Morning light spilled into the Osborn mansion.
Harry Osborn lay half-awake in bed, reaching for the remote and turning on the massive television mounted on his bedroom wall.
The screen instantly filled with flashing lights and grim headlines.
> "…Osborn Enterprise has suffered a major overnight tragedy. Multiple senior researchers were found dead inside the building.
Police are currently investigating the incident, but due to the severe destruction of walls and laboratory equipment, some experts speculate that the perpetrator may not be human…"
"What?!"
Harry shot upright.
The screen showed footage of seven or eight bodies, each covered by white sheets, being wheeled out of the Osborn Building. Police officers and forensic teams crowded the scene while reporters spoke urgently into microphones.
Harry couldn't hear another word.
He threw himself out of bed and ran into the hallway.
"Dad—!"
He stopped short.
Norman Osborn wasn't in his bedroom.
Instead, he lay sprawled on the corridor floor, bare-chested, breathing evenly—as if he had simply collapsed there and fallen asleep.
"Father!"
Harry rushed forward and shook him hard.
Norman stirred.
"I… what… what happened?"
His voice was hoarse, unfocused.
"You were sleeping in the hallway," Harry said anxiously. "Are you okay? Something terrible happened at the company."
At the word company, Norman's eyes snapped open.
"What happened?"
Harry hesitated, then grabbed his father's arm and pulled him toward the bedroom.
"It happened last night," he said, pointing at the television.
The reporter had begun listing the names of the deceased.
Every single one was a senior researcher, people who had worked at Osborn Group for more than a decade. They were not replaceable employees—they were the backbone of the company.
As the report continued, the camera shifted to the second basement level, where rows of body bags were being carried out.
The human experiments—hidden for so long—were now exposed to the public.
With police and media swarming the building, even General Ross's military influence could no longer suppress the truth.
Norman Osborn's breathing grew ragged.
His eyes turned bloodshot.
"Who did this?" he whispered.
Then, suddenly, he shouted:
"WHO DID THIS?!"
Faces flashed through his mind—rival executives, competing corporations, enemies he had made over the years.
He rejected them all instantly.
"No… none of them would dare use methods like this. They don't have the courage."
His expression twisted.
"Spider-Man…"
"I sent Spider-Slayer after him."
"Is this revenge?"
Norman grabbed Harry's arm with crushing strength.
"Get dressed," he said urgently. "We're going to the police station."
"Father?" Harry asked, stunned.
"I need to see Spencer Smythe," Norman said darkly. "I think I already know who the killer is."
---
At the abandoned shipyard, Batman continued pushing Peter Parker's body to its limits.
Weights crashed to the ground.
Muscles burned.
He could feel it clearly—this body was growing stronger, adapting faster with each brutal training session.
Because Peter Parker's frame was smaller than Bruce Wayne's, Batman had also adjusted his diet carefully, reshaping his physique bit by bit.
There was no television in the shipyard, but a radio crackled nearby.
It was broadcasting the morning news.
> "…the Osborn Group murder scene shows signs of extreme structural damage, leading authorities to speculate that the perpetrator may not be human…"
Batman's movements slowed.
"Who did it?" he thought.
He replayed last night in his mind.
He had searched the Osborn Building thoroughly—top to bottom.
No sign of Norman Osborn.
The researchers on the twenty-fifth floor had been arguing intensely—but they were not conducting experiments.
"All I can confirm," Batman reasoned, "is that the incident happened after I left."
"I need to personally inspect the crime scene."
Reports described massive destruction—damage far beyond human capability.
"Either Osborn's experiments created another monster like Squid Man…"
"…or something far worse."
Thud.
Batman dropped a twenty-five-ton counterweight onto the ground.
He changed into a plaid shirt and headed back to Peter Parker's apartment to maintain appearances.
Outside, Ursula, the landlord's daughter, was already waiting.
"Hi, Peter."
She looked worried.
"Harry Osborn called earlier. He said he won't be coming to school for a while. I knocked just now, but you didn't answer."
Batman nodded calmly.
"Sorry, Ursula. I slept too deeply. What happened?"
She handed him today's Daily Bugle, the headline dominated by Osborn Group's tragedy.
Batman's acting was flawless. Ursula genuinely believed this was the first time he'd seen the news and quickly tried to comfort him.
"I know Harry is your close friend," she said gently. "I hope this doesn't affect his studies too much."
"I hope so too," Batman replied.
It was Monday.
Peter Parker should have gone to school.
But Batman had no time.
Osborn Group was sealed off by the police. Investigating as Peter Parker was impossible, and investigating as Batman risked being mistaken for the murderer.
He would go tonight.
For now, he had to visit Dr. Otto.
"With Osborn Group involved in a murder case," Batman thought, "Otto will assume his research is frozen indefinitely."
Memories of Gotham surfaced—scientists driven past the breaking point.
Mr. Freeze.
Scarecrow.
Man-Bat.
No matter how small the risk, Batman refused to let New York repeat Gotham's tragedies.
"Brooklyn," he told the taxi driver.
He closed his eyes during the ride.
---
At the Manhattan Police Department, George Stacy issued orders calmly.
There were still no leads on the gang violence from last night.
Then Osborn Group employees discovered the massacre on the third basement floor, alerted by the overwhelming smell of blood.
With the exposure of human experimentation, Osborn Group was placed under complete lockdown.
"According to employee statements," an officer reported, "Osborn Group halted nearly all research projects and redirected most funding into the so-called Super Soldier Program."
"Could this be related to the murders?"
Before George Stacy could respond, another call came in.
"Sir, this is the New York Power Authority. We've detected abnormal underground power consumption in Brooklyn."
Almost simultaneously, the Brooklyn Police Department reported a disturbance.
Dr. Otto's laboratory had been reported for loud noises the previous night.
When officers arrived—
The lab was empty.
Dr. Otto was gone.
So was the equipment.
Only massive, non-human claw marks remained carved into the walls.
Dr. Otto's nuclear fusion research had been funded by Osborn Group.
And it had been one of the projects recently halted.
The clues aligned too neatly.
The basement massacre.
The destroyed lab.
The missing scientist.
The power surge.
George Stacy made a decision.
"Temporarily list Dr. Otto Octavius as the primary suspect," he ordered.
"Coordinate with Brooklyn PD. Full response."
Sirens erupted across the city.
Police vehicles surged toward Brooklyn in a roaring wave of red and blue lights.
-----------------------------------
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