"Let's give a massive round of applause to Spider-Man! He just killed the last goblin! Wow, Spider-Man has once again protected the great city of New York! Congratulations!"
The Goblin King's mocking broadcast echoed down the sterile white hallways of Dr. Barton Hamilton's psychiatric clinic.
Steve Rogers ignored the frantic protests of the reception staff. He marched straight toward the back offices. He didn't carry an arrest warrant. He didn't have local law enforcement authorization. He didn't need either; his mere presence suffocated the room.
Steve stopped in front of Hamilton's heavy mahogany door. He turned and offered a polite nod to the terrified nurses trailing behind him.
"Excuse me, ladies," Steve said. His most dangerous sentences were always the quietest ones. "I need a word with Dr. Hamilton."
A head nurse swallowed hard. "But Dr. Hamilton left strict orders. He's receiving a very important guest."
"Did you see who this guest was?" Steve asked.
The nurses exchanged panicked looks. They shook their heads.
Steve nodded. He turned back to the door and kicked the lock right out of the doorframe.
The heavy wood splintered inward. The office was wrapped in warm, comforting wallpaper. There were no patients on the leather couch. Sitting at the mahogany desk was a monster. The creature had sickly green skin, jagged teeth, and pointed ears. He was screaming maniacally into a computer microphone.
The nurses shrieked and sprinted for the exit.
Hamilton paused his broadcast. He flashed a grotesque, comical grin at the computer monitor. "Well then! Let's continue our game next week!"
He severed the connection.
"I'm not surprised at all," Steve said. He stepped over the splintered door.
Hamilton chuckled. He reached under his desk and pulled a glowing pumpkin bomb from a hidden rack. He hurled the explosive directly at Steve's chest.
Steve didn't flinch. He unhooked the vibranium shield from his back and threw it. The edge of the shield sliced the pumpkin bomb perfectly in half. The explosive detonated in a harmless ball of fire mid-air.
Hamilton vaulted over the desk. He tore through the fading flames. He swatted the returning shield out of the air with a massive, green fist. He lunged at Steve.
"You're a relic from World War II," Hamilton sneered. "Do you honestly still think you're the cutting edge of human fitness?"
Steve ducked under a sweeping hook. "You rely entirely on brute force."
Steve planted his feet. He drove three rapid-fire jabs directly into the Goblin's face. Hamilton barely blinked. Steve dropped his shoulder and slammed into the Goblin's chest, knocking him back a single step. Steve snapped a kick upward, connecting flush with Hamilton's throat.
Hamilton's neck didn't snap back. He just grinned, baring rows of yellowed teeth.
"Hahahaha! A relic of the past thinks he can lecture me?" Hamilton laughed, raising his fists. "You—Oh!"
Steve broke the psychiatrist's nose with a devastating right cross.
Without his heavily-armored exoskeleton, the Green Goblin was vulnerable. He possessed raw, terrifying strength and enhanced reflexes. But power couldn't buy muscle memory. Hamilton had only been operating with the serum in his veins for a month. A month of godhood couldn't replace a lifetime of war.
Steve unclipped his standard-issue 9mm sidearm from his hip. He drew a combat knife with his left hand.
"You think a knife and a gun are going to stop me?" Hamilton spat, blood bubbling over his lips.
"Let's find out," Steve said.
Hamilton roared. He charged like a freight train. He tackled Steve around the waist. They smashed entirely through the drywall, tumbling into the adjacent observation room.
Steve hit the floor and rolled backward. He raised his pistol. He fired three rounds into Hamilton's chest. Green, gamma-irradiated blood sprayed across the carpet.
Hamilton didn't slow down. He ripped a massive filing cabinet from its floor bolts. He threw it across the room.
Steve dove sideways. The cabinet obliterated the wall behind him. Steve aimed low. He fired a single round directly into Hamilton's kneecap.
The 9mm bullet flattened against the Goblin's enhanced cartilage, but the impact sent a shock of pain up the doctor's leg. Steve dropped the empty pistol. He gripped the broken combat knife. He stepped forward.
"Look at you," Hamilton chuckled. He threw a wild, desperate haymaker. "You're a washed-up old codger. What are you without that shield?"
"Your movements are too wide."
Steve slipped under the punch. He stepped into Hamilton's guard. He drove a brutal uppercut into the Goblin's chin. He followed it with a blinding combination of strikes to the face.
"Your eyes are telegraphing your next move."
Blood poured freely from Hamilton's ruined nose. He swung blindly with both fists. Steve parried the left arm. He deflected the right.
Steve stepped in tight. He headbutts Hamilton square in the forehead.
The Goblin's eyes lost focus. He staggered backward. Steve pivoted on his heel. He drove his boot directly into the exact same kneecap he had just shot.
The joint buckled. Hamilton dropped to one knee.
Steve unleashed a flawless high kick to the temple. Hamilton's eyes rolled back. He hit the floor and didn't get back up.
Steve looked down at the unconscious super-soldier. He took a slow breath.
"And remember," Steve muttered to the silent room. "Don't just use your fists. Use your head, your legs, your teeth. Use everything."
Steve placed his hands on his hips. His chest heaved as he waited for his heart rate to slow.
"I really miss the days when I was the pinnacle of human technology," he sighed.
"You sound a little winded over the radio, Cap."
Tony Stark's voice crackled through the earpiece. "Wait, I don't remember you wearing a helmet today. After seeing what headbutting a Goblin does to a guy, we should probably upgrade your armor. Captain America's forehead isn't bulletproof."
Steve ignored the jab. "Is Hamilton our Goblin King?"
"He was definitely the one broadcasting on the TV," Tony replied. "But our micro-drone just finished its sweep. It found a bomb wired into his chest cavity. He's just another puppet. We have to keep searching."
Steve grimaced. "I'll bag him up and bring him in. What's Spider-Man's status?"
"I'm hanging in there," Peter coughed over the comm channel. "The symbiote took a beating. My hands are a little crispy. Oh, and I caught Roderick Kingsley."
Steve immediately switched to tactical logistics. "Tony, contact Emma Frost. Hamilton's head is full of secrets. We need a telepath to dig them out."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGaruda
You'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~