Yes, I have heard the good news. Sony is letting the Marvel Studios use Spider-man. That means he'll be joining the rest of the characters in the Marvel Cinematic Universe at some point in the future. Of course, that doesn't change the fact this story is still making use of the Spider-man original trilogy. But it is still nice to imagine that someday in the future, we'll have Spidey meeting up with the Avengers and the others.
Anyway, time for a familiar face from the Marvel Cinematic Universe to make an appearance. After all, he is pretty awesome for a guy without powers.
Waking up in a chair with a pounding headache and a dry mouth was an unpleasant and familiar experience by this point. Harry's past drinking habits ensured that he recognized a hangover when it struck. It was never fun and it usually left him miserable for a while, but he couldn't bother to be surprised by it. If he was dumb enough to drink to the point of passing out during Roderick's visit, then he had no one else to blame for the hangover.
Wincing as the sunlight tried to stab his eyes out, Harry reached out to the glass and pitcher of water waiting next the aspirin on the side table. Bernard's foresight and silence in leaving them made the young man eternally thankful to the servant. There was no way Harry would have survived past hangovers without committing murder if it wasn't for Bernard being soft-footed and always having water waiting in the morning.
Harry slowly sat up, drinking the water while pretending that his hangover wasn't as bad as it felt. After all, he doubted that there was an actual guy in his skull swinging a hammer. It just felt like it.
Then, apparently deciding that he wasn't suffering enough already, someone loudly greeted, "Good morning, Mr. Osborn."
Cringing at the increased pain, he whimpered, "No noise."
"I'm sorry, but it can't be helped," the speaker remarked at a still-too-loud volume. "We need to ask you a few questions."
Reluctantly prying his eyes open, Harry asked, "Now?"
There was a stranger in his home. That thought managed to wiggle its way past the pounding headache. There was a stranger in his study and Bernard didn't announce him. That was enough to get Harry's attention. No one got past Bernard.
He looked rather ordinary. Average height, average build, and a short, neat haircut. The brown hair and calm expression made the man appear almost dull and boring. He was the type of person who could blend into a crowd and was easily forgotten. The most notable trait about him was the nice suit he was wearing.
"I'm afraid so. We would have visited you sooner, but we've been quite distracted," the stranger said. "There were a few more immediate concerns. Let's just say that the end of May and start of June turned out to be a very big week for us and the fallout has taken some time to handle. But that doesn't mean that you won't be debriefed."
"I'm sorry, but who exactly who are you?"
"My name is Agent Phil Coulson," said the man. "I'm with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistic Division."
There was something familiar about it, but Harry couldn't concentrate on that. While his head was still killing him and part of him wanted to just crawl into a hole, Harry was able to recognize what the calm man was doing. He'd dealt with sneakier strategies in the Oscorp board room.
"I'm guessing there's an acronym for that you prefer to use. I'm also guessing you're using the longer name to put me off-balance and to seem boring," said Harry. "That way, I won't put up any defenses when you ask your questions."
He smiled calmly in response, but didn't deny it. Instead, he pulled out a small recorder out of his jacket pocket and set it on the small side table.
"Very well, Mr. Osborn—"
"Harry," he interrupted. "If you're going to practically break-in to my home first thing in the morning and interrogate me about something while I'm suffering the world's worst headache, we might as well make things simple. You can call me 'Harry.'"
Nodding in a way that left no doubt that he knew the source of the headache, Coulson said, "If that makes you more comfortable. Harry, what do you know about a disturbance at the pier a short time ago that involved your ex-girlfriend, Mary Jane Watson, a scientist you formerly sponsored with your company, Dr. Otto Octavius who is also now known as Dr. Octopus, and the costumed vigilante known as Spider-man, who you have a rather publically-known hatred against?"
"It can't be that well-known," he muttered, uncomfortably remembering a particularly loud and drunken rant at the party for Mary Jane's former fiancé.
"The only more publically-known vendetta against him is from a Mr. Jameson of the Daily Bugle," stated Coulson. "And that is simply due to the fact he controls a source of media, ensuring that his opinions are well-documented. I believe his favorite term for Spider-man is 'menace'?" He tilted his head briefly and smiled wryly, "You would think that a man in his position would have a more creative vocabulary."
Harry shrugged carefully, "I only know what I've been told about the event. Octavius rebuild his failed experiment, but on a larger scale. Spider-man fought him and the doctor and machine fell into the river in the process. And Mary Jane was rescued. I wasn't near the place, so I don't know what you expect me to tell you. All I know about it is what Mary Jane told me afterwards."
"We merely find it curious that all three individuals present at the pier that evening were tied to you," remarked Coulson calmly. "Not to mention that his experiment, which caused thoroughly-documented damage to the city in the short time period it was active, requires tritium forced into a solid form. Your company provided it for his first attempt and it has come to our attention that a larger amount was necessary for the reaction that was observed. We also know that your company recently obtained a second sample of tritium and that no one seems to know what happened to it. Are you certain that there is nothing else you wish to mention?"
Finally a memory managed to slip past his headache. Harry focused on that thought as best he could rather than think about how his mistakes were about to be exposed. He'd heard the name "SHIELD," the acronym for the agent's group. He'd been trapped in a storm of hurt, rage, and confusion as a collection of governmental-types visited the investigating detectives. When they left, Norman Osborn's death was officially declared an "accident" while Harry was left ranting to everyone that Spider-man murdered him.
"Perhaps I know a little more," he admitted. "Of course, you could explain why SHIELD felt it was necessary to lie about my father's death. Seems fair to me; you want information and so do I."
"I'm not sure you would appreciate what I could tell you. Everyone has secrets. We had good reasons to keep the police from looking too closely at your father. One of those reasons is that you would be better off without knowing some particular facts about him."
Harry narrowed his eyes briefly, "And what so-called 'facts' do you know about my father?"
Even while fighting through a pounding headache and the rest of his hangover symptoms, the young man knew he couldn't reveal too much. He didn't want to mention his father's second identity if they didn't already know. He didn't want to implicate himself for his actions helping Dr. Octavius since he was the only one alive to prosecute for that entire mess. And he definitely didn't want to let someone know Spider-man's true name.
That last one was especially important. Even if he ended up letting these SHIELD people know about everything else, Harry knew he had to keep Peter out of it. He couldn't involve Peter in this. Harry wasn't sure what he was going to do in regards to Spider-man and Peter being the same person, but he was determined that it would remain between the two of them and not involve SHIELD.
"Do you truly want to know?" asked Coulson. "You may regret what you learn."
With only a brief hesitation, he said, "Yes."
The agent nodded once in acknowledgement and reached over to turn off the recorder. Then the man shifted his shoulders slightly, making his straight posture look even more professional.
"His company was involved in an attempt to recreate the Super Soldier serum, as are many other groups both with and without direct influences from our organization. Needless to say, we kept an eye on his Human-Enhancer Formula. And even after they supposedly halted all work on the project, your father didn't quite give up. Then, once the Green Goblin appeared in New York, it became clear that the Human-Enhancer Formula was responsible for his capabilities and that he was using some of Oscorp's still-experimental projects. By the time SHIELD began to have suspicions about that connection, it was too late. We barely managed to start investigating before your father's tragic demise and the Green Goblin's disappearance. From there, we only needed a cursorily examination of his body to prove that Norman Osborn was affected by the formula."
He knew. Harry could tell that the agent already knew about the elder Osborn being the Green Goblin. He was trying to break the news gently, but Coulson and SHIELD already knew. What else did they know? And what could Harry risk saying? Should he continue to claim ignorance or reveal his own knowledge? Figuring out how to properly play his small collection of cards in this situation wasn't easy with a hangover, but he was adaptable. Harry intended to make what little information he had available work for him.
Taking a moment to drink some more water, Harry responded, "You can say it, Agent Coulson. I know you want to. You think that my father was the Green Goblin."
"You don't seem very surprised by that," commented Coulson. "In fact, you appear to be handling it quite well. My guess? You either suspected or already knew before I arrived."
"It's a recent discovery. Trust me, I'm not as comfortable with it as I might seem," he said. "Last night, I did my Tony Stark impression thanks to the disastrous mess that news is causing me and my life."
There was silence for a moment before the agent remarked calmly, "Well, the lack of rubble and scantily-dressed women parading around the property means you haven't quite reached Stark levels of self-destructive behaviors yet."
Harry smiled wryly at the man. Even with everything else going on in his life and New York in general, he still managed to catch the news about Stark's drunken birthday party. Give the man credit: when he was in a downward spiral, he did so spectacularly.
Reaching over to turn back on the recorder again, Harry carefully said, "Doc Ock did get the tritium from me. He showed up on my balcony and pretty much demanded it. Considering that he'd already killed several people at the hospital and then attacked the bank, turning him down didn't seem smart." Rubbing his forehead in a futile attempt to banish the headache, he continued, "Not to mention he kidnapped Mary Jane."
Everything he was saying was true. Harry was technically being honest, but he didn't have to talk about every detail. These SHIELD people didn't need to know everything. He didn't intend to bring up the part about his deal with the doctor and he certainly wouldn't mention unmasking Spider-man. That would just complicate things. Since Octavius was dead at the bottom of the river, it was easier to place all the blame on him.
"Why would he choose to kidnap Ms. Watson specifically?" asked Coulson, raising an eyebrow.
"Leverage," he answered. "She's friends with me and with Peter Parker, who takes pictures of Spider-man for the Daily Bugle. If he wanted to force my help or to have Peter contact Spider-man, kidnapping MJ would certainly do the trick."
It wasn't a lie. Harry would have helped if he'd known Mary Jane was in trouble. He never expected Octavius to kidnap her. He even told the doctor not to hurt Peter. Even when he wanted nothing more than revenge for his father, Harry didn't want to put them in harm's way.
Of course, now that his friend and his desire for revenge were so tangled up together, Harry didn't know what to do. He'd have to make a choice someday soon. Which one was more important?
"And why would Dr. Octavius be interested in gaining Spider-man's attention? What would be his motivation for that?"
The young man shrugged, "Spider-man appeared at the first failed experiment, cutting off the power before it could cause more destruction even when Octavius wanted to continue. The doctor's wife died during the accident and the actuators were fused to his back. And when Doc Ock robbed that bank, Spider-man interfered again. Any of these events would make a good reason for him wanting Spider-man present for his second attempt."
Again, none of what he said was a lie. They would indeed make good reasons for Octavius to get Spider-man involved. The only problem was that Harry knew the true reason. Doc Ock did it because of the deal. Spider-man for the tritium. A simple trade that could have destroyed countless lives.
The way that Coulson was staring at him made Harry nervous. It was as if the agent knew that he was hiding something. It was as if he knew that there was more to the story and that the young man was avoiding the issue. But the man didn't question Harry's explanation. He just stared at him with a far-too-knowledgeable expression.
"You seem to be far less hostile mentioning Spider-man than in the past," commented the agent. "I take it that your more recent discovery you mentioned has something to do with it?"
"My feelings on him are very… mixed at the moment," he admitted. "I don't know what to say."
Coulson was silent for a moment before turning off the recorder and putting it back in his jacket pocket. He gave the younger man a brief nod.
"Thank you for your time. It was actually a nice change of pace to debrief someone without having to chase them down first. If we have any further questions, we'll be in touch."
"I'd have Bernard show you the door, but he doesn't seem to be here at the moment," said Harry, gesturing towards the door.
The man's calm expression might have briefly twisted into a slight smirk at his words, but it was only for a moment. Harry silently decided that it might be time to upgrade the security of his home.
"One last question," Coulson said. "You don't plan to follow in your father's footsteps in regards to his… hobby, do you? Because I would strongly advise against it."
Harry thought about the question. So many things went through his mind. Peter's face when he pulled off the mask. The deaths at the hands of the Green Goblin. The samples of formula, the glider, and the bombs hidden away, waiting to be used.
The look of disappointment in his father's eyes. How Norman Osborn talked about Peter with a level of pride that Harry could never hope to receive. His father's dead body lying in the study. The hallucination of his father screaming for vengeance.
"No, I want nothing to do with that part of my father's legacy," Harry lied.
Thunder crackled far above the city, the storm hitting hard. Rain poured down, soaking everyone and everything. Water ran down the sides of buildings, washed over the streets enough that passing cars would splash unsuspecting victims, and pooled around low points while the drains fought to keep up with the miniature flood. Those that could manage it either hid inside buildings or scurried around with their umbrellas held tight. Others raced to find any awning or other form of shelter. The subway platforms were stuffed with both travelers and people just hoping to stay dry.
She was already soaked. Old Myrtle's gray jacket did very little against the water, soaking up the moisture and weighing her down. The wet material clung to her, leaving the girl shivering as she moved through the city. Even in June, being drenched by a storm would make a person cold and tired. She wanted to just curl up somewhere, but the girl forced herself to keep walking. She needed to find somewhere safe first.
There only a handful of options for her to pick from. Usually she would have found somewhere to hide before the storm hit, but hunger forced her out searching for food and now she had very few choices. She didn't want to go into the crowded subway tunnels, trapped among so many strangers and unable to escape quickly if someone was dangerous. Homeless shelters and churches were similar problems, not to mention she knew that those who ran them would want to send her back to her parents. She couldn't linger in most stores because owners tended to get angry at homeless people dripping water all over the place and not buying things. Cardboard boxes would fall apart in seconds and most of her preferred spots underneath fire escapes and such were already occupied. Furthermore, most of the semi-abandoned buildings she knew about and could sneak into would already have squatters at this point, some of which she knew from experience would be protective of their territory. Her remaining choices that she could try were either a long walk through the rain or likely also taken.
Still, she had one place she was willing to take a chance. The warehouse would be dry. If it was empty, it would be perfect for her to hide in. The only problem was that it might not be empty. The man with the metal arms on his back, the one covered in bruises and who seemed too haunted to be dangerous, could still be lurking there. He said she wouldn't be hurt and that he would keep silent about her. She'd avoided the place for a little while just in case he was lying. People lied, after all. Most of them lied and hurt those weaker. She knew that. But he didn't seem as dangerous as some and it was the only place she could think of that she could hide from the weather.
Once again, she slipped through the chain-link fence and splashed her way towards the building. She already knew where the hole in the wall was, which appeared to be undisturbed from the last time she was there. Caution made her pause briefly, but the chill from the rain urged her to crawl inside.
Thankfully, her particular corner of the warehouse was still filled with junk and crates, providing her with a place to keep out of sight. The darkness inside due to the overcast skies also helped make her feel safely hidden. The girl spared a moment to smile about being out of the wet and cold. Then she peeked around the closest obstacle to see if she was alone or not.
At first, the entire space seemed to be deserted. Even the extra illumination provided by occasional lightning flashes failed to show her anything. But between the rumbles of thunder, she could hear someone or something clanging out of sight.
Heavy rain pattered against the roof of the warehouse as Otto worked on turning a section of the building's ancient bathroom into a small, makeshift shower. He'd been working on the wiring of the warehouse previously, but he'd been electrocuted enough times in his life already that he wouldn't risk it during a thunderstorm. He wasn't an expert when it came to plumbing, but between a do-it-yourself book, a quick stop to raid a home improvement store, and the assistance of the actuators, he was making progress.
The pipes, tools, shower parts, and a relatively small water heater were stolen in the middle of the night, the man destroying all recorded evidence of the crime in the process and having to carry his prizes across rooftops over multiple trips. He did feel bad about the theft, but he couldn't risk someone watching him drag the equipment into the abandoned warehouse and have them grow curious about his presence. Not to mention he needed the actuators' help to carry the heavier objects, especially since his main point of access to the warehouse was still through the skylight. But the desire to have access to a shower in the near future and the knowledge that paying with stolen money wasn't much more legal kept him from feeling too guilty about the theft.
It wasn't as difficult to adapt the space as he imagined. There was already a large drain in the floor of the bathroom and he could attach the water heater to one of the small sinks that lined the wall before connecting it to a showerhead. It wasn't particularly pretty, but Otto hoped it would work. Granted, the water would still have to be controlled by the sink, it would take a lot of piping so that the water heater could be placed somewhere it wouldn't get soaked, and he suspected the water pressure would be pathetic, but he was hopeful that there would be showers in the near future. He would finally get rid of the lingering smell of the river from his near-drowning.
The thoughts of future showers kept him working in the small space, tightening one of the pipes next to where one of sinks used to be while Flo and Mo connected another to the ceiling for the showerhead to eventually go. When he finished, he intended to block off the entire far corner of the bathroom by installing a shower curtain to keep water from splattering everywhere. The ancient, chipped, and once-white tile that covered the walls and floor would keep mold from forming and rotting out the place. And while he could someday improve the space more by replacing those tiles and removing the unnecessary stalls, it would at least be enough for the time being to at least have the option to get clean. It was utterly amazing how much the idea of a warm shower appealed to a person when they were forced to miss out on it for so long.
Otto knew he would have to take a break soon. Part of the reason was due to the fact he hadn't finished fixing the wiring in the building, meaning that he was depending on a very weak flashlight he'd found in order to see in the windowless room. The low levels of light mean he could take off his goggles without worrying about hurting his eyes, but it was still problematic to work with. The other reason he needed to stop soon was due to the ache across his chest. Most of his scrapes and bruises were healed enough to no longer be an issue, but the larger one across his ribs was still sore and tended to hurt when he pushed himself too hard. And the amount of effort required to loosen and tighten the various pipes, even with Harry and Larry bracing him when they weren't holding other pipes in position, was starting to put a strain on him.
"rest, Father needs rest, finish later, still healing, no need to hurry," chirped Flo as the man lowered his wrench.
"Probably would be a good idea to take a break," he muttered, picking up the flashlight with his free hand.
Mo clicked, "food, Father should eat"
"Well, I am certainly hungry," said Otto. "But since I'm not going out in this weather, I guess I'll be stuck with a peanut butter sandwich."
After retrieving the stashed money left over from the bank robbery, some of it now hidden up in the exposed rafters of the warehouse, the doctor decided to do the mundane chore of grocery shopping. At the time, he'd been nervous about being recognized as the supposedly-dead villain who nearly derailed a train. But it turned out everyone focused completely on the actuators rather than his face. Once he switched his goggles for a pair of sunglasses and the actuators contracted to their minimum length of six feet to hide under the trench coat, he looked like any other shopper. From there, he stocked up on some basic foods that he could store and eat without access to refrigeration or any possible method of cooking. Any hot meal he might want would have to be takeout for the time being. It vaguely reminded him of his college days. But at least he wasn't starving.
Stepping out of the bathroom, Otto tried to brush off the worst of the dust and grime that was sticking to him. Thanks to the current storm front moving through the area, working in the small space was a dirty and humid project. It was the main reason he'd left his trench coat draped over the sturdy wooden crate he'd been using as a chair. Otto briefly debated with himself about whether or not he should try putting it back on, but ultimately decided it would be too much effort at the moment. Even if the actuators were getting better about threading their way through the opening in the back, it was still a tricky process. If he was going to go back to work after his lunch break, it would just be a waste of time.
Mo reached into one of the boxes that the doctor was currently using to store his meager belongings and the actuator pulled out the jar of peanut butter. At the same time, Larry took the wrench from the man's hand and placed it with the other tools. Meanwhile, Flo and Harry were looking around the room as if searching for any and all possible danger. During all of this, the four actuators were feeding him images into his mind from their cameras. The various angles and swift movements used to be unsettling and difficult for him to process, but now Otto could easily comprehend the various and simultaneous visual stimuli. The human brain was remarkably adaptable. Still, he generally chose to only passively watch their viewpoints unless one of the actuators drew his attention to what they were seeing.
And his vague focus on the visual information they were providing was likely the reason he missed it until Flo started chirping at him.
"not alone, not stray cat, tricky child back, girl looks like boy still, peeking from behind crates"
Otto quickly and silently commanded the actuators not to react. He didn't want to spook the child. They reluctantly obeyed, continuing to get lunch ready by pulling out bread and a paper plate, while the doctor considered their news.
She was back. The girl who snuck in before, the supposed "stray cat," was hiding in the warehouse again. That was unexpected. He never thought the silent and nervous child would ever come back.
Lightning flashed briefly, the sudden light hitting his sensitive eyes and causing him to flinch and hiss at the unexpected pain. The dim warehouse was dark enough from the overcast skies for his damaged eyes to withstand, but the storm was apparently going to make that a painful option. Larry gently offered the man his goggles and he reluctantly slipped them back on. Once he was protected against further unexpected flashes of bright light, he tried to decide on how best to handle the nameless young girl.
She waited, listening to the clanging and other sounds, until the man stepped out of the small room across the warehouse. While most of the building was open and empty, one corner had a few walls to create a couple separate rooms. There were two doors at ground level, one of which she guessed was a restroom, and a metal staircase that led up to a glass-walled office above it. The man with the metal arms had come out of the left door before heading over to a collection of sturdy crates and boxes that he'd clearly moved around since she last saw him.
The girl edged a little further, taking care not to trip over the tangle of wire again. It was darker in the warehouse due to the overcast skies, so she was having trouble seeing what he was doing. Curiosity once again fought to overcome her caution. Besides, he didn't hurt her last time. Maybe he wouldn't hurt her if he saw the girl again.
She fought the urge to shiver from the chill as she watched him. One of the metal snake-like arms pulled out a jar from one of the boxes. It wasn't until he opened it and the aroma reached her that the girl realized the jar was filled with peanut butter. She felt her growling stomach and the gnawing hunger grow more demanding at the near proximity to food. The dried-out and old bagel she managed to snag a bite of before the downpour just wasn't enough. Part of her felt bad about it, but she was starting to seriously consider the idea of waiting for him to vanish back into that small room and stealing a small glob of that peanut butter. The temptation was just too strong. Even with the pair of half-melted candy bars in her pocket she was saving for an emergency wouldn't be enough to keep her satisfied until morning.
The metal arms moved around him, pulling out and placing various objects on a crate that was apparently serving as a table for the moment, but the girl didn't pay close attention. Her focus had been captured by the food. She was so enthralled by the smell and imagining the taste that it took her a little while to notice that there seemed to be two paper plates set out and that the bread was being turned into two sandwiches. By the time she noticed that odd fact and began to wonder about it, the man abruptly turned and looked directly towards where she was hiding.
"If you're hungry over there, you're welcome to have one of these sandwiches."
Here's a little piece of information. Tritium is a real substance. Even better, it actually is pretty important part of fusion reactions and natural-occurring tritium is indeed extremely rare. That means some of the comic book-based movie science is correct. Unfortunately, they did mess up on a rather important detail. In reality, tritium is a special form of hydrogen that contains one proton and two neutrons. And, more importantly, it exists as a gas. In the film, it was shown as a golden crystalline substance.
Of course, we're talking about a series that has the main character change his DNA due to the bite of a genetically-engineered spider. So let's just say that the tritium is combined with another substance that allows it to exist in a solid state, which is what Doc Ock needed for his experiment.
I've also been trying to figure out how the actuators hide under the trench coat in the movie and I think I've figured it out. When they make their reveal in front of the bank vault, Doc Ock yanks off a piece of fabric from the back right as they pop out. So I figure there was a section of cloth that covers up the opening in the back, camouflaging it until it is time for the actuators to make their appearance. It is still kind of impressive though that they can hide that effectively…
I don't know when the next update will be, but I'll get to it when I have the chance. And remember: reviews are always appreciated.