At home, in his dressing room, Norman Osborn pulled Peter's bloodied handkerchief from his pocket, looked at it.
He raised his other hand. He was holding the Goblin's boomerang, its serrated edge red with crusty blood. Spider-Man's blood.
A piece of paper with the bold words LAB REPORT at the top made its way across the expensive rug in Norman Osborn's office at OsCorp, clutched in the hand of an AIDE.
The paper slid across the desk, to Norman, who pulled it around and studied it as the Aide scurried out of the room.
His eyes skimmed down the page, past the words "BLOOD MATCH TEST RESULT," all the way down to a single word, boxed in red at the bottom of the page: POSITIVE.
Norman Osborn smiled.
"Peter Parker..."
Xxx
Kuri, alone and forlorn, stared out the open window of her crappy apartment, letting in the blasts of cold air and fresh-falling snow. She looked out the window longingly, staring at the city, searching its rooftops for:
"...Spider-Man!"