(One) Ms. Koziak was just a little proud of herself one early workday morning. The day had just begun, but she had already taken the initiative on dealing with several complex files of vital importance to Oscorp. So she was a bit disconcerted when her employer, Norman Osborn, curtly brought her down to earth.

"Have you brought me any new correspondence to me this morning, Ms. Koziak?"

"No sir. You should not be receiving the morning mail dump for another ten minutes."

"So why is there a letter on my desk?" Ms. Koziak looked and saw a mostly blank envelope on Osborn's desk, with only "NORMAN OSBORN" printed on it.

"I have no idea sir."

Osborn looked at the letter for a moment, wondering if there might be something more to it. Then he took out a letter opener and slit it open. Out dropped a small piece of paper. Osborn looked at the message. "You'll be hearing from me shortly."

(Two) Peter Parker was walking the streets of Manhattan. Although it was December, there was not a lot of snow around. "Wonderful," he thought sourly. "Global Warming's gift for an ugly December."

There were many people on the next block, making it difficult for Peter to move quickly. Taking advantage of the crowd was a Santa Claus loudly pleading for charity. "Give a thought for the poor and homeless this holiday season!"

A woman walking her dog, two people carrying a large box and someone in a mime costume forced Peter closer to the Santa Claus. "Hello young man! And what do you want for Christmas?"

Peter stared at the Santa Claus. For an instant he was silent. "Well, I'd like my aunt to live to see the New Year. But although that's in less than three weeks, that's not likely to happen." And then he walked away.

As it happened Paul Raban was walking nearby and saw everything. He walked up to the Santa Claus. "You have to excuse him. He's got a lot on his mind."

"Yeah, I got that," the Santa Claus replied.

[Three) Peter was sitting on a chair, while Aunt May was confined to her bed in her hospital room. "It's such a shame I'm too tired to watch any more movies," she said. "And it's hard for us to have any conversations when I keep nodding off. Has anything special happened to you?"

Peter thought for a moment. "Let me think. Hold on, there is something. It was last month. I had the strangest dream. I was a little kid, and I was at a funeral…

"No. Hold on. It wasn't a dream. It was an actual memory. I just thought it was a dream. But who's was it? It wasn't Mom and Dad's…"

"I suspect it was your grandfather's, John Fitzpatrick."

The shock of recognition hit Peter. "Yeah, that makes sense. Because I remember seeing a very old man in a coffin."

"Your grandfather was much older than your mother. He was never happy with your father for eloping with Mary. And then, of course, when your parents died people thought they were traitors. Your grandfather never learned that wasn't true."

"Well that certainly explains why everyone was glowering at me and Uncle Ben."

(Four) "They were always very cold to our side of the family. After Uncle Ben died and money was tight I actually went to see one of your grand-uncles in case your grandfather had left you anything. He hadn't."

"Huh."

"His name was Thomas. He was in his eighties when I briefly met him. I think he was involved in charity work, Knights of Columbus, party precinct work. He must be dead. In fact he is dead. I received a call about three years ago from a lawyer saying he had died three months earlier."

A thought occurred to Peter. "It occurs to me that I don't know that much about the maternal side of my family. Now Dad's parents died when he was still a teenager…"

"That's right."

"Do you remember Grandma Parker's maiden name?"

"I do, though we rarely met any of her family. It was Stone I believe. We knew more of the Parker cousins."

"You wouldn't happen to remember my maternal grandmother's maiden name?"

"Your mother didn't talk a lot about her family. Let me think. I believe it was Julian."

Just then Peter's cell phone rang. "I have to take this," as he retrieved the phone from his pants pocket. He then realized the phone was from Reed Richards. "I definitely have to take this."

(Five) Peter was out in the corridor. "Doc! Tell my you got good news."

"I'm afraid not. I've been examining all the 'resurrections' that we've been encountering, and I haven't found anything applicable to your aunt's situation."

Peter tried his best to repress his anger at this, and only partly succeeded. "Then why are you calling me?"

"I had another idea. While I don't have a way to stop her cancer from killing her, or from bringing her back to life after her death, it occurred to me that it might not actually be your aunt who is suffering from cancer."

"That is… a surprisingly possible and plausible question to consider. And what did you find?"

"Well strictly speaking I didn't find anything. Remember my expertise isn't really in biology. But I was able to get some blood samples from your aunt. I was able to get people in the Avengers and SHIELD to look at them and double-check them."

"And…"

"Well she's definitely not a clone. As far as I can tell, she is the exact same May Parker-Jameson she's always been."

"Swell," Peter said, and hung up. Just then he noticed something odd at the other end of the corridor.

"That's strange."

"What is?" asked nurse Ella Grey.

"Have I seen that guy before? Balding. In his sixties. Maybe Jewish."

"Yeah, guys like that really stand out in Manhattan," she replied snidely.

(Six) Later that day Peter and J. Jonah Jameson were in a meeting with one of the leading physicians of the Stoddard Center. "What we have in mind," the Doctor related, "is a particularly aggressive form of radiation therapy, which we propose to follow with a new experimental genetic solution."

"What sort of genetic solution?" Peter wondered.

"We have been working with doctors the world over who are the cutting edge of cancer treatment. Some of the boldest theoreticians in the world are…"

"Just a minute," Jameson interrupted. "When does the chemotherapy start?"

"It's not chemotherapy," the Doctor clarified. "It's a radical new form of radiation treatment that is distinctly different from what you may be familiar with."

"Regardless, when does it start?"

"Oh, it's not starting at all. Your aunt is far too weak to undergo it right now."

Peter spoke up. "So how do we strengthen her so she can undergo it?"

The Doctor did not bat an eye or alter his upbeat approach. "We're suggesting a new round of moderate treatments."

(Seven) "How would that work? My aunt is visibly waning as we speak."

"Placebos," Jameson interrupted. "There is no way of getting to the next stage. So they offer placebos to take up the time that's left to her."

"There is no need to be so cynical, Mayor Jameson," the Doctor replied.

"Wait a minute," Peter interrupted. "If that's the case, why didn't they start these treatments on her a few weeks ago when she was in better health?"

"Because," Jameson replied bitterly and with some impatience, "the radical treatments were almost certainly going to kill her in any case, and any sane doctor would hesitate to use them as long as possible."

"I don't think you appreciate what we have to offer Mrs. Parker-Jameson," the Doctor interceded.

"Dr. Hauptmann, my stepmother's nephew is distinctly younger than me. He does not have my experience in watching people die from cancer."

Peter spoke up. "What do you suggest for my aunt?"

"For the next week, we will put her on a special medical and dietary regimen. After that we will see."

(Eight) Day One

The next six days were not good ones for Peter, and very bad ones for Aunt May. At first Aunt May was very tired. She could barely speak at all. But she did not sleep. She was always on the edge of consciousness and the more Peter looked at her the more pain she could see.

It was harder and harder for her to eat. On one day she had to be spoon fed and what she was spoon fed was an unappetizing mush. Nurse Grey was professional and cold. Peter watched her smash several pills in a pestle and then stir the results into the mush.

For the first couple of days, Peter and Aunt May could only speak for a few minutes before the quasi-sleep set in. And then the pain as well.

At times the nurses would get her into a wheelchair to move her from one part of the floor to another. Never before had she been so helpless. She could barely move, and with each passing day was less able to do so.

(Nine) Day Four

And then it got worse. For hours she would be in agony. "Please you have to help her," Peter begged. "I'm busy," said some nurses. "You have to wait," said another. "You have to wait for the medication to kick in," said Nurse Grey. "That medication needs to be supplemented," Nurse Grey would say, "but you have to wait a couple of hours for the effects of the last medication to wear off." And Peter would watch the clock, starting at nine in the morning he arrived, from the eleven in the morning as he watched her, and then to two, to four, to seven, and finally to 11:30 when another nurse gave her more medicine, and Peter had to leave.

"Hopefully it will be better tomorrow," the nurse said, though there was no reason to believe that.

(Ten) Day Six

"Please don't leave me," Anna Watson said piteously.

"I'm only going to be gone for a few days," her niece replied, repressing a tear. "I need to find you a better place, back in New York City."

They waved to each other, and MJ left her aunt's room. As she walked away, an intern approached her. "Ms. Watson, I was wondering whether we could have a talk."

"There's not much to talk about. There's nothing in Boston that can help her situation. The only thing I can do I move her back to New York and find her an old folks home, in the hope that actually living in the city she lived most of her life will delay the progress of her dementia."

"I know there's very little hope for her. But there might be something."

"Oh?"

"The degeneration that dementia causes often follows a particular pattern, one that right now we don't know how to stop or reverse. But what's happening to your aunt is very specific. It's an unusual pattern. And conceivably it could be cured."

"Conceivably?"

"We think that with intensive research that in five years we could find a possible cure or a vaccine for the situation your aunt has."

"Won't Aunt Anna's situation be far worse in five years?"

"Admittedly, that is the rub. By the time we got a cure it would be far too late to help her."

(Eleven) "Ah. Well thank you for not being able to help her…"

"Wait. You aunt is not that old a woman. She could easily live another twenty years."

"Will she able to recognize me, let alone anyone else, a year from now?"

"Ms. Watson, you're not fully listening to me. I said we couldn't help her right now. However…" And the intern pointed to a corner where they could talk with greater secrecy.

"You're not an ordinary model…"

"I'm not even an extraordinary one. If I were I could at least spend more money here."

"Look, I know you know Tony Stark. I know you've hung out with Spider-Man."

"Neither of them know how to cure my aunt."

"No, they don't. But they do know people who might."

"Like who?"

"Michael Morbius might."

(Twelve) MJ repressed a gasp. "Michael Morbius is incurably insane. And that isn't even the main reason why I would never want him within a mile of my aunt."

"I would think 'incurably' is too strong a word."

"Oh do you now? Why do you give a damn about Morbius?"

"My father knew him when he was a brilliant blood surgeon. You may not know it, but he still has friends who are trying to help him."

"You're right. I don't know it, and I don't care."

"Look, when Sue Richards was in labor Reed Richards got Morbius to help."

"As I recall, she ended up miscarrying. Anyway how does one get from blood disease or radiation poisoning to curing dementia?"

"His special circumstances allow him to radically increase his intuitive abilities, if only for a time."

"Fantastic. You do realize we are talking about someone who acts like a vampire."

"Look you've mentioned a friend whose aunt is apparently dying of cancer. And I took the liberty of looking into her case, and yep, she is definitely dying. But your aunt has a good six month window for some super-genius who is five years ahead of the rest of the planet to provide a cure. She has a chance, and I think you should take it."

(Thirteen) Meanwhile Peter was still at the Stoddard Institute. "God, this is awful," he thought. "I can't bear to see her suffer like this. I'm actually wishing for her to die, just so it will be over. What a horrible thing to think. And when there are so many times me and Aunt May and so many other people I know have been on the brink of death, only to get another chance and fight another day. There has to be a…"

Just then Peter's phone rang. He recognized the number. "Doctor Strange?!"

"Hello Peter. I know Reed Richards called you earlier this month. I'm afraid I don't have any good news to give you either. But I do have to talk to you."

"Go ahead. I have literally nothing better to do."

"You mentioned a Lemurian tablet of life, that Wilson Fisk used to resurrect his son Richard."

"Let me guess. You've looked into it, and it definitely can't cure my aunt."

"Well yes, but that's not why I called you. I've been examining the tablet using the Orb of Agametto. And I've found some interesting things. Suppose you have an atomic weapon. You would imagine that it has fissile materials, a combination of uranium and plutonium. It would have an arming mechanism and it would have a timer, allowing people to know how much time to get away before it explodes. Now imagine another weapon. It has all three of those things. But unlike a real weapon, there is no way it could ever actually work. It looks like a bomb, it counts down like a bomb but it will never explode. If you broke it, the radioactive materials could hurt people close to it, but otherwise it's not an actual atomic weapon.

"The Tablet of Life is like the second bomb. I've examined it, and it has certain mystical elements which, taken together, could conceivably resurrect someone. Except that in this case, they don't. The Tablet cannot save your aunt for the very simple reason it cannot save anyone."

(Fourteen) "And yet Richard Fisk is very much alive. Unless that isn't Richard Fisk."

"That is what I need to talk to you about. Because I've looked at the Rose, and I've seen his soul. And that soul is very definitely that of Richard Fisk. The Tablet should not have done what you think it did, but Richard Fisk is genuinely alive."

"So if the Rose is alive…"

"You're thinking that your aunt could still be saved. Peter, I'm afraid there is no good reason for hope. There must be, if not a scientific reason why he is alive, at least a rational one. But I don't see how it helps your aunt. Richards told me that your aunt wasn't a clone. I checked up on her. I can't detect clones myself, but I can say that it is your aunt who is dying. She's not a Skrull, not someone pretending to be her, not someone genetically modified to resemble her, not a Life Model Decoy or some other kind of robot. And what is suffering from is cancer, not a disease that superficially resembles it but could conceivably be cured. Nor is she suffering from any mystical attack or charm.

"I see. Look, I know this is a lot to ask. But if you could find out the truth about Fisk, that could mean everything. It is almost literally the last thread of hope I have."

"Unfortunately Peter, for the next forty-eight hours I can hardly help you at all. I'm not even in New York."

"Where are you?"

"Venice."

"What are you doing there?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know." And then Dr. Strange hung up.

(Fifteen) The Seventh Day: the last day of May Parker's life 8:21 AM

Peter gasped as he woke up. "I overslept?!" He shook himself and got his bearings. "Right, right, it's bath day for Aunt May, and a whole host of other things. I won't be able to see her until after noon at least."

8:30 New York Time, 13:30 London Time

Tony Stark, not the first time in his life nor the last, was attending a business gala in London. He was certainly not the only foreigner in attendance, even if he was one of the very few who actually made things.

"Mr. Stark, so good to see you," said a balding man in his late forties, who was as plump as he was complacent, but considerably richer.

"Hello, Norfolk," Stark said, not exactly giving his full attention.

"Have you had a chance to visit those Russian gentlemen?"

"Given the current situation, not to mention my country's sanctions laws, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"We do have a wonderful collection of Poles who'd be happy to talk to you. Contrary to what you may hear in your country's media, there is considerable European interest in some kind of just compromise."

"Be that as it may, I'd rather leave that to my government."

"Actually these Poles are very interesting. They have access to top level next generation AI technology."

"Really?"

"Oh yes, Poland has been growing continuously since 1992: no other country has had such uninterrupted growth.

(Sixteen) "Still I can imagine you might be skeptical. Perhaps you need a more convincing liaison." Norfolk pointed to a relatively tall, fairly thin and rather stern-looking woman whom Stark correctly guessed was in her late fifties. "As you surely know, Mr. Stark, we have had a Supreme Court for some time. Adelaide Wargrave is one of its leading assistants."

"Hello," Tony Stark said reaching out his hand. Mrs. Wargrave took it, though only barely making the effort to smile. It was clear that her attention was directed elsewhere. "Get over here!" she hissed.

Stark quickly saw the object of Mrs. Wargrave's attention: a short, six-year-old girl, with shortly cut black hair, carrying a Paddington Bear, and obviously very fearful of incurring Mrs. Wargrave's displeasure."

"Hello," Stark smiled, "You must be…" And then he checked himself. It was a bit unlikely for the girl to be Mrs. Wargrave's daughter. On the other hand it might be insulting to think she was her grand-daughter, especially if she wasn't.

"My ward," Mrs. Wargrave explained. "This is Ophelia Oswald. Her late mother was a friend of I and my late husband." She turned to her ward, only mildly glowering. "This is Anthony Stark, one of the world's richest men and also the bravest, more heroic man you will ever meet. You should be honored to be in his presence."

Little Ophelia shook Stark's hand with completely genuine humility. Stark was not paying attention, since he was distracted by two men having a conversation on a level above him. There was nothing especially striking about the way the two were talking, who to ordinary observers were just having an innocuous chat.

"I am not imagining things. Those two men are clearly Anton Vanko and Boris Turgenov, the first and second Crimson Dynamos. Except they clearly died fifteen years ago! So what are they doing here?" (Find out in the latest Iron Man, on sale now!)

(Seventeen) 10:26

Peter was busy running errands in the spare time he had before visiting Aunt May. He was carrying a couple of bags of groceries when someone called out to him "Peter!"

He turned and saw a woman perhaps a few years older than him, carrying a baby in one of those relatively convenient strap-on things. It was, of course, Betty Brant Leeds, carrying her baby son. "I haven't heard from you for weeks. I'm sorry about your aunt."

"Thanks. I haven't heard from you either. So how is little Winston?"

"Well, he's weaned now. Being able to walk and talk is a few weeks in the future. But the important thing is that I've returned to work as a bold professional woman having it all!"

"Really?"

"It's America, Peter. Not too hot on paid maternity leave. Do you know the new District Attorney?"

"Charles Scorsese? What about him?"

"Well his wife is having a glorified press event for something involving both Catholic and parochial schools. And I'm getting paid to write the puff piece!"

"Ah…"

(Eighteen) 12:03

"You must now complete boarding for Flight 616 for LaGuardia." The last passengers were in fact boarding the plane, and among them was Mary Jane Watson.

Soon she was in her assigned seat, facing a window. A reasonably handsome, and somewhat presumptuous, man in a business suit took the aisle seat. He was clearly impressed by her beauty, while MJ scrolled through her phone.

"I'm sorry, have we met?" he asked.

"If we have, I didn't bother to remember you," she replied.

"May I ask what you're doing?"

"I am going to New York to find a home for my aunt who is suffering from Alzheimer's. Right this minute I am using the internet to try to find such homes. Right now I am not having much luck."

"Oh."

"So unless you have some helpful advice, I'd appreciate it if you'd shut up and leave me alone."

(Nineteen) 12:45

Norman Osborn was able to leave for a slightly late business lunch when he received a call from Ms. Koziak. "Sir, we just received a small package, high priority, directly for you."

"What is it?"

"Security is looking at is as we speak." And indeed several people were scanning the package with a variety of scanners and x-rays. The chief of security directed a guard to open it, who nervously opened it.

A few minutes later Ms. Koziak gave Osborn the gift. It was a cell phone.

It rang and Osborn answered it. "Next time I call, make sure you're alone," a voice said. It then hung up.

(Twenty) 13:06

Betty Brant was sitting on a bench, trying to give Winston some food when her phone rang. It was Peter on the other line. "I just remembered something. Last month I received a vague tip about our old colleague Lance Bannon. You were actually in charge of the Bugle investigation into his murder."

"Yeah, it had something to do with F.A.C.A.D.E. But we never found out who they were or what they were planning."

"Is there some way of reopening the investigation?"

"Why, what did your source tell you?"

Peter winced on the other end, since his source was from an alternate universe, and therefore not very forthcoming. "How do I tell her?" he thought to himself. Then an idea came to her. "You remember the Clairvoyant project?"

"Of course," since it was one of the first things her husband was involved with when he apparently returned from the dead.

"Well from these alternate universes project there's a scrap of information that whoever killed Bannon is very dangerous indeed."

"I'll see if I can look into it."

"Hold on, I'm getting another call." Peter hung up. It was a nurse from the hospital, not Ella Grey.

"Peter Parker?"

"Yes?"

"It's your aunt, I'm afraid. It looks like it's time."

(Twenty-One) 13:15

Spider-Man managed to land in the alleyway. In less than a minute Peter was in his normal clothes.

He entered the Stoddard Institute. "Excuse me," he said to security. "My name is Peter Parker. I just received a message saying my aunt's position is very grave."

"You're here quickly," security wondered. For a few seconds Peter was nervous as security looked at a screen. "Fourteenth Floor. The elevators are over there."

Soon Peter was riding in the elevator with an intern and two other people. He took out his phone and quickly texted MJ. He then looked at some special apps. "So, the Fantastic Four are not in New York. Nor are the Avengers," he thought. "And Dr. Strange told me yesterday he's in Venice. And of course the X-Men haven't been anywhere convenient for years."

Suddenly Peter received a very strong and alarming message from his Spider-sense.

(Twenty-Two) The elevator opened on the seventh floor. Standing right in front of Peter was a tall man dressed in a dark blue suit with a grey vest. His skin was also grey and he superficially resembled a vampire, though Peter knew he was something much worse.

Morlun.

The Last Man You Want to See