Chapter 73: Spider-Man's Rogues Gallery
"Kamen Rider!" Peter finally caught the name from the TV broadcast.
Something deep inside him stirred. He was glued to the screen, vibrating, practically trying to beam his excitement straight through the television and into the knight's chest.
He wanted to find this guy and get an autograph so badly it hurt. His body — still reeling from the spider bite — wouldn't let him.
On the ground, the crowd was roaring.
"Kamen Rider! You're a god!"
"Kamen Rider — my hero!"
A few of the bolder women in the crowd had started throwing their clothes at Ethan, waving garments in the air, begging for autographs.
Ethan didn't know what to do with that. He watched a bra arc through the air in his general direction, and decided he was flattered and alarmed in equal measure.
If the crowd hadn't been too scared to approach the blast zone, he was pretty sure some of them would've asked him to sign directly on their —
"Damn you, Kamen Rider!" Doc Ock bellowed.
Ethan looked at the man — poor bastard, enslaved by his own arms — and showed zero mercy. He crushed every mechanical tentacle into scrap. Metal and circuit fragments scattered across the street like confetti.
Without the arms whispering in his skull, Doc Ock came back to himself. He looked around, confused. Then at Ethan. His face crumbled.
"Please. Kill me. I can't — I don't want to hurt anyone else."
Ethan didn't answer. He walked forward and put one clean punch into the side of Doc Ock's head.
Lights out.
Then, carefully, Ethan reached down and ripped the neural interface — the mechanical spine fused to the back of Ock's neck — clean out. Blood sprayed.
No more control. No more voices.
Ethan dug a Senzu Bean out of his pocket and pressed it to Doc Ock's lips. The wound sealed.
Doc Ock was still useful. Ethan needed to know whether this man was native to this universe or a cross-dimensional arrival. Given Ethan's read of the timeline, this universe's Doc Ock shouldn't exist for several more years.
More questions than answers. Ethan needed information.
So he slung the unconscious scientist over one shoulder and vanished from the scene before the police could finish locking it down.
Behind him, the ambulances and fire trucks rolled in, and the crowd — in person and on TV — began debating the identity of their new hero.
"The hero known as Kamen Rider left the scene as quickly as he arrived. We were unable to obtain an interview. Who is the man behind the mask? NNC will continue to bring you updates!" A reporter was practically buzzing into her camera.
Peter Parker dragged his exhausted, spider-bitten body home, collapsed into bed, and fell asleep mumbling "Kamen Rider" into his pillow.
In an alley near the battle site, a figure that looked like a black-suited Spider-Man pressed himself against the wall, watching.
"Good thing I didn't rush out there. I thought this universe didn't have superheroes."
This was Eddie Brock — bonded with the Venom symbiote. Black liquid crawled across the left side of his face, pulsing, restless, demanding food.
"Yeah, yeah. Plenty to eat around here. You already had two. Cool it. Once you're full and charged up, then we'll deal with this Kamen Rider." Eddie pressed a hand over the writhing half of his face.
"Shame there's no Spider-Man in this world, though. I owe that webhead for blasting me into a whole new universe." Eddie laughed, wild and loose.
He'd thought Spider-Man's pumpkin bomb had killed him. Instead — a lucky break. He and the symbiote had landed in a fresh universe, and for the first time, the two of them could actually communicate.
Eddie wasn't like Doc Ock. Doc Ock was out of control, a puppet. Eddie was a journalist. He knew how to gather intelligence.
A few quick searches, plus the memories Venom had absorbed from two unlucky meals, had painted the picture: this was a universe with no superheroes.
As for the Kamen Rider who'd just shown up — Eddie wasn't worried. Once Venom had stored enough energy, nothing in this world would be able to stop them.
His grin widened. He was already planning.
Two men walked into the mouth of the alley, saw Eddie alone, and decided he looked like an easy mark. They started toward him.
Eddie glanced over. "Ah. Delivery."
In the dark of the alley, Venom's jaw opened wide.
A minute later, Eddie walked out. Nobody followed.
He was going to feed the symbiote first. Find a safe base. Then he'd figure out his next move.
Across the city, Harry Osborn walked through the front door of his house and stopped.
Blood. On the floor. A trail of it.
At the end of the trail — his father, collapsed, barely breathing.
Every drop of color drained from Harry's face. He stumbled forward and crashed to his knees beside Norman.
"Dad — Dad — what happened? Are you okay? Talk to me!"
Harry was crying, shaking, gripping his father's hand, trying to feel a pulse, finding only cold.
"HELP! SOMEBODY! CALL AN AMBULANCE!"
He whipped around, looking for anyone, anything — and found nothing but a wrecked living room. Blood on the furniture. Claw marks on the walls.
"WHO DID THIS?! SHOW YOURSELF!"
Silence.
Then — Norman's hand twitched. His fingers, trembling, slowly rose and pointed behind Harry.
Harry turned.
A man in green armor stood on a glider, a pumpkin bomb cradled in one hand.
The suit was wrong. The weapons were wrong. Everything about the scene felt like it had been pulled from a nightmare.
Harry's voice broke. "Who are you? Why are you here? Why did you — why did you hurt my father?!"
The Green Goblin looked down at Harry, kneeling and terrified, and reached up to remove his helmet.
The face underneath it was Norman Osborn's.
"Harry. You're just as useless as I remember... my worthless son."
A parallel-universe Green Goblin. Norman Osborn from another world — standing over the body of this world's Norman, looking at this world's Harry with nothing but contempt.
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