Sins of the Fathers

Gwen Stacy took a deep breath as she stood at the door to George Stacy's lavish upscale penthouse. She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head, her long blonde hair flying behind her, before she forced herself to reach out and ring the doorbell.

All she got from him was a raised eyebrow as he answered the door, before he looked up and down at her disapprovingly.

"You've been shopping with Jill again, I take it?" he scowled as she came in.

"What makes you say that?" Gwen replied, an acid edge in her voice.

"That skirt, for one," George said sourly. "I've told Nancy a dozen times she needs to get that little snip under control, before she-"

"Before she what?" Gwen started. She looked around George's finely decorated parlor, noting the many hunting trophies, the guns on the walls, the football memorabilia, the pictures of baseball games, and other similar decorations her father used to adorn his house.

"Never mind," George said in a slightly airy tone, waving a dismissive hand as he and Gwen went in and sat down. "What are you doing here, anyway?" George demanded as he strode over to the bar, returning to the scotch on the rocks he had been preparing before she had interrupted him.

"I've come for Mom's check," Gwen answered. "I take it you're not too busy, one way or another, to keep up the payments?"

SPIDER-WOMAN #3

"SINS OF THE FATHERS"

"So you're still spending my money?" George noted, his eyebrows knitted. "And yes, I'm keeping up the payments to my darling wife. We both know how much I love her."

Gwen flinched, even she tried to ignore the memories of her mother's screams that were aroused by the smell of George's liquor.

"And how are things with you?" George continued as he leaned back in his chair, ignoring his daughter's reaction. "Still wasting my money on that stupid Drama major?"

"It's not stupid!" Gwen snapped at her father, an ugly scowl crossing her face. "I'm much better at them than-"

"Than the Law or Accounting degrees I said you should enroll in?" George's eyes narrowed dangerously. "At least then I'd be getting my money's worth on my investment…"

"The way you do on all your investments, I'm sure," Gwen replied acidly.

George's eyes flared in a rage, and he stood up, his cheeks flushing with anger. Finally, he regained control of himself with a visible effort.

"Even so," he stopped to take a deep breath, "you at least know your place, even if I am not entirely fond of your choices of…attire," he frowned.

It took all of Gwen's effort not to string George up with her webbing.

"That's what I always liked about you and your mother, you know," George continued. "You've always known your places, not like these damned mutants, or all the blasted superheroes that have been appearing over the last decade," he cursed. "Just look at this newspaper!" he continued, throwing Gwen a copy of the Daily Globe with a picture of Spider-Woman on the front cover. "Now the mutants are trying to make themselves into superheroes!"

Gwen looked at the newspaper, then up at her father, whose face was dark with anger.

"Damned costumes," he muttered. "They won't…"

"What about Mom's check?" interrupted Gwen.

"…What?" George Stacy began. "Oh, yes…come along, then," he continued, leading Gwen into his office, where he wrote out a check and handed it over to her. Leaning back in his chair, his eyes suddenly gleamed, as a wide grin spread across his face.

"Tell me, Gwen…perhaps there is a way we can put that Drama degree you're going for to good use," he smiled.

Gwen never liked it when her father smiled.

"Some friends and I have discussed putting together some public service announcements criticizing those superheroes. After all, who do they think they are, taking the law into their own hands? The property damage they cause, the lives they put in danger…" George started.

"What does this have to do with me?" Gwen asked.

"I could persuade my colleagues to give you the lead role in some of those announcements," George offered. "It'd be good for your career, after all. You've said how hard finding good jobs is in New York is…"

Gwen just stood there for a moment.

"I'll…have to get back to you," she finally answered. "I might not be able to fit it into my schedule."

"Very well," George frowned. "Now, unless you have some other business to discuss with me, get going. I have work to do."

"Of course," Gwen said coldly, heading for the door.

Over the next hour after Gwen's departure, George spent an hour going through his e-mails, and typing his regular correspondence. Finishing his scotch, he poured himself a second one before ringing for his limousine.

A short twenty-minute drive led him to the imposing corporate headquarters of Osborn Industries. Known as one of America's leading chemical companies, Oscorp, as it was commonly called, owed much of its success to its president and CEO, Norman Osborn. Known for turning Oscorp around after his alcoholic father had driven it into the ground, Norman Osborn had built his company into one of the hottest properties on Wall Street, earning himself a cover story in Forbes Magazine entitled "The Miracle Worker."

There was little mistaking Norman Osborn as George strode into his immaculately designed office. Of only middling height but powerfully built, with deep, intense brown eyes and reddish hair arranged in cornrows, Norman Osborn radiated an almost tangible feeling of wealth and power. He and George were old friends from years back, and George had extensively worked for Osborn as a consultant in a number of his business activities.

That didn't mean, however, that the two were close. In their years of working together, George had noticed that Osborn never really seemed close to anyone-and it always struck George just how little he really knew about his colleague. They golfed together, and occasionally had dinner, but Norman had always been reticent about himself.

There was one thing, however, that George had noticed about Norman-the lights that flared in his eyes whenever his emotions came out.

On the thankfully rare occasions when Norman had shown his emotional side, George had always realized just how very, very unwise it would be to make an enemy of Norman Osborn.

Norman stood up to receive George, and the two men shook hands and sat down.

"You seem tense," Norman stated, glancing over the grim expression on George's face.

"Damn wife, damn daughter," George answered, shuffling his papers irritably. "I fucking hate biology. At least you got lucky…"

"Don't insult me," Norman snorted. "My son's a disgrace. From what I've seen of your daughter, at least she isn't a crybaby like Harry. If it weren't for that Peter Parker boy, he'd be on academic probation."

"Peter Parker boy?" George asked.

"A brilliant intellect, a Chemistry major," Norman noted approvingly. "Strong-willed, hardworking, everything you could want in a son. He's been helping Harry with his studies. I've got my eye on him-when he graduates, he'll be a prize catch for Oscorp."

"Speaking of which," George noted, "I brought the new contract for the Kingpin's 'waste disposal' services," he answered, taking a sheaf of papers out of his briefcase and handing them over to Norman.

Norman glanced over them, as his eyes flared.

"These prices are outrageous!" he hissed.

"Still cheaper than disposing of the chemicals legally, but you're right. Maybe we should switch over to Crimewave, the Maggia, or that Philippe Bazin guy?" George asked.

"Check Crimewave and Bazin," Norman decided after a moment of thought. "But not the Maggia. I'd rather lobby Congress to repeal the Clean Water Act than give them any of my money."

"I'll make the calls," George nodded as he moved on to other details.

Gwen shoved her way through the doors leading into the apartment building where George resided, nearly knocking over the doorman as he reached over to open it for her. Not even noticing his angry scowl, she continued marching down the street, her face a mask of iron.

She hated having to come down and pick up the checks.

The images always came back.

"We've got good news, Mr. Stacy," Dr. Donald Blake told George as he waited outside the delivery room. "The delivery was a success, and you have a beautiful little girl!"

The look of eager anticipation on George Stacy's face was suddenly replaced with a long frown, as his shoulders drooped.

Even when she was little, Gwen noticed how her father had difficulty looking directly at her for many years after her birth.

"George, please, don't worry! The loss of the Utrecht account isn't the end of the world-we'll figure something out, I know we will!" Helen Stacy tried to comfort her distraught husband, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Shut up!" George roared, rising from his desk and striking her across the face. "Do you even realize how long I spent working on this?" he continued, slapping her again. "You don't even know how many favors I called in to get the inside track with Utrecht! And then Simon turns around and stabs me in the back! The same way it's always fucking been!"

Sitting down, he took a long, hard pull at the bottle of beer he had taken to comfort his sorrows.

"George-" Helen began. "We'll find a way, we always do-"

"Don't insult me!" George shouted, striking again. "You're not the one who has to put up with those sons of bitches, laughing behind your back! They always screw me over like this! And what about you?" he demanded, shoving Helen back against the wall. "Ever since she came along," George snarled, spitting out the word as if it were an epithet, even as he pointed at the six-year old Gwen, "it's all I can do to keep us from losing the goddamn house!"

"George," Helen began.

Her husband's next blow knocked her to the floor.

Of course, as Gwen recalled, George never looked at her, even when he pointed at her.

"Dad?" the thirteen year-old Gwen asked, pushing the door open. "I'm sorry to bug you, but I need help with-"

Just about the last thing Gwen expected to see was her father in the arms of a woman besides her mother, especially when that woman was, at the very most, twice Gwen's age.

"Gwen!" George yelled in shock. "Get out, now!"

Gwen just stood there in shock.

The call girl George was with picked up a glass decanter from the bedside table.

"Get out of here, you little bitch!" she screamed at Gwen, who just barely shut the door before the thrown decanter shattered against it.

"I'll kill you if you tell!" Gwen heard the call girl shout as she ran down the hallway.

Gwen took several deep breaths as she stepped into the Coffee Bean, one of Empire State University's on-campus coffee shops, to meet with Harry and Liz. They were already there, seated together at a table. As Gwen headed towards them, Liz waved and stood up with a smile, as Harry nodded in greeting. Ordering a latte of her own, Gwen greeted her friends and sat down to join them.

"How'd the Bio quiz go?" Gwen asked them.

"Good enough," Liz smiled. "I got a 77, better than I expected."

Harry scowled at this.

"Don't ask," he muttered, drinking his Seven-Up to calm his churning stomach. "Bad enough my dad's riding me over this, I don't need to hear it from you."

"Give us a little credit," Gwen shot back. "Why the hell would you think we'd be making fun of you over it?"

"…Sorry," Harry muttered. "Dad read me the riot act all last night. I tried to tell him that Peter blew me off for that study session, but he wouldn't listen. The way he goes on, you'd think he'd rather have Peter as his son anyway," he grumbled.

"Asshole," Gwen scowled. "Sounds like he probably would."

Harry turned ashen pale, as Liz stared at her in astonishment.

"…What the hell, Gwen?" Harry finally asked, half in shock and half in disbelief.

"Come on, Gwen," Liz said reproachfully. "You should know better than that. I mean, honestly!"

A wave of shame fell over Gwen, as she saw Harry's pained expression.

"Please, Harry, I'm sorry," she apologized. "I know what it's like to have a dad who seems like he'd rather have someone else as his kid. You can't even confide in him?"

"Hell no," Harry muttered. "Every time I try to talk to him, he just tells me to shut my mouth and be a man. It's not like he'd understand, anyway-he's the one who pushed me into taking Business and Chemistry. You think he'd pay for me to take Film Studies, like I wanted?"

"Well…" Gwen began.

"Well, he wouldn't," Harry muttered. "Besides, he's hardly ever around anymore anyway. When he's not at Oscorp, he's off running to God knows where on some other business trip."

"Consider yourself lucky in that case," Gwen answered. "At least Norman Osborn doesn't-" she stopped short.

"What's wrong, Gwen?" Liz asked.

"Nothing," she replied, flipping back a strand of her hair that had come in front of her eyes.

"Are you sure?" Liz pressed.

"Yes!" Gwen insisted, rolling her eyes.

"You're a bad liar, Gwen," Liz shook her head. "Please, can't we-"

"No!" Gwen snapped. "It's none of your business, okay?"

"I'm sorry," Liz said, recoiling in surprise. "Do you-"

"Let's just get to class, okay?" Gwen cut her off.

The quad of Empire State University was just like that of any other American university, although the bad winter weather prevented the student body from using the quad for their usual activities of studying and Frisbee. Nonetheless, it was occupied by more than two dozen students passing through on their way to one class or another, besides Gwen, Liz and Harry.

The air was filled with the usual chatter, and Gwen and her friends were each occupied with their own thoughts, until they heard the horrible, discordant howling. Looking around in alarm, Gwen was shocked to see strange, dark winged shapes flying through the sky down towards the students. She briefly did a double-take as she realized what they were.

Winged monkeys, like something out of The Wizard of Oz. Winged monkeys, except they were real, and screaming in fury as they swooped down to grab a number of students. Some ran in terror, others shouted in confusion, still others tried to fight the monkeys, and were either knocked unconscious or swept up by the hideous creatures.

Gwen's mind raced as she tried to figure out what to do. One monkey swooped at her, and she retaliated with a roundhouse kick. The creature turned away before the blow could fully connect, but Gwen's enhanced strength left the wretched creature howling in pain, before it turned around and grabbed Liz, pulling her into the air before Gwen could catch it. She heard another cry behind her, and quickly saw that another of the creatures had grabbed Harry.

In less than a minute, more than seventeen people had been kidnapped by the strange, twisted things. Gwen tried running after the creatures, but they were simply too fast, and were soon out of sight.

Gwen cursed out loud, developing a bitter tension in her limbs, her stomach and her heard. However, the sensation of illness was replaced by an insistent, overwhelming tingling feeling that nagged at her temples. At first, she tried to ignore it, attempting to work out where the monkeys would have taken Liz and Harry, but the feeling continued to build up within her, until she finally felt as though she would scream out loud.

A quick detour into the school's gymnasium, located right near the quad, allowed Gwen to quickly change costume, thankfully without being noticed. The spectacular Spider-Woman soon took to the air, following the insistent mental pull that she simply could not deny. Swinging through the air, ignoring the calls of recognition from the people in the streets below, Spider-Woman somehow knew that she would be able to find Liz and Harry this way.

She didn't know how, or why-probably some new aspect of her powers, she decided-but that wasn't important at the moment.

Harry and Liz, still carried by the winged monkeys, soon found themselves in Central Park, flying for another bizarre sight, that of a large wall of thorns that sprouted over and above the leafless trees and bushes of the Park. Other flocks of monkeys flew in from other directions, all carrying more people, abduction victims just like them. As they flew over the thorn barrier, they found yet another strange sight, that of an impromptu theater stage, erected in old Renaissance style with seats. Landing in the theater, the monkeys quite forcefully dragged their victims into the seats, viciously clawing and beating any who resisted.

Looking at the stage nervously, the "audience" saw what resembled a group of toy soldiers march out, some from each wing, before lining up in military formation. Blowing a fanfare on their medieval toy trumpets, the audience was suddenly stunned to see the masks of Comedy and Tragedy above the stage swing open, as a strangely-clad figure fell out.

He was dressed in a bizarre costume with a blood red torso and boots, and deep blue leggings, arms and gloves, a wide-brimmed red collar that reached well above his head, and a leering skull-like mask.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen!" the strangely masked man greeted the audience. "Perhaps you're wondering why our…'associates'…have brought you here?"

"What the hell is this?" one man yelled. "You one of those supervillains or something?"

"We're not a supervillain!" the masked man shouted in a plaintive, more childlike voice. "And we don't want to hurt you, we-"

"Shut up, Percy!" the man suddenly yelled again, this time in his original voice. "Although on one level Percy is right-we're showmen, not supervillains. All we want to do is entertain you fine people, after which we'll be paid for our troubles."

"Who the hell are you?" a woman shouted in confusion.

"We're-" the man began in his plaintive voice.

"Shut up, Percy!" the man suddenly snapped again in his stronger voice, seemingly arguing with himself.

"But, Barton-" the man began to whine once again.

"I'm in control here!" 'Barton' snapped, before once again addressing the audience. "We're called the Brothers Grimm. And, again, we will provide you fine people with some entertainment, after which we'll be paid for the show we have given you. All your money, all your jewelry, what have you."

"Go to hell!" one of the men in the audience shouted.

"Of course, should you refuse to pay our salary," the Brothers Grimm threatened, waving his hand. Out of nowhere, it seemed, a small brightly-colored Easter egg appeared in his hand. The Brothers Grimm casually threw it to the ground before the front row of seats, where it exploded violently, leaving a large, jagged hole in the ground.

"Well…you get the picture," the Brothers Grimm smiled.

(Next Issue: As she struggles to save Harry and Liz, Spider-Woman is forced to fight for her life against the twisted and mysterious Brothers Grimm. At the same time, she is confronted with some unpleasant implications…All this and more in Spider-Woman #4: No Clowning Around!)