A few days before the events at Times Square, John had tried to use the "Metamorph" ability to infiltrate Oscorp and gather information about the company's possible connection to the Green Goblin. He had hoped that the transformation would help him gain access to the labs or data on the serum and gliders. However, all attempts proved useless—Norman Osborn hadn't appeared in the building for about 3 weeks, and the experiment data had vanished as if it never existed at all. Inside, there were neither the people he needed nor any important information. Attempts to investigate the Osborn mansion yielded no results either. In the end, John realized that "Metamorph" was a useful tool, but in this case, it yielded no benefit.
January 20, 2009. New York.
Surprisingly, winter seemed to have taken a vacation this year. The twentieth day of January greeted New York with an uncharacteristically warm, almost spring-like sun. The sky was flawlessly blue, without a single cloud, and the bright rays generously flooded the streets, reflecting off the glass of skyscrapers and making the rare, forgotten snowdrifts in the street corners melt shamefully away. The thermometer showed a comfortable 10°C—weather more typical for late April than mid-winter. The city, shaking off its usual January drowsiness, buzzed vibrantly, anticipating the holiday.
13:00. Times Square.
The heart of New York, the famous Times Square, was unrecognizable today. Instead of the usual roar of taxis and the blur of rushing clerks, the square had turned into a massive pedestrian zone, the epicenter of universal fun. The World Unity Festival was in full swing. The entrances to the square were securely blocked by rows of police cars with flashing red and blue lights, creating a safety cordon behind which an atmosphere of carefreeness and celebration reigned.
The air was filled with the hum of thousands of voices, laughter, snippets of conversations in dozens of languages, and, of course, music. From a huge, brightly decorated stage set up on the north side of the square, the catchy rhythms of some popular Latin American artist thundered. Hovering above the crowd like bizarre sea creatures were giant inflatable figures: a smiling blue whale, a good-natured panda, a graceful giraffe, and a whole flock of colorful tropical fish. Their glossy sides swayed to the beat of the music, casting whimsical shadows on the cheering people below.
The crowd itself was an incredible kaleidoscope. People of all ages, races, and nationalities—many dressed in national costumes or just bright, festive clothes—had still not forgotten the winter calendar despite the unexpected warmth; many wore light jackets, scarves, and hats that now seemed a bit out of place. It smelled of popcorn, cotton candy, roasted chestnuts, and something elusively spicy wafting from numerous street food stalls representing cuisines from all over the world.
Peter Parker and the Others
Our small group moved through this sea of people, trying not to get lost. Peter Parker, with his ever-present camera around his neck, was in his element. His eyes burned with delight; he clicked the shutter almost non-stop, trying to capture every bright moment, every smile, every unusual detail. He would crouch to catch an interesting angle, then crane his neck to photograph the balloons floating overhead, then enthusiastically shoot the dancing people. His energy seemed inexhaustible. He was constantly muttering something about calibrating a new lens and testing an image stabilization system he had developed himself.
However, behind this external carefreeness and passion for photography lay constant vigilance. Peter did not forget about the shadow hanging over the city in the person of the Green Goblin. His web-shooters were loaded and comfortably positioned on his wrists under his jacket sleeves, and the Spider-Man suit itself, light and durable, was neatly folded and securely hidden under his regular clothes, ready for instant use. Every step he took, every movement, despite his apparent relaxation, was calculated and ready for an immediate reaction to any threat.
Gwen Stacy and I walked a little behind, leisurely sipping hot coffee from paper cups. I chose a classic Americano, while Gwen went for something complex with caramel and whipped cream, which left her nose charmingly smudged with white foam. She laughed, trying to wipe it off with the back of her hand, and her laugh, ringing and sincere, was the best music for me at this festival. We tried to stay close to Peter, who, caught up in his shooting, kept threatening to dissolve into the crowd.
"Peter, be careful, don't run off so far!" Gwen shouted with a smile as he dashed forward yet again, noticing a group of street acrobats.
"Everything's under control, Gwen!" came his muffled reply. "There are such great angles here to test the zoom! And the lighting is perfect for testing the new sensor!"
I chuckled. Peter was truly passionate about his inventions. After receiving compensation from Oscorp for that spider incident, he finally had the means to stop worrying about constantly looking for part-time jobs and fully dedicate himself to science and creating gadgets. Photography was not just a hobby for him, but a field for technical experiments. Peter's enthusiasm was contagious.
"It looks like he's really enjoying himself here," I remarked, looking at Gwen. The sunlight played in her blonde hair, making it look like a golden halo.
"You bet," she nodded, taking a sip of coffee. "There's so much going on! The idea of the festival itself is wonderful. Unity, friendship of nations... I'd like to believe it's not just pretty words."
Her gaze became serious and thoughtful for a moment. Gwen was always like that—even in moments of carefree fun, she found time for deep thoughts. That was one of the qualities I valued most in her.
The Oscorp Balcony
Meanwhile, high above the festive bustle of Times Square, on a spacious balcony of one of the most luxurious buildings surrounding the square, its own less crowded but no less significant scene was unfolding. The balcony belonged to Oscorp Industries, and today the entire cream of the city's financial and political elite had gathered here, invited personally by Norman Osborn... who, however, had not yet appeared.
The center of attention on the balcony was undoubtedly Harry Osborn. Young, charming, the heir to a multi-billion dollar corporation, he stood with his arm slightly around Mary Jane Watson's shoulder. MJ, as always, looked stunning in an elegant cream dress that accentuated her figure and fiery red hair. However, Harry seemed slightly vexed about something. He leaned in close to her ear, his voice quiet, almost intimate, but with notes of petulant dissatisfaction:
"Why didn't you wear black, honey? I asked you to. I wanted Dad to be impressed. You know he loves black. It's his favorite color."
Mary Jane tensed imperceptibly but quickly composed herself. She gently freed her shoulder from under his hand and turned around, gifting Harry her trademark dazzling smile, in which, however, a careful observer might notice a trace of fatigue.
"Well, maybe he'll be impressed anyway, Harry," her voice sounded light and carefree. "I'm not exactly an eyesore, right? And this is a Valentino dress, by the way."
"You're not an eyesore, you're just beautiful," Harry smiled sincerely, his dissatisfaction instantly evaporating at the sight of her smile. He leaned forward, intending to kiss her, but MJ turned her head with subtle speed, and his lips only lightly brushed her cheek.
An awkward silence hung between them for a few seconds. Harry looked a bit embarrassed and hurt, while MJ quickly spotted someone in the crowd of guests on the balcony and pretended to be very interested in the conversation. Harry, noticing Maximilian Fargas, one of the key board members of Oscorp standing nearby with a glass of champagne, hurried over to him, clearly glad for the opportunity to change the subject and avoid further awkwardness.
"Hello, Mr. Fargas," Harry extended his hand for a handshake, trying to make his voice sound confident and business-like.
Maximilian Fargas, a heavy-set man in his sixties with shrewd eyes and meticulously styled gray hair, turned around. A polite but somewhat distant smile spread across his face, though a shadow of concern flickered in the depths of his eyes.
"Ah, Harry, my boy," he shook the extended hand firmly. "Good to see you. Enjoying the festival? Your father has put on quite a show for the city."
"Yes, it's impressive," Harry agreed, though his gaze involuntarily swept over the crowd below without much interest. "Mr. Fargas, have you... have you by any chance seen Dad? He promised to be here."
Fargas's face became impenetrable for a moment. He took a small sip of champagne before replying, his gaze becoming distant for a fraction of a second.
"Oh... Norman..." he drawled thoughtfully. "I'm afraid I'm not sure he'll be able to join us today, Harry. He has... urgent business to attend to. Very important. You know your father, work always comes first for him."
There were notes in Fargas's voice that would have made a more experienced person wary, but Harry seemed to notice nothing, only frowning slightly in disappointment. He had so hoped that his father would appreciate his efforts in organizing this reception on the balcony and his ability to network with the right people.
The Attack
At that very moment, while Harry was trying to hide his disappointment behind small talk and Maximilian Fargas was pondering something of his own, down below, in the thick of the festive crowd, Peter Parker suddenly froze. The camera hung limply around his neck. Through the noise of the festival came a barely discernible but growing and somehow unnaturally high, grating sound. He snapped his head up, his eyes narrowing, trying to focus on something in the dazzling blue sky.
"What's wrong, Pete?" I asked, noticing his sudden change and also hearing that strange, alarming sound. The coffee in my hand suddenly felt way too hot.
"I don't know..." he muttered, his voice tense. "My... sense..."
Spider-Sense. That quiet but persistent alarm signal that had already saved his life many times in the comics. I tensed too, trying to scan the surrounding area with my Radar Sense, but felt nothing unusual yet, except for the general excitement of the crowd and vibrations from the loud music. The sound, however, was getting louder, turning into a piercing screech.
"What is it?" Gwen also noticed Peter's state and the approaching sound, her face expressing concern and curiosity.
Peter didn't answer. He continued to peer into the sky, his gaze locked on a single point that was rapidly growing in size. At first, it was just a dark speck, barely visible against the bright sun. But it was approaching at an incredible speed. Thanks to his sharpened, almost superhuman vision enhanced by spider abilities, Peter was the first to make out what it was.
The Green Goblin.
On his signature flying glider, resembling a giant metal stingray, he was hurtling toward Times Square. His figure in a skin-tight green suit with a terrifying mask frozen in an eternal, malicious grin became clearer and clearer.
"John... it's him," Peter breathed, his voice barely audible over the festival noise. He grabbed my arm, his fingers squeezing it with unexpected strength. "The Goblin. He's here."
My heart skipped a beat. Goblin. Here. Now. Among thousands of unsuspecting people. This wasn't a spontaneous attack, not a coincidence. Peter and I knew that this day could be the day of confrontation. We had prepared, calculated options, realizing that the Goblin, in his madness, might choose exactly such a landmark event for his theatrical and destructive appearance. That bastard did exactly that.
"Damn!" slipped out of me. "Peter, are you ready?"
"Yes, everything's under my clothes!" he replied quickly, already starting to look around for an escape route to change. "I need literally a minute. Watch over Gwen! Get her out of here, to the north, away from Oscorp Tower! I'll find you!"
With those words, without wasting another moment, Peter darted into the thick of the crowd, his movements swift and almost imperceptible; he seemed to dissolve among the people, looking for a secluded spot.
I immediately turned to Gwen. Her face was a bit confused, but that indomitable curiosity I loved so much in her was burning in her eyes, mixed with slight bewilderment at Peter's sudden disappearance and my sharp reaction. There was no fear yet, rather a lively interest in what was happening and a silent question: "What's going on?"
"John, where did Peter go? What happened?" she asked quickly, looking from the retreating Peter to me.
"Gwen, hold on to me tight! We need to leave immediately!" I grabbed her hand, trying to make my voice sound confident, though my heart was pounding like crazy. Adrenaline flooded my blood.
That bastard Osborn, I cursed mentally, chose the most crowded place for his show.
We had to get out of this trap, out of the epicenter of the approaching storm, as quickly as possible. I led her away from the main mass of people, moving along the edge of the square, looking for an escape route. My Radar Sense was strained to the limit, tracking the Goblin's every move, trying to predict his next target.
While we were fighting our way through the beginning commotion, the Green Goblin had already burst into the airspace above the square. His appearance was spectacular and terrifying at the same time. He dodged the giant balloons with devilish dexterity; they seemed like clumsy giants compared to his swift glider. Behind him trailed a thin but distinct trail of black smoke and short bursts of orange flame erupting from the glider's nozzles. The sound of his engine, now deafening and unmistakable like the screech of a buzzsaw, grated on the ears, cutting through the festival music.
The crowd below, noticing the flying figure, did not react immediately. At first, a surprised whisper went through the ranks, then someone pointed a finger at the sky. And then, when the Goblin made a spectacular turn right over their heads, there was... applause. People, blinded by the festive atmosphere and seeing no threat in this strange but spectacular appearance, decided it was part of the show. Another special effect, another amusement provided by the festival organizers. Cries of delight and approving cheers rolled across the square. Someone even started chanting: "More! More!"
On the balcony of the Oscorp building, the reaction was different. The music and laughter abruptly stopped. Maximilian Fargas, who had just been talking about Norman Osborn's urgent business, froze with his glass halfway to his mouth, his face expressing extreme astonishment and poorly hidden terror. Henry Balkan, another influential board member, a heavy-set man with a face flushed with indignation or surprise, pulled a small opera binocular from his jacket pocket and hurriedly brought it to his eyes. He studied the flying object closely for a few seconds, his hands shaking slightly. Then he abruptly lowered the binoculars, his eyes shining with an unhealthy fire.
"It's... it's the glider!" he exclaimed joyfully, almost hysterically, turning to the others. "Oscorp's experimental combat glider! It works! Norman... he actually did it!"
His words were drowned out by the growing roar of voices on the balcony. Someone gasped in fear, someone started talking excitedly. But Balkan's joy was premature and misplaced.
Meanwhile, holding Gwen firmly by the hand, I led her further and further away from the center of the square, trying not to betray my tension.
"John, what is that?" Gwen finally asked, her voice still trembling with excitement, but a scientist's curiosity was already prevailing over her initial bewilderment. She watched the Goblin's maneuvers with wide eyes. "How does it fly? Is it some new anti-gravity technology? Or incredibly powerful yet compact jet engines? Look at that maneuverability! The stabilization system must be fantastic! And the materials? Light but durable..."
Even in the face of mortal danger, Gwen remained Gwen. Her brain instantly kicked into analysis mode, trying to solve the technological riddle. It was so like her, and strangely enough, her scientific babbling grounded me a bit. I didn't stop her, only squeezed her hand tighter.
"What the hell!" Harry Osborn on the balcony finally tore himself away from contemplating the board's reaction and stared at the flying maniac in astonishment. His face contorted in a grimace of bewilderment and anger. This was clearly not part of his plans for today.
And suddenly, as if hearing his words or simply deciding that the prelude had dragged on, the Green Goblin abruptly changed trajectory. His glider, letting out a piercing screech, spun on the spot and shot like an arrow straight toward the Oscorp building's balcony. A maniacal, blood-curdling laugh, likely amplified by a speaker built into the mask, echoed over the square, overpowering the music and the cries of the crowd.
"And here I am, your humble servant and the new god of this worthless little town! Time for some real fun, rats!" shrieked the Goblin, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure and insane superiority that made one's blood run cold.
He flew dangerously close to the balcony. For a moment it seemed he would just streak past, but then his hand darted to his belt, and a small, bright orange sphere resembling a sinister Halloween pumpkin appeared in it. With that same mad laugh, he threw it precisely under the balcony's support structures.
A deafening explosion rang out.
A bright flash of orange flame momentarily blinded everyone. A shockwave rolled across the square, making people scream and duck. The Oscorp building shuddered. The massive stone structure of the balcony, holding dozens of people including Harry, Mary Jane, and the board members, cracked. Huge chunks of concrete and rebar began to break off and fall down with a terrifying screech. The balcony tilted threateningly, ready to collapse at any second along with everyone on it.
The panic, held back until that moment by the festive mood, exploded with the force of a bomb.
The explosion under the balcony thundered with a deafening, low, guttural roar that seemed to shake the very earth. The shockwave, like an invisible fist, threw the people standing on it like ragdolls. Panicked screams of terror were drowned out by the crash of falling stone and the piercing screech of bending metal. The balcony, which just a moment ago had been a symbol of Oscorp Tower's luxury and power, was turning before their eyes into a mass grave, a deadly trap of concrete and steel.
The Green Goblin, laughing his signature blood-curdling laugh, made another mocking, slow circle above the agonizing structure. His mask seemed to grin even wider, as if absorbing the waves of fear and despair rising from below.
"Out, you say?" he shrieked, his voice distorted by the mask's speakers, turning into a sadistic, triumphant echo.
With these words, with exaggerated theatricality, he threw a second pumpkin bomb. It flew not toward the base, but straight onto the tilted, crumbling platform where people in expensive suits were running in panic, tripping over each other. The second explosion was not as powerful as the first, but more insidious—it was calculated to sow even greater chaos, finish off the wounded, and cut off the last escape routes. Chunks of stone and glass sprayed in all directions like deadly hail. The board members were incinerated!
Harry Osborn, despite the shock and chilling terror, tried to maintain the remnants of his composure. He saw Mary Jane, who had lost her balance from the first explosion, sway dangerously toward the very edge of the collapsing slab. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes wide with terror as she looked into the abyss beneath her feet.
"MJ!" he screamed, instinctively rushing toward her, forgetting his own safety.
He managed to grab her hand just as another chunk of concrete crumbled under her feet. But in the next second, a heavy piece of the cornice, breaking off from above, struck Harry in the temple with a dull, sickening thud. His vision went dark, the world momentarily turned crimson, and without making a sound, he went limp, his grip on Mary Jane's hand instantly weakening. Consciousness left him, leaving him alone with the pain and the encroaching darkness.
Mary Jane screamed, feeling Harry's hand slip from her fingers. She herself was a hair's breadth away from falling. The edge of the balcony was crumbling under her feet, and she desperately, with the last of her strength, clung to the slippery, dust-covered stone, realizing her strength was running out. Below were dozens of meters of empty space and a sea of people crazed with terror. Her life—dreams of Broadway, complex relationship with Harry, warm memories of Peter—flashed before her eyes in disjointed, vivid bursts... Was this really the end?
Right at that moment, when hope had almost vanished, when her fingers had already begun to slip, she saw him. A bright red patch against the gray concrete and piercingly blue sky. A figure in a skin-tight red-and-blue suit, swift and incredibly agile, was flying toward her on a thin, almost invisible silver thread. Spider-Man.
He caught her around the waist with a strong, confident hand a fraction of a second before she would have plunged down. The yank was so sudden and powerful that it took MJ's breath away. The world around spun in a mad kaleidoscope. She felt her body lift off the collapsing balcony, and in the next moment, they were already flying over the square, carried by the tight, elastic webbing.
The wind whistled in her ears, the city rushing below in a blurred smudge. MJ desperately clung to her savior, squeezing her eyes shut from fear and dizziness. Her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would leap out of her chest. The terror of what she had just experienced mixed with some new, incomprehensible feeling—overwhelming relief, boundless gratitude, and... something else. Something inexplicable that made her cheeks burn despite the cold wind whipping her hair.
After a few moments that seemed like an eternity to her, the flight began to slow down, and they landed smoothly on the flat roof of another high-rise building, far enough from the chaos reigning in Times Square. Spider-Man carefully lowered her to her feet. MJ was still shaking, her legs like jelly and refusing to obey. She slowly opened her eyes, trying to catch her breath, compose herself, and make sense of what happened. Before her stood her savior—the man in the incredible suit, who had just snatched her from the jaws of death.
"Who... who are you?" she finally managed to get out, her voice weak but insistent. She looked up at him, struck by his sudden appearance and rescue. She had never seen anyone like him so close. He was surprisingly tall and athletic, and his unusual suit fit him so perfectly that it was like a second skin.
Spider-Man froze for a moment, as if not expecting a direct question. Then he slightly tilted his head.
"Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man," he replied, and despite the mask, a light, almost boyish note slipped into his voice. "Glad to help, miss. And now I really have to run. Duty calls!"
With those words, before she could regain her senses or ask any more questions, he easily pushed off the parapet and soared into the air on another strand of web, rapidly speeding back toward the center of the chaos.
Mary Jane was left alone on the roof. Her heart was still pounding furiously, but the initial terror began to recede, giving way to a whirlwind of other emotions. Gratitude, relief... and a burning curiosity mixed with an incomprehensible excitement. She ran to the edge of the roof, her gaze locked on the retreating figure in the red-and-blue suit. "Spider-Man..." she whispered, watching him go until he disappeared behind the towering skyscrapers. "Who is he, this mysterious savior?"
The Plan and the Hack
At the very moment Spider-Man was carrying Mary Jane away, acting on pure adrenaline and instinct, I grabbed Gwen by the hand and pulled her along, pushing through the crazed, scrambling crowd. Shielding her with my body from the pressing people, I led her further and further from the epicenter of chaos. Finally, we broke through the crowd and found ourselves in a relatively quiet alleyway. I helped Gwen sit down on a step.
"John..." she breathed, her voice a bit frightened, but notes of her usual analytical mind were already audible in it. "Peter... he... where did he go? And... what was that flying madman? Is that some kind of military development? What the hell was that?"
I saw her trying to cope with the shock of what she had experienced, but now was not the time for theories.
"Gwen, listen," I said, trying to make my voice sound firm despite my own tension and concern for Peter. "The most important thing right now is for you to be safe. This area seems quiet for now."
"Safe?" She looked around nervously, as if expecting the Goblin to appear from around the corner. "John, out there... it's a real hell! That... that green maniac is blowing everything up! And Peter... where could he have gone? Is he okay? You... you look like you know more than you're saying."
Her perceptiveness, as always, was spot on.
"I don't know where Peter is, Gwen," I replied honestly, though my heart was clenching with bad forebodings. "But I have to find him. Maybe he needs help." I looked her in the eyes. "Please stay here. Don't go out into the open, don't draw attention. Don't do anything foolish, okay? I'm going to go look for Peter."
She looked at me for a few seconds, her intelligent eyes full of anxiety—both for Peter and, it seemed, for me. Then she slowly nodded.
"Alright," she said with unexpected firmness, though her voice trembled slightly. "I understand. But, John... be very careful. Please. This... this guy... he's insane."
"I will," I promised. "Sit tight here, I'll try to get back as soon as possible or let you know."
And, giving her one last encouraging look, I turned and quickly, but trying not to attract undue attention, headed back toward Times Square, where the roar of sirens and the screams of people merged into a terrifying cacophony. My task was clear—find Peter and help stop this madness.
While I walked at a brisk pace toward the chaos, I activated my internal communicator, contacting Pod 042.
«Pod,» I transmitted mentally. «The situation is critical. The Goblin is attacking civilians. Is 2B already operating?»
«Confirmed, Commander John,» the Pod's calm voice responded immediately. «Unit 2B has begun evacuating the injured in stealth mode, according to protocol. Her priority is to minimize civilian casualties, avoiding direct combat contact until your order or extreme necessity.»
«Great,» I nodded to myself. «Pod, your target is the glider. Begin Operation 'Glitch.' Full system hack. Control, navigation, engines—take it all down. I need that green tin can to fall to the ground as soon as possible.»
«Acknowledged, Commander John. Commencing glider system hack procedure. Utilizing all available resources. Estimated time to critical functional failure—thirty to sixty seconds. I will keep you informed of progress.»
«Proceed,» I gave the command.
Before rushing into battle, I stole a glance at my internal status. Quicksilver Template—assimilation 54%. Not ideal, but enough to act quickly and efficiently. Concentrating on speed, I simultaneously activated Metamorph—not for a full transformation, but for a quick disguise. My facial features changed subtly, as if rippling, and a simple black ski mask instantly formed over them, hiding my identity. That should be enough for now. Now, forward. I took a deep breath and took off, the world around turning into blurred streaks of color. Quicksilver's speed, amplified by adrenaline and determination, carried me back toward Times Square. Every millisecond counted. I needed to find Peter before the Goblin recovered from his inevitable fall or decided to change tactics.
Meanwhile, the Green Goblin, still reveling in the chaos he had caused and looking for a new target to attack among the scrambling people below, did not immediately notice his high-tech glider starting to behave strangely. First, small glitches appeared in the targeting system—the glider yawed slightly to the side without his command. The Goblin jerked the joystick in annoyance, chalking it up to turbulence from the explosions. But then the control panel before his eyes began to flash wildly with alarming red lights, and a grating, rising electronic beep sounded in his helmet's earpieces.
"What the...?!" he growled, slamming his fist against the dashboard. "My perfect machine! Glitching?! Impossible! Some pathetic scum dared to interfere?! I'll find you, insect, and crush you!"
The glider's engines began to lose thrust, making intermittent, choking sounds like a death rattle. The altitude was dropping rapidly. The Goblin desperately tried to regain control, yanking levers and furiously pressing buttons, but his machine no longer obeyed. Systems failed one after another, turning the fearsome weapon into an uncontrollable piece of metal.
"This heap of metal! DARES TO DISOBEY ITS MASTER?!" he roared, his voice vibrating with rage, not fear. He saw the ground approaching, but his gaze was full of cold, calculating malice, not despair. "Think a pathetic fall will stop me?! Me?! Ha! This is just a minor glitch in my triumph! But since the fun is being interrupted..." He bared his teeth under the mask, his eyes flashing madly. "Here's a parting gift, nonentities!"
In the final seconds before the inevitable crash, when the glider, losing altitude, was already nearly grazing the advertising structures and the roofs of low commercial pavilions on the edge of the square, the Goblin, with a wild, triumphant yell, released a hail of pumpkin bombs. Several dozen orange spheres, like a swarm of deadly wasps, shot not into the crowd, but precisely at the damaged Oscorp Tower building, aiming for its load-bearing structures, its windows, its already gaping breaches. A series of deafening explosions shook the skyscraper to its very foundation. The building, already damaged, began to deform horribly. Giant cracks ran down its facade, remnants of glass flew out of the windows, and concrete slabs broke loose, exposing the steel skeleton. Oscorp Tower began to slowly but inexorably tilt, threatening to bury part of the square under its rubble.
With a loud screech and the crunch of its fracturing body, leaving a trail of black smoke behind, the Green Goblin's glider crashed onto the square, plowing a few meters through the asphalt and smashing into one of the overturned, mangled police cars, raising a cloud of dust and debris.
The square had turned into a living hell. Screams of terror, the wail of sirens, the roar of falling debris from Oscorp Tower—all merged into a deafening cacophony. The acrid smoke from the explosions and the concrete dust choked the sky, turning the sunny day into a twilight nightmare. I sped through this chaos, dodging between people crazed with fear and debris flying from above. My ski mask, created by Metamorph, might have hidden my face, but it couldn't hide the tension I felt.
No reply came over the network, but I knew Peter heard me. His Spider-Sense must have been working at its limit right now, and his adrenaline would be through the roof.
<2B,> the next command went over the same network.
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