Spider-Man. The House Of Venom

It was a great day for Norman. It was the culmination of years of work and nothing would spoil it.

The New Year had been painfully dull. Harry was in a strop over something, but he didn’t care. This was going to be Oscorps year. This was going to be his year. 

Oscorp had finalised the tests of his ‘Goblin’ class powered armour and glider. All the contracts had been signed and all the patents were approved.

All that was left was their first test. It would start with the public unveiling of the equipment and then move on to a live demonstration. All wrapped in an advertising campaign to show it was designed to keep the soldiers of the USA safe. Then, with a little palm greasing, he would get a civilian licence. He could walk back into the New York Police Headquarters and wipe the smug smile off George Stacy's face.

Once all his plans passed, a freak like Venom would be history. Facing one of these suits, Symbiote or not, they would triumph. Even if the drone test had failed it didn't matter. The diagnostic data they had received pointed to issues when dealing with ‘Enhanced’. The drones themselves were sound. It had been Venom and Spider-Man who were well above what anyone had predicted. Norman gave a small snort,

Not that adjusting the drones was difficult.

He adjusted his tie and smoothed down his lapels as the VIPs began to filter in. The civilians would arrive later with the TV crews. Once the armour had been shown to the more important guests the public unveiling would begin. Stark wasn't the only one who could put on a show and Norman knew this one would make the Expo look like a kid's fair.

Norman stood in front of the small group. Admirals, Generals, and staff from the Whitehouse had been gathered. It was the usual faces, Norman had met them all for contracts and the backroom deals. The last group, Senators and other contractors, stared at his crowning achievement.

Jealous assholes.

Shield was here as well, and he had even thrown an invite to Stark and Hammer. Stark was in the Middle East somewhere, showing off his latest missile. He could even see that idiot Justin Hammer shaking hands with a no-star general.

Once a loser, always a loser, Norman thought, trying to keep the sneer from his face. Hammer had wanted to collaborate, but this was too important.

It was a great way to start the New Year, even if Liv had stopped answering his texts. He even wondered if she’d finally had enough and blown her stupid brains out.

No, he thought, I made sure she couldn’t.

He even wondered if Harry finally grew a pair and offed her, taking out some imagined slight on the stupid bitch. He doubted that as well. His idiot son was only good for embarrassing him. After graduation, he had stopped seeing Harry at Oscorp but he didn't care. He was thinking of shipping him out to one of Oscorps testing facilities. Give him the responsibility of managing their biofuel department, made from cow waste. Still, Harry should be here.

Fucking ignore me today of all days.

Today would not end well for Harry. Shit management was Norman's first choice to get Harry quietly out of the way. With this little snub, a testing facility in the Arctic would be his punishment.

Today was just too important.

⁂

Lt. Colonel Frank Miller had already been in the suit several times. He was one of the test pilots and now he was the first official pilot.

The armour was designed to be slid in and out of. The top of the suit opened up like a clam, the back folding open. Slide in, get comfy and then let it close itself up around you. Sure the first few times he'd had a panic as it slid shut, a mistrust of the machine not to catch his skin or crush him.  

The glider controls were already synced to his visor. His day had started at four am and all the boring safety checks had been done well before anyone else arrived.

He had complained, but Norman had insisted. The gaudy helmet, stylised as a grinning goblin for the unveiling was painted a dark green colour. The whole suit was a mix of green and black. Green leg and arm plates with black boots and gloves. While effective, Frank always felt like an extra in a low-budget horror movie every time he wore it.

He watched as they finished their checks and glancing at the clock he was glad it was time for the presentation. As he drank the last of his coffee he was approached by one of the technicians. They opened a silver case and swabbed his arm with alcohol.

"Huh?" he asked as the man pressed the injector gun against it.

"Booster Sir. Removes fatigue and accumulated stress. You shouldn't need to eat or rest today Sir."

After he nodded, injected the bright blue liquid into his arm. Damn, he was right, Frank felt a jolt go through him, like a strong cup of coffee.

Yeah, today was going to be good.

⁂

Frank strode out, saluted and waited next to the armour. Once it was unveiled and Norman gave his long and boring speech about its capabilities, it was his turn.

For this chance, he'd beaten out most of his old unit. After a few tours in a sandy hellhole, he was glad to be out of combat and somewhere safer. Test piloting a suit of armour made him famous, and the paycheck and hazard bonus made him rich. This was his last day. After this show, he could retire.

The drill was simple. Once the embark then debark process had been demonstrated he'd start on the armour. Simple drills, fly a course, dodge and weave through hoops and over obstacles. Once past them, he'd hover for inspection before flying off for a semi live-fire exercise.

His suit and glider would be hit with live rounds from a dummy drone and he would fire back. Nice and easy once the brass had been moved to a safe observation post.

The press, the civilians, big shots, and other assholes with money, weren't given that luxury. They had to make do with thick concrete barriers. They should stop anything short of a tank round.

There was no danger and he'd done this a hundred times already. He had two pumpkin missiles and a hundred screamer rounds. He had shaken his head at that. Norman had gone overboard with the goblin theme, trying to make the armour unique. He'd half expected his helmet to detach and fly around chasing him like a ghoul out of some fairy tale. Thankfully there were no strange drones, just a pilot and a glider.

There was a strange tingle from his neural interface. The collar had been redesigned over and over and now it was just like a throat mic. It was just a small metal disk that sat in a choker pressing against his spine, held on by a bioadhesive. The tingle was new. He felt the usual hum as the armour synced with his nervous system. He felt it wrap around him like a second skin rather than dull steel. There were no red lights on his H.U.D so he put it down to nerves,

Maybe one of the techs had set something to 11, he cracked a joke and laughed at it. Communications were off, so no one heard his wit.

His comms click on. "Control tower here, stand by for preflight check, comms check."

Frank clicked the mental switch and his comm clicked back. "Comms check check, over."

"Comm check. Check green and responsive, over."

It would take an hour to go through each system in turn but it was part of the show. The crowd watched as at first, he squatted, jumped and stretched his arms out. Standard aerobics but a lot different once in power-assisted armour. One wrong move and the suit could tear your arm off or snap a limb if the servos overextended.

Then came the flight test. It started as hovering, the glider, going up, down, spin right, and finally spin left.

Then came the weapons check. Empty guns clicked on and then off as the preflight safety checks continued.

It was now time. A technician came over and loaded two drums into the back of the glider. He had a fire-proof suit on, but the glider allowed mid-flight refuelling and reloading. The technician was safe but again, it was more tests, more show for the brass.

Now his weapons were loaded the finale could begin.

A live target would fire at him, bright tracer rounds illuminating their hits. A screen showed him virtually and highlighted the real-time strikes on the armour. While it was being used for the show, its main purpose was to advise the pilot of any damage. He would then return fire. The small targets would be taken out with the Goblin Screamer rounds. High explosives that made a high-pitched wail as they flew. Frank had also been advised some of the rounds were green in colour, tracer rounds, so the crowd could see. He would have to up his fire time and make sure the crowd got a show.

Then he would fire off two of the Goblin missiles at a mock tank. It was immobile but had thicker armour than a normal tank. The rounds were designed to penetrate its armour before exploding inside. The first time he'd fired these the rush he felt was amazing and he wished he could be using it on the battlefield. Tests were fun but he missed the thrill of combat.

"Goblin One. Are you optimal and primed?" Came the voice over the comms, Osborn was taking the initiative today. No mistakes, he'd told Frank at the morning briefing.

"Goblin One is a go," he responded, and there was a strange tingle in the back of his neck. He made a note to haul the tech responsible for the calibrations over the coals when he got out. It wasn't uncomfortable, just like someone poking your side or touching a nerve.

"Goblin One is live in five, four, three, two and one. Live fire is a go."

The first round hit and spun him on the glider, its power more than Frank was expecting. The crowd gasped as the glider showed no damage and the huge LCD TV registered the hit on his upper torso. The second hit sent the glider spinning backwards as it hit the same location.

Frank swore, there was supposed to be a variance in the pattern, so he could maintain a constant altitude. The third round hit his helmet as he corrected his flight path. He shook his head as his teeth banged together uncomfortably. He tasted blood and knew that something was wrong.

The screen showed the red hit and a huge dent in the armoured helmet. Norman looked concerned at one of the technicians, but she shrugged and pointed at the screen.

Frank felt dizzy. The whine he was hearing getting louder and the itch in the back of his neck getting unbearable. He had to get out of the armour. It must be damaged. It must be some kind of malfunction.

His communications squealed before the noise abruptly cut out.

You are under attack, enemy hostiles are surrounding you, defend yourself or your men will die.

He spun up the cannons and returned fire at the tank, no longer concerned if the ceramic shielding on it held. 

⁂

Norman was in a panic as he watched the disaster unfold.

The pilot was only halfway through correcting his flight path when he opened fire. His retaliation was wildly off-target and he caught the edge of the testing area. The crowd screamed as the bullets chewed at the concrete barricades. The screaming stopped as they punched through.

Norman watched in horror as the crowd dissolved.

His weapons were based on energy from a strange cube. It shifted matter at an atomic level, causing it to disperse in a random pattern. It was beyond lethal, scattering the victim across the universe as atoms.

As the green cloud cleared there was nothing, no clothes, no people. Just a few phones and gold teeth caps glinting in the sun.

Norman gave the technician the guidance control signal. It would stun the pilot and power down the glider. She was pale as she shook her head, "Sir, the signal was rejected."

No, no no, he thought to himself. Not like this.

"Keep trying," he yelled at her. Her hands shook as she tried the code over and over. She even shared the passcode with her colleagues to try at other terminals. None worked.

The pilot had finally stopped firing as on-screen he could see the ‘No Viable Targets’ message.

"No," he yelled as he ran towards the glider.

Soldiers, with their rifles raised, were advancing on the pilot. He knew they would have orders to open fire to stop him from killing anyone else.

Inside the automatic threat detection system picked up ten hostiles in its vicinity.  The glider spun and sprayed in a controlled burst. The soldier's bodies were pierced by rounds developed to deal with tanks, not people. None survived.

Norman collapsed as he watched the soldiers die and he heard a click behind him.

General Ross had pulled his sidearm and was pointing it at his head. "Mr Osborn, you will tell your pilot to stand down, right now."

Norman fumbled for his headset, "Goblin One. Emergency override. Protocol killswitch."

This code would cut complete power to the suit. Inside the pilot was now trapped, and in the time it took to manually open the armour, he would have suffocated. Norman had little sympathy for him. He had ruined his perfect test.

They watched as the glider slowly landed.

Norman knew it was over.

The pilot would be fine. The Goblin armour was feeding him data and nothing had registered as a civilian target. Even Norman knew he could not be held for the system telling him he was under attack if he wasn't,

The fault would be placed at Norman's feet. It didn’t matter if it was a software or hardware error. Norman knew he was ruined, not just the board but he would face life in prison. His hands trembled and he balled them into fists as he surveyed the destruction caused by his glider.

His comms clicked, once, twice, and he heard it, a voice, "run" it said, "run," and he knew he had no choice. Killing soldiers was bad enough. With the civilian casualties, he knew Oscorp was finished. He was finished.

Lifting himself up he charged General Ross. He grabbed his pistol and fired backwards at the man. Ross went down clutching his leg.

Norman sped past him, towards the back of the Goblin suit which with a hiss was opening. Norman fired three times into the back of the man before pulling out his limp body. He didn't care if the man was alive or not, he needed to run. He was too important

He threw off his jacket and tie, dropped the pistol and climbed into the armour, letting it close around him.

"Goblin One override, protocol Reaper."

The suit sealed with a hiss, disconnected itself from Oscorp, and Norman had full control.

He felt a slight chill on the back of his neck as the system connected with his nervous system. He didn't have an implant so it used a small needle, a throwback to the original design.

"Goblin systems online."

He felt the armour as if it was a part of him. Now there was no Norman Osborn, there was only the Green Goblin. The needle in his spine whispered in his mind, filling him with a sense of purpose.

Inside the armour, he smirked. He knew what he had to do and a hollow terrifying laugh echoed around the testing area.

First, he needed his steed and he leapt onto the glider.

"Glider sync enabled and complete. No flight path had been uploaded."

Goblin dismissed the prompts and simply flew away at full speed. He had to escape, he had to run.

Killing those responsible was too important.

⁂

Miles away, back at the Oscorp building, Harry watched the events unfold. He set down the headset he had used to tap into Oscorps communications on top of the hijacked terminal. He smiled as he pressed three keys. The machine crashed, wiped itself clean, and performed a reinstallation of its systems. Nobody could track him now.

Norman had no idea the killswitch was fake. The suit responded only to Harry's commands. He was in such a panic he never even realised the armour hadn't shut down.

With the manufacturing of the formula completely under his control, it was easy to tamper with it. Easy to make Norman dance to his tune.

Anyone seeing a scan of Norman's brain would see minute lesions. They were no different from Alzheimer's, and Parkinson's would follow. All thanks to his father's ego. It took one last push of anxiety, adrenaline, and fear to drive him right over the edge.

His father was now out of the picture. With several members of the board dead, the military top brass would be out for blood. His plan was now complete. Oscorp was his.