"Dad?"
In a dimly lit hospital room, Harry Osborn pushed open the door, expecting to find his father resting. Instead, he was startled to see Norman Osborn standing rigidly in front of the window, staring out into the night.
Hearing his son's voice, Norman turned around. His bloodshot eyes, tinged with an eerie scarlet glow, slowly began to fade.
"Did you hear it, Harry?" Norman's voice was oddly detached, as though he were speaking from another world.
"Hear what?" Harry blinked, confused. "I didn't hear anything, Dad."
Norman frowned, his hand pressing against his temple. "It's like... the sound of an electric razor. No, not quite. More like the rhythm of a second heartbeat. It's irregular, pounding in my ears... and whispering things."
Harry stepped closer, concern etched on his face. "Dad, are you feeling okay? Should I call the doctor?"
Norman waved him off, his expression a mix of frustration and unease. "I'm fine, Harry."
But Norman Osborn was far from fine. Ever since the explosion in his laboratory, his body had undergone inexplicable changes. His senses had become unnervingly sharp—he could hear the faintest rustle of fabric, feel the subtle vibrations in the air. His strength was growing at an alarming rate, but so was his instability.
It wasn't just physical. Something deeper was happening—a psychological fracture. It was as though a new entity had taken root within him, a voice that murmured relentlessly in his mind, urging him toward chaos.
"Dad, I came to talk to you about something." Harry hesitated, glancing nervously at his father. "I overheard the board members talking about some... issues with Oscorp."
Norman's expression darkened instantly. "What issues?"
"They're saying that the company's genetic engineering division hasn't delivered results in over two years. The formulas are incomplete, and they're worried about a financial collapse." Harry's voice wavered as he spoke. "Is that true?"
Norman's temper flared. "Enough, Harry!"
Harry froze, startled by the outburst.
"You don't understand anything," Norman snarled, his hand gripping the edge of the table. "You're just a naive boy who's never had to fight for anything. You're a disappointment!"
The words hit Harry like a punch to the gut. "Dad, I just want to help—"
"Help?" Norman interrupted, his voice dripping with contempt. "You can't even help yourself. You're not fit to carry the Osborn name!"
As the tension escalated, Norman slammed his hand down on the wooden table. The impact shattered it into splinters, leaving Harry stunned.
Norman stared at his hand, bewildered by his own strength. His breathing was heavy, his scarlet eyes gleaming once more.
"Leave," he said quietly but firmly.
Harry hesitated, then turned and walked out, his father's cruel words echoing in his mind.
---
Elsewhere in New York City
Inside an NYPD interrogation room, George Stacy leaned forward, slamming his hand on the metal table. Across from him sat Matt Murdock, the infamous lawyer, his body wrapped in bandages.
"You've got a lot of nerve, Murdock," George growled. "Your little vigilante escapades are over."
Matt adjusted his sunglasses, his voice calm despite his battered appearance. "Chief Stacy, I'm a lawyer, not a criminal. Any accusations against me are baseless."
George scoffed, holding up a folder filled with evidence. "We have enough to put you away for years. Care to explain why you've been playing devil's advocate for the Kingpin?"
Matt's expression didn't waver. "Wilson Fisk is a respected businessman. Unless you have concrete evidence against him, any accusations will be dismissed as slander."
"Don't play games with me," George snapped. "We both know Fisk is pulling the strings behind half the crime in this city."
Matt tilted his head slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. "If that's the case, then why hasn't your mysterious informant given you the evidence you need to take him down?"
George froze, narrowing his eyes.
"That's right," Matt continued. "Whoever's been feeding you information seems very selective about what they share. Maybe it's time you asked yourself why."
"You seem awfully confident for someone facing a laundry list of charges," George retorted.
Matt leaned back in his chair, wincing slightly as his injuries protested the movement. "Because I know your informant. He's not interested in justice—he's playing a game. A dangerous one. And you're just a pawn."
George frowned, his frustration mounting.
"Let me guess," Matt said, his tone almost mocking. "He gave you just enough to go after me, but nothing that would implicate Fisk. That's because Fisk is his endgame. He doesn't want the Kingpin out of the picture—he wants to control him."
George stared at Matt, trying to decipher the truth in his cryptic words.
"You'll meet him eventually," Matt said softly. "And when you do, you'll understand why I call him a monster."
---
Back at Oscorp
Norman Osborn stood alone in his private lab, his mind racing. He had dismissed Harry, but his son's words lingered, fueling his growing paranoia.
The whispers in his mind were louder now, urging him to act.
"You're stronger than them," the voice hissed. "Smarter. They don't deserve your genius. Take what's yours."
Norman clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He moved toward a hidden compartment in the lab and opened it, revealing a sleek green suit and a glider.
He had designed it years ago as part of Oscorp's defense contracts, but now it felt like something more—an extension of himself.
As he donned the suit, the transformation was complete. The second entity within him—no longer just a whisper—had taken full control.
"Norman Osborn is no more," he muttered, his voice a mix of his own and something far more sinister. "The Green Goblin is born."
He climbed onto the glider, its engines roaring to life. With a maniacal laugh, he soared into the night, ready to unleash chaos on the city.
---
Meanwhile, in Queens
Peter Parker sat in his living room, watching the evening news. The footage showed a figure in a white and black suit swinging through the city—Antonia Aguilar, the new Spider-Woman.
"Looks like she's been busy," Aunt May commented, flipping pancakes in the kitchen.
"Two Spider-People in one city," Uncle Ben added with a chuckle. "Makes me feel a little safer."
Peter smiled faintly, but his mind was elsewhere. He had been exchanging messages with Antonia, who had been venting about her rocky start as a superhero.
"Which one do you like better?" Peter asked, curious about his aunt's opinion.
"Why compare?" Aunt May replied. "They're both trying to do good, and that's what matters."
"Well, I know who I'd be worried about if I were still a troublemaker," Uncle Ben said with a grin. "There's no way I'd get away with half the stuff I pulled as a kid if Spider-Man was around."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "What kind of trouble are we talking about?"
Uncle Ben chuckled, pushing up his glasses. "Let's just say your aunt wasn't always impressed with my antics."
Aunt May shot him a playful glare. "If Spider-Man had been around back then, you'd have learned your lesson a lot sooner."
Peter shook his head, laughing despite himself.
---
As the city slept
Norman Osborn, now fully transformed into the Green Goblin, hovered above the streets on his glider. His scarlet eyes scanned the city, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
"Let the games begin," he muttered, before diving into the chaos below.
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