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Deep in the underground laboratory of the Oscorp building, the air hung thick with the acrid smell of ozone and burned circuitry. Emergency lighting cast eerie red shadows across polished steel surfaces, and somewhere in the distance, an alarm klaxon wailed its mechanical warning into the sterile corridors. The laboratory felt like a tomb carved from glass and metal, its pristine surfaces now marred by scorch marks and the aftermath of scientific hubris gone wrong.
"This is Harry Osborn, Norman Osborn's son," Harry said to the security guard, his voice tight with barely controlled panic. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the laboratory's climate control, and his hands trembled as he spoke. "Where is my father?"
The guard, a middle-aged man whose own face was pale with concern, glanced at the flashing warning lights that painted everything in blood-red hues. "He should be in the main test chamber, sir. Here's a keycard." The plastic card felt cold and slippery in Harry's sweating palm.
John grabbed Harry's arm and they ran, their footsteps echoing off the polished concrete floors like gunshots in a cathedral. The corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, lined with darkened laboratories where sophisticated equipment hummed with electronic life. The smell of antiseptic and chemical preservatives filled their nostrils, mixed now with something else—something that tasted of violence and madness.
The moment the reinforced door slid open with a pneumatic hiss, they were met with a horrific sight that would be burned into their memories forever. The main test chamber was a war zone of shattered glass and twisted metal. On a large experimental platform, surrounded by the remnants of what had once been a pristine testing environment, a shirtless Norman Osborn stood inside a shattered glass cylinder like some nightmare version of a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis.
His body had been transformed—muscles rippling with unnatural definition, veins standing out like cables beneath skin that seemed to glow with an inner fire. But it was his face that truly horrified them. Gone was the composed, calculating expression they knew. In its place was a mask of pure ferocity, eyes wild with madness that seemed to peer into depths of cruelty they couldn't fathom.
He was holding a scientist in a white coat by the neck with one hand, lifting the man completely off the ground as if he weighed nothing. The scientist's legs kicked desperately at empty air, his face turning purple as Norman's grip cut off his airway.
"No—ugh, Norman!" the scientist choked, his words barely audible as he clawed at the hand crushing his throat with desperate, weakening movements.
"Dad, what are you doing?!" Harry screamed, his voice cracking with horror and disbelief. He started to rush forward, but something in his father's posture—predatory, inhuman—made him freeze in terror.
Norman didn't seem to hear him, or if he did, the sound penetrated only as background noise in whatever symphony of madness was playing in his transformed mind. With a roar that sounded more animal than human, he flung the scientist across the room like a discarded toy.
John knew he was out of time. The familiar weight of destiny pressed down on his shoulders like a lead blanket, and every instinct screamed that Norman had already become the Green Goblin—that the man who had been Harry's father was now lost somewhere inside a monster's psyche. Without hesitation, he pulled out his watch and slammed the button on top with enough force to crack plastic.
"Transform!"
The electronic voice that emerged from the device seemed to shake the very air around them, resonating with power that made the laboratory equipment flicker and spark.
"TRANSFORM! KAMEN RIDER... KUUGA! GROWING FORM!"
The transformation erupted around John like a controlled nuclear explosion. Energy cascaded over his body in waves of crimson light, each pulse accompanied by the sound of reality being rewritten at the molecular level. Harry was momentarily blinded by the intense flash, throwing his hands up to shield his eyes as the light seared afterimages into his retinas.
When his vision cleared, spots still dancing before his eyes, the space where John had been standing was now occupied by an armored warrior that seemed to have stepped out of legend itself. Glowing red compound eyes burned like twin suns in a sleek helmet, golden horns swept back in elegant curves, and armor of pristine white and deepest black caught the emergency lighting and transformed it into something beautiful and terrible.
In a blur of motion that left streaks of light in the air, the transformed John dashed across the lab, his footsteps making no sound despite the weight of his armor. He caught the scientist just before the man's body could impact the reinforced wall with bone-shattering force, cradling him with surprising gentleness before placing him aside like precious cargo.
"Phew—thank you," the man gasped, his voice raw from near-strangulation. Blood trickled from where Norman's nails had dug into his throat, but he was alive.
The ferocious expression on Norman's face softened for a split second as his eyes focused on Harry, and for one heart-stopping moment, it seemed like the father they knew might still be in there. Recognition flickered behind his eyes like candlelight in a hurricane. But it was quickly snuffed out and replaced by a manic, cackling grin that stretched his features into something grotesque.
"Hehehe... Look, a clown dressed like an insect," he snarled, his voice carrying harmonics that hadn't been there before—as if something else was speaking through Norman's vocal cords. "How interesting." He leaped down from the platform with inhuman grace, landing in a crouch that emphasized his transformed physique. "Want to be a hero? You'll die a miserable death, hahaha..."
Classic villain nonsense, John thought, unimpressed despite the gravity of the situation. He'd heard variations of this speech countless times in comics and movies. The transformed always seemed to lose their creativity along with their sanity.
The Green Goblin charged with the fury of a berserker, his fist raised and trailing wisps of energy from the serum still coursing through his system. His movements were explosive, powered by strength that could punch through steel, and he could feel the immense power coursing through his veins like liquid lightning. He was sure this one punch would be enough to splatter this armored insect's brains all over the laboratory floor.
With a loud "BANG" that reverberated through the chamber like a gunshot, the Green Goblin flew backward even faster than he'd charged. The sound of his body impacting the remnants of the glass container was like a symphony of destruction—crystal shattering, metal bending, and the wet sound of impact that made Harry wince.
He's strong, John noted, analyzing the Goblin's movements with clinical precision, but he has zero fighting experience. The serum had given Norman incredible physical capabilities, but it hadn't downloaded combat training into his brain. He fought like what he was—a businessman who'd suddenly been given the strength of ten men.
"Dad!" Harry cried out, seeing his father kicked across the room like a rag doll. The sound that escaped his lips was pure anguish, the cry of someone watching their world collapse in real time.
"Harry, get that man to safety!" John's voice, slightly metallic and resonating with electronic harmonics, called out from under the helmet. The sound was alien but somehow still recognizably his. "Your dad's fine."
Hearing John's familiar voice emerging from the armored figure, Harry snapped out of his shock like someone emerging from a nightmare. He helped the dazed scientist to his feet and guided him to the far side of the room, away from the destruction that was about to continue.
"Little bug, you've got some skills," the Goblin cackled, climbing out of the wreckage with movements that were too fluid, too quick to be entirely human. Glass fragments fell from his body like glittering rain, and several cuts on his torso were already healing with visible speed. "Maybe you should join me, hahaha..."
The laughter was the worst part—not just the sound itself, but the way it seemed to come from somewhere deeper than Norman's throat, as if the serum had awakened something that had been sleeping in the darkest corners of human nature.
"Ugh, can you please stop laughing for five seconds?" John quipped, his helmet's voice modulation making the sarcasm sound even more cutting than usual.
"It seems you've chosen to refuse," the Goblin hissed, his smile widening until it threatened to split his face. His pupils had dilated until they were black pools that reflected the emergency lighting like oil. "Then I'm going to kill you, and everyone you love, hahaha..." He charged again, but this time his movements were wilder, less controlled—pure berserker fury without strategy or technique.
Seeing the complete madness that had replaced any trace of his father's personality, Harry yelled desperately, "John, knock him out! Gently!"
"No problem. You two, stay back."
John watched the Goblin's telegraphed punches with the calm analysis of a martial artist facing an untrained opponent. Norman's enhanced strength meant that any one of those blows could be devastating, but they were so obviously telegraphed that they might as well have been announced in advance. John easily tilted his head to dodge the wild swing, feeling the wind from the punch ruffle the air beside his helmet, before landing a clean, sharp punch to Norman's jaw.
The impact sounded like a sledgehammer hitting meat, and Norman crumpled to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
"How is this possible?" the Goblin gasped, pushing himself up with movements that were becoming increasingly unsteady. Blood trickled from his split lip, and his jaw was already beginning to swell. "How can you be so strong? I don't believe it!"
John waited patiently for him to get to his feet, then calmly punched him down again. The sound of impact echoed through the laboratory like a metronome marking time. After a few more rounds of this one-sided "discipline"—each knockdown more emphatic than the last—the Green Goblin was dizzy and disoriented, swaying on his feet like a drunk trying to find his balance.
Realizing he was being toyed with, played with like a cat batting at a mouse, he tried a different tactic. After being knocked down again, harder this time, he looked up from the floor with an expression that had suddenly changed completely. The madness in his eyes was replaced by fear—raw, vulnerable, achingly human fear.
"John, stop," he pleaded, his voice sounding like Norman's again—the cultured, sophisticated tone of a businessman and father rather than a cackling monster. "Please, don't hit me anymore!"
The transformation in his voice and demeanor was so complete, so convincing, that for a moment the laboratory fell silent except for the distant wail of alarms.
John paused, his fist frozen in mid-strike. "Mr. Osborn? Are you okay?"
"There's... a goblin in my head, John," Norman said, trembling as he stretched a shaking hand toward the armored figure. His voice cracked with desperation, with the terror of someone trapped inside their own mind. "Please, protect me. Please... save me."
The performance was Oscar-worthy—the fear in his eyes, the tremor in his voice, the way his body language conveyed complete vulnerability. Even knowing what he was dealing with, John felt a moment of doubt.
John smiled grimly under his helmet and reached out a hand as if to help Norman to his feet. The Green Goblin cackled inwardly. Idiot!
The moment Norman's grip closed around John's hand, his expression shifted back to predatory cunning. But John had been expecting it.
BAM!
"Childish," John said calmly, as he knocked Norman unconscious with a swift, precise chop to the neck from his other hand. The blow was carefully calculated—enough force to render him unconscious but not enough to cause permanent damage.
Norman's body went limp instantly, crumpling to the laboratory floor like a marionette with its strings cut.
"John, what are you doing?!" Harry exclaimed, his voice rising in pitch with panic and confusion. "He was fine! He was asking for help!"
John looked at Harry with an expression that was clearly speechless, even through the mask. The red compound eyes somehow managed to convey exasperation and disbelief simultaneously. "Did he really sound like your dad just now?"
Harry froze, his mouth opening to protest before the words died in his throat. Thinking back, he had to admit that something about the voice and the pleading had felt... wrong. Too convenient. Too perfectly timed. His father was many things, but he'd never been one to beg.
"Let's get him back to your place," John said, his armor dissolving in a flash of light that left afterimages dancing in the air. One moment he was an armored warrior, the next he was just John again—though something in his posture suggested the transformation had taken more out of him than he was letting on. "You and the doctor, stay away from him. I'll keep an eye on him in case he wakes up and tries to take you hostage." He gestured to the scientist, who was still touching his bruised throat gingerly. "You're coming with us."
"Okay," the man—Dr. Stromm, according to his ID badge—agreed readily. After what he'd just witnessed, arguing seemed like a very poor life choice.
After a tense ride back to the Osborn penthouse in Harry's town car—Norman's unconscious form sprawled across the back seat like a dangerous cargo—Harry managed to calm the driver down with a story about his father having a medical episode. The driver, well-trained in the art of not asking questions, simply nodded and drove faster.
The Osborn penthouse occupied the top three floors of one of Manhattan's most exclusive buildings, a testament to wealth that most people could only dream of. Even in the current crisis, the space was breathtaking—floor-to-ceiling windows offered panoramic views of the city, and every surface spoke of money and refined taste.
"Harry, find some sturdy rope," John instructed, his voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to handling dangerous situations. "We need to tie your father up securely."
The words sounded surreal in the elegant surroundings—discussing restraints and captivity in a room where the coffee table probably cost more than most people's cars.
"John, what happened to him?" Harry asked, his voice shaking as he watched his unconscious father. Even in sleep, Norman's face held traces of the madness they'd witnessed—a tightness around his eyes, a slight curl to his lips that suggested unpleasant dreams.
"You can ask Dr. Stromm. He should know."
Harry turned to the scientist, who was still pale and shaken from his near-death experience. Dr. Stromm cleared his throat, his academic training helping him organize his thoughts despite the trauma.
"Mr. Osborn," Dr. Stromm began, his voice carrying the careful precision of someone delivering a terminal diagnosis, "your father used an unstable version of a human performance enhancer. It hadn't undergone proper human trials—we'd barely finished the preliminary animal testing phase. The only tests were on lab rats, and in one case..." He paused, swallowing hard at the memory. "The subject exhibited extreme violence, aggression, and complete psychological breakdown... much like your father's behavior."
The clinical description somehow made it worse—reducing Norman's transformation to a list of symptoms and side effects.
"Can he be cured?" Harry's question came out as barely more than a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever hope remained.
Dr. Stromm shook his head helplessly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of scientific failure. "I don't know. The serum appears to have caused fundamental changes at the neurochemical level. It's not like treating an infection or setting a broken bone—we're talking about alterations to personality, to the basic structure of consciousness itself."
Harry took a deep breath that seemed to draw in all the air in the room. "Why would he do it? Why would he use an untested formula on himself?"
The question hung in the air like an accusation, and Dr. Stromm winced as if physically struck.
"This morning, representatives from the United States Military came to review our progress," Stromm explained, his voice growing quieter with each word. "They were... dissatisfied with our timeline. They threatened to cut our funding completely if we didn't produce a successful human trial within two weeks." He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Oscorp would have faced a major financial crisis—bankruptcy, potentially. Your father... he insisted on being the subject. Said he wouldn't ask anyone to take a risk he wasn't willing to take himself."
The irony was bitter—Norman's sense of responsibility and leadership had led directly to his downfall.
John, having finished securing Norman with rope that would have challenged Houdini, looked at the grief-stricken Harry and, to Harry's surprise, smiled. It wasn't a cruel smile or a mocking one—it was the smile of someone who knew something the others didn't.
"John, you have a way to fix this, don't you?" Harry asked, latching onto that smile like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.
"The situation isn't hopeless," John said, his confidence cutting through the despair like sunlight through storm clouds. "But you have to promise me one thing."
"Anything." The word came out instantly, without hesitation.
"Until your father is cured, no matter what he says or does, you can't let him go. He'll sound like your father sometimes—he'll beg, he'll plead, he'll promise you anything you want to hear. But the thing wearing his face isn't him, not completely." John's expression grew deadly serious. "The only exception is if I'm here. I'll figure out a more manageable solution for him later."
"I promise," Harry said, nodding with the solemnity of someone taking a sacred oath.
John then turned to the doctor, who was observing this exchange with the fascination of someone witnessing history being made. "Dr. Stromm, I'm going to need your assistance. I hope you'll agree."
"Of course," Stromm said gratefully, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for saving my life."
"Harry, come here for a second," John said, leading him to the other side of the room, far enough away that their conversation wouldn't carry to Dr. Stromm's ears.
"What is it?"
"This part isn't for the doctor to hear yet," John said quietly, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Your father's condition is like a split personality disorder, but the other personality is pure evil. It's cunning, manipulative, and completely without conscience. It's going to be very hard to tell which one is in control at any given moment. That's why I'm afraid you'll soften up and release him when he seems like himself again."
"I won't! Not unless you're here." Harry's voice carried absolute conviction, the kind of determination that only came from watching your world burn down and finding something worth saving in the ashes.
"I know you're curious how I knew all this," John continued, studying Harry's face carefully.
"Yeah, how did you know? And is this why you told me to study business management? So I could take over the company now?"
John's expression grew thoughtful, tinged with something that might have been regret. "Honestly, my plan was to stop your dad from ever using the enhancer. The business advice was for something else, down the line—potential problems I saw coming." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that made him look younger, more vulnerable. "I just... I didn't expect to be too late."
"You came to save him," Harry said firmly, his voice cutting through John's self-recrimination like a blade. "If you hadn't, I don't know what would have happened to him, to Dr. Stromm, to anyone who got in his way. Thank you."
John looked into his friend's eyes and saw something there he hadn't expected—not just gratitude, but understanding. Harry wasn't just thanking him for arriving in time; he was thanking him for caring enough to try.
"Harry... I have a kind of ability," John said finally, the words coming slowly as if he were testing each one for weight and meaning. "I can see possibilities for the future. That's how I knew what was happening to your dad."
"So that's it," Harry said, a look of understanding dawning on his face like sunrise after the darkest night. "A superpower. I believe you, John." The acceptance in his voice was complete, unquestioning. After everything they'd just witnessed, the existence of precognitive abilities seemed almost mundane. "In your vision... did you see a way to cure him?"
"Yes. Peter Parker can solve it. He's one of the most brilliant scientific minds in the world, he's just held back by a lack of resources and everyday problems." John's confidence was absolute, carrying the weight of knowledge that transcended normal understanding.
"That's great!" Harry said, relief flooding his voice like water through a broken dam. "Let's go find him right now!"
"Hold on." John held up a hand, his expression growing serious again. "Your dad's problem can't be solved in a day, or even a week. The immediate issue is Oscorp. Without its resources—the laboratories, the funding, the research infrastructure—curing your father becomes nearly impossible. The company cannot be allowed to fall apart."
Harry's jaw set with determination that transformed his boyish features into something that resembled his father's business face. "I can handle it. But what about the military contract? They're pulling the funding."
"We lie," John said simply, as if discussing the weather.
"Lie? How?"
John's smile took on a quality that was equal parts reassuring and slightly terrifying. "How did you like that armor I was wearing?"
"It was incredible. Powerful. Like something out of a science fiction movie." Harry's eyes lit up with understanding. "But that's your unique ability, right? How can that fool the military?"
"It won't be just the armor," John said with a sly grin that suggested he was enjoying this more than he should. "We'll add Peter to the presentation."
"Peter?" Harry's confusion was complete and total.
"He's now a near-perfect genetically enhanced human. He's acquired the proportional abilities of a spider—strength, speed, agility, enhanced reflexes—far exceeding the results of the Super Soldier Serum they gave Captain America." John's voice carried the satisfaction of someone revealing a winning poker hand. "The military will be drooling when they see him. We'll use him as leverage, get a few top scientists to help remove the side effects from your dad's formula, and then we'll give the military a watered-down version to secure another round of funding."
"Huh? Peter?" Harry was stunned, his mind reeling as he tried to process this information. "He's that good at hiding it? I didn't notice anything different about him."
"He was bitten by a genetically altered spider today on the field trip," John explained matter-of-factly. "I kept the spider, by the way. It should be very useful later for creating more controlled versions of the enhancement."
"Your future-seeing ability again, right?"
"It shows me possibilities," John corrected. "Potential futures, probable outcomes. Nothing is set in stone, but some paths are more likely than others." He glanced toward where Norman lay unconscious, bound but still somehow radiating menace even in sleep. "Now come on. Your dad should be waking up soon. Let's be there when he does."
As they walked back toward the bound figure of Norman Osborn, the city lights beyond the penthouse windows twinkled like stars, unaware that the balance of power in their world was shifting in ways that would reshape the very definition of heroism and villainy.