Master Bruce — Roleplayer Guild

Oh, c'mon!

His ears were still ringing, his heart was still racing, and he felt a surge of tiny penetrating cuts begin to sting all over his body. Clues that forced him to remember that less than a minute ago, he'd been forcibly hurled through a demolished shop opening and crash-landed through a glass display case. An attack that he'd endured after managing to tick off the Street Sharks' roided-out cousin. But the swell of adrenaline was making it too hard to focus on the "before" of anything - he couldn't recollect the start of his day, much less the start of this fight. All that Spider-Man could coast on was an instinctual thrust forward, firing out another webline and skimming over a rooftop ahead of him with a graceful tumble. The thing that bothered the wall-crawler more than anything was that, sometime during his momentary timeout, the screams from outside the building had gone silent. And whenever he'd appeared back on the street, he had clocked that all of the frightened pedestrians on the sidelines were gawking at him and not his bigger, toothier counterpart. Because that guy was very notably nowhere to be seen.

Great. Nice going, Parker. You lost him.

It didn't make sense. The Bronx had seen its share of craziness over the years, but a nine-to-ten-foot-tall Great White who could just disappear like a ninja? That was where Spider-Man's sense of disbelief reached it's limit. Somewhere in the middle of NYC was still a rampaging monster man-fish, and given that brute force hadn't worked to slow it down in the slightest, the web-slinger knew he had to rethink his approach. He also learned from the way it had moved and attacked that it acted more like a shark with human attributes than a man with shark attributes. So scientifically speaking, there had to be at least a trail to follow: from what he remembered of sharks in biology class, they were often studied with the administration of tags that transmitted satellite data, logging their movement, mating habits, feeding times, and everything else. But since Peter doubted that he could just drop in on a random aquarium and ask them for access to research equipment, that thought had quickly left him at a dead end.

THWIP!

So what else did he know? For one, sharks were adept hunters. They could smell blood in the water from a mile away and were attracted to it. He began to feel squeamish at the thought of trying to open a vein in the hopes that Mr. Happy would come running from wherever he was hiding. Besides, if Spider-Man's close encounter had proved anything, it was that there was something about him that repelled his enemy's smell receptors. The scent of his blood could've easily been the source of prevention from being turned into a three-course meal. Which was interesting by itself, given that in the last few months, Peter hadn't been afforded the time to conduct a metabolic panel of his lipids to discover what had transformed his own DNA into that of a spider mutate.

THWIP!

Hypothesize later. Focus on the now.

Landing on the side of a nearby building, Spider-Man gingerly crawled up towards the roof, looking out at the cityscape around him. With only six months of practice with it, he was hardly a master of utilizing his spider-sense. So using it to try and pinpoint the beast's location was out of the question - if it was even within his capabilities to do that. And he didn't hear the sound of panicked bystanders or the crashing of cars that you'd associate with a rampaging B-movie reject. There hadn't been any manhole covers disturbed infront of the fish market, so he had already ruled out the possibility of "King Shark" - for lack of a better name, at this point - making a run for it below ground. Everyone knew that the New York City sewers were for gators, anyway. Sharks probably wouldn't do well down there, given their sensitivity to all the...

Spider-Man paused, mid-crawl. Eyes widening beneath his mask in realization. 

Noise.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I sympathize with your concerns. Truly, I do. But the jet is scheduled to depart for Coast City in an hour. And as I'm sure you're well aware, tardiness isn't a trait that Ferris Aerospace's board of directors finds to be endearing."

When it came to putting on enough charm to command a room, few could do it as effortlessly as Oscorp Industries' notorious CEO. Even when faced with a litany of expressions that each betrayed a certain disapproval, their feeds broadcast live from a remote location over a collection of screens that fed directly into his executive office, Norman Osborn seemed to both glide over any perceived hostility and downplay it in equal measure. And yet, despite putting on the appearance that he understood their plight, there was a sense that Osborn was always another world away. Some thought it was due to his sheer genius, actively formulating the next phase of his company's growing stranglehold on the market in genetic engineering. Others, less tolerable of his eccentricities, simply thought Norman was poorly masking an inherent disinterest. But neither camp could really deny the fact that, for all his social misgivings, the man knew how to motivate his staff of researchers into achieving results where other leaders in the field couldn't—or wouldn't. 

Which made the matter of today's conference all the more crucial for his shareholders, because if the ordinarily rigid structure of Osborn's house of cards was starting to tumble, they were all too ready to ensure that he knew they were going to watch it fall.

"Frankly, Osborn, it feels like you have more pressing concerns.", General Wade Eiling retorted. "I think each of us is owed a bit of an explanation. The incident involving that leak to the press, for instance. The loss of data was bad enough, but given that The Bugle was all too eager to air some of your dirty laundry, it seemed as if your attempts at damage control were a bit..."
 
Norman raised an eyebrow as Tyler Stone, the current CEO of Alchemax, loudly cleared his throat. "Lacking, to be generous."

Nevertheless, Osborn seemed unaffected by their tone, instead beginning to play with one of the cuffs of his jacket off-handedly. The multi-billionaire didn't even give them the courtesy of looking them in the eye as he responded, even-keeled enough to disarm both men.

"Ah. I was wondering when we'd address this."

Eiling grunted. "You seem less than concerned."

"Right on the money, General. I'm very much not, which I assume is why you perceived my response to the 'incident' to be more nonchalant than you might have preferred. The reason being that whatever data those third-rate gossip peddlers managed to get out there was already obsolete by the time it was lost. They brought forward a series of projects that were actively collecting dust in a scrap bin. Quite literally, yesterday's news."

There was a pause, with some of the attended looking clearly perturbed. Others were still less than convinced. Particularly the infamous Veronica Cale, whose interest in Oscorp's military contracts was of a personal note, given how much of an investment she had already made in providing drone and their associated technology to the United States Marine Corps. Technology that, based on a previous agreement, her company wasn't able to manufacture without the utilization of Oscorp's factories.

"Really? I, for one, would question that sentiment. Because I happen to have a list infront of me of the compromised assets. And as far as the rest of us were aware, these projects were up-to-date in the most current forms."

Norman narrowed his eyes. "Projects such as..."

Cale raised a paper from a pile of documents offscreen, showing a complicated series of schematics. 

"The stealth propulsion glider, for instance. 'G-1464'. When exactly was that written off?"

Osborn shrugged. 

"When I decided that it was better to actually innovate than take the promise of innovation at face value."

Stone chuckled. "So you ordered your team to, what, shelve an entire year's worth of R&D because you felt like it didn't have enough bells and whistles?"

Norman's expression grew more serious.

"That would be an oversimplification. I simply deemed the project to be a waste of resources. Especially compared to the progress that we've been making in more beneficial fields. If any of you truly wanted a metal flying broom for some soldiers to hover over like the Wicked Witch to bomb yet another small village in the desert, I'm sure Queen or Stark would be happy to make you some. They seem far more invested in things that go 'boom' than I ever claimed to be."

Eiling straightened in his seat. "Which is why I'm assuming you also hung 'O-6501' out to dry."

"The concussion impact grenades? On the contrary, I was all too eager to shelve development of those little monstrosities."

Cale placed her hands together, trying not to give in to her frustration. 

"See, and this is the problem we're having, Norman. You seem to be unilaterally taking it upon yourself to decide which projects live and die. But our names were on some of the papers, too. And I think we own enough stake in the company to say that we're entitled to some input."

Osborn didn't so much as blink.

"I'm almost certain that I had my assistant send an email."

"Cut the bullshit, Norman.", Eiling snapped. "You knew what you were doing. And trying to muscle us out of your affairs doesn't just hurt you in regard to our standing. Think of your reputation with the Department of Defense, if word were to get back to them about your newfound apathy."

"General, you misunderstand me. I wasn't looking to put an end to any of our partnerships. And I certainly wasn't trying to do it with some ill-conceived publicity stunt. As it is, I'm just on the verge of being able to offer you each something better. Cost-effective and discreet, with results that would increase the value of your investments tenfold. But in order to make it at all possible, I had to divert resources. Write some things off of the books."

Osborn smirked, adjusting his deep emerald tie. 

"Hell, The Bugle getting their hands on those documents may have been a blessing in disguise."

Each of the callers looked offscreen, quietly directing some unseen number of employees that worked for them. Some of their words were easier to discern than others, but Osborn could read lips enough to know what the general tone was. They were preparing to conduct investigations into whether Norman leaked the documents to the press himself. He simply smiled as, one by one, they turned back towards the camera to resume matters.

"Hypothetically, let's say that you really do have something worth the loss of millions in your back pocket. What makes you think that any of us would come aboard this, frankly, distracted venture?"

"I'll answer that question with a question. Why settle for another batch of unreliable weapons when you can engage the enemy with..."

At that moment, Norman's eyes darted to the twin mahogany doors of his office to watch as one quietly opened, revealing his executive assistant entering, carrying a Starkpad and notes. He was so focused on reading the look on Adrian Toomes' face that for a moment, everyone on call was certain that there had been a connection error. But the truth was that Osborn had already lost interest in carrying on the discussion.

"Hold that thought."

With a flick of a button on his keyboard, each of the assembled was shocked to see their respective screens go black. But had Osborn seen their reactions to being cut off, he likely wouldn't have cared. General Eiling was right about one thing: Norman had far more pressing business than trying to explain his actions to a group of neanderthals that were more interested in capital and business contracts than the production of tangible results. As Toomes locked eyes with him, it was clear that Osborn had been right to divert his focus.

"Well?"

Toomes, ever careful to choose his expression, turned his gaze towards the Starkpad.

"Security team has been tracking movement all morning. Subject ninety-four's breach of containment is being assessed by engineering, as is the method of its escape to dry land. Theoretically, Dr. Woodrue says that it's likely to be running on fumes. Continued activity without direct access to water should make the subject increasingly weaker, and..."

Norman's fists clenched. "Have they or have they not located it?"

Toomes apologetically abandoned his train of thought, thumbing through the notes.

"It was spotted in The Bronx fifteen minutes ago."

Osborn sighed, beginning to massage the bridge of his nose.

"But there's been a complication."

He paused. 

"Define complication."

"It's... made contact with an unidentified mutate. Apparently, there was an attempt by the mutate to capture the subject. Presumably in a bid to engage it in open combat."

Osborn's expression changed ever so slightly. He wasn't entirely unaware of the fact that there had been a growing number of incidents in certain parts of the world - even in New York City itself - with individuals boasting a level of superhuman capabilities and taking it upon themselves to step into crisis scenarios to enact order. These had always been isolated moments, fodder for social media and the public to speculate over in a reactionary bid to make sense of a rapidly changing environment. 

But Norman had never been interested in the vigilante exploits of a few crazed outliers who thought themselves to be judge, jury, and occasionally executioner. The way that he saw it, law enforcement would catch up to these attention-seeking freaks one way or another and put an end to the foolishness. So to hear that one of the subjects of his company's experiments, a creature with limitless application towards his field of research and development, had crossed paths with one of them? The thought almost made Osborn sick.

Then again. To utilize subject ninety-four in studying one of these interlopers in the field...

"Sir, what are your instructions? We can scramble a team out within the hour, but there's no telling what..."

Osborn smiled to himself. "No. I don't think that's necessary at this time."

Toomes looked up, visibly confused.

"Sir?"

"On the contrary. Let ninety-four have some fun. Do a little exploration, or whatever it instinctively feels that it needs to do now that it's out in the world. If it's found itself a playmate, so be it. The police will take care of any problems that might arise."

Adrian was silent as Osborn sat down in the chair behind his desk. 

"Call Gargan. Direct him to the last known location, have him track it's movements. But tell him not to engage directly. Once the situation's been contained, he's to return and be given clearance to this office with a full report in hand."

Toomes nodded, dutifully writing down his employer's instructions.

"And one other thing, Adrian."

Norman slowly turned his chair towards the open windows, showing the skyline of Manhattan. Silently wondering what events were about to transpire in the city, hopeful that they would produce something interesting for Oscorp to work with.

"The mutate. Scramble the drones, begin observation. I want all data collected on it to be sent directly to me."

Toomes raised an eyebrow, but eventually nodded.

"Who knows? We may be looking at a potential addition to The Zoo."

Osborn's grin widened.

"Wouldn't that be something?"
Master Bruce Member

Winged Freak

Status

Bio

Most Recent Posts
