The air conditioning in the bulletproof limousine emitted a soft hum, and General Slocomb was resting with his eyes closed, his fingers rhythmically tapping the leather armrest.
"Sir!"
Suddenly, the walkie-talkie crackled with a piercing electrical buzz. The soldier in the lead vehicle—number five—spoke urgently:
"Unidentified flying object detected in the airspace ahead!"
Upon hearing this, General Slocomb snapped his eyes open.
Through the bulletproof glass, he saw the machine gunner frantically adjusting the weapon's elevation on the roof of the lead Cadillac armored vehicle.
In the distance, a small green dot was rapidly growing larger.
"What the hell is that thing—"
The sound from the walkie-talkie abruptly cut out.
BOOM!
The lead armored vehicle instantly erupted into a fireball, and the shockwave from the explosion buckled the road surface.
Steel fragments rained down on the bulletproof glass of the general's vehicle, producing a sickeningly loud thud.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
A hysterical roar came from the walkie-talkie.
"Vehicle number two has lost power! We're—"
BOOM!
Another vehicle in the middle of the convoy exploded.
General Slocomb felt the world spin as his forehead slammed into the seat in front of him, warm blood trickling down his brow.
Through the distorted car window, he saw the wreckage of vehicle number two burning, and a soldier engulfed in flames struggling to crawl out of the car door.
"Reverse! Back the hell up!"
The bodyguard frantically pounded the driver's seat and shouted.
The driver jerked the steering wheel, tires screeching as they scraped across the asphalt.
BOOM!
Yet a third explosion followed immediately—the third car at the rear of the convoy was blown in half, its burning chassis blocking the road and sealing off any escape route.
"We're surrounded!"
The bodyguard drew his pistol, his finger trembling uncontrollably. Outside the bulletproof car, twisted metal wreckage encircled them, and burning gasoline pooled and meandered across the ground in eerie rivulets.
General Slocomb's eardrums rang.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The surviving guards opened fire, but their rifle rounds struck the figure circling in the night sky, producing only a few insignificant sparks.
"What exactly is that—?"
Shaking his dizzy head, General Slocomb muttered to himself—but the words caught in his throat.
A hideous mask slowly descended before the car window.
The dark green metal armor gleamed with a venomous sheen in the firelight, and pumpkin-shaped bombs swayed gently from the belt at his waist.
That metallic grin stretched ear to ear, its scarlet eyes flashing with maniacal light.
"Good afternoon, General Slocomb."
A sharp, metallic voice emanated from beneath the green demon mask.
General Slocomb's pupils contracted sharply. Despite the distortion, he instantly recognized the voice.
"Norman…"
General Slocomb's face turned ashen, his lips trembling as he stammered:
"Listen, Norman, this is a misunderstanding! I'll go back and immediately reverse the decision to withdraw investment—and add three times, no! Five times the budget! Please don't kill me—"
"It's too late, Your Excellency."
The Green Goblin slowly ascended into the air on his glider, his mechanical fingers tracing the window of General Slocomb's car.
"Your death was sealed the moment you decided to destroy Osborn Industries—and the culmination of my life's work!"
"Now… go to hell to repent! Hahahaha—"
A miniature missile emerged from beneath the glider. The red dot of its infrared sight settled squarely on General Slocomb's sweat-drenched forehead.
"No! Wait, Norman, we still need to—"
In an instant, General Slocomb's screams were swallowed by a deafening explosion.
A towering column of fire illuminated the entire riverbank, and burning metal fragments rained into the Hudson River.
---
At 4:30 p.m., the explosion site on the banks of the Hudson River was cordoned off with layers of yellow-and-black police tape.
The pungent stench of burning mingled with the chemical odor of firefighting foam, and the afterglow of the setting sun gilded the twisted metal wreckage in blood-red hues.
"Make way! The forensic doctor has arrived!"
Sheriff George Stacy pushed through the crowd, his gleaming leather shoes clicking on the wet pavement.
Behind him followed the military representative—Colonel Harper, General Ross's adjutant—impeccably dressed in uniform, his face ashen and grim.
The moment the two arrived, the noisy murmurs at the scene fell silent.
"Sheriff! Colonel!"
Detective Wilson, in charge of the on-site investigation, greeted them and strode over immediately. His suit jacket was smeared with soot, and he held a tablet displaying an aerial view of the scene.
"Preliminary findings indicate this was an extremely professional targeted assassination."
Detective Wilson pointed to the radially distributed scorch marks on the ground.
"The attackers used at least three high-explosive rounds, all of which struck critical points in the convoy:
"The first destroyed the engine compartment of the lead vehicle; the second hit the command vehicle in the center; and the third blocked the retreat route."
He swiped the screen to bring up a thermal imaging afterimage.
"The blast shockwave shows a classic directional diffusion pattern—consistent with a shaped charge."
"Based on the residual metal spallation, it appears to be a modified HEAT warhead."
George Stacy frowned, his gaze sweeping the area.
Firefighters operated high-pressure hoses to cool the still-smoldering wreckage, while forensic technicians knelt nearby, carefully placing molten metal fragments into evidence bags.
In the distance, the thrum of a news helicopter was faintly audible.
"Casualties? General Slocomb…?"
Colonel Harper asked in a hoarse voice.
Detective Wilson shook his head.
"Five military vehicles and twelve personnel—completely wiped out. We couldn't recover enough biological material for DNA identification."
At that moment, Fire Chief Moreno approached with weary steps, his respirator soaked with water.
"Sir, there's something off," he called out.
George Stacy gestured for him to continue.
"It took us sixteen minutes from dispatch to arrival—our fastest response on record for this district."
Captain Moreno removed his gloves, revealing reddened fingers.
"But when we got here, the fire had already self-extinguished—and the vehicle frames were fully carbonized."
He pointed to the nearest pile of wreckage, his voice strained.
"Even more unusual: thermal imaging shows the fire burned for no more than ten minutes. That's… highly abnormal."
Colonel Harper interrupted sharply:
"Ten minutes? Impossible! Even an aviation fuel fire would take at least… forty-five minutes."
"Exactly," Moreno replied, his tone edged with unease.
"And human bone—primarily hydroxyapatite—requires sustained temperatures above 800°C for over
two hours to fully decompose, even in a professional incinerator."
He paused, then added gravely:
"But every victim here… was reduced to ash in under ten minutes."
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