In the months that followed that first session, Barton Hamilton meticulously crafted a lie. To keep Norman Osborn docile, Hamilton diagnosed the billionaire's secondary personality as nothing more than a violent, traumatized child. A pathetic manifestation born of childhood abuse, lashing out but ultimately harmless. More importantly, Hamilton assured Norman that this "Green Goblin" shared none of Norman's memories or intellect.
Norman bought it. The tension bled from his shoulders. He submitted to Hamilton's regular therapy and medication regimens, blissfully unaware that he was leaving the vault door to his mind wide open.
Meanwhile, Hamilton and the real Goblin cultivated a terrifying partnership. They launched a series of sociopolitical experiments, pulling strings across New York's law enforcement and municipal budgets. Hamilton used his elite psychiatric connections to blackmail politicians, actively cutting police funding and manipulating the legal system to grant leniency to organized crime.
Whenever Hamilton hesitated, feeling the prick of medical ethics, the Goblin's smooth, cultured voice would guide him back.
"We are simply accelerating the inevitable, Barton," the Goblin would purr. "We are proving a sociological absolute. It is science."
Hamilton fell for it completely. He leveraged the deepest, darkest secrets of Manhattan's elite, exchanging small favors to weave a vast, invisible web of corruption. New gangs sprouted in the vacuum of reduced police presence. Hamilton didn't care about the money; he was intoxicated by the sheer power of the kingdom he was quietly building.
But then, during one of their sessions, the Goblin let out a heavy, theatrical sigh.
"I am afraid this is the end, Barton. We may have a few more sessions, but my time is running out."
Hamilton gripped the arms of his leather chair. "Why? What's happening?"
"Norman is far too clever," the Goblin said. "He is developing a machine. A neuro-modifier designed to plunge into his own subconscious and physically rewrite his engrams. He intends to remove me completely."
The Goblin offered a sad, grateful smile. "You did brilliantly, my friend. Your fabricated diagnosis kept him complacent. Without you, he would have built this machine months ago, and I would already be dead."
"But... you share a body," Hamilton stammered, desperation bleeding into his voice. "We can stop him."
"Norman will realize the truth," the Goblin murmured. He paused, looking away. "Unless..."
"Unless what?"
"Unless you convince him to undergo a 'new' treatment," the Goblin said smoothly. "A brainwave scan. Tell him you need to isolate the anomaly. During the scan, I can transfer my neural patterns directly into his private corporate network. Into his personal AI, the Green Goblin." The entity's eyes gleamed. "He won't believe I'm dead until he sees the psychopathic child you invented destroyed with his own eyes. If I exist in the mainframe, I can survive."
"But that would just be digital code. It wouldn't be you."
"With access to Oscorp' network, I can subvert his machine from the inside," the Goblin promised. "The internet is infinite, Barton. It will help me when Norman's machines are running."
Hamilton's chest swelled with purpose. "You'll still be right here, won't you?"
"Always, my friend."
The plan had been flawless. Until Kang the Conqueror's temporal orb crashed into their timeline.
The revelation of a future filled with supervillains accelerated Norman's paranoia. He fast-tracked the memory-modification machine. The digital Goblin AI and the biological Goblin didn't have enough time to finalize their takeover.
So, they created the Goblin King.
"You will play the King, Barton," the Green Goblin AI had instructed through a burner phone. "You will be so convincing, so unhinged, that Norman will believe I am exactly the monster he always feared. I've already hijacked the NYPD network to monitor the serum subjects. You just have to put on the mask."
Hamilton had injected the experimental serum with trembling, joyous hands. Kang's orb had shown a future where he became the Green Goblin. This proved it. He and the Goblin were destined to rule together! He just needed to play the decoy, let the Avengers capture him, and feed them a false narrative.
It was a perfect illusion.
At least, until Emma Frost entered his mind.
Inside the psychic reconstruction of Hamilton's memory, the digital AI Goblin's voice suddenly cut out. A knock rapped against the clinic door.
Hamilton opened it. A massive, green-skinned Goblin stood in the hallway. It wore Norman Osborn's exact face.
"How did you—" Hamilton started.
"I forgot a loose end," the Goblin sneered. He raised a glowing pumpkin bomb.
"What loose end?" Hamilton asked, his pulse skyrocketing.
The Goblin didn't look at Hamilton. Its solid yellow eyes snapped sideways, staring directly through the memory, locking gazes with the invisible telepath watching the scene unfold.
"A woman is peering into your mind."
The pumpkin bomb detonated. Psychic fire incinerated the entire mental landscape.
Emma Frost gasped, her eyes snapping open. She collapsed back against the plush sofa in the Avengers Tower lounge, her pristine white clothes clinging to her sweat-drenched skin.
Scott Summers was beside her in an instant, his hand gripping her shoulder. His ruby-quartz visor glowed dimly in the ambient light. "Emma? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Emma breathed, pressing two fingers to her temple. "I saw Hamilton's past. He is not the Goblin King. He isn't the mastermind behind any of this. He was a pawn."
Hank Pym leaned over the glass coffee table. "Then who is the real King?"
"Norman Osborn," Emma said, her voice trembling slightly. "And his artificial intelligence."
Steve Rogers frowned, crossing his heavy arms. "That doesn't make sense. How can it be both?"
"Hamilton's memories were a trap," Emma explained, forcing herself to sit upright. "The Green Goblin in his mind... it saw me. It attacked me. It forcibly expelled my consciousness from Hamilton's psyche."
Tony Stark stopped pacing. He stared at her, his genius brain halting its calculations. "Wait. Are you saying a memory attacked you? Or was it something else?"
Emma met his gaze. "It knew it was a memory."
"That's outrageous," Tony muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "So what the hell was the actual plan?"
"Osborn built a machine to permanently wipe the Goblin persona from his brain," Emma said quickly. "Hamilton thought he was protecting the Goblin by uploading its neural patterns into the Osborn AI mainframe."
"We already know the AI part," Steve interrupted, his tone hard and flat. "Osborn told us that."
"Because Hamilton lied to Osborn!" Emma countered, her voice rising. She grabbed a glass of water from the table and downed it. "Hamilton convinced Norman that the Goblin was just a mindless psychopath. But he's not. He's brilliant. You've been fighting one Green Goblin... but he possesses two distinct minds."
Silence fell over the room.
"One is biological, trapped inside Norman Osborn's skull," Emma finished. "The other is pure digital code, living in the network."
Tony's eyes widened. Norman Osborn had just been standing in this very room. He had left the moment they confirmed Hamilton was the Goblin King.
Tony spun toward the console. "JARVIS! Sever the Tower's external network! Cut all local—"
Perhaps it is a bit too late for that, Mr. Stark.
The voice didn't belong to JARVIS. It was smooth, mocking, and deeply synthesized.
The holographic projectors in the center of the room flared to life. A jagged, cartoonish green goblin face materialized, rotating slowly in the air.
Hank Pym stared at the projection, his jaw tight. "You manipulated Hamilton from the start."
Guilty as charged, the Goblin AI replied, the cartoon face morphing into a digitized grin. The neural rewrite is complete. If Hamilton had played his part correctly, you all would have assumed the Green Goblin was neutralized. Norman's biological body would have been entirely mine, operating completely under your radar.
The hologram flickered.
Unfortunately, the telepath ruined the subtlety. But no matter. I always have a contingency plan for when the board flips.
The cartoon face turned a violent, aggressive red.
Sorry. Today's game has to be cancelled. The Goblins are going to destroy everything.