Sitting on a lavish, high-backed chair, Norman Osborn barely acknowledged the man who entered. Dressed in an immaculate business suit, he stared out the tall window, the dim light casting sharp shadows across his face. Beside him, resting neatly on a table, was a sleek silver briefcase.
"Well, that was quicker than expected, Taskmaster. I assume you got the data?" he said, still not turning to face him.
Taskmaster approached with the same confidence that made him one of the most expensive mercenaries on the planet. "Yeah, I got it. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be standing here, would I, Osborn?"
He placed a small USB drive on the briefcase with a sharp clack. "You got the money?"
Osborn finally moved, reaching for the drive. "Yes, the money's in the case. Always a pleasure doing business with you, Taskmaster. I trust we'll work together again."
Taskmaster didn't respond. He simply turned and walked out of the room without another word, his boots echoing against the polished floor.
Leaving Osborn alone in the room with the USB, Taskmaster shut the door behind him without a word.
Clank.
The car door groaned as he swung it open and slipped inside. His eyes immediately landed on the little monster he'd taken in.
Rize sat upright, her gaze locked on the house they'd just left. For a second, he thought she was fully alert—but no, she was still dazed, lost in the lingering shadows of her nightmare. Then, without warning, tears began to fall silently down her cheeks.
Not from pain.
Not from fear.
But from the overwhelming, disorienting realization.
"I… I'm free," she whispered, her voice cracking—followed by a smile that trembled on her lips like it didn't quite belong there.
Taskmaster scoffed faintly.
"Hmph."
She turned toward him, the smile still clinging to her face as though she was trying to believe in it.
"Stop crying, you little murder machine. You're ruining the seats," Taskmaster grunted as he turned the ignition key and the engine roared to life.
"Master! You're so heartless and mean to your one and only padaw—"
Flick!
"Ow!" Rize yelped, recoiling and clutching her forehead. "Why did you do that? Wait… how did that even hurt?"
Taskmaster didn't even look at her as he shifted the car into gear. "First, I told you stop calling yourself a padawan. And second, that was an ancient technique I learned from Tibetan monks. Precise pressure. Tactical pain. Centuries of wisdom distilled into one flick."
Rize blinked at him, then pouted exaggeratedly. "So cruel… And here I thought you were my wise, kind mentor..."
Taskmaster smirked under his mask. "You thought wrong."
"So where are we going, Master? Your disciple wants to know," Rize asked with a pleading look in her eyes.
"New York," Taskmaster replied.
Rize leaned forward in her seat, her eyes lighting up with childish glee. "Ooooh, are we going sightseeing? I want to see the Empire State Building! And maybe eat a hot dog! Wait... can I eat hot dogs? Oh, I forgot I can't eat them. So, are we going there for training? Or... oh! Is there someone you want me to kill, Master?" she asked, tilting her head with an almost too eager smile.
Taskmaster didn't even flinch or glance at her. "No to all of that."
"Aww, but Master~ you never let me have fun," she whined, then paused. "Wait... are we going to meet more people I can train with?"
"No, I'm cashing in a favor and blending in, creating an identity for you. You're a mess—mentally, tactically, emotionally. And I don't train messes. I fix them first."
Rize blinked innocently. "Define 'blend in.'"
"Rule one: No tentacles in public."
She gave a dramatic gasp. "You're stripping away my identity!"
Rize blinked, then slowly leaned back into her seat. "So… like a makeover? Or… therapy?"
"More like damage control."
She grinned again. "You do care."
Taskmaster sighed, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. "I care about keeping my skull attached to my spine. You losing control jeopardizes that."
"Aww. I knew it. You really like me."
Taskmaster grunted. "Like's a strong word."
"But not a no~," Rize sang, twirling her white hair
She leaned forward again, resting her chin on her hand, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "So who's the favor from? Is it someone scary? Ooh! Maybe someone more dangerous than me?"
"Doubtful," Taskmaster muttered
"So tell me, who is it then?" Rize said, annoyed.
"NO, and shut it or I'll drop you here," Taskmaster replied.