Earth-717: Spider-Man Vol 2
Chapter 1: Inferior
"Duck, Parker!"
Peter heard the sentence, but didn't have time to heed it. Flash didn't intend on it anyway, since he yelled at Peter right before the ball smacked him in the back of the head. Peter grabbed at his scalp with both hands and spun around, but Flash was already darting to the other side of the backyard, chortling the whole way as he disappeared into the chaos of other kids.
"You okay, Pete?"
Peter adjusted his glasses before answering Harry. His glasses had been jostled out of place by the ball's impact. Harry was standing in front of Peter.
"Yeah," said Peter. "I'm okay. I guess. Kinda hurts."
"Flash sucks," said Harry, curling his fingers into fists. "I don't know why Gwen invited him."
"Her dad made her invite the class."
"But why him? Ugh!"
Harry kicked at the grass beneath his feet, tearing up some of the dirt with his shoe. Harry crinkled his nose and his cheeks reddened. Flash usually picked on Peter, but was known to mess with Harry and other students in the class too. He knew that feeling of anger when Flash bullied him and got away with it. He saw that anger in Harry's face.
"That's it!" said Harry. "Let's beat him up for a change!"
"Huh? Wait, wait . . . ."
If Harry heard Peter, he didn't seem to care. Harry grabbed the ball off the ground, clutching it with both hands. Snarling, he started marching towards the kids crowded around the playground and swing set, where Flash was talking to Randy. Peter raced out in front of Harry and held out his hands, halting his friend's progress.
"Wait, wait! Don't do it!"
"Why?" asked Harry. "You scared?"
"Sorta."
"I'm not!"
"That's not what I mean. I mean . . . . hitting him back like that, it won't do anything. Flash is a jerk. He's gonna be a jerk. Throw the ball or not."
Harry grumbled and his glare grew more intense. Peter gulped as he wondered if he was making his point, or just redirecting Harry's frustration toward himself. He tried to think of the right way to say what he wanted to say. What he needed to say.
"Don't think about Flash," said Peter. "Think about Gwen."
The lines on Harry's face softened. Peter looked over his shoulder, to where Gwen and more of their classmates were playing. They both looked at their friend, the one with blonde hair, glasses and the eternal headband.
"It's her birthday. Today's about her. You throw a ball at Flash, you might miss. Hit someone else. And it makes you a jerk, like him. On her day. You think she wants a jerk for a friend?"
Harry frowned, lowered his head and shuffled his feet.
"No . . . ."
"Flash will get it one day," said Peter. "But I don't think it should be today. Okay?"
"Okay."
Harry nodded and wandered off. Peter took in a deep breath and then let it out, feeling both a wave of relief and a drop of uncertainty. He felt like he had done the right thing, but he didn't know. Standing alone in Gwen's backyard, with children and parents seemingly everywhere but near him, he certainly didn't feel like anyone cared what he did.
Until he saw Uncle Ben approaching.
"Uh oh."
"Uh oh?" said Ben. "That's not a good greeting."
"Sorry, Uncle Ben," said Peter, twiddling his index fingers against each other. "I'm not, I'm not in trouble, right?"
Ben knelt down in front of Peter so their eye levels were matched.
"Now why on earth would you think you're in trouble?"
Peter once again inhaled and exhaled when he saw Ben's smile. That was at least some of his anxiety relieved.
"I get nervous," said Peter.
"I know," said Ben, nodding. "But you've nothing to worry about, not from me. Because I just saw you do a very brave thing."
"Brave?"
"It's brave to stand up to bullies. It's braver to stand up to friends. I saw you and Harry. Heard what you said. You put Gwen first, and you helped Harry see why he was wrong. You're two for two, far as I see."
Peter couldn't help but smile. Ben nudged his nephew's cheek with his knuckles.
"There's that Parker spirit," said Ben.
"I did the right thing?" asked Peter.
"You did. All on your own. I know Flash makes you mad, and you're right, one day, he'll get his. But you're better than him, and you know how I know? Because being the better person? It's never about doing something for yourself. You become better when you bring out the best in others. That's what you did, right here, for Harry."
"Thanks, Uncle Ben. I feel better."
"Good. Now give me those glasses."
Peter took off his glasses and handed them to Ben. He silently watched as his uncle looked them over before giving them a thorough cleaning with a handkerchief. When he was done, Ben placed the glasses back over Peter's eyes.
"Wow," said Peter. "I can see!"
"What a miracle," said Ben, chuckling.
"Thanks for cleaning them."
"It's my job, Peter. Go. Play with your friends. I'll have a talk with Flash's mom."
Ben stood back up and watched his brother's son rush off to rejoin the party. Ben never had any children of his own, but he'd taken to caring for Peter as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Richard and Mary were gone. Peter's life was torn apart when their plane crashed. Ben figured the best thing he could do was salvage as many pieces as he could.
He didn't know how many years he had left, but Ben knew he'd spend every single one of them trying to make life better for his nephew.
"Mister Osborn. Your eleven o'clock is here. Shall I send her up?"
Norman adjusted the cufflinks on the wrists of his suit. He was facing the window in his office, at the top of Oscorp Tower. From here, just as he could at his penthouse apartment, he could see all of New York. Whether he was in his domestic or corporate life, he always wanted to have a view of the entire city. He told his family it helped centre his reality.
"Yes, please," answered Norman. "Right away."
"Understood, sir."
Norman held his hands behind his back. As he waited for the elevator to bring the woman he was meeting to the top floor, he thought back on all that had transpired in the past few months. He had been betrayed by his former top scientist. A supervillain had directly attacked the tower, resulting in costly repairs that only finished last week. And now he knew something about a project he had placed on hold that he would have to address.
All just pieces of a greater puzzle. Being a man like Norman Osborn meant every day was a chess match, and he always was good at clinching the endgame.
The elevator door opened. Norman made sure to put on a smile before he turned around. Rather than a foot, the first thing to step across the threshold was a cane. Specifically, a transparent glass cane, with an orb atop the shaft. The woman stepped onto the glossy black tiles that made up the floor, her right hand holding the orb.
Norman's smile cracked, but only for a moment. He forced his face into an appealing position as the woman limped towards him. He had been informed as to her condition, but to see someone who looked to be only in her mid-thirties shambling about as if she were well past retirement age stirred something instinctive in him.
This was injustice. Nobody deserved this.
What made it worse was that aside from her posture and her cane, there was nothing physically wrong with her at a first glance. Her physique was normal, her skin healthy, her shoulder length blonde hair's only problem being dishevelled, with some of it flopping over the right side of her face because her neck was crinkled over a bit in that direction. Her white suit was elegant, and clearly of a good designer brand. She presented herself well, given everything.
When she was close enough to his desk, Norman walked around it and held out his hand.
"Welcome to Oscorp. I'm Norman Osborn."
"I'm aware."
Her native Yorkshire accent was immediately apparent. After a second of hesitation, she reached out and shook Norman's hand. He took care to hold her hand delicately and exert little pressure. The handshake completed, she glanced up at Norman's eyes without moving her neck.
"Was quite surprised to get your call, to be honest," she said. "I figure you'd consider yourself my competition."
"I don't consider anyone competition. I simply am willing to recognize when someone makes similar achievements."
"How grand."
The woman looked at the wide window. She moved towards it, stepping slowly with her cane. Norman walked at her side. When she was in front of the window, she placed both hands on her cane's orb, stabilizing herself.
"Jewel of a city."
"Indeed it is," said Norman. "I know the skyline by heart, but I still like to look."
"You situate yourself so far above it all. Almost like you're its master. Makes sense for a man like you, but, I prefer a grounded approach."
"A man like me? I don't know if that's a compliment or a criticism."
"It's neither. It's an observation."
Norman fiddled with the knot of his tie for a moment.
"What did you call me for?" she asked.
Norman walked over to his desk and grabbed the brandy bottle and two glasses out of the top drawer. He poured one glass, and gestured towards the second. The woman shook her head, and Norman placed the bottle down. He picked up his glass and returned to his spot at her side.
"I have a certain problem that I believe you can assist me with."
"How could I assist you, Mister Osborn? My company has had contracts in the States, in England, Russia, Japan, Latveria, Symkaria. I know what pedigree I can offer, but we aren't focused on the same fields. I'm robotics, and you're clearly more interested in genetics."
"I am, but there are certain extenuating circumstances. I've lost two head researchers. My first, Otto Octavius, went rogue. I'm sure you heard of his rampage as Doctor Octopus. My second, Curt Connors, lost his stomach. Said he didn't ethically agree with what I asked of him, and returned to Empire State to teach. Things have become . . . . difficult."
Norman drank his brandy before he continued.
"I realize now that it's not about finding people who have the right talent. It's about finding people who have the right motivation."
The woman raised an eyebrow and craned her neck so it was upright.
"And, if you'll pardon the pun, I believe you could give me the right solution."
The woman laughed.
"Oh dear," she said. "We're already at dad jokes."
"You have dinner with my family, you'll hear quite a few of them," said Norman, smiling for a moment before his mouth closed. "I hope I haven't made you uncomfortable. I know things with your father were tense."
"It's no matter. He's gone now, and all that's left of him are the scars and the stories. Neither one grant him any lasting power. I've taken his name, his company, his legacy, and I've made it into my own. Erased him from it, scrubbed his filth from every brick and pipe. The most fitting revenge is that, in time, no one will remember him but me."
"You've made him irrelevant."
"He always was. He just didn't know it."
Norman nodded as he put down his glass.
"I believe you're the right person for the job."
"You still haven't told me what the job is."
"I always pursue multiple angles with any project," said Norman. "You'll be briefed on all of them. But right now, I have a simple objective. Retrieval, of someone I have reason to believe is Oscorp property."
"Someone? Your property is a person?"
"They became my property when they were changed by one of our experiments."
"Changed?"
Norman reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a large photograph. He handed it to the woman, who looked it over with curiosity in her eyes.
The photograph showed a man in a red and blue costume, swinging through New York City.
"I want you to create something that can find and capture Spider-Man."
"Spider-Man?" she said. "Fascinating."
"Do you believe we can come to an agreement?"
The woman eyed Osborn with a suspicious glare.
"Be certain with your terms then, Mister Osborn. You said find and capture. I don't believe Doctor Connors would balk at the ethics of that. Speak plainly."
Norman's face twitched. She caught him. He cleared his throat before responding.
"Discovering how he was affected by the experiment would likely . . . . more than likely . . . . require dissection. If your solution can kill him, that . . . . would be acceptable."
"You want something that can slay Spider-Man?"
"If need be."
The woman smirked.
"I believe I can do that, Mister Osborn. At the right price."
"Payment will be settled. No objection. Blank cheque."
She held out her hand. This time, Norman shook it more firmly.
"Then we have a deal," she said. "I'll be sending you a contract shortly."
The woman turned back towards the elevator and walked over to it, with more assured steps than when she came in. As she pushed the call button, Norman spoke up.
"Thank you, Miss Smythe. This is important to me."
The woman looked over her shoulder at Norman.
"Please, Mister Osborn," she said, grinning. "Call me Alastriona."