We're at Harry Osborn's cabin overlooking the Vermillion Lakes, Mt. Rundle looming overhead. It's a picturesque setting, early morning Winter sun piercing through a thin layer of cloud. Harry's come here to get away, to be alone and be one with nature, where the name Osborn carries no ominous overtone. At the forefront of this panel is Harry's dog, barking at something we're unable to perceive from this angle. In the background, approaching us from the cabin, comes Harry, rifle in hand, dressed for the weather.
Swear to God, if this is another...
Tight panel of Harry's eyes, bulging wide.
Largest panel on the page. Harry and his canine companion are looking down at a body, gutted savagely, blood pooled in the snow. It's a man, that's for certain, gauging by his gait and thick forearms and thighs, but we can't identify him because of the Green Goblin mask covering his face.