Their faces began flashing through Peter's mind.

He thought of Betty and Ned, who were just celebrating the promise of new life and a growing family. He thought of Robbie, a pillar of his community and strong, kind man who would give the shirt off his back for anyone who needed it. He thought of Ben Urich, a man hardened by many years of investigating the worst of the worst in the city, yet occasionally took the time to pass on a few nuggets of wisdom he'd collected here and there. He even remembered Stan, the janitor he'd occasionally see when he'd dropped off photos at a much less acceptable hour.

He remembered them all...

The longer this went, the heavier Peter's breathing became and the hotter his blood grew as rage began to bottle up within him until, finally, he couldn't contain it anymore.

"AAAAAAHH!"

Peter sank to his knees after his loud cry, the weight of it all seemingly crushing him. He'd known that the Goblin was insane, but to go this far in an act of public violence, even terrorism? The fact that he took so many lives just to get at him, almost as if this was all just some stupid game to him, it all made him feel sick inside; he felt both angry enough to punch a hole through the Hulk and also disgusted enough to puke his own guts out at the same time.

Suddenly, Peter was snapped back to reality by his phone going off; for all he knew, it might have been going off for a little while now, but he'd been too numb to anything at first to notice it. He observed that it was Mary Jane and, though part of him didn't want to talk to anyone right now, he forced himself to answer it.

"Hello?" he managed to mutter.

"Peter, I... I saw the news," she said. "I'm so sorry."

Peter pursed his lips, his mind trying to come up with something, anything to say. What was he supposed to say though? What good were words at a time like this?

"I should've known, I should've..."

"Peter, don't do that to yourself," she said. "There's no way you could've foreseen how this would play out."

"Yeah, tell that to them..." he countered.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I just..."

"I know," Peter said, acknowledging her attempt to help him before his mind pivoted to a different subject. "M.J, I want you to leave; take May and Anna with you. Don't even tell me where you're going, just go somewhere far from here until this is over."

There was a long pause over the phone at first. He knew his girlfriend was likely really wrestling with this, as she had refused his suggestion previously, and his mind began to concoct reasons to try and convince her if necessary. He just had to make sure she was safe; he couldn't bear the thought of losing her or May too...

"Okay."

Peter let out a sigh of relief, shutting his eyes as at least a little peace came over him.

"Good."

"What do I tell May about you?" M.J. questioned. "You know, since you won't exactly be coming with us?"

"I don't know, just... just tell her that I'm helping Jonah out in the aftermath of... of everything," he stammered out. "You know, doing my part to try and help figure out who's behind this or whatever. I don't know, if you come up with something better, use that instead."

"Okay," M.J. said. "I just hate leaving you like this though. I wish there was something I could do to help."

"You are helping," Peter assured her. "You making sure that you and May are both safe allows me to focus properly."

"Alright," his girlfriend replied. "Just... please, be careful. I love you."

"I love you too," Peter replied, shutting his eyes briefly to try and better take in the moment before hanging up. He then found and selected the contact of another person he needed to speak with, listening to the dial tone until they finally answered.

"Mr. Fireheart, if that offer for some time off is still on the table, I'll take it."

Stepping over the latest hurdle of debris, Jonah continued his trek around the collapsed Bugle. By now, he'd lost track of how long he'd been there; the police had come by twice and said they needed to clear the area as they continued to investigate, but ultimately had been kind enough to grant him a little more time. He knew that he would eventually have to properly vacate the premises, but he was having a hard time tearing himself away.

Frankly, it felt as though Jonah had lost a part of his own soul. He'd spend so much time in the building, pouring his heart into the place, having started it from the ground up many years ago. Back then, he was just a stubborn but determined young man who wanted to do news the right way. His wife had always told him that it was really HIS way, but maybe that was the same thing; all he'd cared about at first was making a name for himself in the news industry and making it so he wouldn't have to answer to anyone.

As time went on, however, he grew to see how important good, honest journalism was to the people. It didn't just entertain or give people something to talk about, but it kept them informed on important topics, including things that pertained to their safety and wellbeing. He came to understand the value of the news and how much influence it really had... and how dangerous it was if wielded improperly. Slowly, he'd committed himself to using his outlet as a means to not just snag the hottest story, but the ones he felt needed to be told, realizing he could give a voice to those who otherwise might not have one. Often that had meant being hard on those in power, but he didn't care, and neither did the staff he hired. They had all been like one big family, one that fought against those who thought themselves immune to accountability.

Speaking of family, Jonah knew there was another task that he would need to undertake soon: contacting the families of those who'd been lost today. The Bugle wasn't a military or police institution, but he considered it a battle ground every day, and those he'd served with his fellow soldiers in the quest for the truth. They had joined him in this fight, and it felt like the least he could do in this situation. At the same time, the thought of facing them terrified him to his core. Plus, there were other matters to attend to...

"Mr. Jameson..."

"It's okay, officer," he said. "I'm going now."

He then turned the other way, finally beginning the trek off the property and to... probably home, but he really didn't know for sure yet. All Jonah did know was that he wasn't going to rest until he had done everything in his power to ensure that he found concrete evidence of the Green Goblin's involvement in this undertaking and used it to put him behind bars... and, if he was lucky, Spider-Man too. The wall crawler may not have directly caused it, but it was not long after he first came into the picture that nutjobs like the Goblin and others had joined him, and he'd only been stoking them on ever since. It all needed to stop.

Too many lives had been lost as a result.

The bus had barely stopped when Mary Jane got up from her seat, hurriedly heading out the door as she began the two block walk down the street. Her heart picked up its pace as well, and it wasn't just because of her suddenly increased cardio; she had called both her aunt and May, but neither had answered. She tried to tell herself to relax, since she knew that the two ladies were likely hanging out together playing bridge or something, and it wasn't uncommon for them to get so caught up in either playing or talking to one another that they ignored their mobile devices.

That was part of the reason she hadn't told Peter yet that she hadn't been able to get ahold of them, but if she was honest, it was also because she didn't want to add any more stress to his plate than she had to. She couldn't even begin to imagine the extent of how he must be feeling right now in the aftermath of losing all his friends at the Bugle, and the last thing he needed on top of that was to be fearing the worst with May especially. If she got there and something had happened, she would tell him, but until then, there was no point in unnecessarily worrying him.

Finally turning the corner of their street, M.J. broke into a run up to her aunt's house, trotting up the stairs and to the door in a hurry. Taking out her key, she hurriedly inserted it and twisted, opening the door.

"Aunt Anna?" she called out. "May? You all here?"

There was no response, but no reason to suspect anything else had happened yet, so she stepped inside and closed the door. She walked through the living room and the kitchen but found no one, opting to head upstairs to her aunt's room just in case. Once again, however, she was greeted by no one, so she paused to consider her next move. She thought for sure they were usually at her aunt's house this time of the week, but maybe they were next door? Perhaps they'd stepped out to go for a walk in the park or something?

The sudden sound of a loud car horn on the street outside nearly making her jump out of her skin, Mary Jane took a moment to recompose herself.

"It's alright," she told herself. "Just try calling Anna again; I'm sure they just went out for a walk, and they left their phones on silent or something."

Taking out her cellular device, she found her aunt's contact info and dialed it, holding it to her ear. It rang and rang.

"Come on, come on, pick up..." she muttered under her breath.

Suddenly, a hand came around and gripped her face, a cloth put in front of her nose and mouth. Dropping her phone, Mary Jane struggled with all she had, desperately trying to free herself from the grip of whoever was attacking her. She kicked and threw her weight around while making as much noise as she could, but she was too muffled for it to have any real effect, and her senses were starting to grow dull.

"Come on," she thought, her suddenly weary mind growing hazy, "don't give up..."

Soon, her struggling ceased as darkness overtook her.

The Goblin reclined in his chair as he watched the latest news report on the destruction of the Bugle.

"The investigation is ongoing," the reporter on site said, "but as of now, the cause is still unknown regarding who or what triggered the series of explosions that took down one of New York's longest standing and most well-known buildings."

The Goblin chuckled to himself, pleased with how things were playing out. No doubt, Spider-Man was likely fuming with anger at the loss of his precious former coworkers, which meant that he would soon play right into his hands... and he couldn't wait for when that would happen.

One of his men then stepped into the room, one whom he recognized as being in charge of another important task.

"Ah yes, please, bring me some more good news!"

"We have the Watson girl," he said. "She came to her aunt's house, just like you said, so now we have everyone on your list."

"Excellent!" the Goblin replied with maniacal glee. "Carry on with the rest of the preparations. My ultimate nemesis deserves only the most special of nights for his demise, and I want everything to be perfect!"

"Yes sir," the man replied before taking his leave. The Goblin then shut off the television, turning and heading back over to where his glider and some of his other weaponries were stored. He walked up to a long, sword-like blade he'd fashioned, running his gloved finger along it just carefully enough so as not to cut himself. He smiled as his mind began to picture what it would be like to run this beautifully crafted weapon straight through the heart of his arch nemesis. He chuckled with glee at the thought of Spider-Man being broken and utterly defeated before him... perhaps he'd just cut off his head instead?

Oh well, there would be time to figure all that out.

Another individual then entered the room, the scientist he'd placed in charge of his "special project."

"Oh yes," the Goblin said, eager to hear what the man had to say. "Please, what's the latest on our little project?"

"He's finally ready," the doctor assured him, "and I believe the results will be quite to your liking."

"Well then," the Goblin replied, "let's go see for ourselves, shall we?"

Hope you're still enjoying it!

Continuing to pray for you all; stay safe and healthy!

"Finally, all of you, be like-minded, be sympathetic, love one another, be compassionate and humble." 1 Peter 3:8