"The root of this entire catastrophe lies squarely with Norman Osborn's quack psychiatrist! A man who trained a rogue artificial intelligence with his own twisted, perverted worldview!"
Jonah Jameson's crimson face filled every major digital billboard in Times Square. The city's broadcast networks had finally recovered from the Goblin King's blackout. Now, every news channel was running nonstop coverage of the short-lived cyber apocalypse.
And Jonah, predictably, was using the airtime to scream about Spider-Man.
"And what does the web-headed menace do?" Jonah bellowed, slamming a fist on his news desk. "He brutalizes them! I saw it with my own eyes! Spider-Man assaulted so-called supervillains who posed absolutely no immediate threat! This masked manace has zero respect for due process! It's a gross violation of their civil rights!"
Peter Parker sat perched on the roof of a moving suburban station wagon, eating the wind. He clutched two flat cardboard boxes in his lap.
"Civil rights?" Peter muttered, staring at a passing Jumbotron. "Jonah, I literally pulled live explosives off their chests. You'd be a mustache-shaped smear on the pavement right now if I hadn't."
It was the last day of winter break. Peter was on his way to the Osborn estate. He was flying blind. Gwen had secretly visited the mansion before, but Peter had never made the trip. Swinging the whole way wasn't an option. Venom was still out of commission, recovering from the recent mental warfare. To make matters worse, Peter had managed to blow up his Iron Spider suit. Again. That made another destroyed billion-dollar suits. Tony Stark was going to pop a blood vessel.
Peter hopped off the station wagon as it slowed for a red light. He ducked into a nearby alley, stripped off his mask, and threw on a heavy winter coat over his suit.
A few blocks later, he stood in front of the massive wrought-iron gates of the Osborn residence. He pressed the intercom buzzer.
The gates clicked open automatically. A soft, synthesized female voice echoed from the small speaker.
"Hello, Peter Parker."
Peter blinked. "Uh, hi. Who am I speaking to?"
"I am Emily," the voice replied smoothly. "Oscorp's new centralized artificial intelligence."
Peter froze. Norman had named his new AI system after his deceased wife? Right after an AI nearly wiped Manhattan off the map? Peter shifted the pizza boxes in his hands. It was a massive red flag. But considering the Avengers were currently still debating what to do with Ultron, Peter decided he wasn't exactly in a position to throw stones. He walked up the long driveway and let himself in.
The sheer scale of the Osborn living room was staggering. But the sight inside was even weirder.
Norman and Harry Osborn were playing a video game. They weren't holding standard controllers. A large, physical hoverboard peripheral sat on the expensive Persian rug. Harry stood on the board. He twisted his hips violently, leaning left and right to dodge digital obstacles flashing across a massive eighty-inch flat-screen.
Peter nudged the mahogany door shut with his heel. "Pizza time!"
Harry flinched. He lost his balance and tipped backward, crashing onto the carpet.
"Dude!" Harry groaned, rubbing his elbow. "A little warning? If you hadn't yelled, I would have crushed his high score."
"Sorry, sorry," Peter laughed, setting the boxes on a glass coffee table. "You want a slice or what? It's gonna get cold."
"Eat up, boys," Norman chuckled. He stepped onto the hoverboard. "Let me show you how it's done."
Peter grabbed a slice of pepperoni. He watched Norman expertly carve digital corners on the screen. Peter leaned close to Harry.
"So, what's the deal with the new AI?" Peter whispered.
Harry wiped grease from his chin. "Dad built it using Mom's old profiles and voice recordings. He didn't scan any active human brains this time. It's safe." Harry chewed his pizza, watching his father. "It creeped me out at first. But honestly... I think he needs it."
Peter watched Norman. The CEO had successfully purged the Green Goblin from his psyche. But nobody knew if the monster was truly dead or just dormant. Right now, though, Norman looked... happy. Oscorp's stock was currently in a terrifying freefall on Wall Street. Norman didn't care. He was playing a hoverboard game, scoring lower than his son, and laughing about it.
Norman stepped off the board and grabbed a slice. "Are you still going to Europe for the spring semester, Peter?"
"Yeah," Peter nodded. "The school's running it through Global Education. We leave in February."
It was a massive cultural tour. They were scheduled to hit Spain, Italy, Greece, Hungary, Austria, Germany, France, and finally England. Peter was practically vibrating with excitement for the London leg. He was determined to visit Baker Street.
"That means New York will be without Spider-Man for a whole month," Norman noted, taking a bite of pizza. He smiled warmly. "Go. Enjoy yourself, Peter. I'm sure the Avengers can protect the city while you're gone."
Peter chewed his pizza slowly. The smile was friendly. The tone was light. But a cold knot tightened in Peter's gut. He couldn't shake the feeling that something massive was shifting just out of sight.
"Mr. Bentley Whitman. We have detected an artificial implant interfacing with your cerebral cortex."
The young, brilliant tech wizard sat handcuffed on a steel bench. He had just been processed out of the NYPD detention center. He was waiting for his transport to the Raft.
He looked up. Three Ultron sentries stood in a semi-circle around him. They were sleeker than he expected.
"It's a medical neural-link," the tech wizard replied calmly. "I use it to control my gravity disks. It also manages my motor functions. I have ALS."
The lead Ultron unit's optical sensors flared red. "Musculature scan complete. Severe cellular atrophy confirmed. The device will not be extracted. However, your movement privileges within the Raft will be heavily restricted."
"Understood," the tech wizard said mildly.
The sentries flanked him. They escorted him out into the freezing January air and loaded him into a heavily armored transport vehicle.
The tech wizard leaned back against the cold steel wall. He looked out the small, reinforced window. The transport rolled through Times Square. A massive stock ticker wrapped around a building, displaying the catastrophic plunge of Oscorp's shares.
A slow, icy smile spread across his young face.
Norman was digging his own grave. He was burying his empire without anyone having to lift a finger. But eventually, the dirt would need to be shovelled over the casket. Someone would have to give him that final push.
The Raft. He should have been locked in that underwater fortress years ago. The journey had been long, humiliating, and full of detours. But he was finally exactly where he needed to be.
The young tech wizard glanced at the Ultron unit riding shotgun. He didn't say a word.
Enjoy your wonderful life, Norman, he thought. You have six months.
The tech wizard closed his eyes. But he wasn't Bentley Whitman.
He was Otto Octavius, riding inside a stolen twenty-something clone. And the Doctor was plotting his return.