Disclaimer: Nothing is owned by me, no money is made off this, everything belongs to Disney and Marvel.
Chapter 1: Accepted Variation
Oscorp Tower Penthouse, 1st of March, 8:00 PM
Knock. Knock. Knock. Persistent, irritating knocks occupying the air outside the penthouse's single large window. Legions of little watery knives storming the Osborn fortress under thunderous roars of their loudest, which formed the clouds obstructing the moon. The only light came from these little wonders of H2O themselves, when their relentless in-fighting caused enough energy to create what ancients thought to be divine craft - lightning. Which was a very welcome feat, due to it being the only thing shedding light in the penthouse. It served another function for one man in particular, it was telling him: "We are down there roaring, but we would love to be you". Priceless words he heard every day in the sense of people's looks, their actions, their obvious little expressions. All the men and women around him wanted to be him. All except one. But that one was not present at the moment. All three people looking at him had the same look in their eyes. Wide pupils, increased breath rate, clenched hands about to ruin perfectly good papers... They were obvious. Far too obvious. The man himself lay in a large bed, intended for two people. His old head still containing short brown hair with red lines lay on the pillow on the right, the pillow on the left still present for unknown reason. His sharp bright green eyes almost illuminated the room all by themselves. His skull features were not obstructed by his skin whatsoever, making most people question how something that looks this dead is still alive. Those who knew him in person would also add a "why" to a "how". A wide open smile he had at the most inappropriate moment to have one didn't help the slightest.
"Mister Osborn, this is the time you name your successor.", said one of them to the man. Two people were each on the speaker's right and left. One of them was an old man, not as old as Osborn himself, but quite old. The roundness of his craggy face could only be matched by his ridiculously square jaw that most superheroes would envy. Sadly, he used short black hair and tiny moustache to complement the look, but it never actually complemented, only caused endless jokes about his relations to a certain xenophobic mass murderer. Right now he sat on a chair, holding his infamous jaw with his clenched hands, turning the attention of his gray-blue eyes to the others.
On the speaker's right there was a woman. Fairly young to attend something like this, she looked dignified despite her age, keeping her sculptured face in a serious, calm, reserved expression. Her prominent chin and straight eyebrows would finish the picture, if it hadn't been for her strangely fully white long curly hair, despite the woman barely being half the age of someone commonly having hair this white. She held a paper titled "Inheritance Tax Evasion" in front of herself, consumed fully in reading it, ignoring the speaker.
The speaker himself was a younger man. His sharp onyx eyes would be the most striking feature of his, had he not used old-fashioned round glasses that he had to fix every five seconds. His high and wide cheekbones were also handicapped by his rather unkempt blond hair. He held a pen and a sheet of paper. The pen already made a large dot on the paper, and the speaker held it really close, drilling Osborn with his eyes for an answer.
"You two... get out. I will name my successor only to Menken.", Osborn's quiet, fading voice was barely heard through the knocks of rain. Two people on the speaker's left and right instantly turned their gazes to one another. After a large sigh, the older man stood up first and walked out. The woman followed him out with a satisfied smile. Only the speaker remained on his chair.
"Now then, Menken..." said Osborn, slowly raising his hand to point at the wardrobe. "Bring me my face."
Menken left the pen and paper on his chair, rose up and headed for the wardrobe. Upon opening it he was attacked by a cloud of dust, stunning him for a bit with a peculiar urge to cough. Using nothing but his sense of touch, Menken found something resembling a mask. He took it out and examined it with his own eyes. The mask was mostly green and made of leather, save for the purple cloth pointy hat on it, a few parts of said hat jointed together. The mask itself had a face on it. Well, by a very loose definition of face. Its long ears, long nose, and a pointy chin were only overshadowed by large yellow eye pieces. Menken briefly wiped some dust off it and walked over to Osborn. Osborn leaned his head forward, allowing Menken to put the mask on him. Some clicking noises later the yellow eye pieces began to emit light from the inside, while the mask's mouth began to move correspondingly with Osborn's mouth.
"You remember the plan, don't you, Menken?" Osborn's voice changed drastically from deep and natural to high-pitched with synthetic notes. Menken nodded without a word while sitting down and taking his pen and paper again.
"Then you shall write my successor down.." Osborn coughed through some static noise in the mask. "His name is Peter Benjamin Parker."
Menken silently wrote the name down and handed Osborn the paper. Osborn took it and the pen, writing down a bunch of gibberish under the "Signature" section. After that Osborn put the pen and paper down on his bed. Osborn's smile widened, the static noise got mixed with his quiet laugh.
"Do you hear me, Parker?", said Osborn, still laughing through the static.
Osborn's laugh became loud enough to echo itself through the entire penthouse, mixing with the static and rain knocks into a unique cacophonia.
"I would be a lousy father if I left without teaching... my final lesson..." , the mask gave a clapping noise, and the static ended. Osborn opened his mouth again, but no sound came out. The yellow light from his eye pieces slowly faded as well. Osborn fell on the bed, his mask still maintaining the smile until another clapping noise disconnected it from his own mouth and the mask loosened. The last light was shed on Osborn's lifeless face.
Norman Osborn is dead.
New York Central Bank, 2nd of March, 4:00 PM
"Here's your papers, mister Menken.", behind the half-glass half-concrete wall sat a woman. One hand of hers held papers of importance and the other was busy turning to the next page of a shiny magazine. Menken, who stood on the other side of the wall, was able to see what was the title on the page. "It Can Be Told Now - Oscorp Working Conditions" was the title of that page. Next to the magazine there was a small grey card with a black "G" letter written on it with what seems to be a cheap marker. Menken turned his eyes away and instead focused on the small window through which he received the important papers. He opened his briefcase, which had more papers, a purple leather glove, and a bunch of differently colored vials. Throwing the papers into his briefcase without as much as a look, he raised his right hand, the one with a large silver watch on it.
"I'm ahead of schedule. Good.", he let out a breath of relief and closed the briefcase. In a hurry to leave as soon as possible he missed a sound on his left. Thanks to the panicked screams around him and people running away, plus his own two eyes looking at his left, he was able to deduce that the sound was coming from an armed helicopter.
Without any signs of hesitation, Menken slid under a nearby table and activated a button on his watch. Within seconds his body was covered by a thick layer of shiny metallic goo. After a few sparkling noises Menken disappeared from sight. Just in time the windows of the room shattered, thanks to a small missile the helicopter fired. Menken didn't see the explosion itself, but it did knock the table he's been hiding under. The table's lifespan ended due to smashing against the opposite wall, but Menken could use his state of invisibility to hide in a nearby corridor and see the show.
"This is a raid! Everybody get down!", Menken heard a voice spoken loudly, suggesting a megaphone. The helicopter turned to the side and allowed four shadowy figures to jump into the room. They were wearing navy blue combat suits with gray bulletproof vests resembling those of SAS, with gas masks and helmets on their heads. Menken also saw that the helicopter pilot wore the exact same uniform, save for the colors on the suit and the vest being swapped compared to other members of the assault team. But Menken's focus on him was short, due to the pilot turning his helicopter around and heading away from the bank. The four attackers were armed with two M4 assault rifles and two M37 shotguns respectively. They aimed those weapons at the poor bank employees and clients who couldn't escape in time. Menken has noted another sound. A "thwip" sound.
"Daylight bank robbery? With an obvious helicopter of evil? Really? Why not also announce your intentions with a calling card or something?", the robbers heard a familiar voice behind them. Instantly the two with M4 rifles turned around and unloaded their clips into the window hole they themselves just busted through. When their trigger-happy tempers allowed them to stop firing, they realised every shot either is in the floor or is still flying somewhere in the air. Two hands emerged from outside, both making a gesture of closed middle and ring finger, while the rest of the hand is open. Out of those hands two lines of webbing came out, attaching themselves to both of the M4 rifles. The robbers previously holding those rifles stepped back, pointing at those with shotguns. They looked at each other, and after a muffled growl from both at the same time they stepped forward, pointing their shotguns down. They once again looked at each other, due to finding nothing outside under the broken window. Then they felt an awkward sensation of hands touching their heads from above. Those hands crashed their heads against each other, and then pushed them back into the building. Their weapons fell down with M4s from before. The two remaining robbers, now disarmed, stepped back as a figure jumped into the room.
"I mean really, just because bigger octopi with doctorates aren't around to guide you in the ways of crime...", The figure was a man wearing a head-to-toe spandex costume, mostly blue with red gloves, boots, mid-section with higher half of his arms, and the mask. The red portions of the costume also had a black web pattern all over it, starting between the eye pieces of the mask, which were white pieces of plastic with black outlines.
"...doesn't mean you get to be this incompetent!", he once again closed his middle and ring finger in each hand, pinning two unconscious robbers to the floor with webbing. One of them ran forward directly at the man in spandex and opened up with a straight jab to the face. Which was caught by the man.
"You guys really aren't from these parts, are you? Do you even know who I am?", said the man right before throwing a swift punch directly to the robber's stomach. The robber fell down, holding his stomach with his hands and moaning in pain through his gas mask, creating only muffled unrecognizable sounds.
"Spider-Man!", yelled the voice of the last robber.
"Oh, you do know. Such a reli... uh-oh.", Spider-Man stopped in his tracks. In front of him was the last robber, holding a Desert Eagle handgun and pointing it to a man in front of him. That man cowered his hands with his head, sobbing quietly. His formal attire suggested he was one of the bank employees.
"Please... I have a son...", he said through sobbing.
"Yeah? Well, I have a son too.", said the robber.
"Easy. Just let him go. I'm not gonna attack you.", said Spider-Man, while raising his arms. The robber quickly raised his gun and pressed the trigger. The bullet hit the ceiling.
"What the hell... let go of me!", yelled the robber while his hands were grabbed by something.
"Now, Spider!", a female voice was heard behind the robber. Spider-Man nodded silently and threw a line of webbing, which attached itself to the robber. Spider-Man then pulled it, launching himself directly at the robber and crashing them both into the wall, with a figure rolling to the side and the hostage lying down, both avoiding getting hit.
"I shall now directly address the cat in the room.", said Spider-Man, turning to the woman who was just now behind the robber. She wore a black skin-tight leather body suit, with white gloves and boots, them ending white fur. The centre of her suit was extremely low-cut, complementing itself with a large fur collar. To this day, Spider-Man still has no idea how that even holds together. Anyway, her eyes were covered by large goggles, their shape and color strongly resembling eye pieces of Spider-Man's mask. And, with her long curly hair, she needed only one thing to complete the picture. A wide slightly open smile on her full lips.
"So, Black Cat, what's a kitty like you doing in a place like this?", Spider-Man slowly backed away from her, his hands in front of him.
"The Silvermane Diamond that doesn't know it's mine yet is kept here.", the woman known as Black Cat approached Spider-Man, wiggling her hips back and forth.
"Maybe... it's perfectly content in its... willful ignorance?", suddenly, Spider-Man heard beeping in his head and his vision flashed red outlines for less than a second. He crouched down and sent a fist behind landed right between the legs of a robber who was trying to grab Spider-Man with both of his arms. In a loud yet muffled scream the robber was sent a few feet back and landed into a table, shattering its poor wooden defenses with his mass.
"Wachoooooooow... ", Spider-Man kept the pose for five seconds, shouting in an oriental accent of lackluster quality and accuracy. He ended it with the intention to get up, but it was interrupted by Black Cat pinning him down on the floor by the shoulders.
"How does that little sense of yours work? All the years we've known each other, and I never asked.", said Black Cat, licking her lips.
"Well it's a complex biological analysis machine that works twenty-four seven. It accesses the situation and detects strong possibilities of damage towards itself and therefore me. Part of it is a neurological scanner detecting brain patterns that equal hostile intentions...", Spider-Man began to speak in a sped up quiet tone.
"Oh I love it when you technobabble", she whispered.
"Well actually it's biobabble...", Spider-Man's attention got stolen by several bank employees, standing around him and Black Cat with their eyes open wide.
"This is not what it looks like! Or sounds like! Or.. feels like...", Spider-Man pointed at each of the bank employees in a row, like a scolding parent points at their children.
"Why haven't you all evacuated yet anyway?", said Spider-Man, yet they all continued to be standing there. Spider-Man moaned and cleared his throat with a cough,
"Ok. There is a giant bomb that will turn this place into a rubble in four minutes! Run, for drama's sake!", everyone's eyes widened, following with a loud screaming chorus, culminating in a stampede that almost costed the door its hypothetical life.
"I wouldn't have minded the audience.", said Black Cat. She stood up and walked away for a short distance, right before stopping and turning around. She put her right leg in front of her left leg, setting them apart at shoulder-width. She also stretched out her right arm at full length in front of herself, while her other arm was placed right in front of her torso.
"Shall a fine gentleman such as you grant a lady this dance?", she clenched and unclenched her fists for a second, and claws came out from each of her fingers.
"A lady? You? That'd be the day.", he leapt forward, firing a thin line of web directly at the Black Cat.
She leaned her torso to the side and slashed the web with claws on her left hand. Spider-Man landed with a roll forward, ending in two shots of web balls, one from each hand. Both of them hit the glass wall instead of Black Cat, who jumped forward with a raised leg. That raised leg met Spider-Man's crossed forearms above his head, which pushed Black Cat into landing via a somersault.
"I'm having way too much fun!", said Black Cat loudly with a smile. Now being close to Spider-Man, she opened up with two swift horizontal slashes of her claws in a row.
"So am I, it's been a while!", Spider-Man smiled under the mask while using his forearms to deflect Black Cat's slashes. A quick backflip from Spider-Man increased the distance between them again. Black Cat dashed forward.
"Beep, beep!", that was the sound of a phone inside Spider-Man's belt. He pulled it out with one hand, putting the other one in front of himself with vertical palm and fingers. Black Cat stopped after struggling with inertia for a bit and resulting in a screeching sound.
"Oh, hi!", said Spider-Man through the phone.
"Hey tiger, what do you want for dinner?", a female voice was heard on the other end.
"But wasn't it my turn to cook today?", he walked around the room while talking. Black Cat waved her hand at him as he walked right past her.
"Sure would be, but i'm off from work early, and you are still fighting bad guys, right?", Spider-Man raised his pointer finger after the voice on the phone said that, as if it could be seen.
"I... I got nothing. You win.", Spider-Man lowered his finger. Black Cat stood in front of him with crossed arms and a fiercely dissatisfied frown. Spider-Man turned to the right.
"Ha! The Spectacular Mary Jane Parker triumphs once again!", her follow-up laugh was so loud it was heard by others through the phone and even woke up one of the attackers.
"So, what do you want added in the soup? Carrots or onion rings?", said Mary Jane.
"Hang on a second, I need an opinion. Hey you!", Spider-Man pulled the now awakened attacker. "What's your name?"
"Robert Banks... the Third...", he whispered through his gas mask.
"Oh for the love of... so, what would you like in a soup, carrots or onion rings?", said Spider-Man, still holding him by the collar.
"Wha... what kind of a que... c-carrots?", after answering he found himself at the receiving end of Spider-Man's punch and went back into the dreamland.
"Onion rings.", Spider-Man went back to phone. "Or, you know what, let's just go to Harry's today."
"You sure? He hasn't been himself lately...", said Mary Jane.
"Exactly, we can check in on him."
"Ok then. I'll be there in half an hour."
"Splendid." He hung up the phone, put it back into his belt.
"So where were we... Cat? Kitty?", he didn't see her anywhere in the room.
"Huh. Oh well.", he fell on a nearby chair, pressing some more buttons on his phone. "Hey, got some robbers webbed in Central Bank. Bring your shiniest handcuffs. With love and caution, Spider-Man"
New York Rooftops, 2nd of March, 4:00 PM
In a typical New York afternoon, citizens of all streets sometimes look at their windows in hope of witnessing something special. Today, as usual, some of them got lucky. A web line was attached to the building containing such lucky fellows, with Spider-Man on the other end using it to swing forward. His head was faced forward, and he continuously fired web lines upwards, switching from one to another. Sometimes, he'd put his hand up for just a second and adjust it until red outlines in his vision and beeping in his ears ends and then fire the web line. All while checking out the confused looks of those lucky enough to witness him swinging around.
"Wo-hoo, go Spidey!", yelled someone in the crowd. Spider-Man waved that person back. The beeping and red outlines intensified.
"Wo-hoo to you too, fair ci... OW!", Spider-Man felt something very solid and hard crashing right into his face. When he detached his head from that object, he realised that he had in fact crashed into a billboard. Having both his hands and feet still on the vertical billboard, he kept sticking on it for a while, shaking his head. He then jumped high and landed on one of the rooftops.
"Yeah, yeah, should have listened to Spider-Sense, shut up...", he whispered very quietly to himself. He checked out the positioning of nearby windows.
"Ok, no one is looking.", he whipped out a small photo camera and attached it to the rooftop door. Some webbing kept the camera from falling.
"Now comes the fun part". Spider-Man positioned himself in a way that the camera is facing his side.
"Five... four... three... two... one!", he leapt forward and then used the web line to pull the camera back to him. He turned it around and saw himself mid-leap on the photo preview.
"Perfect.", he saved the photo, cleaned up the camera from webs, and put it back into his belt.
"Praise be Dormammu!", suddenly Spider-Man heard a voice from down on the street. He turned his eyes to the source of the sound. The source was a group of people with protest signs blocking the street. The signs displayed such delightful slogans as "World under Dormammu" or "Dormammu will return".
"Why not pick someone nicer to worship... one that doesn't need a fiery pit of evil doom?", said Spider-Man quietly while applying his palm directly to his forehead. With one palm of his still stuck in that position, he swung away.
Daily Bugle, 2nd of March, 4:10 PM
"Aah... aah... aachoo!", not an uncommon sound around Daily Bugle offices. It came from a man around thirty, dressed in blue jeans and a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and unbuttoned collar. He had short brown hair, almost all of it pointing in different directions, giving it the look of messy hair, which it probably was. His face was heart-shaped, it contained a pointed chin and a wide forehead. His high and wide cheekbones always held an awkward, innocent smile. His brown eyebrows had one detail about them - the left one was always higher than the other one. But his large blue eyes weren't misplaced at all.
"Away with you, dust, away with you!" He waved his hand in front of his face. "Aachoo!"
"Parker! Who let you order the dust around? That's my job!", said an old man behind an office desk, who thoroughly enjoyed making his round craggy face move via talking. That and short black hair with very short moustache gave an unfortunate image. His brown business suit didn't really help the situation, and neither did his gruff low voice. Or his table full of papers and variously colored pills.
"Sorry, mister Jameson, it's just that any more of this dust could clarify as a gas attack", Parker wiped his nose after sneezing so much.
"Nonsense, I would never booby-trap my office with gas. Only presidential candidates should do that. To voters. If I was a presidential candidate, I'd rig my voting machines with explosives!", Jameson picked up a cigar and started to smoke it.
"But... you'd then lose...", Parker raised his pointer finger on his right hand.
"Precisely! Being the President sucks anyway. Everything is your fault. Agonizing economy, continued existence of Spider-Man, some whipper-snappers not having iPhones for Christmas. You know what I wanted for Christmas, Parker?", Jameson threw his cigar out of the open window.
"I can't imagine, Jonah...", Parker rolled his eyes.
"A puppy! Did I ever get one? No! Because life is hard as adamantium balls! Anyway, show me what you've got.", Jonah cleaned a part of the table. Parker nodded and showed a picture of Spider-Man mid-leap on a rooftop.
"Crap. Absolute vomit-inducing trashy disgrace on photographers everywhere. That'll be fifty bucks and it's going on front page.", Jameson handed Parker the money, the latter quietly sighed and took it.
"I can see the headline: Spider-Man on the run! New York's last remaining super villain is still at large!", Jameson stood up.
"All these years, still obsessed over one guy in pajamas, and why?", said Parker.
"I have over fifty reasons, but let me show you one. Tell me, Peter, what do you really think of me?", said Jameson.
"Y-you are a great person and a benevolent boss with sharp sense of style?", Peter scratched the back of his head and smiled awkwardly.
"See? Lies. Now put this on and tell me again.", Jonah pulled a paper bag out of the drawer and put it on Peter's head.
"You lost me...", said Peter.
"Oh right. It doesn't work when I know who you are.", Jameson pulled the bag off Peter and threw it out of the window. "You see, Parker, masks let scumbags do whatever they want."
"But is me telling the truth really that bad?", said Parker.
"No, but it's a start. Then you might be like "Oh, it's ok for me to throw a bomb at that guy, because I am masked and no one will know". Well guess what, I know! I know everything! I even know what Julia Roberts is wearing right now! A thong, by the way. A black one. Point is, masks are like power. Both of them let you to just weeeee off without any kind of moral restraint.", Jonah sat back down, took some pills, and drank a glass of water.
"So... what's your restraint then? You're a person with power.", said Peter.
"My wife. And these pills. And this beautiful open window that I can throw everything out of in case I don't like it. Really helps with anger management. You should have one. Bleh. This pill tastes like Justin Bieber's music. God forgive me for putting those words together.", Jonah threw the pills out of the window. "Ok I'm done. Go get yourself a big open window. Get out."
"Fine, fine... good bye, Jonah...", Peter walked out.
Pizza Spice Blast, 2nd of March, 4:35 PM
Pizza Spice Blast had the misfortune of being placed among fifty other restaurants, but even then, it displayed a distinction. Mainly with being in its own house. House that, sadly, looked like an enormous brick. With a giant "Pizza Spice Blast" logo written in orange letters behind a neon green fire effect. Right over some small windows and a door which Peter knocked and then opened right after. The inside of the restaurant was colored in mostly red and black, with wooden chairs and tables that had very few customers on them looking through menus. One of them waved at Peter.
"Over here!", said the aforementioned customer. It was a woman in a black top and brown jeans. She had long straight unnaturally red hair. Large green eyes, open smile on her full lips. An even larger smile happened when she saw Peter noticing her.
"Coming, MJ!", Peter sat behind her table.
"So, it seems you are kinda-sorta-teeny-bit late.", said Mary Jane in a fake-ish tone normally reserved for lying.
"Well... there was traffic...", said Peter in the same tone.
"Oh I just love that old excuse.", she giggled. "Brings back memories. But... it doesn't really work when I know who you are. I mean, what? Was it a traffic of fifty Spider-Men swinging in rows? Is that even possible?"
"Yes. All dressed up in different costumes. And different voices. And one of them has four extra metallic limbs nobody notices.", said Peter, showing the situation with hand gestures.
"Now you're just being silly.", she laughed. "Who was it today? If anyone?"
"Just, like, four guys in gas masks. And Black Cat...", said Peter.
"Her, huh?", Mary Jane lowered her head. "Did you have fun?"
"Not in that way! Not in... any way, really.", Peter scratched the back of his neck.
"Would you like to order something now?", said a monotonous female voice. Both Peter and MJ tracked the source of said voice with their eyes and found that it was coming from a waitress. The waitress in question had tannish skin, brown hair, long oval face, large brown eyes with dark circles around them, and full lips in a frown. Peter and MJ first looked at her, then at each other and sighed in unison.
"Liz, it's us. Peter and MJ.", said MJ.
"Oh right! I'll go call Harry.", she ran off immediately.
"What's the commotion that demands the attention of Harold Osborn?", a tall man in black business suit came in. His eyes were behind massive sunglasses, and his mouth was covered by his hand. He had short brown hair with red lines.
"Harry, it's us. Peter and MJ.", said Peter and MJ in unison, rolling their eyes in perfect sync.
"Oh crap. Now I don't get to look badass.", Harry removed the hand from his mouth.
"How're you holding up, Harry?", said Peter. Harry sighed and sat behind their table.
"Okay. Really, okay. I got everything under control. I'm an Osborn, that's what we do.", Harry maintained a smile.
"Good.", said Peter. "Means I'll still have time to beat you in Street Fighter 4."
"Ha! Not in a million years.", Harry shrugged with his hand. "But really... there is no time. I'm sorry, but I'm kinda busy."
"It's ok. We'll just have a pepperoni pizza here and leave.", said Peter.
"Thank you. Oh and by the way... Donald Menken was here.", said Harry.
"Menken? Why?", said Peter.
"Looking for you. He said he'll drop by May's place next.", said Harry. Peter's eyes widened. He and MJ both stood up, and ran out of the restaurant.
"Guess that means no pizza.", Harry walked out and headed to the restroom. There he found the nearest mirror and a sink. He took off his sunglasses, and used the sink to wash his face. He looked in the mirror and saw his own shining green eyes. He closed them and put the sunglasses back on.
Abandoned Subway Station, 2nd of March, 6:00 PM
"Aaachoo!", not an uncommon sound in dusty abandoned stations either. This particular sound belonged to Black Cat, who crawled her way through rows and rows of various used technology. Metallic snake-like objects, a green still sharp sting, a cracked crystal ball, a yellow costume with fishnets all over it. But at the end of the mountain of used tech there was a short bald man in a strangely clean white lab coat. That man pulled out a dusty gas mask and attached it to a nearby oxygen tank.
"Do you have the diamond?", he said through the mask, not turning around and thus not facing Black Cat.
"Sorry. There have been complications. Not just Spider-Man. Someone else is after it.", said Black Cat. She looked at a yellow belt with a green button on its centre and reached out for it. Noise immediately began to emit from the piles of technical rubble, and eventually sentry guns rose from that rubble, all pointing at Black Cat.
"No diamond... no deal.", said the old man.
Aunt May's Home, 2nd of March,6:00 PM
"Aunt May, hold on!", Peter yelled, kicking the door inside. He ran into the house, Mary Jane right behind him holding a Beretta handgun.
"My, what's with the noise?", said an old lady behind the table. Donald Menken sat with her.
"Mister Parker, please watch the news.", said Menken.
TV News
It has been announced today, that New York's leading philanthropist and CEO of Oscorp Industries Norman Virgil Osborn passed away. What will happen to his company and will his son, Harold Theopolis Osborn, take the position, is yet unknown.
Aunt May's Home
"Actually it is known.", said Menken. "Mister Parker, this position is yours."
End Chapter One