There was little furniture and even less decoration, though the room was considerable in dimension. The walls were bright white, there was no carpet, only ivory marble tile, and the single desk sizable desk appeared to be made from solid steel.
A man sat upright in the chair behind the desk, his elbows on the metal surface, fingers steepled. He wore a clean white lab coat and had dark hair with a pallid face, but his eyes were hidden behind large glasses that reflected the light, keeping a portion of his face from view.
"Carlie Cooper," the man said; his tone had flat note to it, as if he were accustomed to stating only cold, hard fact.
Carlie's mouth went dry, and something nagged the back of her mind. "How do you know my name?"
"That's not important," the man replied, his voice not harsh, only blunt. "I take it that you don't remember me?"
Carlie stared at him. "Should I?"
"It's rather unfortunate for the both of us that you don't," the man stated. "What about Northstar? Can you remember him?"
"What- I don't- vaguely." Carlie was started by demeanor, which managed to be an almost contradictory combination of frank and oblique.
Speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear: Northstar entered the room. He wore a tight, black leather bodysuit with silver accents and a crest on the upper right shoulder, holding a silver tray with a single champagne glass reposing upon it. He offered the tray to the man, who gestured for him to set it on the desk.
Northstar did so, but Carlie half-expected him to pull a knife from his sleeve; his movements indicated to her that he was tense and waiting for something, like a cobra coiled to strike.
"So are you completely unaware of your true origin, then?" The man asked carelessly.
"'Origin'?" Carlie echoed. "What are you talking about?"
"Allow me to explain in an attempt to refresh your memory," the man stated; his tone remained indifferent. "I am Dr. Miles Warren, a biologist. Merely a year ago, when Gwendolyn Stacy was still alive, she was a student lab assistant under my tutelage. I was fascinated by her. She was young, full of vibrance and energy, always striving to improve life for herself and others. She seemed to be the perfect synthesis of the ideal human qualities: bright, inquisitive, ambitious yet compassionate . . . combined with her vivacious charm, I couldn't separate myself from my fixation of her."
"You were attracted to her?" Carlie was disgusted, her outrage overwhelming her nervousness. "Gwen was only sixteen! You're perverse if you think that's acceptable!"
"Foolish girl." There was a vague undertone of anger in Warren's voice. "My interest in Gwendolyn was not of the debased sexual nature, rather, I instead idolized her as a superior being than the rest of humanity. I regarded her as a distant goddess, unreachable but nonetheless awe-inspiring."
Carlie stared at him. "That's still incredibly creepy."
"You're young," Warren remarked, "younger than you even realize. I'm not surprised that you are unable to comprehend my state of mind."
Northstar proffered the glass of champagne once more and Warren accepted the beverage this time.
"What I don't understand is how I'm involved in all of this," Carlie retorted indignantly, ignoring her growing sense of unease.
"I collected cells from Gwendolyn Stacy when she initially began to work here," Warren continued. "She was allowed to assist me because Norman Osborn, the C.E.O. of the corporation who manages this laboratory, offered the program through the science division of the local high school as part of a community outreach program. A public relations stunt, if you will."
He sipped his alcohol. "I was fortunate to obtain cells from another extraordinary young woman as well, by the name Jessica Drew. She was the first 'superhuman', as they're called, with who I came into direct contact. As a biologist and because I was researching the development and cloning of cells, I thought her D.N.A. might prove useful."
Pain briefly flashed over the scientist's features, and he clenched his jaw tightly. "Not long afterward, Gwendolyn was killed by the Green Goblin as a taunt to Spider-Man, and I became obsessed with discovering her killer, and eventually, I did."
"That's not what happened," Carlie objected. "Spider-Man wasn't even involved!" But her mind was whirling, if only she could remember-
"You're incorrect," Warren said blandly. "I tracked the Goblin and uncovered the truth: he is Norman Osborn, the C.E.O. of the very company by which I am employed. But the shock and devastation over Gwendolyn's death drove me to enhance my experiments and create a clone of Gwendolyn, strengthened with the arachnid-like abilities of Jessica Drew."
He gazed directly at Carlie, and she could finally see the eyes behind his glasses: dark, cold, and empty. "You are the clone."
"No!" Carlie exclaimed, but she felt as if she were suffocating; her ears were ringing. "That can't be true!"
"But it is," Warren said flatly. "I gave you life and tried to give you a loving family in order to replicate Gwendolyn's personality. However, you soon realized the truth about your artificial life and rejected your foster family. You confronted me after ransacking my lab and discovering the identity of the Green Goblin and the truth about Gwendolyn's death."
"That's not true," Carlie whispered. Tears dripped down her cheeks. "It's not."
Warren didn't appear to hear her. "I knew that the knowledge that you were an artificial life form would prove unsettling, but the shock and trauma altered your sanity. You shocked me with your mental instability. After that incident, you used a specific pheromone technique gleaned from Drew in order to drug others into loving you. Sometimes though, this backfired, generating anger in the subject rather than adoration. For example, that girl at the Xavier Institute- Rogue?- that one who's partially Kree,- her alien nature rejected your pheromones."
"That's not true," Carlie protested halfheartedly. "My friends from the Xavier Institute love me for who I am."
"They love because I gave you the power to be an object of their affections," Warren responded. "Like an author forcing an undesirable character unto his audience, they love you because I force them to love you."
Warren gazed at Carlie emotionlessly. "Your reaction to those unaffected by your pheromones has always worried me. When you realize that you can't force them into loving, you demonize their every action to the point that indicates psychosis on your behalf. You seem to believe your twisted and biased perceptions in place of the truth."
"Overall, you're delusional, incapable of reconciling yourself with reality. Once I arranged for you to visit Gwendolyn's school, Midtown Manhattan High Magnet High, as a test of your functionality in a normal social setting. You attempted to seduce a boy there by the name of Peter Parker, and attacked his girlfriend, Mary-Jane Watson, when she warned you away. When I discussed the incident later, you told me conflicting stories about Mary-Jane being annoying, or otherwise, as you put it, a 'slutty model.'"
"But- I-" an idea occurred to Carlie, a glimpse of hope to end this surreality, to prove that this was just a bad dream. "But Dr. Strange's card- "
"Another part of your delusions," Warren said dismissively. "Exactly what kind of criminal would leave his calling card for you to find?"
He drained his champagne. "My only current desire in life at the moment is revenge on Osborn for killing Gwendolyn. I suspected you were unstable, but I hoped to salvage some of my work involving your creation. As per my formula for vengeance, I sent you, posing as a young mutant to the Xavier Institute, which I had discovered during my infinite hours of research. I needed the power of Charles Xavier's telepathy to achieve my goals; I plan to use Xavier to brainwash Osborn into handing his corporation over to me, thereby destroying everything he has, the same manner in which he destroyed Gwendolyn."
"Northstar followed you there on my instructions to ascertain discretion, and after you made no progress whatsoever, he also appeared as a student. Your memory of the business card is a complete fabrication, most likely a result of your brain blocking out Northstar's questioning of you. Your mind is unwilling to accept the reality of your situation." He looked at her. "Can you remember any of this, Carlie? I must know, in order to correct these flaws in my next clone."
"No," Carlie gasped weakly through her tears. "None of this . . ."
"Think about it," Miles said. "Do you remember your ambivalent feelings for Spider-Man? You hated him for allowing your other self to die, yet at once admired him for attempting to rescue you."
"I'm not Gwen," Carlie whispered.
"Your knowledge of your other self's death resulted in your absolute desperation to be a hero and appear as a hero and your seething jealousy at anyone else who tries to upstage you," Warren went on. "Additionally, you experienced a simultaneous desire to be close to Gwendolyn but retain a separate identity from her, which explains why you dyed and styled your hair in so many variations and the glasses that you don't actually require to aid your vision. Likewise, in your efforts to be a hero, you began to imagine you possessed the abilities of Spider-Man, including his organic webbing. It somewhat makes sense; I suppose your superhuman traits bear more than a passing resemblance to his."
"Dr. Warren," Northstar said abruptly.
Warren sent him an irate glance. "Yes?" He queried icily.
"I've done everything you've instructed," Northstar said, a quiet note of desperation in his voice. "Please, free my sister and just let us go."
"I can't do that," Warren replied tonelessly. "You know too much, Northstar."
"Then just tell me where my sister is," Northstar said, his voice rasping in his throat.
"Your sister is in the courtyard, Northstar," Warren informed him coldly.
"I just walked past the courtyard on my way here, and it was empty," Northstar said, his gaze intent on Warren.
"Forgive me," Warren replied dispassionately. "I said your sister was in the courtyard. I never said that she was above the ground."
For a split second, Northstar stared at Miles Warren, obvious disbelief clouding his features in a previously unseen display of genuine emotion. Then a hard resolve surfaced in his gaze, and waves of white energy, black at its core, exploded out of the air, throwing Warren back, slamming his body into the wall. He fell to the ground and lay there, unmoving.
Carlie swiveled her head to stare at Northstar.
He swiftly crossed to the door. "I'm leaving." His tone was flat, but there finally seemed to be some life to him, rather than just appearing as an animated corpse. "Are you coming with me?"
Carlie nodded firmly and stood, following him out of the door, leaving Miles Warren and the laboratory behind.
A/N: "They love because I gave you the power to be an object of their affections," Warren responded. "Like an author forcing an undesirable character unto his audience, they love you because I force them to love you."
Any guess who this comment is truly aimed at?