[Norma Osborn's POV]
Blood pools around Dr. Warren's head, spreading across the pristine laboratory floor in an ever-widening crimson halo. The Jackal's lifeless eyes stare at nothing, her final expression one of utter shock. I suppose she never expected die this way.
I step carefully over her body, my dress shoes clicking against the polished concrete as I holster my gun. The acrid smell of gunpowder mingles with the antiseptic tang of chemicals that permeates this underground facility. Refrigeration units hum softly along the walls, each containing perfectly preserved DNA samples. Enormous glass tanks filled with amniotic fluid line the far wall, empty now but ready to birth new clones at a moments notice.
All this meticulous scientific precision, and for what?
Three years. Three goddamn years of careful planning. Three years funding this deranged woman's research from the shadows, nudging her obsession with Parker in just the right direction. Everything had been perfect, the plan to destroy Spider-Woman by attacking what she loves most, her precious Uncle May, the clones that would have torn her psyche apart piece by piece...
And then some teleporting boy wonder with pheromones and a hard-on for heroics stumbles into the mix and ruins everything.
I run my fingers along the edge of a laboratory bench, leaving a trail in the dust. "Shane Steele," I murmur, testing the name on my tongue. "What exactly are you?"
The boy fascinates me in a way few things do anymore. Those golden flashes, the way he appeared on my glider mid-flight, impossible, yet there he was. The pheromones that radiated off him were unlike anything I've encountered in decades of studying enhanced individuals. Even through my mask, they'd affected me instantly, triggering responses I hadn't felt since... well, since Harriet's father.
And all my snooping I can see Parker is clearly smitten with him too, despite that alien-infested girlfriend of his. The way Spider-Woman had reacted when I touched the boy, that wasn't just heroic concern. That was personal. Just like Gwyn.
The Jackal's plan was elegant but ultimately conventional. Break Parker by targeting her family, her sense of self. But Shane Steele offers something far more interesting, a new variable, unpredictable and potent.
My gaze drifts to the row of refrigeration units lining the far wall. Each one a testament to Warren's obsessive genius. I pause before one labeled "M. WARREN 002," my fingers hovering over the biometric lock. Through the frosted glass, I can make out a perfect replica of the Jackal herself, suspended in preservation fluid, waiting to be awakened.
A contingency plan. How very like her.
I withdraw my hand, leaving the clone undisturbed. This particular project can wait. After all, if I'm shifting my focus to the Steele boy and his peculiar abilities, I can always return to this laboratory later. The clone isn't going anywhere, and neither are Warren's meticulous records.
As I turn to leave, my mind replays the conversations I had intercepted through the surveillance devices I planted in the hospital. The boy's visions... remarkably accurate. He knew about Brynn Reilly before Parker did. Knew about Kaine. Knew things that no one should know.
I step over Warren's cooling body one last time. The lab's automatic lights dim behind me as I make my way toward the elevator. If the boy can truly see the future, or some version of it, then I need to understand the extent of his abilities. What else might he have foreseen? Does he know what's coming for him?
At the very least it didn't seem omniscient…
I smile to myself as the elevator doors slide shut.
"I wonder how devastated Parker will be when I take this one from her too," I murmur, watching the floor numbers descend. There's a certain poetry to it that appeals to me. First Gwyn Stacy, now Shane Steele. History repeating itself with a delicious new twist.
"I wonder what this one tastes like?"