Chapter Five

The Reed Richards Convention Center stretched as far as the eye could see, and then some, extending so far above their heads that they occasionally forgot they were actually indoors. Everywhere they looked, new advances in technology surrounded them, to the point that they almost felt like they'd stepped into a Sharper Image catalog.

"Do you think we'll ever see any of this in our lifetime?" Chloe asked.

"I don't know…" Clark said. He glanced at one booth that displayed a prototype for a green and purple battle-suit, designed by a company called Silver Age Limited. "Some of this seems a little out there."

Peter snapped a few pictures. "Have you guys seen Mr. Urich?"

"I think he already came and went," Clark said. "He said he'd seen enough after about five minutes."

"I like your camera, Pete," Chloe said. "Though I can't remember the last time I've seen anything non-digital this millennium!"

He grinned. "I just like using film. I have a darkroom that I set up in my room at home, so I can develop it myself."

"Wow, that's really awesome… Gosh, you're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Peter!" A voice called out from some ways behind them. They turned to see a young red-headed woman running to catch up with them.

"Mary Jane? What're you doing here?"

"Have you talked to Harry at all today?"

"No, I haven't talked to him since the other day… what's up?"

"He left this really strange message on my machine this afternoon… he said something about the science fair, and about his father? It didn't make any sense."

"Wow… that's really weird."

Mary Jane noticed Clark and Chloe, and introduced herself.

"Nice to meet you," Clark said. "So, are you guys…?" Clark asked.

Peter and MJ exchanged embarrassed glances.

"Uh… no," Pete said, looking down.

"We're just friends," Mary Jane said, with a nod. She looked back and forth between Clark and Chloe. "What about you guys?"

"Us?" Clark sounded almost surprised. "No, we're just friends, too."

"Yeah," Chloe echoed, biting her lip. "Just friends."

. . . . . .

Back in one of the convention center's storerooms, a man was prying open a large wooden crate with a rusty crowbar.

Another man sauntered up casually behind him, a newspaper in his hand.

"Say there," the man with the newspaper said.

The man with the crowbar was startled, and dropped the crowbar on the ground. "Jeez! What are you doing back here? The show's out there, buddy!"

The other man, who had once been Harry Osborn, and was now something more than Harry Osborn, gestured to the newspaper in his hand. "This article about the science fair today… it says something about a glider that's being demonstrated? And a set of armor?"

The man nodded towards the large crate. "Yeah, but that's not 'til later tonight, man."

"It says here that the glider and the armor are the creation of a Dr. Thomas Morrow."

"That's right. I'm his assistant."

"What's your name, friend?"

"It's Robert."

"Robert, didn't Dr. Morrow used to work for Norman Osborn at one time?"

Robert smiled. "Yeah. What do you know about it?"

Harry leaned in very close. "You can be honest with me, Robert. He stole this suit and glider from Norman Osborn, didn't he?"

Robert laughed. "Dr. Morrow was one of the guys who helped Osborn design it, I guess."

"And he stole it."

"Well…" Robert looked uncomfortable. "He didn't steal it, I mean, Osborn's dead… and Dr. Morrow helped design the thing, so, he figures it's just as much his as anyone else's now, y'know?"

Harry folded the newspaper and stuck it under his arm. Robert turned and picked up a handkerchief, and wiped his brow with it.

"And who is it that's going to be demonstrating this tonight? You know, putting on the armor, and flying the glider?"

"That'd be me," Robert said. "And I gotta tell ya… zipping around on that glider is a real head rush, man… it's a hell of a thing."

"I'm sure it is," Harry said. He stomped his foot down on the crowbar, causing it to flip upward into his hand. The newspaper fell to the ground, its pages scattering everywhere as Harry brought the crowbar down hard on the back of Robert's skull. The sound of the metal cracking bone was so sickeningly sweet…

Harry wiped the blood that had splattered up off his face with his left sleeve. Then he turned his attention to the crate before him, which held his destiny inside.

"Ah, Robert," he said, to the deceased assistant before him. "If you only knew of the extreme chaos that is to come." He tossed the crowbar aside with a clank, and tore open the crate with his bare hands.