Tony began his fifteenth lap around the glass capsule.
"Vitality manifested! This is the answer!"
He waved his hands wildly, caffeine turning his gestures into those of a manic orchestra conductor.
"What's inside you isn't energy—it's will itself. Pure will! The direct projection of spiritual power into the material world!"
Joren leaned against the bulkhead, his hat brim pulled even lower.
Oh my god… This guy's completely lost it.
"Imagine the potential applications!"
Tony's eyes were bloodshot, gleaming with obsession.
"If we can decode how this power transmits, we could build willpower amplifiers! Mental-energy converters! Hell—even—"
He spun on his heel and slammed both palms against the glass enclosure.
"A full production line for artificial superhumans!"
Joren pushed open the hatch.
"I'm out."
"Wait, wait, wait!"
Tony darted in front of him, blocking the exit.
"One last tiny experiment! Just one!"
He yanked a slender metal probe from the lab bench drawer. Its tip pulsed with a faint blue light.
"A light poke. That's all it takes—just a microscopic sample. I swear, it won't hurt!"
"No."
"Please! This is about the next stage of human evolution!"
Tony raised the probe like it was Excalibur.
"Ten million dollars! I'll fund the whole damn project!"
"I said no."
Joren stepped forward—but Tony cut him off again.
"Twenty million!"
"Move."
"Fifty million!"
Joren's brow twitched.
This rich bastard really is loaded.
Still, he shook his head.
Tony's expression cycled from manic elation to despair—and back to manic elation.
"You don't get it! This is the greatest scientific breakthrough in human history! We're standing on the edge of a new era! If we miss this chance—"
"Sir," JARVIS interrupted smoothly, "it's an emergency."
Every screen in the lab flared to life, bathing the room in crimson as a massive alert symbol pulsed across them.
"A violent explosion has occurred at the Oscorp Industrial Complex. Unknown bio-energy signatures detected—consistent with enhanced human activity."
Tony whirled toward the main display. Hovering above the wreckage was a humanoid figure on a green glider, clad in jagged armor and a grotesque goblin mask, a small satchel swinging at his hip.
"Whoa! That aesthetic is fire!"
Tony clapped, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.
"Let me guess—Oscorp's latest toy? First they drag the Green Lizard off to S.H.I.E.L.D., now this? Do they have some kind of corporate green fetish?"
He flicked his fingers through the air, pulling up more surveillance feeds.
"Check the kit: glider, energy blasters, reinforced armor… Tsk tsk. Norman's been busy."
Joren stared blankly at the screen.
"Why don't you go be a superhero and save the world?"
"Absolutely!"
Tony pivoted, already striding toward the armor bay.
"Jarvis—deploy the Mark X!"
The lab walls slid open with a hydraulic hiss, revealing a gleaming suit of red-and-gold armor. After countless iterations, Tony no longer needed robotic arms to don it; the suit now responded to neural command.
He turned back to Joren, helmet sealed, visor dark.
"Wanna come for a ride? I promise—it'll blow every roller coaster you've ever been on straight out of the park."
"Going for a drive?"
"Yes,"
"I plan to take you with me on this journey."
Tony's eyes lit up—then Joren's expression froze.
An image flashed through his mind: himself being hoisted through the air like luggage by a man encased in red-and-gold metal.
The sheer indignity made every cell in his body revolt.
"Give me the car keys."
Tony's grin faltered, replaced by something puzzled, almost wounded. "I thought you'd want to fly. Look down on Manhattan from three thousand meters up—that's something else."
"Car. Keys."
Joren's tone left no room for negotiation.
Tony sighed dramatically. "Alright, alright. Jarvis—give him the keys. Underground garage. Red Ferrari 488. And don't crash it."
The helmet snapped shut with a soft click. Iron Man's repulsors hummed to life, blue flames licking at the floor.
"Then I'll be off!"
With a thunderous whoosh, Tony blasted through the open window—red and gold streaking into the Manhattan skyline like a falling star in reverse.
---
Joren took the elevator down to the underground garage at a leisurely pace.
Since I'm off today, he thought, might as well go for a drive… and take the car home.
Excellent.
The red Ferrari 488 waited in its reserved spot, its curves gleaming under the sterile garage lights like polished blood.
He slid into the driver's seat, fingers curling around the wheel. One twist of the key—and the V8 roared to life, the whole chassis trembling with barely restrained power.
He pressed the accelerator.
The Ferrari shot out of the garage like a predator unchained.
New York traffic became a high-speed jigsaw puzzle, and Joren solved it with millimeter precision—lane changes smooth, aggressive, effortless. The engine's snarl echoed between skyscrapers, turning heads on every sidewalk.
But his destination wasn't leisure.
Minutes later, the Osborn Industrial Building loomed ahead.
Then—light.
Orange fire split the night like a demon's grin, carving a deadly arc across the sky.
BOOM.
The explosion ripped through the block. Shrapnel—wood splinters, glass, even half-eaten hors d'oeuvres—burst outward in a wave of heat and noise. Students were flung to the pavement, their screams swallowed by the inferno.
Panic spread like wildfire.
The square descended into chaos: people trampling each other, shrieking, scrambling away from the sky.
From above, the Green Goblin cackled, hovering on his glider like some twisted angel of ruin. "Hahaha! Run, bugs! Run faster!"
He plucked pumpkin bombs from his belt and tossed them down like party favors.
BOOM! BOOM!
Each detonation turned another patch of elegant pavement into hellfire. Smoke choked the air. The party was over—replaced by a nightmare in emerald and flame.
Joren's gaze cut through the chaos like a blade.
There—Peter, shielding Gwen with his body, muscles straining as he carved a path through the stampede.
And there—Harry Osborn, standing frozen like a puppet with its strings cut. His face, upturned and ashen, wore an expression Joren knew too well: the dawning horror of betrayal, the collapse of a world.
Yare, Yare… Joren mused dryly. Don't you people have classes?
Honestly. These troublesome kids always show up exactly where they shouldn't.
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