MARVEL -BLACK SPIDERMAN

"What is your name?"

"Harry Osborn."

"Who is your father?"

"Norman Osborn."

"What does he do?"

"He's a biological scientist."

"Do you love your father?"

"I think so."

"He loves you too, Harry. He loves you very much."

In a dimly lit room, Harry lay on a bed, his mind submerged in a deep sleep. Dr. Warren, sitting beside him, was carefully guiding Harry through a hypnosis session, his pen moving swiftly across a notepad as he jotted down observations.

Dr. Warren adjusted his glasses and softly inquired, "Do you remember how your mother passed away?"

With his eyes closed, Harry responded, his voice faint, "Yes, I remember."

"Do you harbor any resentment toward your father for this?" Dr. Warren prodded gently.

Harry paused, his mind foggy. "I don't know."

Dr. Warren continued his gentle prodding, offering subtle suggestions to Harry's subconscious. "Your mother loved you dearly, Harry. Your parents loved you deeply. Even though she's no longer here, your father will continue to love you, perhaps even more than before. You will forget the pain and find yourself becoming just like the rest of the Osborn family—focused on success and achievement."

Dr. Warren's voice carried a sense of authority as he continued planting these suggestions. "You'll embrace the life your family expects of you. You'll strive to be the best, and you'll get everything you've always wanted. The past will become a distant memory, and you'll become the person you need to be."

After a few moments of silence, Dr. Warren stood up, glancing down at Harry, who now appeared to be resting peacefully. Satisfied with the progress, Dr. Warren walked out of the room.

Downstairs, Norman Osborn awaited him in the living room.

"How is he?" Norman asked, his tone casual yet laden with underlying concern.

"He's in very good condition, Mr. Osborn," Dr. Warren said respectfully. "My suggestion is to continue the treatment. He hasn't had nightmares for several days."

Dr. Warren was a psychiatrist with years of experience in hypnosis, offering therapeutic suggestions to Harry that went beyond conventional psychological treatment. It was clear that his methods weren't purely therapeutic, but instead were subtly manipulative.

Norman glanced toward the stairs leading to Harry's room and inquired, "Does the keyword psychotherapy method really work?"

"It works wonderfully," Dr. Warren replied, though his tone carried a hint of uncertainty. "But… there's a concern. Mr. Osborn, this approach could have long-term psychological effects on Harry. I think it may be wise to reconsider."

Norman interrupted, his voice cold and firm. "Do you truly care about your methods, Doctor?"

Dr. Warren adjusted his glasses, his face tense with wrinkles, and hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Yes, I think Harry may need more professional psychological counseling."

Norman's gaze hardened. "Doctor, let me make one thing clear. You're receiving generous compensation for this job precisely because it's a special one. You don't need to worry about Harry's long-term well-being. Just do as I ask."

Dr. Warren remained silent for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. "Understood, Mr. Osborn." He turned and left the room, his expression unreadable.

Norman stood still for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he pondered Dr. Warren's words. He had his doubts, but the control he held over Harry's life mattered more to him than any potential psychological fallout.

---

Meanwhile, Uncle Ben and Peter were having an entirely different experience.

Uncle Ben was still processing the unexpected events of the evening as he and Peter walked through a local supermarket.

"I never imagined you'd win that bonus, Peter. Mei and I are so proud of you," Uncle Ben said, a grin spreading across his face.

Peter didn't feel the slightest bit guilty. He had resorted to forging a certificate for a science fair that he hadn't participated in, ensuring that he could present it as proof of his achievement. He paid someone to select him as the winner and pocketed $50,000, making it look entirely legitimate.

He hadn't even needed a scholarship, as this scam would cover it all, and Aunt Mei and Uncle Ben would never suspect anything amiss.

As the two continued to shop, they made their way to the counter, where Uncle Ben asked the clerk, "Do you have any large flashlights with a cover that blocks the light?"

The clerk, a thin man with sharp features, raised an eyebrow. "Are you going hunting?"

"What? No, no. I just need it for night fishing," Uncle Ben explained with a laugh.

"Ah, right." The clerk quickly led them to a flashlight, though it didn't have a cover. He suggested, "You can use some felt cloth and cut a hole in the middle, and it should work like a penlight."

"Sounds good, thanks," Uncle Ben said, smiling.

Peter followed his uncle, amused by the interaction. They continued their shopping, chatting briefly about the new developments in Peter's "success."

Just as they were about to complete their purchase, the door to the supermarket suddenly burst open.

Two black men wearing North Carolina Rollie hats stormed into the store, their faces set in grim determination.

"Don't move! This is a robbery! Stay where you are!" one of them shouted, his pistol aimed directly at the store owner.

Both Peter and Uncle Ben froze as the situation quickly escalated. The man with the gun barked orders. "Open the cash register! Now!"

The other robber turned his attention to Uncle Ben, his eyes scanning him for valuables. "Hey, old man, hand over your wallet."

Uncle Ben instinctively stepped in front of Peter, protecting him from the potential danger. Though Uncle Ben's pride wouldn't usually allow him to surrender so easily, he knew the safety of his nephew came first. He hesitated for a moment before handing over his wallet.

Peter, who had been standing behind his uncle, felt a surge of gratitude. Despite all the uncertainty and troubles in his life, Uncle Ben always put him first. Even in moments of crisis, his actions spoke volumes about how much he cared for him.

As Peter stood there, his heart swelling with emotion, his instincts kicked in.

With barely a sound, he shot a tiny, near-invisible black raindrop from his wrist, striking the hand of the robber holding the gun. The man screamed in pain as the pistol dropped to the floor, his hand burning from the corrosive contact.

Before the second robber could react, Peter sent another blast toward him. The second man howled in pain as his wrist was hit, and he collapsed to the floor.

Uncle Ben and the store clerk watched in stunned silence as Peter grabbed a nearby metal trash can and, with swift precision, slammed it into the two robbers, knocking them out cold.

The two men lay motionless on the floor, groaning in pain as the clerk and Uncle Ben exchanged wide-eyed glances.

Peter stood over them, breathing heavily. "Zero-dollar shopping, huh?" he muttered to himself, a dry humor in his voice.

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