Not So Friendly Anymore

Chapter 16: Ending the Madness

The Goblin's laughter echoed through the darkened penthouse like shards of glass, jagged and grating, filling every corner of the opulent room. Oscorp Tower stood tall over the city, and at its peak, Norman Osborn reveled in chaos. He leaned back in his leather chair, boots propped on his desk, tossing a silver goblin grenade up and down in his hand. The metallic click with each catch seemed to punctuate the erratic rhythm of his maniacal chuckling.

"Two little flies squashed in one night," he whispered to himself, his grin stretching wide beneath the pale green hue of the screens around him. A half-empty glass of scotch sat untouched on the desk beside him, forgotten in the wake of his growing hysteria. "Smythe and Crossbones... gone, just like that. Impressive, Spider. Truly." He paused, savoring the moment, as if Spider-Man could somehow hear him.

The city lights flickered outside the window, casting distorted reflections across his face. He traced a finger lazily across the glowing surface of a screen, zooming in on footage of the shipyard massacre, mercenaries webbed up, necks snapped, Sable's precise shots ending lives without hesitation.

"Efficient," he muttered with approval. "Methodical. Ruthless." The last word slipped off his tongue with particular delight.

His voice lowered, almost conspiratorial, as if whispering to a friend. "He thinks he's becoming like me. A monster. But the truth is..." He stopped mid-sentence, savoring the thrill building inside him, "...he'll never be enough. Never."

He sprang to his feet, pacing along the room with manic energy, his green-tinted eyes gleaming under the dim light. "No, no, no... Spider-Man is still bound by the chains of righteousness. Still clinging to some deluded notion that all of this... this blood and rage will somehow make him free." He twirled the grenade again in his hand, then caught it and grinned. "But it won't. It never does."

Stopping before the floor-to-ceiling window, Norman pressed his hand against the glass, his gaze sweeping over the city sprawled below him. "What's the point, Peter? All those bodies, all that pain, and for what? To topple my empire? To stop me?" He scoffed, shaking his head slowly. "Foolish boy. This city belongs to me. It always has."

The mask was waiting for him on the desk. Norman stared at it, his second face, his truest self. The smooth, metallic grin of the Green Goblin stared back. He reached for it, his fingers trailing along the cold surface as if greeting an old friend.

"They never understand, do they? Not the heroes, not the villains... They all think the game can be won." He chuckled softly, slipping the mask over his head, the familiar hiss of the seals snapping into place.

"Ah, but only I know the truth." His voice deepened, warping into the mechanical rasp of the Goblin. "The game was never about winning. It was always about chaos. About seeing how far we can fall before we hit the bottom."

He threw his arms wide, spinning slowly in place as if addressing an unseen audience. "And Peter... oh, Peter, my dear boy... you're falling faster than I ever imagined."

The Goblin stopped spinning and stared at the wall of monitors, each one flickering with scenes of destruction, broken drones, lifeless mercenaries, Crossbones slumped in death. His gloved hand hovered over a switch, flipping it with a delighted cackle.

"Let's see what happens when you lose everything," he whispered to himself as alarms began to ring across the tower.

The monitors shifted to a live feed of Peter and Sable, still moving through the night, unknowingly closing in on their next target.

"Tick-tock, Spider," the Goblin hummed, rocking on his heels like a child waiting for a surprise. "Sooner or later, the fall will break you. And when it does..."