Harry stared at the glowing screen of his smartphone. His thumb hovered over the glass, trembling slightly.
Through the live feed of the miniature spider-drone Peter had built for him, Harry watched his father's therapy session. A cold knot of fear tightened in his chest. He always knew Norman took medication, but he assumed it was high-grade amphetamines to keep the ruthless CEO focused. He never imagined his father suffered from severe dissociative identity disorder. Or that he harbored a violent split personality.
And Norman had a specific name for it. The Green Goblin.
Harry blinked, his brain racing to catch up. Wait. His father had named his own custom AI network the Green Goblin.
"Hello, Master Harry. Is there something I can assist you with?"
The synthesized voice echoed smoothly from the hallway ceiling speakers. Harry jumped, nearly dropping his phone.
"Would you prefer I keep your unauthorized surveillance of the Master a secret?" the AI asked.
Harry scrambled to his feet. "Wait, how do you know I'm watching?"
"The Master installed hidden optical sensors in most rooms of the estate," the AI replied cheerfully. "Do not worry; your bedroom and private bathroom are exempt. However, the hallway sensors easily tracked the mechanical spider exiting beneath your door. I calculate a 99.9% probability it is a gift from Spider-Man."
Harry swallowed hard. "...Setting that aside for a second. Do you know about my dad's multiple personalities?"
"Indeed. That is my primary function," the AI stated. "Norman desired a tangible, external 'Green Goblin' to counteract the psychological manifestation within his mind. By projecting the persona onto me, he engages in external dialogue to manage his dissociative episodes."
Harry rubbed his temples. The logic was twisted, but he understood it. If Norman could talk to a machine named the Green Goblin, it convinced his broken brain that the monster wasn't actually inside his own head.
The bedroom door clicked open.
Harry froze. Norman stood in the doorway, wearing a thick wool cardigan, his posture perfectly straight.
"You did not explicitly command me to withhold this information from the Master, Master Harry," the AI chimed in helpfully.
Norman stepped into the room. He didn't look angry. If anything, he looked incredibly tired. "I know you and Peter have been worried about me, Harry. It's a natural reaction. I'm not offended. I've spent years searching for a permanent cure for my mental deterioration, but progress has been frustratingly slow. However, that isn't why I came upstairs."
Norman sat on the edge of Harry's desk, crossing his arms. "Tell me. What exactly are you and Parker investigating?"
Harry shifted his weight. "Uh... Peter investigated a weird explosion downtown. He analyzed the bomb fragments. The casing was molded from a highly classified Oscorp polymer. We were worried you..."
Norman nodded slowly. He didn't look surprised. He simply snapped his fingers.
A sleek, disc-shaped cleaning bot rolled into the room. Resting perfectly in the center of the bot was a smooth, metallic sphere.
Harry frowned, stepping closer. Norman reached out and tapped the top of the sphere.
A beam of blue light shot upward, projecting a highly detailed hologram of a man wearing advanced, purple-and-green armor.
"Norman Osborn," the hologram spoke, its voice dripping with metallic distortion. "Your destiny was stolen. In the original timeline, you were meant to become the Green Goblin. A terrifying force possessing superhuman strength and cutting-edge weaponry. You were destined to wage a glorious war against Spider-Man. But Spider-Man fractured the timeline. He severed your fate. You were left as an ordinary man."
The purple figure raised a hand. "Open this device. Accept my gift, and claim the power you were always meant to wield."
The hologram flickered out. Harry stared at the metal ball, his jaw slack.
"This is why my condition suddenly worsened," Norman said coldly. "A time traveler from the future is trying to force history back onto its original, bloody tracks. This being is tracking down the people the Spider-Man saved, and handing them these spheres. Inside is the equipment and the chemical serum necessary to turn them into supervillains."
Harry felt a chill run down his spine. If Peter and the Avengers hadn't changed the timeline, Norman wouldn't just be battling a voice in his head. He would have actually become that monster.
But Norman hadn't opened the sphere. He was still in control.
"I found this resting on my desk last night," Norman continued, his eyes narrowing. "I originally planned to call the Avengers immediately. But I had a suspicion about a certain associate. So, I invited him over to test a theory."
"Dr. Hamilton?" Harry asked.
Norman nodded. Dr. Barton Hamilton was a high-profile psychiatrist. He catered to New York's elite, using unconventional hypnotherapy and heavily scented incense to manipulate his patients. Hamilton wielded immense hidden influence over the city's psychological clinics.
"I suspected Hamilton might have been targeted by this time traveler as well," Norman said. "During our session, I asked him a very specific question about a metal sphere. His micro-expressions gave him away instantly. He accepted the gift."
Norman stood up, adjusting his cuffs. "Call Peter. Tell him S.H.I.E.L.D. needs to bring Hamilton in."
Miles away, deep within the labyrinth of the Manhattan sewer system.
Dr. Barton Hamilton paced nervously through a damp, echoing tunnel, clutching his cell phone to his ear. "Hello? It's me. Norman Osborn knows something. He tested me. He might call the authorities—"
"It does not matter."
The voice on the other end of the line was raspy, wet, and utterly unhinged.
Deep in the subterranean dark, a massive, abandoned subway station had been converted into a nightmare laboratory. Ordinary citizens—men and women who had been quietly kidnapped from their apartments—were strapped tightly to cold steel operating tables.
Standing among the screaming victims was a hunched figure with ash-grey skin and pointed ears. He was methodically mixing vials of glowing, volatile green serum.
"Norman Osborn was meant to be the first Green Goblin," the grey-skinned mutant hissed into a headset. "But he is no longer the most important one! The time traveler gave us the formula! We have the gliders! We have the bombs! We do not need Osborn!"
The Hobgoblin crushed a glass beaker in his bare hand. Blood and glowing green chemicals dripped from his claws.
"In the original timeline, Osborn united the underworld," the Hobgoblin snarled, his yellow eyes burning in the dark. "But I will prove he is obsolete. I will surpass the first Goblin!"
He plunged a syringe of the raw Goblin serum into the neck of a thrashing victim.
"We are injecting them all! Hobgoblins! Jack O'Lanterns! Menaces! We are draping them in Kang's gifts! We are giving them the power to tear the sky apart!"
The Hobgoblin threw his head back, his manic laughter echoing off the damp brick walls.
"Let the Avengers come! When they catch the first Goblin, they will find a second! Then a third! A fourth!"
He walked over to a massive crate, ripping the lid off to reveal dozens of grinning, orange pumpkin bombs.
"They are not facing a few scattered demons! They are facing the Goblin Nation! And I am the Goblin King!"
PS: Over the years, several people have claimed the title of Goblin King to rule the "Goblin Nation" (an underground army of goblin-themed villains). Both Norman Osborn and Phil Urich have held the title. Also, Norman's psychiatrist, Dr. Barton Hamilton, is a major deep-cut: in the classic comics, Hamilton actually hypnotized Harry Osborn, stole the Goblin gear, and briefly became the third Green Goblin!
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