Two weeks passed since the transformation. Alex had spent most of that time learning to live inside his new body without announcing it to the world.
Doors that used to need a firm push now opened if he barely touched them. He'd cracked a bathroom doorknob clean off on day four, had to replace it before his landlord noticed. Stairs felt different too, his legs wanted to take them three at a time, and he'd caught himself twice halfway through the motion before forcing himself back to a normal pace.
By the second week, control had become automatic. He could shake hands without crushing fingers. Sit in a school chair without it groaning under redistributed weight. Walk through Oscorp's hallways exactly like the version of himself everyone already knew.
'Calibration complete,' he thought, watching himself pour orange juice without spilling a drop despite moving at a fraction of his actual speed. 'Nobody suspects anything because there's nothing to suspect.'
That was the whole point. Peter had learned this lesson the hard way, broken pencils and crushed water bottles and a dozen small accidents before he figured out restraint. Alex had the advantage of watching all of that happen first. He skipped the embarrassing learning curve entirely.
...
Norman's obsession with Spider-Man had not cooled. If anything, it had gotten worse.
Alex's workspace now had a permanent feed of street camera footage, police scanner audio, and a tip line Norman had quietly set up offering cash for any sighting with photo or video proof. The tips came in by the dozens daily. Most were garbage. Old footage recycled. People in red hoodies mistaken for the real thing.
Alex filtered through them every morning before his actual analysis work. Norman wanted updates twice daily and Alex gave them to him, careful and precise and always pointed slightly away from the truth.
"Strength estimate remains in the two to three ton range," Alex told Norman during their Tuesday briefing. "No significant change from previous reports. Subject continues to favor evasion over direct confrontation when possible, suggesting either a conservative fighting philosophy or genuine uncertainty about his upper limits."
Norman studied the latest footage on his wall screen, Spider-Man swinging away from a confrontation with two armed robbers instead of engaging directly. "Or he's hiding something."
Alex kept his expression neutral. "Possible. Though the simpler explanation is usually correct. A teenager, and the movement patterns suggest someone young, would naturally be cautious."
"You think he's young."
"Body proportions visible in close-up footage suggest someone still finishing physical development. Late teens, most likely."
Norman's eyes narrowed slightly, considering this. Alex had given him true information here, information that was actually useless without more to go on, dozens of New York teenagers fit that vague profile.
"Keep digging," Norman said. "I want a name eventually. Not just a silhouette."
"Understood, sir."
Alex left the office calculating how much longer he could sustain this particular tightrope. Norman was patient but not infinitely so. Eventually the lack of concrete progress would itself become suspicious.
...
Felicia called Wednesday evening while Alex was reviewing footage for his next report.
"I landed him," she said without preamble, practically vibrating through the phone. "The client. Big one. Office building security overhaul, full contract, six figures."
"Congratulations. Who?"
"Fisk Enterprises. Some property holding company downtown. Guy named Wilson Fisk runs it, big presence, very intimidating in person, but his money is very real and very green."
Alex felt something cold settle in his stomach. He knew that name. Knew exactly what it meant in the broader scope of things, even if Felicia had no idea yet.
"That's impressive," he said carefully. "Big client for a company your size."
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