Gwen Stacy. The young, bright, symbolic beacon of success whom's life he'd snuffed out that day when she just so happened to be there when he went to confront his ' friend' -- though he wasn't quite so sure he could even jokingly call him that at this point, even if he wished he could-- Peter. She'd been standing on an unstable, unbolted sheet of metal, and in his insanity... He'd set her off balance and laughed as she'd fallen to her death.
But that... That wasn't really him. As crazy as it sounded, he didn't have the audacity to kill people. Something in him had changed when he'd injected himself with that serum--- And, mixed with the adrenaline, the anger, the feelings of betrayal, the feelings of having no one to rely on- of no one seeming to care- despite his impending, premature death. But he'd never kill someone.
The serum... It had seemed to strip him of his humanity- Leaving him as nothing less than a ferocious, violent animal, primitive and angry. A savage.
The boy laughed at his best friend's accusation- Not with humor, but with a sort of offended, hurt hint to his tone. His voice shook, along with his arms; blue orbs seemingly just as hurt, if not more so, than his voice.
" ... I didn’t KILL anyone, Peter... "
And yet, it still felt wrong to say that, because... He remembered it. He could recall that moment, see it clear as day. He had seen it. Felt it. And it both haunted and horrified him.
