Inside a vast dressing room at the Osborn estate, Harry Osborn carefully chose a suit—nothing too flashy, but respectful enough.
He hadn't forgotten what his father, Norman Osborn, told him after they left the precinct yesterday: go check on the Smythe family.
"I hope Smythe's wife and son aren't too devastated. I'm not good at comforting people."
Dressed, Harry cut through the first-floor hall toward the garage, opting for a more low-key car.
"Harry, where are you going?" Norman, wrapped in a blanket and curled on the living-room sofa, looked up at the sound of his steps.
"Father, why aren't you resting in your bedroom?"
Only then did Harry notice him on the couch; he hurried over.
"I… I don't know. I've been having nightmares—demons cackling in my ear. I tried sleeping pills, but they don't help much," Norman said, gripping the blanket tight.
"The company's putting too much pressure on you." Harry poured a mug of hot water and set it on the coffee table. "I'll go see the Smythes and be right back."
The estate garage sat on the west side. Harry's gaze skimmed the sports cars and settled on the relatively understated Cadillac his father often drove.
He flicked on the car radio and tried to recall Spencer Smythe's address.
"…Following the Oscorp massacre and Dr. Octavius turning into 'Doctor Octopus,' New York has suffered another violent crime."
Harry shook his head; he didn't want to hear more. He reached to change the station—then froze at the next words:
"Just before dawn, a mother and son in a Queens apartment were found with their hearts removed. The killer then set a fire to cover the crime.
"Investigators identify the victims as the wife and son of Oscorp robotics expert Spencer Smythe…"
Harry went blank; he couldn't even press the button. One moment he'd been planning a visit; the next, they were dead. He could almost feel Spencer's despair upon hearing this in his cell.
The broadcast paused; the host returned, panic barely suppressed:
"Breaking update… Also around midnight, noted robotics expert Spencer Smythe committed suicide in his holding cell.
"With a string of tragedies linked to Oscorp, many wonder whether the multinational is about to collapse.
"What kind of ruthless killer is behind these murders?"
Thunk!
Harry tumbled out of the car, slammed the door, and staggered into the front garden, as if only the sunlight could make him feel safe. It was a clear day, yet a chill crept over him—as if everything around might turn into a ghoul and rip his heart from his chest.
Researchers like Smythe had worked at Oscorp as long as he could remember; now they were dying one after another. He couldn't help imagining he might be next. He also understood why his father kept having nightmares.
"Harry."
Batman arrived—wearing Peter Parker.
"Peter!"
Harry rushed to him, clinging to the comfort of his "best friend." Batman had none of Peter's memories, and no feelings for this "buddy," but he needed the persona to serve his goal of getting back to Gotham—so he performed.
"Sorry," he thought, and put concern on his face, patting Harry's shoulder. "These murders are tangled up with Oscorp. I know the weight you carry as heir…
"You have two choices: let the pressure crush you and doubts consume you—or use it as fuel. Work with the police to find the truth. Not for the stock price—for those who can't speak anymore."
He held his breath; a batarang in his palm vented a wisp of calming gas, and he flicked it away. Sedative beat pep talk—Harry steadied.
"Peter, you should have called. I'd have had the butler send a car."
"With everything happening, how could I trouble you?" Batman shook his head.
Guiding him toward the manor, Harry paused at the door, frowning. "But… Peter, I haven't told you anything. How did you know why I was upset?"
Batman stopped too, met his eyes for two beats. "The news. The papers… Oscorp is everywhere."
"But Peter still came. Harry, when you're old, don't forget you once had a friend who stood with you."
Norman opened the door as he spoke, looking much better than on the sofa.
"Father."
Peter's visit and Norman's improved state should have cheered Harry, but the calming gas kept the feeling muted.
"Peter, shouldn't you be in school? What brings you to see Harry?" Norman asked.
"The news worried me—and he skipped class. I had to check on him," Batman said, a near-perfect excuse.
Norman nodded and smiled. "You haven't been to the manor in a while. Let Harry show you around. I need to meet the press and coordinate with the police."
Batman said nothing, studying Norman for a few seconds. Sensing something off, Harry glanced between them—then Batman spoke:
"Mr. Osborn, your hair needs tidying."
"Does it?" Norman touched it—usually immaculate, now flattened as if he'd just taken off a hat. "Thanks—I should mind my image."
He hurried out, leaving Harry at a loss.
…
"Thanks for the tip. Based on timestamps from the power utility, the timing of the B3 massacre doesn't line up with Dr. Octavius," George Stacy said at Manhattan PD, reviewing the power company's report Aug had brought.
"He was in the sewers wiring equipment; the logs show continuous operation with manual inputs every few minutes. Octavius never left the tunnels.
"We went after him on suspicion for B3, but it looks like a complete misunderstanding.
"The killer was someone else."
~~~
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