ELSEWHERE — NEW YORK CITY MORTUARY
To call a morgue peaceful was foolish. The morgue was silent in the way only places of the dead ever were. But peaceful? Never peaceful. It was heavy. It was dark. It was where the dead rested. Refrigerated air hummed softly through vents in the ceiling. Everything felt like it was basking an unforgiving glow.
In this world of science, did such a glow exist? Or was it a trick of the mind?
Norman Osborn decided it was a trick as he stood alone beside the slab. His son Harry Osborn lay upon it, still as marble.
Yes, this was all just a trick. The dead were not special. The living were not special either. They all followed the laws of science. His son's skin had taken on an uncanny pallor. It was too smooth, too even, like a sculpture rather than flesh. The Osborn genetics were not kind to his hair, already set in a widow's peak despite his youth. Not that his youth would continue. Ever would continue. Sleep had finally claimed him after a lifetime of pain.
Tomorrow was the grand funeral in front of the cameras and dignitaries. Speeches about legacy and tragedy and promise cut short.
Norman didn't care about any of that. He reached out with a hand and rested his fingers against Harry's chest, right where the pendant lay beneath the black fabric of the burial suit.
A simple thing. A silver pendant. "You still kept it on you. Your mother's one and only gift before she also…"
Norman's jaw tightened.
"You were supposed to live," he said like it was a declaration. "I fixed you. I saved you."
His fingers slid under the collar and drew the pendant into view. For a moment, he simply stared at it, as if the metal might explain itself. As if it might tell him what he had missed.
It didn't. The pendant was nothing. The pendant was a gift he kept on him at all times. "You started wearing it after you got out," he mused to himself. "Before that…haah…"
He fell silent again.
"Thinking about taking that pendant?"
The voice came from behind him.
Every instinct Norman had honed over decades—boardrooms and backroom deals—screamed at once. His reflection in the stainless steel slab shifted as he straightened slowly, hand withdrawing from Harry's chest.
He turned without baring his instincts. A masked man was at the doorway where no one should have been. He wore a long, tailored coat the color of dried blood over all black. His gloves were black and claw-tipped. The mask he donned was scarlet red and demonic, sculpted into a permanent, predatory grin. Eyes like burning embers stared out from narrow slits.
Norman was not impressed. He merely cocked his head. "And you are…?"
This was his morgue. He bought the building outright. The masked devil laughed.
"Oh, don't worry about them," the stranger said lightly. "Your security did their jobs. Admirably, really. They're just… resting now."
Norman's eyes flicked briefly to the door, then back. Still, he was not impressed.
"Who are you," he demanded, "and why are you bothering me of all people? If you want to kill me, then get it over with."
The masked man stepped closer. One step, then another. Each footfall seemed like it was savoring the moment.
"You wanted to know how your son died."
Norman stiffened.
"It's why his funeral has been delayed for so long. You've had—no, are still having every blood cell examined to find out how and why he had fallen to death. Was he drugged? Did he fall from a building? Which one? Why weren't there any security cameras to show it?" He spoke darker and darker. "So many questions to something that should be straightforward, right? I'm here to free you, my friend. I killed Harry Osborn."
It was the first flicker of emotion he showed. Hot red rage that made his fists ball tightly.
"Ahhh, now that's good to see. Norman Osborn does have a heart. I'm glad your son got to see it now, in death."
"Harry…was no problem to anyone. Useless, maybe, but he was not a problem. He wasn't…like me." Norman's glare would have made a lesser man falter. "Did you kill to get to me?"
"Hmm…partially. You're right, he's not a villain. I don't have anything against him personally." There was a beat and the mask that Norman suddenly realized more like a goblin than a devil burst into laughter. "Oh, who am I kidding? I hated that brat. The son of a billionaire, born with everything while having done nothing. He became a literal LIZARD and he was still allowed to walk out scott-free. You think they'd do that for people like us?"
"...like us?"
"You really don't know," he said, mockingly soft. "That's almost insulting."
The Red Goblin stopped at the foot of the slab and gestured casually toward Harry. "You can figure it out. Come on. Who do you think HATES this man the most? Where do you think he'd make enemies?"
"...."
"You're smart, aren't you?" He slammed a fist down and chuckled. "Figure it out! Come on! Come on! Or…" The fiery iris within the slit of his mask glowed fiercely. "You know and just don't want to say it?"
Norman's expression hardened. "Quit speaking nonsense."
The man laughed louder, edged with something feral. "Fine, fine! A man of your wealth has committed hundreds of crimes I'm sure. Must be heard to keep track. I'm talking specifically about his stay at SHIELD." Norman hid his surprise well. But not well-enough. "Because that little stay? That 'miracle cure' you were so proud of?"
He crossed his arms together and leaned forward, all casual while inhaling the corpse of Harry Osborn. Norman swore he saw red veins under the cuff of his coat.
"It didn't come free."
"Ah." Norman strangely relaxed. "The only people that could possibly know what happened to my son were the scientists. I'm sorry to say, I was there. I understood what they were doing and why they were doing it. His blood, his organs, as long as they cured him of that insidious thing inside him, I did not care what they did."
"Even if they sacrificed men?
"Of course not. After all, I brought in many of those men." Norman smiled. "Previous vessels of Project Rebirth gone wrong. I don't regret it if that's what you're wanting me to admit."
It seemed this came as a surprise to the masked man. "You…" He laughed again. "You really are something! You don't care at all?"
"Not at all. Harry got to live a half-decent life. A happy life. Those in that prison, they were fated for nothing but misery regardless of if I arrived or not. You should be glad that they were useful for at least someone's happiness."
"Right. Even if that led to my birth?"
The silence and shock should have gotten a stronger response from Norman. It did not. Norman studied him, considering this man, his fancy long coat, and then scoffed. "Please. Don't insult me, I was there. I made it perfectly clear to not violate him of that."
"That's not—" The devilled stranger threw his head back and cackled. The sound filled the morgue, obscene and joyful. "Oh man, an illegitimate? Violating?" he repeated. "Oh, Norman. No. Nothing so crude."
He straightened and spread his arms slightly, as if presenting himself.
"My name is Harold. My mother sometimes told me it was Harold Osborn, or Harold Moon."
Norman did not allow himself to show anything. "And? Are you done with your story?"
"Not yet." One step in and he was looming now, close enough that Norman could feel an unnatural heat radiating from him. "You wanted your son cured of the Lizard. You wanted him whole. Human again. And SHIELD wanted… a return on their investment." He tapped his own chest lightly. "As I said, that return was me."
"Is that right?"
He didn't care. The Goblin giggled and tilted his masked head toward Harry's corpse.
"You don't care, hm? That's disappointing. I was really expecting more out of you. Like a gasp or some terror. Ah, but I'm fortunate. Real fortunate."
He extended one gloved hand, index finger lifting. A crimson aura gathered around it, thick and viscous, crackling with restrained violence.
"You see, I lied," Harold said pleasantly. "And I think I got that from Harry. Your son, my brother, he was VERY good at keeping secrets. The fact that you don't know about it speaks volumes. I mean, who can keep a secret from Norman Osborn? But he did it. He did. He had lots of secrets. Dangerous secrets even."
The red light flared brighter.
"And I need them."
Norman finally felt it then. The certainty. The impending end. The knowledge that all his power, all his money, all his contingencies meant nothing in this moment.
Harold smiled beneath the mask. The finger leveled at his heart.
"This was an amusing conversation. Really, it was. But you're no longer needed, Norman."
Clink.
Something small and metal bounced once across the tiled floor. Neither man had time to track it before the world exploded into smoke. A dense, chemical fog swallowed the morgue in rolling gray clouds. The alarms would have shrieked but they were deactivated.. The lights flickered, then dimmed, refracting uselessly through the haze.
"—!" Norman staggered back as a hand seized his collar.
"Move!"
A woman!? Any surprise was cut short by this woman hauling him. The Red Goblin's finger was still glowing. The woman in black dragging Norman was running impressively fast. She donned a ninja mask so as to conceal the lower half of her face. The Goblin laughed, he aimed, and he fired.
Miraculously, she managed to duck and the white-reddish laser zoomed over her and into the reinforced window. The window shattered and was further shattered outward as she drove her shoulder through it, dragging Norman with her. Cold night air rushed in and the woman and Norman Osborn were flying out.
He fired a second time. The laser nicked her shoulder and her painful shriek echoed loudly. The Red Goblin thought it was over.
He underestimated this woman. This woman was assigned to secretly keep an eye on Norman and there was no one better for it.
Czarina sucked her breath in, keeping a tight grip on Norman's wrist, twisted herself in the air, and launched her grappling hook. She and Norman were flung up to the rooftop of the building next over, disappearing completely from the Red Goblin's visage.
Silence reclaimed the room. The smoke thinned slowly, curling low along the floor.
The Red Goblin lowered his hand, the red aura dissipating with a faint hiss. He chuckled as he walked over and looked out the window.
"Well," he said lightly. "I have no idea who that was. Ah, well. Can't just kill a hard-working woman for doing her job."
He shrugged and returned to the slab again where Harry Osborn lay. He let out a long sigh.
"Hello, Harry. We've met a couple times before in masks. I was the Auction Master, you were…whatever you were. But this time, there's no masks. Nothing between us. I'm a bit sad, actually. Maybe if we weren't wearing masks, I could talk to you about...everything."
His gaze dropped. The pendant lay where it had slipped from Norman's fingers. The silver chain pooled against the cold steel, catching the morgue's light like it had been waiting for him.
"Or maybe I'd just bash your brains in. God. Seeing you like this…it's just too good for you. Making you fall to death…I wonder what that was like. Did you scream and panic the whole way down? I hope you did. I hope it was bad. But god, I wish it worse. I wanted to kill you with my bare hands but…"
Harold reached down and picked it up.
"Not all wishes come true. Killing your father would have been extra too. A really nice extra. Hm, maybe I should have chased after him and that strange woman…ah well." He straightened, pendant closing in his fist, and tapped the side of his mask. "Get the car ready. We're heading back to base. I have what I came for. Maybe open some champagne." He laughed and then started coughing. He cleared his throat roughly. "Ahh, dammit. Get lots of champagne ready."
He cleared his throat several more times as he turned and walked out of the room.
***
SHIELD UNDERWATER FACILITY - LEVEL 11 UNIT C13
"My goblin...mine, mine...my boy..."
Like some sort of demigod of death, perfect in beauty and carnage, Cindy Moon lay there. Black hair messy and distraight, and the bags under her eyes as thick as black.
The rage receded first. To Felix, it was like dragging back a tide with his webbings. Just barely, he could do it. Just barely, while water spilled through the gaps, he could manage the impossible. Rash followed, tendrils loosening, black retreating into his veins until all that remained was fabric and skin.
Felix let it go and looked away. Behind him, Cindy Moon lay there while continuing to laugh and laugh. The interrogation was over.
Felix adjusted the security uniform, smoothening the crease of his jacket like nothing had happened.
He looked back at Cindy one last time. Should he put her out of her misery? Kill her? She was responsible for Reed's death. She started all of this.
"Hahaha....I wish...I wish I was back there..."
Total isolation had ruined her. Not destroyed, she was still in there. She could feel, love, and think. But she would never be the same. Was that a better fate? To wallow here pathetically?
He didn't know.
Suddenly, Felix realized how difficult it was to play judge, jury, and executioner. To hand down punishments. It was one thing to think about it. To see it in college books and studies. To hear about a murderer being sentenced to isolation and scoffing at the imbalance of crime and sentence.
But it wasn't an imbalance. Seeing it and feeling, Felix...Felix had to admit that this was an appropriate punishment. Killing was not the only punishment. The only revenge.
It was perhaps why he was able to walk away without blood on his hands and without feeling guilty. A new belief coursed through him; leaving her here was justice too.
Yelena was waiting where they'd agreed, leaning against the wall near the elevator bank. When she saw him, relief flickered across her face before she masked it. He was two minutes late.
"Took you long enough," Yelena murmured. "You get what you needed?"
"Yes," Felix said evenly. "All of it."
Yelena searched his face for half a second longer than necessary. He knew what she was seeing—no blood, no visible injuries, no panic. Just…something colder behind his eyes.
She didn't comment.
"Good," Yelena said instead, blinking once. "Then let's finish this inspection."
Felix nodded. He was grateful for her professionalism. In a couple minutes, they were back to the elevator of Level Ten. As the doors closed, as his eyes drank in the cage meant for The Devil, there was something different in his chest. Maybe because he finally had a name to give to the one that'd stay here: Harold.
A clone of Harry Osborn. His motives weren't blurry anymore. They were crystal-clear. He understood what enraged him. He hated the elite because in spite of being a literal clone of another man, he was not let out. He was caged. While Harry Osborn was free to live a life even though he was once the Lizard. To be on the Board of Directors for Oscorp. To be normal even.
Harold did not. The same blood, the same face, yet different. He would always be different.
It did beg the question. That day, when he pressed the teleportation button and killed him…
'I bet Harold must have been itching to do it himself.'
He hated that he couldn't be angry at him.
He had asked Czarina to watch over Norman as a favour, in case anything happened. Well, hopefully nothing did but after learning what he did…Norman was in trouble. Suddenly, his pulse raced as they went deeper and deeper.
'I need to get back to the surface. Fast.'
Level Twelve, Level Thirteen, Level Fourteen.
Yelena nudged at him and mouthed, "Here we are. You ready to leave?"
He nodded.
The elevator doors opened.
Level Fourteen was intended for one thing only: emergency escape for every single working member. It was a hollowed chamber reinforced with layered steel ribs and pressure-stressed concrete, the ceiling arching high enough to disappear into shadow. Thick gantries crisscrossed overhead. Industrial floodlights cast long, broken reflections across dark water pooled in recessed docking channels.
Rows of submarines sat half-submerged along the bay, tethered by thick umbilical cables and magnetic clamps. Some were sleek and aggressive, bristling with sensor masts and reinforced hull plating. Others were bulkier, built like armored coffins meant to survive anything the ocean could throw at them.
It smelled different down here. 'Like oil. Ugh.' It was the intense kind too. He felt nauseous. Though, thinking about it, it could also be because of the nearby water. Rash's distaste affected him too.
A handful of personnel were scattered across the bay. There were a dozen at most. They seemed pretty talkative and not very…well, tense, compared to the other workers they met. Then again, considering nobody was escaping, it wasn't like anything happened down here.
A man in a gray SHIELD jacket approached them, clipboard tucked under his arm. He looked… relieved, honestly. Like he was glad to have something to do.
"Inspection?" the man in grey asked, glancing between Felix and Yelena.
"Mhm."
"New people too! That's great!"
Felix handed over the paperwork. "Emergency readiness check. We won't take long." They had prepared this paperwork in advance when they were in the security room.
The man in grey scanned it with zero effort. "Gotcha, gotcha." He did not suspect them in the least. "Name's Keller. I'll be your guide and walk you through. Let's take it slow, yeah?"
He gestured broadly as they started forward, boots echoing on the metal walkway. "We only drive out this stuff once a month with permission. You know how it is. We can't go far either."
Felix's gaze moved across the subs. In the cuff of his shirt, there was a USB containing Herbie. 'Which of these submarines will be easiest for Herbie to pilot?' That was the question here, since Yelena alone wouldn't be able to do it.
"What's the crew requirement on these?" Felix asked, nodding toward a sleek black model with reinforced fins.
Keller grimaced. "That one? Minimum four. Preferably six. It's tied into central command, too. Real-time telemetry, weapons integration, the works."
'Too complicated for the shell Herbie program.'
"Want to check inside?"
"We're doing random checks," said Yelena, which was codeword for them only wanting to check the submarine that they were going to use to hightail out.
They approached another sub. This one was larger, angular, with visible turret housings.
"That's a combat evac," Keller said proudly. "Can punch its way through just about anything."
They passed two more. One experimental. One unfinished. Felix was starting to worry when they reached the far end of the bay.
This submarine sat slightly apart from the others. It was plainer with a matte gray hull with minimal markings.
Keller brightened. "Oh! That one."
Felix stopped.
"What's its designation?" he asked.
"Emergency Submersible E-7," Keller said. "Manual-first design. Redundant physical controls. Limited AI assistance. Honestly? It's great for escape and can contain a total of a eighty people. Moves fast too."
'So exactly what we need.'
Yelena pretended to be inspecting it and asked, "Crew?"
"Technically four," Keller said. "But it can be piloted solo. Or remotely, if you know what you're doing."
Felix smiled.
"This one," he said. "We'll inspect this. Mind if you disengage the clamps? We, uh, want to check those too."
Keller nodded eagerly. "Sure thing!" He jogged over to the computer responsible for it. He disengaged the clamps, albeit with a timer. Ten seconds.
Yelena smiled and was already beside him. "Thank you, sir."
Poor Keller. Yelena's hand snapped up and connected cleanly with the side of Keller's neck. He went down without a sound. She caught him before he hit the floor and eased him behind the standing computer.
"Sorry," Yelena whispered, already straightening. "You seem nice."
Felix was already climbing the ladder into the sub's hatch. When he found the first USB port, he plugged it in.
"Herbie?" he asked.
"I AM READY," came the reply through the submarine. Yelena came down a second later. The systems powered up. Nobody noticed.
The hatch sealed with a soft hydraulic sigh. Moments later, the clamps disengaged. The submarine slid into the water and disappeared beneath the surface like it had never been there at all.
The mission was accomplished. The impossible had been done. History had been written.
"...I'm going to come back here someday," Felix suddenly said, not caring for the magnitude of this feat.
Yelena looked over at him with a, "Huh?" She was sitting exhausted. She had never gone through this kind of security before and he wanted to go back?
"Some of those people deserve to be in there. But...not others." Felix inhaled loudly and smiled at Yelena. "Haah. Sorry, just...just talking to myself."
It was still confusing to him. It wasn't like he didn't believe in killing. He did. But out there in the world, there was a revenge-hungry killer out there. Someone that didn't believe in second chances or in a grey world. He saw things in black and white.
Should he kill Harold? After hearing about his story, he ultimately wasn't like Cindy Moon. He just wasn't.
Felix suspected there was only one way to settle this: to talk to Harold. He wanted to understand more. M'Baku told him that as long as he had his friends, he'd be okay. He'd have a anchor and that to be revolutionary meant to make mistakes and to do what was wrong sometimes. But that was the process. That was the way to become better.
He had to hurry back to New York City.