Marvel: A Lazy-Ass Superman

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Because Ms. Katharine Hepburn wasn’t involved in the financial world, the newspaper delivered to her home wasn’t The Wall Street Journal, America’s highest-circulation business paper, but rather The New York Times, which focused more on current affairs and in-depth reporting.

A Kryptonian who wanted nothing more than to live a laid-back life naturally wasn’t so detached from the world that he ignored everything around him. Knowing which way the wind was blowing—and where to hide from it—was important.

Today’s paper carried a rather inconspicuous local news story: a traffic accident.

Former Red Empire researcher and senior Oscorp scientist Nikolai Semyonov had died after crashing into a utility pole while driving under the influence. Despite being rushed to the hospital, he succumbed to his injuries.

The article read like an inspirational human-interest piece, recounting how this highly talented scientist had defected to the beacon of freedom during the collapse of the Red Empire.

Unfortunately, his ambitions remained unrealized before he met an untimely end.

Alas.

American news outlets were every bit as capable of producing melodramatic sob stories as anyone else.

Of course, Henry knew the article wasn’t intended to glorify some righteous defector.

It was a message.

A notification to a certain individual that the job had been completed.

Now it was time to pay up.

The unspoken subtext was equally clear: if that person intended to play dumb or refuse payment, then they shouldn’t complain about what happened next.

Some threats never needed to be spoken aloud.

And if someone was too foolish—or pretended to be too foolish—to understand the hidden meaning, then they probably wouldn’t have much right to complain about how they eventually died.

While preparing breakfast, Henry read the article and then said to Maria Thomson, who had just entered the house,

”I’m going out to buy some butter. I didn’t notice yesterday that we were almost out. There won’t be enough for breakfast.”

”All right. Is Katharine awake yet?”

”She is. She’s in the bathroom right now. Keep an eye on things for me.”

”No problem.”

Henry left the house and returned shortly afterward.

The elderly actress hadn’t even come out of the bathroom yet.

Maria blinked in surprise.

”That was fast.”

”I ran.” Henry smiled. ”Haven’t had breakfast yet. I’m hungry too.”

---

At the Osborn Mansion.

Having finished his morning workout and showered, Norman Osborn stood bare-chested, drying himself with a large bath towel.

Beside him, the butler was reporting the day’s schedule and updating him on previously assigned matters.

When the butler mentioned that the death of Oscorp senior researcher Nikolai Semyonov had been reported in the local news section of The New York Times, he asked:

”Sir, should I remind that gentleman?”

Changing into casual clothes, Norman Osborn headed toward the study on the top floor.

”That was simply an unfortunate accident,” he said. ”Why would we need to remind anyone?”

”Understood, sir.”

The butler wisely chose not to pursue the matter and continued reporting other business.

However, as they entered the study, Norman Osborn suddenly stopped in front of his desk.

The elderly man, trained in the traditions of British butler service, immediately sensed something was wrong and looked up at his employer.

Norman asked,

”Has anyone entered my study today? Harry?”

”No, sir. The young master left for school after breakfast. Like an ordinary high school student, he went two blocks away to catch the school bus.”

Norman’s expression twisted with disgust.

”Excellent. Tell the security team to write a report explaining why this thing is sitting on my desk.”

Only then did the butler notice it.

An object that absolutely should not have been there.

A MiniDisc.

A Sony MD disc with a capacity of 140 megabytes.

Exactly like the one that man had delivered a few days ago.

The shattered remains of the previous disc had already been sent to Oscorp’s research department for data recovery attempts.

The result had been predictable.

Impossible.

Not unless Norman Osborn intended to launch an entirely new research project dedicated to recovering it.

Now another MD disc had appeared out of nowhere.

Did it contain the same material?

More importantly, both Norman Osborn and his butler wanted to know one thing:

How had it gotten there?

Norman reached down and picked up the disc before the butler could stop him.

Fortunately, it seemed neither poisoned nor trapped.

The ruthless and cunning businessman shook the disc lightly in his hand.

”Put Henry Brown on the special observation list.”

He paused.

”Not around-the-clock surveillance. I doubt anyone could manage that anyway. But anything he does publicly should be recorded.”

When seeking advice, Mr. Osborn always stated his concerns directly.

This was not one of those occasions.

This was simply an order.

”Yes, sir,” the butler replied immediately. ”Any other instructions?”

Norman said,

”Notify Oscorp’s technical division that they’ll be my first stop today. Everything else gets postponed.”

”And prepare a clean computer with an MD drive. No network connection.”

He glanced at the disc.

”I don’t want whatever’s on this thing infecting our systems and bringing down the entire company.”

Computer threats in this era were still primarily destructive viruses designed to damage systems or cripple computers, rather than spyware such as worms and trojans.

Hence Norman’s concern.

”Understood, sir.”

”Go make the arrangements. I’ll leave after breakfast.”

The butler bowed slightly and departed.

---

Norman Osborn entrusted the disc to no one.

He carried it personally.

By the time he arrived at Oscorp’s research center, a department head had already prepared a laptop. IT specialists and biotechnology researchers were standing by.

Placing the MD disc beside an external drive, Norman directed his attention toward the large monitor connected to the laptop.

”Check for any information-security concerns first. Then examine the contents.”

”Yes, Mr. Osborn.”

The manager immediately issued the instructions.

The virus scan proceeded quickly.

Computers of this era weren’t particularly fast, nor were MD drives, but the disc’s capacity and file count weren’t large enough to require much time.

After the cybersecurity team finished scanning it with several commercially available antivirus programs, they ran it through Oscorp’s proprietary security software as well.

Only after confirming it was safe did they pass it along.

The contents consisted of a vast collection of text files, data records, and images.

There were formulas for an Alzheimer’s treatment.

Manufacturing procedures.

Follow-up medical examination reports from Indian pharmaceutical companies tracking the purchasers who had effectively become test subjects.

In the early stages, the Indian side had also been worried about potential side effects.

As a result, they had been surprisingly generous with user medical reports, hoping the drug’s developers could issue timely warnings if problems arose.

Profit-sharing, however, had been a different story.

There, they had pinched every penny and avoided paying whenever possible.

Now, a certain unnamed Kryptonian had decided to borrow flowers to present —handing over all the data as a gift.

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