muppetwriter
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Chapter Twenty-Two
Harry Osborn sat in his partially darkened apartment, something he much preferred nowadays. He was facing a wall with assorted television screens on it, each tuned to a different TV station, while his aunt was sitting nearby at her desk and injecting herself with another dosage of the same “Goblin Formula” that granted Harry and his father their strength. Even as it coursed through her bloodstream, she felt much stronger than before and the cuts and bruises she suffered at the hands of that maniac—Jenny—didn’t seem so painful anymore.
After Rachel had finished juicing herself up, she directed her attention to the television screens that Harry was focusing on, all of them focusing on the same developing story.
CBS:
“All New York is holding its breath as the hostage situation continues to unfold.”
NBC:
A clip of the Bitterman Plaza construction site showed a multidimensional latticework of what could only be described as black webbing, suspended seventy stories above the ground. Several items were snagged in the giant web: construction barrels, a shovel, an industrial Dumpster, a taxicab, and the Electric Mayhem bus. All dotting it like so many flies caught in a spider’s web.
ABC:
A SWAT team in riot gear was advancing on the construction site in armored Humvees. The sand beneath them heaved. (Rachel loved this part; it was chaotic and destructive. They’d run it twenty times, and each time was better than the last.) The vehicles were sent tumbling. Two Humvees crashed down upon the construction site. Pedestrians in the street scattered as the third vehicle tumbled toward them and crushed an empty taxi. Those pedestrians were afterwards caught by the awaiting, vicious claws of two lizard creatures—one tossing them like rag dolls and the other ripping them to shreds.
CNN:
“Every attempt by the police to rescue the hostages has been thwarted by Sandman and two lizard creatures, one of them possibly responsible for the massacre at the corner of Hunt and Nelson Street. Compounding the danger is the appearance of a metallic scorpion beast, a woman dressed in a quilt-padded costume, and two other women made entirely out of water and electricity. These people have only a moment ago been identified as the three escaped Riker’s prisoners, Nicky Holiday and his henchmen—Marla, Darla, and Carla. And they were accompanied by a strange, black-suited figure. Early reports had believed him to be the black-suited Spider-Man, but he has now been identified as something entirely different.”
Sure enough, someone in the black spider suit was leering like a jackal as the camera zoomed in on him. He swung down, dispatching members of the SWAT team with disturbing ease. Some tried to get a shot off and didn’t even come close. He tossed them aside, juggling them like plates, and showing them to be just as easily breakable. All while Nicky “Scorpion” Holiday was tearing men in half from the sharp blade of his hook. Marla, Carla, and Darla were taking down a few SWAT members as well, but not as fiercely as Holiday and the black-suited menace were.
Rachel appeared to be highly impressed at the sight of Spider-Man’s “evil twin” and the chaos he was unleashing on screen. “You’ve gotta hand it to Nicky. That man sure knows how to make the sweetest friends.”
Channel Six:
They had a helicopter. Good for them. The news camera aboard zoomed in on the taxi that was up in the webbing, and a terrified Mary Jane Watson was in the backseat.
“The hostage has been identified as Mary Jane Watson, an actor recently seen in a brief stint on the current Broadway hit, Manhattan Melodies II, featuring the well-known Muppets. And the famous puppet characters have also been discovered to be hostages in this dire situation, trapped inside of the bus owned by their Electric Mayhem band along with three yet-to-be-identified humans and a small group of what appears to be imaginary friends, possibly from the Foster’s Home For Imaginary Friends service outside the city.”
The camera moved away from Mary Jane and the taxi, zooming in on the windows of the Electric Mayhem bus to reveal the mortified faces of Fozzie Bear, Robin the Frog, Miss Piggy, Camilla, the Electric Mayhem band members, a square-headed eight-year-old human boy with brown hair, a redheaded 22-year-old girl with a green sweater, a girl with braided hair and wearing yellow boots and a rainbow shirt, a tall red imaginary friend with a stubby arm and a crooked left eyestalk, a bird-airplane-palm tree imaginary friend, and a purple-haired, horned, fanged imaginary friend who seemed twice as terrified. There was another imaginary friend—a blue ghostlike one—who didn’t seem as scared as his companions were, which was obvious as he had pressed his face up against the window and made bizarre faces to the camera.
“We’re now going to take you live to the scene, right across the street in front of the Muppet Theatre, with Channel Six news reporter April O’Neil.”
The camera shifted to exactly where the news correspondent said April would be, directly at the front entrance to the Muppet Theatre, where much of the audience that had attended to see the now-canceled final performance of Manhattan Melodies II had gathered to see what was happening at the Bitterman Plaza construction site—even Statler and Waldorf figured they’d get a better deal with the action happening there than the Muppet show itself. A few of the cast and crew of the show were there as well, as April nervously gave her report. “We’re only a hundred feet away now, and…wait!”
The camera view whipped around as the black-suited figure fired black web lines up at the partially completed Bitterman Plaza. Incredibly, the web lines were creating letters.
“It seems to be some kind of message,” April announced. The camera was only picking up a few letters…a T, an O, some others…
“Pull back,” said an annoyed Rachel Bitterman to the TV. “Give us a better view, you moron!”
As if responding to her demand, the cameraman promptly pulled back, and the entire message came into view:
TRY TO STOP US IF YOU CAN
“I don’t exactly know who these monsters are addressing with this message, but if anyone were to try and stop them, it would be a suicide mission,” April declared. “For what chance would any hero, especially Spider-Man, have against such a sinister—”
Harry pushed the mute button, because he’d heard enough. While he slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes, Rachel Bitterman got up from the desk and strode over to him. She proudly said, “Can ya feel it, Harry? In just mere seconds, we’re gonna be gods and goddesses amongst everyone in this whole freakin’ city! No more will we have to worry about being opposed by some costumed freaks and their foamed friends! We can be able to do whatever we want…whenever we want…all with a marvelous price!”
Harry Osborn couldn’t really give his aunt a straight response to her question, mostly because he wasn’t certain if he was capable of feeling anything anymore. He did, however, know that this whole big scheme of hers was completely over-the-top and unnecessary in many ways. What started out as a revenge plot somehow transpired into a very clichéd take-over-the-world plot that he found no reason in being a part of, and he didn’t hesitate to let his aunt know just that.
“If you’re going to continue on with this retarded plan of yours, then you can count me out of it.”
Rachel wondered for a moment if the extra dosage of the Goblin formula was making her deaf as she tried to comprehend what her nephew just told her. “Excuse me?”
“I thought this was just supposed to be about getting back at Peter for killing my father, not trying to make it to the top of the world.” Harry stated. “Lord knows I’ve already had enough with living that kind of life with my father’s fortune all around me.”
“This still is about getting back at him, kiddo!” Rachel remarked. “But I’m not gonna waste the opportunity of getting what I’ve been desiring for years now, which is being the ‘Queen of Manhattan’! And the only way that’s gonna happen is if I take your old friend out of the mine, along with anyone else that stands in our way, especially Jenny and those Muffets!”
“Muppets.”
“Whatever! In a few moments, it won’t even matter what name they go by, because they’ll be eradicated…” She snapped her fingers, “…just like that!” She then lifted her left arm, which was bare due to the fact that she was wearing a black muscle shirt at the time, and flexed it. Her shirt seemed to be the appropriate attire for her new muscular physique—a result of the Goblin formula—and it, along with a larger pair of black slacks and some black boots, was all that she could wear because of it. “And that’ll seem very possible with our new team of terrorists and my new body.”
The more Harry listened to her, the more he began to realize just how he sounded in front of everyone. If that was the side effects of his father’s infamous Goblin formula, then he almost regretted ever allowing it to come into his body. His aunt sounded insane, cocky, sadistic, and—above all—annoying…much like he had over the past few days since regaining his memory. It was no wonder Mary Jane looked so horrified by his presence after her staged break-up with Peter, which was all his aunt’s idea.
“Now what I don’t need right now is you sitting on your butt and crying like a little baby, because half of your face has been reduced to grilled cheese.” She said while grabbing a long, black, hooded cloak off her desk and placing it over her body. “If our master plan is going to work, we need everyone in together on it.” After putting on her cloak, she then pulled out one of the desk drawers and reached into it, taking out a golden object that resembled a mask. “Your future depends on your choice, Harry. Better make it a good one, otherwise you won’t have one.”
Harry didn’t once look in her direction as she prepped herself up to leave the apartment and make her way to the action taking place at her uncompleted plaza. But if he had, then he would’ve noticed how bizarrely she had changed her appearance in just a few seconds. With a dark hooded cloak that covered eighty percent of her body and a mask that was reminiscent of the one Norman Osborn had worn as the Green Goblin (only it was golden and had red retractable lenses), she had become another new goblin…only hers was appropriately titled “The Hobgoblin,” a name that she had personally chosen herself.
“And, Harry?” She said through her intimidating mask, while standing near the doorway to the balcony, where a larger, modified version of Norman Osborn’s original glider was parked. “Don’t you dare leave us laying in the ashes on this one…or I’ll take you down with me.” With those being her last words to him, she climbed on top of the glider, which instantly activated it, and rocketed away from the building.
Harry stood up from his chair and started pacing the room. He was in a total crossroads with everything that was happening, and his aunt wasn’t making it any easier for him with her ultimatum. He thought of Mary Jane trapped, as well as the characters in that bus who had nothing to do with what was going on at that moment, and then he thought of Peter hurtling toward certain death to save them all. Because that was what Peter was going to do; Harry was positive of that. Peter was just that determined, just that “heroic,” just that reckless, and just that stupid to go in against overwhelming odds, with whatever small amount of backup he could muster, knowing that he or anyone else by his side couldn’t possibly survive.
A stiff breeze blew across his apartment from the balcony, almost as if to remind him of the decision that his aunt had demanded him to make in a short amount of time. It was hard enough not being able to concentrate with such a chilling draft, so he went to closed the newly installed glass doors. Then he stopped in his tracks.
Jenny was standing in the doorway, looking far beyond what she had been the last time Harry had seen her. White hair overshadowed her usual brown hair, green eyes replaced the brownish hue they originally had, and her small frame had become muscularly increased as she wore the provocative cat suit. She didn’t look like the same girl he knew over the years. But she did look humbled, much like the old Jenny would’ve looked.
Harry stood in the shadows for a moment, then stepped forward into the narrow sliver of light cast by the nearby lamp. It was just enough for Jenny to see his ruined face. Half of it was now hideous, grotesque, mangled from the bomb that Peter had hurled at him. Jenny was clearly shocked by the sight, taken aback.
Had it been Peter Parker standing there, Harry would’ve told him to get out in a heartbeat. But something in him forced him to just keep his mouth shut and hear what she had to say. “Just to let you know, I don’t blame you for what happened to my father. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s her.” Irony was a thing that Harry was all too familiar with, and it seemed like just the case in point as Jenny made her entrance, because the death of her father was just the thing that was about to enter into his mind before she came. “She’s been manipulating you, just like she had with everyone else who comes across her path. She’s been doing it since day one. She doesn’t love you, Harry. She doesn’t care about your father’s death, Peter Parker, or even her grudge against the Muppets. She’s using you to get power over all of New York City.”
Harry knew that much was true, but he still refused to let Jenny interfere with his big decision. “Did you come all this way to tell me that? Shouldn’t you be up there saving your friends?”
His voice sounded very snobbish, enough to trigger that side of Jenny that had been taking aggressive measures lately. But she kept herself composed long enough to try and talk some sense into it. “Listen, it’s time for you to wake up and see the big picture, Harry. I heard every word you and your aunt had said a short while ago, and it was all I needed to hear in order to know what kind of relationship you two have been having. And don’t give me that ‘tough love’ crap, because I won’t buy it for a minute.”
“My relationship with my aunt is my business…not yours!” Harry retorted.
“O.K., then fine!” Jenny exclaimed. “If you won’t believe me on that, then trust me on this…Peter Parker didn’t kill your father! I know he wouldn’t have, because he’s a decent human being, unlike Rachel Bitterman. For God’s sakes, Harry, we’ve all been friends long enough to know that none of us would intentionally hurt each other like that! That’s how I know you couldn’t have been a conspirator in my father’s death!”
“How would you know? You weren’t even there!”
“Neither were you!”
Harry wished he could’ve come with another retort, but he quickly found himself outwitted by Jenny. He buried his head in his hands and sagged against the wall, choking back a sob…then became aware of Bernard, his butler, standing in the main entranceway of the great room.
“If I may, sir,” said Bernard. “I’ve seen things in this house I’ve never spoken of, I’ve watched a darkness come over your father. A madness that cost him his life.”
Why was Bernard bringing all this up? “What are you trying to tell me?” Harry said, ghosts screaming in his ears.
Bernard took a deep breath and let it out. “The night your father died, I cleaned his wound. The blade that pierced his body came from his glider, his invention. Only he could have discharged it.”
Harry was stunned, and even Jenny slightly was herself. Bernard…knew? Here he had thought he’d managed to keep his secrets from the faithful servant. Bernard had been out visiting relatives on the night of the attack made by Peter and Jenny. Despite the severity of his wounds, Harry and his aunt had still managed to hide away the more incriminating elements of the Goblin’s equipment. When Bernard had returned, Harry and Rachel had told the appalled retainer that he’d injured himself in a chemical experiment gone terribly wrong, and had refused all pleas to go to the hospital.
But now Bernard was claiming that he’d actually known the truth, going all the way back to his father’s “original sins”? He knew what Norman Osborn had become? Known what he was capable of? Why hadn’t he said anything at the time?
The answer was obvious, really. Bernard had been with the family for as long as Harry could remember. The old butler’s peculiar code of ethics simply wouldn’t have allowed him to tell the world of his master’s wrongdoings. Plus, from a practical standpoint, if Bernard did go around and tell people, Norman might well seek him out and kill him. And since Norman had died…what point was there in letting people know?
“Jenny is right, Harry. I have just as much reason to believe that your Aunt Rachel has been manipulating you for her own demented needs. And using your father’s accidental death in the process of it is, if I may say, below a level of inhumanity that I can possibly imagine.” Bernard assured him. “I loved your father as I have loved you, Harry.” He looked in Jenny’s direction as he then said, “As your friends love you.”
Harry had nothing to say.
So Bernard turned and walked away, leaving Harry with Jenny in the darkness. He miserably turned and faced Jenny, who felt extremely thankful that Bernard was there to bring some sense back into him. All this time he had been punishing her more than he had himself, Peter, Mary Jane, and everyone else who had cared about him. The death of her father began plaguing his mind, and as he now realized the truth about his own father’s death, it horrified him knowing he was responsible for it by trusting in his sadistic aunt.
There goes that irony again. Here I was accusing Peter for the death of my father, when he actually wasn’t responsible. And because of my wrongful accusations, Jenny’s father is now dead, and she’s free to accuse me of being responsible for it. The tables have turned, and I’m just now waking up to realize it.
But, much to Harry’s surprise, Jenny didn’t show signs of hatred or vengeance towards him for what happened to her father. She showed pity. A common feeling to show someone who could relate to the situation of losing a loved one due to unrighteous circumstances.
Harry was about to tell her something, but she interrupted his chance by approaching him with a hug and saying, “Don’t worry, Harry. It’s not your fault. It’s not…your…fault.”
“I know, but…the pain will never go away.”
She let go of him and stared straight into his eyes. “It’s never too late to redeem yourself.”
Harry nodded in understanding. He then recalled exactly what his aunt had told him before departing: Your future depends on your choice. Better make it a good one, otherwise you won’t have one.
And there and then, Harry had made his choice.
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO