Spider-Man #1

This issue is from Ben Urich's perspective.

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Ever since Captain America’s conception, the field of science has been different. People used to develop cures for diseases, but now their focus is on creating living weapons. Many suggest that it’s only a matter of time before “genetic warfare” is our preferred method of battle. Capitalizing on this has the potential to make someone very, very wealthy. Due to the immense wealth that could come out of such experimentation, very few are concerned about the ethicality or even legality of what they’re doing. Though I have no way to prove it, I believe that Norman Osborn is one of these people. He reared his ugly head about a decade ago, when these illegal modifications were at an all-time high. A devastating explosion at his company’s testing facility took dozens of lives this week, and I intend to expose the truth about him to avenge their deaths.

 

“Thanks for meeting me, Mr. Osborn. I was wondering if you had time to discuss the recent incident at OsCorp’s laboratories.”

 

“I’d certainly be willing to discuss this—this tragedy. It would be my pleasure to answer any questions that you have.”

 

He almost seems sympathetic, but I can tell it’s a show. He couldn’t care less about the lives that were lost that night.

 

“May I record our conversation?”

 

“Certainly, Mr. Urich.”

 

Convincing people like this to go on the record is crucial. Norman Osborn’s own words are guaranteed to travel further than mine. As my mentor showed me, it’s also important to have a secondary recorder stowed away in your pocket in the event that something goes awry. In my career as an investigative journalist, that’s happened plenty of times.

 

Now it’s time for the exciting part: the first question. It’s the icebreaker, so to speak. I’ll start with something that he isn’t anticipating.

 

“Where were you on the night of the explosion?”

 

“Mr. Urich, please. I said I’d answer questions about the accident, not my personal life.”

 

Of course you did, Osborn. Of course you did.

 

“Can you confirm that you were there when the explosion occurred?”

 

“Mr. Urich, I can’t help but feel attacked. If you’re implying that I’m to blame, I’d let you know that my employees are like family. I would never put them in harm’s way.”

 

“My apologies. I wasn’t trying to blame the incident on you; I was merely trying to confirm the rumors.”

 

Osborn’s not the only one that’s a decent liar. But, as a journalist, I probably shouldn’t be bragging about that.

 

“Rumors?”

 

“Multiple witnesses claim that your limousine was on the premises.”

 

“Trust me when I say that I was at home with my son, Harry.”

 

There’s actually photographic evidence that his limousine was there when the explosion occurred, but I won’t tell him. Besides, that doesn’t necessarily mean that he was there.

 

“Alright. Moving on.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Do you know what caused the explosion?”

 

“I was told that there was a gas leak.”

 

“According to inside sources, the explosion occurred where your experimental Oz formula was being tested. Could this have—?”

 

“Sir, it was a laboratory. Anything could’ve affected the explosion, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

 

“Are you aware of the creature spotted outside of the facility moments after the explosion?”

 

“Creature? Sir, this is a waste of my time. I was under the impression that you worked for the Daily Bugle, not the National Enquirer. Sorry, but I’m going to have to excuse myself.”

 

We now know that the Norse gods exist, but a monster is implausible? That’s too funny, Osborn. He practically proved that there was something there by denying it. Was it an experiment gone wrong? Perhaps it was the cause of the explosion? Maybe I’d know the answers if he’d cooperate. Oh well, maybe I can still milk an article out of what I got from him.

 

“See you around, Mr. Osborn.”

Done