*BZZZT*
*BZZZT*
*BZZZT*
It was the sixth alarm of the morning, and Peter still couldn't find the energy to open his eyes and pry himself of his dormroom bed. Sprawled out across it, the sheets and covers wrapped over his body after an obvious bout of violent tossing and turning, it finally took Harry's nudge on his shoulder to awaken Peter from his deep sleep.
"PETER! WAKE UP!"
Peter's eyes opened with a startled stare, as he looked around the room, before Harry threw a pile of clean clothes in Peter's face, confusing him even more. Digging his face out of the boxer shorts that lied upon his head, Peter turned to Harry, still half-asleep, as his friend frantically tried to prepare Peter's things for him.
"Uhn... Wh... what's going...?"
"Peter, it's 8:15!", Harry interrupted, obviously stressed.
"Our first class starts in five minutes, and it's across campus!"
Fully alert, after this startling bit of news, Peter practically jumped across the room as he immediately began stuffing his legs into the pair of pants Harry had provided for him, while simultaneously wrestling with his under and over shirt. He had, of course, downplayed the actual jump, remembering that if he had jumped to his full capability, he probably would've ended up crashing through the wall of the next room.
But shrugging that off, Peter immediately focused on the situation that lied ahead... the dire first impression of his college peers and professors, which was being threatened by the tardiness that had been brought on by Peter's sleep.
"Why didn't you wake me up?!", Peter argued, in his first coherent sentence of the day.
"Didn't have a jackhammer on me!", Harry shouted back, shoving both his and Peter's books and manuals into their respective backpacks.
"Where the hell were you, last night?"
Peter paused, mid-belt buckling, as he frantically looked around the room.
"Uh... uh, I... I was... uh..."
And there, he spotted it. Slumped over the couch, on the edge closest to the window he had used to enter the room the previous night, lied the scarlet and navy ensemble of which he had used to mask his identity. Looking back, as Harry rushed into the room, obviously not paying attention, Peter leaped forward and grabbed the costume, pulling it from the couch, rolling it into a ball, and tossing it into a nearby closet, aided with his rather stellar agility.
"...Shooting hoops?", Peter finished, mentally kicking himself for using the lamest possible excuse he could think of.
"...You play sports?"
The two men stared at eachother, silent for a second. Harry, holding the cramped backpacks in his hands, and Peter, his own hands still on the belt buckle that refused to fasten.
"We're gonna miss class!", Peter shouted, as the two rushed for the door, opened it, and darted through the now emptied dorm hallways.
Even though it was his first day of academic achievement, a time of which had usually left Peter giddy with excitement in previous years, He didn't feel enthused in any way this year. Maybe it was because he was running late. Maybe it was because he knew he had a long trek before he'd make it across campus.
Or, simply, maybe it was because his ribs and shoulders still ached from the night before. When Peter had ventured into Manhattan not as himself, but as another person entirely. Covered by a mask, Peter recounted the hours leading up to now... Amazingly swinging from skyscrapers, catching thugs that the police had overlooked, saving actual lives for the first time in his life... Peter could've been proud of his work, if he had thought hard enough. But now, all he was focused on was the jog to class.
And the enivitable "Parker luck" to finally kick in.
"And today, class... we take a look at the properties of organic fushion under high levels of extreme radiation."
Professor Otto Octavious stood infront of a class of at least fifty different students, marking down the intellectual notes upon the chalkboard as if he were writing poetry. To him, it was poetry... but in an entirely different manner of expression. Smiling to himself, as he finished, he turned, viewing the class ahead, as the ones actually paying attention intently locked onto his words as he continued to speak on the subject he had made his life's work.
"Imagine, if you will... a tiny molecular cell, no bigger than a common dime.", Otto explained, holding up his fingers to demonstrate the exact size of what he was talking about.
"Slightly insignificant, yes? Well, you would be wrong in guessing that. You see..."
Otto turned, tapping one of the illustrations on the chalkboard.
"This illustration shows exactly how that dime sized cell would look, put under extreme doses of radioactive exposition. What happens, here, is that the cell grows powerful... perhaps even the peak of what a cell could inevitably be, one day. But upon reaching that peak, quite a startling phenomina occurs. The cell, you see, can only take so much of such a dangerous element. And when it has taken too much?"
Otto turns, and claps his hands together once, loudly, startling some of his students. Otto lightly chuckles, at this, as do some of the other students.
"To put it simply, the radiation kills it.", Otto finishes, before stepping forward.
"Now, would anyone like to ask any questions on this particular-"
Otto pauses, as do some of the other students, as a muffled sound becomes louder in the background. Looking upwards, curious eyes meet the slumped form of Peter Parker, as he snores away the lesson in a deep sleep upon his books. Otto clears his throat, trying to get the young man's attention. But Peter's snores continue.
"And what is this ridicuousness?", Otto mentions, gaining a few laughs from some of the more intellectually advanced students who realise that Otto is being sarcastic.
"Ahem. Mister Parker, I'm assuming?"
Peter's head shoots up, upon Otto's tone in saying his name. Looking around, confused again, Peter's face goes red as he quickly realises what is going on, and where he is. Looking down at Otto, nervously, Peter gives a cautious smile, sinking lower in his seat.
"Uh... sorry, about that.", Peter says, as Otto stares at him, contemplative, before sighing to himself.
"Just do not let it happen again, Parker.", Otto states, before turning to the rest of the class.
"Now, what about any questions?"
Surprising to Peter, as he woes in his own embarassment for being caught sleeping for the first time during any class in his life, Flash's hand goes up, catching the eye of Otto.
"Yes? What is your question?", Otto asks.
"Uh... yeah...", Flash begins.
"Like... what's with the sunglasses?"
Otto's eyebrow raises, at the question, as he tilts the sunglasses on his face.
"Well, erm... I was actually referring to a question regarding the lesson, but if you must know, Mr. Thompson...", Otto responds.
"I have a rare condition called Keratoconjunctivitus sicca."
"Whozawha...?", Flash asks, dumbfounded.
"A sensitivity in the eyes."
The whole class turns, viewing Peter, as he's now sitting up and fully alert.
"It's a form of dry eye syndrome, irritating the cornia and causing a short term, or long term vision impairment that includes sensitivity under light.", Peter explains.
"My Uncle Ben had it for awhile, a couple years ago."
Otto stares, stunned at Peter's clear and caculated words on the subject, before smiling widely.
"Why... actually, that is correct, Mr. Parker.", Otto states.
"Because my eyes were unproperly treated, after a failed chemical experiment when I worked for Oscorp Research and Development, I must constantly keep them protected from the light. Otherwise, I may very well succumb to blindness."
Peter smirks, a little, hearing Oscorp's name. Harry was constantly telling him about various lawsuits and actions filed against his father's company, throughout the years. And he had no doubt that Otto was probably one of them. It was a wonder that the company was still as sucessful as it was today...
"But enough about the glasses... let's move on."
Otto turns, before looking back up at Peter.
"And might I just say... very good work, Parker. I see potential in you, despite our earlier greeting."
Peter smiled, this time genuinely, for the praise he had just recieved. Otto Octavious was one of his idols from awhile back, dating even as far before as Peter's days in Junior High, when the good Doctor had come as a guest speaker to his class during a presentation on scientific robotiscism. So naturally, to hear even the slightest bit of approval from his idol turned college professor left Peter with somewhat of a confidence boost.
A boost of which would be lowered, upon catching a glimpse of a random tabloid headline, hours later.
Peter blinked, once, in disbelief, as he hushly repeated the headline to himself.
"...Spider-Men From Mars?"
Looking back, seeing if anyone was watching him actually buy the trash that was "The Daily Bugle", Peter pulled out some change from his pocket and put it into the slot. But upon pulling on the handle of the newstand to grab the paper inside, Peter realised that he was short on the actual amount it required. Looking back, again, Peter gave the handle a sharp tug, snapping it open with his strength, before carefully reaching in and grabbing one of the issues.
Hate to damage campus property, but... it's not like that slot ever gets opened anyway.
Opening the headline, Peter scanned the story inside, before feeling a tug on his shoulder. Turning, Peter stared right into the face of Flash Thompson, who towered over the meek Peter as if he were nothing more than an ant.
"Outta my way, Parker... I got practice.", Flash stated, annoyed, giving Peter a shove.
"Uh, yeah... last I checked, Einstein...", Peter began, deciding once and for all that he had grown sick and tired of Flash's constant bullying.
"It's a free sidewalk."
Flash looked over, seemingly offended by this, before grabbing Peter by his shirt.
"What did you call me, Bookworm?", Flash asked, growing angrier.
"I believe I called you one of the more famous intellectual geniuses of this century, ratbreath... But if you can't take a compliment, that's fine by me.", Peter answered, looking up at Flash with a sneer.
Flash gritted his teeth, before letting go of Peter.
"You're lucky I'm late for tryouts, Puny Parker... I'd tear you in half, right now, for that kind of talk."
"You'd be lucky to know where to grab, Ghandi.", Peter retorted, as Flash began to walk off.
Turning back around, Flash stared at Peter, before eyeing the tabloid in his hand. Lunging forward, Flash snatched it from Peter's hands, and looked it over. Immediately, upon viewing the cover, Flash began to laugh hysterically.
"HAHAHA! You gotta be kidding me! All that tough talk and big brains, and look at the crap you read!", Flash taunted, before throwing the cover back in his face.
"Once a loser, always a loser, Parker... and this is worse than those widdle comics you used to carry around! HA!"
Flash turned, seemingly triumphant over Peter as he bent down to pick up his magazine, unable to find a retort after that. But it was what Flash said next that would change Peter's life forever, even though he didn't have a perverbial clue to it at the time.
"Heh. "Spider-Man". What a load of bull..."
And that's when Peter paused.
It was the name. Something about the name that Flash had just repeated struck an imaginative cord within Peter. It was as if he was learning his own identity, in that very moment. Standing up, looking at the cover sketch of himself, as described by eye-witnesses, Peter smiled to himself, recounting the name.
...Spider-Man, huh?
I like it.
I really like it, actually.
Wow. I didn't think I'd ever say this, but I may actually owe you one, Flash...
Continuing down the sidewalk, Peter fondly repeated the name to himself.
Ready or not, world... cause here comes Spider-Man!
...
Okay, I'm really glad I didn't say that outloud...
