I've memorized the police report. May 29th, 10:42 PM. Corner of DeKalb and Franklin. Benjamin Parker, age 51, shot once during a carjacking attempt. Dead before the ambulance arrived. The shooter, Dennis Carradine—a career criminal with a record of escalating violence—fled the scene but was later identified through witness descriptions and security camera footage.
That's how it happens in the primary timeline.
Tonight's the night.
From my vantage point on a rooftop across from the Parker residence in Queens, I watch Ben loading grocery bags into their aged sedan. Peter isn't with him in this universe—a small deviation from what I remember of the original story. Without spider powers, Peter hasn't had his wrestling match, hasn't fought with Ben, hasn't stormed off in teenage angst.
Different path, same destination. Ben Parker still heads out alone into the night, still drives toward the fateful intersection where Carradine waits, still moves toward his appointment with death.
Unless I change it.
The past three days have been a blur of preparation. Corporate maneuvering at Oscorp by day, superhero groundwork by night. I've barely slept, my enhanced physiology allowing me to push far beyond normal human limits.
I check my watch. 9:17 PM.
Ben is still loading groceries, moving with the unhurried pace of a man who expects to return home safely to his family. I have approximately ninety minutes to prevent a murder that shapes the core of Spider-Man's origin story.
My options:
- Direct intervention – physically stop Carradine before he encounters Ben.
- Indirect prevention – ensure Ben takes a different route home.
- Law enforcement interception – anonymously tip the police about Carradine's location and intentions.
Each carries risks. Direct intervention means revealing my abilities. Altering Ben's route might just postpone the inevitable—butterfly effect shifting the tragedy to another day, another place. The police option is cleanest but least certain.
I've chosen a hybrid approach.
Ben's car pulls away from the curb. I track it from above, leaping between rooftops with ease, my enhanced strength and agility making what would be impossible feats for a normal human feel almost effortless.
As Ben drives toward his fate, I move parallel through the city's elevated landscape, following a route I've carefully plotted to intersect with his at critical junctures. Not quite a superhero yet—I'm dressed in black athletic wear with a simple ski mask tucked in my pocket for emergency identity concealment. Not Batman Beyond. Not even Spider-Man. Just a man with extraordinary abilities trying to save a life that matters.
Twenty blocks from the Parker home, Ben stops at a convenience store—an unplanned detour that wasn't in the police report. Another timeline deviation. I perch on a water tower across the street, watching as he enters the store. My calculations suddenly need adjustment.
My phone vibrates. A text from MJ: "Still need help with that science presentation tomorrow?"
I'd almost forgotten—in my focus on saving Ben, I'd pushed aside the mundane details of Harry Osborn's life. The quantum physics presentation I'm supposed to deliver for our shared university class.
"Yes please," I text back. "Meet at the library at 10?"
"It's a date. I mean, not a date date. You know what I mean."
I smile despite the tension of the moment. The MJ of this universe is just as direct yet self-conscious as her cinematic counterpart. Despite what some thought about Zendaya, he found her VERY attractive.
Ben exits the store with a small bag, checks his watch, and returns to his car. He's running later than the original timeline now. I check the burner phone in my pocket—the one I'll use to call in the anonymous tip to police. Not yet. Timing is critical.
I follow as Ben drives further into the city, eventually entering the neighborhood where the confrontation with Carradine is destined to occur. According to police reports, Carradine typically spends evenings at a dive bar three blocks from the future crime scene. That's my first target.
Dropping into an alley behind the bar, I pull on the ski mask and edge toward the side entrance. Enhanced hearing allows me to eavesdrop on conversations inside without entering. I filter through the ambient noise—glasses clinking, music playing, dozens of overlapping voices—searching for any mention of Carradine.
"—told Carradine he's crazy, going after cars in that neighborhood—"
Bingo. A gruff voice near the pool table. I focus my hearing more precisely.
"Cops been all over since that liquor store thing last week. Dennis don't care though. Says he's got medical bills to pay."
Another voice, slightly slurred: "He out there now?"
"Nah, stopped by earlier. Said he was heading to his usual spot. Hoping to score a nice ride tonight."
His usual spot. The corner of DeKalb and Franklin. Where Ben Parker will die in the original timeline.
I check the time. 10:12 PM. Ben is likely getting close now, delayed by his unplanned stop but still on a collision course with destiny. I need to act.
Step one: The police tip. I move several blocks away, activate the burner phone, and make the call.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"There's a man with a gun at the corner of DeKalb and Franklin," I say, disguising my voice. "He looks like he's waiting to rob someone. Silver handgun, black jacket, baseball cap. Matches the description of the guy who robbed the liquor store on Myrtle last week."
"Sir, can I have your name—"
I end the call, drop the phone in a storm drain, and start moving toward the intersection. The police response time in this precinct averages seven minutes for armed suspect calls. I need to be in position before they arrive.
As I approach, I spot Ben's car stopped at a red light two blocks away. And there, lurking in the shadows between a closed laundromat and a bodega, is a figure in a dark jacket and cap. Carradine.
I scale the nearest building, positioning myself on the rooftop with clear sightlines to the coming confrontation. Ben's car moves steadily closer. Carradine shifts his position, hand moving inside his jacket—likely gripping the weapon. No sign of police yet.
Decision point. Do I wait for the cops and risk them arriving too late?
The spider-sense tingles at the base of my skull, a low-level warning of impending danger. Ben's car is approaching the very spot where Carradine has positioned himself.
No time left for philosophical debate. I make my choice.
Dropping silently from the rooftop to a fire escape, then to the sidewalk, I position myself in the alley entrance near Carradine. He's focused entirely on the approaching car, unaware of my presence. I can see the outline of the gun now, pressed against his jacket.
Ben's car slows as it approaches the intersection, stopping at another red light. Perfect timing for a carjacker.
Carradine begins to move, sliding along the building wall toward the street.
Then, the wail of police sirens. A patrol car rounds the corner two blocks away, lights flashing but no specific target in sight yet—responding to my anonymous call.
The light turns green. Ben Parker drives through the intersection, completely unaware of how close he came to his alternate fate. The patrol car cruises past, officers scanning the streets for the reported gunman.
I exhale slowly, the tension draining from my body. It worked. The indirect intervention succeeded without revealing my presence or abilities. Benjamin Parker will return home to May tonight. Peter will wake up tomorrow with his uncle still alive.
I wonder what would have happened to Peter if Ben had died..?
I've changed the foundation of Spider-Man's origin story. Is this better? Different, certainly. Whether it's better depends on too many variables to calculate. But it feels right. One preventable death prevented. One family spared unnecessary pain.
Back in my apartment, I shower away the night's exertions and check my phone. Another text from MJ: "Prep session still on for tomorrow? Peter says he can join too."
"Absolutely," I reply. "Looking forward to it."
As I set the phone down, I notice Bernard standing in the doorway, concern evident on his face despite his professional demeanor.
"Another late night, sir?" he asks carefully.
"Had some thinking to do," I say, which isn't entirely untrue. "Lost track of time."
Bernard studies me with the penetrating gaze that makes me wonder sometimes if he can see right through my facade.
"If I may speak freely, sir, your recent... changes have been most remarkable. Your father has noticed as well."
That could mean lots of things. "What has he said?"
"Only that you seem 'different' in ways he finds both promising and concerning." Bernard steps further into the room, lowering his voice. "He asked me if you had been experimenting with any of Oscorp's pharmaceutical projects."
Norman suspects I might be using the Goblin formula or something similar. A logical conclusion given the physical and behavioral changes he's observed.
"And what did you tell him?"
"The truth, sir. That to my knowledge, you have not." Bernard's expression softens slightly. "Though I admit, I've wondered myself what has prompted such a transformation. Not just in your physical condition, but in your... purpose."
The question hangs in the air between us. Bernard has been loyal to the Osborn family for decades. If anyone in this universe deserves some version of the truth, it's him.
"Let's just say I've had a wake-up call," I say carefully. "Realized what's important. What I can do with the resources and position I have."
Bernard nods slowly. "I see. And these late-night excursions? The increased food consumption? The changes to your physical abilities that you think I haven't noticed?"
My heart skips a beat. He's been more observant than I realized.
"Bernard—"
He raises a hand, stopping me. "I don't require explanations, sir. My role has always been to support, not to question. But if I may offer one observation: whatever path you're on, whatever you're becoming—be careful. Especially around your father. He doesn't respond well to... competition."
The warning is clear, and more informed than Bernard is letting on. He knows—or strongly suspects—that I'm developing abilities beyond normal human capacity. And he's worried about Norman's reaction if he discovers the truth.
"Thank you, Bernard. I'll keep that in mind."
After he leaves, I sit at my desk and open my laptop, accessing the secure planning documents for Project Beyond.
Speaking of the suit—the materials science team has made breakthrough progress on the adaptive fabric. Combined with the miniaturized communication systems I've been developing in my "private research" time at Oscorp, I'm approaching a functional prototype for the basic suit elements.
A notification pops up on my screen—a news alert about a break-in at a quantum physics lab at Empire State University. The same university where I'm meeting Peter and MJ tomorrow. The stolen equipment: experimental energy containment units.
In the original timeline, is this connected to a Spider-Man villain's origin? The timing aligns with when Electro might be emerging, but the details don't quite fit. Another butterfly effect from my presence, perhaps—ripples spreading outward from the changes I've already made.
My phone buzzes again—a text from an unknown number: "Footage from Stark Expo interesting. Particularly subject H.O. displaying unusual abilities during evacuation. Discussing with mutual friend. -H"
My blood runs cold. The message can only be from Happy Hogan, and the "mutual friend" must be Tony Stark. Despite my efforts to be discreet during the drone attack, someone caught footage of me using enhanced abilities to save civilians. And now that footage has made its way to Stark Industries.
Fucking hell, I'm on Tony Stark's radar. Much earlier than planned.
I set the phone down, mind racing through implications and contingencies. If Stark is investigating me, SHIELD might not be far behind.
But tonight, at least, I've saved Ben Parker.