Leaving my private lab, I immediately headed to the main laboratory where Mendel Stromm was still working on the Oz Serum. It seemed no one had informed him that the Department of Defense had decided to terminate the contract with Oscorp, meaning the project would soon be shut down.
"Dr. Stromm, I've been a bit preoccupied with researching the Oz Serum lately and lost track of the Glider project's progress. Can you bring me up to speed?" I asked Mendel as soon as I entered the lab.
"Well, we managed to extend the device's operational autonomy to nearly three hours by switching to a new type of battery. But the control issues remain the same as with the earlier prototype. Dr. Octavius seems to have found a solution and is working on it now, but he hasn't shared the details yet. Tell me, how is your version of the Oz Serum coming along?" Mendel replied, seizing the opportunity to ask a question that clearly interested him.
"You were right this time, Dr. Stromm. This version of the serum turned out to be a complete dead end. But thanks to it, I think I've found a way to cure my illness. If my calculations are correct, I'll be fully healthy soon," I said with a strained smile that was increasingly resembling a snarl.
I delivered this prepared line about finding a cure, though what I really wanted was to grab this idiot Mendel and start smashing him against the wall. Just imagining it made me want to do it even more. But no... I wasn't going to follow these new dark impulses.
"Oh, congratulations, Mr. Osborn. You've worked long and hard for this," Mendel congratulated me, seemingly sincerely.
Meanwhile, I ordered two lab technicians: "Prepare the glider and flight suit. I want to conduct some field tests, and install combat missiles on the glider."
But the technicians didn't rush to obey. They froze and stared at me as if I were insane.
"Faster!" I roared at them and took several deep breaths to calm down. Miraculously, after my shout, they sprang into action with incredible speed to carry out my orders.
"Dr. Osborn, are you alright? Why do you need the glider? I've heard rumors that they want to remove you from the position of CEO of Oscorp. If you're planning revenge by killing the board members with it, don't do it. You're wealthy, and you say you'll be healthy soon. Dr. Osborn... no, Norman, please come to your senses," Dr. Stromm began fervently trying to convince me to stop.
"Mendel, stay out of what doesn't concern you. Go... occupy yourself with some research. I'll figure out what to do on my own," I said, and to keep from hitting this idiot, I grabbed the lab table. When I looked down, I noticed clear imprints of my fingers on the metal surface.
It seemed I had super strength, at least for now. According to the simulations, this was a temporary effect that should pass soon, but I had no idea when that would happen. The countdown was in hours, but only God knew for sure. I sincerely hoped that my newly acquired rage and irritability were also temporary and would fade along with the super strength.
"Norman, think this through. I can't stop you, but know that I'm against all this. And don't say later that I didn't try to talk you out of it," Mendel said, lifting his head proudly and leaving the lab. He was probably going to report me to security or even call the police.
"What are you standing around for again?" I said to the technicians, who had been distracted by my conversation with Mendel. "While I'm in charge here, and if you don't want to be fired with a black mark on your record, get moving!" I snapped at them, simultaneously sending a message to Arthur: "If Mendel comes to you, detain him and don't let him do anything stupid like calling the police."
"What should we do?" asked one of the scientists who had previously worked with Mendel on the Oz Serum.
"Get out of my sight. No—wait. Everyone else, get back to your work. But you, since you asked, go to Dr. Otto Octavius's lab and pick up the device he prepared. He knows which one. And have him write a brief instruction on how to use it," I told this pretentious nerd named Weiss.
"I'm a scientist, not an errand boy," Weiss replied haughtily. Okay, I needed to calm down... inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
"Weiss, are you immortal? Do you realize who you're talking back to?" I asked him very insinuatingly. And it seemed he saw something in my gaze because a few seconds later, he was gone. I hoped he had gone to Otto, or he would regret his decision for the rest of his life.
With the bag of grenades, I headed to the lab where the glider should already be ready. Along the way, I sent a message to Arthur: "Don't call me for now. I'll be very busy. And send me a list of what Hobgoblin stole from Oscorp's warehouses." I didn't want to talk to him on the phone while I was experiencing such rage—it would be a shame to lash out at one of the few people loyal to me.
I even stopped when the list arrived. The glider—that was clear. Various types of combat grenades—also clear. But mortars and ground-to-ground missile launchers? Who was he planning to sell that kind of weaponry to? Certainly not ordinary thugs. And that was another reason the Department of Defense had terminated the contract with Oscorp. It seemed they didn't want to work with a company where it was even possible to steal heavy weaponry.
Arthur... His incompetence was starting to infuriate me. I began to doubt whether I needed such a loyal but stupid and useless degenerate. How I hated him... And there was another surge of anger, which I barely managed to suppress. I needed to direct all my thoughts toward this bastard Hobgoblin—only hatred for him allowed me to keep from lashing out at others.
And now it was clear why Hobgoblin hadn't brought any weapons with him during the Oscorp invasion except for grenades and throwing knives. He simply didn't have any. He couldn't have shown up at the shareholders' meeting with a mortar—I would have liked to see that spectacle.
When I entered the lab, the glider was already prepared for flight and now stood in its center.
"You idiots, what the hell did you set it up here for?!" I shouted at the two moronic lab technicians. "Am I supposed to fly right here in the lab, where it's impossible to get outside? Am I supposed to fly in a place full of fragile equipment that's worth more than you are? Move the glider to my penthouse upstairs—no, to the balcony of my penthouse—right now. I'll grant you access," I said, barely restraining myself from throwing a grenade at them and ridding the world of their incredible stupidity once and for all. Hobgoblin. I needed to remember Hobgoblin.
While these two idiots transported the glider to the balcony of my penthouse, I began to dress—or rather, there was no other way to put it—in the high-tech suit specially designed for glider flights. I wouldn't have been able to do it without the help of the scientists who came to assist me.
"Mr. Osborn, I've brought the device you requested and the instructions Dr. Otto Octavius wrote," Weiss informed me, placing a fairly small device that looked like a very thick smartphone with a black-and-white screen on the lab table.
"Good boy. Go get yourself a cookie," I told him, turning the device over in my hands and realizing it was quite simple. I could probably figure it out even without Otto's instructions. And judging by how plainly they were written, Otto had likely written them not for me but for the police.
"What... cookie?" Weiss asked, not quite understanding what I wanted from him.
"Any!" I roared at him once again, barely restraining the urge to hit him. I needed to leave the Oscorp Tower urgently before I did something terrible that I would later regret. Fortunately, Weiss didn't have any more brilliant questions.
After putting on the suit, I left without saying goodbye to anyone and headed to my penthouse, where, I hoped, the glider was already waiting. And lo and behold, these idiots had done everything right. But before going after Hobgoblin, I needed to cover my bases a bit. My constant anger had even made me forget to do this at first. So I took my phone and dialed Arthur's number.
"Norman, what the hell is going on? Mendel burst in here and told me you're planning to kill the board members!" Arthur said immediately.
"Arthur, ignore him. Listen to the task. You need to contact your brother and tell him I've found a way to track this Hobgoblin. The glider prototype he stole has nuclear batteries installed, and they can be tracked using a special device. Contact Otto about it—let him explain in detail. I'm going to take this device on the glider now and try to find the location of the warehouse. Then I'll contact the police immediately. Pass that along to your brother," I said and, without waiting for a response, ended the call.
Taking off on the glider, I experienced incredible sensations. For a moment, I even forgot about the anger I was feeling and about Hobgoblin—it seemed I forgot about everything in the world. Flying was something incredible, and I realized I would never give it up.
Neither I nor, judging by the memories, the original Norman Osborn had ever experienced anything like it. I was especially impressed by the slight dive downward right after I flew off the balcony, which happened because I moved my foot incorrectly, and the glider's sensitive sensors reacted immediately. Only a miracle and my incredible reflexes—granted to me by the serum—allowed me to survive.
It took me about five minutes after flying away from the tower to finally stabilize my flight and get a little used to controlling the glider.
There were three ports in New York, and I decided to start my search for Hobgoblin at the largest one—Jersey Port. Checking the map on my phone, I headed there. I understood that the search over such a large area might take a while. According to online information, the port area alone covered 486 hectares. But perhaps that was for the best—I would be far from people, and perhaps my anger would gradually subside.
After about an hour of flying over the warehouses near the port—and during that hour, the rage raging inside me did indeed diminish to manageable levels, allowing me to think clearly—it dawned on me that I had been conducting my search all wrong. Why was I trying to find the final target of my search immediately when there was a place Hobgoblin had definitely been recently—the Oscorp Tower?
All that remained was to hope that the radiation trail from the nuclear batteries in the air hadn't yet dissipated too much and that I could trace the glider's flight path.
I was right. Flying my glider up to the broken window in the Oscorp Tower (startling the forensic investigators working in the shareholders' meeting room), I managed to pick up a fairly faint radiation trail with the device, which I then followed.
At first, I thought I would have to fly toward Jersey Port, as the trail led in that direction. But about a third of the way, it suddenly changed direction, causing me to lose it. I spent about fifteen minutes relocating it, and ultimately, it led me to a warehouse district in Brooklyn.
About a kilometer from the target warehouse-hangar, I lost the trail again, but not because it had become too weak—rather, it was overwhelmed by a powerful radiation source located in one of the warehouses. Had Hobgoblin gone completely insane and decided to smash one of the nuclear batteries with a sledgehammer?
As I approached the warehouse, I roughly understood what had happened. Hobgoblin simply hadn't been able to brake in time when returning from the Oscorp Tower. In his attempts to do so, he had rammed the corner of the warehouse, leaving characteristic marks. After that, judging by the traces on the ground, he hadn't been seriously injured and had managed to drag the radiation-emitting glider—of which he was probably unaware—inside the warehouse. And he was likely inside right now. That's what I intended to verify.
I took out a flashbang grenade and threw it onto the metal roof of the hangar, covering my ears. The explosion was weak, but the sound was as if a very powerful bomb had detonated. I can't even imagine how the person inside the hangar must have felt.
"Come out, Hobgoblin. I've brought your twenty million," I shouted toward the warehouse, landing not far from it but outside the radiation contamination zone.
"Osborn, what the hell are you doing here?" Hobgoblin shouted from inside, bewildered. "Are you with the police? I won't surrender. And if anyone tries to do something I don't like, I'll blow this whole place up!" he continued.
"Come out. Don't be afraid. I'm alone. And if you don't come out right now, I'll either blow up the hangar myself or call the police. I haven't decided yet," I shouted back.
"Alone? Fine, I'll come out. Doesn't seem like I have another option," he shouted and, judging by the sounds, made his way to the hangar exit.
I prepared myself and took out a grenade. As soon as he limped out of the hangar and began looking around for police, I threw the grenade at his feet. No, it didn't explode—just a blue flash of light, and that was it.
Hobgoblin, initially frightened but unable to react, sneered at me: "What, Norman? Nothing happened? But don't worry, it's normal at your age."
But looking at him, I didn't even feel anger—just contempt and perhaps pity. He was dressed in the same suit as me, even had the same bag of grenades, but otherwise, we had nothing in common. And that's what I was angry about, that's what I hated, and that's what I wanted to fight. After spending several hours in close proximity to a powerful radiation source, he could barely stand on his feet.
"Very funny. Now quietly raise your hands, and we'll wait for the police," I told him.
"The police? You think you can just come here and make me surrender to the police? All I have to do is get through you. And it's great that you brought me a new glider—mine got a little... broken," he said with the same smirk.
"Broken? You still don't get it?" I asked, looking at him like an idiot.
"What was I supposed to get?" he asked, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.
"What do you think powers your glider?" I began from afar.
"What? What are you even talking about? What difference does it make what it runs on?" he asked me a new question.
"It runs on nuclear batteries, you idiot. And it seems you've been near one or two damaged batteries for several hours. How much radiation do you think you've absorbed?" I asked him.
"Osborn, stop talking nonsense!" he shouted and lunged at me, intending to deliver a straight punch to my head. Though I dodged the blow, it wasn't as easy as I had expected. It seemed that along with the anger, all my super strength and super reflexes had also faded, and I even felt weaker than before taking the serum. I needed to end this fight while I was still capable.
Ducking under Hobgoblin's punch, I hit him with a hook to the head, and I got the impression that he was already off-balance before my blow even landed. And I certainly didn't expect him to collapse to the ground after the first hit.
"What did you do to me, you bastard? Was it that grenade that exploded under my feet?" he shouted, spraying spit everywhere. But after that, he didn't attack me—he just sat there, trying to catch his breath.
"Yeah, it's all the EMP grenade's fault—not the fact that you spent hours cuddling a radiation source," I said with a smirk.
At that moment, Hobgoblin quickly shoved his hand into the bag, pulled out a grenade, pressed the button, and threw it at my feet.
"Go to hell, you idiot, and goodbye," he said. We stood for a few seconds, staring at the grenade, which showed no signs of exploding.
"You know, I've always thought it was a strange idea to make electronic detonators for grenades," I said, approaching the shocked Hobgoblin and delivering a knockout blow from above.
Now it was time to deal with the consequences.