Avenging Arach-Knight #1

HUNDRED ACRE HORROR

PURPOSE

Note: Norman Osborn's monologue comes directly from his speech in Amazing Spider-Man #509-514, Sins Past.

"This study could eliminate the distinction between mutate and mutant."

Dr. Jerry Porter cringed as the interviewer managed to simultaneously overstate and understate his work to the studio camera. He shifted forward in his seat.

He knew that his findings would prove controversial, and his whole life he had made a point of avoiding controversy and confrontation. He loved his quiet, some would say dull life as a small-time genetics statistician and father of three. Yet here he was, sitting on the bombshell that would change the cultural conversation on metahumans forever. He knew he couldn't keep his findings secret, no matter the drastic consequences to his personal life. He took a deep breath.

"Actually, Diane, the study does show that the causes of mutation in mutants and mutates are distinct. The thing that makes this study surprising is that the causes are related. In fact, ironically, the mechanism common to both, and to members of the erroneously named homo magi, has itself undergone mutation since it was introduced to the human genome. This retroviral enzyme, for lack of a better descriptor, in mutates is missing a key component that is present in mutant and magi variants. That component is the triggering mechanism that begins the adaptation of the host individual for whatever powers he ends up acquiring from the RVE. That is why so many mutates require environmental triggers to manifest, and why radiation exposure seemed to be the cause of many of their powers when we know radiation by itself has no such effect on living tissue on it's own."

Diane had listened to him with dull eyes and a stifled yawn. As Jerry finished she collected herself and resumed her practiced poise. "Wait, are you saying that wizards like Doctor Strange and gamma-powered brutes like the Abomination are all just mutants?"

Jerry sighed. Why bother interviewing someone if you don't intend to pay attention? He checked his frustration, brushed back his greasy, dirty blond hair, and leaned back in his seat.

"I'm saying that all three groups have distinct RVE's that are each descendants of the same common RVE ancestor, an ancestral RVE either evolved naturally on Earth or, I feel more likely, seeded in our species by one of the ancient alien species we have encountered."

Diane leaned forward, hands pressed together and pressing her index fingers against her chin. "But isn't magic by definition beyond science? How can you link magic to the rest of your study?"

Jerry smiled. "When people say 'it's magic', they really mean 'I don't understand how It works but I'm going to pretend that i do'. Science is about figuring out how stuff works. Regardless of their protests to the contrary, 'magic' users aren't violating natural laws, they are using those laws in as yet unknown ways."

"So what are the implications of your work, doctor? Will this signal a new wave of hate against the whole metahuman community rather than just against mutants?

Jerry shook his head. "Perhaps among those already predisposed to that kind of bigotry. But the real implications are that, now that we have this understanding, we can develop tools to take the random elements and permanence out of power acquisition. Eventually, powers can be tools that we use and then put away just like any other technology. Culturally, it will level the playing field and remove all reasons for anti-metahuman bigotry. We can finally see each other as one human race again, instead of the false distinctions of fictitious new species of humans like homo magi or homo superior.

Diane leaned even further forward in her chair, actually showing genuine interest now. "You seem to be going against the consensus view presented by such experts as Dr. Henry McCoy, which insists that homo superior is a legitimate new species."

Jerry chuckled. "Sadly, Dr. McCoy is a follower of the cult of the X. His objectivity is highly questionable. He needs mutants to be a separate species because that's what his beliefs dictate. Yet the fact remains that a species is defined by its common traits that persist from generation to generation. The only common trait among mutants is that they have powers, and not even the same power. That's not a separate species. That's humans who have one of three known RVE's."

"And you believe your discovery will make mutations both on demand and reversible?"

"Eventually. Mutant Growth Hormone, Extremis, and similar agents are clumsy steps in that direction, and the legendary terrigen mist of the Inhumans is likely composed of raw RVE's, though we'd need a sample to confirm this. The point is that this study points the way to safe and efficient power acquisition and reversal. What it really heralds is an end to the age of superheroes.

#

That last comment became the tag line the network played over and over again. Soon, other networks would join in, and Jerry's face would have national recognition. Peers would flood his email, voicemail, and mailbox with rebuttals. Angry people of all stripes would take to social media to rage about him. No doubt he'd receive threats. And praise. And defenders. All of it unwanted attention.

Jerry enjoyed his last hours of anonymity as he strolled toward home. The subway ride from Rockefeller Center to Queens had been mercifully quiet. A light rain had ended just as he'd emerged from the station, leaving the air cool and refreshing. Tomorrow might bring chaos, but for today life was still serene. He'd spend one more happy and private evening with Claire and the kids unencumbered by prying eyes.

As he approached his home he noticed something yellow and red on his porch steps. Jerry looked more closely and recognized the familiar shape of a Winnie the Pooh doll. It didn't belong to any of his kids. One of the neighborhood kids must have forgotten it there.

Jerry noticed something odd about the rain-dampened, well-used doll as he reached his steps. It lacked the usual puzzled expression typically found on Pooh dolls. This one looked positively angry. And when he stopped at the base of his steps, it looked up at him!

Jerry's spine shivered. What kind of perverse toy was this?

The animatronic doll glared up at him scornfully. "If I were a doctor," spoke the pre-recorded voice, "which I'm not, I'd use my knowledge to cure disease, not spread it. But then, you're a liberal doctor, which is something I would never be."

Jerry felt uneasy. Had his interview really come back to haunt him that quickly? He backed away from the vile Pooh doll.

The doll continued. "Liberals are diseased, so they like spreading disease. Disease like metahumans. You can't help yourself. So I suppose I should not blame you."

Jerry hoped his family wasn't home yet. He could not see any lights on in the house.

The doll's face contorted in rage. "But I do!"

The explosion destroyed the porch and part of the living room. It also ensured that Jerry would have uninterrupted peace from that moment on.

#

"You look good with black hair."

Gabriel glanced back at his sister. Sarah Stacy smiled at him from the door of Stacy Solutions' only conference room. She had died her own blonde hair black, as he had his natural brown hair, as part of their effort to start life over fresh. She'd cut it short, too, and combined with her business attire looked like an honest-to-goodness CEO.

He managed a weak smile. Even with the hair style change she looked like the spitting image of their mother, Gwen Stacy, something she was trying to play down. Their mother, had she lived, would not have looked much older than Sarah looked now. Anyone who had known Gwen Stacy would find Sarah's looks haunting, if not downright surreal. "You too," he managed to say.

Sarah gestured for him to come with her. "Wanda Wendle from the EPA is here. Once we finish the briefing and get the contract signed we are officially in business. We should both be there. That is, if you're done brooding."

Gabriel glanced back down at the pile of papers spread out in front of him. Atop the government contract applications, bids and counter bids, privacy and secrecy forms, and other documents pertinent to today's contract signing was a weeks-old copy of the Daily Bugle. The sensationalist headline, Spider-Man Menaces Stacy Look-Alike, was accompanied by a photo by some hack bugle photographer showing Spider-Man diving down toward the camera from atop the Brooklyn Bridge behind Gabriel's falling and unconscious sister. The actual article was about as fair and balanced as your average FAUXNews report.

That was the day Sarah and Gabriel had tried to kill a Spider-Man. They had believed Norman Osborn's lies; that Spider-Man had killed their mother, Gwen Stacy, and that he was their father. They had believed it because Norman Osborn had raised both of them, as a surrogate uncle of sorts, and had trained them for that express purpose. He had blamed the wall-crawler's tainted blood for their accelerated aging rate (the twins had grown to their current apparent age of mid-twenties in merely 10 years), further proof of Spider-Man's evil. They had both eagerly carried out their stepfather's mission even after Norman Osborn's supposed death, his return, and his current inprisonment.

And yet it had all been a lie. Having lured the twins to the Brooklyn Bridge via a call for the press to assemble for a press release, Spider-Man proved, through DNA parental testing from Gwen Stacy's exhumed remains, and in front of an assembled press corps, that he was not the father. He further showed that it was the Green Goblin, Norman Osborn himself, who had killed Gwen Stacy. Sarah had been convinced by the evidence, but Gabriel had not. He had attacked Spider-Man, and the police assemble their had opened fire, hitting Sarah in the crossfire and causing her to fall from the top of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Spider-Man had dived after her and save her. He had gotten her to a hospital, and when normal blood transfusions proved unable to save her he gave her an infusion of his own blood. Through whatever mechanism, this not only saved her life but stopped her rapid aging, further giving lie to Norman Osborn's claims that it was Spider-Man's blood that had poisoned them.

Gabriel had retreated to a hidden location when he had been defeated by Spider-Man before his sister's fall, one that Norman Osborn had given them, a place they were only to go once they have completed their mission to kill Spider-Man. There, a recording of Norman Osborn spoke the real truth; Norman was their father, Norman's blood had poisoned them, and Norman fully intended, once they had killed Spider-Man, that they become his heirs in all ways. In the lair he also found his and hers Goblin costumes and sufficient Goblin formula to turn them both into mad Goblins.

It was a moment of crisis for Gabriel. He hated Norman Osborn for deceiving him, but he had spent a lifetime hating Spider-Man. At that very moment he did not know that Spider-Man's blood had saved his sisters life and stabilized her rapid aging, and from the information in the recording that Norman had left it was clear that the Goblin formula would stabilize his own rapid aging but at a cost of his sanity. The mad embrace of the grey-toned goblin costume had appealed to him; he could lose himself in mad hatred for the one man who was still around for him to hate, and spend the rest of his life, his short, short life, seeking vengeance against him.

In the end, he chose a different path.

Gabriel looked back up at his sister. "My obsession nearly got you killed. It nearly, very nearly, got me to take the Goblin formula and become the Grey Goblin. Do you realize what horrors I could've committed?"

Sarah walked over and behind her brother, hugging him as he slouched in his chair. "You didn't, though. You made the call to let go of hate, and of our father's vile legacy." She sat down in the uncomfortable, cheap office chair beside his own. "And if you would just talk to Peter, I'm sure he'd willingly cure your condition just like he did mine."

Shame welled up within him. They both knew that Spider-Man and Peter Parker were one and the same, so asking for help would be as easy as a phone call. But Gabriel could not bring himself to ask for such a favor from a man who he had literally spent his entire life plotting to kill. He bowed his head. "I do not deserve his help. I don't know what I could do to atone enough to deserve that."

Sarah gestured around her. "Isn't that what Stacy Solutions is about? We created this company specifically to make a difference in the world. We both have a lot to atone for, and being a force for good, a science-based company built on solving real-world problems, is the best way I can think of to undo the damage done under the banner of Oscorp."

Gabriel smiled weakly. He knew that his sister was right. And yet to him it just wasn't enough. Although he was eager to see Stacy Solutions do good in the world he was certain that he could more. "I guess you're right," was all he could say.

Sarah smiled. "then if you're ready, I'll have Brent send in our first and only client."

#

"Camp Minden, Louisiana. No doubt you've never heard of it."

Wanda Wendle seemed to have a permanent sneer. With the conference room lights off and in the glow of her power point projector her hawkish features and slicked-back silver hair were thrown into even sharper angles, making her look almost like an animated, grim statue.

Gabriel felt an instant dislike for the woman. He could almost feel her judging him, dismissing him and Sarah as beneath her. He took his eyes off of her and focused on her presentation.

The slides showed thousands of barrel containers piled without any sign of organization. Some were stacked in warehouses. Others were left lined up unprotected from the elements in an overgrown field.

"For many years now," Wanda continued, "an outside contractor has purchased, stockpiled, repurposed and resold the Army's surplus of M6 artillery propellant from this location. M6 is highly explosive, and the contractor repurposed it for sale to the mining industry."

Wanda paused and looked at the twins with the scrutiny of a disgruntled professor convinced her students were too dull to understand her. "However, it has come to our attention that, due to various market reasons, the company began to take in more of the material then it could sell. This has resulted in a massive stockpile of unmonitored, unsecured, aging, toxic, and highly explosive material being left unmonitored and unprotected in extreme close proximity to a populated area."

Sarah wrinkled her nose. "I'll bet no one in the Minden area is happy about that."

"That stuff could be deadly if inhaled," Gabriel agreed. "That camp is a time bomb."

"Yes, this has the local population on edge. We have already had one explosion, which is what brought the matter to the public's attention. It was a small explosion of a small section of the stockpile that was isolated from the rest. Granted small in this instance means large enough to be seen from several miles away and be detected as weather by the national weather service's satellites"

"Yeesh!" Gabriel was shocked that the program had grown so bad. "How is it that I've never heard about this before? This should have been national news."

Wanda glared at Gabriel with her gravel-grey eyes. His interruption had clearly ruffled her superior feathers. "There was some coverage in the media, but it was played down by both state and federal officials. Only the local press took a serious interest in it, for purely selfish reasons."

Gabriel laughed in disbelief. "If by selfish you mean wanting to live healthy, happy lives. If I were a reporter there I would have reported on it too."

Sarah put a cautioning hand on Gabriel's own. Acknowledging the warning, he let it slide. Criticizing your potential client was no way to get a contract. He glanced back to a clearly impatient Wanda. "You were saying, Mz. Wendle."

"The public has charged the EPA with disposing of this material before the entire facility explodes. Our initial plan to burn it in the open air was met with... resistance. We promised to find an alternative solution. Hence our interest in contracting Stacy Solutions."

#

"They were just going to burn it in the open air?!"

Bridget Duncan was one of the first experts that Stacy solutions had hired; an expert in chemistry and munitions. She also had an opinion about everything, and had no problem sharing it with anybody who would listen.

Of course, in this case Gabriel had to admit she had a point. He just wished she could express it calmly. He also had a history of letting his passion control him, and look where that had gotten him. "They thought better of it."

Bridget gave Gabriel a look that could melt lead. "Yeah, after the locals hired a lawyer. They're the freakin' EPA! They should know better."

"Let's regain our focus," Sarah said, motioning for Bridget to resume her seat. "We need a solution to the safe disposal of M6. Mz. Wendle only gave us a few days to present a workable solution that she could take to Congress. I need ideas."

Around the conference table sat several members of Stacy Solutions' recently-hired team of field experts. The plan was to hire an expert in every major field of inquiry so as to have a go-to source of solutions to any problem. However, the experts were also encouraged to bounce ideas off of one another, to foster greater creativity.

"We could still burn it." Dudley Black was the theoretical physicist of the team, and was currently ignoring Bridget's glare. "We just need to do it in a controlled way, so as to neutralize any toxins with air scrubbers and minimize the actual blast if one occurred."

"The chamber you'd need would have to be built on site, and the destruction of the M6 would tale too long," Bridget complained. "We need to convert the explosives to something inert. and with a process that is easy to set up and quick to process.”

Gabriel pondered the problem as the others continued to debate. His training while under Norman Osborn’s parentage had included quite a bit of chemical study. “Can I see the data on the chemical makeup of M6 again?”

Sarah passed him the file. He studied it for a few minutes, jotting down notes as he flipped through the pages. “It will take some work,” he said, “but I see a solution.” He passed the data to Bridget. “Couldn’t we chemically convert this to fertilizer?”

Bridget glanced over the data, and then stared back at Gabriel with surprise. “Damn! That’s not a half-bad idea. It will still take time, but the end product will be inert and safe to store, and can be resold to earn us a nice side profit.” She stared back at the paperwork in disbelief. “How the hell did you see that?”

Gabriel felt a small amount of satisfaction at having shown up his chemical expert, but this was tempered by his need for her to step up her game. “By looking for solutions rather than fuming over what had been done or cannot be done. That’s our job, everyone, and I expect that to be the norm from now on.”

Sarah stood, gathering up her own notes. “Bridget, I want a finalized plan for implementation ready for me tomorrow morning, along with materials lists and costs. Gabriel and I will present our final bid to the EPA tomorrow afternoon. Then this company will finally have a chance to secure itself a future..."

Gabriel's eyes caught something moving out the conference room window out of the corner of his eye. He tensed immediately, as a mixture of guilt, inadequacy, and urgency supersaturated his every nerve fibers. He forced himself to not suddenly stand up and disturb the meeting. Yet he could not quell the desire to just up and run.

Outside, Spider-Man swung up a side street, banked, and continued on his way past the conference room window. He was, as usual, in an obvious hurry, casting and yanking on his webs in rapid succession. In a moment he was gone.

The meeting continued on, no one else showing any signs they had even noticed the hero passing down the busy Chelsea avenue right outside. Sarah continued giving orders, and the others occasionally chimed in with ideas and questions.

Gabriel heard none of it. His eyes remained on the window, and his heart and mind transfixed themselves on his overwhelming debt to Peter Parker. On the lifelong hatred built upon lies which had nearly cost him his sister's life. And he knew right then that, whatever success Stacy Solutions had at improving the world, it could never be enough.

#

He elected to walk home that evening. Although Sarah lived in the same brownstone apartment building in the Upper West Side and they almost always traveled to and from work together, today he waived off the car ride home with an excuse of needing to walk off the anxiety of the meeting tomorrow. She had accepted that, and now he was walking north, having walked most of the length of Manhattan, only a few dozen blocks from home.

His stomach felt like it was in a vice being crushed flat. How close had he come to killing Peter, to losing Sarah, to becoming the next Goblin? How could he atone in the little time he had left to live? Already in the time since Sarah had received Spider-Man's blood transfusion which had cured her rapid aging Gabriel had visibly aged, so that now he looked like Sarah 's older brother. How long before he looked like her father? Her grandfather? How long before she must bury him? The only cure was the remaining spider-blood Gabriel had 'procured' from the hospital's biohazard disposal unit on the off-chance Sarah's cure was only temporary, or the power-bestowing and madness-including Goblin Formula. He could not bring himself to use either.

"I have a rumbling in my tummy, but for once it's not for honey."

The strange, semi-mechanical voice broke Gabriel's melancholy musings. He glanced towards the source of the voice.

Just a few houses up the street a pre-teen girl, clearly a mutant given her legless body nevertheless floated in the air supported by a red glow, held a grumpy-looking Winnie the Pooh doll in her hands. She seemed puzzled by the doll, which had a pink bow tied around its waist as though a gift. "Mom," she called at the house, "did you buy me a doll for some reason?"

As Gabriel drew nearer the doll continued to speak. "You see, my tummy gets all rumbly when I think of all of the bad things that bad people have done to ruin our beautiful world. Things like letting dirty little mutant freaks like you walk around alive like you aren't all detestable vermin."

Gabriel felt his spine go cold. He raced toward the girl. "Drop the doll and run!"

The doll said, as the surprised girl turned and locked eyes with Gabriel, "It just makes me want to blow my top. And so I will."

Gabriel still had his eyes locked on the girl's own when the explosion engulfed her.

#

"What do you mean you aren't going?!"

Gabriel winced. His head was still pounding from the explosion. He really didn't need Sarah shouting in his ear. The echo in the small bathroom of his sister's apartment didn't help matters. "Someone just murdered a girl just for being a mutant. Someone who was willing to use a method of murder that put anyone who happened to be around her in mortal jeopardy. I can't just let that stand."

Sarah had come running not long after the explosion. She had heard it from her apartment, and knowing that Gabriel was likely to come home soon made her fear for his life. She had found him staring at the crime scene, bleeding from shrapnel, too dazed by what had happened to concern himself with his own injuries. Sarah had arrived just as the police and rescue crews were showing up. She helped bring Gabriel back to himself so that he could answer the police inspectors questions. Then, once the paramedics had bandaged him up, she had dragged him back to her apartment to make doubly sure he was okay.

Gabriel couldn't shake the impression that the inspector had left upon him once she had discovered that the victim was a mutant. She had lost all real interest in the investigation at that moment, and simply ordered her team to 'finish this up quickly, so we can get back to our real caseload.' He knew that mutants faced bigotry, but up until now that have been an academic point for him; he had never witnessed it in person. He was surprised by how much it bothered him. Maybe there was a good person inside him after all.

Sarah, evidently having recovered from the initial shock of his announcement, resumed inspecting him for further injuries. Her examination was rougher and more aggressive than a moment before. "Look I realize you just saw, and went through, a really traumatic event, but you can't just drop the meeting tomorrow. If we don't get this contract, Stacy Solutions will never get off the ground. All the money we reinvested from our old OsCorp stock will be gone. You have to come."

Gabriel shook his head. "Someone has to make sure that whoever did this doesn't do it again."

"Leave that to the police. It's their job."

"The police don't seem to be very interested in this case."

Sarah finished her inspection and backed away. "Fine. I'll call Peter. This is the kind of thing that he does all the time. I'm sure he'd be happy to take care of it."

Gabriel slammed his fist on the counter in frustration. "No! I already owe that man far too much. I'm not going to ask him for any more favors. I'm the one who witnessed it. I'm the one most connected to it. I need to be the one to solve it." He paused, and stared at himself forcefully in the mirror, his freshly-dyed black hair stained by dried blood. He could still see that girl staring back at him. "It's what he would do."

He looked back at Sarah. She stood glaring at him, fists on her hips. "And what am I supposed to tell Mz. Wendle when the meeting starts without the company president present?"

He smiled weakly at her. "Tell her the truth. I was caught in an explosion, I haven't fully recovered, and that in my absence you have full authorization to make the deal. You know the attack will be in the Bugle by the morning. I doubt even Mz. Wendle can fault me a sick day after surviving a bombing."

#

Later, in his own apartment, Gabriel sat slumped at the edge of his bed. It was late, near midnight, and he was only half undressed from the day. He had torn off his shirt and t-shirt, tossed them aside with the shoes and socks, but the problem that vexed him had consumed him so that he hadn't bothered finishing getting ready for bed.

Not for the first time in the last 24 hours, he felt sick to his stomach. He knew what he had to do. He knew he had to track down this killer before he or she killed again. However, despite his intense martial arts training and enhanced physiology, he knew that he wasn't in his best fighting form. His rapidly-aging body was slowly killing him, and it was entirely possible that he would not solve the mystery before some unforeseen consequence of his tainted biology killed him.

He left his room and crossed the hall to what, on the building floor plan, would have been labeled the master bedroom. Gabriel had made his room from the second bedroom in order to set up a laboratory and workshop in the much larger master, a,place to tinker with pet projects he didn't want to leave to Stacy Solutions' employees. Here the windows were permanently drawn closed and curtained. Technical equipment of various types took up one half of the room, while medical and chemical equipment occupied the other half.

On either side of the door, encased in glass, hung his and hers Goblin uniforms.

Gabriel marched passed them to the lab table. On it sat a small refrigerated cabinet with a glass door. He peered inside, where a needle full of a brown liquid sat on a shelf.

His heart sank as soon as he laid eyes on it. He’d made this for Sarah, in case the infusion she’d received from Spider-Man had only proved a temporary cure. He had procured the remaining blood from the transfusion from the hospital discreetly before their biohazard area destroyed it. He had used it, along with the Goblin formula that Norman Osborn had left him, to create a serum that would cure her permanently. It would have also given her greater powers on par with the Goblin, but, hopefully, without the madness that came from that monster’s creation.

Yet the transfusion’s effects seemed permanent. So here he was, staring at the formula he’d made for her, and planning to use it on himself.

Slowly he turned to face the Goblin costumes. They hung like empty skins, husks of some evil monsters. A green one for Sarah, a grey one for himself. He could still hear the recording of Norman Osborn's voice, in his mind, from the day he had found the costumes in one of Osborn's Goblin caches waiting for him. He remembered how he stared, transfixed, at the image of the man whom had raised him, "Uncle Norman," as he revealed the truth.

‘Hello, my children…Gabriel, Sarah…welcome. I speak to you from the shadows…or from the grave…depending on when you hear this recording.’

From prison, more like, he thought. You're rotting in your cell, thanks to Spider-Man. May you never get out.

‘If you have found this place, then two conditions have likely been met. The first…is that you are ready to inherit your legacy as my heirs. You know by now that your mother would have been too weak, too soft, to lead you in this grand destiny. She would not have survived it. And neither would you.’

Gabriel walked over to the female costume that Norman had prepared for Sarah. That ugly, deranged face was meant to be her legacy. And his. Brother and sister Goblins bringing terror and madness to the world. Some destiny.

‘The second condition that should be true if you have found this place…is that you have also found Peter Parker. Spider-Man. You have discovered that they are the same man, and that in his own way, he is as responsible for your mother’s death as I was. She died because he was a romantic fool. They both were.’

His fists clenched. How dare he speak of my mother like that?

'And I am alive…because I am not. And now, if you have performed as I have trained you, then he has joined her in death. Or he has joined you at last…has taken the last step to join the family that has awaited him all these years. The family whose flesh and blood run through your bodies. Whose faces you are only now prepared to wear.’

He turned to face the other feature of the room; a case opposite the door with a glass front containing another costume. This one was black with red trim. The gloves and boots had red blade-breakers protruding from them. The red pouches and backpack clipped directly onto the black overshirt, no utility belt required. The backpack housed four retractable red legs like those of a spider. On the mask rested a large, sculpted red spider facing downward, it's middle legs forming a frame for the grey, web-patterned goggles that protected the eyes. Between the lower legs the nose and mouth cloth had a similar web pattern.

He had built the suit from the cannibalized Goblin gear and equipment from Osborn's cache. He had told himself he had made it for Peter as a form of apology for his behavior; a high-tech replacement for his red-and-blues to aid him in his heroics, and a way to put the Green Goblin's gear to good use for a change. In truth, he now realized, he had made the costume for himself.

‘They are your true faces. That is what it is to be one of us, one of the family. The mask is your face…and the face beneath is the mask you wear, the stranger that even you do not recognize…except in the dark. And in here, with us, it is always dark.’

Gabriel cringed. Not because Norman was wrong, but because he was right. Heroes and villains, the masks they wear become their true faces. And as he stared at the black, grey and red mask before him he knew that this would be his true face, for good or ill.

‘You are aging faster than you should. But there is hope. And I am the only one who can give it to you.’

A lie; Peter Parker had cured his sister. With his blood. He turned back to the needle in the fridge. He had made up his mind.

‘When I received the serum, it nearly killed me…because I was not prepared for it. There is no way anyone could have been prepared for the power it provided. Until now. Until you. The serum is already in your blood. It is my legacy to you. But flawed, because it has her blood in it as well. This led to unexpected mutations in your genetic code, so that the rapid healing factor also became a rapid aging factor. So what is needed…is a second injection, one that will complete the work that began in your genetic code before you were even born. The serum will slow or even halt the advanced aging…and you will emerge even more powerful than I was, at the height of my abilities.’

Gabriel took the needle from its resting place and removed the safety cork. He went over to a padded table which was bolted to the floor. He strapped all his limbs in but one, the one with the needle. As soon as he had taken the serum he would place his arm in the other restraint, which would fasten automatically, and would not release him for twenty-four hours. Long enough for the serum to take effect.

‘It may have…unforeseen effects on your mental processing…disruptions in normal functioning, paranoia, psychosis, even some memory loss…but it beats dying, right? And after all, what family doesn’t have its little…eccentricities.’

The soundproofing he had installed in the room would prevent Sarah and anyone else from hearing any screaming he may do while the serum did its work. Still, he knew Sarah would check on him after the meeting tomorrow. If he was mad from the serum, she would carry out the instructions on the note he had written hours earlier and left pinned to the door of this room. She would kill him and spare the world his madness.

And if he remained sane? He doubled that he ever really had been. But hopefully he could be a hero nonetheless. A hero like Spider-Man.

‘You’ve come all this way. Don’t let me down. It is the only way…you are mine, and I’ll never let you go. Never…’

He took a deep breath and plunged the needle in his arm.

#

Sarah hurried through the airport, having taken far too much time to clear security. Her team was already through and waiting for her at the terminal. They had minutes to board the jet bound for Louisiana.

She wished that she could have found time to swing by Gabriel’s apartment to check on him, but there was no guarantee he’d even be there, and Mz. Wendle had been clear that for the contract to be accepted the team had to start today, with Sarah herself present to ensure that the operation was carried out correctly.

Anyway, Gabriel wasn’t answering his phone. He must be too absorbed in his current obsession to bother with a call from his dear sister. She’d make sure he paid for that later.

She spied her team impatiently waiting for her. Bridgette was here, along with Sherri Godbout. Sherri was a mutant technopath whom had recently specialized her talents in the arena of hacking. She wore a mismatched patchwork of clothing and gear (all of which seemed to be plastic, so it made it past the airport metal detectors). Her hair was, well, interesting. It was short and buzz-cut along the sides, and colored like a mixed-up Rubik's Cube. It reflected light like metal and actually seemed to be shifting the various squares around in an attempt to solve the puzzle.

Sarah took a few moments to let the shock of the woman's appearance fade before approaching. The woman was unique, and a little intimidating, but was reportedly the best in her field. With a deep breath, Sarah shook off her misgivings and walked up to Sherri.

Sarah had hired Sherri straight off of her resume, after getting a character reference from Dr. Hank McCoy. She’d tried to get Dr. McCoy to work for Stacy Solutions as head biologist, but he respectfully declined, instead suggesting that if Sarah's company also needed someone with technical talent, Sherri was both ideal and available.

This would be Sherri's first challenge on staff, and Sarah hoped that former X-Man would pan out.

As she reached the group, ten experts in all, the team quickly gathered up their bags and got in queue for boarding. Sarah extended her hand to the technicolor technopath. “Nice to meet you in person, Sherri."

Sherri extended a friendly hand back. "Please, I'm only Sherry on paper. Call me Rubix. You know, like the puzzle cube."

"Okay, Rubix. I hope that my company can provide you with sufficient excitement after your stint with the X-Men.”

“Yeah, I was an X-Man for about a minute,” Rubix chuckled. “Xavier got the bright idea that he needed a team in Boston, and a mutant school as well. But we quickly realized we’d rather be helping build bridges between mutants and baselines than battling Magneto clones."

Sarah found that impressive. Sherri had already demonstrated that she wanted to be a part of a group set on making the world a better place simply by breaking the superhero mold with her team of former X-Men and forging ahead on their own. "Is that when you became the Guardians?"

"Yeah, we did still do some superhero stuff in and around Boston, but it really wasn't our main thing. We wanted to do something different. So Alex, our leader, Dr. Alex Greene, the Phantom, he had the bright idea of creating a boarding school slash community center slash outreach center. We broke off with the X-Men and opened up Unity Center in downtown Boston six months later. I still do freelance work for them, but I’m looking for something that will stretch my abilities. So here I am.”

They finally got through the boarding queue and made their way down the corridor to their waiting plane. As she took her seat, Sarah assured herself that a career at Stacy Solutions would stretch Rubix' abilities beyond even Reed Richards breaking point.

#

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NO! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NO! I WILL NOT SUCCUMB TO HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA MADNESS! I AM NOT HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA A GOBLINNNNAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA NO! NO! YES! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! HAHA! NO! NO! I AM GABRIEL STACY! I AM HAHAHAH GABRIEL STACY! I AM GABRIEL STACY! I AM GABRIEL STACY! I AM GABRIEL STACY! I AM GABRIEL STACY! I AM GABRIEL STACY!”

“I AM GABRIEL STACY!”

Gabriel heard the voice but did not recognize it as his own, at least not right away. He heard heavy breathing, rapid and sporadic. His eyes darted back-and-forth but he couldn't see anything but a haze of reds, greens, and browns. His brain felt like it was overloading with new and strange sensations. Every fiber of his body felt like it was on fire. He couldn't think straight. Had he gone mad?

He forced himself to concentrate; he locked his eyes on one shape and willed it to come into focus. He stared and stared until gradually the object became distinct.

It was the spider costume, still in its glass cabinet. In the light of the filtered sunlight making it way past the drawn curtain the reflection of the gray Goblin costume was transposed over it. Like a ghost.

Gabriel shuddered. It was like Norman was inside his head, desperately trying to corrupt him, to drive him mad and make him embrace Normans insane idea of his destiny. Well, Gabriel rejected that destiny in favor of another. Perhaps it was just as mad. Gabriel didn't care. It was honorable.

Gabriel looked around. The room was a mess of overturned furniture, damaged equipment and broken sheetrock. He stood beside his broken restraining bed, fists and jaw both clenched, still breathing fast and heavy.

Finally overcome by the strain and no longer held up by sheer mad tension, Gabriel collapsed on the floor. He felt awful, and yet relieved. He had made it through the madness. He was himself once more.

After a long time, he stood, weakly, and made his way to the bathroom. He took a long, hot shower, and let his body recover. Then, after eating just about everything in the house, he returned to the scene of his transformation. He stood in front of the glass case, staring at his new face.

He was sure that the formula had cured him, as certainly as he knew that his strength was now equal to or even greater than that of the Green Goblin himself. Nevertheless, to be certain, he would draw some blood and set some tests in motion. He would leave them running, and check back for the results when he returned.

He opened the glass case. Slowly, deliberately, he dressed. He left the mask for last. He stared at it for a long time, pondering the obvious question: this face have to have a name, so what would it be? It obviously had to have a spider theme, but he couldn't just call himself 'The Spider.'

A name should reflect a person's purpose, he thought. So what was his purpose? Atonement was his first thought, both toward Peter Parker and for his failing to save that girl. Yet that didn't go far enough. So he thought about his current task. He was on a mission to prevent a killer from striking other mutants in the community the way he or she had that girl. It would be his obsession, almost a crusade. He would serve as a knight riding in to meet his foe to protect his land and people from evil.

A spider-knight. No. Arach-Knight.

Gabriel put on the mask.

Moments later, high above the city streets, Arach-Knight swung forth to honor his chosen father and earn some honor for himself.

#

In the darkness of the Hundred Acre Woods, she sat at her work bench, lovingly sewing another bomb into yet another doll. It was such a pretty doll, this silly old bear, and every time she sacrificed one she felt a tinge of sadness. It was such a shame that so wonderful and pure an icon must perish because of some filthy Fiends. Yet she felt sure that, if they were alive, they would have volunteered gladly, for the cause was so pure.

She had had great success in targeting Fiends individually. She had even managed to slay their family members as collateral damage; a fitting end for those unwilling to disown such monsters. But now she was ready for something bigger. And something big was coming. And she would be ready.

"After all', she said gently to her doll, "that's what Tyggers do best!"