Jonah Jameson stood by Ned Leeds's empty desk. He slammed his hand against the laminate, his shoulders shaking as he announced the news Spider-Man had just delivered to his office.
Mary Jane stood frozen by the water cooler. A wave of intense, burning shame flushed her cheeks. She had pegged Ned as a sellout—a bribed or coerced hack too scared to chase a real lead. She had been completely wrong. Ned hadn't backed off. He had dug too deep, caught the attention of the mastermind behind the bombings, and paid for it with his life.
"This is a devastating loss for the Bugle," Jonah bellowed. His voice was thick with uncharacteristic grief and crackling with raw indignation. "But it is also our highest honor! A great investigative journalist died in the line of duty!"
He paced in front of the bullpen, jabbing an unlit cigar at the ceiling.
"But this cannot break us! Why did Ned Leeds die? Because the enemy was too powerful? Too evil?" He slammed his fist on the desk again. "No! It proves their cowardice! It proves they are terrified of the truth! They are afraid of being dragged out into the light of day! Ned's death proves that the path we walk is the right one! The Daily Bugle does not cower! We do not back down!"
Jonah grabbed his trench coat off the coat rack. "I am taking the reins on this personally! J. Jonah Jameson is going to show this so-called Goblin King exactly what a New York newspaperman can do!"
"Jonah, let me handle this." Ben Urich stepped out from his cubicle, his tie already loosened. He pulled Jameson aside, keeping his voice low. "Ned was chasing this lead for me. I sent him into the field. I never imagined it would escalate to this. It's my responsibility."
Jonah shook his head sharply. "No, Ben. This is too dangerous. You're younger than me. The Bugle needs you around for the long haul." Jonah wiped a heavy hand over his face, looking suddenly exhausted. "I'll take point. Where are Ned's files?"
Jonah turned and spotted Mary Jane lingering near the filing cabinets. He let out a long sigh and marched over to her. "Well, Miss Watson. You heard me."
"I heard you, Mr. Jameson," MJ said. She lifted her chin, her eyes locking onto his. "I'd be happy to help."
Jonah barked a dry, humorless laugh. "This is a homicide investigation, Watson! You're a high school intern! What exactly are you going to do?"
MJ didn't flinch. She stepped forward and laid out the exact geographical cross-referencing she and Peter had mapped out the day before—leaving Peter's name out of it entirely.
"Ned already isolated the target's operating radius," she explained, tapping her fingernail against a desk calendar. "He just didn't have the police backing to kick down doors. Mr. Jameson, if we leverage the Bugle's resources with the NYPD, we can pinpoint this Goblin King by the end of the week."
Jonah's mouth hung open. The cigar nearly slipped from his teeth. It clicked. This was why they silenced Ned. He was practically knocking on their front door.
The grief in Jonah's eyes immediately ignited into predatory journalistic fire. "Don't just stand there, Watson!" he roared. "Show me the map!"
Across town, Roderick Kingsley examined a velvet lapel in his dressing room mirror.
He was a renowned New York fashion designer. His exceptional eye for aesthetics and ruthless business acumen kept him heavily insulated within the city's high society. He dressed the elite, attended their galas, and smiled at their jokes.
He was also a Hobgoblin. In the original timeline, he was the Hobgoblin.
Roderick had grown utterly bored with his wealth. Money provided comfort, but with the explosive rise of super-powered individuals dominating the news cycle, ordinary life felt suffocatingly mundane.
That changed the night the three metal spheres arrived and Kang inform them of their original fate.
If history hadn't shifted, Roderick would have discovered Norman Osborn's hidden weapon caches in the sewers after the Green Goblin's supposed death. He would have used Arnold Donovan as a guinea pig to test the volatile Goblin serum. He would have brainwashed Ned Leeds into taking the fall as the Hobgoblin, allowing Roderick to operate from the shadows with absolute impunity. He would have perfected the formula to eliminate the psychotic side effects, becoming a true criminal mastermind.
And the three spheres? In the original canon, Roderick frequently used his identical twin brother, Daniel, as a body double to protect his identity. Eventually, Daniel would adopt the mantle himself, becoming the sixth Hobgoblin. Even their butler, Claude, would eventually put on the mask as the eighth. An entire family tree of Goblins.
But in this timeline, the Goblin King found them first. Unlike the dozens of civilians dragged into the underground armories and forcibly dosed with the serum against their will, the Kingsley brothers joined voluntarily.
The grisly murder at restaurant? That was Roderick. A damned employee had accidentally bumped into him, catching a glimpse of the gray, mutated skin creeping up his neck beneath his tailored collar. Roderick didn't bother with brainwashing or framing fall guys this time around. The Goblin King handled those logistics for him.
"Yes. I understand. Consider it handled."
Roderick ended the encrypted phone call. He massaged his temples and turned to his twin brother, who was lounging on a designer sofa.
"Well. It seems our 'King' isn't nearly as efficient as he claims," Roderick muttered. "The Avengers—or at least J. Jonah Jameson's people—might come sniffing around tonight. I'm going to need my alibi."
"Jonah Jameson?" Daniel Kingsley snorted. He swirled a glass of scotch. "That loudmouth who screams into the cameras? That's our big threat?" He laughed, entirely unbothered.
Roderick shot him a cold, precise glare. "Do not underestimate the variables, Daniel. The Goblin King is paranoid for a reason."
"Relax. I'll play the part." Daniel smiled, setting his glass down on a glass coaster. "Besides, it's about time the Hobgoblin made a proper public debut." He paused, his smile thinning slightly. "One question, though. The Avengers aren't exactly the Boy Scouts. What if they decide to just take my head off?"
"Your job is to act as the decoy, Daniel. Nothing more," Roderick said, adjusting his cuffs. He wasn't particularly concerned about his brother's physical safety. "The King's true objective is Spider-Man. Once the spider takes the bait, the entire Goblin Legion will swarm him."
Roderick checked his gold watch. "Once Spider-Man is dead, the King has promised us our own territory in this lawless city. A kingdom without rules." He grabbed his coat from the rack. "Now get ready. Old man Jameson's hounds will be here soon."
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