Another update. This must be a Christmas miracle. Hopefully you'll enjoy it. This chapter deals with some of the more practical matters that the pair hiding in the warehouse needs to address eventually. Specifically, it involves a short shopping trip for the fugitive from the law.
Used clothing, cheap clothing, and even thrift stores didn't usually offer a large amount of options, but sometimes luck was on his side. Or perhaps Anders' Second-Hand and Discount Clothes was just better than what its rather plain and old exterior would suggest. The small, cheap store with a fairly eccentric selection actually managed to have what he was looking for.
There was a large and durable trench coat made of a dark green fabric tucked in a corner behind a powder blue tuxedo. From what Otto could tell, it would be relatively easy to alter the back to account for the actuators. He couldn't keep wearing the same one every day. The new one would provide at least some options and give him a chance to wash the other one. He also found a few pairs of pants and a durable set of boots that should fit. There were a few other shoes in the store, but only the boots were his size and it was better than nothing. It paid to be prepared. Shirts weren't really high on the list of requirements, but Otto still tried to track down the rest of a traditional wardrobe.
Once he'd settled on his own clothing necessities, he found himself wandering towards another corner of the store. He didn't know exactly what sizes Kitten needed, but he felt relatively confident he could estimate it by sight. Trying to move quietly through the store and avoid the attention of the owner waiting behind her counter, Otto collected a dark green t-shirt, a dark red t-shirt, a blue long-sleeved shirt, a pair of khaki shorts, a pair of jeans that might fit, a rather plain belt, and a pair of white sneakers that didn't look particularly worn out yet. By that point, he was thankful for the basket the small store offered for carrying items around.
"too much, didn't bring enough money, too expensive," warned Mo from where they hid under his trench coat, trying not to move or draw attention.
"Kitten needs clothes too, Father brought enough money," Flo argued. "not all prices listed, could be wrong, don't worry"
Harry suggested enthusiastically, "kill owner, keep clothes, keep money, simple"
"Not going to happen," Otto hissed under his breath.
"why, easier, quicker, get what we want, why not kill owner, makes sense," asked Harry, clearly confused.
"The fastest and easiest method isn't always the right one," he said quietly, hoping the owner didn't notice him talking to himself across the store.
He moved around one of the wire bins and spotted something that he knew would help Kitten during her wanderings. So even though he was probably pushing his budget for the shopping trip, he added a small, grey, canvas backpack to the basket. She was about to have more belongings than just the clothes on her back. She couldn't keep everything in her pockets anymore. She needed somewhere to carry and keep them. And with that final item, he carried the basket of potential purchases towards the counter near the exit.
The wrinkled, white-haired, bespectacled woman behind the counter smiled and greeted, "Hello, dearie. Did you find everything you needed?"
"Yes, thank you," he said as he handed over the basket. "Your store is quite lovely and the prices from what I've seen are much more reasonable than similar stores. I appreciate that. I'm afraid I'm rather limited on funds today."
"Oh, I understand. Lots of customers who come in here are in the same boat," she said as she studied the prices safety-pinned on each item and added them to her calculator. "Don't worry. I have plenty of good-quality clothes, all in good condition. And cheaper than those fancy and brand-name stores."
"woman fragile, easy to kill," Harry pointed out. "would work, should do it, simple"
Oblivious to the actuator desiring to murder her out of convenience, the woman continued, "You picked out quite a few children's clothes. Is it for a son or daughter?"
"She's a little girl," he said, trying to avoid lying.
"How nice. I'm sure she's a delightful child," she said, folding up the trench coat. "And nothing for your wife today?"
Otto felt his throat tighten and his chest ache. It was an innocent question, but it still hurt. He feared it would always hurt to an extent. His Rosie was gone because of his actions and he would never get her back. The pain of loss wasn't quite as raw as months ago, but the guilt remained just as strong.
"There was an accident not that long ago," he admitted quietly, his voice a little rougher than a moment before. "She died."
"My poor dear," said the old woman, patting his hand sympathetically. "I am so sorry. I know how rough it is to lose your soul mate. I lost husband five years ago. Broke my heart. And it can't be easy to suddenly be a single parent."
Not really knowing what to say to her kind words and gesture, Otto glanced down and managed a quiet, "Thank you."
She moved through the last couple of prices silently, for which he was grateful. He wasn't sure what to do when faced with such a chatty person. Lately, most of his companionship was with the actuators and the silent child who shared his warehouse. He was a little out of practice for extended small talk.
"All right, I think that's everything you picked out," she said as she punched in the final price, peering through her glasses at the calculator briefly.
"How much?" asked Otto watching her quickly and neatly fold the final pair of pants.
When she named the price, he reluctantly realized Mo was right in the first place. The purchase was more than he brought. Otto rubbed the bridge of his nose where the sunglasses rested, being less conspicuous than the more effective goggles. He had more money stored in the rafters of the warehouse, but he only took a small amount for clothes shopping.
For now, he couldn't afford everything. The best option would be to pay for what he could at the moment and come back for the rest another day. It wouldn't be so bad. He survived this long without any extra clothes. A little longer wouldn't hurt.
Resigned, Otto set the new pants, boots, and trench coat aside and asked, "And how much for just the children's clothes?"
"take all clothes, run," suggested Harry.
"no, woman may scream, would draw attention, maybe police," Mo warned. "can't steal, must keep quiet"
"kill her quick, no time to scream, no one notice, get everything, simple," he repeated.
While Otto tried to mentally quiet the extreme suggestions from the actuators about the dilemma, he almost missed the calculating look in the old woman's eyes. She pulled out a couple of large paper bags while nodding thoughtfully.
"Tell you what, dearie," she said slowly. "You seem like a decent young man and you're clearly just having a rough time right now. If you can afford half the price right now, you can take all of this and pay the difference when you're able."
That silenced the actuators. They were stunned by the offer and Otto wasn't much better. She wouldn't have to wait long for the rest of the money, but she didn't know he had more in the warehouse. For all she knew, it could be weeks before he scraped enough cash together again and there was nothing to suggest he would be honest enough to return. But she seemed to trust him and it would be nice to take everything back at once.
"I don't want to cause you any trouble, ma'am," he said.
"Nonsense," said the old woman with a smile. "I own the store. That means I can do what I want and don't have to explain anything to some manager when I want to help out a single-parent. That's my prerogative. And call me 'Alice.' Everyone else does and 'ma'am' makes me sound old. Well, older."
He couldn't help smiling at the wrinkled, white-haired woman as she carefully placed the entire purchase in the paper bags. She just seemed naturally nice. He'd have to make sure he brought the rest of the money the next day. Otto wouldn't want to make the kind and generous Alice wait for long.
"see, no need to kill, got all clothes, no trouble," Larry remarked.
"fine, still would be faster," argued Harry in a way that almost seemed like sulking.
Handing over the paper bags to Otto, Alice said, "There we are, dearie. You take care of yourself and your little girl. And if you need anything else, just come back. I raised several children, so I know how they tend to grow like weeds. And while the weather is warm right now, autumn will be here before you know it. I knit hats in my spare time and add them to my inventory. Just come by when it gets colder and I'll take care of you." She patted his hand again and said, "I've always been a good judge of character. And I can tell you're a decent man. The world needs more people like you."
"I doubt it," he said quietly, "but thank you for thinking so."
Kitten shivered slightly in the highly-modified restroom as she found a spot to set down everything. There was still a stall and a sink, but half of the room was blocked by a plastic shower curtain. It was her first time in the room, not sure what to make of the strange modifications that resulted in various pipes engulfing part of the wall. It was such a strange tangle, winding and weaving near the far corner. The harsh lights that were now reconnected to electricity made the entire thing look more confusing, casting sharp shadows across the hodgepodge. Honestly she wasn't certain she wanted to try it.
Otto was the only reason she was willing to risk the collection of twisted pipes. He'd returned to the warehouse earlier, climbing through the skylight with the metal arms making him look a little like a giant spider with his movements. In his arms was a pair of large paper bags, which was an unusual change. She'd been napping in her cozy nest, but instantly awakened upon his arrival. Sometimes he brought take-out food for both of them and she never turned down the offer of food.
This time, however, it was something completely different. Kitten wasn't certain how to react to the abrupt gift of clothes. The last time she was given clothes rather than scrounging them was from Old Myrtle when she gave the girl the jacket off her back. Now Otto was giving her more than she could wear at once.
Before she could react to the various shirts he pulled out of the bag, Otto gently suggested she take a shower before trying on the new clothes. That way she wouldn't get them dirty and they could use the opportunity to later hand-wash her old clothes in the sink. It made sense. It was the logical and reasonable course of action. So she silently accepted the offered outfit and the thick towel before heading towards the restroom.
Kitten made sure that the new clothes and towel were out of the way of any water that might get past the shower curtain. It wouldn't really help her much if they were soaked. She looked around the room and found the bottle of what was probably a very cheap shampoo and a bar of soap, both of them resting on the farthest sink. Unlike the sink closest to the door, the farthest one was part of the pipe hodgepodge and hidden behind the shower curtain.
Then, unable to delay proceedings any further, she took off her old clothes. The girl, feeling uneasy and cornered in her more vulnerable state, scurried behind the shower curtain and tried the strange shower configurations. Lacking any other possible ways to use the thing, she turned her attention to the connected sink. Stretching up and over to reach the handles not meant for small children, Kitten managed to turn one and nearly jumped out of her skin when water hit her from above.
She couldn't help shivering from both the chill and nerves. While she'd washed the worst of the grime off in sinks or let rain take care of it recently, she hadn't really had a proper bath or shower in a long time. Like almost everything else, she'd managed to do it wrong somehow and made her parents mad.
The first time, she apparently chose a poor time and her father was furious she'd used up all the hot water. Even though her mother told her to get cleaned up so she wouldn't make a mess on her floors after falling in a puddle, she still ended up as the target of his fury. Another time, long after she'd tried to only use cold water since that encounter, both of them started fighting about bills. They'd yelled about the water bill and eventually blamed her. Not even quick, cold showers were enough to avoid sparking them off. So she avoided the situation as much as possible until she actually left home permanently.
But Otto wasn't like her parents. He wasn't like the other people, the ones who were dangerous and would always hurt those who weren't careful. He didn't yell. He didn't slap. He didn't hit. He didn't get mad. He didn't even get too close to her, letting the metal arms hand her things rather than do it himself. Otto wasn't like them, so she didn't need to worry about the same things. So even though she felt vulnerable and nervous since she no longer hid within her oversized and dreary-colored clothes, Kitten stood beneath the stream of water and let it wash over her.
When the water grew warm, she felt herself relaxing involuntarily. She couldn't help it. The warmth felt nice and she knew she was safe, Otto and the metal arms guarding the door and the entire building from anyone else who might show up. She knew they wouldn't hurt her and she trusted they would at least give her time to escape if someone else tried. Reaching for the bottle of shampoo, Kitten took a small amount and began to scrub.
Bubbles formed almost instantly as she worked on her blond strands. They were certainly longer than when Old Myrtle cut it. But she still looked enough like a boy that most people wouldn't realize the truth. She might need to cut it again soon, but not yet. Besides, she didn't have scissors or a knife to try it and she wasn't quite ready to let someone else try it.
When she rinsed most of the suds back out, she moved on to the bar of soap and tried to wash off the accumulated grime from her body. Kitten scrubbed quickly, marveling briefly at the novel experience of having no bruises anywhere. Bubbles rolled down the old scar on her right shoulder from hitting the corner of the coffee table, the one on her left knee from tumbling across the ground too hard, and others that she couldn't identify the source anymore. Water, soap, and dirt pooled at her feet before flowing down the large drain in the floor. Months of grime and anxiety were being washed away.
Eventually she was as clean as she was going to get, so she reluctantly turned off the warm water and pushed back the shower curtain. Almost instantly she felt a slight chill and Kitten hurried for the towel. Her short hair dripping, she hurried to dry off the majority of the water and began to pull on her new clothes. The khaki short and green t-shirt fit rather nicely and was rather comfortable to wear. Being clean and new might've been part of the reason, but she definitely liked them.
The girl, her hair still damp, gathered up her older clothes and finally opened the door to the rest of the warehouse. Otto was sitting at his work table, writing something down. He didn't seem to hear the restroom door swing open, not even looking up until the metal arm named Flo spotted her. Then the man and the other snake-like limbs turned to face her.
"A shower and clean clothes can make a world of difference. I think your hair is even a shade lighter now, Kitten," he said. Otto briefly frowned as the metal limbs seemed to focus on her arms and legs, the shorts and t-shirt not covering quite as much skin as her old clothes and exposing a few scars that were previously hidden. But the expression vanished quickly and he continued, "I managed to find something else that should be helpful to you. I didn't think your pockets would be enough anymore."
Kitten tilted her head, curious. Otto answered her unspoken question by pulling out a grey object. She wasn't certain what it was until Mo passed it over to her and she broke into a smile.
He got her a backpack. It was grey, durable, and the perfect size for almost anything she might need to carry. Food, the new clothes, and whatever else she might find would fit. And it wasn't so big that she'd have trouble slipping through the fence and the hole in the wall. It was perfect.
"I'm guessing from the grin that you like it," said Otto. "I thought you might. But before your hair dries too much, I have an extra comb you can use. The one I bought a few days ago came in a set. And Rosie always says…" He stopped, his expression and posture crumbling a little. After a moment, he seemed to compose himself and continued, "She always said the tangles get worse when her hair dried."
Kitten didn't acknowledge the brief slip, merely nodding in agreement with the offer. But she did listen and she did pay attention. He'd said the name before. She remembered him saying "Rosie" before and it made him a little sad both times, like he missed her. Whoever Rosie was, she was important to Otto. And she was lost, somewhere far away, or dead. Kitten knew how dangerous and painful the world could be. It was a sad fact of life and it didn't surprise her that something bad happened, but she still didn't like Otto being unhappy.
She put that train of thought aside for now. There was nothing she could do about it, so she decided to focus on the present. And the present consisted of combing her wet hair and maybe contemplating food. Maybe she could find some cookies or an apple during her wanderings and cheer him up with a snack. It was the best she could do.
Until his useless brother managed to somehow work faster, Roderick knew he had some time before the formula was ready. So he decided to make the best use of that time by attending to other preparations. Someday soon he would have a secret weapon he could use to benefit himself in ways no one else could possible imagine. And if the theatrics of the costumed entities of recent times had taught him anything, it was that colorful disguises both intimidated people and hid an identity more effectively than a more mundane outfit. As a fashion designer, Roderick knew the power appearances could have on the proper audience.
The armored flight suit, the copy of the one that once belonged to the Green Goblin, already had a lot of potential. There was a certain intimidating factor to the design, the bulk and the unique head shape making the wearer seem not quite human. But he needed to adjust it. He needed to make certain they realized he was different. It wasn't just another Green Goblin. He was better.
The desert camouflage his scientists designed was a good start, the tan color drastically different than the strong green shade. But Roderick knew it needed something more. He looked over armor in front of him carefully, trying to visualize the changes he needed to improve the design. Perhaps the thicker plates on the chest and shoulders could be a deep blue shade, almost black. It would break up the lighter shade a bit. And he definitely should change the eye lenses. The yellow tint just wouldn't work. Red would make a far better impression.
And he should do something about the hands. Thicker gloves of a different color might work. He might even be able to have them incorporate some of the technologies he'd collected from other companies, like those "blasters." The computerized system causes the fiery blasts to randomly vary their attack vectors when trained on a particular target and were relatively compact. Incorporating them into some larger gloves should be relatively simple.
But there was still something missing. The profile would still be too much like the Green Goblin. The head shape was too distinctive. Inspiration struck Roderick as he walked around the armored flight suit. A hooded cloak would break up the profile a little and he could add a little more color. It would leave him with an appearance that was distinctive and unique, something that would have the intimidation factor of the Green Goblin without being an exact match. And finding durable, protective, and appropriate cloth was something he could handle himself.
He could easily craft the hooded cloak and that would mean fewer people he would later have to murder to keep his secrets. He was already going to lose quite a few scientists to supposed "suicides" and "accidents," after all. Even the most loyal ones might have a few qualms about his most recent plans, so it paid to be prepared for such possibilities.
The only question that remained was color to use for the hooded cloak. For some reason, he was leaning towards a shade of orange. It would contrast nicely with the dark blue panels for the chest. Not persimmon or pumpkin. He needed something darker. Perhaps burnt orange, yam, or deep carrot orange. It would have to be just the right shade, but Roderick knew he could easily design such a thing. And he could make the bulkier gloves the same shade, tying the elements together.
He nodded to himself thoughtfully as he gave the current version of the flight suit a final examination. Yes, this could work. This could work nicely. The outfit was coming together. Now all he needed was for his spineless brother to finish the formula.
Harry hadn't been wasting his time while Morbius worked on devising a more stable version of the Human-Enhancer Formula. He knew he wasn't a genius when it came to science. It didn't come naturally like it did to Peter. Even his father was better at science on the days he turned away from business briefly. Harry didn't have the same knack for it, but he wasn't an idiot either. With enough time and access to enough research, he could work his way through whatever he needed to. And he was a little better at more hands-on projects than the more complicated stuff like chemistry or biology.
So once again, Harry was in the secret room hidden by the newly-replaced mirror. His previous project was taking the technology and design of the glider and reworking it from the ground up. He wanted something drastically different than what his father rode. He wanted a different shape, something flatter and less evil-looking. And he definitely skipped the blades, not wanting to risk history repeating someday. After working off and on for a while, Harry had managed to build something that used similar flight systems, but was more of a hover-board than a glider. It was still a work in progress, but it floated off the ground and supported his weight. The hardest part was over, so he was putting it aside to work on the next project on the list that evening.
Most of the spare Green Goblin outfit wasn't too bad in theory. It was tough and durable, providing plenty of protection to the wearer. He could smooth out and simplify a few of the details on the body if necessary, but it was generic enough not to immediately remind him of his father's legacy. He might even risk reducing some of the armor to increase flexibility and speed if it turned into too much of a hindrance. The shoulders and helmet were the main problem. They were too inhuman, large, and creepy for what Harry had in mind. So he left the monstrous helmet on the table and started prying the larger shoulder pieces off with a sturdy flat-head screwdriver.
His mind went over the various ideas as he tried to force the large panels off. He could replace the helmet with something less bulky and simpler than the maniacal mask. Perhaps he could adapt a design based on masks for paintball fights. Mirrored lens with a more solid shape for the rest of the face should work nicely. It would be subtler than the Green Goblin's helmet, but more durable than Spider-man's mask. He could have the mask and glasses tinted green with a few small details on the rest of the outfit, but go for black for the majority to further distance himself from the shadow of his father's alter ego.
Harry felt the shoulder piece starting to give and tried to push harder. There was a lot he could work on. He could add magnets to the footwear to keep attached to the hover-board once the thing gained the ability to properly fly. He could incorporate weaponry and tools to the arms in the forms of gauntlets for ease. And maybe he could store others in a pocket around his belt or waist and a few more on his back. He wasn't like Spider-man; he couldn't create webs. He would need an arsenal and that meant designing places to keep it.
And he would need a variety. The orange bombs, the ones that looked like small pumpkins, could be mass produced relatively easy and he could specialize others for particular purposes. Less powerful explosions, smoke bombs, flash bombs, tracking bombs that could seek out and follow a specific target, timed bombs, bombs he could trigger remotely, and even bombs that release a gas to knock someone out. He'd need something for close quarters too, but he felt relatively certain that would be easier to handle than trying to devise or have someone else devise the rest of his arsenal. Between his personal funds and Oscorp's resources, he could work on a lot of aspects of his preparations.
He continued to think about the various ways he could prepare and improve his equipment because it kept him distracted from the vial. The formula was waiting for him, as close to perfect as possible. Harry knew Morbius was the best and he could depend on his work. The risks of negative side effects were relatively low. When it came to the formula, it was as safe as they could make it.
The formula was ready. Harry just wasn't certain he was.
No matter what happened, it would change his life. He could go crazy like his father. He could turn into an evil, violent, and murderous monster. He could go after Spider-man in some ill-conceived attempt to be the next Green Goblin. He could be the next lifeless body carried through a window with stab wounds because of insanity. And even if everything went right, Harry knew he'd be choosing to transform his body permanently. He would turn into someone stronger and tougher than any other human. Part of him wanted to take that step, but part of him worried what would happen afterwards. He'd have to make decisions about how to make use of those changes. He knew what he wanted to do at the moment, but would he feel the same way after he did it? Hero, villain, or pretending to still be a normal citizen. All of them were possible paths his future could follow the moment he took the formula. So he kept delaying the ultimate decision by focusing on the prep work.
The shoulder piece finally popped off with a snap. Harry grinned briefly with satisfaction before turning towards the second one. He wasn't even certain how long he'd been awake, working at Oscorp and his personal projects in equal measure. He'd moved beyond tired to some form of numb productivity. He just kept going.
"Cowardly, useless boy," a familiar voice snarled, making him jump in surprise and mild fear.
Even though he knew it wasn't real, that it couldn't be real, he couldn't help looking around for the source. His gaze finally landed on the green mask. It was as good a representative of the imaginary voice as any.
"You're not real. You're nothing except a lack of sleep playing tricks on me," said Harry firmly.
The insane laughter echoed in his mind. Harry dropped everything to grab at his head. It wasn't real. He wasn't going crazy. He was just tired.
"Harry, you're such a disappointment," his father's voice sneered from beyond the grave. "You couldn't match Peter's brains. You couldn't keep him from taking that girl you like. Is it any wonder why I wished he'd been my son? And now you can't even avenge your father's murder properly. You're too scared to take the steps necessary."
"Not real," he said firmly through clenched teeth. "You're not real.
"Aren't I? Well, perhaps you've gone mad, Harry. Perhaps you're destined to follow in my footsteps, falling to insanity and violence until you can't even remember why you even considered leaving my killer alone," taunted the voice. "Spider-man and Green Goblin, locked together in an eternal battle. Neither time nor death can stop the inevitable."
Once again, the insane laughter of the Green Goblin rang out. No, the laughter belonged to Norman Osborn. Both were the same person. Both were dead. None of it was real. It was in his head.
"But Spider-man doesn't have a son. He doesn't have an heir to carry on his role," coaxed Goblin's voice gently. "You can end it properly. Just accept your fate, become the Green Goblin, and kill him. Then you'll find peace. Then you'll have everything you desire. Revenge for my death. Revenge for him always being better than you. Revenge for him lying for so long. Revenge for everything."
"No," Harry whispered, shaking his head even as he tried to block out the voice.
"Yes. Do it."
"No."
"You can't resist your destiny. The dance repeats itself over and over again. There might be slight variations to the tune, but the dancers always remain. You can't escape who you are, Harry. You're me, just waiting to take the stage."
That struck a chord and Harry slowly lowered his hands from his ears. He glared at the helmet, not caring that doing so accomplished nothing.
In a quiet voice, Harry said, "I'm not you."
"Of course not. You're weak, cowardly, and useless. And you keep fighting the inevitable."
"Which is it? Am I a coward? Or am I someone who keeps fighting? It can't be both."
"What are you talking about?" asked the imaginary voice, sounding confused now instead of mocking.
"If I was truly a coward, I would submit to the idea I'm doomed to become just like my father. I wouldn't be doing this, trying to reclaim his legacy and turn it into something completely different. If I was a coward, I would still be trying to be worthy of my father by trying to kill Peter or something."
"You'll never be worthy of me," snarled Norman's voice.
"I don't want to be," Harry shouted back. "Not. Now. Not. Ever. Because I can finally see that it was impossible when he was alive. And trying to be worthy of him now is even worse. Norman Osborn died a monster." He shook his head firmly. "I will always love my father on some level, but I don't want to be anything like him. And I won't be anything like him."
"How dare you speak to me like that?" the Goblin's voice screamed.
"All those old fears, the jealousy, the doubts, and the regrets? That's all there is to the imaginary ghost haunting me now," said Harry, turning away from the mask. "I'm done for tonight. I'm going to get some sleep and banish this annoying encounter."
And even though his mind echoed with screams of long-dead monsters, Harry ignored them. Sleep would help. Once his exhausted mind was rested, he wouldn't have to worry about the nonexistent specter any longer.
So while Roderick is going in one direction in regards to redesigning the old Green Goblin outfit for his own needs, Harry is going in a completely different direction. Yeah, Harry's costume is being influenced by the one he wore in the third movie. I'll admit it. It was a good look for him and was visually distinct from the Green Goblin costume while still having some of the same color scheme. It won't be an exact match to the one from the third movie, but there are some similarities in appearance.
As for what this particular scene means in regards to Harry, that is the question. Is it a sign he's going crazy too? Or is it actually the result of sleep deprivation and stress? Will he ultimately go down a heroic path or is he still destined for villainy? Is this a sign that things are getting worse for him or is it showing him confronting some of his personal issues in order to move on? Harry's eventual fate is still in his hands and he has a chance to become whoever he wants. You'll just have to watch and see.
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.