Visitors for the Visitor
“So, this is the optic deflection array?” he asked, looking over what Oscorp had managed to produce in the last few weeks. Their operation was more or less in shambles after their president and founder was reported to have survived the operation, and revealed to be the Green Goblin. It was only making the share values of their business partners worse, now that the public was finding out about what they were developing and why. Acquiring the company on the brink of bankruptcy had been a breeze, and inexpensive when Yehuda arranged some panic selling among the stronger shareholders.
“Yes, Mister Malone, we developed it just for you; won’t ask any questions about why you want it; no, sir.”
He only smiled. They had truly not learned their lesson, but perhaps being corrupt researchers was all they really knew how to do, and the fact that they were suddenly under new management intimidated them. The founder’s son had been distraught to read the Daily Bugle’s article about his father and was happy to part with his own shares as well as sign whatever he was asked to sign to ease in the transition.
“I can’t believe this,” he had said. “I just... this is my father’s legacy, and it was supposed to be my legacy, but...”
“Believe it or not,” he said quietly. “I can sympathize to an extent. My father was a good man who left properties behind, but he made mistakes. I understand if you don’t want a management role, but ultimately how you will be remembered is based on what you decide to do with what you inherited.”
“Peter was always going on about responsibility,” the younger man had said, looking over the newspaper article again, seeing that there was no picture of his father lying on a hospital bed. “I just wonder where he is now.”
Malone contained his surprise that the president’s son was a personal friend of his own secret identity, which he guessed was either a way of getting ahead in the scientific development world, or a way of getting information on Oscorp. In either case, he was annoyed about how the heir had gone on about his father’s expectations and the fact that he seemed to think he could void his own responsibilities by passing the company off to some shadowy man.
“I wouldn’t know,” he said. “If your friend was telling you about responsibility, though, perhaps you should have listened when you had the chance.”
He expected that a casual observer would think that he was being especially harsh with the young man, but he reminded himself that Harry was already in his twenties and the fact that he seemed to not be mature was his own fault. Though he still did not know much about himself, he knew that he was substantially more grown up at a substantially younger age. There was something particularly disgusting to him about how the president and founder had not brought him up to be strong enough to shoulder the weight of his own expectations. He’s already an adult. I shouldn’t even be making this a matter of how his father raised him.
“I think this should be sufficient,” he said of the optic deflection array, returning to the present. The team was developing a new suit without any idea of what the finished product would be; one person even had the responsibility of creating a single eye for his costume and never spoke with anyone else on the project. “Have any of our engineers gone over to Trask?”
“A few, sir, but there are still plenty here-”
It was what he might have expected. Now that the upper management was going through various stages of legal drama for having been involved with the Green Goblin, the everyday employees were being called into question. Some of them could try to wash their hands of Oscorp and leave, but the lifers would be stuck with it, sink or swim. When a new businessman took a controlling interest in the company, their only hope was that he would have hands as dirty as theirs.
“You will be responsible for telling me when the project is complete by surveying the individual workers. If you have any inkling what we are developing here and for whom, you are not to reveal it.”
“Absolutely, sir,” he said, nearly saluting before just leaving the office. It stood to reason that there would be flunkies grateful that their careers were not quite over and willing to refrain from looking into anything. If Parker had known more about business and criminal organizations, perhaps he could have done the same years ago. Perhaps he was busy with school and the photo business.
The top floor office was of a more old-fashioned design than the meeting room where he had spoken with Stark, but it suited him; he actually liked the fact that it contained a balcony like a hotel room, not that the reason for that needed any explanation. Shortly after acquiring the company, he had tracked down the people who had posed as federal agents, finding that they were a security force reporting directly to the founder, and he relieved them of their duties, reporting them to the police for their crimes. The state of New York is going to need more space in the prisons for all those who are going to go there.
All of a sudden there was an object flying at the side of his head, which he blocked by holding a hand out. As he had thought, it was not a throwing knife because of the sound it made, but it was a coffee mug with hot coffee inside, making it a painful experience as it shattered and burned his hand.
“Well, well, looks like you are ready for everything,” a voice said. A man in a mostly black costume had entered through the balcony, probably having stolen the mug from an employee on a lower floor. “Unfortunately for you, I get rid of people like you all the time. No one is ready for a serious attack from Bullseye- and I never miss.”
“Is this the part where you tell me that I should understand, because it’s just business?”
The villain laughed.
“Certainly. It’s not personal at all. I actually resent that I have to kill someone like you, when you seem to be such an interesting mover and shaker, but well, the rest of the movers and shakers have a problem with you, and they hired me first.”
This time, what he threw was a pen off a table. Spider-Man could feel it coming before it arrived and he could even snatch it out of the air. The expression the assassin was wearing could only be described as legitimate shock.
“No one can catch my- no one is supposed to-”
“There’s a lot that isn’t supposed to happen,” he said, containing himself. More than anything, he wanted to leap over the desk and beat the enemy to a pulp- he knew he was more than strong enough to do it; it seemed that Bullseye’s only strengths as an assassin were his versatility and accuracy; in close quarters a martial artist with enough muscle to throw a car would have literally no trouble. A violent response, however, would not be true to the character of Matches Malone. Even more importantly, though, no matter what costume he wore, Spider-Man was not going to attack someone in anger.
“I was sent here to kill you- how can you-”
“The way I see it, you can’t do what they asked you to do. If you can’t kill me with anything lying around in this room before security can get up here, then it really doesn’t matter if you threaten to come back next week with an actual weapon, because you won’t have that opportunity.” He pointed to the seat in front of the desk. “Let’s have a conversation, Bullseye.”
The villain simply stood in front of the desk. He could make of it that he was still trying to have some amount of control over the situation, but that would be going further than what he could really support with the evidence. He set the pen down on the desk as if daring the would-be killer to pick it up and try again.
“Is this the part where you send me back after the owner of your contract?”
“I have no need for your services,” he said. “Your abilities are of no interest to me. It seems you threw the pen harder than you threw the coffee mug, and I would like to see if you could throw something like a bowling ball with even greater force, but I should warn you, that nothing ever takes me unawares. I have had extensive martial arts training and I am aware of how you are going to throw something before it leaves your hand, and you should know that something as light as a pen is never going to travel with enough force that I could not catch it.”
“I see. You want information, then.”
“I already suspect that Wilson Fisk hired you. I hear he’s crushed a man’s head with his fingers, but I’m sure he’s quite reasonable. I’m sure if you told him that I evaded you by not being where I said I would be, and where everything suggested I would be, then he would simply send someone else after deciding you were insufficient.”
The door opened and two Oscorp goons walked in, probably having seen something on the cameras, or having heard something from the employee from whom the coffee had been stolen. Bullseye looked surprised. He’s a successful assassin. I would expect he’s always killed his target and left long before anyone showed up to help.
“I never had any intention of allowing you to leave here unescorted. You would still have an incentive to kill me and would try again with something that would actually work, most likely. You’re going to prison; I just want you to decide how long. If there’s anyone you want to bring with you, that could be arranged.”
“Fisk has men in the police force. No one working for him has ever spent a moment in a cell-”
“You’re a contractor; don’t flatter yourself. You might be useful for some contracts, but don’t think he’s going to spring you from prison. I have experience dealing with corrupt cops, and when you get brought in, all of the cops see the same evidence. If I force them all to make a decision, they’ll know where they all stand.”
He realized it was true after he said it. Where he really found his ideological footing, where he knew he was not simply trying everything he could to help, was when he found he could talk to the decent cops. When they were making meaningful arrests, really once they were past the unspoken impression that the mobs were untouchable, he felt like he was making genuine progress and the criminals regarded him as something more than a bump in the night. When he was accomplishing more than simply lashing out; he was effectively fighting injustice itself.
“What do you want?” Bullseye asked as they put handcuffs on him and dragged him out of the room.
“I want you to consider how long you want to spend in prison. With Oscorp under new management, I had worried that I would never drag the reputation of the business out of the mud. If, however, Wilson Fisk sends an assassin after us, and rather than sending him back, we send him to the police, well, things work out better for us.”
The villain seemed to consider how he would gain from revealing anything about Fisk. Perhaps he realized that much of what made the criminals untouchable was the fact that they were believed to be untouchable. Even if I were a criminal myself, I still went after the law-breakers, and I still made serious progress. It was a reassuring thought about the kind of situation he had created for Parker.
When he was alone in the office again, he thanked the security for getting the assassin out of there. He had come up with a potentially plausible excuse for Matches Malone to be able to catch projectiles, and he did not think that Bullseye had any reason to report that little detail to anyone inconvenient. Most likely, he would tell the Kingpin that his target survived either by some great feat of personal cleverness or dumb luck, rather than have anyone think that there was someone who could catch his projectiles.
His public relations officer had an appointment and let herself in as soon as security led out the costumed assassin. Smoothing out her pencil skirt, she sat down in the chair across from her.
“I’m afraid you might have to get used to exciting developments like this,” he said. She smiled.
“I’ve lived in the city my whole life. At this point, nothing surprises me. Karmen,” she said, extending a hand. He shook it without a second thought. She wore a red skirt suit and carried herself with what looked like a newfound confidence.
“I’m not sure about that. It seems I surprise people.”
She smiled.
“Yes, I would say so. I never thought there would be another player in this game. Tell me, do you expect any other assassins?”
“Only you, Elektra,” he said. “Are you working for Fisk?”
“No, he would not send me directly after Bullseye; he only sends an assassin when he has a reasonable expectation of success. Tell me, Malone, how did you know who I was?”
“I have research on all my competitors.” Oscorp had known about her for years; she had even killed one of their top engineers. She belonged in prison, but there was some chance that she could be useful. It was worth seeing why she had come to act as his public relations specialist.
“Very well. Fisk finds you dangerous; I find danger fascinating. I wanted to see what manner of danger you presented.”
“I’m an investor. I know what I’m doing.” He sighed. “Sometimes people seem to think that to solve problems, you have to use violence. There’s a time and a place.”
“Indeed.”
It did not take any kind of expert to tell that her agreement was restrained.
“I hope you see that my way of doing things is perfectly workable. I have a meeting with a man that, I’m told, you may recognize. His name is Matt Murdock.”
“Your office is simply a revolving door of danger, Mr. Malone. That you intend to hire me as a public relations specialist even while knowing-”
“That you can disguise yourself as well as you can means you know how to keep a secret.”
As soon as she got up after handing him what she likely only carried in as a pretext for their meeting, she turned around to see the blind lawyer, who pretended not to recognize her.
“There are no cameras in here,” he said.
“Thanks, Matches. I can never tell.”
Elektra left with a shake of the head and a thoroughly confused expression. Murdock smiled and took a seat.
“I suppose there’s no point in using our other names. I never figured you for a businessman, though.”
“There’s a lot that’s changed. In the event that I ever return to you without any idea that we had this conversation-” He thought for a moment. The lawyer was a trusted ally, and a firm believer in the rights of the individual. “-then the real Spider-Man has returned from across the gap that spans dimensions.”
“I see. I suppose I should be grateful that the one we have now is at least not a villain.”
“I should hope not,” he said. “At the same time, I do not expect to agree with every hero who darkens my door. Tell me, are you with Stark on the subject that weapons should only be in the hands of the government, and, I suppose, his own?”
“The Second Amendment guarantees a right that I do not particularly like defending. You’ll have to forgive me if in the field of criminal law, I am more likely to encounter those who misuse the right. I notice that you don’t carry a gun. Is it only to avoid arousing suspicion?”
“No. I don’t believe I have ever used one. It also has less to do with suspicion and more to do with honoring the costume that I received in some fateful transpiring that I scarcely understand. Suspicion is already decided.”
“I suppose it would be rather difficult to mimic the behaviors of someone from another dimension,” Murdock said. “Are you asking me to defend you if the Avengers decide to accuse you of fraud?”
“More or less. I had hoped you would be the ideal candidate for such a task, understanding the life of a vigilante as well as that of a law man. I hope you’re not one of the ones who never takes a guilty client.”
“No,” he said, smiling. “To decide not to take a client just because I believed him to be guilty would be to judge him without a trial. We must remember that we may only judge people by a standard that we would have applied to ourselves.”
“Excellent. You may have what you wish for your services, and if I can divide the work enough, I can even throw in a technologically advanced suit for you without anyone noticing.”
“Perhaps I should tell you that my services are frequently quite inexpensive, but my commitment to the law and justice is priceless. Perhaps I should ask where you stand on the subject.”
“I’m like you. It did not escape my notice that you separated the law and justice. Both are important, but when one contradicts the other, I tend to lean on the side of the latter. If there’s a law against wearing a mask and beating up criminals in order to bring them in, then it’s not a law I mind breaking.”
There was a pause. They stared at each other a moment, though Malone was aware that his legal representation had a tendency to look like he was staring, when, of course, he was blind. He uses something like echolocation to get around. Perhaps he should have called himself Batman.
“I suppose,” he said. “Justice, however, is not something as easily defined as you might hope. If every man had his own justice, there would only be chaos.”
“That’s correct,” he said. “If everyone were a vigilante, then there would be no law at all. At the same time, if everyone were committed to doing the right thing, then there would be no need for vigilantes. I do not see it as terribly hypocritical to prevent other people from being vigilantes if I think they are not doing the right thing.”
“I suppose,” Murdock said once more. He was speaking in almost insultingly simplistic terms. It seems the split ideals of the blind lawyer were torturing him. “No man may serve two masters.”
“I can’t think of how I would,” he said. “I’m actually quite accustomed to being my own boss.”
The meeting was basically over once they both had what they wanted, which was to understand each other. Yehuda had suggested a number of corrupt lawyers that he could have hired for his purposes, many having worked for Fisk Enterprises in the past, and he was familiar with the concept of a corporate lawyer, and would require a few, but for his personal defense, he needed someone else entirely.
There was, of course, one more meeting before the end of the day.
Curt Conners, who had apparently traveled through a dimensional gate before, had been working on the concept ever since then. Changing into his costume, he waited for the scientist to arrive, grateful that none of his meetings so far had run long. The final one was quite possibly the most important of the day.
“Spider-Man? I had heard there was a change in management in Oscorp, but I never imagined that you would be in the top office.”
“Surprise. I have some reason to believe that the dimensional rift I encountered recently was real, though I’m not sure what exactly happened.”
“Did Iron Man come to back you up as soon as the Avengers were back in range?”
That must have been why I was hearing mechanical sounds as soon as I was waking up. He thought for a moment about how to respond. It did not seem that Conners knew his identity, but in order to understand the problem, he had to be told.
“He did, but it might have been too late for me. I lose track sometimes; do you know who I really am?”
“Yes; I figured it out years ago, before you came to me needing help with mutations.”
That much, perhaps he should have known. He was aware that Parker had been a lab assistant to the good doctor starting when he was in high school, and that while working with cross-species genetics, managed to turn himself into a human-lizard hybrid in an attempt to regrow his arm. All the public knew was that Spider-Man helped contain the threat that the Lizard represented, but he was actually a brilliant scientist himself, especially for his age, and continued to believe in the promise of healing the sick and the permanently injured. Not only did he help Conners manage his symptoms, he came up with a way for the scientist to maintain control over himself while a reptile.
“Then there’s something you should know. I’m not the same person you knew.”
He went over everything that he knew, having made sure that nothing in the office was being recorded. It was a rollercoaster for the visitor, who clarified multiple times that though he had researched the subject to an extent, transdimensional travel was above his pay grade and to even get working the gate that he and many others had used to return to Earth was going to be challenging to say the least.
“Honestly, I know this sounds strange, but after getting to know some of the Avengers during the Secret Wars, this sounds like a ‘Doctor Strange’ problem. The fact that you seem to suffer selective memory loss and- as you have put it- you are someone else in Spider-Man's body- it's nothing like what I experienced with the gate. Yes, building the gate might be a place to start- we urgently need to communicate with the other side in order to see if it makes any more sense over there-”
“That’s what I suspect. Parker might have simply been in a vulnerable position when something from my side caused us to swap. Stark stated that there was a dimensional anomaly that he asked him to investigate because apparently there were no other allies in the area, and the matter was perceived to be resolved after I didn’t say anything about it.”
“You don’t trust any of the Avengers, do you? That’s why you came to me? I think I saw a lawyer on my way in here?”
“He didn’t see you. It’s not as simple as ‘power corrupts’, but power does make me cautious. I have no idea how they would respond if this development were accurately explained to them.”
There was a lull in the conversation as both of them were lost in thought. Conners got out an old pad and pen and started taking notes, probably starting to work out plans for the gate. He looked around the office as if he had not seen it before.
“You know, for a man who doesn’t know anyone here, and doesn’t remember anything, you’ve done remarkably well for yourself.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Well, some of us have to ask for grants whenever we want to work on something.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”