Three days passed since the explosion at Norman's private lab. Three days of silence, speculation, and a knot of dread that hadn't loosened once in Alex's chest.
Oscorp's official statement called it a "laboratory accident" and assured shareholders that Norman was "recovering privately" from injuries sustained during the incident. Alex knew better. He'd spent every night since then in his bunker, running simulations, pulling whatever surveillance data he could quietly access, waiting for the moment his calculations told him was inevitable.
He'd also been building.
The suit hung on a mannequin frame in the corner of his lab, black composite weave with red accents running along the shoulders and forearms, a design he'd been refining in stolen hours for weeks now, ever since the Vulture's blade had come within inches of ending him on a public sidewalk. He'd told himself it was contingency planning. Preparation for a future threat he couldn't yet name.
Now the future had arrived faster than expected.
Alex ran his hand along the chest plate, fingers tracing the Celtic knot etched into the center, an unbroken loop folding endlessly back into itself. He'd chosen the symbol months ago during a rare quiet evening, something about infinity, about problems that required patience rather than brute force, had resonated with the man he'd been trying to become.
The suit wasn't finished. Field testing remained theoretical, calibrations incomplete, weapon systems still in prototype phase.
'It'll have to be enough,' Alex thought, closing the case around it. 'Because I don't think we have time to wait for perfect.'
...
The alert came through his hacked feed at 11:47 PM.
Alex had rigged access to several city camera networks weeks earlier, a precaution he'd told himself was purely defensive. Now the system flagged unusual activity three blocks from Oscorp's satellite office in Midtown, the building housing liaison staff for the military's joint enhancement program.
He pulled up the footage.
Something flew low across the rooftops, silhouetted against city light pollution, moving with an erratic, swooping pattern that no aircraft should manage. Alex zoomed the feed, enhanced processing sharpening the grainy image into something horrifyingly clear.
A figure rode what looked like a modified glider, hunched and armored in dark green plating, a mask shaped into something between a gargoyle and a skull fixed over features Alex couldn't fully make out. Even through compressed video, something about the posture, the way the figure moved, carried an unmistakable, terrible familiarity.
'Norman.'
The Goblin banked sharply and dove toward the liaison building's entrance. A canister dropped from its glider, hitting the sidewalk and bursting into thick orange smoke that sent pedestrians scattering.
BOOM!
The explosion tore through the building's lobby windows, glass raining onto the street below.
Alex's phone buzzed immediately. Text from Peter.
"You seeing this?? Heading there now."
"Wait," Alex typed back, already moving toward his suit case. "This isn't a street thug. This is Norman. Fully transformed. Don't engage alone."
Peter's response came seconds later. "People are dying down here. Can't wait."
Alex swore under his breath and grabbed the case, hands moving with practiced efficiency even as his heart hammered against his ribs. He had maybe twenty minutes to reach Manhattan from his bunker under ideal conditions. Peter didn't have twenty minutes.
'Then I make it faster.'
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