Author's Note: Despite what it looks like for the better part of this chapter, there will be no evil Harry in this fic. Sorry to disappoint anyone who was hoping for that... But hey - Katrina and I are sure to please all the Norman Osborn fans out there with this chapter. ::evil grin:: And how about a big round of applause for our random bad guys, K and Dave? Anyway, read and for Godssakes review (thanks to those of you who already have). We hardly got any reviews for the last chapter... ;-;

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"Ready K?"

A small red-headed boy who couldn't have been more than seventeen years old grinned from ear to ear. "Ya know, ya ask me that every time," the teenager known as K answered. "It's always 'Ready K?' or 'Ready to make an easy thou' K?' And what'd I tell you ever time?"

The taller - and apparently older - of the pair rolled his eyes. "Ya tell me that ya were born ready. And lemme remind ya, this is no joke. If ya want the cash fer the diamonds without gettin' caught, ya gotta take this seriously. Ya think you'dve learned that after a month o' this." Shaking his head, the older boy's filthy brown tresses beat wildly around his face as he realized that the youth would never learn. No matter how long the two of them robbed pawn shops for the expensive, yet easy to carry items. "Yer a joke, K."

Glancing up at the neon sign that proclaimed the building they stood in front of their target, K gave his companion a sour glance. "And yer too serious, Dave."

"Whatever... c'mmon..."

Wrapping a meaty hand around K's arm, the taller man pulled his companion into the store. For a moment, neither man did anything, and then slowly, Dave pulled a gun out of the worn vest-like jacket he wore. "Kindly put any rocks ya got in the bag," he demanded, pushing a thick canvas bag under the shop owner's nose. K, in the meantime, watched their exit.

"So... these are the clowns that have been knocking over pawn shops. Why didn't I catch them before?" Peter, dressed in his alter-ego's costume, muttered, adjusting the angle of his camera as he secured it's position in the arch of a street lamp. These shots would definitely get him some cash, something he needed desperately at the moment.

"I'm a college student with a job and a disgruntled boss who's also very cheap, not to mention I'm a super hero with the powers of a spider. What do they expect me to do, spin gold?" He sighed, swinging himself upside down to stare into the store. There were many ways to approach this situation and many different outcomes. For one, that thief had a gun, and the last thing he needed was for him to start firing it like crazy. "Well," he said to himself, "there's always the surprise tactic." Quickly setting the timer on his camera, Spiderman gracefully leapt from his perch on the light to the side of the pawn shop. He stared down at the door, waiting, ready for the two goons to rush out of the shop.

"Three... two... one..." In an instant, the flash on his camera went off several times. "Come on guys. Get scared and rush out." He remembered using the tactic once before, and hey, why let good things go to waste.

The flash from the camera caught K off guard, making him practically leap five feet in the air. Shooting an uneasy glance first to his companion and then outside, searching for the source of the flash, he frowned. "Hey man... we gotta fly. There's somethin' out there. Cops maybe."

Pushing the muzzle of his gun into the shopkeeper's chest, the taller male snatched the half-full bag and glanced at the red-head. For a moment, he just stared like a deer caught in headlights at the mention of the word cops, and then Dave ran towards the door. K followed on his companion's heels and neither noticed the wall-crawling super hero clinging to the side of the building.

Peter, however, did notice them and didn't hesitate to fling his hand down, webbing flying from his wrist with a natural speed. In only a few minutes, Spiderman had wrapped his fingers around the gun Dave had been holding and had flipped forward kicking K in the stomach and grabbing Dave by the collar of his vest. "And where do you think you're going?" He asked in a light-hearted tone, paying no mind to the flashes that were still emitting from his camera. He shot the tied the two together with his webbing, two flies caught in his web of justice, and strung them around the lamp post.

"End of the line guys." Picking up the bag, the wall crawler tossed it back into the store and leapt up to retrieve his camera. With sirens flooding the air, he bid adieu to K and Dave and was off, leaping tall buildings in a single bound.

*

"....And in other news, two small time pawn shop thieves were apprehended today due to the work of New York's resident guardian angel, Spiderman. The perpetrators - Katon Jones and David Long - "

The television reporter's voice died suddenly as Harry Osborn flicked his television off and set the remote down beside him on the desk. Letting out a heavy sigh, the auburn-haired youth rubbed at the tender flesh underneath a head of hair that had been tinted faintly gray in spots with worry. He had only been head of Oscorp for a little more than a month and it was killing him. But that didn't matter... what did, however, was the fact that things had been running almost as well as they had under his father. Harry had replaced his father's board of trustees with a new set of businessmen and had hired an aide - a young man whose parents owned an aspiring company that was a subsidiary of Oscorp. Profits and stocks were up once again and Quest had yet to become a threat to his company's power. Despite the fact that the company was draining him of what precious youth he had left, his father would have been proud.

And yet, somehow, Harry wasn't. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he still hadn't come up with a way to avenge his father's death. ...No, that wasn't quite the truth. He had found a way, but it involved one turbo-fan powered glider and a flight suit, and the young Osborn wasn't about it resort to that. Even though the plans were flawless. Even though it would be so easy. He wasn't going to become a monster for the sake of his father's memory. It was wrong. But it hadn't kept him from drawing up blueprints for an improved glider and flightsuit on more than one occasion.

Sliding out of his chair, Harry decided that a walk would do him good. His father had always taken walks when things had bothered him, and whenever Norman had come back, everything had always been all right. And it was the same case for Harry. Only instead of simply roaming the busy halls of Oscorp's inner sanctum, the young businessman was more fond of going to his father's old office. Harry had taken great care to keep the office the same since his father's death, refusing to let anyone go in it or clean it out. In fact, he made sure that he was the only person to have a key... That, however, hadn't been too hard, considering his father only ever had two keys to the office - one for himself and one for his son - and the one Norman had carried had disappeared.

So his father's old office had become a tribute to his fallen elder. A place where Harry went to ask for guidance from his father's spirit whenever he was feeling low. And right now, he needed some insight on the best way to have his vengeance.

Pushing the small golden key into the office's keyhole, Harry twisted it sharply and pushed the door open. Then stepping inside, he turned, closing the door as quickly as he had opened it. For a moment he stood still, staring at the smoked glass that still read 'Norman Osborn' as he took in a lungful of the office's air.

* God, it still smells like dad in here, * Harry thought wistfully, spinning slowly on his heels to look into the room. A cherry desk sat in the middle of the room, covered with papers that were saturated with dust from weeks of being untouched. A picture of Harry and his father also sat atop the desk - only this had been set aside from the clutter - and a rich, leather chair sat opposite the desk, back facing the young Osborn. Just as his father had left it.

* Wait... the back of the chair facing me? That's not right. *

A chill ran down the youth's spine. Someone had to be in the room... or maybe they had been there earlier. But it still raised the question of how they had gotten in when he was the only person who was supposed to have a key... and if they were still there... Taking a deep breath, Harry attempted to look over the chair's high back but he had no such luck. * Great, * he sighed inwardly, * just great. *

"Who's there?" he managed finally, his throat threatening to close up on him. Slowly the chair turned, and what Harry found there was worse - and somehow better - then anything he could've imagined.

Sitting in the chair was Norman Osborn, his crystal blue eyes trained on his son, an almost confused expression in them.

"Harry?"

"Oh my God..."