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Digimon Ch 118
🕑 Added 2025-11-17 15:22:28 +0000 UTCBack in the lab, the world snapped back into focus, and Ethan materialized before Peter and Gwen. The sterile hum of the equipment replaced the electric thrum of the Oscorp mainframe. He straightened, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead.
"I found something!" Ethan announced, his voice carrying a mixture of triumph and frustration. "A restricted file, locked down tighter than a drum. But it needs a DNA scan to access it."
Peter's head snapped up, his eyes widening. "A DNA scan? You're kidding me."
Gwen leaned forward, her brow furrowed. "What kind of information could require a DNA scan? This is getting weirder by the minute."
A silence descended as they processed the new information. A DNA scan. It implied that Norman Osborn wanted to restrict that information for a very specific set of people. The question is who.
Brainstorming began, a flurry of suggestions and discarded ideas. Peter paced back and forth, while Gwen tapped her pen against her notepad, her expression thoughtful.
"There has to be a way around it," Peter muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Some kind of bypass, a loophole..."
Ethan shook his head. "I'm good, but I'm not that good. This thing is Fort Knox. I'd need weeks, maybe months, and we don't have that kind of time."
Peter stopped pacing and turned to Gwen. "Maybe we can ask Harry?"
Gwen's face clouded over, a flicker of doubt in her eyes. "I don't know, Peter… Is that a good idea?"
Peter stepped closer, his voice persuasive. "It's worth a shot. He's Norman's son, he might have access. Maybe there's some family override, something he doesn't even know about."
"But involving Harry?" Gwen pressed, her tone filled with concern. "He's already going through so much. And we don't even know if we can trust him right now."
Ethan watched them, weighing the pros and cons. He knew that Gwen's caution stemmed from a place of genuine concern for Harry's well-being. And after seeing what Harry saw that one fateful night, Ethan is sure that Harry is traumatized. It was also obvious that Harry and Norman's relationship is complicated. However, this was the best lead they had.
"It's our best lead right now," Ethan said, stepping into the conversation. "We can't afford to ignore it. So, anyone know where Harry is?"
The weight of their situation settled over them. Their hopes for saving Norman, maybe even undoing some of the chaos unleashed in the city, rested on this one risky move. Ethan hoped they weren’t making a mistake.
The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted.
A gust of wind howled around the gargoyles of the Osborn Mansion, its grandeur a stark contrast to the bleakness within. The vast, echoing halls were draped in shadows, dust motes dancing in the faint light that filtered through the arched windows. Once a symbol of power and opulence, the mansion now felt like a mausoleum, a monument to lost glory.
Here, amidst the cavernous rooms and antique furnishings, Harry Osborn drifted like a ghost. He was lost in a fog of worry and grief. The disappearance of his father had left a gaping hole in his life, a void that echoed with unanswered questions and unspoken fears.
He wandered through the library, his fingers trailing over the spines of leather-bound books that his father had loved to read. Harry remembers when his father used to read books to him. They would sit there in the chair and talk. He stops, and reaches up to rub his eye. He turns to the side, not wanting anyone to see him cry.
Harry tried to remember the good times. He and his father were in the kitchen. Norman had just put on his apron, and they were making cookies. Harry was excited because this was the first time that he was helping his dad bake. Harry remembers grabbing his father's hand and holding it close to him. But it was not enough.
Perhaps Norman’s coldness was a defense mechanism, a way to shield himself from the pain of his own upbringing. Harry didn’t know the real reason, but whatever the cause, the effect had been the same. They were estranged. He now regrets not being a better son. He wonders what it is that he could have done.
He picked up his phone, his thumb hovering over the call button. It was the fifth time he’d tried to reach his father today. Each unanswered call chipped away at his hope, replaced by a growing unease. He pressed the button, holding the phone to his ear as it rang and rang, the silence on the other end becoming a deafening roar.
"This is Norman Osborn. Leave a message."
Harry hung up, a sigh escaping his lips. His father’s voice, cold and distant even in a recording, sent a chill down his spine. Where was he? Was he safe? Had something happened to him? The questions swirled around his mind, each more terrifying than the last. He couldn't help but wonder if his father was still alive.
He sank into a plush armchair, the weight of his worries pressing down on him. He closed his eyes, trying to conjure up a memory, a moment of genuine connection with his father. But the images that came were fragmented, distorted by years of neglect and unspoken resentments.
Suddenly, the library doors burst inward with a crash that echoed through the silent mansion. Startled, Harry scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding against his ribs. He scanned the room, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
"Who are you?! What do you want?! Security!" Harry barked, his voice trembling slightly. He instinctively reached for the panic button hidden beneath the armrest of the chair.
Before his fingers could make contact, a figure clad in a dark jacket stepped forward, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. A web-slinging hero dropped behind the first individual, the mask preventing anyone from identifying him.
"We're not here to hurt you, Harry," the first figure, known as Cipher, said, his voice calm but firm.
"Just hear us out, okay?" Spider-Man added, his tone placating. He shifted from one foot to the other, unsure if Harry would attack him.
Harry stared at the pair, his mind racing. The suit seemed familiar. Hadn’t Spider-Man saved him just the other day from the thing that attacked him? His grip on the panic button loosened slightly.
"We have a clue about where your father is," Cipher continued, cutting through the tension. "But we need your help to unlock it."
"This is the only way we can help you find him," Spider-Man added, his voice sincere.
Harry remained skeptical. He eyed them with suspicion, his defenses still raised. "Why should I trust you? You're just some… vigilantes!"
"Every second we waste, every question you ask, lowers his chances," Cipher interrupted, his tone hardening. "The data we need is time-sensitive. If you hesitate for too long, there may be no father left to save. It will be too late."
A battle raged within Harry. Part of him wanted to dismiss them as crazy or delusional, another wanted to believe them. These masked strangers were offering a lead, the first tangible hope he'd had since his father disappeared. They knew about his dad's project. But were they genuine?
He looked at them, weighing his options. He looked at the armored individual and then at Spider-Man. This was the only lead he had at the moment. He needed to trust them.
"Alright, fine," Harry said reluctantly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But if this is a trick…"
Cipher stepped forward, his eyes conveying a sense of resolve. "It's not. We promise. Let's go."
Spider-Man tilted his masked head, his tone shifting to business. "Do you know where your dad usually works? Here, in the mansion, maybe? Or does he have a secure terminal back at Oscorp?"
Harry hesitated, his gaze drifting towards the darkened hallway. "He had a private study, on the third floor. Off-limits to everyone, even me. I doubt anyone has ever set foot inside."
"Did he have any access to the database in Oscorp in there?" Spider-Man asked.
"I don't know," Harry mumbled.
Cipher's eyes gleamed with resolve. "Good. That's where we need to go. Lead the way, Osborn." The less that Spider-Man knew about his identity, the better.
Without another word, Harry turned and strode towards the grand staircase. A sense of grim determination hardened his features, replacing the earlier haze of despair. He didn't know what awaited them on the third floor, but he was ready to face it. His father might still be alive, and that was all that mattered.
