Chapter 8

Midtown High School was an odd combination of modern technology and old American architecture. While the building’s red bricked exterior would seem outdated to the likes of Justin Hammer - or his contemporary billionaires - its insides were decidedly modern.

Each classroom was fashioned with smart screens, projectors and automated blinds. Facilitating an incredibly interactive education that would make any passionate seeker of knowledge envious. Four columns of desks seated up to forty students with a larger desk equipped with a computer for the teachers.

A computer that had easily taken the top spot as my primary point of attack on the school’s network and databases.

“Settle down class, I have an announcement to make!” called out Dr. Nelson at our home room the morning after my dinner with the Watsons.

The few brave souls who had dared to speak in her presence quickly quietened down and she continued, “The Annual Tony Stark International Sciences Exposition has been cancelled, as such our annual field trip should also have been cancelled. Instead I have to chaperone you lot to the New York Hall of Science on my weekend.”

She sighed dramatically and called on one of the many hands that had sprung into the air.

“Yes, Samantha?”

“Why was the Stark Expo cancelled?”

“It’s cause Tony Stark’s dead you bint!” called a voice from the back of the class.

My blood ran cold.

He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be.

“Tony Stark is still considered missing and as such we will be visiting a General Techtronics exhibition instead.”

Wait, did she say General Techtronics?

My hand shot into the air, bringing the tally up to ‘too many’ for Dr. Nelson who decided to simply ignore all question that moment forth.

“You may see a covered cabinet by the teacher’s table before my class. Do not attempt to uncover it, touch it; or touch any of its vicinity for that matter. It is private property and you will be sued to kingdom come,” she warned fiercely. The professor gave the class one last look just to make sure the point came across, “That will be all.”

The rest of the day’s classes passed by in a blur as I dealt with the equal amount of excitement and anxiety that came with the news I had just heard.

It was a simple equation. General Techtronics plus Peter Parker equals Potential Spider-bite.

But was I ready for bona fide superpowers? Would I even be getting any superpowers? Should I actively force an encounter with a radioactive spider? How would I know which spider?

Then there was the whole mystical aspect to Spider-Man. What if I got bit only to not get chosen in some way?

The questions were endless and before I knew it, we were in Dr. Nelson’s class already at the last period of the school day.

“You may have noticed that the cabinet I mentioned is not in attendance,” said Dr. Nelson to her class.

Wow, I can’t believe I missed that.

“Somebody is incapable of following instructions and so the whole school will now suffer pop quizzes. You may thank the culprit once I’ve found him.”

Dr. Nelson’s class rose in a record-breaking amount of grumbling, but she was not fazed. We were promptly given multiple choice answer sheets and told to answer the questions displayed by the projector.

What followed was a generic pop quiz, with generic questions and generic answers.

That is, until the already dim room - set up for the projector - went pitch black.

The overhead lights had gone off and the projector screen had changed to what resembled a computer terminal. The combination of the thick window blinds and the lack of a light source had left the room in an eerie darkness for the middle of the day.

Then, the white input cursor on the terminal projected to screen - arguably the brightest light in the room - began to spell out words.

‘FLASH THOMPSON. JERRY POWERS. JOHN FISHER...’

The list continued to name the football team in bold face and all caps. Then finally it said, ‘Please proceed to Classroom 3-1-3 for a -’

The sharp screech of a badly calibrated Mic thundered out of the school’s audio systems followed by shriek of, “Royal beatdown!”

The cry was accompanied by a caricature animation of the words being punched onto the screen by a boxing glove.

I could have sworn I recognised the voice, but the Mic and his…passionate delivery had distorted it too far.

Dr. Nelson quickly took control of the growing concern and amusement sparking across the room. No doubt, security would handle it soon. Pranks of this proportion were simply not tolerated at Midtown High. The culprit had somehow hijacked not only the audio systems, but presumably every projector and screen in the school to spread his message.

I tapped Flash on his shoulder, who had opted to seat in the empty seat in front of me that morning, “Do you know who that was?”

Flash turned and snarled, “Yeah, yeah I think I do. I’m going to kill that little shit when I see him.”

The projector screen then changed to a camera feed of a classroom, presumably 3-1-3, as a group of three students barged into the room with baseball bats.

The room in the footage was as badly lit as our own and the camera struggled to adjust for the only source of light, the open door. Squarely, in the middle of the room however, we could easily make out a three feet tall glass cabinet. Inside it, was the silhouette of the mysterious brain’s enclosure with one difference: it now appeared to have arms.

What in the world?

An unexpected upgrade on a robot is always a concerning matter. But the fact that it was seemingly inviting students for a beating had sent my, still metaphorical, spider-senses into overdrive.

“What do those imbeciles think they’re doing?” shrieked Dr. Nelson as she started to rush to the door. Most of the class was still seated at that point but her words had startled the lot into action.

Two more boys named from the football squad seemed eager to join their team, but Flash remained glued to the screen, his jaw wide.

I followed his eyes to the screen and was astounded by the students’ audacity. Despite the machine’s taunts and its menacing arms, it was still securely inside its glass cabinet. That is, until they took to it with metal bats.

The sound of glass shattering nearby rang through the air, surprising me, given that the footage had no audio. The students proceeded to demolish the glass housing and knock it off its pedestal.

The crystal shell began to light up like a Christmas tree and its arms flailed around only to be unable to grip anything. The brain suspended in the crystal looked almost like it was writhing. I was left with the startling impression of a fish out water.

One of the more enterprising of the gang then managed to vault the thing right out the door and out of view. It was sent careening across the marble floor. It’s roll, presumably, only stopping when it crashed into the locker’s right outside our classroom, seconds later.

At this point most of the class was already crowding the closed door to get a better view from its window. Dr. Nelson could only stand, with her jaw agape at the destruction of her research project as she was shouldered out of the way by two members of the football team.

They pulled the door ajar with all the enthusiasm of peafowl in the rain. They had likely expected to find a downed opponent - an easy target - strutting out the door as they were.

However, only moments later I heard a high pitched and thundering noise from the direction of the crazy-killer-robot, followed by startled shouts from the football team and the students who had monopolised a view.

Meanwhile, Flash decided that this was the perfect time to join his teammates in the excitement.

“Flash! Don’t be an idiot!” I called out to him as he bulldozed through the crowded door.

The wake he left around him gave me just enough space to catch a glimpse of the freakish abomination, like a microwave from your worst nightmares. The sound I heard previously must have been the lockers being torn to smithereens because the bot was now fashioned with arms and wheels.

Huh, would you look at that? It’s like it had an epiphany from its time being forced to imitate a soccer ball.

The robot turned its crystal body slowly, pivoting independently from the wheels, with the smoothness that could only be attributed to a machine. It appeared to notice the closest footballer and the brain suspended inside it began to radiate red sparks into the fluid.

The boy was admittedly the largest victim on its list so its near instant target recognition was not unexpected.

Then, it went from zero to a hundred percent with no hesitation at all running straight up to his surprised side. With a powerful swing of its arms, it smacked Flash’s stocky teammate in the head like a Beyblade battling top from Hell.

The blow sent the boy down cold. The thud of his body on the ground was met with a near pin drop silence as everyone was shocked out of their reverie. Almost all at once, the crowd came to the realisation that this was not just some prank. The danger was very real. Suddenly, everyone was trying to get out of the school.

“Dr. Nelson! Call 9-1-1!” I shouted over the noise of chaos.

Students went running everywhere, and I would have followed them except, the momentum of the bot’s arms had rotated it ninety degrees and sent it straight back into a new set of lockers. It was curiously stupid.

Before the robot could separate itself from the lockers, I decided to make a run for the student who was hit. But I had made little progress when I heard a cacophony of anger and fear from the end of the hallway.

The doors separating the hallways had been barred closed. We were stuck inside a hallway and a smattering of classrooms with the evil toaster that had quite casually taken down a person twice my weight. The danger we were in was starting to get to me. Even if I made it to the kid, where would I take him? We had no idea what state he was in. I really hoped the police had the sense to bring an ambulance.

I looked around at the fragile students running in all directions like headless chickens and then back again at R2D2’s deranged cousin - that had seemingly taken no damage despite trampling the lockers that its construction was derived from.

Make that several ambulances.

The killer robot reversed out of the lockers as I pulled the Midtown High ‘Tiger’ to safety. By now security had made it to the hallway doors and for reasons I couldn’t fathom, were trying to get through it using a fire extinguisher. Surely, getting the door unlocked would be easier than smashing through inch-thick Plexiglas.

I was starting to conclude that I may not get the opportunity to let someone more qualified handle the situation. It had likely already figured out that the ability to change direction was probably something in its best interest.

So I picked up the only weapon in sight, a metal baseball bat abandoned by the initial assailants. Meanwhile, budget terminator was swinging its arms around its crystal body, turning unstably towards its next target.

“Flash!” screamed Liz Allan in a panic. She was holding open a classroom door for him, urging him in. A door, I suspected, she had denied other students access to.

Flash spun around, skidding wildly from his path to check the other end of the hallway. If the room Liz had sequestered herself in at the start of the chaos was any closer, Flash might have made it.

As it was, the murderous bot was already hurtling to Flash’s heels. With no time to think, I picked the easiest way to get Flash out of the robot’s way. Which was, of course, to change the glorified Roomba’s path.

The thirty-six-ounce projectile I threw with all my strength and prayers hit its side with just enough force to nudge it out of the way; into yet another set of lockers.

“Peter! What are you looking at!? Get in!” called Liz, still holding the door open.

I followed Flash’s path to safety and Liz closed the door behind me.

The class had its blinds closed like all the others and was populated with around eight other students. I guess I didn’t give Liz enough credit.

Two girls from Liz’s cheerleading squad sat together in the corner of the room. They were trying very hard to be quiet, but the sounds of sniffling and hushed words were telling. Nearly all of the room’s occupants were breathing hard and frantically tapping away on their phones.

“There’s no signal” Liz explained as I watched the group grow frustrated with their phones.

That was worrying but at least the first victim didn’t seem to be in critical condition when I left him in the safety of classroom 3-1-3.

“Flash, didn’t you say you knew who might have done this? What the hell is going?” I panted.

When Flash did not answer, I straightened myself out from my recuperation to look at him. Only to find him staring through the glass door window in horror.

His girlfriend went to his side to see what had him so startled with a morbid fascination. It was the sort of knee-jerk reaction you have when confronted with something that could kill you. Like looking down the height of a cliff, just to see how far it goes.

“Oh. My. Gosh,” said Liz with wide eyes and a manicured hand covering her shock.

When I neared the window to see what could possibly make this situation worse, I could only kick myself. Of course, I had to jinx it.

WALL-E’s villainous twin had once again learnt from its meeting with the lockers. They must have been quite informative since the crystal box was now fashioned with a bipedal base and its arms carried shards of the lockers like javelins. It looked familiar.

It took two unsteady steps away from the lockers. Its body now more alike a conventional humanoid robot, except of course the large brain writhing in the crystal chamber in its torso. The robot’s makeshift legs and body looked somehow less janky than its previous wheels. It turned one-eighty degrees with an equal unsteadiness but wasted no more time than that. A shard of metal was propelled by its mechanical arms and flew true - impaling the thigh of a pudgy boy who hadn’t made it to safety yet.

The sound of pain and the sight of blood sent the already panicking crowd into a near apocalyptic fervour. The combination of adrenaline and the fear that spreads naturally in a group crisis was making it hard to think straight.

After its initial imprecision the robot had seemingly perfected the art of walking and was steadily moving around the hall flinging shards of metal around with marginal success. More often than not, the flimsy metal would swerve and miss the target harmlessly.

I went over everything I had seen of the strange brain enclosure and analysed the machine terrorising the school. It was showing a worrying capability to learn. That combined with its new appearance and what I’d seen when it was delivered gave me a guess about what we were dealing with. It made no sense to me that such an incident would occur before I even got my powers.

This is practically cheating!

“The Living Brain...” I muttered before I could stop myself.