Disclaimer: I own O'Connell and Lynnea; all others belong to Marvel.

Author's Note: Here it is… the final chapter! I can't believe I'm finally here! This is now officially my longest fic, and I only wrote it in about seven and a half months. I'm so happy! Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this fic since the beginning, and to those of you who didn't discover it until I neared the end. Sorry I can't thank you all personally; there's so many of you, too many to list in an AN. That's why I like the dA review system; if any of you have deviantART accounts, visit me there! It was fun writing this fic, which was only supposed to be five chapters long, originally. This particular chapter is the longest one I've done, I believe – even after I divided it in half. Go figure.

Moonlight Becomes You

Twenty-Two – Darkest Before Dawn

November 8

Lynnea's body went rigid. Pinned under two bigger men was not her ideal position, and every fiber of her being screamed at the unwanted contact. She struggled not to let her panic overwhelm her. Think, girl, think, she commanded. One of them grabbed her left arm and twisted it behind her back, while the other groped for her right, still in its sling held to her chest. Their rough handling would probably tear the bullet wound open; not that it mattered, since they were going to kill her, anyway. She just hoped that she got a lot of blood splattered all over O'Connell's expensive carpet in the process.

Her knife was concealed within the sling, disguised as a stabilizing board for her arm. Could she get to it? She tried to curl her fingers down far enough to grip the hilt, lying against her wrist. So tantalizingly close… but it was just out of reach. The guard grabbed her elbow and yanked, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming as it pulled at the stitched-together flesh of her shoulder. But there was an unexpected benefit to the guard's grab; the knife was jostled loose and the hilt slid into her palm.

The man gave another yank on her arm, and this time, she let him guide her hand around until it was close to his body… and then she slipped the blade between his ribs. He gasped, but couldn't do much else. Her strike had perforated a lung, and she could hear him fighting for his breath. Quickly, she yanked the knife free just before the man could fall away, then kept still when the second man, aware that something was wrong with his partner, tightened his grip with one hand, and started to reach for his gun with the other. "What-?" he started to ask, but couldn't get any further than that, because Lynnea had awkwardly twisted in his grip and drove the knife into his throat. The attack wasn't as smooth as she would have liked; with her arm injured, and the dark making aim difficult, the wound didn't put the man down right away. He was able to lift his gun and fire off a shot, but the bullet went wide.

And then he was down, showing no other sign of motion. Feeling no remorse over what she'd done, she set about looting the bodies. The first man, O'Connell's undercover man, had little on him. The guard, on the other hand, had his radio and flashlight, both of which would be of use, and as an afterthought, grabbed his gun. The second guard, the one that she'd fried with the collar, she didn't touch.

Finished, she stood up, debating over what to do next. Now that she had the office to herself, she should ransack it, seeking any money that O'Connell may have had lying around. Even though most of his money would be in bank accounts, O'Connell had proven that he had no issues with making deals that had to be kept 'off the record,' and for that, he'd need currency that was untraceable – the clichéd unmarked bills. She would be justified in just taking her money and fleeing; with O'Connell gone, there was nothing more she could do to help Octavius. He could take care of the corpse puppet on his own.

But then her sense of honor made her waver. She didn't owe Octavius anything, true, but she did want to ensure that O'Connell was dead. Octavius had demonstrated that his morals got in the way of his murderous intentions. If he had a change of heart and let O'Connell live, O'Connell wouldn't return the favor. He'd hunt her down. No, she needed to make certain that he died here, tonight.

Sighing, Lynnea headed out through the small receptionist's office, wondering just how she was going to find him in all this. She pulled out the radio she'd taken from the guard, flipping it on. Maybe one of them would know… She trotted towards where she remembered the stairs being located, knowing that was where O'Connell would head.

The second explosion went off, and Lynnea braced herself against the wall, this time able to keep her feet under her. Then she continued on towards the stairs.

She'd barely gone down two flights when she finally picked up a message on the radio, one that made her change her direction and head upwards. O'Connell was heading towards the roof…

And Lynnea was going to be waiting for him.

XXX

Harry's victory was nearly at hand, he could practically taste it. The loss of his night vision was a minor setback; already, Harry had taken strides to compensate by summoning his glider, which he'd equipped with a spotlight in case there was an emergency during the blackout. He could still win this. He would be triumphant, for his father!

He knew Spider-Man hadn't been located where the second bomb had detonated. After it had left his fingertips, he'd recognized the footsteps in the stairs for what they were. More innocents had died. "Don't concern yourself with them, son. They work for our competitor. They're guilty by association." His father was right, of course. His father was always right.

Without the muffling effects of the mask, the bomb's blast was deafening. Fortunately, the performance enhancer coursing through his veins instantly went to work healing the effects; to the naked eye, it would have seemed as if he hadn't been affected at all. "I wonder how many people that was?" he mused aloud. "Five, ten, a dozen? Think about it, Peter, a dozen innocents just died because you won't come out and face me. How many more have to be sacrificed before you'll come out and face me like a man?"

"It doesn't have to be this way, Harry." Spider-Man's voice came from off to his right. "You can stop this now, walk away from it all. You don't have become your father, Harry. You don't have to be a murderer."

Harry turned towards the voice. "Isn't it too late for that?" He flicked his hand toward the stairs, even though Spider-Man couldn't see it. "Those people are dead. The people at the power plant? Dead. And you know what, Peter? I'm not going to stop there. This building is full of people who've wronged me. You killed my father – making you a murderer, too, though I notice you gloss over that little fact. Dr. Octavius cost OsCorp millions with his failed science experiment, and then, as Quest's dog, he finished what he started with OsCorp and brought my company to its knees. I intend to repay the favor by annihilating Quest Aerospace for good. No, Peter, there are going to be many more deaths tonight, and you can't stop me."

The sound of the glider's engine, a steadily increasing drone, drifted to Harry's ears. Spider-Man spoke again. "Even if you kill me, do you really think you'll be able to destroy the building before the police arrive?" His voice enabled Harry to narrow down his location, and he idly corrected the course of the glider as he responded.

"There's a city-wide blackout," he told his former friend. "No alarms, no security cameras, no electronic locks – every criminal in the city is going to be taking advantage of this. The police are going to be too busy to notice any goings on at Quest before it's too late; and even if they did, they'll be spread too thin to do anything about it in time."

The glider came in through the shattered window, heading straight towards the direction of Spider-Man's voice. The spotlight abruptly turned on, and the sudden light after so much dark was dazzling, even from Harry's angle. It was far worse for Spider-Man, who had been looking right at the glider when the light clicked on. He stared, like a deer caught in the headlights, before pulling himself out of his stupor and springing out of the way. But his leap came too late; despite his quick recovery, he'd stared too long at the light and the glider caught him across the back. Spider-Man howled in pain and fell, crying out again when his outflung arms crumpled under his weight when he tried to catch himself. He lay very still in the pool of light produced by the glider, but Harry approached him cautiously. Spider-Man made no move, seemingly unconscious from the pain. Then he shifted his arm, but the motion was slow, pain-filled. The arm was bent at a curious angle, and Harry grinned. He wouldn't be doing much fighting with that any time soon…

Harry pulled from its sheath the knife that had belonged to his father, the one he'd vowed to kill Spider-Man with.

"I win, Peter." He lifted the knife, preparing to plunge it into his foe's ribs.

Just as the knife reached the top of its arc, Harry heard a metallic scraping from somewhere behind him. And then he staggered forward as something slammed into him with the force of a speeding car, the knife slipping from numbed fingers. Harry's head tipped downward, and he stared uncomprehendingly at the serrated spike jutting from his chest right where his heart should have been. Blood coated the metal, dripping from the blade to fall unseen to the floor beneath his feet.

His breath came out in strained gasps, and every breath had the coppery taste of blood. Only then did the truth begin to register. No… this can't happen… the suit is supposed to protect me from this sort of thing… This can't be happening thiscan'tbehappening… He opened his mouth to scream, to protest, to beg, but all that came out was a wet rattling sound, accompanied by a fresh spume of blood. His knees gave out under him, until the metal spike was the only thing keeping him on his feet. With a wet splutch noise, the blade pulled itself free, and Harry fell at the feet of Dr. Octavius, who stood backlit by the glider's spotlight. One of the actuators was curled around him, and he glimpsed the blood-stained foot-long metal spike before it retracted into the recesses of the actuator's throat. The scientist stared down at him with an air of sadness, but he didn't apologize for his actions. Instead, he turned his back on Harry, leaving him to bleed to death on the shattered marble floor.

The pain began to fade, leaving him cold inside. Good, that was good, wasn't it? No more pain… Harry blinked slowly; his eyes didn't want to open again. When they did, his father was standing where Otto had been, staring down at his son as he would glare at something disgusting he'd found on his expensive shoes. "Father," Harry croaked. "Help…"

Norman Osborn shook his head. "I asked only one thing of you. You had all the advantages – element of surprise, powerful weapons, a wounded foe, and still you failed me! You," he said coldly, "are no son of mine."

"No… don't leave me…" Harry croaked. He reached forward with one blood-slick hand, but his father stepped out of his reach. Norman gave him one last contemptuous look, then faded away. "Please…" Harry pleaded, but couldn't find the breath to complete the sentence.

XXX

The body of Harry Osborn lay in a spreading pool of blood, just visible at the spotlight's edge. I killed him, Otto realized with dull surprise. This hadn't been something done under the influence of the actuators, nor had they done on their own, like when they'd killed the night watchman in the graveyard. They'd done it on his command, and he could feel their glee that he'd finally acted on his own – even if they had loudly protested his decision to save the arachnid. He'd willfully murdered someone…

And he was going to do it again. Hadn't he come here with the intention of killing O'Connell? Otto turned his back on the younger man's body, turning towards Spider-Man. The younger man wasn't moving, and Otto winced when he saw the youth's crooked arm. Susan's ministrations hadn't been able to hold up under the stress of the battle, and Otto walked over to Spider-Man to assess the damage. He crouched down, and the vigilante didn't move as Otto fumbled at his neck, feeling the strong but erratic pulse. There were new several cuts, visible where the gaudy costume had been ripped away, but nothing that required immediate attention.

A part of him was glad that Spider-Man was unconscious; he didn't want the other to see what he had done. Yes, he'd saved Peter's life, but the manner in which he'd done it would horrify and disappoint the youth. He didn't want to deal with that right now, not when his determination to utterly destroy O'Connell was already wavering in the face of this death.

You did the right thing, Father.

Osborn wanted you dead; had you not stopped him now, he would have obsessively hunted us down.

True… but it didn't make him feel any better. He got to his feet and walked away from the two still forms. The shattered stairway loomed before him, and Otto paused at the brink. Then he swallowed and gave the actuators the command to begin the ascent. Somewhere above them, O'Connell had an appointment with Death. Otto wouldn't want to keep him waiting.

XXX

Lynnea wondered how a helicopter was going to be able to land. The furthest buildings were visible only as black smudges against the star-filled sky; even those closest seemed like featureless pillars. It was like a city out of a nightmare, and the ever-present whine of sirens coming from every direction only added to the atmosphere of danger. Navigating a helicopter through the dark canyons of the city would be nearly impossible, even with the lights O'Connell's men had said they were going to rig up for the pilot. Lynnea had to admire the pilot; he must have had guts to even attempt something like this. Or he was afraid to let O'Connell down.

Finding her way up to the rooftop hadn't been easy. The stairs ended on the executive level, leaving no visible way up to the private levels except by elevator. She'd had to wait for O'Connell's men to pass through the offices to another staircase, concealed in what she'd initially thought was an office. She wondered why the way was hidden it, then chalked it up to paranoia. After all, these people had had a panic room built. Why not semi-secret passageways? She'd waited several tense minutes for them to get up the roof, clearing the area so that she could make the passage. It seemed to take forever before she could follow, and she'd worried that the helicopter would have come and gone by the time she made it up to the roof.

Fortunately, the conversations she monitored on the radio assuaged her fears. Even with the pilot willing to make the flight, he still had to prepare, and the guards needed to set up landing lights. She'd been able to creep onto the roof without being seen, and was now seated behind a vent, wondering what to do next. She could see about a dozen guards, all well armed. They were also on high alert; the slightest sound sent the men's hands to their guns. Octavius had shown a wariness of large groups of armed guards, meaning he was more vulnerable than the 'super-villain' label would imply. He wouldn't have the chance to get to O'Connell before the guards mowed him down. How could she get O'Connell alone, or, at least cut down the number of guards? She wished that the myths about people with her abilities were accurate and that she could summon demons. Or even that she had time to raise the guards in O'Connell's office, because they'd provide one hell of a distraction.

She wondered if she could warn Octavius, but she had no idea which way he was coming up. Assuming he knew to come up to the roof; his plan had been to head to the office. When he didn't find them there, what would he do? He'd hinted that the actuators had special abilities; perhaps they'd help him locate O'Connell. She was sure he'd search the building top to bottom when he didn't find them there; the question was just whether or not he'd find them in time.

Lynnea licked her lips as an idea occurred to her. Great… once again I am seriously contemplating putting my life on the line for Dr. Octavius. Bastard better appreciate this; this is more than I've ever done for any man. She took a deep breath, then began to run towards the doorway, making her steps as loud as possible. She heard shouts from the skittish guards, a command from O'Connell, and then gunfire tore at the ground a few feet from her. She made it to the door unscathed, and flew down the stairs faster than it was safe in the darkness.

The sounds of pursuit drifted down after her; from the sound of it, she'd drawn away at least half of the guards. Wow, six guards after one woman – O'Connell has a high opinion of me. The floor immediately below the rooftop was the line of suites where she had stayed, along with Otto and his wife. Lynnea ducked into the nearest, and fumbled around in her bag until she found the two remaining collars. C'mon, c'mon… Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Lynnea leaned out the open doorway and flung the first of the collars, taking shelter behind the door before the collar went off.

From the screams, more than one guard had been in range of the collar. Lynnea grinned and extracted the final one. She could still hear activity outside the door, and she was about to hurl it in the general direction, when the screaming began anew. Startled, Lynnea drew back, wondering what was going on. And then it hit her, and she stepped into the hallway with a grin as a dark medusinic shape whirled to face her. "I was wondering when you were going to show up," she said. "Cutting it a little close, aren't you? They could have killed me."

She thought she saw his grin in the darkness. "You're no damsel in distress," he told her. "I knew you'd be able to take care of yourself. Where's O'Connell?"

"On the roof, waiting for a helicopter. It's going to take some time for it to arrive because of the blackout," she told him. "He had about a dozen guards with him before I lured them away. How many did we get?"

"There are seven bodies out here," Otto said. "Where's Rosie?"

"O'Connell has her," she said.

Octavius turned away, and Lynnea started to follow. Realizing this, he turned to face her. "You've helped me enough; if you'd like, you can go. Find your money and get out of here. I'll meet you back at my lab-"

"I came this far; I may as well see it through," Lynnea said. "Besides, I can help." She couldn't see his expression, but she could sense his reluctance. "I'm not just saying that because I'm trying to be the plucky side-kick; you said so yourself, I can take care of myself. There are still a few more guards up there, and you'll need to take them out quick to get to O'Connell."

He made his decision quickly. "All right, let's go."

Lynnea took the gun she'd swiped from the dead guard in her left hand, looped the final collar around her right, and followed Dr. Octavius to his final confrontation with O'Connell.

XXX

Rather than use the stairs, Otto chose to climb up to the roof via the balcony in the suite where he found Lynnea, which had turned out to be Rosie's suite. He could sense Lynnea's reluctance to allow herself to be handled by him, but the roof was directly above, so it would be a short trip. The upper left actuator wrapped its slim inner tentacle around her waist, and they made quick work of the climb.

The actuators weren't quiet; indeed, their rhythmic pounding against the stone sounded louder than normal in the powerless city. Therefore, it was no surprise to Otto when he heard the shouts of the guards and the slapping of their booted feet on the stone. In moments, they'd spot him and open fire. "Do you have any of those collars left?"

"Just one." Lynnea released her death grip on the actuator holding her and dug the last collar out of her bag. The lower right plucked it deftly from her fingers, and she emitted a squeak. He thought at first she'd been frightened by the contact, then realized she was staring at the lower left actuator, the only one clinging to the wall. Otto spared a moment for amusement; it was a bit scary to think their weight was being supported by one slim, sinuous shape, never mind that it was strong enough to carry more.

Otto removed the cap, then returned the collar to the actuator, which would be able to aim and throw more accurately than he himself could. Aim for where the guards are bunched closest together. Take out as many as you can. As soon as it discharges, take us around the corner as silently as possible.

With a neat snap, the actuator bunched itself, then threw the loop up and over the parapet. They quickly lost sight of the loop in the darkness, but they could hear the effects from where they perched. The actuators immediately went into action, carrying Otto and Lynnea the ten feet to the building's corner and going around it before stopping.

How many are left up there?

There seem to be three guards left. There is another standing further back; that is probably O'Connell. And there's… there's something else, something like a human but not putting off the same heat signature, standing near him.

Lynnea had said O'Connell had Rosie with him. We can handle three guards, Otto said. He turned to Lynnea. "Three guards. It won't be long before they figure out where we are, so we're going to attack while we have the element of surprise. Now."

To her credit, Lynnea didn't even yelp when he tossed her on the roof before joining her a heartbeat later. She'd already drawn her gun and had taken aim at the guards, who barely had time to react to the discovery that their quarry had come up behind them. Lynnea fired; her shot only grazed the lead guard's shoulder, but it caused the guards to instinctively flinch away, giving Otto the opportunity to fall on them. He dispatched them as quickly as possible, hurling one across the roof to crash into one of the air vents, and landing a blow on the head of the second. Neither man moved after going down – Otto hoped they were just unconscious. He didn't really have anything against the guards themselves, who were just doing their job. When the third guard chose to flee rather than face the raging octopus alone, Otto let the man go.

That left him and O'Connell. Lynnea was staying off to the side, but she kept the gun in hand, ready to finish the job if he didn't. She'd made that very clear on their way to the Quest building; she wasn't leaving the city until O'Connell was dead, one way or another. The only reason she hadn't killed him before now was because she wanted the pleasure of watching Otto tear him apart. There was definitely a sick mind behind that cute little face of hers…

Speaking of O'Connell, where was he? The director had vanished while Otto had taken care of the guards, but there weren't many places he could hide. Rosie was also noticeably absent. Where are they?

The rooftop wasn't a flat, empty expanse; the helicopter's landing pad was raised some three feet above the roof, and there were several vents and other protuberant objects for O'Connell to conceal himself behind. It wouldn't hide him from the actuators. A quick application of heat vision showed that O'Connell had dropped off the other side of the helipad. Rosie was with him. The realization made him hesitate. That's not my Rosie. Rosie is dead. Nothing he can do will hurt her… He remembered the fear in her eyes when O'Connell mutilated her hand. Don't let him get to you. He'll say or do anything to save himself, but it will all be a lie. Don't let him win…

Still, he didn't think he could stand to see O'Connell hurt Rosie, mindless puppet or not.

Do not let thoughts of the woman distract you! We are here to take revenge against O'Connell for what he has done to us!

If you let him live, do you think he will do the same for you? You have humiliated him; you will never be truly free so long as he lives. He must die, Father.

Otto wondered when the actuators had gotten wise in the way of humans, then realized they were merely repeating his own thoughts back to him, fortifying them. Otto began to walk around the perimeter of the helipad, motioning Lynnea to do the same in the opposite direction. He hoped to take O'Connell by surprise.

O'Connell was on the opposite side of the helipad, inching his way across the roof towards some goal Otto couldn't make out. The moment he heard the whir of machinery, he whirled, and Otto could clearly see the whites of his wide, frightened eyes as Otto fully rounded the helipad's corner. Then, before Otto could advance any closer, O'Connell yanked Rosie's arm, pulling the woman in front of him. He held a gun in his other hand, and he pressed the barrel to Rosie's temple. Otto's heart was in his throat; even knowing she wasn't alive, wasn't really Rosie, he still wanted to rush to her rescue, and probably destroy his chance at revenge. He forced those feelings aside, but he determined not to do anything to provoke O'Connell.

"Do what you must," Otto said, struggling to sound indifferent. "She's dead, O'Connell. It doesn't matter what you do to her."

"Are you so certain about that?" O'Connell countered. "There have been stories of the resurrection of the dead for millennia – not like this," he gestured towards Rosie with the gun, "but an actual restoration to life. Did Lynnea tell you it's impossible? What if she's lying? Or maybe she can't do it, but someone else can. Do you really want to risk it, when there's still a chance you and she could be together again?"

Father, don't listen to him! You said so yourself, the man will say anything to save himself! Despite the actuators' warnings, Otto wavered. What if… what if he's right? He wouldn't have believed in resurrection before this, but the proof was standing before him, with a blank expression on her face. He glanced around, looking for Lynnea to confirm or deny this, but she wasn't in sight. O'Connell used Otto's momentary distraction to fire.

The first bullet grazed Otto's shoulder; the wound stung, but wasn't really painful. The second would have lodged in his skull if the actuators hasn't been in motion the moment O'Connell began to put pressure on the trigger. They shielded their host, who didn't even flinch at this brush with death. He'd had too many already in the past couple hours for it to have much effect on him.

By aiming his gun at Otto, O'Connell had turned the muzzle away from Rosie. Faster than the eye could see, one of the actuators lashed out, hitting O'Connell's arm and forcing him to drop the gun. O'Connell staggered back with a cry, clutching his bleeding arm. Rosie stayed where O'Connell had left her, watching event unfold with that blank, emotionless gaze.

Otto advanced on O'Connell, a vicious grin spreading across his face. O'Connell began to back away, terror suffusing his features as he realized he had no way out. His guards were dead, and there was still no sign of his helicopter…

Then O'Connell's expression changed, and something about the look made Otto shudder. "Rosie," the director called. "I need you to jump."

What? Otto wondered, turning towards Rosie. The woman was finally moving, walking steadily towards the edge of the building. What is she doing? And then she climbed the parapet, and her intention became horribly clear. If cutting off her fingers had hurt her, then the agony of plunging off a building – and not being able to die – would be excruciating. And there was no way Otto could stop he in time; O'Connell had led him halfway across the roof – towards what looked like another doorway. And O'Connell had begun to sprint towards it.

For a split-second, Otto was torn. O'Connell was escaping, but Rosie was in danger! He took a step toward her, all too aware that even with the actuators, he'd never get to her in time, because she was taking that first step off the parapet… And then a dark shape barreled forward, wrapping arms around Rosie's waist and yanking the woman backwards. "I've got her, Doctor!" Lynnea cried, pinning Rosie to the ground – the woman was still trying to carry out O'Connell's commands and was thrashing wildly in an effort to get free – "Stop O'Connell!"

Faster than a normal man could travel, the actuators crossed the distance between them and O'Connell, just as the man reached the door. Rather than seal the door shut with a well-aimed blow, however, Otto let one of the actuators catch O'Connell across the chest and send him flying backwards, towards the roof's edge. Fear helped O'Connell recover rapidly, and he scrambled to his feet and tried to flee… except that he had nowhere to go. He was at the roof's corner, with the edge on two sides of him, and Otto and the outspread actuators completely blocking his escape route.

"There's nowhere left to run," Otto said menacingly. He took another step forward, and O'Connell took another step back, struggling to maintain the distance between them.

"What do you want?" O'Connell asked desperately, his voice slightly shrill with fear. "I'll give you anything, anything you want!" His words tumbled out in a rush. "Please… please don't-"

Otto closed his ears to the man's desperate pleas. Nothing would stop him from doing this. Nothing. "Then tell me this: did you order your man to sabotage my experiment?"

O'Connell took another step backwards. The back of his knees hit the edge of the parapet, and his eyes widened in horror. He'd run out of roof. "I…" he faltered. "I order my men to do what's necessary, and if the situation arises to destroy the competition, I encourage them to take it. I suppose my spy at OsCorp could have sabotaged it, yes. But if he did, he never reported it. Plausible deniability, you know." O'Connell glanced around, desperately seeking a way out. But there was nothing; Otto and Lynnea had made certain of that.

Otto surged forward, the actuators pinning O'Connell's limbs to his sides. The director's scream was choked off when Otto closed his hand around the man's Adam's apple. "There's no one here to save you now," Otto rasped. His fingers tightened, and O'Connell's gasps for air became more desperate. "You ruined my life. You used my wife. You used me to do your dirty work. I should tear you apart with my bare hands." The actuators squeezed harder in preparation for a mauling, but Otto called them off. This was between him and O'Connell. His own grip loosened, and he took a step back. "Give me one reason why I should spare your miserable life, and I suggest you make it a good one."

Father, Spider-Man is coming. Otto clenched his teeth. It seemed a way out for O'Connell had presented itself, after all, unless he made this quick.

O'Connell shrank away from him, his ice blue eyes wide with terror. He gasped for breath, rubbing his throat as if that would ease the pain. "Money," he gasped out. "We could make a fortune together. No imprisonment, no manipulation… An equal partnership!"

Otto almost pitied the man, who thought everything could be solved with money. There was only one thing Otto wanted, and it was one thing neither O'Connell nor his money could give him. "Not good enough," Otto spat, and lunged forward.

XXX

Urgency overpowered the pain that threatened to draw Spider-Man back into unconsciousness. He'd woken – barely – to find a still green form in a dark crimson pool, and it had jolted him out of his stupor. "Harry," he croaked, dragging himself along the floor towards his friend. The glider remained hovering above them, spotlighting the contrast between the dull green of the Goblin outfit and the deep scarlet framing it. Nerveless fingers pressed to Harry's throat, and even though he couldn't feel much, he knew that his friend was dead. And there was only one person who could have done it: Octavius. Oh, God…

He pulled himself to his feet. Dr. Octavius had killed Harry. He refused to believe that his friend had been beyond redemption; he didn't deserve this! Or… did he? Spider-Man hated himself for even having the thought. Harry had come to kill Spider-Man, and he'd said he wasn't going to stop there. He'd wanted Octavius dead as well… maybe the scientist had killed him in self defense. The actuators had a strong desire to survive, and had proven that they wouldn't hesitate to kill to protect their host.

No more deaths tonight. No one else will die tonight! If he was going to keep that vow, he was going to have to leave, to completely put Harry out of his mind. Spider-Man spared one last glance at his former friend, then headed towards the shattered window that he'd followed Octavius through. He didn't know where O'Connell had gone, but with the elevators and stairs out, the businessman would probably be stranded on the upper floors. There were several floors above him, but Spider-Man suspected it would be all too easy to find O'Connell – just follow the sound of destruction.

The painstaking crawl up the side of the building was all a blur; Spider-Man didn't realize how far he'd gone until he reached the building's roof and was pulling himself over the parapet. Instinct seemed to have pulled him in the right direction; in the dim light provided by the circle of battery-powered lamps, he recognized the distinctive shape of Dr. Octavius standing at the building's edge, the actuators curved menacingly about him. Someone else stood off to the side, in the shadows, pinning yet another person to the ground. Spider-Man ignored them and began running straight towards Octavius. Don't let me be too late… please, don't let me be too late… O'Connell may have been scum, but he didn't deserve to be murdered. Investigated by Quest's board of directors and fired, yes. Put on trial for the crimes he'd probably committed, yes. But murdered?

The sound of his footsteps drew the attention of one of the actuators, but if it warned its host, Octavius showed no sign of it. His attention was focused on O'Connell, who was cowering before him with a hand around his throat as if it pained him. Closer, and he could almost hear what they were saying. Just a little closer, and he would be able to dodge between Octavius and O'Connell…

And then Octavius moved, faster than Spider-Man would have expected. Hands and actuators reached for O'Connell… and then the businessman went flying backwards, plunging into the darkness below. Spider-Man didn't think; he dove over the edge, keeping his body vertical so he fell at a faster rate than O'Connell. It wasn't until he was nearly within arms reach of the businessman that he remembered his webbing didn't work.

I'm supposed to be brilliant; so why don't I ever think these things through? He'd drawn even with O'Connell and reached with one arm, wrapping it around his waist. He gritted his teeth as the broken edges of bone ground against each other, but he wouldn't release O'Connell. With his other hand, he aimed at the building's face and tried his webbing. The small sticky mass that emerged wouldn't have held his weight, let alone both of them. He tried again, putting out of his mind that the streets below were now visible in the dim light and approaching rapidly. This time, he got a smaller glob, and a horribly familiar sound – a sound he'd last heard when his powers had failed him.

There was only one other option. Spider-Man executed a midair twist that brought his feet close to the building's face, then rolled in the air again until they were close enough to touch. He gritted his teeth. This is going to hurt… He kicked out, smacking the soles of his feet against the building, and willed them to adhere. They slipped, as though he were trying to cling to ice, slid down the brick, and then, finally held. Gravity continued to pull his upper torso downward, and he was almost swung face first into the brick. The bone-jarring jolt almost made him drop his passenger, but he was able to hold on.

"Are you all right?" Spider-Man asked. His passenger had had a rough ride, but he'd kept silent through the entire fall. The fact had nagged at him, along with O'Connell's curiously limp form throughout the fall, but he'd been too preoccupied with saving the man to give it much thought. But now, his continuing silence was alarming. His fingers found O'Connell's throat, and the man's head lolled to the side at an impossible angle. He repositioned himself so he was 'seated' on the wall and examined the businessman as best he could in the dim light.

His neck had been twisted almost completely around with immense force, but that wasn't what sickened Spider-Man; judging from the pattern of bruising, very visible against the pale skin, Dr. Octavius had done this with his bare hands. Perhaps the actuators had helped give him the force he needed to break his neck so quickly and cleanly, but the actual murder had been done by Octavius.

Spider-Man glanced upwards, and saw the lights of the actuators peering over the edge, their glow faintly illuminating the demonic figure peering down at him. Octavius had gotten his revenge, but what would this do to the tortured scientist? He'd taken the first step down a dark path, the same path that had driven Harry to madness. Would Octavius be able to resist the darkness… or be consumed by it?

XXX

Otto felt weary as he walked over to Lynnea, who had removed her knee from Rosie's back. The animation seemed to have gone from the puppet's limbs, and she didn't even react as he stood over her. "Time to go," he said dully.

"Is he dead?"

Otto understood her suspicion. He himself could hardly believe he'd killed a man with his own hands. "I snapped his neck. He's dead."

Hesitantly, Lynnea said, "There should be a safe in O'Connell's office."

He just wanted to get out of there, but he had promised that any money they found would go to Lynnea. And she had been of use, going above and beyond what he'd required of her. She deserved the money and, what was more, she needed it. He just said, "Let's go," and followed her down the narrow stairs to the executive offices. They left the near-lifeless Rosie on the roof top.

The actuators located the safe in a matter of moments, and within minutes he had it open and had moved aside so Lynnea could peruse the contents with her flashlight. There was an exclamation of delight when she found the suitcase with the second half of her payment that had been stolen from her hotel suite, and a smaller pile of bundles of hundred-dollar-bills. While she worked, Otto asked the question that had been nagging him. "Lynnea," and he was horrified by how pleading, how hopeful his voice was. "Is… is there a way to bring Rosie truly back to life? Not just as a corpse puppet?"

He expected to be disappointed, but it still hurt when Lynnea said with great certainty, "No. A necromancer can only work with the dead; we can't restore life. For the kind of resurrection you're thinking of, you'd need something like divine intervention – and that doesn't happen often in this day and age. I'm sorry, Doctor," she said, her voice compassionate. "It's just not possible. If it were… do you think I'd be trying so hard to raise money for my daughter's treatment if I knew I could just bring her back if she died?"

Of course not. It had been foolish of him to get his hopes up. He supposed that she could be lying… but she'd made a valid point about her daughter.

Lynnea finished stuffing the money into the briefcase, then backed away. "Anything you want here?"

Otto slammed the safe shut. With the power out, he couldn't retrieve his plans from the computer systems, so that was out. The lab he'd used had been devastated by the Goblin's bombs, but Otto couldn't count on all the records being lost. Unfortunately, there was no way he could make certain everything had been destroyed. There wasn't anything else here he could think of.

No… there was something… His clothing hadn't survived the chaos very well, and O'Connell had supplied him with custom clothing… He wondered if it was still in the suite. Now that O'Connell was dead, it no longer seemed quite so bad for him to accept the man's gifts. He led Lynnea to the upper floor, where his suite door still hung open. He entered with some trepidation; it had been only that morning that he'd been a captive in that room. You're no longer a prisoner, he scolded himself. You're free, now. Free. It felt so… empty.

Lynnea watched him first with puzzlement, then amusement as he took the clothing O'Connell had given him and stuffed it in a garbage bag. He hesitated to give the Armani suit such careless treatment, then shrugged and stuffed it in. "Let's get out of here," he said, and this time, Lynnea nodded.

It wasn't until they got back up to the roof that Otto realized they had a problem. "Uh, how, exactly, are we going to get out of here?" she asked.

Otto blinked. He hadn't thought that far ahead; he hadn't expected to survive to make a mistake. But now, he was stuck in a building with no power, with a damaged stairwell and who knew how many guards still on the floors below. And he'd be escaping with two women and the garbage bag. He'd leave the bag of clothes if necessary, but not Lynnea. And certainly not Rosie. And then he grinned. "Didn't you say O'Connell was waiting for a helicopter?"

Lynnea grinned in return, and in the flashlight's beam, he saw her draw the gun. "I like the way you think," she said. "You'll have to hide, though; if the pilot sees you, he won't land."

Otto agreed, and began to walk away, searching for some place in the darkness to hide. Would she like his thoughts as much if she knew about his inner turmoil? He'd killed two men tonight. He was free, but at what price? O'Connell had been scum, he'd deserved it, and Harry had tried to kill Otto first… but he still felt hollow inside. It felt as if something inside of him, something that had been part of the old pre-accident Otto Octavius, had been lost forever.

To Be Concluded…

(Go on; read the epilogue! And then it truly will be over…)