FAITH IN HUMANITY
EMILY

The Daily Bugle, November 1979:

THE WIZARD OF OZ

Of all the noteworthy young scientists of his generation, Norman Osborn has proved to be one of the most difficult to predict. Having already worked on the teams which brought the world some of its greatest scientific breakthroughs to date, he is now designing a new 'wonder drug' for the military: Human Performance Enhancers, also known as 'Oz'. From the most optimistic viewpoint, the drug could be ready to market in just a few years. Tests on animals have so far mostly progressed as expected- there have been persistant rumors that the drug could be linked to insanity, but everyone working on the project insists this is untrue. "99 of our tests have proved sucessful," said Osborn himself. "Now all we need is for someone with sufficient imagination to see how this drug could be applied in everyday life."
He might be fighting a losing battle, as virtually all potential buyers view the drug with caution, but he is determined to bring his creation to the masses. "I geninuely believe," he said, "that once we perfect this formula, we can change this world for the better."

3rd February 2003

Christine Steinhauer turned up late the next day. Harry had wondered if she was going to come at all. He could cook food for himself, of course- well, mostly- but he just didn't like it when people ran off or weren't there without explantion.

She arrived at about eight 'o clock.

"Hello, Harry," was the first thing she said after she'd let herself in. "You certainly look better this morning; well done."

Harry wanted to correct her; tell her to not use his first name- no servants of his father's had ever done such a thing- but he couldn't. He felt at times like his first name was one of the few things he had to hold on to. After all, his mother had given him his first name- he'd learned that when he was seven.

"I take it you'll be wanting breakfast," Mrs Steinhauer said.

"Yes. I will. Thanks."

She went to the kitchen, opened cupboards, took things out, put some toast in the toaster for him- and let it burn.

"Oh-" She swore, although very quietly. "Sorry. I'm a little distracted today."

He didn't ask her why.

"Doesn't matter, there's plenty of bread," he said. "But I have to hurry. Someone from the paper is coming to interview me today."

"I see." She asked no questions either. "Will they be wanting food?"

"I don't know. Stick around for a bit, I'll call if anyone asks-"

"With all due respect, Harry, if you're not sure I'm wanted I'd like very much to go home."

With all due respect...he was quite certain he'd never heard that phrase directed at him before in his entire life, and it made him feel almost uncomfortable, as if she'd told him in no uncertain terms he was something he was not.

"I don't mind," he said.

"Thank you," she said, with genuine gratitude. "I'll see you tomorrow." And she was gone.

Half an hour later, the doorbell rang and the people from the paper arrived.

The interview did not go as well as Harry expected. The interviewer - a kid barely out of high school- didn't seem particuarly interested in what Harry had to say, and Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he thought he was slightly nuts.

"Thanks a ton, Mr Osborn," he said, when he (not Harry) had decided the interview was over. "Some good material here."

"I'm not convinced you were taking me seriously," Harry said.

"No, I was," The young man gave a juvenile grin. "Murdering superhero killed your father- odd that no-one saw him, but there you go-"

Harry lost his temper, something he didn't actually do all that often. Or didn't used to do all that often. "Look, you little shit. This is completely serious, okay? There are people running around out there who don't mind killing innocent people - complete nutcases who'll kill anyone who gets in their way! Look at what the Goblin did! Do you not get it- we all might be in danger."

The boy looked at him and just sniggered. "I think you've got bigger problems than Spider-Man," he said with a grin. "Now, I've gotta go and earn my paycheck-"

"He killed one of the only people who ever meant anything to me!" Harry knew he was shouting, shouting loudly and probably stupidly, but to have some little moron be cheeky about this, about the greatest loss he'd ever suffered, about the subject that had become his obsession, his...

Don't say 'destiny', please don't say destiny!

"Look," the kid said "I've been reading about this whole thing in the papers, and you know what I think? I think your father was-"

At that moment, there was a small explosion and the sound of shattering glass. The teenager stopped in his tracks, his mouth wide open and horrified.

Harry's first reaction, on the other hand, was to pretend nothing had happened.

Then he turned around. The Green Goblin was standing in the wreckage of the window, holding an orange bomb in his hand. Harry couldn't move for a second- this was the first time he'd come face-to-face with this guy, and he had some very, very important things to ask him-

The teenage journalist fled the room, swearing and yelling as he went. He slammed the door behind him.

"We need to talk, Mr Osborn," the Goblin said mockingly.

"I'll say we do."

The Goblin looked smaller somehow, in Harry's opinion. He didn't look quite like he was capable of flinging people off bridges, although he certainly had...

"How are you doing over here?" the Goblin asked. "Heard about what happened. How terrible."

"Listen, what do you know about the night my father died?" Harry demanded. "I know you have to know something."

"Well...I believe..." Harry knew that behind the mask he had to be smirking. "that yes, Spider-Man did kill your father. Bastard."

Then he vanished. Harry blinked and ran to the window, despite the fact that had he had any choice in the matter, he'd have rather just blacked out then and be done with it. He looked down...

...and Spider-Man was there, having knocked the Goblin straight out of the window and into the city below.

"No!" Harry yelled, despite the fact he had no idea why he was yelling it.

But there wasn't any answer. He stepped away from the window, dazed. The truth. What on earth was the truth...?

And I have confirmation now, it was him who killed my father, it was Spider-Man's fault, I was right, I was right, I was right...

He ran from the room.

The Daily Bugle, February 4th 2002:

What does the sudden dramatic return of the Goblin mean for the good people of this city? And what does it mean that he went straight for the house- and the son- of the late Norman Osborn? With so many questions up in the air, we have but two things confirmed- one, that this monster has returned and once again avoided capture, and two, that if both he and Harry Osborn are to be believed, Spider-Man was indeed the one behind Norman Osborn's death.

There is only one thing citizens can do, if they want to live once more in safety- keep a watch for either of the terrorists, be on your guard, report anything suspicious to the police. I am aware this sounds distasteful, but: even creatures such as these have family, friends, acquaintances. If you suspect someone you know is the one behind the mask, don't be afraid to turn them in- they will recieve the help they desperately need.

In the meantime, the high-powered feud seems to have once more reached a stalemate. Eyewitnesses who saw the battle claim that the Goblin suceeded in knocking Spider-Man out, and then fled the scene: he has not been seen since then...

3rd February 2003

Christine Steinhauer did not complain.

Her husband was dying (no, he was, he really was, even he knew, and if he knew how on earth could she justify denying it?), her son had all but abandoned her, despite the constant pleas over e-mail and telephone, she was slowly but surely reaching the age of forty-seven (which wouldn't really mean anything had that not been the age where her mother had calmly decided she wanted to die) and Harry Osborn, who she hadn't really planned on actually liking a little, was about to become an alcoholic, or seriously depressed at the very least. And today her husband had been sick, and it was miserable grey weather, and she just wanted to beat her head against the steering-wheel...

She might well have done, too, had she not at that moment heard a high-pitched, hysterical screaming noise. It startled her so much that she hit the brakes. She didn't move for a couple of seconds, but the screaming grew louder, and she carefully unlocked the door and stepped out.

There were no others cars around. She was alone. And the shouting was coming from a nearby alleyway. Was she really stupid enough to walk in there-

Clearly, she was. She couldn't ignore agonized screaming- someone might be lying there dying. She couldn't walk away. So she walked forward, into the darkness. Walked further and further in, until she came across the sound of the noise.

It was a man, lying there mangled. His leg was twisted and his arm was bleeding, and his face was in a snarl. He was dressed in green, and next to him there was a smashed-up mask. She'd seen that mask before, hadn't she? Or one like it. On the television. Oh god, it was him!

Horrified, she stepped backwards. But the man coughed up blood and then spoke.

"Don't leave me!" he gasped. "Don't leave me."

Christine looked at him, and then looked down at all the blood. She swallowed. And then she lifted her head, and looked into his eyes.

"What should I do?" she asked. His face was mangled as well- cuts and scars all over- but she kept looking. Mostly because she figured she might have to describe him to the police at some point.

"Listen carefully," he gasped. "Three streets away there's a surgery. I know a doctor there and he won't ask questions. You take me there and leave me there and you'll be alright." His voice was nastier now, and colder. "If you take me anywhere other than the surgery, you'll regret it, bitch. If you've got a husband I'll kill him, and same for your kids."

Christine just stared. She couldn't even blink. "S-same for my kids?" she spluttered, and thought she might be sick. "Same for my kids." Her son's face hovered before her eyes. "Oh, please no...I'll take you anywhere. I'll put you in the car. But please don't hurt anyone!" She was crying now, and could barely see. "Please." She went to him, the monster in the alley, and tried to drag him to the car. Eventually, she suceeded. He helped her, pushing his good foot against the ground and holding tightly onto her arm. He got blood all over her jacket, but she didn't even notice until they were both safely in their seats and the car doors were closed. She stared down at the stain disconnectedly.

"Give me directions," she said. She didn't dare look back at him.

"Drive to the end of the road," the Goblin said, "and turn right."

She did. She did everything he asked, and eventually she pulled up around the back of the building and dragged the Goblin from the car, and left him in a heap by a door he indicated to her. And then he smiled.

"Thank you," he said, in a different voice. "What's your name?"

Christine shuddered. With tremendous effort, she turned around, ran back to the car, and drove off. The Goblin did not call after her. She stared straight ahead, keeping her eyes on the road, shocked to her very core.

oh my god there was a madman in my car there was a murderer in my car there was a monster in my car-

She reached her apartment, and raced inside, leaving the car unlocked. She didn't care now if it got stolen; the thieves were welcome to it. She ran to her room, took her bloodstained clothes off, and curled up on her bed on her underwear.

"Christine?" called a voice from the bathroom. "Christine, love, is that you?"

"I'm fine, dear," she answered, choking on her own voice.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Ricky, I'm sure." She hid underneath the covers and waited for him to come out of the bathroom. She suceeded in stopping herself shaking.

But she got no sleep that night.