10 Devilshly Handsome

A middle-aged man in a black suit and Oxfords stood in a large office that overlooked New York City. His dark blue eyes looked down at the bustling streets and large skyscrapers through the large glass window while his auburn hair was neatly combed to one side.

One could easily tell that he was a neat freak by merely looking around his office. Certificates of his many achievements and framed pictures of him winning awards adorned the walls. A small laptop sat on a large desk that was neatly arranged, and a small library of books sat to the side.

'This isn't working...', Norman Osborn thought to himself as he looked down from his tower near the center of New York City.

KNOCK KNOCK

"Come in!" Osborn said reflexively before adjusting his already impeccable tie.

"Good morning, sir," a man wearing glasses and a lab coat entered the room. A file of papers was tucked underneath his arm, while lopsided glasses rested on the bridge of his nose.

"Morning, John," Norman said, sinking into his comfortable chair. "What brings you here? I remember mentioning that I would not like to be disturbed unless it is something of importance."

"I do know that, sir," John said, fumbling with the file before presenting it to Norman. "I believe we've made a breakthrough."

Norman's hands almost blurred when he snatched the file and opened it, reading it fervently. He flicked through the forty pages of detailed notes and observations within ten minutes before looking up at John, who was standing awkwardly the whole while.

"Show me," Osborn demanded, throwing back the file and walking out of his office into the halls of Osborn Chemical a.k.a Oscorp, closely followed by one of his lead scientists.

The uppermost floors of the tower which they currently were in were mostly empty. They quickly entered the elevator and descended the numerous floors to the Accountancy and Finance floor.

They quickly passed the numerous rooms before entering a janitor's closet that had a false door which only opened via biometrics. It slid open, revealing a large tunnel that descended downwards.

As they walked into the tunnel, it opened up into a large facility filled with approximately forty people who were dressed exactly like John. It had a large ceiling and was decked out with technology that could advance humanity's knowledge of anatomy and genetics by a few decades. If Peter were here, he could've made the revised version of the serum within a day or two. Perhaps he could've made a more efficient method of genome adaptation that would merely take two stages instead of four.

"It's nice to see you, sir," a large scientist stepped away from a project he was supervising and walked up to Osborn. He was his other lead scientist, Robert Waller, and had biceps the size of his head. "What you're looking for is in Laboratory 314D."

Both scientists led him past the many cubicles and machines to one of the largest rooms in the facility. Robert pressed his index finger to the biometric, which made the door slide open with a small hiss, revealing a room with a giant machine and many smaller ones. There is even a small compartment with dead subjects of animal testing. It was mostly small mammals and a few insects, but all of them were failures.

Osborn's gaze flicked toward the compartment with two spider corpses pinned to the wall. That was the only insect species that survived the process of becoming a vector but became highly venomous and unstable. Any human test subjects that were subjected to its transferral process died almost immediately in grotesque ways due to highly accelerated uncontrollable mutations.

The experiment whose goal was using other organisms as vectors for mutations was shut down. He had given orders for all the subjects to be terminated and preserved, but some dunderhead of a scientist let a spider escape - he was quickly disposed of. The emergence of 'Ghost-Spider' three days after the spider's escape boosted his suspicions greatly.

"I believe that we've ruled out that Spider-woman is a result of the failed Project, right?" John said tentatively, following Norman's gaze. "Our analysts deduced that a successful mutation would lead to organic webbing, camouflage, and a whole host of Bio-electric powers. She has none of that. Even her webbing is mechanical. She is probably a gifted engineer with adhesive gloves and a highly powerful exoskeleton."

"If she was such a gifted engineer, then she wouldn't wear a fucking ski mask," Norman grumbled to himself before snapping his head toward the large machine. "Now, show me Iteration 134. Are you sure it can do what you say it can?"

"We strongly believe so," Robert said, pressing a button on the machine which lowered a compartment that slid open to reveal a large vial that was filled to the brim with a sickly green liquid. "This is the closest we've got to Erskine's formula. After testing it on chimpanzees, we've seen a tremendous amount of increase in strength, spe-

"I know!" Osborn interrupted, waving off Robert. "I read the file. What's the result on human subjects?"

Robert and John looked at each other with nervous looks. "Enhanced strength up to 9 tons, Enha-

"9 TONS!!!" Norman looked ecstatic. The American Government had contracted them with recreating and possibly enhancing the Super Soldier serum. They supplied him with multiple preserved samples of the late Steve Rogers' - the perfect human's blood, and with a fund of over Fifteen Billion dollars. That's where all this equipment came from.

Project Super Soldier was his obsession for 17 years - the very year his partner, Mendel Stormm, was kicked out for embezzlement.

Steve Rogers was enhanced to beyond human limits - reaching a strength of even 2 Tons with ease. But he had finally created a serum that could almost quintuple that!

"That's right, sir," Robert nodded. "The enhanced physiology boosts the human body in all parameters, even mental processing ability."

"Hahaha!" Osborn burst out in relieved laughter. 17 years of non-stop work were finally paying off.

"Unfortunately," Robert began, and the smile on his face immediately disappeared. Any sentence that began that way did not spell good news. "The test subjects show signs of emotional distress, emotional highs, random bouts of aggression, and even a second personality that seems inherently sadistic."

"Oh..." Osborn's shoulders fell. He was so close to the perfect...no, a far better serum. His sullen eyes suddenly gleamed with resolve. "Figure out what's wrong. Fast. We only have two more years before the government fucks us all for failing to deliver."

"Yes, sir."

"How long will it take for you to figure out the problems and get started once more?"

"Five...no, four months, sir."

"That's a long time. You better not fuck up."

Norman quickly picked up his phone and dialed an unsaved number.

"Hello?"

[ Yes, Sir? How may I help you? ]

"Contact Sergei. I have a job for him in four months."

[ Sir, he's currently not open to any contracts. Something about hunting becoming a lot more boring to him. Big game doesn't interest him anymore. ]

"Hmmm, that will not be a problem. Just tell him that I have some worthy prey for him."

[ Will do, Sir. ]

***

Norman sighed to himself as he walked back to his office. He never wanted to contact 'The Hunter', but circumstances change. He was way too close to becoming the next Erskine to not take risks.

"Hey, Dad!" a familiar voice called out to him, halting his thought process, and he looked up, spotting his son, Harry, waiting by his office door. His face immediately soured.

His son ignored his studies and spent all day prancing around with that Mary Jane. That worried him the most, for he wished for his son to take his place, but whatever his son tried to do, he failed in it.

He was harsh on him, but all that failure drove him to drug use, which was the final straw. He could understand many things, but drugs were not one of them.

He was his son, but he was also his greatest disappointment.

"What do you want?" Norman spat.

"Well....Gwen's eighteenth birthday is coming up in three months. I need a present...the one I have in mind would take...a while" Harry spoke, his words slightly slurring.

"Hmph!" Norman snorted, walking past his son and into his office. While he wished not to give his son anything, Gwen was a good, intelligent kid. "Don't buy her the present yourself, I'll do it myself -I don't have anything on me yet. I'll send it to you tomorrow."

"Sure," Harry shrugged and turned to walk out but was suddenly stopped.

"Wait!" Norman said, his head almost magically turning to the very top of his bookshelf. A pair of drumsticks sat on the very top - very, very old ones, but ones that were signed by Ginger Baker.

Since when did he have that?

'Well, it's useless sitting here anyway.'

"Gwen's a drummer, right?" he asked.

"Yeah, a good on-

"Good. Take those ones on top. They're old, so be careful with them. They're signed by a famous drummer."

"That sounds great! Than-

"Get out of my sight!"

***

"Thank you, dear," an unusually handsome man thanked a waitress who blushed and scuttled away. A hot cup of coffee rested in his hands while he leaned back on a chair. His messy hair somehow hung down perfectly, his skin was tanned in the most perfect way, and his collar was fashionably angled. He had that I-just-got-out-of-bed-but-I-am-still-so-hot look, which made the girl's knees turn to mush.

He sat at an outdoor table that gave him a full view of the towering skyscrapers in New York and pretended to enjoy the breeze that blew in his face.

'Everything is going to plan,' he thought, drinking a large gulp of scalding hot coffee without a single change in expression. 'I'm gonna enjoy mentally torturing that little spider. Her soul is just so sweet. So pure.'

He involuntarily shuddered.

'It's primed for corruption. Enjoy my gift, Gwen,' he chuckled to himself. Playing with mortals never got old. He's been doing it for millennia, and he would continue to do it for eternity. He would build his kingdom an-

"WAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

His head snapped to the side, the stroking of his ego interrupted by a baby.

He grit his perfect teeth, mentally willing the baby to choke on its spit and suffocate to death. He couldn't wait to see the look on the mother's face as she was unable to save her precious daughter, crying and wailing for he-

"Argh!" he let out a small whimper as the Sanctum Sanctorums all around the world simultaneously activated - suppressing his power.

"Curse you, Agamotto!" he muttered under his breath. "I should have never made that deal! Of all the planets, why did it have to be Earth!"

His eyes snapped toward the Oscorp tower in the distance. He could only affect people he already had binding deals with, and ones who sold their soul.

"I'll come for you, Ancient One, Little Spider," he whispered once more. "Mephisto never loses."

***