TWIN DEMONS by Georgia Kennedy

Author's Notes

The quote at the beginning of the second section of this chapter is taken, verbatim from: Greg Cox, Daredevil, (New York, Penguin Putnam, Inc. 2003), p. 248. The New York Post is a real newspaper, but the article and its author are fictitious.

SEC refers to Securities and Exchange Commission, the United States government agency charged with protecting investors from stock market manipulations.

DA refers to District Attorney.

In the parlance of clandestine operations, the term "Mechanic" means hired assassin.

Disclaimer

This is a derivative work of fiction featuring characters copyrighted and trademarked by Marvel Characters, Inc. It is based upon: Spider-Man, copyright 2002 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved; Spider-Man 2, copyright 2004 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved; Daredevil - Director's Cut, copyright 2004 by Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, Inc., all rights reserved; and Hulk, copyright 2003 by Universal Studios, all rights reserved. The author is not connected with nor is this work authorized by Marvel Characters, Inc., or any of the aforementioned motion picture studios. This work is intended solely for posting on Fanfiction, for the benefit and enjoyment of its intended audience. No commercial or financial benefit accrues or is intended to accrue to the author as a result of said posting. Any unauthorized copying or redistribution of this work might subject the party responsible for such unauthorized copying or redistribution to legal action by the owners of the aforementioned copyrights and trademarks.

VIII

CONVERSATION

Harry Osborn, like Peter Parker before him, was forced to assume adult responsibilities at far too early an age. Here he was, an orphan at twenty, and already the chairman of a major defense contractor. But Harry was also a man in turmoil. The revelations that his best friend was his sworn enemy and that his own father once tried to kill him had turned his world completely upside down and left him clinging to sanity by the barest of threads. Without psychotherapy, he could not reconcile those two realities. All he could do to keep from slipping over the edge was to focus his mind on his work.

Despite Norman Osborn's reign of terror as the Green Goblin, or perhaps because of it, Oscorp had been left to him in great shape. With no debts, huge cash reserves, and a market capitalization of over seventy billion dollars, the company was poised to become a major global powerhouse in nearly every significant emerging technology market. But the Octavius affair was a disaster. The lawsuits that were springing out of that catastrophic first demonstration had threatened to drain the company's reserves, which, in turn, sent the stock price plummeting from $110 to $65 a share.

For nearly thirty hours since his return from Mary Jane's wedding that wasn't, Harry had been reviewing settlement proposals, earnings data and SEC filings, and had been in conference calls with lawyers, investment bankers and senior vice presidents. The open terrace doors let in the sounds of the city and the aromas of his rooftop garden. The fresh air circulating throughout the penthouse gave him some much-needed stress relief as he hunched over the big desk . . . his big desk. Whatever sleep he got came from nodding off in his chair.

Harry could have followed the advice of his father's associates that he sell the company and live like a jet-setter. They obviously thought he didn't have what it took to run an organization like Oscorp., and that he was nothing more than a spoiled little rich kid, destined to live entirely off the fruits of his father's labors. But unlike Norman, who was first and foremost a scientist, Harry had been blessed with a natural talent for business, a talent that his father had never even recognized, let alone nurtured. Had Harry not been obsessed with revenge, he might have acknowledged what he implicitly understood . . . that his father's passing was giving his talents an opportunity to blossom that they would not otherwise have had. And with two years of on-the-job training under his belt, he was poised to prove to those sons of bitches once and for all that could make Oscorp. into something on the order of an Exxon-Mobil, an IBM, or a General Electric.Otto Octavius was merely a bump in the road, a learning experience that would lay the groundwork for future success.

As Harry waded through complex SEC documents, he felt nothing but contempt for all those passive investors who moved their money in and out with the rise and fall of the share price, and who lacked the vision to see things through the long haul. All this useless paperwork, all the thousands of dollars and manhours spent to give these idiots reassurances, and still, they fled at the first sign of trouble, just like sheep. It was unfair. . .no, it was downright insane that these morons could dictate to him which projects to pursue, which plants to build, and which companies to buy. Once he could complete his father's plans for taking the company private, he would be freed of this massive burden and would not have to deal with them anymore. The falling share price would give him the opportunity to recapture all the outstanding shares at bargain-basement rates. In the meantime, he would move ahead with his strategy for restoring Oscorp. to its former glory.

He thumbed through the report entitled, Acquisition Targets. High on his list of priorities were Quest Aerospace, his father's principal rival, and a California company called Atheon, which, like Oscorp., had done highly classified work in human performance enhancement. According to the report, Atheon personnel were involved in that Hulk business out at Desert Base, and there had been casualties. No matter. Atheon held valuable patents which, when put together with Oscorp.'s existing assets, would yield massive synergy and huge profits.

His next priority was to find a new headquarters for Oscorp. That one was a no-brainer—it would be the Fiskcorp building. How strange that his father's former business rival and sometime partner turned out to be the biggest crook in New York City, perhaps even the country. He had been to Fiskcorp. once, while his father and Mr. Fisk were negotiating a complex R&D deal that turned out to be extremely lucrative for both. He was only eight years old at the time, but he remembered everything about that day as if it were last week: the glass and water walls, the wet bar, the size of Mr. Fisk's hands as he reached down and patted little Harry on the shoulder, promising that if he worked hard and kept his nose clean, he too could be successful. He doubted that his father ever knew the truth about Wilson Fisk. But then again. . . who did?

This would be a steal, Harry thought smugly. In typical fashion, the city was putting the Fiskcorp. Building on the market for a fraction of what it was worth, figuring that it would make up in tax revenue what it would lose on the sale. He left a voice mail message with his real estate manager to get on it immediately.

Overwhelmed and in need of a break, he walked out to his terrace garden. carrying a half-finished bottle of Cutty Sark in one hand, and a copy of the Daily Bugle in the other. He was grateful for the scotch. It helped him to avoid having to face issues he couldn't deal with. On the other hand, it also made him receptive to his father's visits, which were becoming more and more frequent. At first, Harry thought he was losing his mind, but after a while, he'd come to accept that he had some sort of psychic capability that enabled him to perceive what others could not.

Sure enough, as he sat on a recliner to watch Sunday disappear over the horizon, he heard the cackle that signaled his father's imminent arrival. Norman Osborn stood near the foot of the recliner, dressed in his customary black sport shirt and slacks. Harry guessed that red was no longer in vogue where his father now resided.

"Have you read the paper today?" Norman asked in his usual condescending tone. "You made the news."

Harry picked up the Bugle and saw nothing pertaining to him or the company on the front page.

"Page thirty two."

The headline in the middle of the back page read: DA Announces Grand Jury Probe of Oscorp. Harry's expression remained calm as he read the story. Apparently the damage caused by Doc Ock's second fusion experiment had run into the hundreds of millions of dollars. The city had applied for federal disaster relief, but the grant wouldn't cover more than a fraction of the clean-up costs. An Oscorp spokesman told reporters that the company had severed all ties to Otto Octavius after the first demonstration, and that Octavius had stolen the tritium for the second experiment from Harry Osborn's office. But the DA wasn't buying it. She was hell-bent on finding evidence linking Oscorp to that catastrophe. And if she ever found out about the Spider-Man-for-tritium deal that Harry and made with Doc Ock, the city would sue Oscorp for everything it was worth . . . and probably bring him up on charges of attempted murder.

Not wanting to jeopardize the company's value any further, and with it, the size of the city's potential recovery, the DA wisely waited until Saturday morning, when the markets were closed, before quietly announcing the probe. That ensured that the disclosure would not make the front page, and that its impact on Oscorp's share price would be minimal.

"They're looking for a deep pocket to take the fall, and you're it." Norman said, his voice dripping with icy sarcasm. "Congratulations, son. You've extended our losing streak, big time."

Harry tried to defend his decision to back Octavius. "Dad," he protested, "you know you would have done the exact same thing. Otto was one of the top physicists in the world! I went with Otto to show those Wall Street bastards that nothing had changed with Oscorp, that we're still not afraid to take chances on high risk stuff! I was trying to protect your legacy, dammit!"

"Yes, you're right." Norman admitted reluctantly. "You did take a risk, and I am proud of you for that. If it was me, I probably would have done exactly what you did." At least Norman was acknowledging something positive about him. Harry's instincts had been right, but with Octavius, he'd punched the wrong ticket. Harry was gratified that, for once, his father appreciated that he'd showed some gumption. It's too bad that Norman never lauded him like this while he was alive, he reflected morosely. As it was, Harry wasn't sure whether the praise was coming from his father, or from himself.

"But that isn't what I'm talking about." Norman continued. "You need to deal with this grand jury probe right away. If they find out that you gave Octavius the tritium for the second experiment, they'll hit us with a judgment so high that the company won't survive! You won't save my legacy, you'll destroy it! Harry, you can't disgrace me like this!"

Was Harry imagining it, or was Norman's voice starting to take on overtones of urgency? "What are you worried about, Dad?" he asked, trying to sound reassuring - as if a ghost really needed reassurances. "I've got the best legal talent in New York working on this, and they all assured me that the city's got no case! Everyone knows that Oscorp. cut Otto off after the first demonstration. I'll just tell the grand jury that he stole the tritium, which is exactly what happened."

"Really?" The way Norman said it made Harry feel like he was being cross-examined.

"There were no witnesses."

"You're wrong, Harry. There was one witness."

Harry should have known that any conversation he had with his father would inevitably return to the one subject he didn't want to discuss. There was a part of Harry Osborn that still regarded Peter Parker as his best friend, that wanted to reach out, patch up their differences, and embrace Peter as a brother once again. But that part always wound up taking a back seat whenever his father showed up.

"Pete won't testify."Harry said, reasonably certain of his convictions. "Because if he did, he'll have to reveal his identity. And you know damn well he'd never do that."

That Harry could still feel any affection for Peter seemed to stick in his father's craw. "How can you possibly be so goddamn naive, Harry?" Norman snapped. "You know how Peter thinks—you've known for a long time. He is governed by simplistic ethics that see no middle ground between right and wrong, between good and bad. Once he gets wind of the grand jury probe, he WILL find a way to testify without compromising his secret. And when he does, it will be the end of Oscorp! The ONLY way to prevent that from happening is to silence Parker! Silence him forever."

"Dad," Harry said softly, but firmly. "I can't. He's invincible. Nobody can take him out. Even you couldn't!"

"Why not?" Norman retorted, angry at Harry's display of weakness and lack of resourcefulness, and totally oblivious to his son's reminder of his ultimate failure. "Didn't I leave you everything you need to get the job done? The means are at your disposal. Every day you delay, you expose the company to the risk of a meltdown. Have you seen the stock price recently? It's fallen through the floor! Damn you, Harry, do your duty as an Osborn! You owe it to me, and to yourself! Take control, NOW!"

As if he were in a trance, Harry slowly made his way back to his desk. He opened the middle drawer and pulled out a vial of green liquid that could put him on the road to godhood if he so chose. His father had refined the performance enhancer so that it could be consumed in this form, eliminating the need for isolation chambers and other expensive equipment. He carried the vial back to the terrace where Norman was waiting for him.

"Go on," Norman whispered. "Do it!"

Sweating profusely,Harry held the vial up to what was left of the setting sun. He wrapped his fingers around the reinforced metal top and was about to start removing it. But then his survival instinct kicked in. He set the vial down next to the bottle of Cutty. "I can't," he said feebly. The truth was, Harry was afraid that his father's concoction would kill him on the spot, especially after he'd been drinking so much liquor. And ironically, out of that fear, he did the bravest thing he'd ever done in his life—he defied his father's express command and began his struggle to get out from under his father's shadow.

But it was not easy to break a lifetime pattern of docile acquiescence. All he could hear was Norman berating him incessantly about his incompetence, his weakness . . . and his cowardice. With each of Norman's visits, the part of his mind susceptible to his father's influence grew stronger. He knew he had to fight to keep Norman from taking over completely. If that happened, he would no longer be able to distinguish his own thoughts from his father's. It would be as if he was possessed by his father's spirit, just like in the Exorcist. Unfortunately, his pride was preventing him from seeking the professional help he needed to resolve those boundary issues.

In his own way though, Harry fought back gamely. He fought back by challenging his father about what happened at the Oscorp. Unity Day Festival back in 2002, when the Green Goblin attacked the dignitaries on the balcony, murdering the board members and nearly killing him. "You knew I was on that balcony dad," Harry said. "You knew I was there, but you attacked anyway. Why did you try to kill me? If you want me to do what you're asking, tell me why! You owe me that much!" Whenever he'd brought that subject up during previous encounters, Norman usually vanished.

But Norman did not disappear this time. To Harry's surprise, his father finally gave him an answer. "Harry, you're my flesh and blood. You know I could never harm you," he said soothingly. "I had absolute faith that you would survive. . . and the fact that you are standing here more than justifiesthat faith. But I had to act! I had to remove those traitors before they destroyed what it took me thirty years to build! They were going to sell us out! Did you know that? I saved your ass, Harry! I eliminated every obstacle, every barrier to your success! Now you have to act. Get rid of Peter and do it quickly! If you don't he will succeed where the board failed! He will destroy our legacy and leave you destitute and broken!"

But despite Norman's scare tactics, Harry still could not bring himself to drink the green potion. "M.J. might get hurt," he said, knowing full well that Mary Jane and Peter had to be together by now.The notion that M.J. and Peter were in love had kept him up all night, his mind wandering back and forth between acceptance and denial. He still cared forMary Jane very much as a friend. More than that, he felt responsible for what his father and Doc Ock had done to her.

Norman, on the other hand, felt no such remorse. "M.J.?" he hissed. "You mean that slut that you used to date? The one who took you for a ride, just like she took Jameson's kid for a ride? Let me tell you something about that ex-girlfriend of yours. She hasn't so much as given you a second thought! You're nothing to her!" Norman had conveniently forgotten the advice that he had given his son to "broom her fast." But he wasn't going to let that get in the way of what his son had to do. "Do you know where she is now? GETTING LAID BY YOUR SWORN ENEMY! They're in bed together, Harry! And you just stand there like a fool while he screws your girl . . . YOUR GIRL!"

Norman clearly knew what strings he needed to pull to get his son properly motivated. Even after two years, Harry still felt a trace of bitterness at having lost Mary Jane. He'd been struggling to forget his feelings for M.J. and get on with his life while remaining on good terms with her, just as John Jameson would now have to do. But just as he started coming to terms with those feelings, his father, with impeccable timing, ripped open all of those old wounds. In desperation, Harry squeezed his eyes shut, hoping Norman would be gone by the time he opened them. No such luck. Norman wasn't even warmed up yet.

"And she's laughing at you, Harry," Norman continued. The absolute, utter contempt in his father's voice was palpable. "She's laughing at you while she's having oral sex with your so-called best friend!" Norman made an obscene gesture with his tongue. "And you're just going to let him take what should have been yours! You're a fool, Harry, a goddamned fool who came to a loser's end!"

"Enough!" Harry screamed, hurling the vial at where he thought his father was. The glass didn't even shatter, he threw it so weakly. He knew at that point that he had to be hallucinating. Norman Osborn never used such vulgar language while he was alive. It wasn't his father at all, he told himself. It was his own mind, spewing venom at him from behind his father's image. He knew that his father's graphic tirade was nothing more than an expression of his own perverse fantasies about Mary Jane, fantasies he was too ashamed to admit to, being dredged up from his subconscious and thrown back in his face as an alcohol-induced illusion.

Despite the trauma that he was going through, Harry was beginning to figure out the game. That part of his mind held captive by his father was apparently going to use any means necessary to fan his hatred for Peter andkeepitalive at all costs. Why? To steer his attention away from the undeniable fact that his father was a killer. Harry was beginning to realize that if Peter had not acted, and acted decisively, the Goblin would have most certainly caused the deaths of Mary Jane and hundreds other innocents, not to mention himself. That knowledge alone would dissolve that hate, which was exactly what Norman could not abide.

As if he sensed that he was starting to lose his hold over Harry, Norman shifted gears, adopting a more sympathetic tone. "You think I'm wrong about her? Come, let me show you something." Harry followed his father back inside the penthouse. "Take a look," Norman said, pointing to the large portrait photograph of Mary Jane that Harry had taken when they were still an item. He liked the picture so much that he never bothered to have it removed when they stopped seeing each other. The portrait showed Mary Jane in profile, sitting on a large high-backed designer chair, wearing the sleeveless black dress that Harry adored.

And then Harry's eyes beheld something that his mind refused to accept. He watched in utter horror as Mary Jane suddenly came to life. She slowly turned her head toward him, her eyes glowing red, the grin on her face right out of the depths of Hades itself. She gave him the finger, and as she did, she laughed at him. But it was not the musical giggle that ignited the passions of the men she dated. It was the Green Goblin's cackle.

"Nooooooooooooo!" Harry screamed, hurling a vase at the picture and turning away to block out the awful hallucination. A migraine exploded on the right side of Harry's head, accompanied by a wave of nausea. Harry fell to his knees in front of the fire place, trying to hold his own against violent delirium tremens as his father's fearsome grip on his mind tightened like a vise. And as he struggled to keep from vomiting all over his expensive carpet, he heard the Green Goblin himself issue an edict, all traces of sympathy gone from his father's voice.

"Be strong Harry! Be strong for both of us! Put aside whatever thoughts you have about forgiveness, and get it through your head that this is a matter of survival! Nothing less than the survival of your legacy is at stake! Eliminate those who would stand in your way, starting with Peter Parker!"

"I'm . . .not like you!" Harry gasped, feeling as if his head was being pounded by a sledgehammer. "I'm not going to kill anyone! I'll save the company, but I'll do it my way!"

"YOU WILL DO WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE!" the Goblin barked. "Be true to your oath, the oath you swore over my grave and avenge me. . . NOW!"

The pounding inside his skull was beginning to take its toll. Against his will, Harry found himself coming around to his father's way of thinking. As much as he wanted to forgive Peter, the fact remained that Peter was in a position to destroy the only thing he had left in the world that held any meaning for him. His father was right about that. It was not personal anymore. It was strictly a matter of business. Peter was dangerous—his testimony before the grand jury could wipe out the company. Harry had no choice— Peter had to be eliminated. And the DA, too. And if he couldn't do it himself, he would have to hire an assassin to do it for him. In the meantime, he would finish the privatization that his father had started, continue Oscorp's aggressive acquisition strategy, and make the company the global powerhouse his father had always intended it to be.

"Good, Harry, very good," his father said, sounding pleased that his son was beginning to see the light. "Remember, Harry, you have everything you need."

When Harry opened his eyes a few minutes later, the migraine had subsided, the picture was back to normal, and Norman was gone. All that was left of the encounter were the shattered remnants of what had once been an expensive vase. He got up, made his way back to the desk, and sat down, depressed and hung over from the scotch. He buried his face in his hands and started weeping.

"Are you alright sir?" came a voice from the doorway. It was the family retainer, Bernard.

"Yes, Bernard, I'm fine."Harry answered, not really believing it. "I've had a lot of things on my mind lately."

"Do you require anything before I go home for the evening?"

"No thanks. I'll see you on Tuesday."

As Bernard left, he realized how far down his boss had spiraled and how desperately he needed some sort of intervention. For the last thirty minutes, Harry Osborn had been carrying on a conversation with someone who wasn't even there.

XXXXXXXXXX

"The battle against evil is never ending, because evil always survives . . . with the help of evil men." — Ben Urich, The Real Kingpin, New York Post, September 29, 2003, p. 1.

Seven months. It took seven months, but the last of the plaster casts was finally being removed. He would leave the hospital in a few days. . . . and go straight into police custody to await trial for the murder of Nicholas Natchios and the attempted murder of his daughter, Elektra, or so his court-appointed lawyer told him. That would never happen, he reassured himself. He would find a way to escape, somehow.

How the fuck did she survive? he wondered wrathfully. He was so sure that he'd taken her out. Daredevil! It had to be! That contemptible bastard had somehow saved her. It didn't matter though. He would finish the job as soon as he got out of here. And this time, he would nail both of them and restore his reputation, a reputation that had been sullied by his recent failures . . . and by his capture.

He'd long forgotten the name his parents had given him. The only name he could remember was the alias that made him one of the most feared men on Earth. And if there was one thing of which he could be certain, it was that he was the best in the world at what he did. And with his patron behind bars, he was free to sell his services to the highest bidder.

He was Bullseye, Mechanic Extraordinaire, the world's greatest assassin.