VII. Revelation

The Osborns. Well, Harry is like a brother to me. Really, he is. It's just that… sometimes… he can be a little jealous of the people around him. It's funny, you know? He's had things growing up that I could only dream of—his parents in his life, all the money in the world—and he's the jealous one. Maybe it's because he got picked on, just like I did, but while I was getting called "egghead" and "bookworm" and "four-eyes"—you know, made fun of for being smart—he was "daddy's boy" and "little rich kid". That was how people saw Harry. He didn't have my brains or Flash's muscles or MJ's outgoing personality. They didn't see him; they just saw money and the last name "Osborn".

I guess I can't really imagine what dealing with that is like.

Last year… maybe I shouldn't even be talking about this, I mean, it's a confidence after all… but, last year, Harry and I both tried out for the football team. I don't know what we were thinking; like most of life in high-school, it's all part of the never-ending popularity contest. Sometimes it can make you a little crazy, and you stop thinking. I knew that with my spider-powers, I would be a shoo-in. Lucky for me, I came to my senses at the last minute and quit the tryouts. But Harry? He made it onto the team. Easily.

And he's never been any better at sports than me (pre-spider-bite, that is).

Me and MJ, we were really proud of Harry. I had no idea that he was using a performance enhancer. And I don't just mean "juice" or "dope" or whatever they're calling steroids these days: he somehow got his hands on one of his dad's experimental formulas. Oscorp Performance Enhancer, Formula zero-zero-zee. "00Z". Harry was drinking the stuff. And it made him stronger, faster… meaner. And badly addicted. He even blacked out sometimes… just forgot where he was, checked out, and fell asleep. Poor guy.

Then, one day (I know, I know, it's too late to make a long story short), Spider-Man found Harry Osborn unconscious, wearing the Green Goblin's costume. I mean, can you even—?—no, you can't understand what was going through my head then. I thought that my best friend was also secretly my worst enemy.

Only, he didn't remember any of it. And that's because it was all a lie. You see, Harry's scummy dad really was the Green Goblin all along. Norman Osborn was treating himself with the performance enhancer too, but in smaller doses, inhaled as a vapor over a much longer period of time. He might have been a nutty nutbar from the nut-factory, but he was still mostly in control. No blackouts, no memory loss. That jerkwad knew that he was the Goblin, and he tried to frame his own son, by sticking him in the costume while he was knocked out from taking that freaky-deaky drug that he invented! Thinking about that makes me so—gah, I just can't stand it! How absolutely evil some people are!

Well, anyway, it's over now. The last time I fought the Goblin, he threw one of those creepshow pumpkin-bombs at me, and I just… I just reacted. I snapped it back at him with a web-line, and, poof, boom. Green gas, big explosion, Halloween scream, and no more Norman. Not even bits of him left.

I'd like to tell Harry how sorry I am… except, I'm not really sorry at all that his worthless d-bag of a father is gone.

• • •

The day of the Oscorp press-conference arrived. Between MJ, Gwen, and Aunt May, Peter had been fussed over, gussied up, spit-shined, and now shanghaied into a rented monkey-suit… which, admittedly, looked pretty darned good on him. It was a three-piece, not a full tux, but still pretty sharp. Mary Jane hadn't yet allowed Peter to see the dress that she intended to wear to the after-party, and Gwen had yet to even admit that she would actually wear a dress, so most of the attention thus far had been focused on Peter. He was altogether grateful that he would have to leave ahead of everyone else, in order to attend the press-conference itself and take photos for the Bugle reporter, Ned Leeds.

"Oh, Peter, you look so very handsome," said Aunt May. Her voice caught a bit in her throat. "You look—oh, my. You look just exactly like your father when he was a young man."

They were in the Parkers' living room, where May and MJ both were still fawning over Peter, right up to the moment he had to leave, lest he be late to meet Ned at Oscorp. But as much as he would have wanted to escape right then and there, Aunt May's words gave Peter pause. "You really think so?"

"The spitting image," said May with a motherly smile. "If your parents and your uncle were still with us, I know they'd be so proud. My little man."

Peter didn't know what to say. MJ could tell what he was feeling, though. She took his hand, squeezed it tightly, and said, "Go get 'em, Tiger."

With a nod, Peter grabbed his camera-bag and headed out.

• • •

Anyone who looked up into the air between the buildings of Manhattan that afternoon would have seen an odd sight: Spider-Man, masked as usual, but wearing a nice three-piece suit and tie over the rest of his costume, and in stocking feet (with shined penny-loafers in a web-bag slung across his back). He swung from building to building at a leisurely pace, knowing full well that web-slinging could get him across the borough faster than any bus or taxi. There was no way he would be late for this appointment.

Down below, a woman screamed. "Help! My purse—thief! Stop him!"

Peter sighed. I don't know whether to be ticked off or thrilled. I can't be late, but I haven't seen any real action in days. But Spider-Man never really had a choice. He could help people; the decision was always already made.

So, descending on an elastic thread of webbing, he dropped down to the street below. Early autumn in Manhattan, it was brisk out but not cold; most of the people walking on the sidewalks weren't even wearing jackets. But one woman in a nice (if unseasonable) fur coat was making a real ruckus, screaming over her snatched purse. And the thief, presently sprinting away from the woman, was impossible to miss, since he was well over seven feet tall and built like a linebacker. In fact, Spidey recognized him: it was Ray Bloch, better known as "Ox"—one of the Big Man's three Enforcers.

With a leap and tumble through the air, Spider-Man sprang clear over Ox's head and landed in his way, facing the big thug with his arms crossed. "And just where do we think we're going?" asked Spidey, looking up through his mask at the enormous crook.

Peter, barely five-feet-six in height, was positively dwarfed by Ox. And yet, when Ox saw that mask—the mask of a man who had conked him one on the noggin so many times—he froze in sudden fear. Then he noticed the suit and socks. "Hey—what is this?"

Pete looked down at his clothes and said, "Let's just say I'm late for a business meeting, okay? Now, before I beat the dingles out of you, answer me one thing: purse-snatching? Isn't that just a little bit beneath you?"

Ox sighed and his shoulders slumped. He looked honestly ashamed. "Yeah… yeah, I know. But times are tough. The Big Man is on the run, the Kingpin is takin' over everyone's old territory… anyone who wants to be somebody's gotta show him what they can do."

"And this is what you can do?" Spider-Man was now tapping his foot on the sidewalk, in a fine impression of Aunt May at her angriest.

"All right, all right, jeez!" snapped Ox. "You don't have to lay it on so thick!"

It was then that Ox's two partners, Fancy Dan and Montana (the former in silk slacks and a blazer, with his two prize nickel-plated Colt .45s holstered underneath; the latter in a fringed buckskin duster and a cowboy hat, bullwhip curled at his belt) came back from across the street, having just purchased a couple of hot dogs from a cart-vendor. Upon seeing Spider-Man confronting Ox, they both started and reached for their weapons, Montana snatching his whip and Fancy Dan grabbing both guns... at the expense of his hot dog, which fell to the street with a sorry "splat".

"Spider-Man!" griped Dan. "Crap, man, you went and made me drop my wiener."

Everyone turned and stared at Dan for a moment, open-mouthed, before Spidey said, "Okay, not gonna touch that one. Way too easy."

Then, in an instant, they were all in motion. "I'm just plumb tired of you, varmint," drawled Montana, snapping his whip at Spidey. Pete was already turned around and flipping through the air, up and over Ox and plastering him to the street with a mass of webbing.

Ox could only struggle in futility. "God, I hate this web stuff."

"I am so gonna mess up that suit!" shouted Dan, who fired a few well-aimed shots from his pistols. He would have hit anyone without spidery reflexes fast enough to dodge bullets. But Pete was just way too fast, and he'd been craving action for so long that he was in rare form now.

"Can't let it happen, chief," said Spidey, who now turned his web-shooters on Dan's pistols. "It's embarrassing to admit, but… this is a rental." Soon enough, the guns were glued to the Enforcer's hands, all webbed up with no way to fire.

Now Spidey was only facing one opponent, and as good as Montana was with a bullwhip, it wasn't like facing Doc Ock's arms or anything. "Why in the Sam Hill don't y'all just leave us alone?" shouted Montana, snapping his whip left and right and utterly failing to connect with his nimble target.

In one easy motion, Spidey caught Montana's whip and pulled hard, dragging the man off balance and into the masked hero's vise-like grip. "Wouldja believe, because I love you?" quipped Spidey. Then, with a swift fist to the forehead, he knocked Montana out cold.

A police car, lights flashing, pulled up to the curb just as Spider-Man finished webbing Montana and Fancy Dan to the sidewalk next to Ox. Never one to wear out his welcome, Pete quickly fired off a line and sailed into the air again, leaving the cops to handle the cleanup. Once he was a good distance away, he realized that the lady's stolen purse was probably still tangled up with Ox in that mass of webs, but, oh well. I wanted some action, mused Peter, and that barely qualified. Almost makes me miss the big-time super-villains. Almost. At least it didn't make me late for my appointment.

• • •

When Peter arrived at the Oscorp building, he found a dais with several chairs and a podium set up on the grounds outside. A crowd of reporters and photographers had already gathered there, including Ned Leeds, who was talking to Jameson on his cell phone.

"Sorry, J.J.," he was saying. "There's no story."

Jameson's reply was loud enough that even Peter could hear it. "Whatdoya mean there's no verkakte story!?"

"Just what I said," said Leeds. "Roderick Kingsley wasn't kidnapped, he just took off for a few days without telling his employees. I guess an assistant got panicked and called the cops or something. But I just interviewed Kingsley myself, in his own office, this very morning. He's fine. Rich guy takes an impromptu vacation? That's no story, Jonah."

"All right, fine! But you'd better turn up something good with this Oscorp business! Is Parker there?"

"Yeah, boss. Talk to you later." Leeds quickly hung up and turned to address Peter. "Hey, Parker. What are you all dressed up for?"

"Oh, uh, Harry invited me and some of our friends to a party after the conference."

"The inside scoop with the kid who owns the company? Pretty slick!" Here Ned took out an old tape-recorder and passed it to Pete. "Think you can snag a few quotes while you're hobnobbing with the bigwigs? I don't think my press pass will get me in as far as you."

"Yeah, sure thing, Ned," said Peter.

Before Leeds could say anything else, a gasp arose from the crowd. Cameras flashed, but the assembled reporters fell silent. It was as if a ghost had appeared amongst them… for, sure enough, Norman Osborn had emerged from within a coterie of Oscorp executives. While the suits (and Harry, looking positively shell-shocked, but overjoyed beyond measure) took seats on either side of the podium, Norman marched up to the microphones and quoted, "The report of my death… was an exaggeration."

Those words were like a starting-gun at a horserace. Reporters began to shout questions from all corners, and Ned said to Peter, "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

Peter was too stunned to reply. No… it can't be… how can that evil whack-a-loon still be alive? How?! He was so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed Ned trying to prod him into action.

"Parker!" said Ned. "Pix!"

It was a slow crawl back to reality for Peter Parker's brain. He felt as if he were moving through molasses, a slow-motion dream, as he raised up his camera and took a few easy shots. He was on auto-pilot now; Peter Parker had gone bye-bye. Osborn is alive. The Green Goblin is back. Harry is in all kinds of danger… but he's up there grinning like he just won the lottery.

Meanwhile, Osborn was trying to silence the crowd so that he could address everyone at his leisure. "Ahem… to make this easier on everyone, I've prepared a written statement. Then I'll take your questions. If that's all right with all of you?" Polite, nervous chuckles answered back from the reporters. Here, Osborn took some folded papers out of his jacket, laid them out on the podium, and began: "To start with, let's get one fact straight, right away: I am not, nor have I ever been, the costumed villain known to the world as 'the Green Goblin'. Yes, the Goblin's glider and weapons are Oscorp military technology, but as I'm sure the esteemed and assembled members of the press here today will all remember, that tech was reported stolen several months ago…"

Osborn continued to drone on at length about the Green Goblin, his own fears for his life and for the safety of his family, and his concern for the Oscorp shareholders, given the wild and unfounded accusations besmirching his good name. Then he detailed his choice to lay low by leaving the country until the rumors, and any immediate danger from the Goblin, had passed.

Peter barely registered most of what Osborn was saying. All he could think was: Osborn, you lying creep. You're the Goblin, I know it, I saw you with my own eyes. And if I have to stop you again… oh, God. Poor Harry. No matter what happens, no matter what I do, he's the one who's going to get hurt here.

Osborn spoke for a bit about how he would be resuming control of his company immediately. He thanked Donald Menken for handling his affairs in his absence. Then he came to a close with a vow to oppose the Green Goblin and work with the NYPD to finally bring the villain to justice. "…And even though this monster has threatened me, and my family—" here, Norman rested a paternal hand on the shoulder of Harry, seated at his right side, "I know that they stand with me in the faith we have in our city's law enforcement to quickly bring this nightmare to an end. Thank you. Now I'll take your questions… let's start with the Wall Street Journal—"

Osborn's voice was soon lost in a tizzy of shouted questions and flashbulbs.

Peter Parker had a few questions of his own. What are you up to, Osborn? How do you think you're going to get away with this—and how is Spider-Man going to stop you?