The Amazing Spider-Man: Addicts.

Hooked.

The darkness of night had clawed it's away across Manhattan. The sky dotted with bright specks of light. Light that is already dead. Light travelling so slow, that its cause has already fizzled out and dissipated. It doesn't even exist, yet it's actions still affect the present. We still stare at it in awe, or pass it by completely.

On this particular night in Manhattan, the sky was releasing an onslaught of rain. Crashing down hard enough to almost pierce through ones skin. Accompanied by streaks of light and thunder, all in all it was quite an uneasy night for many New Yorkers. But after all, it was the big apple. The city that never ever slept. So car's horned and chugged, and people squealed and yelled over the downpour as their heals clacked on the street.

New York was also infamous for it's towering sky scrapers, and within one of this skyscrapers sat Harry Osborn. Alone, in his penthouse. As he was a lot these days. He never really heard from his old pal's, not even Peter. They met occasionally, but Pete always seemed so busy. Busier than Harry was, and he was helping run an empire with his father. Though he'd always assume his dad had made things easier for him, which he wasn't certain he should despise his father for or applaud him for. Norman always saw his son as weak. Always compared him to Peter, to everyone. He never said the words, but he gave the stares.

Harry himself was sat on the couch, his knee shaking. Foot tapping on the varnished wood of his home. His expression was one of anxious assumption. As if he was desperately waiting for something to happen. Accompanied by this concerning scene, was the sound of an old grandfather clock. Ticking. Tick. Tick. Tick...

Then, the door bell rang. Harry's neck immediately twisted so his eyes met the door handle, and he began to scurry along toward it. Fiddling with the handle before finally cracking the door open. There, stood a man. In a pea coat, balding with thinning, curled hair around his head, ansd large spectacles fitted onto his face. The man in question was holding a paper back. A quite full paper bag. A bag Harry quickly snatched away and rooted through.

"I asked for 10 vials, not 5." Harry snarled back through the door crack.

"I'm- I'm- I'm sorry sir. Your dads been keeping a pretty close eye on me at work. I think he's catching on. I mean, I spend a long time in the back of my lab making these and-" The lab rats voice was mousy, and hesitant. Full of fear. After all, he was working for two powerful men, and now there was a risk to both wells of money.

"So? What are you suggesting here, Delaney?" Harry lead the question.

"Perhaps we could- uhm..." Delaney gulped. "...Stop for a while? You know, till the heat dies down?"

There was an ominous pause as Harry stared at Delaney. Unblinking. It was as if his eyes began to lose dilation as hate began to fill him from head to toe. Just as the staring couldn't get anymore piercing, Harry swung his door further open and grabbed the man by the collar.

"Listen to me carefully, you waste! If I don't receive the same batch next week, same time, with the right damn amount- I'll tell my dad everything myself, got it!"

Harry began to hear his phone ringing from the couch, so before his supplier could get another word in, he slammed the door shut and locked it. Hoping the message would be clear. Setting the paper bag down on his coffee table, the Osborn picked up his phone. It was Mary Jane? She never called anymore. After a short pause out of surprise and some interest, Harry picked up.

"MJ?" He asked as soon as the call began.

"Oh thank god- Have you seen him?"

"Gonna have to be more specific." Harry responded, though he obviously knew who she was asking about. He just wanted to play dumb, not desperate.

"Peter! I haven't heard from him all day, and he hasn't come home yet."

Harry pulled a concerned face to himself. Not too concerned, as he was already opening the paper bag up and setting down a single sterile needle, filled with green liquid directly in front of him. 

"He's probably busy, you know how he is. He always disappears now and again, he's just that kind of guy."