XXXVI. Conclusion

At the Osborn penthouse in Manhattan, Harry stormed and raged around his father's study. It wasn't fair. There was nothing that Shaw or any of the other lawyers on his team could do; the injunction was legal and binding. Until he turned eighteen, and probably for a long while after that, he was effectively ousted from Oscorp's upper management. His life was in a shambles now. His parents were gone. He was grudgingly coming to accept the possibility that his father might have been the villain that everybody said he was. And all of his dearest friends had betrayed and lied to him.

Angered beyond measure, he picked a paperweight up off his father's desk and felt its heft in his hand. Were his so-called "friends" laughing at him now? Poor little Harry, who didn't have any powers and didn't have a clue? Even if his father had been a villain, he'd started to turn things around near the end. Norman was actually talking to Harry, spending time with him, being a real father—and then, just like that, he was gone. Peter, Mary Jane, Gwen, and Felicia: somehow, they were all responsible. His rage suddenly boiled over, and he hurled the paperweight at the nearest breakable surface—a floor-length mirror that hung from the study wall, between two ugly tribal masks.

To Harry's great astonishment, the object shattered the mirror and sailed right on through, into the empty space beyond. A secret chamber… behind his father's study? Amazed, he walked over to the broken mirror and peered inside. Tripped by proximity sensors, lights came on within the chamber ahead, revealing racks upon racks of weapons. Pumpkin bombs and missiles, razor bats, goblin armor, a glider… and a hideous green mask that Harry knew all too well.

So it was true then. His father was a criminal. "Dad… how could you?" he whispered.

Harry stepped into the chamber, past the broken glass, and examined the gear. There was no mistaking the Green Goblin's weaponry. MJ's parents… countless others… Norman Osborn had been their reaper. He was the man behind the mask. That leering face had been the last, awful sight his many victims would ever see.

At last, Harry's eyes fell upon the vapor-inhalation chamber, and the rows of glowing green tubes of concentrated liquid 00Z. His gaze roamed from the gas-chamber and the performance-enhancers, back over to the goblin-gear, and an idea came to him. It was radical, but… he could do it.

Harry had never been much of a scientist. That was his father, or Peter, or Gwen. He'd always been more of a people-person, like MJ. But he knew his way around computers and gadgets. Even if he didn't understand scientific concepts easily, he knew how to tinker with tech. To be sure, he was no Tony Stark; and this goblin-gear was a little more complicated than a hot-rod engine or a motherboard. But with the right set of tools, maybe a blow-torch and a soldering-iron… even with his funds momentarily curtailed after Ratha and Menken's hostile-takeover-of-his-takeover, he could still afford the supplies he needed to get to work.

He could do this.

• • •

It was the middle of November, and Wilson Fisk was sitting on a beach in Tahiti, sipping Mai Tais. He and Hammerhead had been forced to evacuate from Fisk Tower rather abruptly by helicopter, after the Punisher—that vile, self-righteous psychopath—had come knocking on his door with some heavy artillery. As Fisk sipped his drink—it was perfect, as was the sunny weather—he read through a copy of the New York Times. Fisk was able to get the Times here, at least. It didn't mention him at all, but doubtless the Daily Bugle, the rag published by that hack Jameson, would be printing all kinds of garbage about him now. Oh, well. As long as the rumors weren't making their way into respectable circles yet, there was still a chance that he'd be able to get back into the country soon.

There was one small note in the newspaper that caught Fisk's eye: it was an obituary for Spencer Smythe. Apparently, the Punisher had stormed Fisk's Spider-Slayer production facility as well, and old man Smythe had caught a bullet in the head. Two ramifications came to mind upon learning this new fact: for one thing, he could stop diverting funds into medical research for Alistair's sake. Unless, of course, the insufferable boy-genius continued to work for him as a hacker. He was annoying, but he had talent that Fisk was still willing to pay for. For another, that meant that his private security initiative was now on life-support. With no Spider-Slayers and no super-soldiers, his only hope rested with the Chameleon successfully carrying out Fisk's last set of instructions.

Fisk reasoned that he would have to place another phone-call to the States, get in touch with Chameleon and make sure he accomplished his mission.

In the meanwhile, it might behoove him to take a little trip to Switzerland, to visit with Vanessa and Richard. It would do him some good, perhaps, to see his wife and son for a time.

For a brief instant, Wilson Fisk wondered what crime in New York City would be like without him. Doubtless, it would be an untenable business proposition without a man of his acumen guiding the reins. In that respect, at least, he felt secure in position. Crime in New York would wait for its Kingpin to return.

• • •

New York City got very cold in November. In fact, the snow was already coming down hard. Well, it was really more like sleet, at least at this time of the year. Because of that, Peter was as thrilled as he was astonished when he opened the large package that arrived in the mail one afternoon in late November, sent from Dr. Bruce Banner, care of Avengers Tower. Inside, he found four costumes—temperature-regulating thermal costumes, designed with the latest in Stark technology—one each for himself, MJ, Gwen, and Felicia.

Aunt May and Gwen were both hanging around in the Parkers' living-room when Peter opened this "early Christmas present". Gwen was just as ecstatic as Peter, and she was eager to try the new costumes out. "Now we can go web-slinging and fighting crime without freezing our asses off!"

"Language!" tutted May. She held up the scarlet costume intended for Mary Jane. "Those SHIELD people must really like you kids… You'll have to write them a nice thank-you note."

"If they like us so much, they can put us on the payroll," said Peter. "Then I'll send a Hallmark card." He held up and examined his own new costume. The proportion of blue to red was a little different than his old suit, and the eye-pieces looked more silver-gray than white, but it was still a pretty good look. He could probably pull it off. He turned to Gwen and said, "Want to try these out?"

"Do I ever!" she answered. "Get MJ over here, quick. She's gonna love these…"

Peter shrugged. "We might as well go out and take this last one over to Felicia in person."

"Cool idea," said Gwen. She was already running upstairs to change into her new threads.

Peter turned to Aunt May and said, "I, uh, I guess we'll be back in a little bit."

"Try to be back by dinnertime," said May. "Otherwise call; you know the drill."

Peter nodded and went next door to go see Mary Jane.

• • •

MJ was sitting in her bedroom, scribbling in a diary when Peter arrived. He'd opened the unlocked front door of her house and gone right up—Anna Watson was at work, as usual, leaving MJ home alone. "Hey, Tiger," she said, getting up to greet him. "Come here; I want to try something." Then she crawled up the wall and clung to the ceiling. Peter leapt up to join her; once he did so, MJ suddenly grabbed his head and kissed him. Peter felt himself swoon—but then, that could have just been the blood rushing to both their heads.

"Whoa," said Peter, "That was… tell me again why we aren't doing that all the time?"

"I know, right?" said MJ. "I think we just hit the jackpot on makeout techniques."

Peter happened to glance down at the bed then, where he saw MJ's open diary. She was making a list: he saw the Jackal and the Punisher at the top, but also the X-Men and the Fantastic Four. "Whatcha doin'?" he asked.

"Oh, uh… it's nothing," she said. "It's stupid." She let herself fall back down onto the bed and closed the book.

Peter jumped down and sat beside her. "No, really. What is it?"

Finally, MJ admitted, "I was trying to make a list of everyone who knows my secret identity. It's a really long list."

"Yeah," said Peter. "But we only really have to worry about the bad guys who know. Norman Osborn is dead, Miles Warren is in a coma…"

"The Punisher," said MJ quietly. Then she looked down and whispered, "And Harry."

"I don't think we'll run into the Punisher again anytime soon," said Peter. "He ran the Kingpin out of town! More stories are coming through the Bugle office every day: he's back to chasing real criminals, trying to take down the Kingpin's whole organization."

"For now. But what if he comes after us again?"

"Hopefully, if that happens, there won't be any vampires or werewolves around to distract us, and we can all gang up on him and kick him in the head," said Peter.

MJ giggled at that. But then she sobered almost instantly. "And what about Harry?"

"Are you worried that he's going to try and pull something? Out our secret identities?"

"Maybe," said MJ. "I've tried to call him. But he won't pick up."

Peter sighed. "Maybe we should go check up on him; see how he's doing."

"No costumes," said MJ. "No webs. Just… us. Being normal. Maybe that would help."

"It might," said Peter. "…Oh! Speaking of costumes, that's why I came over here. You're gonna love this—"

• • •

As predicted, MJ very much liked her gift from Banner and Fury. Soon, the spider-heroes were webbing their way towards Manhattan. Peter had called ahead to ask Felicia to meet them on the rooftop of her apartment building; and, a short while later, the trio arrived to find her waiting for them. Peter presented Felicia with the new costume. "Check it out," he said. "Courtesy of Stark Industries and SHIELD."

"Spiffy," said Black Cat, examining the costume. She noticed that this particular cat-suit zipped all the way up in front, where her old costume had tended to show off a lot of cleavage. She wondered if she could maybe modify this one.

"We're gonna go patrolling around the city," offered Gwen. "You wanna come with?"

"Love to, but can't," said Felicia with a roll of her eyes. "I've got a thing tonight, with mother. It's a whole 'rich people, philanthropy, dinner' thing. Snore…"

"I'll remember to play a tiny violin for ya," said Gwen.

While they were talking, Mary Jane happened to glance into the sky, where she saw a ball of orange flame streaking through the air in the general direction of the Baxter Building. "Hey, isn't that Johnny?" she asked. And so she and Peter started waving their arms and calling out to him.

The Human Torch spotted his friends trying to hail him from a rooftop; he turned in mid-flight, soared over to where they were standing, and extinguished his flames as he alighted onto the roof. "Peter, Mary! What's up? Long time, no see—hey, are those new costumes?"

"Never mind that; where've you been all this time?" asked Peter.

"Ugh… long story," said Johnny. "Reed opened this portal to some creepy other dimension, and we all got sucked in and stuck there for a little while. No biggie."

"How is visiting another universe not a 'biggie'?" asked Peter. "I don't get to visit other universes! I would love to be able to visit other universes—"

"I'll be sure to invite you along the next time Reed has a lab-accident," said Johnny. Then his eyes fell upon Felicia and Gwen. "What have we here? Hello, ladies…" He pushed past Peter and MJ, turned on the charm, and flashed them both a toothy grin.

Felicia put her hands on her hips and said, "Actually, I was just leaving. Peter, MJ—if either of you run into Harry, can you tell him that I'd like to see him? Every time I call his penthouse, Bernard answers and says that 'Master Harry' isn't taking any calls—"

"Of course," said MJ. "In fact, we were going to go find him later, to see how he's doing."

"Good," said Felicia. "Thanks for the new threads; catch you on the flip-mode." She waved her friends goodbye and disappeared through the roof-access door, back down into her apartment building.

Johnny turned to Gwen, offered his hand, and said, "I haven't seen you around. Are you new? I'm Johnny Storm, of the famous Fantastic Four—"

Gwen answered by taking out her cell phone and said, "Yeah, I know. Gimme your phone number, like, right now."

Johnny was confused, but also kind of flattered. "My… phone number? Uh, sure." He rattled off the number and then added, "Wow, you work even faster than I do."

"You call that fast?" asked Gwen. "I've been wanting to call you forever, but this lunkhead—" she pointed at Peter, "keeps forgetting to hook us up."

Johnny glanced at Peter; then he stared at Gwen, his brow furrowed. Finally, it came to him. "Gwen!?"

She drew back her hood and pulled off her mask. "Who else? But you can call me Spider-Woman too; or Sparks. They're all cool."

"Cool," said Johnny with a nod. "Say, listen: Reed, Sue, and Ben are expecting me home later tonight. We're gonna do kind of a family movie-night thing. Nothing special, just popcorn and cheesy action-flicks. But… you want to come along? All three of you, I mean?"

"Yeah, sure," said Gwen. "That sounds really great." Her eyes were fixed on Johnny now, and she was idly playing with her hair. (Peter was a little surprised at that. He never saw Gwen doing anything even remotely flirty.)

"Of course, in the meanwhile, the two of us could go hang out…?" suggested Johnny.

"Now you're talking," said Gwen. She put her mask back on and said to Peter and MJ, "Don't wait up for us. Tell May I won't be home for dinner."

"Eight o'clock at the Baxter," added Johnny. "Popcorn. Eighties movies." Then he ignited his flames again and lifted off the ground. As he turned to fly away and Gwen spun an organic web-line, he asked, "So… you're Spider-Woman now, huh? You totally have to tell me how that happened."

"Yeah, sure," said Gwen. "Say, we should totally do a super-hero team-up sometime!"

"Totally," agreed Johnny. Gwen swung off, and Johnny flew away beside her.

Once they were alone, Peter turned to MJ and asked, "Are we ever that bad?"

"Oh, we're way worse, Tiger." She peeled up her own mask and Peter's, and they shared a steamy kiss in the freezing cold of New York in November.

• • •

And so Peter and Mary Jane turned their web-slinging towards Harry's penthouse. They ducked into an alleyway and changed back into their street-clothes (which at this time of the year included heavy sweaters and thick hooded-sweatshirts; both were much easier to squeeze into a web-bag slung across one's back than, say, a downy winter coat). They went inside the building and rang the penthouse; Bernard answered and buzzed them up.

A short while later, the doorbell rang. "Master Harry," shouted Bernard. "You have visitors!"

Harry appeared at the top of the spiral staircase that ran from the living-room up to his father's study. "What kind of visitors?"

"Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson, sir. Your friends."

Harry seemed a little distracted and indecisive as he replied. "All right, uh… show the Watson-Parkers in and get them some food. I'll be right down." Then he disappeared back up into the study.

"Very good, Master Harry." Bernard opened the front door. "Master Parker. Miss Watson. How very good to see you again."

"Hello, Bernard," said Peter.

"Is Harry here?" asked MJ.

"In his father's study," said Bernard. "He says he'll be right down. Would you care for anything while you wait?" He showed Peter and Mary Jane over to the sofa, where they sat and waited for several minutes.

Time dragged on, and still there was no sign of Harry. Bernard bustled about in the kitchen, preparing snacks and drinks. Those came out and were shortly consumed, and still Harry didn't come down.

"Maybe we should go up and check on him," suggested MJ.

"Very good, Miss," said Bernard. He set about tidying up the living room, giving the two visitors his tacit permission to go find Harry on their own.

And so, with a shrug and a quiet look shared between them, Peter and Mary went upstairs. The study was empty. It was still decorated in the same ugly style that Norman Osborn had preferred—leering tribal masks hanging on all the walls. Those faces reminded MJ of a goblin mask and gave her the shivers.

"Harry?" Peter called out. "Are you here?"

He was answered by the sound of mocking, high-pitched laughter… coming from outside. Just then, something very fast zoomed by the study's open window. Peter and MJ both ran to the window and looked outside.

Peter asked, "Is that… a goblin?"

"Oh my God!" said MJ. "I think it's Harry!"

The object flying outside was indeed a person in high-tech battle-armor, but not the purple of the Green Goblin or the blue of the Hobgoblin—and he wore no rubber mask. The glider had been streamlined into more of a hoverboard; the armor was all gunmetal gray in color; and the grotesque goblin-mask had been replaced by a simple set of tinted goggles set into a shiny chrome helmet.

Harry turned in a tight arc and came to a stop outside his window, hovering in place on the glider-board. He took out a pumpkin-bomb and said, "Well, are we gonna do this, or not?"

"Do what?" asked MJ. "What do you mean?"

Harry's mask and helmet opened up, accompanied by the sound of whirring servos. Once Harry's face was revealed, he rolled his eyes and said, "What do you think I mean? Now, come on. I'll give you five minutes to put your costumes back on. Then you can meet me on the rooftop. I really don't want to have to blow up my own place."

"We don't want to fight you, Harry!" shouted Peter.

"But you will," said Harry, leaving the unspoken threat to linger between them. "Five minutes." He lifted up to the top of the building and was soon out of sight.

Peter and MJ were both panicking now as they stripped out of their clothes and put their masks back on. They crawled up the side of the building and onto the rooftop. Harry waited for them, hovering on his board. "Let's make this short and sweet," he said. "Give me everything you've got; don't hold back. I won't." He threw the grenade, which exploded between Peter and MJ, causing them both to dodge to either side. Then he was launching razor-bats, the automated blades following the two spiders while they ducked and dodged.

"I really hate those things," muttered Peter.

Harry suddenly dove at Peter, who felt it coming with his spider-sense and sprang out of the way; but Harry was pretty fast too. He turned his board sideways in mid-flight and struck Peter on the chest, sending him flying off the building. Mary Jane was behind him almost at once, firing web-lines at Harry's board. Peter, who sailed over the edge of the building, fired web-lines of his own to save himself. Then he stuck his feet to the side of the building and started pulling on the web-lines, so that he could slingshot himself back up.

Harry, meanwhile, produced a new weapon from amidst his goblin-gear—an electrified sword. He cut MJ's web-lines away while his glider fired a few bullets and missiles in her direction. She turned backflips to dodge away from the line of fire and clicked her web-shooters into "impact" mode, just as Peter reappeared, flying straight up at high speed. He shot a couple of web-lines down onto the rooftop to redirect his momentum; they stretched out to their limit, and Peter was snapped back like a living missile, his outstretched leg aimed right at Harry.

Harry didn't see it coming until it was too late; Peter delivered a solid kick to Harry's battle-armored chest. Mary Jane was also taken a little bit by surprise: she'd already been firing a steady barrage of web-balls, and now one of them struck both Harry and Peter and exploded into a mass of entangling glue. Once they were both pasted to the rooftop, Peter said, "It's over, Harry!"

Harry… was laughing. He let his mask open up again and said, "Yeah, it sure is. But… how did I do? Not too shabby for a first-time tryout, right?"

Mary Jane walked over to the both of them and started pulling Peter free of the webs. "What are you talking about?"

"What do you think I'm talking about?" said Harry. "Joining you guys! What do you say—am I on the team?"

Peter was a little stunned. "You… want to join us?"

"Well, duh," said Harry. "You can't expect me to find out that my friends are a team of super-heroes, and then just sit on the sidelines, can you!?" He switched on his electro-sword again and started cutting himself free of the webbing.

"So… you don't want to kill us?" asked MJ. She looked around the rooftop; the bullet-holes and bomb-craters were all quite real. The fight that they'd just been in had certainly felt real.

"Kill you?! Nah…" Harry waved a hand nonchalantly. "You guys are my best friends in the world! I mean, I get that I was acting kind of, you know," he whistled and pointed at his head, "crazy the last time we talked. But that was then. This is now. I've had time to think, and I'm feeling much, much better now." He sniffed, and coughed, and Peter saw a glint of something aggressive in his eyes.

"Harry…" said Peter, disappointment in his voice. "You're on the goblin-gas, aren't you?"

"Yeah? So?" He laughed again, loudly. "I'm not my father! I'm not going to hurt anybody. But I've got power now," he held up one arm and flexed the newly-bulging muscles, "and I've got it all under control. Yeah… under perfect control…"

MJ looked at Peter; in spite of the mask, Peter could tell that she was very worried. He was too. Then MJ said, "Why don't we go back inside and talk this over?"

"That'd be good," agreed Harry.

And so they returned to Norman Osborn's study, and Peter and Mary changed back into their normal clothes, while Harry went into the secret room behind the mirror to remove his armor. A minute later, he came back wearing only sweatpants, with a towel draped across his shoulders. The 00Z had done its work: his physique was positively ripped now.

"Whether you let me in or not," Harry began, "I'm going to do this. I'm gonna be a super-hero, just like you guys. Help people wherever I can!"

"Why?" asked Peter. It was a simple question, but one that everyone present well knew could have a tremendously complicated answer.

Harry closed his eyes, as if dredging up and playing through a series of memories. After a long pause, he said, "Because I have to. To salvage my father's legacy. To make up for what he did." He opened his eyes again and fixed them on Mary Jane. "MJ, I'm so sorry for what my father did to you—and for what I almost did, when I wasn't thinking clearly. Please tell me we're gonna be okay?"

Mary Jane looked into his eyes. He seemed… sincere. More than that… it was him. The real Harry. "There he is!" said MJ, who ran forward and embraced her friend.

"Harry!" said Peter, joining the group-hug.

"Well?" asked Harry with a grin. "Am I in?"

Peter took a step back, and then he put his hands behind his back, like an inspecting drill-sergeant. "You want to join the Spider-Squad? Okay… but you're gonna need a super-hero name."

"Oh," said Harry, his tone suddenly serious. "I hadn't even thought about that…"

"You could go with a color theme," suggested MJ. "We've already got a Scarlet Spider and a Black Cat… you could be the Gray Goblin."

Harry winced. "I don't know; that sounds a little too close to 'Green Goblin'. I want to be a new goblin—a good goblin—something completely different." After a moment's thought, he said, "Maybe I could chrome-plate the armor and call myself… uh… the 'Silver Surfer'?"

"It's taken," said Peter and MJ together.

"Oh, all right," grumbled Harry. "How about… the Rocket Racer! No, that sounds terrible…"

"How about the Gray Glider?" suggested Peter.

Harry shrugged. "That'll work. So… does that mean it's official? We're a party of five now?"

"I guess so," said Pete. "The three of us, plus Gwen and Felicia—"

"Now, Felicia being a super-hero, that I did not see coming," said Harry.

"Oh, believe me," said Pete, "I never would have guessed that either."