how she's doing."

Jacob's hands tightened on the steering wheel as he sped through another intersection, narrowly avoiding a collision. He hit the call button again, this time dialing Jessica.

"Jacob? What's going on? You sound frantic."

"Jess, you need to listen to me. You have to get out of the house. Right now."

"Wait, what? Why? What's going on?" Jessica's confusion quickly shifted to concern.

"Gargan—he's gone insane. The suit, it's fused to him. He's dangerous, Jess. He made threats, said he might come after you. I'm on my way, but you need to leave the house now."

"Jacob, I don't—"

Suddenly, the line cut off. Jacob stared at his phone, panic tightening in his chest.

"No, no, no! Not now!" He cursed and threw his phone onto the passenger seat before slamming his foot on the gas. The car lurched forward as he sped down the street, weaving dangerously through traffic. He had no more time. He had to get home. Had to stop Gargan before it was too late.

🕷️

The concert was in full swing, the beat of the drums reverberating through the auditorium. Y/N stood amidst the crowd with Miles, unable to tear his eyes away from the stage. There she was—Gwen Stacy, his girlfriend, effortlessly killing it on the drums. Her rhythm was impeccable, her energy unmatched.

"She's insane, bro," Miles said, nudging him. "Like, insanely good."

"I know," Y/N replied, his voice barely audible over the music. He watched Gwen in awe, a familiar thought bubbling in his head:

How did he manage to ask her out a year ago?

He remembered that day vividly—his hands sweaty, his voice shaky, and yet somehow, against all odds, she had said yes. Gwen was everything to him, and moments like this reminded him just how lucky he was.

But then his gaze shifted, and the mood soured. Sitting a few rows ahead was Harry, flanked by his ever-present shadow, Ned Leeds. Y/N's jaw clenched. Harry wasn't just another guy—he was a problem. Always smug, always trying to undermine Y/N, and now here, at Gwen's concert, making snide comments that Y/N could almost hear over the music.

Miles must have noticed the change in his expression. "Don't let him get to you, man," he said. "He's not worth it."

"I know," Y/N muttered, though the knot in his stomach said otherwise.

🕷️

After the concert, Y/N and Miles made their way backstage. The atmosphere was buzzing with energy—performers and their friends chatting excitedly, congratulating each other on a great show. Then Y/N spotted Gwen, still riding the high of her performance, and his heart lightened.

"You were amazing," he said as he approached her, his voice warm with admiration.

"Always am," Gwen replied with a teasing smile before leaning in to kiss him. For a moment, everything felt perfect.

But of course, Harry had to ruin it.

"Great job out there, Gwen," Harry said, stepping forward with that same insufferable grin. "You were really something. You know, if you ever need a real manager, I might be able to pull some strings."

Y/N stiffened, his fists clenching. Harry's tone wasn't overtly disrespectful, but it was loaded, dripping with condescension and something else—something territorial.

"Thanks, Harry," Gwen replied, not noticing the tension building in Y/N.

Y/N couldn't hold his tongue. "She doesn't need your help, Osborn. She's doing fine without your interference."

Harry turned to him, his grin widening. "Relax, L/N. I'm just offering a little professional advice. No need to get all... territorial."

Miles stepped in, placing a hand on Y/N's shoulder. "Ignore him, man. He's just trying to get under your skin."

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to let it go, but Harry wasn't done.

"You know, Gwen," Harry continued, his tone feigning innocence, "if you ever get tired of... all this, you know where to find me."

That was the last straw. Before Y/N could stop himself, he took a step toward Harry, his voice low and sharp. "You wanna run that by me again, Osborn?"

Ned stepped forward, as if to back Harry up. "Back off, L/N."

Things escalated quickly. Y/N shoved Harry, who stumbled slightly, and Ned retaliated, pushing Y/N back. Miles immediately stepped in, shoving Ned aside and putting himself between Y/N and Harry.

"Enough!" Gwen's voice cut through the chaos. She grabbed Y/N by the arm and pulled him back, her expression a mix of anger and disappointment. "What the hell are you doing? This is in front of everyone!"

Y/N froze, guilt flooding him as he realized the crowd's eyes were on them. "Gwen, he's—"

"I don't care!" she snapped, her voice low but firm. "This isn't the time or the place. Just... go home. We'll talk about this later."

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Harry, whose smirk was firmly back in place.

"Better listen to her, L/N," Harry said, his tone sickly sweet. "Wouldn't want to cause more of a scene."

Humiliated, Y/N turned and walked out, pushing his way through the crowd with Miles looking ahead. Miles glanced back at Harry, his expression dark, but said nothing.

🕷️

Backstage, Gwen pressed a hand to her temple, clearly stressed. Harry moved closer, his voice dripping with faux concern. "You okay? I mean, that was... rough."

Gwen sighed. "Y/N's been under a lot of pressure lately. With transferring to Visions, his family stuff... it's a lot."

Harry scoffed lightly. "Still, you don't deserve that kind of behavior. He needs to get it together."

Gwen frowned but didn't respond.

Miles, who had hung back to keep an eye on the situation, finally snapped. "Cut the crap, Osborn."

Everyone turned to him, surprised.

"Excuse me?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow.

"You know exactly what you're doing," Miles said, stepping closer. "You've been trying to mess with Y/N all night, and don't act like you don't know why. You're trying to swoop in on Gwen."

Harry's face remained calm. "I don't know what you're talking about, Brooklyn."

Miles's eyes narrowed. "You're an ass, man. And let's not forget, your dad isn't exactly winning any humanitarian awards. Being an entitled prick runs in the family doesn't it?"

Harry's smirk faltered slightly, but then he noticed the name on Miles's bag. "Wait... Morales?"

Miles stiffened. "What's it to you?"

Harry's smirk returned, sharper this time. "Wasn't your dad the cop who died last year? Who are you to judge my dad when yours isn't even around?"

The words hit like a punch, and Miles reacted in kind. Without thinking, he lunged forward and swung, his fist connecting with Harry's jaw.

"Keep his name out of your fucking mouth!" Miles shouted, his voice shaking with rage.

Harry stumbled back, holding his jaw as MJ and Glory rushed to hold Miles back.

"What? He's dead, isn't he?" Harry said, feigning innocence. "It's not a lie!"

"Harry, enough!" Gwen snapped, her voice sharp.

Miles struggled against MJ and Glory's grip, his anger still boiling.

"Miles, are you okay?" Gwen asked, her voice softening.

"No, I'm not okay!" Miles barked. "I'm out of here."

"Miles, wait—"

Glory reached out. "Don't go."

Miles shook his head, glaring at Gwen. "You don't see it, do you? He's trying to move in on you, and you're just letting him."

Gwen flinched at his words but didn't respond.

"And if he says one more thing about my dad," Miles continued, his voice low and dangerous, "he's getting worse than a punch in the mouth."

With that, he stormed off, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

🕷️

The aroma of simmering pasta sauce filled the kitchen as Jessica stood by the stove, stirring the pot with one hand while glancing at the clock on the wall. Jacob had called earlier, his voice rushed and urgent, but his words had been so scattered that she couldn't piece together what had him so on edge. Whatever it was, it didn't sound good, and the uncertainty was gnawing at her. 

"He'll be home soon," she reassured herself, turning the stove down to low. Maybe over dinner, he'd finally explain what was going on. 

Outside, the world was anything but calm. Gargan moved through the shadows with deadly precision, leaping effortlessly from rooftops and scaling walls with the fluidity of a predator closing in on its prey. Oscorp's employee records had given him exactly what he needed—an address.

A twisted grin spread across Gargan's face as he saw the house come into view, the warmth of its lights glowing through the windows. Quiet and unsuspecting. Perfect. His poisonous tail curled behind him, twitching with anticipation as he crept closer. 

Inside, Jessica reached into the pantry for some spices, her thoughts still consumed by Jacob's strange behavior. She caught herself glancing toward the front door, half-expecting him to burst in at any moment, but all she heard was the steady hum of the fridge and the rhythmic bubbling of the sauce. 

Then the house shook. 

It wasn't much—just a faint tremor—but it was enough to make her pause. The spoon clattered into the pot as she steadied herself against the counter. 

"What the...?" she murmured, her brows furrowing. She waited a moment, but the shaking stopped as suddenly as it had started. She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "Probably just a truck going by." 

With a shrug, she turned her attention back to the stove, not noticing the faint movement above her. 

From the ceiling, a long, segmented tail, green and glinting like polished metal, slithered closer, its sharp stinger gleaming menacingly in the dim kitchen light. It moved silently, curling and uncurling, its tip hovering just above her, ready to strike. 

Jessica hummed softly to herself, blissfully unaware of the danger descending upon her.

🕷️

The clinking of glasses and the hum of conversation filled the cozy diner as Gwen leaned back in the booth, her fingers fidgeting with her phone. MJ, Glory, and Betty were chatting around her, but Gwen's thoughts were elsewhere. She stared at her phone screen, her thumb hovering over Y/N's contact name.

She shook the phone gently, as if that would somehow shake away her hesitation. 

"Just text him," MJ said without looking up from her milkshake. 

Gwen sighed, setting the phone on the table. "I'm still mad about earlier." 

Betty rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but let's be real—Harry's been trying to get under his skin for months. Y/N had every right to lose it, especially with everything else he's dealing with." 

"Exactly," Glory added. "That comment about Captain Morales? That wasn't just bad; it was cruel. And Harry knew what he was doing." 

Gwen nodded slowly, guilt creeping in. She'd been so focused on the scene Y/N had caused that she hadn't fully processed why he reacted the way he did. And now, she wasn't sure what to say to make things right. 

Before she could decide, the bell above the diner door jingled, and Harry and Ned walked in. 

"Oh, great," Betty muttered, scooting closer to the wall in an attempt to make herself smaller. 

The two boys made their way over, and without so much as a greeting, Harry slid into the booth next to Gwen. Ned plopped down on the edge, earning a disgusted look from Betty. 

"God, do you own a bar of soap?" she whispered harshly, covering her nose. 

Ned ignored her, while Harry leaned casually toward Gwen. "Hey, Gwen. Mind if we join you?" 

"You already did," MJ muttered under her breath. 

Harry grinned, unbothered. He turned his attention back to Gwen. "So, about earlier. I hope you're not upset. You know how Y/N can be. He's—" 

Gwen didn't let him finish. She kept her eyes on her phone, refusing to acknowledge his presence. 

Harry frowned slightly but kept his cool. "Gwen, are you okay? You seem... distracted." 

Still, she ignored him. 

"Gwen, seriously. What's wrong?" he asked, feigning concern. 

Finally, Gwen set her phone down and turned to face him. "Harry, are you trying to flirt with me? Even though I have a boyfriend?"

The question stunned everyone at the table. MJ raised an eyebrow, Glory's eyes widened, and even Betty seemed to forget about Ned's stench for a moment. 

Harry blinked. "What? Moving in on you? What are you talking about?" 

Gwen folded her arms, her tone sharper now. "Don't play dumb, Harry. Judging by how Y/N and Miles acted, and the things you've been saying, it's pretty obvious." 

Harry laughed nervously, raising his hands. "Whoa, whoa. That's ridiculous. Y/N just needs to learn how to take a joke. That's all it is." 

The girls exchanged skeptical looks before slowly standing up, one by one. 

"We'll give you two some space," MJ said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she dragged Glory and Betty with her. 

When they were gone, Gwen leaned closer to Harry, her eyes narrowing. "Don't lie to me, Harry. My dad's a cop—I can tell when someone's lying." 

Harry hesitated, his confident facade cracking. He sighed, leaning back in the booth. "Fine. You want the truth? Yeah, I think Y/N doesn't deserve you. I mean, come on, Gwen. He's some artsy loser with no real future. I could give you everything he can't." 

Gwen's jaw tightened. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Y/N was right. And so was Miles. I was just too much of an idiot to see it." 

Harry smirked, clearly unfazed by her anger. "Okay, maybe I went too far with the Morales comment," he said, rubbing his jaw. "I'll send him some flowers or whatever. My condolences. The kid's lucky I'm not pressing charges after he punched me." 

"Flowers?" Gwen's voice rose. "Harry, you mocked his dead father. You deserved that punch—and more." 

Harry's smile vanished. "Oh, so now you're defending them? After the way Y/N embarrassed you in front of everyone? You should be acting a little more grateful, you do know who pays your Dad's salary, right?"

The comment hit like a slap, and Gwen's anger boiled over. "You're unbelievable," she snapped, her voice trembling. "Y/N and Miles would both kick your ass any day of the week, and after tonight, you'd deserve it." 

Harry scoffed, but the flush in his cheeks betrayed his frustration. "You're such a tease, Gwen. Running after some nobody when you could have—" 

"Stop. Just stop," Gwen cut him off, standing up. "I don't want to hear another word from you. Leave, Harry. I don't want to talk to you. I don't even want to see you." 

"Gwen, come on—" 

"I said leave." 

At that moment, MJ, Glory, and Betty reappeared, standing behind her like a wall of judgment. 

"You heard her," MJ said, crossing her arms. 

Harry looked between them, his jaw tightening. "Fine. Whatever." He stood, grabbing Ned by the arm. As he walked away, he turned back and muttered, "You're making a mistake, Gwen." 

"Get lost, Harry," Glory said sharply. 

When the door closed behind him, Gwen let out a shaky sigh and sat back down. She grabbed her phone and quickly typed out a text to Y/N: 

"Hey, I'm sorry about earlier. You were right, about everything. Give me a call when you can, or I can come over. Whatever works for you. Love you."

She hit send and stared at the screen for a moment, hoping for a reply.

🕷️

Jessica stirred the pot of soup on the stove, humming softly to herself as the scent of dinner filled the air. Jacob had sounded frantic earlier on the phone, but she tried to shrug off her unease. Whatever had him so worked up, he'd explain it when he got home.

She glanced at the clock. He should've been here by now.

The faint sound of creaking caught her attention. Jessica froze, gripping the spoon tighter. "Jacob?" she called out, her voice uncertain. Silence greeted her.

Shaking her head, she returned her focus to the stove. Houses creaked. It was nothing. Yet, as the moments passed, the feeling of unease began to grow. She couldn't shake the sense that she wasn't alone.

A scraping noise echoed from the living room. Jessica's heart jumped. "Hello?" she called, her voice wavering.

Nothing.

Her hand hovered over the knife block on the counter. It was probably nothing, she told herself. Maybe the wind had knocked something over outside.

But then she felt it—the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

She spun around just as a shadow loomed behind her. Standing there was a man in an imposing green suit of armor, sleek and insect-like, with a wicked tail swaying menacingly behind him. Jessica's breath caught in her throat.

"Who—who are you?" she stammered, backing against the counter.

The man tilted his head, his lips curling into a smug grin. "Mac Gargan," he said, his voice low and venomous. "Let's say, I'm a friend of Jacob's."

Jessica's eyes darted to the sharp, poisonous-looking tail hovering over his shoulder. "That's... uh, nice. Really nice suit you've got there," she said nervously, trying to keep her voice steady.

Gargan chuckled darkly, stepping closer. The mechanical hiss of his suit sent chills down her spine. "Nice, isn't it? State-of-the-art, custom-made. It's a masterpiece."

She forced a shaky smile. "It's... it's very impressive. But, uh, what do you want?"

His grin faded, replaced by a cold glare. "Your husband," Gargan spat. "He's the reason I'm stuck in this thing." He gestured to his armored body, his voice growing angrier. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be trapped in this? To have your body fused with metal, your life ripped away, and your every moment consumed by this... cage?"

Jessica swallowed hard. "I'm sure he has a good reason—"

"Reason?" Gargan barked, his voice echoing through the kitchen. "Your husband betrayed me! He left me in this hell, and now he's going to pay for it."

Jessica's instincts kicked in. Without thinking, she grabbed the nearest thing—a frying pan—and hurled it at him. The pan clanged off Gargan's chest plate with a dull thud, doing nothing to slow him down.

He laughed, the sound low and mocking. "Really? Is that the best you've got?"

Undeterred, Jessica grabbed a handful of knives from the block and threw them one by one. Most bounced harmlessly off his armor, but one nicked his arm. He glanced at the tiny scratch, then back at her, his grin widening. "Cute," he sneered.

Jessica darted for the door, but Gargan was faster. He lunged, his tail smashing into the wall just inches from her head. She screamed and ducked, scrambling toward the living room.

"You're not getting away that easily!" Gargan roared, chasing after her.

Jessica's heart pounded as she ran, knocking over furniture in an attempt to slow him down. She grabbed a vase and threw it, but he swatted it aside with his tail.

"Stop running!" he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the house. "I'm here to teach your husband a lesson, and you're going to help me send the message!"

Jessica burst into the dining room, her breath ragged. She grabbed a chair and swung it at him, but Gargan caught it mid-air and crushed it with ease.

"This is pathetic," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Do you really think you can stop me?"

Desperation took hold as Jessica grabbed a heavy lamp and swung it at his head. This time, it connected, shattering the bulb and staggering him slightly. But her victory was short-lived. Gargan's tail lashed out, knocking the lamp from her hands and sending her crashing into the table.

Gargan loomed over her, his tail poised like a scorpion ready to strike. "You're out of your league, lady," he snarled.

Jessica's mind raced. She needed to stall him, to buy time until Jacob arrived—if he even could. "Wait!" she gasped, raising her hands. "You don't have to do this!"

"Oh, I have to," Gargan growled. "Your husband needs to learn what happens when you cross me. And what better way to send a message than through the people he cares about most?"

Jessica's eyes darted around the room, searching for anything she could use to defend herself. She spotted a heavy candlestick on the floor and inched her hand toward it.

Gargan's tail struck down, barely missing her as she rolled out of the way. Grabbing the candlestick, she swung it with all her strength, smashing it into the side of his helmet.

🕷️

Jessica stumbled into the hallway, gasping for breath as Mac Gargan relentlessly pursued her. Her once-cozy Queens home was now a battlefield, with furniture splintered, walls caved in, and the kitchen left in shambles. Gargan stalked her like a predator, his mechanical tail whipping around, knocking over pictures and lights as he advanced. 

"You really don't know when to quit, do you?" Gargan sneered, his voice thick with menace. "You're only making this worse for yourself, lady." 

Jessica gritted her teeth, gripping a broken chair leg she'd managed to pick up. "Stay away from me!" she shouted, swinging the makeshift weapon. 

Gargan laughed cruelly, easily sidestepping her desperate attack. "This is all your husband's fault," he growled. "If he had just done what I asked, none of this would be happening. But now? Now I've gotta make an example of him—and you." 

Jessica threw the chair leg at him, hitting his shoulder. It staggered him briefly, but the flicker of irritation in his eyes quickly turned into rage. His tail whipped out, slamming into her side and sending her crashing into the wall. 

"Nice try," Gargan said coldly, stepping closer. His tail hovered over her, the sharp, venomous stinger gleaming menacingly. "But this is the end of the line, Mrs. L/N." 

Jessica's heart raced as she scrambled to her feet, but there was nowhere left to go. Gargan had her cornered. He grinned, enjoying the terror in her eyes.

Desperation surged through Jessica as she grabbed a heavy vase from a nearby table and hurled it at Gargan's head. The impact knocked him off balance for a moment, but it only fueled his anger. 

"Enough!" Gargan roared, slamming his tail into her chest. Jessica cried out as the force sent her tumbling to the floor, gasping for air. 

Gargan loomed over her, raising the deadly stinger. "You're going to regret that." 

🕷️

Meanwhile, Y/N was walking through the quiet streets of Queens, the events of the concert replaying in his mind. He had needed the walk to clear his head, but as he approached his home, a sense of dread began to settle over him. 

Something was wrong. 

The porch light flickered ominously, and as Y/N got closer, his stomach dropped. The front door was hanging off its hinges, and the house was in chaos. Furniture was smashed, and the walls were scarred with deep gashes. 

"Mom?" Y/N called out, panic rising in his chest as he stepped inside. He carefully made his way through the destroyed living room, his voice trembling. "Mom? Where are you?" 

The faint sound of a struggle upstairs made his blood run cold. He bolted up the stairs two at a time, bursting into the hallway. 

When he reached the bedroom door, his heart shattered. Gargan stood over his mother, his tail plunging its stinger into her chest. Jessica screamed in pain, collapsing to the floor as blood pooled beneath her.

"MOM!" Y/N yelled, his voice cracking with desperation. 

Gargan turned, his eyes narrowing in surprise. "Well, well," he said with a sneer. "I didn't know Jacob had a kid. You're a little late to the party, though." 

Y/N charged forward, fists clenched, but Gargan was ready. With a single swipe of his tail, he knocked Y/N into the wall, the impact rattling his skull. 

"You've got guts," Gargan said mockingly, wrapping his tail around Y/N's body and lifting him off the ground. "Too bad they won't do you any good." 

Y/N struggled against the crushing grip, his lungs burning as the tail tightened. Gargan began dragging him down the stairs, his sinister laugh echoing through the ruined house. 

"Let's see if you're as tough as your old man," Gargan sneered, slamming Y/N against the banister as they descended. Y/N gasped for air, his mind racing. His mother's pained cries still echoed in his ears, fueling the fire inside him. 

🕷️

Jacob's car screeched to a halt in front of the house, its headlights illuminating the chaotic scene. He didn't even bother turning it off as he threw the door open and bolted toward the shattered front door. His stomach churned, dread pooling in his gut as he took in the destruction—windows broken, furniture overturned, and walls cracked.

His heart raced as he stepped inside. "Jessica? Y/N?" he called out, his voice trembling.

And then he saw it.

Mac Gargan stood in the living room, his scorpion suit glinting ominously under the dim light. In one hand, his mechanical tail was wrapped tightly around Y/N's neck, hoisting the boy off the ground. Gargan's expression was smug, exuding a twisted satisfaction.

On the floor, Jessica lay motionless, her chest stained with blood. A green-tinged wound marked where the stinger had pierced her. Her lifeless body was crumpled in a pool of crimson, her face pale and still.

Jacob's breath caught in his throat, and tears began to well up in his eyes. "Jessica..." he whispered, his voice breaking.

Gargan turned his head, a cruel grin spreading across his face. "Ah, Jacob. You're just in time."

Jacob's fists clenched as rage and despair surged through him. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!" he roared, his voice echoing through the ruined house.

Gargan tilted his head mockingly. "What I had to do," he said, his tone smug. "This is what happens when you double-cross me, Jacob. It's just a shame your very beautiful wife had to be... collateral damage." He smirked, his words dripping with venom.

Jacob's vision blurred with tears, his heart shattering at the sight of his son struggling in Gargan's grasp. "Let him go!" Jacob shouted, his voice raw. "Norman is the one who did this to you, not me! I was just following orders!"

"Ah, excuses," Gargan sneered. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before getting involved with bad people. By the way—I didn't know you had a kid." He tightened his grip on Y/N, who gasped and clawed weakly at the tail constricting him. "This is good information to have."

"LET HIM GO!" Jacob bellowed, his voice cracking.

Gargan chuckled darkly. "Fine. You're lucky I'm feeling generous." With that, he hurled Y/N across the room, the boy crashing into the remains of a coffee table.

Y/N lay on the floor, broken, exhausted, and trembling. His wide eyes stared at his mother's lifeless body, disbelief and anguish etched across his face.

"Mom..." Y/N whispered hoarsely, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Jacob's fists shook as he took a step toward Gargan. "You son of a bitch!" he shouted, swinging a punch with all his strength.

Gargan caught Jacob's fist effortlessly, squeezing until Jacob winced in pain. "Pathetic," Gargan mocked. "You think you can take me on? Look at what I've done to your family. You're lucky I don't finish the job right now."

He shoved Jacob backward, sending him stumbling. Gargan pointed his stinger at Y/N, who flinched instinctively. "And just so we're clear, Jacob—if you ever mess with me again, your son will be next."

Jacob froze, his breath hitching as Gargan's words sank in.

With a final smug smirk, Gargan turned and strode toward the shattered door. "Consider this your only warning," he said before disappearing into the night.

As soon as Gargan was gone, Jacob dropped to his knees beside Jessica's lifeless body. His hands trembled as he cradled her face, tears streaming freely down his cheeks. "Jess... no... no, no, no..." he sobbed, his voice breaking with every word.

Y/N crawled over, his body shaking as he stared at his mother. "Mom..." he choked out, fresh tears spilling down his face.

Jacob pulled Y/N into his arms, holding him tightly as they both wept over the devastating loss. Their home was destroyed, their family shattered—and Jacob knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning.

🕷️

The city was in chaos. Gargan's rampage extended far beyond Jacob's shattered home. Buildings bore the scars of his destruction, cars were overturned and ablaze, and frightened civilians ran screaming through the streets. Scorpion reveled in the havoc, his mechanical tail whipping through structures as he stalked through the Burroughs.

🕷️

Meanwhile, Gwen was in her room, headphones on, music playing softly as she worked through her chemistry homework. Every so often, she glanced at her phone, frowning when no new messages came through. She hadn't heard from Y/N all night, which wasn't like him. Still, she tried to brush off the gnawing worry, telling herself he probably just needed some time to decompress after their latest adventure.

Her phone buzzed suddenly, breaking her focus. Seeing Y/N's name on the screen, Gwen quickly yanked off her headphones and picked up. "Hey! I was wondering when I'd hear from you," she said lightly. "Are you okay?"

There was silence on the other end—then a soft, muffled voice.

"G-Gwen..." Y/N's voice was trembling, broken by sobs.

Gwen's brow furrowed, her stomach dropping. "Y/N? What's wrong? What happened?"

"My M-M-Mom... she's... she's g-gone," Y/N managed through his tears, his voice cracking painfully.

Gwen's heart sank. "What? Y/N, talk to me. What's going on?" she pleaded.

Before Y/N could say anything more, the door to Gwen's room opened abruptly. Her father, Captain Stacy, stood there in his police uniform, his expression grim and tense.

"Gwen, we need to go," he said urgently. "There's been a homicide. Jessica L/N was murdered."

Gwen froze, the phone slipping slightly in her hand. "What?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. Get your things," her dad said, his voice softening slightly.

She turned back to her phone. "Y/N, I'm coming over, okay? Just hold on." Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her bag and followed her father downstairs, where his fellow officers were waiting in squad cars.

🕷️

The scene at the L/N household was somber and chaotic. Police lights bathed the broken home in alternating flashes of red and blue. Officers swarmed the area, documenting the damage and cordoning off the scene. Reporters gathered outside, their voices carrying over the chaos.

"This just in," a reporter said on the local news broadcast, her voice somber. "Jessica L/N, assistant director of the Queens FEAST Center, has been tragically murdered in her own home. She leaves behind her husband, Jacob, and son, Y/N. The NYPD has yet to release a full statement, but early reports suggest a violent attack."

Inside the house, Jacob sat on the couch, head in his hands, tears streaming down his face. He could barely speak as officers gently tried to get a statement. "Mr. L/N, anything you can tell us would help," one said softly, but Jacob remained unresponsive, lost in his grief.

In the corner of the room, Y/N was hunched over, his body trembling. Gwen spotted him immediately and rushed over, dropping her bag and pulling him into a tight hug. Y/N clung to her desperately, burying his face in her shoulder as sobs wracked his body.

"She's gone," he choked out between sobs. "She's gone, Gwen..."

Gwen kissed the top of his head, her own tears threatening to fall. "I'm here," she whispered. "I'm here, Y/N. Let it out. You don't have to talk about it right now. Just let it out."

🕷️

A few blocks away, Miles Morales stood in his Prowler suit, perched on the edge of a rooftop. His heart sank as he listened to the news broadcast in his helmet.

"Mrs. L/N..." he whispered to himself, the weight of the loss hitting him hard. She'd been like a second mom to him, always kind, always understanding.

He leapt across rooftops, eventually landing near the L/N house. He entered quietly, avoiding the crowd of officers outside. Inside, his stomach churned at the sight of Jessica's body being carried out on a stretcher, covered by a white sheet.

Miles found Gwen and Y/N in the living room. "Y/N..." he started, his voice soft.

Y/N didn't look up, too consumed by his grief. Gwen met Miles' eyes and shook her head slightly. "Not now," she mouthed.

Understanding, Miles gave Y/N's shoulder a gentle squeeze before stepping back. He felt helpless, unsure of how to console his best friend.

Gwen pulled Y/N to his feet. "Come on," she said softly. "Let's get some air." She led him outside, glancing at Jacob, who gave her a nod of approval.

As the stretcher passed, Miles couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt and anger. He clenched his fists, turning to Captain Stacy. "What happened?"

Captain Stacy sighed. "It's hard to get a clear statement from Jacob—he's too distraught. I don't blame him," he added, glancing toward Y/N. "That poor kid."

"But there are reports," Stacy continued, "of a man in green armor—sleek, almost insect-like."

Miles's jaw tightened.

Before Stacy could say more, another officer called him over. "I have to go," he said, patting Miles on the shoulder.

Miles watched him leave before stepping into the shadows. With a deep breath, he activated his mask. The sleek purple and black helmet slid into place, and he leapt into the night, anger burning in his chest.

🕷️

Norman Osborn sat in the grand living room of his Manhattan penthouse, the city skyline glittering behind him through floor-to-ceiling windows. A massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall played a live news broadcast, the chaos unfolding in Queens plastered across every channel.

Footage showed Gargan tearing through the city like a force of nature, his mechanical tail slicing through cars, toppling light poles, and leaving destruction in his wake. Fires raged in the background, with panicked citizens fleeing for their lives. The newscasters spoke rapidly, their voices tinged with fear as they recounted Gargan's rampage and the death of Jessica L/N.

Norman leaned forward in his armchair, his brow furrowed. "Jessica L/N," he muttered to himself, the name triggering recognition. His face remained calm, but a storm of calculations churned behind his sharp, calculating eyes.

"A tragedy, to be sure," he murmured, reaching for the crystal tumbler of whiskey on the table beside him. He swirled the amber liquid thoughtfully, his mind racing.

The death of Jessica L/N wasn't what shook him—he'd seen far worse in his climb to power. What concerned him was what would happen to him. Especially in the upcoming campaign for Mayor.

Norman's grip on the tumbler tightened, his jaw clenching. His heart didn't ache for Jessica, her grieving family, or the innocent lives caught in the crossfire. His concern was singular:

What would this do to his reputation?

Oscorp was already under scrutiny, and with his sights set on public office, this kind of scandal was a disaster waiting to happen. The election was months away, and every decision, every headline, every perception mattered. A biochemical suit, designed under his watch, now wreaking havoc in his city? Unacceptable.

He took a slow sip of his whiskey, his mind settling into cold, analytical focus. Someone would have to answer for this—a scapegoat to redirect the public's ire. It wouldn't be him.

Norman smirked as the pieces fell into place. "Of course," he muttered to himself, his voice laced with satisfaction.

He had a fall guy.

Jacob L/N.

A low-level scientist, tragically bereaved in this very incident. Norman's eyes glinted with cruel genius as he imagined the narrative:

A man grieving his wife, tragically ensnared in the very chaos he helped create.

Nobody would care that Jacob was merely a cog in the Oscorp machine. The details didn't matter; what mattered was perception.

Norman's smirk widened. The media would eat it up. A "brilliant but reckless" employee whose dangerous work led to this disaster. A cautionary tale about the dangers of unchecked ambition, spun just enough to absolve Oscorp—and himself—of guilt.

He reached for his phone and pressed a button. A moment later, his assistant's voice answered.

"Mr. Osborn?"

"Get the PR team on this immediately," he said coolly. "I want a statement drafted—sympathetic, remorseful, but firm. Highlight Oscorp's commitment to safety and innovation while condemning unauthorized actions by employees."

"Right away, sir."

"Oh, and one more thing," Norman added, his voice dropping into something darker. "I want the full personnel file on Jacob L/N. Every project he's touched, every communication he's had, and every security breach you can find. If there's a crack in his story, I want to know about it."

"Yes, Mr. Osborn."

Hanging up, Norman leaned back in his chair, the faint trace of a smile playing on his lips.

Jacob was the perfect scapegoat. Nobody would care about the plight of a grieving scientist. The media would frame him as reckless, the courts would hold him accountable, and the public would forget about it all when the next scandal arose. Norman, meanwhile, would emerge unscathed—perhaps even praised for his "swift action" and "leadership during a crisis."

The whiskey burned on the way down as Norman raised his glass in a mock toast to the screen.

"Rest in peace, Mrs. L/N," he said mockingly, his tone dripping with false sincerity. "Your death will not be in vain. It will serve... the greater good."

He chuckled softly, setting the glass down as he turned back to the news, already strategizing his next move.

🕷️

He didn't need to wonder who the culprit was. He already knew.

From his vantage point, Miles spotted a green figure below, casually stalking through the streets like a predator surveying its domain. Gargan, decked out in his sleek Scorpion armor, his mechanical tail twitching menacingly. He moved with purpose, the tail smashing into a parked car, sending it skidding across the street.

Miles activated his suit's thrusters, silently dropping down onto a nearby ledge. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched Gargan laugh to himself, clearly relishing the chaos he'd caused.

He leaped from the ledge, landing a few feet behind Gargan. The villain stopped mid-step, the metallic tail whipping around toward the sound.

"Who the hell are you?" Gargan sneered, turning to face Miles.

Miles took a step forward, his voice modulator lowering his tone to a menacing growl. "Someone who's here to make you pay for what you did."

Gargan tilted his head, mock confusion on his face. "What I did? Kid, I've done a lot of things tonight. Care to narrow it down?"

Miles clenched his fists. "Jessica L/N. You killed her."

A slow, wicked grin spread across Gargan's face. "Oh, that broad? Yeah, I remember her. Wife of that spineless scientist, Jacob, right? Shame she got caught up in all this. But hey, that's what happens when people cross me."

Miles's chest tightened, the grief for Y/N and his mother threatening to overwhelm him. But he wouldn't let it. He wouldn't let Gargan get away with this.

"You think this is a joke?" Miles growled, stepping closer.

Gargan chuckled darkly. "Oh, I don't think it's a joke, kid. I just don't understand why the death of some nobody has you all worked up."

Miles's fists glowed with energy as he activated his shock gauntlets. "It's more than you'll ever understand."

Before Gargan could respond, Miles lunged. His first strike landed squarely on Gargan's chest, sending a jolt of electricity through the villain's suit. Gargan staggered back, growling in frustration, but the armor absorbed most of the blow.

"You've got guts, I'll give you that," Gargan snarled, his tail swinging around in a deadly arc. Miles ducked just in time, the tail smashing into a mailbox and crumpling it like tin foil.

The fight was on.

Miles darted around Gargan with impressive speed, landing quick strikes and dodging the mechanical tail. His suit's enhancements gave him an edge, but Gargan's strength and resilience were undeniable. Each blow Miles landed seemed to do little more than annoy him.

"You're fast, kid," Gargan said, laughing as he swung his tail again. This time, it clipped Miles, sending him sprawling into a parked car. The impact left a dent in the metal, and Miles groaned as he pushed himself up.

"But not fast enough."

Gargan charged, grabbing Miles by the neck and lifting him off the ground. The villain's grip was crushing, the metal claws of his suit digging into Miles's armor.

"You've got no idea who you're messing with," Gargan sneered. "I've taken down bigger guys than you."

Miles struggled in his grasp, his hands sparking with energy. With a desperate move, he slammed his gauntlets into Gargan's chest, releasing a powerful electric shock. Gargan roared in pain, dropping Miles, who rolled away to regain his footing.

"You don't get it, do you?" Miles said, his voice shaky but defiant. "You hurt my friend. You took his mom away. You think I'm just gonna let you walk away from that?"

Gargan sneered, brushing off the smoke rising from his suit. "Kid, I don't care about your sob story. All I care about is making people like Jacob pay. And if his kid's little buddy gets in the way, that's on you."

Miles charged again, landing a flurry of punches and kicks. For a moment, it seemed like he was gaining the upper hand, but Gargan's experience and brute strength quickly turned the tide.

With a single swing of his tail, Gargan sent Miles flying into a lamppost, the impact cracking the pole in half. Miles collapsed to the ground, coughing and struggling to stand.

"You put up a fight, I'll give you that," Gargan said, stalking toward the battered Prowler. "But next time? I won't be so kind."

Miles glared up at him, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "I'm not afraid of you."

Gargan smirked, his tail hovering threateningly over Miles. "You should be. Name's Scorpion, kid. Remember it, because the next time we meet, you won't be so lucky."

With that, Scorpion launched himself into the air, his tail propelling him onto a nearby rooftop. Miles watched him go, his fists clenching in frustration.

🕷️

The cold, sterile halls of Oscorp echoed with the sound of Jacob's shoes as he walked to his office for the last time. The weight of it all bore down on him—his termination, the public disgrace, and, worst of all, the death of Jessica. Everything he'd worked for was gone.

When Norman had delivered the news, he hadn't even feigned sympathy. Standing tall in his designer suit, Norman had coldly informed Jacob of his immediate dismissal.

"No charges will be pressed," Norman had said, almost mockingly. "But the company can no longer afford to be associated with someone who brought this kind of... spectacle to Oscorp."

Jacob had snapped, desperate to defend himself. "You gave the orders! You pushed the project forward, knowing it was dangerous!"

Norman smirked, his piercing green eyes narrowing. "And who would believe that, Jacob? A disgraced scientist clinging to excuses to cover his failures? Face it—you're nothing. Not anymore."

Those words echoed in Jacob's mind as he entered his office, empty except for the personal belongings he'd yet to collect. The humiliation of being escorted out like a criminal was almost too much to bear. He tried to keep his head down, but he could feel the stares of his former colleagues.

As he packed up his desk, his hand froze when he found a framed photo buried beneath stacks of forgotten papers. It was from years ago, a happier time. Jessica was in the frame, her arm around him, both of them smiling as Y/N—just a boy then—beamed at the camera, holding a small soccer trophy.

Another picture caught his eye: Y/N and Gwen, both dressed for their homecoming dance, standing on the front porch. Jessica had been so excited that night, fussing over Y/N's tie while Jacob pretended to grumble about how quickly their son was growing up.

Tears welled in his eyes. The memories were bittersweet now, tainted by everything that had happened. Jessica was gone, and Y/N... Jacob didn't even know how to face his son anymore.

"This is all my fault," he whispered, gripping the photo tightly. "I should've never gotten involved."

As he continued packing, something caught his eye—a small containment chamber hidden in the back of his desk drawer. He froze, recognizing it immediately:

Project S.

The experimental life form had been sidelined months ago, one of the countless projects Norman had ordered him to abandon. Jacob had never had the chance to study it properly, and now it felt like a cruel joke.

He stared at it for a long moment, then glanced around the room. The lab was empty, the blinds drawn. Slowly, he reached out and tucked the containment chamber into his bag.

If nothing else, this might be his last chance to make something right.

By the time he finished packing, the security team was waiting for him outside. Their presence felt like overkill, but Norman had insisted on it. As Jacob walked through the building one last time, he spotted Harry standing by the elevators, watching the scene unfold.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting between his father and Jacob. He didn't say a word, but his expression betrayed his unease.

Norman, on the other hand, stood tall and unbothered, his hands clasped behind his back as he observed Jacob's escort. As Jacob was led out, Norman offered a thin, satisfied smile, the kind that sent a chill down Jacob's spine.

It was over.

Or so Norman thought.

🕷️

Three Months Later

Y/N sat slumped in his desk at Brooklyn Visions Academy, staring blankly at the paper in front of him. Another incomplete assignment. The words on the page blurred together, meaningless and insignificant compared to the weight he carried every day. His classmates buzzed around him, discussing group projects, test prep, and after-school plans, but Y/N was miles away, trapped in his own head. 

The bell rang, and as everyone else shuffled out of the classroom, Y/N stayed in his seat, staring at the table. 

"Y/N, can I see you for a moment?" his teacher called from the front of the room. 

Y/N sighed and stood, dragging his feet as he approached the desk. 

"Yeah, what's up?" he said flatly, avoiding eye contact. 

The teacher folded her hands on the desk and looked at him with a mixture of concern and firmness. "We need to talk about your performance in class. You didn't turn in your project, and your grades are slipping. This isn't like you." 

Y/N shrugged. "Guess people change." 

"I know what you've been through," the teacher said carefully, her tone softening. "I can't imagine how hard this must be, but you can't let it consume you. You're a bright student, Y/N, but if you don't start trying, you're going to fail this class. You're on track to fail most of your classes, actually." 

"So what?" Y/N shot back, his voice tinged with bitterness. "It's not like any of this matters." 

The teacher frowned but didn't press him. Instead, she handed him a slip of paper. "Principal Evans wants to see you this afternoon. It's about your recent performance." 

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Since when?" 

"He scheduled it this morning. He's concerned about you, Y/N. We all are." 

Y/N snatched the paper and shoved it into his pocket. "Whatever." He turned and walked out of the room without another word. 

🕷️

The office of Principal Evans was an imposing space. The walls were lined with shelves of books and awards, and a large desk sat in the center, where Evans presided like a judge. Y/N slouched in a chair across from him, arms crossed, while the assistant principal and Mr. Parker, his chemistry teacher, sat nearby. 

"Mr. L/N," Principal Evans began, looking over a stack of papers. "I think you know why you're here." 

Y/N shrugged. "Enlighten me." 

Evans sighed and held up a sheet of paper. "These are your grades. They've been in a free fall since... well, since the tragedy. Failing marks in nearly every subject. This is not the standard we expect from Brooklyn Visions students." 

Y/N said nothing, staring at the floor. 

Evans leaned forward. "If this continues, Y/N, you could be expelled." 

"Fine," Y/N muttered. "I never wanted to come here anyway." 

Evans frowned, his voice growing sharper. "Don't be flippant. You have potential, Y/N. You're capable of great things, but you're throwing it all away." 

"Maybe I am," Y/N shot back, his voice rising. "Maybe this place isn't for me. Maybe this is just a sign." 

Evans' patience was wearing thin. "Do you think your mother would be okay with what you're doing right now? Would she be proud of the way you've given up on everything?" 

Y/N's head snapped up, and his eyes burned with fury. 

"That's enough," Peter Parker interjected, his tone firm. "Principal Evans, I don't think that's appropriate." 

But Evans wasn't finished. "Well? Answer me, Y/N." 

Y/N stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "She's dead!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "She's dead, and I had to watch it happen! So don't you dare sit there and ask me what she'd think!" 

The room fell silent, the weight of Y/N's words hanging in the air. 

"You want to know why I don't care about my grades?" Y/N continued, his voice trembling. "Because my dad can't find work because of Norman Osborn. We can barely pay our bills. And every day, I wake up knowing I'll never see my mom again. So yeah, forgive me if I don't give a damn about school right now." 

Evans looked stunned, and for the first time, he seemed to realize just how much Y/N was struggling. 

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. 

But Y/N wasn't interested in apologies. "I'm done here," he muttered, turning toward the door. 

"Y/N, wait," Evans called after him, but Peter stood up. 

"I'll talk to him," Peter said, motioning for Evans to let it go. 

🕷️

Y/N sat alone on a park bench near the school, his head in his hands. He felt drained, both physically and emotionally. 

"Mind if I join you?" Peter's voice broke the silence. 

Y/N didn't respond, but Peter sat down anyway. 

"I know you don't want to hear this right now," Peter began, "but I understand. I lost my parents when I was young. They died in a plane crash, and for a long time, I didn't know how to move on." 

Y/N glanced at him, skeptical. "And you're saying you figured it out?" 

Peter shook his head. "Not at first. It took time—more time than I wanted it to. But I had people who cared about me, who helped me keep going. That's what you have too. Your Dad, Gwen, Miles, even your teachers—they all care about you, Y/N." 

Y/N looked down at the ground. 

"Principal Evans was out of line," Peter admitted, "but he wasn't wrong about one thing. Your mom would want you to keep pushing forward, even when it feels impossible. Not just for her, but for yourself. And for the people who love you." 

Y/N didn't respond, but Peter could see the words sinking in. 

"I'm giving you the day off from chemistry," Peter added with a small smile. "Use it to think about what you want to do next. But don't give up, Y/N. You're stronger than you think." 

Peter stood and walked away, leaving Y/N alone with his thoughts. 

Y/N stared at the horizon, the city skyline stretching before him. Peter's words replayed in his mind, but the question still lingered:

How was he supposed to move on?

🕷️

Miles paced his room, phone in hand, debating whether to call Y/N again. He knew his best friend was out with Gwen, but he couldn't shake the worry gnawing at him. Y/N had been spiraling for months, and while Gwen was doing her best to lift him up, Miles felt like he wasn't doing enough. 

"Yo, you good?" he typed out, staring at the message for a moment before sending it. 

He sighed, tossing his phone onto his desk, and turned his attention to the tablet in front of him. On the screen were photos and documents he and Aaron had pieced together about the Sinister Six Cartel. For weeks, Miles had been investigating their operations as Prowler, but a new name kept popping up in his searches:

Scorpo.

The company was flashy, recently established, and already making moves in biotech and weapons manufacturing. The logo—a sleek, stylized scorpion—was impossible to miss. 

"Yeah, real subtle," Miles muttered, zooming in on a picture of Scorpo's CEO giving a press conference. The man's face was obscured by a shadowy hood, but Miles couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen that silhouette before. 

He leaned back in his chair, mind racing. "If this guy is Scorpion, he's not even trying to hide it. But why a company? What's the angle?" 

Miles's phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts. Y/N had responded. 

I'm good, just with Gwen. Thanks, man.

Miles frowned, typing back quickly:

You know I'm here, right? For whatever.

Yeah, I know. Appreciate it.

Miles stared at the reply, feeling the weight of his friend's pain through the screen. He wanted to help, but right now, all he could do was focus on taking down the people who had caused it. 

He closed the chat and turned back to the Scorpo files. "All right, let's see what you're hiding."