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Take Osborn's private jet to the Pacific?
Yeah, right.
Forget the fact that the last people who took Osborn's private jet—the Parkers—had vanished somewhere over the Pacific. Just considering Hawk's confirmed track record of disasters striking whenever he left New York City via commercial transportation was enough to make the decision for him.
He'd fly there himself.
Sure, it'd take some effort. But it beat inviting trouble.
Most importantly—
Flying there himself would be faster anyway. By the time he got to the airport and boarded a private jet, he'd already be there.
Just like right now.
...
High above the Pacific Ocean, following his phone's satellite navigation, Hawk descended through the cloud layer and immediately spotted Osborn's secret offshore experimental platform in the distance—a massive steel beast rising from the endless sea.
The entire structure was composed of countless enormous metal frames interlocking and welded together, jutting up from the churning ocean surface. Massive support columns held up a platform roughly the size of two standard football fields.
But, At the moment, the massive platform showed no signs of life. No lights. Not even emergency lighting. The silent structure, bathed in the glow of the setting sun, gave off an eerie, unsettling vibe.
THUD.
Hawk's right foot touched down on the platform's deck, and his body steadied.
He looked around.
The helipad—where an emergency helicopter should have been docked—was completely empty. There were no signs of human activity anywhere. The only sound was the waves crashing against the support columns below.
But Peter had definitely been here.
With his Sixth Sense fully active, Hawk picked up traces of Peter's presence lingering on the platform.
Except the residual traces hadn't been refreshed in a while. Judging by the degradation, Peter hadn't been back here in about four or five days.
And—
Besides Peter's faint presence, there was also a thick, almost dried scent of blood.
Hawk raised an eyebrow. Following both Peter's residual aura and the scent of dried blood, he opened a door and walked into the building on the platform.
The moment he stepped inside, a horrifying scene greeted him.
Blood.
Blood everywhere—soaking the entire corridor. Not just the corridor either. The walls. The ceiling. Blood covered everything.
The blood had dried, looking like it had been there for at least three to five days. In the stuffy, enclosed environment, it was now releasing a stench that could rival a biological weapon.
Hawk couldn't smell it, though.
The instant he'd opened the door, he'd wisely shut down his sense of smell.
Ignoring the blood filling his field of vision, Hawk walked straight to what appeared to be Peter's quarters—the room he'd used for sleeping during his time on the platform.
He pushed the door open.
A single bed. A desk. A private bathroom. That was the extent of the room.
The bedsheets were rumpled.
The items on the desk were scattered. Even Peter's clothes had been left in a messy heap on the floor. It looked like Peter had left in a hurry.
"So..."
"What the hell happened here?"
Hawk stepped into Peter's room, looked around, and found nothing useful. Curious, he turned and walked back out, his gaze falling on the blood covering the entire corridor.
His first thought was that Peter had run into Pacific pirates.
But—
"Pacific pirates?"
"No way."
"Forget pirates. Even if it was Navy SEALs, Peter should've been able to handle them."
After all, this version of Peter was the real deal Spider-Man.
This was the Spider-Man who could stop a train with his bare hands. Not the Amazing Spider-Man who got shot through the ankle. Not the chatty Spider-Man who needed his mentor's help to pull in a cargo ship.
Bully Maguire's reputation wasn't built on nothing.
And so, where did Peter go?
Hawk wondered, then followed the trail of dried blood down the corridor until he reached another door on the opposite side. He pushed it open and stepped out onto the deck.
The blood stretched across the deck toward the platform's railing, continuing all the way to the edge before stopping abruptly.
Hawk leaned over the railing and looked down.
Below, caught on one of the support columns holding up the platform was the remains of a mangled corpse.
Just then—
A faint sound reached Hawk's ears.
Hawk snapped his attention toward the source of the noise, looking up at the control room above.
Suddenly, he vanished.
A man—face covered in dried blood, body reeking—was hiding in the platform's control room. He frantically caught the cup lid that had almost fallen, then nervously looked back toward the spot where Hawk had been standing moments ago.
And then, he froze.
"Where'd he go? He was just there."
"Behind you."
Hawk's voice came from directly behind the man.
The man's entire body went rigid. His hand instinctively swung the handgun around.
BANG!
A bullet fired from the chamber, screaming through the air toward Hawk's face.
Hawk didn't dodge.
CLANG!
The bullet came to a neat stop, pinched between Hawk's two fingers.
The next second, Hawk kicked out, sending the man flying backward into the control console.
The man let out a piercing scream as he hit.
Hawk walked over, grabbed the man lying against the console, and yanked him down onto the floor. He watched as the man rolled a few times before speaking. "What happened here? Where are Peter and Felicia?"
The man, who'd just been convinced he was about to die, suddenly went rigid again. Ignoring the pain, he looked up at Hawk with disbelief. "Wait—you're not with them?"
Hawk raised an eyebrow.
"Them? Who's them?"
"Those demons."
The man said through gritted teeth.
Hawk stepped closer, casually waved his hand, and with his telekinesis, lifted the man off the floor and set him down on a nearby chair. He stood there, hands in his pockets, looking at the stunned man.
"Start from the beginning."
"Gulp."
The man swallowed hard, clearly shaken by what Hawk had just done. But he also understood that if Hawk wanted him dead, it would be the easiest thing in the world. So after swallowing nervously, he began recounting the events of that night.
More precisely, five nights ago.
That night, there had been a severe storm. All the platform workers had returned to the work area early. In the control room, only he and one other person had been on duty.
Everything had been normal at first. Just another unremarkable stormy night.
But then everything changed.
He didn't know exactly when it started, but at some point, a group of people had infiltrated the platform. They kicked open the door and immediately shot his coworker dead. They'd also shot at him.
But the bullet hadn't killed him. By sheer luck, it had only grazed his ear. Still, he'd passed out from shock.
Hawk glanced at the man's bandaged ear—now reeking from lack of medical supplies—and nodded.
"Continue."
"Right."
The man didn't dare hesitate. He kept going.
Shortly after passing out, he'd woken up and heard the sound of heavy gunfire coming from the rest area.
Terrified, he'd wanted to hit the emergency button, but found that all the power had been cut. Later, hearing the commotion and driven by pure survival instinct, he'd climbed out the window and hidden outside the command room in the darkness, enduring the pain.
Then he'd heard the continuous sounds of bodies hitting the water below. Once the noise finally stopped and he couldn't hold out any longer, he'd climbed back inside.
Hawk walked over to the window the man had described and looked outside.
Sure enough, there was a small ledge that could support someone. And the wall was stained with dried blood.
Hawk reached out, rubbed his fingers over the dried blood, then brought them to his nose and sniffed.
Yeah.
Definitely matched the man's scent.
Hawk dismissed his suspicions, turned back to the man, and asked, "What's your name?"
"Oz. Oz Gran. Level-three biologist with Osborn Industries."
"Oz."
Hawk ignored the second half of the man's introduction and looked at him. "Do you know who they were?"
Oz shook his head blankly. The motion seemed to aggravate his infected ear, making him wince.
"What about Peter and Felicia?"
"Parker and Miss Hardy weren't here that night. The plan was to deliver supplies to that demon island the next day, but then..."
"Wait. Demon island?"
Oz gave a bitter smile. "It's called Skull Island. From the air, it looks like a giant skull. That's why we call it Demon Island or Skull Island."
Skull Island?
That name...
Why did it sound so familiar?
Hawk felt something stir.
His Sixth Sense flared. It seemed the feeling he'd had when leaving—that this trip would yield something—was coming from the Skull Island Oz had just mentioned.
No.
Not "seemed."
It definitely was.
Hawk felt the pull of his Sixth Sense and thought to himself. He looked up at Oz, his expression serious.
"Peter and Felicia are on this Skull Island?"
"After we found a safe route to Skull Island about a month ago, Mr. Parker and Miss Felicia went to the island."
"..."
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