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Spider-Man: Black and Blue (AU) Chapter 30: Intervention
🕑 Added 2025-10-04 08:14:26 +0000 UTC[Third Person POV]
Norman strode down the polished hallway toward his office, the sharp echo of his Italian leather shoes snapping against the marble floor. His expression was a storm of irritation, jaw tight and eyes narrowed as though each passing employee was merely an obstacle in his path. Beside him, his secretary Sophie matched his brisk pace, a sleek tablet tucked securely against her arm as she read off the latest departmental updates in a crisp, professional tone.
“Over the past several months,” Sophie began, glancing at the glowing screen, “Adrian’s progress with his hover technology has slowed considerably. No signs of advancement have been reported. Meanwhile, Dr. Connors’ experiments on crossbreed mutation are ahead of schedule, and Dr. Octavius’ team in Research and Development has already made significant progress regarding shock-based weaponry and experimental energy technology—”
She hesitated when she noticed Norman’s eyes glaze slightly, his attention drifting inward.
Norman barely heard her. ‘Adrian’s hover tech…’ The thought played in his mind like a tempting whisper. ‘If I could repurpose that for something greater… a weapon, perhaps, or even an asset I could mold into a villain… The applications are limitless. But I’ll need more resources—and someone with steady hands to make it happen.’
His thin smile flickered for only a second before his face hardened again.
“Sophie,” he said abruptly, cutting her report short, “prepare a severance check.”
She stopped mid-step, blinking at him in surprise. “For whom should it be addressed, sir?”
“Adrian,” Norman replied coldly without breaking stride. “Inform him that his services are no longer required. His work is a waste of our time and resources. In addition, reduce the funding for Dr. Connors’ department and transfer the excess to R&D. Regrowing a limb is admirable, but shock-based weaponry is far more… useful. And call Otto. I want him in my office within the hour. We have much to discuss.”
“Yes, Mr. Osborn. It shall be done.” Sophie’s fingers flew across her tablet, the soft tap of her rapid typing echoing behind him as Norman pushed through the glass doors of his office.
---
Across the city, in a quieter, far less polished setting, Damon lounged at the dining room table. He leaned back precariously in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, the other lazily balancing the chair on two legs.
In front of him stood his parents, Lori and Dylan, both with their arms firmly crossed. Dylan carried a laptop under one arm, his expression somewhere between frustration and disbelief. Lori’s face was calmer, but her sharp eyes betrayed equal concern.
From the hallway, two smaller heads peeked around the corner—Danielle and Daphne, Damon’s sisters. Their eyes gleamed with barely restrained curiosity, twin grins spreading as they sensed the beginning of something juicy.
Dylan set the laptop down on the table with a decisive thunk and flipped it open. The bright screen illuminated a frozen image of an online article. Dylan jabbed a finger at it, his tone sharp. “What’s this?”
Damon tilted his head like a puzzled cat. “A laptop?” he answered, voice dripping with mock innocence.
Lori’s lips twitched, fighting a smile. “I think he means what’s on the screen, honey,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of amusement.
“Ohhh…” Damon leaned forward, eyes narrowing in an exaggerated squint. “Looks like… a news article, if I’m not mistaken.” He tapped his chin as if deep in scholarly thought.
Dylan’s irritation flashed across his face like a sudden spark. He tapped more insistently, finger pressing against the photo of Spider-Man rescuing Anastasia from Electro. “I’m talking about this—this specifically.”
“Ahhh, I see,” Damon said, lifting a finger in mock realization. “That, dear father, is what we call… a photograph.” His grin widened into a dazzling mask of feigned enlightenment.
From the hallway, Danielle and Daphne snickered, the sound quickly stifled when Dylan’s sharp glare shot their way. They ducked back behind the wall—only for their heads to pop back out again seconds later like curious meerkats.
“Exactly!” Dylan snapped, slamming his palms against the table for emphasis. “A photograph that says it was taken by Damon Drake!”
“And that,” Damon declared proudly, pointing to the credit line with theatrical flair, “is my name!”
His sisters broke into another fit of giggles before vanishing behind the wall once again, though their glowing eyes betrayed their continued surveillance.
“We know it’s your name,” Dylan said through gritted teeth, struggling to keep his voice even. “What I want to know is how—and why—your name is attached to this. How did you take this picture? What were you doing this close to Spider-Man and Electro in the first place?”
Lori placed a calming hand on her husband’s arm, though her gaze remained firmly on Damon. “What your father is trying to say,” she explained gently, “is that for you to have taken this picture, you had to be dangerously close to the fight. And judging by the other articles we’ve found…”
She pressed the arrow keys, and the screen shifted to reveal a carousel of Daily Bugle headlines, each accompanied by another sharp, professional photo of Spider-Man mid-battle—all credited to Damon Drake.
“…this clearly isn’t the first time,” Lori finished, her voice soft but laced with unmistakable concern.
“By taking these pictures, you’re putting yourself in real danger, Damon. This Spider-Man isn’t someone you should be tailing for fun,” Dylan said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. His normally easygoing expression was unusually hard and stern, the weight of parental concern pressing into every word.
Damon, perched casually in his chair, simply reached back to ruffle the hair at the nape of his neck. If the seriousness of the moment rattled him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he offered a lazy shrug and a half-smile. “What can I say? I’m an artist. I found my muse. Photography’s just another way to express myself.”
Lori let out a soft, anxious breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can’t your muse be a little less dangerous?” she asked, her tone caught between worry and exasperation. “We’re scared that one day you’re going to follow him into something you can’t walk away from. God forbid you chase him into a gunfight or another supervillain attack. A single stray bullet and—”
“Okay, okay, come on now, guys.” Damon leaned back further in his chair, balancing it on two legs as if to underline how unbothered he was. “I’m not that stupid.”
“Clearly you are,” Dylan shot back, frustration sharpening his voice. “I’ve seen the aftermath photos from that fight with Electro—” He paused mid-sentence, dragging a hand down his face. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”
Then he froze, eyes widening as he caught Damon’s raised eyebrow. “Wait—that didn’t come out right. I’m not calling you stupid. You’re not stupid. But what you’re doing is stupid.”
“Jeez, thanks, Dad. Your support means the world to me,” Damon said flatly, rolling his eyes as he leaned even farther back, daring gravity to take the chair down.
Lori gave her husband a pointed look before turning back to Damon. “Can’t you channel this energy into something—anything—less dangerous?”
“No,” Damon replied without hesitation, crossing his arms with the stubbornness of a barricade. “This pays well and I like doing it.”
“Stop being so hardheaded,” Dylan snapped, his patience thinning. “Are you really willing to throw your life away for a few measly dollars?”
“There’s nothing measly about the thousand-plus dollars I made this week alone,” Damon countered, his eyes sparking with defiance. “And you’re both exaggerating the danger—”
That was enough to ignite a full-blown argument. Words began to overlap, voices rising like clashing cymbals as father and son squared off across the table. Lori tried to interject, but the two Drake men were already locked in a stubborn volley of protests, warnings, and sarcastic retorts.
---
From the hallway, Danielle and Daphne exchanged a long-suffering glance.
Before they could decide whether to interrupt, the front door swung open with a creak and a burst of cool evening air. In stepped Dane, their eldest brother, juggling five stacked pizza boxes with the casual confidence.
“Yo, yo, what’s the haps?” he called cheerfully, his voice cutting through the tension like a welcomed breeze.
“Dane!” Danielle and Daphne squealed in unison, their earlier boredom evaporating into excitement. They rushed forward to greet him, wrapping their arms around his torso before he even had a chance to set the pizzas down.
“What are you doing here?” Daphne asked, reaching up to lighten his load by swiping one of the boxes off the top.
“I had some free time and thought I’d drop by to see how everyone’s doing,” he said warmly, hugging them back. Then he paused, frowning as the distant sounds of raised voices filtered in from the kitchen. “Are Mom and Dad… arguing?”
“Nope,” Danielle said through a mischievous grin, lifting the lid of a pizza box and stealing a steaming slice. “They’re staging an intervention for Damon.”
“Wait, Damon? He’s in trouble?” Dane blinked in disbelief, balancing the remaining boxes on one arm. “Him?”
“He’s been taking pictures of Spider-Man,” Danielle explained around a mouthful of pizza.
“Ah…” Dane chuckled, a wary note creeping into his voice. “Yeah. I can see why Dad might not love that.”
Daphne tilted her head curiously. “You’re a cop. Have you met Spider-Man before?”
“Not yet,” Dane admitted, eyes lighting up despite himself. “Although I’m still a rookie, so I can’t even call myself a full cop just yet. But I really hope I get the chance someday. He seems so cool!”
With pizzas in hand, the three of them tiptoed toward the kitchen like conspirators. They peeked around the corner just in time to catch another round of the ongoing argument, Damon’s sarcastic quips clashing against Dylan’s sharp rebuttals.
“Should I make myself known?” Dane whispered, amusement tugging at the edges of his smile.
“Nah,” Danielle whispered back, taking another bite of her slice without a shred of guilt. “Let’s see how long this goes on first.”
The siblings settled in for the show, their shared smirks lit by the glow of the kitchen lights, as the family’s tug-of-war played out just a few feet away.
