[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/QLPeQ5j.png?1[/img][/center] [i]Trinity Church Cemetery Corner of Broadway and Wall Street, Lower Manhattan[/i] [color=Red]"Harry, what the hell are we doing here?"[/color] I say, stumbling as we jump the old wrought-iron fence and slink into the shadows between the rows of headstones. [color=Red]"I [i]hate[/i] this place."[/color] I never liked cemeteries to begin with, but once upon a time, I used to think this particular one was at least interesting in terms of the city's history. Alexander Hamilton's buried here. So are Ralph Waldo Emerson and Ed Koch, and a number of Senators and Generals and Mayors. The large, squat marble tomb at the top of a small hillock, built just over a year ago, is why this place really makes my stomach turn. And of course, that seems to be where he's leading us. [color=YellowGreen]"We're here for a very important lesson,"[/color] Harry says in a half-whisper, tucking the pair of liquor bottles close to his chest as he moves from cover to cover like he's in the stealth section of a bad video game. [color=YellowGreen]"Keep quiet until I know the coast is clear."[/color] I could've told him the coast was about as clear as it could possibly get-- there's no one around as far as the eye can see. And failing that, my suit would tell us if there's any approaching danger long before even my Spider-Sense would. But this whole thing was Harry's idea, and he's too drunk to listen, so I let him take point in this little commando raid of his. The tomb is stark white, practically gleaming even in the near pitch-black of the cemetery, still too new to have begun to weather. It used to require regular cleaning after protesters would attempt to deface it, but eventually those incensed by its presence either gave up or got bored, so now it sits undisturbed, its very presence an insult that no one bothers to take offense at anymore. In a bold, Roman-esque font, the name OSBORN is displayed on a stone held by two pillars. Below it is a vault, and within that is the corpse of the man who ruined our lives. [i]Norman Osborn, 1964-2017[/i] reads the plaque to his vault. [i]Brilliant But Troubled.[/i] Harry sets one of the liquor bottles down on the grass, unscrews the cap from the other, and takes a long pull. [color=YellowGreen]"'Brilliant But Troubled,'"[/color] he says in a bitter, mocking tone as he wipes a dribble of whiskey from his lips. [color=YellowGreen]"That's what they keep saying about him, over and over. Spencer Smythe came up with it-- one of dad's little henchmen from the lab. They make it sound like he was crazy, like he couldn't help what he was doing. Poor Norman, think of what he could have done if he wasn't so....'troubled.'"[/color] He sits down on the grass in front of the tomb, staring with murderous intent at the tomb. [color=YellowGreen]"I could've stopped it,"[/color] he says after a long, cold silence. [color=YellowGreen]"The Goblin, the murders, Gwen, all of it. I had the chance to stop all of it."[/color] [color=Red]"What do you mean?"[/color] I ask, pacing uncomfortably behind him. [color=YellowGreen]"Remember back in sixth grade, when I went off to boarding school in England?"[/color] he asks. I nod my head. [color=YellowGreen]"The night before, he and my mom were arguing about something, I don't remember what. She busts into my room, grabs me by the wrist, says we're leaving now. I'd never seen her so scared in my life. But I knew why she was so scared."[/color] [color=Red]"Did...did he....hurt you before?"[/color] Harry doesn't answer. He just takes another swig of whiskey. [color=YellowGreen]"We get to the living room and Dad's just standing there in front of the door,"[/color] he continues. [color=YellowGreen]"Doesn't look angry, doesn't raise his hand. Just stands there, daring Mom to try and move past him. She crumples to the floor like he'd shot her with a tranquilizer dart-- she knows she's not going anywhere. I don't run to her side to help her up. Instead, I run back to the master bedroom, to the nightstand by their bed.....where Dad keeps his pistol."[/color] There's another long pause, and I can see Harry's face twist with a dozen emotions, none of them good. [color=YellowGreen]"I grab the gun, and when I turn back he's standing in the doorway. A few years earlier, he taught me how to shoot. Said it was important that a man knew to respect that kind of power so they wouldn't do something stupid with it. I point the gun at him, pull back the hammer. All I have to do is squeeze the trigger. He doesn't panic. He doesn't get angry. He doesn't even seem to care that I'm about to blow a hole in him. He just.....looks at me, with this look of......disappointment. Like I came home with a C on my report card. He says 'Now son, let's talk,' and I.....I [i]listen.[/i] I put the gun down, and I listen to him lecture me for nearly an hour. And it all just sounds so perfectly reasonable."[/color] He takes another drink. [color=YellowGreen]"Next thing I know, I'm on a plane to Manchester, being groomed to become a business mogul,"[/color] he says. [color=YellowGreen]"I don't even get to come home for Mom's funeral. He doesn't let me come home til he's satisfied that I'm 'better.' That I'm more like [i]him.[/i]"[/color] On shaky legs, Harry begins to stand, and he staggers over to the vault. [color=YellowGreen]"That's what assholes like Spencer Smythe and the Board of Directors don't get,"[/color] he says. [color=YellowGreen]"Norman....he could make you do things.....really awful things you'd never normally do. Make you leave your mother alone with him after she tried to run for her life. Make you keep company secrets even after those secrets led to dozens of people dying. Make you--.....never mind. Point is, Norman Osborn wasn't crazy. He was [i]evil.[/i]"[/color] [color=Red]"So.....you think he made Gwen--"[/color] [color=YellowGreen]"I dunno,"[/color] he interrupts. [color=YellowGreen]"That's not the point, anyway. See, he wanted me to be like him. And I hated his guts for it, but I ended up being more like him than I wanna admit."[/color] A drunken grin crawls across his face. [color=YellowGreen]"Thing is, Pete, I'm a bit of a super-villain, too,"[/color] he says like he's admitting some dirty secret. [color=YellowGreen]"I've got me a master plan and everything. Those stuffed shirts at OsCorp want to sell off the company assets, divide up everything and auction it to the highest bidder. But I'm not gonna let them. I'm gonna make sure it all goes to [i]me[/i]. Every project in the laboratories, every share of company stock, every cent of its net worth, every piece of furniture in that building."[/color] That drunken grin turns dark. [color=YellowGreen]"And then I'm gonna burn it all down,"[/color] he says. [color=YellowGreen]"I'm gonna fire every asshole on the payroll, I'm gonna flush every penny down the toilet, and I'm gonna have the building demolished with everything inside. I'm gonna burn the Osborn name and everything it stands for to ashes and laugh every step of the way. And you wanna know why?"[/color] I shrug. [color=Red]"Why, Harry?"[/color] [color=YellowGreen]"Because [i]fuck[/i] Norman Osborn, that's why,"[/color] he says. [color=YellowGreen]"Fuck Norman Osborn, fuck his company, fuck his 'legacy,' and fuck his name. Fuck every asshole who stood by and let him threaten and hurt and kill all those people. Fuck all those superheroes who could have put him down but let him blow up half of downtown so they could play costumed grab-ass with him. And fuck anyone who makes excuses for someone like that by saying shit like 'Brilliant But Troubled.'"[/color] With that, he hurls the bottle of whiskey at his father's tomb as hard as he can, the glass shattering against the marble and splashing liquor all over his plaque. Not satisfied, he takes a few paces towards the vault, and spits on it, a wad of saliva and phlegm smacking against the engraved name. [color=Red]"....you done?"[/color] I ask as he storms back towards me. [color=YellowGreen]"[i]I[/i] am,"[/color] he says. [color=YellowGreen]"[i]You're[/i] not. C'mon, we've got one more stop while we're here."[/color] It takes us a few minutes to hike down the hill and around a few bends to reach our destination. Neither of us says a word along the way. We both know where we're going. The headstone is small and simple, just like the one right next to it for her father. There's already a little bit of mold starting to grow on one side. [i]Gwendolyn Maxine Stacy, 1999-2017.[/i] That's all it says. No words about who she was, what she was like. Nothing about how she helped uncover the Green Goblin's secret identity at the cost of her own life. Nothing about how she wanted to get her doctorate and work for Reed Richards and company. No words about her being the valedictorian in our class, or being the drummer in a punk-rock garage band, or being the undisputed champion of Smash Bros. at Empire State. Nothing about how she kept a tally of how many times one of her puns could make me groan out loud. Nothing about how she'd follow a long, deep kiss with a small peck on the nose. Nothing, just a name and some numbers. [color=Red]"I don't wanna do this, Harry,"[/color] I say as he offers me the other liquor bottle. [color=Red]"I know what those pictures mean, what the news is saying, but I--"[/color] [color=YellowGreen]"Pete, you've gotta listen to me,"[/color] he says, pushing the bottle towards me until he's shoving me backwards with it. [color=YellowGreen]"You're one of the nicest guys in Manhattan, and that's never gotten you anything but screwed. People have been doing you wrong all your life, and you still keep sticking up for them. Don't be that guy who sugar-coats Norman Osborn as 'Brilliant But Troubled.' Fuck that. Fuck everyone who's done you wrong, Pete. And if those pictures are legit, and she really did cheat on you with him, then you know what? Fuck Gwen Stacy, too."[/color] I look down at the sloshing bottle of amber liquid, and I snatch it out of Harry's hands. [color=Red]"All right,"[/color] I say with a nod. He pats me on the shoulder. [color=YellowGreen]"Good man. I'll give you a minute, some privacy while you do what you've gotta do. Meanwhile, I'm gonna go find a tree and mark my territory."[/color] As he runs off into the night, I open the bottle and take a gulp of the smoky, stinging drink. It doesn't really affect me like it's supposed to-- one of the perks of enhanced healing includes burning through chemical influence faster than most-- but the bitterness and pain of the whiskey itself is enough to put me in the right mood as I approach Gwen's grave. [color=Red]"....I don't get it,"[/color] I say, pacing as I look down at the headstone. [color=Red]"I don't want to believe what they're saying about you, I can't get my head around it, but......but I saw those pictures of you and him, and I just......how could you? I trusted you, cared about you, I [i]loved[/i] you more than anything! And you just--.....what, you couldn't help it? Did he get his hooks into you somehow, or blackmail you, or--....or....."[/color] My hand starts to squeeze against the glass bottle. [color=Red]"....or were you just laughing at me behind my back, like everyone else?"[/color] I growl, my muscles starting to tense up. The suit practically shivers with excitement, and I can't help myself. [color=Red]"Everything I felt for you, did [i]any[/i] of it mean anything? Or was it just a setup for the universe playing another big joke on poor Peter Parker? I would've moved the world for you, Gwen. I would've [i]died[/i] for you. And for you to go behind my back, with [i]him[/i], it--.....it makes me sick to even think about it."[/color] Now instead of pacing, I'm stalking back and forth, like an animal about to strike its prey. My hand is shaking as it raises the whiskey bottle to my mouth, and I take another gulp. [color=Red]"I don't know what's real anymore,"[/color] I say, seething. [color=Red]"For a year now I've felt like I'm in a nightmare I can't wake up from. And just when I think it can't get worse, I find out that everything I loved was a lie. That all along, you were a lying, cheating, backstabbing wh--"[/color] [b][i]*KRRRSSSSHHH!*[/i][/b] The bottle shatters in my grip, shards of glass embedding into my palm. Pain shoots through my arm and I double over, clutching my mangled hand. Immediately the suit works its way into my wounds, black goo pushing out the glass and soaking up the burning alcohol, knitting the flesh back together. By morning, there won't even be a scar. Nothing to mark the pain but my memory. [color=YellowGreen]"Hey, mazel tov!"[/color] Harry shouts at the sound of the glass breaking. Stumbling out from the shadows, he has his arms out wide in celebration. [color=YellowGreen]"I knew you had it in ya, Pete! Feel better?"[/color] I don't answer. I just clutch my fist close, hiding the black goo of the alien suit as it holds my hand together. [color=YellowGreen]"Well, you will, trust me,"[/color] he says, patting me on the back. [color=YellowGreen]"I think there's a few bars not far from here that are still open, how about we--?"[/color] Harry shuts up when he sees flashing red-and-blue lights coming from the road, the wail of a police siren. For a second, he lays low in case we've been spotted. The siren begins to fade, however, as the car speeds off towards Uptown. A few seconds later, it's followed by another police siren. And another, and another and another. Something serious is going down. [color=YellowGreen]"Huh, that's weird,"[/color] Harry shrugs. [color=YellowGreen]"Anyway, we should--"[/color] Harry turns to me, but at that point, I'm already gone. I've slid back into the shadows, letting the suit take hold. Peter Parker's had the chance to let out his aggression. Wherever all those cops are going, chances are there's an opportunity for Venom to let a little out as well. [hr] [i]14th Street, Chelsea Upper West Side, Manhattan[/i] [color=SteelBlue]"This is what you get!"[/color] shouted Joe 'Hammerhead' Lorenzini as he hurled a half-empty bottle overhead. It arced high, the flame on the soaked rag stuffed into its top standing out against the night sky, before it crashed through the window of a brownstone tenement building, the room inside erupting into a blaze. All down the block, the air carried the sound of car alarms, of roaring fires, glass breaking, and people screaming. A dozen armored cars, flanked by nearly a hundred hardened criminals armed with everything from pipes and chains to assault rifles and Molotov cocktails, paraded down the streets of Chelsea in a show of force. Smashing storefronts, spraying bullets haphazardly into apartment buildings, terrorizing the citizens inside. Reminding everyone that the Maggia syndicate was still a force to be reckoned with. As the soldiers and enforcers whooped and howled as they caused mayhem, Hammerhead scowled, scanning the rooftops for movement. He knew just about everyone in this war-band would be behind bars by the end of the night, but it'd all be worth it if they tagged that Venom freak. Inside the armored cars was the heavy artillery: machine guns, rocket-propelled grenades. The lead car even had some reverse-engineered alien weapons Silvermane had bought from some nut called 'The Tinkerer,' real scary shit. The big guns wouldn't come out, though, until Venom showed its face. Until then, they'd be content with breaking windows and starting some fires until they got his attention. [color=SteelBlue]"We know you think these streets are yours, freak!"[/color] Hammerhead called out, lighting another Molotov. [color=SteelBlue]"But they ain't! These streets are [i]ours[/i]! The whole goddamn [i]city's[/i] ours! An' anyone who says otherwise? They're gonna get more a' [i]this![/i]"[/color] As Hammerhead hurled the cocktail overhead, he heard the sound of police sirens approaching. Off in the distance, he heard the distinct pops of gunfire. Smoke began to curl up over nearby rooftops and into the night sky. Another war-band had gone further uptown to deal the same damage to Hell's Kitchen. A third went into Harlem with the same mission: smoke out Venom, or make the city pay. Silvio Manfredi wanted a war, and he was going to get it. Tonight, Silvermane would get his trophy, or the West Side would burn.