Issue #4 by D. Golightly
May 2018 The Goblin
Spider-Man
Dr. Strange
Captain America
Titania
Taskmaster
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"CHAPTER FOUR - THE GOBLIN"None of this was right.
Harry Osborn huddled in an alley, watching the people on the sidewalk stroll by on their way to work. Most of them were carrying cups of coffee, staring into their phones, or just in a general rush. New York City, virtually every day. Only it wasn’t his New York City. That had quickly become obvious. Ever since the White Event, as he had come to think of it, he was fairly certain that he had been ripped out of his home dimension and brought…somewhere.* He really didn’t understand what was going on, and his short-lived attempts to find someone who could understand what was going on had quickly been halted when he realized just how twisted this world was. * [Check out the Masters Mirror Mirror story to see what he’s talking about!] Everything was backwards. One look at the newspapers had told him that much. People he thought of as heroes were now criminals, and vice versa. There were no Masters to call to come save the day. When he realized that he was in another dimension, he went to the closest library to look into this world’s Harry Osborn, and he instantly wished that he hadn’t. Apparently here, the Goblin, or rather, the Green Goblin, was a feared villain. Not that Harry ever got a lot of good press, and in truth, there had once been a task force assigned to bring him in as a marauding vigilante, but still. A murderer? And on top of that, a legacy murderer? He had to lay low, figure this out. He had to get help, but who? And from where? According to this world’s history, it wasn’t the Masters who were the premiere super team, but the Avengers. He thought the named sounded a little harsh, but he wasn’t in a position to be choosey about who he asked for help. The problem was how could he get to them? Chances were that if he just strolled up and knocked on their door that he would be arrested. With his other self’s face instantly recognizable as a horrible villain, he doubted that he would be able to get them to listen. Not to mention that the people on the Avengers roster – Captain America, Warbird, Karnak – all looked exactly like people he had fought many times over. How could he really know if this wasn’t some kind of bizarre trap? The Spider had tricked him into stranger and more elaborate situations in the past, like the time his own clone had returned, claiming to the be real Harry Osborn. That one had messed with his head so much that he had believed it when a rigged test had shown him to be the clone. He was alone on a foreign world, unsure of who he could trust. Having grabbed a ratty overcoat left in a dumpster, Harry had settled for wandering the streets to get his bearings. Something would click into place sooner or later. It always did. His dad had called it the Osborn luck. But as the days dragged on, he was beginning to doubt the family credo. “Stop!” someone on the street shouted. “Help! Someone help me!” Harry was instantly yanked out of his melancholy and took a few steps closer to the street to get a look at what was happening. He saw someone rabbiting down the sidewalk, knocking people over, and just generally causing chaos. In his hands was clutched the strap of someone’s purse. Half a block back through the calamity was the woman who had shrieked and initially caught his attention. A purse snatching. A run-of-the-mill problem that the local authorities could surely handle. Such a regular, everyday occurrence in the city wasn’t worth the risk of exposing himself. There had to be a hundred other people that could take care of this problem while he dealt with his extra-dimensional troubles. As he watched the thief slip around a corner into an alley, he sighed. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. That was how he had lost someone close to him, once upon a time. Harry flung off his tattered coat, revealing sleek, customized, green body armor. He reached an arm over his shoulder and tapped a button on the top of his smooth and solid backpack, causing two things to happen: first, a flat disc shot up over his head, which he caught, and quickly unfolded to reveal it as his goblin helmet; and second, his entire backpack detached and wings unfolded to create his hovering and ready-to-go glider. He hopped onto his small glider and jettisoned out of the alley after the thief, zooming over the heads of bystanders and quickly reaching the corner. He would have preferred his much larger, better armed glider, but the White Event had only brought him here with what he had on him at the time. Still, this nimble glider would be more than enough for him to deal with a simple purse snatcher. He spotted the crook at the end of the alley, already rifling through the purse. With a quick thwip! The notorious skyskipper slung one of this patented bolos around the thief, tying him up in three carbon-fiber cables that were joined by an orange disc. The Goblin sailed over to the thief, plucked the purse out of his clenching hands, smiled, and said, “In broad daylight, too. You have some real brass ones, you know that?” “I know you,” the thief said. “Ain’t you one of the bad guys? Yeah! I seen you fighting the webslinger a bunch of times. Although you look different. Cut me a break, huh? Villain to petty pickpocket, huh?” “I might get some bad headlines,” the Goblin replied, “but trust me, we’re nothing alike.” And with that, the Goblin turned around in midair, sailed back out of the alley, and dropped the purse back into the waiting hands of its owner as he continued skyward. While he knew he needed to keep a low profile, there was just something about skipping through the clouds on his glider that helped to clear his head. Who knew…maybe from up there he could get a better perspective on the world he now found himself in. Not far away he could see the campus for Empire State University. He was supposed to be finishing up his graduate work in time for his new job with Parker Technologies. The founder had hired him in person, saying that he expected great things from Harry Osborn, which was saying a lot, since they were the same age. He was getting desperate to get back to his life. Things had just started heating up with Calypso and he finally felt like he was in control. Ever since he had taken the same formula that his father had, his life had been full of chaos. Thanks to had work and a lot of luck, he was finally beginning to-- WHAM! Something had pounded into the side of the Goblin, knocking him off of his glider and sending him spiraling toward the ground below. He had been knocked airborne often enough that it didn’t rattle him as much anymore, but he sudden surprise him had taken him off guard. He quickly tapped the controls on his wrist to summon his glider, which zipped beneath him. His magnetic boots clamped down into place and the turbines whirred to get him level again. He had fallen maybe about sixty feet and he quickly gathered his bearings again. He looked up to see someone in a red and blue costume swinging toward him on…was that a rope? A cable? Whoever it was, he was moving fast, like he knew what he was doing. He grabbed two razorangs off of his belt, thinking that if he cut the line the guy was swinging on that he would become far less mobile. He swatted the air, releasing one of the ‘rangs, sending it slicing toward the swinging target. But at the last second, as if the guy could anticipate his actions, he released the line and shot a knew one form his wrist at the corner of a building, anchoring it, and swinging parallel to how the Goblin was flying. Some kind of propelled grappling line? It was pretty awesome tech, whatever it was. When this was over he would maybe tinker with the idea of a wrist-mounted zipline launcher. “Your taste in duds leaves much to be desired,” the swinging guy shouted. “Don’t you know that in this town, goblin fashion is so outdated?” The Goblin was shocked for a second. How did he know who he was? He was supposed to be a foreigner in this world. He moved past the remark quickly, instead opting to just go higher than the nearest buildings. Height always brought an advantage during a fight, and this guy seemed like he would be limited to swinging below the rooftops. Something latched onto the bottom of his glider and he quickly realized his mistake. If there was nothing high enough for the guy to latch onto, then he would shoot for the glider. The Goblin chided himself for such a rookie mistake, and looked down to confirm his suspicion. Dangling a few dozen feet below was the man in red and blue, and he was quickly ascending his line. “Seriously,” the guy shouted. “We should have a chat. Dressed like that you must be insane. How about setting us down and we can talk it over with a nice cup o’ joe?” “You’re one to talk,” the Goblin quipped. “At least I wear my underoos under my clothes. I mean, it’s right in the name. Underoos. That too confusing for you?” “Oh-huh-ho! What’s this? A goblin with a sense of humor?” The Goblin poured on the speed and whipped around a radio antenna poking out of the top of a tenement, but as much as he zigged this guy just kept right on zagging. Plus, his comments were getting annoying. Did he babble as much as this during a fight? “Who sent you?” the Goblin asked. “Are you with the American? How do you know my name?” “You’re joking, right? You look like the skater version of Norman Osborn, former public enemy numero uno. And who’s the American?” “Look, I don’t want to hurt you. I just need to figure out what the hell is going on.” “That makes two of us, chum. And sorry, but when a goblin comes around, your friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man is going to bring him down hard.” Spider-Man? Whoever he was, the Goblin needed to get rid of him quickly. He hated to do it, but he was going to have to use some heavier ordinance if he was going to shake this guy. He popped out three orange detonators that his father had developed, dubbed pumpkin bombs to match the motif of the Halloween mask he had originally worn, and set them to stun. He would be ready to catch this Spider-Man when he was knocked loose and set him down gently somewhere so he could continue on his way. “Sorry not sorry,” the Goblin muttered, and he dropped the pumpkin bombs on the dangling Spider-Man. Amazingly, Spider-Man twisted away from the first bomb, latched a grappling line onto the second, and swung it up to intercept the third. The resulting shockwave knocked the Goblin off balance and tilted the glider. He had once more underestimated his opponent, and this time he was paying for it. Spider-Man fired off another line at a nearby water tower, connecting it to the first, locking the off-kilter glider into an ovoid trajectory. With incredible grace, Spider-Man flipped onto the line itself and ran straight up it to the Goblin, his fist cocked back. The Goblin had never seen such agility and control before. How was he even able to stay on the shuttering line? Was he adhered to it somehow? However he was doing it, the Goblin quickly realized that he was about to be knocked out unless he did something, and fast. “Say g’night, Gracie!” Spider-Man said as he came within arm’s length. The Goblin cut the glider’s turbines, instantly dropping them both as gravity yanked them downward. Reaching out, he clasped his hand around the surprised Spider-Man’s wrist, using his formula-enhanced strength to fling him out into the open air, and then he sliced through the anchoring line with a razorang. He switched the turbines back on, righted himself, and slung a bolo at Spider-Man. It wrapped around his torso, keeping his arms to his sides so that he couldn’t fire another grappling line out to save himself again. The Goblin matched Spider-Man’s descent and hooked his fingers under the bolo’s cables, pulling Spider-Man back up with him above the buildings. “Easy, cowboy!” Spider-Man shouted, but the Goblin ignored him. He tossed Spider-Man onto a vacant roof and hovered over the opposite end, two more pumpkin bombs at the ready. “Look,” the Goblin said. “I just want to figure out how to get home. Everything in your backwards world is driving me crazy.” Spider-Man, who was caught in the bolo and kneeling against a smokestack he had bounced against, glared at him for a second. He said, “That’s cuckoo even for a goblin. Who are you?” The Goblin hopped onto the roof from his glider, which folded up and slipped onto his back once more. “This might be a little hard to believe,” he said, “but I’m not from around here.” “Tourism is up by leaps and bounds,” Spider-Man said. “You have no idea. I’m sort of from…another dimension.” The lenses in Spider-Man’s mask shrunk and then enlarged again, as if he were blinking. “Uh-huh.” “No, really.” “Sure. I bet you’re from the best dimension ever.” “I’m not joking.” “Good, because your delivery needs work. And that punchline? Forgetaboutit.” “Can you please take this seriously?” “Mmmm…no.” “Argh!” the Goblin yelled, and he ripped off his helmet. “Look! I’m Harry Osborn, I’m from another plane of existence, I was brought here against my will, and I need some goddamn help, okay?” The bottom of Spider-Man’s mask dropped slightly, like his mouth was hanging open. For a long, pregnant moment, the pair just stared at each other, until Spider-Man finally whispered, “Harry? But…you’re dead.” “I…I’m what?” A pink light suddenly enveloped the Goblin, paralyzing him. He noticeably struggled to move again, but was completely immobile. His eyes went wide at the realization that he was trapped, a sitting duck, and unable to defend himself. Spider-Man flexed and after a tense moment, burst out of the bolo and sprung to his feet. He extended his wrists and covered the Goblin’s torso in a thick coating of…was this some kind of web? Was that what he had been swinging on? Looking up, Spider-Man said, “Thanks for the assist, doc! I could have handled it, though.” The Goblin saw a man lower down to them, garbed in a loose, blue shirt and a flowing red cape. The pink light emanated from his hand, somehow controlled by awkwardly twisted fingers. He looked calm and slightly arrogant, as if the situation should have been handled another way. “Think nothing of it, Spider-Man,” the newcomer said. “I intervened as soon as I was alerted to this man’s presence. We have much to discuss.” “Sure, right after I get this guy to tell me who he really is.” “I assure you, he is not lying.” Spider-Man paused and glanced back at the newcomer. “I know you’re Dr. Strange and extra-dimensional stuff is common practice for the Sorcerer Supreme, but this guy is lying through his teeth. I can feel it. He’s a shape-shifter, or a clone, or—” “You don’t have all of the information yet,” yet another person said, this time from behind the Goblin. “Give us a chance to explain and then we’ll get this figured out.” “I’m going to release you now,” the one that Spider-Man had called Dr. Strange said to the Goblin. “Do not take action against us. Believe me when I say that you are among friends here.” With a wave of his fingers, the pink light dissipated and the Goblin sucked in a deep breath. His muscles ached from being incapacitated, but he was instantly at the ready to fight his way out again. He flexed against the webbing around his torso, but it just stretched with him while remaining tight. It was a remarkable material, whatever it was. “Let me go,” the Goblin demanded. “I need to get out of here.” “Who are you really?” Spider-Man demanded. “This is sick; taking the face of Harry Osborn and wearing a costume like that. Are you one of the Jackal’s experiments or something?” “Spider-Man, please,” the voice behind the Goblin said, and Harry managed to pivot enough to see who it was. Terror ran through to the Goblin’s core as he saw the Great American striding across the roof toward them. No, not the Great American. He was wearing blue were there should be black. His shield was colored differently, too. But there was no mistaking his face, the face of the very man that had subjugated entire continents. Was this another elaborate trap? “Stay back!” the Goblin shouted. “Remain calm,” Dr. Strange said, “and all will be explained. However…perhaps another venue is required. Yes, perhaps then we can talk without fear of rash action.” Dr. Strange closed his eyes, waved his arms in a very precise manner, and twin splits in the fabric of reality crossed over one another. When he opened his eyes, they were somewhere else, no longer on the rooftop, but inside some kind of…parlor? Hardwood floors, stained glass windows, old furniture, and steaming cups of tea had replaced the breezy New York City skyline. “Oooo,” Spider-Man groaned as he clutched his stomach. “Warn a guy, will you, doc?” The Goblin suddenly realized that the webbing was gone, too, and his arms were free once more. He fell into a stance, ready to take them on, still baffled as to what was happening. He turned to face the American, recognizing him as the biggest threat in the room. “Easy, friend,” the man with the shield said. “I know you’re confused. But trust me when I say that we’re here to help you.” “Where have I heard that one before?” “We know who you are. We know that you were ripped out of your home dimension and brought here by a rippling white energy that covered your entire world. Just hear us out.” The White Event. But of course he would know about that since he was the one that had caused it. Unless he wasn’t the Great American. Unless he was, what, the Steve Rogers of this world? But how did they even find him? “Please, sit,” Dr. Strange said as he took a seat himself. “Wong makes excellent oolong tea.” “I’m all for Wong’s tea,” Spider-Man said, “but I’d appreciate some answers here, too.” He pointed at the Goblin. “Let’s start with who he is.” “We can answer that,” a woman across the room said. “He’s someone we can trust.” The Goblin felt instant relief as he tracked the voice to a robust woman with muscles on top of muscles. A familiar face was welcome right about now, and he was glad to see the savage Titania from the Masters standing alongside the enigmatic, but always resourceful Taskmaster. Two people he had worked with several times over the last couple of years, who had even offered him trial membership to the Masters, which he had declined at the advice of his father. “We can vouch for the skyskipper,” Taskmaster said. “He’s one of the good ones, if not a little on the amateurish side.” “God, am I glad to see you,” the Goblin blurted out. “What’s going on?” “Whoa!” Spider-Man shouted as he did a backflip, planting himself on the ceiling and looking like he was ready to brawl once more. “Doc, are you crazy? You let the Masters of Evil in here?” “Masters of Evil?” Taskmaster said with a scoff. “That is the most ridiculous name I’ve ever heard. Get down from there before you hurt yourself, kid.” “Like the Goblin, they are not who they appear to be,” Dr. Strange said with a dismissive gesture. “At ease, Spider-Man,” the man with the shield said. “We have a lot of ground to cover here, and it will go faster if you trust us.” He turned to the Goblin and said, “Son, I know this is a lot, but I need you to keep an open mind. Can you do that?” Titania nodded at the Goblin and said, “It’s okay, Harry. Just hear them out.” After a moment, the Goblin notably relaxed and replied, “Okay. I’ll listen.” The man with the shield smiled. He said, “Good. I appreciate that. I know that on your world Steve Rogers is known as the Great American, but here I’m called Captain America. I’m what some would call a hero. I know that sounds backwards to you, but by now you must have realized that a lot of things in this world seem backward to you.” “That’s the understatement of the year,” the Goblin responded. “From what Titania and Taskmaster have been able to piece together, the Great American got his hands on some kind of powerful artifact and merged portions of our world,” Captain America continued. “You were brought here, along with a lot of other people from your world. Some arrived here earlier than others. What we think happened was that the ones the Great American hand-picked to join him here came right away, while the rest are just now crossing over.” “There have been massive distortions in the space time continuum,” Dr. Strange said between sips of tea. “How long ago did the first ones come across?” the Goblin asked. “We think almost two years ago,” Captain America answered. “We’re not sure of the precise date. But there seems to be a long campaign unfolding that we’re just now becoming aware of. Select agents from your world have infiltrated our entire infrastructure at every level of government, as well as targeted police organizations and super-teams. We’re just now determining who’s been replaced.” “And how exactly are you doing that?” Spider-Man asked. “If you’re saying that he is a Harry Osborn from another dimension, how could you possibly know that? I mean, to me, he looks just like the Harry I’ve known for years.” “I’d know that wise-cracking skyskipper anywhere,” Taskmaster said. “But I know you won’t take my word for it.” “I was attacked,” Captain America said. “Cornered and nearly taken down by two of the American’s agents.* I managed to get away, but I realized that I had no idea who I could trust. So, I took a chance on enlisting Dr. Strange first, counting on his magical prowess to counter any attempt to switch him out for a doppleganger.” * [Last ish!] Dr. Strange smirked and mock-toasted with his cup of tea. “My Sanctum Sanctorum is guarded against such dimensional shifts,” he said. “We are safe here, and undetectable by the American’s prying eyes.” “Strange had been monitoring the time and space distortions,” Captain America said. “We realized that it was possible that not everyone crossing over was intended to do so. The American tore a hole between the dimensional fabrics, but only loosely sewed it back up. We think people are coming through without his knowing. So, I’ve been trying to track down ones that might be able to give us an edge in this subtle fight.” “The Captain found me lost and confused,” Titania said. “Thanks to the final member of our little group.” “You still haven’t answered me,” Spider-Man said. “How do you know these people are who you think they are? How are you locating them? If we have countless dopplegangers running around, how do we know who to trust?” “My initial problem,” Captain America admitted. “I was up against an entire secret empire, one that had been in place for almost two years without anyone suspecting a thing. Since being attacked and nearly taken by the American’s agents, Dr. Strange is the only one I’ve trusted. How could we hope to discover who else was really who they said they were? Like Titania said, we have our other recruit to thank for that.” The air in the room rippled, and a frail looking man suddenly stood in the center of the space. His cumbersome head was larger than the span of his shoulders, but somehow he wasn’t toppling over from the sheer weight of it. The Goblin had seen him only once before, meddling in affairs from the shadows, only visible if you knew exactly where and when to look. “The Motivator?” the Goblin said, flabbergasted. “You’re trusting him? Supposedly, he’s been present for every major historical event, gently pushing the players involved toward action.” “He looks like a miniature Watcher,” Spider-Man said. “If he’s the Motivator…let me guess: he’s the Watcher from their dimension, only, I don’t know, useful?” “Something like that,” Dr. Strange said. “I caught him lurking within the house, mentally prodding me to accept the Captain’s story. With a little investigation of my own, I learned that his intent was noble.” “Like our Uatu, the Motivator can observe and record all of human action,” Captain America said. “He’s agreed to help us locate and identify the people from your dimension and recruit them to our cause.” The Goblin sighed and rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead. This was a lot to take in. It seemed like yesterday that he was stopping bank robbers and silly motif criminals like Frog Man. If he had any of his Superior Six teammates here, he might at least feel comfortable trusting these people. Taskmaster and Titania, if it really was them, put his mind at ease, but this was next-level stuff he was getting into. And with the Motivator involved, things just went from difficult to downright scary serious. The one instance that their paths had crossed had led to the Goblin taking down the Iron Monger’s Wrecking Crew, effectively saving the entire city, but even though the outcome was good, the mission had come at a serious price. He shoved those thoughts aside, focusing on the present and realizing that everyone in the room was staring at him, waiting for him to comment. Finally, Captain America said, “That’s how we found you, Harry. We need your help. If we’re going to find the rest of the Masters from your world, gather what heroes we can from my world, and bring down the Great American’s plans, we’re going to need every set of hands we can muster.” Something brushed the farthest reaches of his mind and he shot a look at the Motivator. He felt the urge to say yes, to accept everything that he was being told, and to join them. He hated being manipulated, but he then realized that this was different than the other time he had been prodded by the Motivator. There was sincerity behind the push and he didn’t feel any pressure now like he did then. The choice was still his to make. “Fine,” the Goblin said, redonning his helmet. “Let’s get to work.” Captain America smiled. “Good. Welcome aboard. Consider yourself an honorary Secret Avenger.” TO BE CONTINUED! |