Peter opened his eyes, and then immediately wished he hadn't, as he felt a vicious headache slam into his brain like a car accident. Continuing with that train of thought, he said in a voice made hoarse by the dryness in his throat, "Anybody... anybody get the number of that truck?" He tried to sit up, but found that he couldn't. His limbs were not responding to his wishes. At first he panicked, thinking that the Goblin had left him a cripple as part of some twisted revenge scheme. Then he noticed that he could still feel his body; it just did not respond to him. He guessed, then, that it was the Goblin's gas that was keeping him down like this, and he realized that it would wear off eventually. The fact that he wasn't paraplegic sent a wave of relief running down his spine.

   Looking as far to his left and right as he could, he saw that both Kaine and the masked stranger were in the same situation. He tried to raise his voice in order to get their attention when the stranger said, "It's all right, Peter. We're both alive. You don't have to shout."

Peter felt relieved, but also troubled at the fact that both he and his allies were helpless in the clutches of Norman Osborn. He didn't like that idea one bit. Trying to take his mind off that unpleasant notion, he said "Not exactly a champagne breakfast, is it?"

   "I thought the same. Maybe we should sue the management," the stranger said with a wry tone in his voice.

   "Shut up, the pair of you," Kaine said abruptly, as if he were scolding a pair of naughty schoolchildren. "Don't waste your strength."

   Peter had to admit that Kaine had a point. He didn't want to waste what little energy he had left on pointless banter, so he said in a whisper "The Green Goblin did this to you as well?"

   "Yes," the stranger said. "He hit Kaine and me with some kind of gas grenade. It took both of us out before we had a chance to fight back." He paused, a slight note of apprehension in his voice. "Look, there's something you should know. The Goblin – he wasn't Norman Osborn."

   "What?" Peter couldn't believe it. "Then who was it?"

   "It wasn't just somebody Osborn grabbed off the street and injected with the Goblin formula, Peter. It… it was Harry Osborn. He's back."

   Peter felt his heart sink. "No," he said stubbornly. "That's not true. It can't be. I was there when Harry died. I watched them bury him. Harry Osborn is gone."

   "I really don't want to say this, but... you said that about Norman, too," the stranger said.

Peter still felt extremely skeptical about the idea that Harry was back. Uncle Ben and Aunt May – God have mercy on their souls, he thought automatically – had taught him that once you were gone, you didn't come back. That belief had been rocked by the return of Doctor Octopus from the great beyond, and the seeming resurrection of countless other super-criminals, but it was still a part of him, and it was not so easily defeated.

   Suddenly, the heavy oaken door to their room began to rumble open, the sounds on the other side indicating a large iron bolt was being slid back. It wavered for a moment before light streamed into the room in the form of a bright rectangle. Spider-Man looked upwards as much as he could, to see the imposing figure of Norman Osborn stride into the cell, the garish green and purple of his Goblin costume muted slightly as he stepped into the gloom inside the cell. Behind him followed a smaller man who Spidey couldn't see at first, because the elder Osborn's body obscured him. Spidey tried in vain to twist himself into a better position, and then Norman stepped aside, and Peter was able to see that the black-clad stranger had been telling the truth.

   It was Harry. The same nervy, shy Harry that Peter had known before he had been driven insane by his father's mad legacy, and pulled on the shroud of the Green Goblin as a shield against the pain of living. Before he had dropped acid and cracked up. Before he had bribed a coroner to fake an autopsy report on a corpse that wasn't a corpse.

   Before... everything.

   How is this possible? Peter thought desperately. How can Harry be alive again? I thought it was the Goblin formula that killed him. I saw it kill him. I saw it. Peter's keen scientific mind raced through possibilities like a fire through gasoline. There had to be a rational explanation for all of this, somehow. It was up to him to find it out. Maybe... maybe I was wrong about the effect the serum had on Harry in the first place, Peter thought. Maybe he was put into suspended animation like Mendel Stromm. Maybe he's been lying in his grave, alive, all this time.

   And then there was the strange incident that Peter had thought nothing of at the time – during the "Spiderhunt", as the Daily Bugle had called it, Peter had heard little Normie Osborn call the Goblin his "daddy." "Don't hurt my daddy!" the boy had said. Peter had put that down to the boy's confused state of mind, and the misguided belief that Normie's new Goblin was his father come back to protect him from the mean Spider-Man. But now, seeing the evidence with his own eyes, Peter had to consider the possibility that the boy, however unwittingly, had been right all along.

   Before he could mull over the unsettling thought any longer, the elder Osborn spoke. "Good morning," he said, in his rich baritone. "I trust you three slept well?"

   Peter felt an uncontrollable urge to spit on Osborn's shiny Gucci shoes. "Why should you even care, Norman?"

   Osborn smiled thinly and spread his hands wide. "Oh, come now, Peter, you do me wrong. You three are my guests; it's simply common courtesy. Or don't they teach you that in public schools?"

   Spider-Man ignored the pointed jibe. "Let's just cut to the chase, Osborn. Where's my daughter?"

   Osborn's eyes widened. "What? No glib remark? No witty rejoinder? Peter, you do disappoint me."

   "Shut up." Peter felt his blood boiling, and, at the same time, he felt warmth beginning to spread to the outer areas of his body. The paralysis was beginning to wear off. Good. "Where's my baby?" he asked again, a little more shortly this time.

   Norman frowned, his features darkening visibly. Peter imagined he was pleased by this turn of events, despite appearances to the contrary. "What makes you think she's even here, Peter? For all you know, I could have sent Mongrain to lie to you. This whole thing could have been my plan from the start, and you walked right into it, didn't you, Peter?"

   "No," Peter said bluntly. "My daughter is alive. I know it."

   "Maybe she was, until you broke that upstairs window," Osborn said, pouncing on Peter's momentary weakness. He smiled. Peter felt as if he were staring at the gateway to Hell. "Maybe as soon as I heard that, I snapped her fragile little neck like a twig. Babies' bones are so easy to destroy."

   Peter screamed.

   Mary Jane sashayed her way down the catwalk, wearing the latest clothes from the best manufacturers. In front of her a sweating, lank-haired photographer kept telling her to pout more, to toss her hair occasionally, and to show a little more energy and involvement in what she was modeling. She kept wanting to tell him to shove his camera up where his breakfast was currently residing, but, since the catalogue people were paying her a good deal of money to do this for them, she kept quiet and put up with the irritating little man. It's better than sitting at home worrying about Peter, she thought bitterly, as she changed from one set of clothes into another. For a change, these were clothes that she might actually want to wear on the street. Comfortable, and showing just enough flesh to be interesting without getting scandalous. Reapplying her lipstick quickly, she stepped out of the changing area and back into the harsh glare of the studio lights, and the equally harsh glare of the irate photographer.

   "Let's go, Mary Jane, let's go!" he said, waving her back towards the set they were using. "I can't have any more time go to waste!"

   Jerk, MJ thought, rolling her eyes while trying not to be conspicuous. Let's see you stay lively after three hours under these lights. Aloud, she said, "Sure, Mr. Hollerton, just give me a second."

   "A second, a second, all you women ever seem to want is 'one more second!'" The photographer threw his hands up theatrically and wiped his brow with a silk handkerchief.

   I'm going to hit him, Mary Jane thought as she fluffed her hair with her hands and tried to look alluring while still drawing attention to the clothes she was wearing. One more time, and I'm really going to break his jaw.

   "That's it, Mary Jane," the photographer said, his shutter clicking away like a cicada tied around his neck. "Just a few more shots, and we can finish this off."

   Thank God. MJ heard the last few clicks of the camera and felt a wave of relief wash over her as the little man unhooked the camera from his shoulders and stowed it away in the leather case on a table behind him. Away from the device, he seemed amiable enough, as he had been before the shoot had started.

   "Thank you, Mary Jane," he said. "It's been a pleasure working with you."

   I wish I could say the feeling was mutual, MJ thought. She cleared her throat and shook the hand that he offered with as cordial a smile as she could manage, and then she left the studio and found Wendy Friedberg waiting outside the door.

   "You do good work, Mary Jane," the other woman said politely, as if she were complimenting MJ on a new trouser suit or a successful haircut.

   "Thank you, Ms Friedberg," MJ said breathlessly. "I hope that we get the chance to work together sometime in the future." She slapped herself on the wrist mentally. She hadn't meant that to sound quite so money-grubbing. Fortunately, the other woman hadn't taken it that way, or if she had, she wasn't showing it.

   "I hope so, too, Mary Jane," she said. "You're a beautiful woman, and shallow as it may sound, beauty sells our catalogues. We'll call you if you need your services again."

   "Thank you," MJ said again. That's what I wanted to hear, she thought happily. Taking the elevator down to the reception area, she walked towards the revolving doors at the front of the building and out into the sunshine. She felt the warmth on her face and reveled in it for a second or two before she put her sunglasses on and started walking towards the subway station.

   "Mary Jane Watson?" said a timid female voice suddenly. MJ swung her head round to see where it had come from, and she saw an expectant-looking woman standing nervously, wringing her hands.

   "Yes?" MJ asked, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "What can I do for you?"

   "Could you sign this for me?" the woman asked, holding out a small notebook. "It's just I was a big fan of 'Secret Hospital' and I'd really love to have your autograph. Sybil was my favorite character. So bitchy." The recollection drew a little smile to the woman's pale face.

   MJ smiled in return. This kind of fan she could deal with. "I suppose she was. Who do I make this out to?"

   "Paula Jones," the woman said. "Thank you so much, Ms. Watson. You just made my day. Wait till I tell my best friend about this!"

   MJ felt her smile widen into a grin. "Is she a big fan too, Paula?"

   "Oh yes. She watched every episode with me at work. We talked about it all the time."

   "Well, why don't I give you an autograph for her as well? It's no trouble."

   "Would you?" Paula asked, astonished. "Oh, that would great; I'd be so grateful, and so would Anna - that's my friend's name. She'll never believe me otherwise!"

   "Maybe this'll convince her, then," MJ replied. "It's people like you and your friend that make me glad I was on that show." She signed another page in the woman's notebook and wished her a good day before continuing on her way towards the subway. I've got fans coming out of the woodwork today, MJ thought reflectively. I suppose I must be doing something right.

   Peter could feel his heart almost bursting from his chest. Norman's mind games were beginning to get the better of him, no matter how much he tried to ignore them. What if what he had said was true? What if, as he had intimated, he had snapped Peter's child in half like a fragile china doll? What if, even now, little May's lifeless body were adorning the New Jersey garbage ferry like so much discarded furniture?

   The thought made Peter want to scream again, to scream until his lungs were raw and he coughed up blood, but he did not want to give further voice to his fears. He would not give Osborn that satisfaction. Not again. He'd lost his temper too many times where the Goblin was concerned. He would not give Osborn an inch.
Not an inch.
Not one.

   He grit his teeth and stayed quiet. Norman Osborn tipped his head to one side and said "I could kill you, you know, Peter, but I think living will be more painful for you now. You can have just a slight taste of the pain I had to endure when you killed my son. My boy Harry. The boy I had to sweat blood for, to keep him in clothes and toys and books. The boy I had to watch die."

   "You were never a good father, Norman," Peter snarled in contempt. "Where were you when your son needed you the most? You were in meetings. At your office. With your work -" Osborn leapt at Spider-Man, wrapping his hands around Peter's neck savagely. Paralyzed as he was, Peter could nothing while Norman tried to choke the life out of him.

   "Shut up!" Norman howled. "No one can say I wasn't a good father to my son! No one!"

   "I... can," Peter croaked, feeling his larynx try to climb out his throat. He gurgled as his airway was blocked, and he started to see black and red-tinged circles on the edges of his vision. He felt a little satisfaction at having played Norman so well, but that was simultaneously melded with a bitter realization that all the satisfaction in the world was useless if you weren't around to enjoy it later.

   Abruptly the pressure was released. Peter gasped, astonished to see the mystery man springing upright from Osborn's prostrate body. That's two I owe that guy, his mind noted dispassionately. I have to find out who he is, or he'll never collect on that debt. Still unable to move, Spidey could only watch as his unknown savior launched a vigorous attack on the Goblin. Peter found himself wishing that his limbs would work and that he could join in the battle, but he kept quiet, not wishing to draw unnecessary attention to himself while he couldn't fight back. He'd do his part when the time came. For now, he simply observed.

   The black-clad man landed a hard right hand on Osborn's unprotected jaw, and the Goblin reeled. "How does that feel, Osborn?" he cried. "How does it feel to be in pain, like the people whose lives you ruined - who you destroyed? You ruined Peter's life - you ruined Harry's life - you ruined my life! You've ruined the lives of everyone around you! And for that you have to pay."

   At that moment, the one who Spidey had hoped was not Harry sprang to life, crying "You can't say that to my father!" He ran towards the black-clad stranger and made as if to drag him off of Norman, but the stranger just jerked his arm and threw the smaller, weaker "Harry" off into the wall. Norman glared at him with eyes no longer focused on his battle with the stranger.

   "I don't know why I made you," he said in a voice like cut glass. "You're even more pathetic than my real son." He snapped his fingers with a sound like the crack of a rifle. Everyone in the room - even the mystery man - turned to look at "Harry", to see what Osborn had done to him, giving Osborn an opportunity to get back up to his feet.

   "Dad, what -" "Harry" said, his eyes wide with fear as he started to degenerate. "Why -" He got no further, his hands divested of their substance, as was the rest of his body, as it turned in an instant from flesh and bone and skin and muscle and hair into a uniform, gelatinous mass that settled into a sticky, lifeless puddle on the floor of the chamber. Spidey shuddered at the all-too-familiar sight and turned his eyes away.

   Another clone, Peter thought sadly. I should have guessed. Poor Harry.

   Beside him, Kaine roared and staggered to his feet a little unsteadily, the effects of the poison finally wearing off. At the same time, Peter felt his sluggish limbs finally begin to respond to his commands, and he stumbled to his feet alongside his clone. Kaine said nothing, but instead launched himself at Osborn, followed by Spider-Man. Osborn snarled like a cornered dog and reached into his bag of tricks for a pumpkin bomb. He hurled it with a looping pitching action, forcing Spider-Man to drag his tired body aside so that the explosive globe impacted to his left.

   "You're not getting away with this, Osborn," he said in a voice made hoarse by his own inner pain, both at seeing his best friend die for a second time, and at the notion that his baby was lost to him again. "You're not."

   "Watch me, insect," Osborn hissed. He fended off a hard right from Kaine with both hands, the effort clearly taking a lot out of him as he countered with a savate kick to the huge man's ribs and an open-handed blow to Kaine's ruined face, while he struck the mystery man with a backhanded fist that sent him sprawling like a stray shop dummy. Kaine spat blood as his lower lip was torn open, and growled deep in his throat. Spidey flipped and handsprung over to where the two other men were locked into mortal combat, squirting a thick strand of webbing at the Goblin's right hand, coating both it and the pumpkin bomb in its grasp in a gooey cocoon. Osborn panicked and tore at the webbing with his free hand, hot smoke seeping through the webbing showing that the bomb was ready to blow. Spidey used the Goblin's momentary distraction to sock him hard across the jaw with bloodied, aching knuckles. He experienced just a little remorse about feeling more satisfaction than he should have done, but the feeling soon passed. Against Norman, he figured he had a right to suspend the trademark Parker guilt. Spinning out a short strand of webbing, Peter used it to catapult himself towards his bitter foe.

   "What's the matter, Norman?" Peter asked, mockingly, as he leapt towards the Goblin, his hands outstretched. "No snappy comebacks? You must be losing your touch."

   "Anything but, Peter," Osborn said in a sibilant hiss. He raised one hand and unloaded the full capacity of his glove's sparkle blasters, the effort leaving the glove scorched and smoking. Unable to correct his trajectory as he swung towards Osborn, Peter felt it slam into his chest, and though he rolled with the blast, he could still smell the hair on his chest burning as it was incinerated by the blast's intense heat. The skin underneath it crackled like pork on a spit, but Peter ignored the pain. He'd heal, given a night to recover.

   His two allies, meanwhile, had joined forces to prevent Osborn from following up on his hated foe. The mystery man was clinging to Osborn's left arm, preventing him from easily grabbing any more toys, and Kaine was hammering the Goblin with both hands, blows like those of a piledriver slamming repeatedly into Osborn's body. Osborn's eyes were filled with a wordless, soulless rage that Peter knew would haunt his dreams for a good long while. His nose was bloody and a trickle of blood oozed from his mouth. Peter couldn't tell if it had come from his lip or from somewhere else, but he didn't want to take a chance.

   "Stop it!" he yelled at his two allies. "You're killing him!"

   "So?" Kaine said emotionlessly. "You of all people should know that the world would be better without this... this carbuncle to poison it."

   "That's not for us to decide!" Peter said desperately. "You have to let him go!" He looked hopelessly at the black-clad stranger, who took a deep breath and let go of the Goblin's left arm.

   "He's right, Kaine," he said, almost regretfully. "We can't decide who lives and who dies." He walked over to where Peter was standing. "We'll turn him in, Kaine. We have to."

   Kaine snorted. "Maybe you do, my friend. But I don't." He threw the dazed and bloody Osborn against a wall, knocking the wind out of him. Springing over towards it, Kaine had pressed his hand to its surface and torn it down before either of the two heroes could make a move to stop him. His eyes displaying nothing but a cold-blooded rage, Kaine slammed the section of wall down onto Osborn's head. Osborn collapsed under the weight of it, and as he did so, the leftover pumpkin bombs in his bag of tricks were set off by the pressure, hurling Kaine backwards and forcing Spidey and the stranger to throw themselves to the floor.

   Picking himself up, Spidey saw that Osborn was crawling out of the wreckage of the explosion, his face a mask of blood. Against his better judgment, Spidey rushed over to see if his hated foe was all right. He knelt down and said quietly "Norman? Are you okay?"

   "Wha -" Norman asked. "Where... where am I? Who are you?" I don't believe it, Peter thought incredulously. He hasn't a clue what just happened.

   "What's... my name?" Osborn asked, blinking away drops of blood and squinting in the harsh light of the chamber. Peter was about to tell him when he heard the distant sound of helicopters and the rumble of heavy vehicles. Looking out the window he could see a large contingent of SWAT troops arriving to cordon off the lodge. Behind him he heard the stranger cry out in alarm as Kaine moved towards Osborn with the quickness of a cat and grabbed the Goblin round the face with one massive paw, burning his Mark into the amnesiac man's face with dispassionate ease. He'd known from the start that neither of them could have stopped him, Peter realized. This was what he'd wanted all along.

   "This… this was never part of the plan, Kaine!" the stranger cried. "We were just going to help Peter – not maim Norman Osborn! You had no right to do this -"

   "This was never part of your plan," Kaine said coldly. "It was part of my plan from the beginning. Osborn deserves to see the consequences of his evil every time he looks in the mirror. Peter knows what I'm talking about. Don't you, Peter?" He didn't even bother to look at Spider-Man, as if he expected automatic agreement, his dead eyes still trained mercilessly on the stranger.

   "I wanted Osborn in jail, not in a hospital," Spider-Man snapped, immediately running towards the fallen Goblin, who was writhing in pain from the hideous burn. Steam rose from his ruined skin. Peter could still smell the stink of it even through his mask, and it made his stomach heave. "You have to pay for this, Kaine. I have to take you down."

   "You can try," Kaine replied softly. Moving like a panther unchained towards the window, Kaine was out and gone before Peter or the stranger could stop him. Spider-Man punched the wall in frustration. Now that Osborn had the mental capacity of a nursery-schooler, his first responsibility was to protect him, not to chase a maniac. Another maniac, he corrected himself.

   Yeah. And if I keep telling myself that, maybe I'll start believing it.

   Peter waited for the SWAT team to burst into the room where he and the stranger were guarding Osborn, his arms folded and his spirits low.

   "Freeze, freaks!" the lead man said in a commanding voice. "Don't move!"

   "Okay, officers," Peter said, holding his hands up high. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I think you might want to deal with him first." He pointed at the cross-legged figure of Norman Osborn, who was looking about himself cluelessly, like a toddler bereft of his favorite building blocks.

   "Is... is that who I think it is?" the SWAT man said in disbelief, his attention totally diverted.

   "Norman Osborn?" Spider-Man said flatly. "Yeah. That's the Green Goblin, all right."

   "I... I don't believe it. I thought Osborn was one of the good guys – you know, like you."

   Spider-Man shook his head. "Believe me, sir, he's nothing like me. I'm afraid you won't get a full confession out of him right now, though - he's lost his memory. Doesn't remember who he is or where he comes from."

   "Ain't that a cryin' shame," the SWAT man replied. "Sounds like we'd get some juicy stuff outta this guy if he really is the Goblin. You gotta understand I ain't just gonna take your word for it."

   "I understand, officer," Spider-Man said ruefully. "But you have to do things your way, and I have to do things my way. That's just the way things work."

   "Yeah." The policeman sounded almost regretful. "I'll be seein' ya, Webs." He turned towards his subordinates, who brought with them a special harness designed to be used on superpowered individuals. Spider-Man recognized the model - it was designed to be used on individuals with strength levels at least equivalent to his own; he'd seen one of a similar type used on both Carnage and Venom at different points in time. He thought it would be adequate to hold Osborn at his peak. Now it seemed like so much overkill, but he didn't think it mattered, not where Osborn was concerned.

   The SWAT team leader turned back towards Spidey for a moment as he was leading the still dazed Osborn away. "Hey, Webs?" he asked.

   "Yes, Officer?" Spidey answered, a little apprehensively.

   "Who's your buddy?"

   "Honestly, sir?" Spidey paused. "I have no idea."

   Spider-Man waited until the SWAT team had gone before he moved towards the window. He had to find Kaine. The black-clad hero stopped him with a single hand on his shoulder.

   "Let him go, Peter," he said slowly, as if he knew exactly what Peter was thinking. His breath came in labored gasps, even after the heat of the moment had passed. "You and I are in no shape to follow him. We'll find him another day."

   "How can you say that when you saw what he just did?" Peter said incredulously. "I have to -"

   "I don't like it any more than you do, but we don't have a choice, do we? And I think he did us both a favor today. Norman Osborn doesn't have a clue who he is, and that means no more Green Goblin; at least for the moment. Strange as it may sound, I think this is Kaine's idea of a baby shower." He took a deep breath and laid a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Look, I know that Kaine might not be the best candidate for friendship in the world, but he is my friend - or at least he was - and I know him better than you right now. I'll find him on my own if he doesn't turn up himself. That's a promise."

   Peter nodded unhappily. Leaving Kaine running loose didn't exactly sit well with him, even after all that Kaine had done for him, but he trusted the stranger for reasons he couldn't put his finger on, exactly. "I don't doubt it."

   The stranger folded his arms. "I'm sorry, Peter, but that's how it has to be for now. I promise I'll do whatever I can to help you find your baby. If I can find Kaine, he'll help me do it. She's out there, Peter, and we'll help you find her, I swear."

   Peter frowned underneath his mask. "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but how do you know -"

   "How do I know your name?" the stranger finished smoothly. "God, Peter! For a genius you can be so blamed dense sometimes! I know Kaine - I helped him track down your baby - and you have to ask me how I know?"

   Peter had to admit that the stranger had a point. He started to say something else before he noticed that the other man had disappeared. Peter smiled sardonically beneath his mask. Figures, he thought.

   Taking one last look around, Peter's thoughts shifted to his wife. Wait until Mary Jane hears about this. He walked to the window and leapt out into the night.