Chapter Seventeen: Enter the Knob-Goblin
Three days before the female symbiote made its descent to Earth, Norman Osborn sat at the head of a sleek, polished table in Oscorp's high-security conference room. Surrounding him were Oscorp board members and representatives from the military's funding department, all eager—or skeptical—to hear updates on his latest military projects.
Norman leaned back in his chair, exuding confidence. "Gentlemen," he began, his sharp voice cutting through the murmur of side conversations, "everything is progressing as planned. In fact, we're on the brink of a revolutionary breakthrough."
The room filled with a low rumble of skepticism, with board members exchanging uncertain glances. The military director, a stout man with a no-nonsense demeanor, folded his arms across his chest. He could sense the skepticism coming from Oscorp's board members. "A breakthrough, you say? Care to elaborate, Mr. Osborn? Or better yet, show us a prototype?"
Norman hesitated for a moment, his steely confidence faltering ever so slightly. "Well, it's... not entirely complete," he admitted, his voice laced with a hint of reluctance. "But I assure you, it's a marvel of engineering and innovation."
The murmuring intensified. The military director raised an eyebrow. "We didn't come here for assurances. Let's see what you've got."
Norman sighed, then reached beneath the table, retrieving a small, inconspicuous briefcase. "You may laugh at first," he said, opening it with a dramatic flourish, "but before you is the greatest invention known to man."
From the case, he pulled out an odd combination of items: a pair of green, almost comically vibrant underwear and a pair of glasses.
The room fell silent for a moment before snickers erupted from around the table. "You've got to be kidding," one board member muttered under his breath. Another let out a loud guffaw, slapping the table.
The military director, stifling his amusement, tried to keep a straight face. "Mr. Osborn... is this some sort of joke?"
Norman's jaw tightened, and he shot a piercing glare around the room, silencing the laughter instantly. "This is no joke," he snapped, standing up and dropping his pants to reveal his pinstriped boxers. With dramatic precision, he stepped into the green underwear and donned the glasses. "I call it... The Knob-Goblin."
For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then another ripple of laughter swept through the room.
Norman raised a hand, demanding quiet. "Enough!" he barked, his tone commanding. "This isn't just underwear—it's a revolution in human pleasure and control. Allow me to demonstrate."
Ignoring the bewildered looks, Norman pressed a button on the glasses' frame, and a projection screen descended from the ceiling. "These glasses," he explained, "allow the wearer to project lifelike, interactive images of any woman in the world—past, present, or imagined. And with the accompanying neuro-interface technology, these images can respond to your every command."
The military director leaned forward, bemused, still thinking Norman was just fucking with them. "So... it's a glorified adult entertainment device?"
Norman smirked. "Call it what you will. But imagine the applications. Morale enhancement for soldiers. Psychological manipulation of enemies. The possibilities are endless."
Still skeptical, the director decided to humor him. "Alright, let's see it in action. Show me Sharon Stone from Basic Instinct."
Norman's grin widened. "A man of taste," he said, pressing another button on the glasses. The screen flickered to life, displaying the iconic interrogation scene. Sharon Stone appeared in her pristine white miniskirt, seated confidently in the infamous chair. Her legs crossed, then uncrossed for a tantalizing moment before crossing again.
The military director shifted uncomfortably in his seat, tugging at his collar. His memory of that scene came rushing back vividly.
Norman, noting the reaction, gestured triumphantly. "As you can see, the realism is unparalleled. And the best part? This image can interact. With a simple voice command, Sharon here could—"
The military director leaned back, trying to regain his composure. "Alright, Mr. Osborn, I think I've seen enough. Let's get to the real purpose of why we're here."
Norman's grin grew wider, a glint of manic excitement in his eyes. "Enough? Oh no, General—you haven't even seen the best part. This most certainly is 'the purpose' for why you are here," he retorted with confidence.
He turned to the image of Sharon Stone projected on the screen. "Sharon," he said in a commanding tone, "get down on all fours and crawl toward me."
The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. On the screen, the image of Sharon Stone obeyed, her elegant white skirt brushing the floor as she slowly crawled forward, her sultry expression locked on Norman.
As she reached the edge of the screen, appearing as though she was right in front of him, Norman lowered his voice. "Now, Sharon," he said, his tone dripping with authority, "unzip my pants."
The image on the screen made it look as if she was doing exactly what he told it to do.
"Now, pull out my penis and begin sucking on it," Norman commanded. The image on the screen obeyed. The screen displayed Sharon Stone sucking on his penis. The entire room was stunned when they noticed the movements going on in Norman's green underwear.
"As you can see, the underwear is giving me the stimulation that the monitor is displaying. The interface between the glasses and underwear works perfectly," he informed them. "And might I say, it feels better than real life."
The military funding director began shaking his head in disbelief, practically watching as Norman was about to get off in front of him.
Norman then gave Sharon Stone another command. "Now, stand up and sit on my dick."
The military funding director stood up, slamming his hand down on the table, his face a mix of fury and disbelief. "Are you telling me we've been giving your company millions of dollars in grants to build us a glider, and instead, you've been creating sex toys with our money? We came here to discuss military-grade weapons, not... this nonsense!"
Norman's smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly composed himself. "You misunderstand," he said, pulling the glasses from his face and setting them on the table. "You haven't seen anything yet! This isn't just a toy—it's a weapon. And much more efficient than any outdated glider."
The military director folded his arms, narrowing his eyes. "Enlighten me, Osborn. How is this a weapon?"
Without a word, Norman pressed a button on the conference table. A section of the floor slid open, and an impenetrable glass case rose from beneath. Inside the case was a life-sized male blowup doll, seated and lifeless, its features cartoonishly exaggerated. The doll was adorned with the infamous green underwear: the Knob-Goblin.
The room filled with murmurs as Norman stepped forward, pointing to the case like a proud inventor. "Gentlemen," he began, "what you're looking at is the future of warfare. The Knob-Goblin is more than just a device for pleasure—it's a precision weapon. And because sex is mankind's oldest sin, this weapon exploits the ultimate vulnerability."
The military director's frown deepened. "And how, exactly, is this a weapon, Osborn?"
Norman grinned, his eyes lighting up with a mix of mania and excitement. "Allow me to demonstrate." He pressed another button, and the Knob-Goblin on the doll began to move rhythmically, its mechanics pumping up and down with increasing speed. The board members shifted uncomfortably in their seats as the demonstration continued.
"Imagine," Norman said, his voice rising dramatically, "we send the Knob-Goblin to every rival leader we want to eliminate. A discreet package. A 'gift,' if you will. No one would ever suspect."
The military director rubbed his temples. "And?"
Norman's grin turned sinister. "And this." He twisted a dial on the console, increasing the frequency of the Knob-Goblin. The underwear began to hum ominously. Then, with a sudden, deafening BOOM, the Knob-Goblin detonated. Shrapnel tore through the blowup doll, shredding it into tiny pieces. The explosion startled everyone in the room, leaving them wide-eyed and speechless.
The military director instinctively grabbed his crotch, as did several other men in the room. A collective gasp followed.
"You see?" Norman said, his tone triumphant. "The moment our target reaches their... peak, the Knob-Goblin detonates, leaving no trace of its presence. The ultimate silent assassin. And since no leader would dare admit they received such a 'gift,' the operation remains completely undetected."
The room fell silent as the implications sank in. One board member cleared his throat nervously. "It's... effective, I'll give you that," he muttered, still clutching his groin.
The military director, his face pale, finally spoke. "Osborn, I'll admit—this is... creative, but it is not what we were expecting." He then looked to Norman's second in command. "What do you think about all this?"
The man stood silent for a moment, his fear of Norman displayed on his face, Norman giving him a steely glare.
"C'mon! Spit it out!" the military director demanded. "What should we do?"
"I—I think we need to go back to formula," he replied, still nervous about what Norman's reaction would be.
Norman's mouth dropped, his eyes dripping with malice. "Back to formula!?" he echoed loudly, causing his second in command to shrivel up.
The military director stormed out of the room, his face a mask of frustration and anger. As he reached the door, he turned to the board members, his voice low and simmering with rage. "You better get Norman under control, or you'll lose every cent of funding we've provided. I want results. Military results. Get me that goddamned glider!" He slammed the door behind him, leaving the remaining executives in stunned silence.
An hour later, Norman was summoned back to the boardroom. He entered, his confidence shaken but still clinging to his usual bravado. The atmosphere in the room was tense; the air thick with unspoken accusations. The chairman of the board stood at the head of the table, his expression grim.
"Norman," the chairman began, his voice devoid of emotion. "We've taken a vote."
Norman's brow furrowed. "A vote?" he asked, his voice edged with suspicion.
The chairman nodded. "Effective immediately, we're releasing you from your position as CEO."
Norman froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. "You can't be serious," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Forty-thousand years of evolution, and we have barely scratched the surface of human potential. You can't do this to me now. Not while I'm about to make the break-through of a lifetime."
"We hold the majority—fifty-one percent shares of the company," the chairman continued, ignoring Norman's plea. "This decision is final. Your projects have become... erratic. You've lost focus on Oscorp's vision. And after today's display, the board has unanimously agreed that this is the best course of action."
Norman's face twisted with disbelief, his eyes darting from one board member to another, searching for any sign of dissent. "You can't do this," he said, his voice growing louder. "I built this company! Do you know how much I've sacrificed?"
His words echoed in the room, but the board members remained stoic. The chairman sighed, almost pityingly. "Norman, we appreciate everything you've done for Oscorp, but it's time for new leadership."
Norman's hand slammed down on the table, the sharp crack reverberating through the room. "You ungrateful cowards! This company exists because of me! Every breakthrough, every dollar of profit—you owe it all to me!"
The chairman raised a hand to silence him. "Security will escort you out. We'll ensure the transition is handled smoothly. You'll be compensated for your shares."
Norman's face turned red with fury. "Compensated? You think you can pay me off? This is my life!" His voice broke, and for a moment, the room was silent, save for the sound of Norman's heavy breathing.
Two security guards entered, their presence a quiet but firm reminder that there was no room for negotiation. Norman stared at them, then back at the board, his expression a mix of betrayal and seething hatred. Without another word, he turned and stormed out of the room; the guards following close behind.
As he walked down the corridor, his mind raced with dark thoughts. They'll regret this, he thought. Every single one of them.
Behind him, the chairman exhaled deeply, turning to his colleagues. "We've done the right thing. Let's focus on moving Oscorp forward."
But as the doors closed behind Norman, the seeds of vengeance were already taking root in his mind.
Hours later, Norman Osborn sat alone in the grand living room of his sprawling New York mansion, a whiskey glass in hand, staring at the prototype of the Knob-Goblin perched mockingly on the coffee table. Its green sheen caught the light, as if it were daring him to use it. He hesitated, his mind replaying the humiliating boardroom meeting. Their smug faces, their dismissal of his brilliance—it all boiled beneath his skin.
He slammed the whiskey glass down, snatched the Knob-Goblin, and marched upstairs to his private study. "Let's finish what we started, Sharon," he muttered to himself, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.
Norman donned the green underwear and slipped on the glasses. The familiar image of Sharon Stone from Basic Instinct materialized before him, sitting cross-legged in her infamous white miniskirt. She smiled seductively, and as she uncrossed her legs, Norman leaned back in his chair, a crooked smile playing on his lips.
"Perfect," he murmured, letting himself get lost in the fantasy.
But then, as Sharon began to move closer, straddling him, something changed. Her image flickered, like a glitched hologram. Suddenly, another figure appeared—himself. Or rather, a darker version of himself. This other Norman was sitting on his lap, shirtless, with a broad, hairy chest and piercing yellow eyes.
"You're pathetic," the doppelgänger sneered, its voice ominous and dripping with venom. "You sit here, wallowing in self-pity, while they steal everything you built."
Norman blinked rapidly, shaking his head. "No... no, this isn't real. I'm just stressed."
The image of Sharon flickered back, her sultry smile returning. "That's more like it," Norman muttered, relieved. She resumed undressing, pulling her white dress down to expose her chest.
But as her breasts neared his face, they abruptly disappeared. The dark version of himself was back, glaring at him with a manic grin. "You're weak, Norman. You've let them humiliate you. Do you know what happens to weak men? They're crushed."
"No!" Norman shouted, ripping off the glasses and tossing them across the room. He stood, panting, his heart racing as he stared at the discarded device. "What the hell is going on with me?"
He turned to the mirror hanging on the wall. Instead of his reflection, he saw the other Norman standing naked, his arms crossed, eyes blazing with intensity.
"You know what you have to do," the reflection said, its voice resonating inside Norman's head. "You must take revenge. Make them pay."
Norman clutched his head, groaning in frustration. "I'm not listening to this... this madness."
But the reflection didn't waver. "They think you're finished. They think they've won. Show them what happens when they cross Norman Osborn."
Suddenly, his phone buzzed on the desk, cutting through the eerie silence. Norman stumbled over and picked it up, his hands trembling. A text message lit up the screen:
ALERT: Unauthorized Access Detected. Knob-Goblin Prototype Activated at Oscorp Labs.
Norman stared at the message, his breathing shallow. "Someone's using my device..."
The reflection in the mirror grinned maliciously. "See? They've already stolen from you. What will you do about it, Norman?"
His lips twisted into a sneer, his mind spiraling deeper into chaos. "They want to see a weapon?" he muttered, his voice low and filled with venom. "I'll show them a weapon."
Norman's trembling hand reached for the Knob-Goblin on the floor. A new fire burned in his eyes—one of vengeance and madness.
Meanwhile, at Oscorp Labs, chaos was brewing. Norman's second-in-command, Dr. Leonard Pritchard, had succumbed to the temptation of the infamous Knob-Goblin prototype. A brilliant but morally dubious scientist, Pritchard was drawn to the device's allure. Curiosity had gotten the better of him—or so he justified it.
Sitting in a dimly lit lab, surrounded by screens monitoring various experiments, Pritchard adjusted the green underwear around his waist, a sly grin creeping across his face. He then slid on the glasses, marveling at the sleek design and intuitive controls.
"Let's see what this bad boy can really do," he muttered, his fingers navigating the interface.
The glasses flickered to life, and within moments, the iconic image of Marilyn Monroe appeared before him. She stood on a simulated city street, her famous white dress billowing upward from a subway grate, just as in her legendary photograph. Her radiant smile lit up the virtual space, and Pritchard leaned forward, his breath hitching.
"Marilyn," he said softly, as if she were truly there. "Take the dress off."
With an elegant motion, Marilyn reached for the straps of her dress, letting it slip off her shoulders. The fabric pooled at her feet, revealing her voluptuous figure. Her curves, her flawless skin, her full, luscious lips—it was as if she had stepped out of history and into his private fantasy.
Pritchard's face flushed, and he began salivating at the sight. "You're perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Those eyes... those lips..."
Marilyn's simulated eyes sparkled as she placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head playfully. "Anything else you'd like, sweetheart?" she purred, her voice as soft and alluring as he imagined it would be.
Pritchard's grin widened. "Dance for me," he commanded.
Marilyn began to sway her hips seductively, moving closer to him in the simulation. Pritchard chuckled to himself, feeling a rush of power and pleasure.
Unbeknownst to him, however, the Knob-Goblin began to emit a faint hum, its systems surging with energy, but he figured it was the machine just getting warmed up for the pleasure that was yet to come.
"I want you to kneel down between my legs and start titty-fucking me," he commanded.
"As you wish, my big hunk of a man," Marilyn replied, sitting before him and placing his rock hard penis between her bosom. She then squeezed her tits together, slowly massaging his penis up and down.
After a couple minutes had gone by, Pritchard instructed her to stand up and turn around, so he could see her perfect ass.
She does as he asked.
He reaches out, admiring her thin waist and her wide, childbearing hips. He then smacks her plump, juicy ass, his penis throbbing harder than ever. "Sit on me and fuck me reverse cowgirl."
Sitting down, Marilyn grabbed his penis and began to insert it into her warm, wet pussy. The machine was doing exactly what Norman said it would do.
"Norman was right. This is better than the real thing," he mused with pleasure.
Marylin began increasing her strokes, giving Pritchard his every desire. "Oh, you are so big, daddy!" Marilyn moaned, boosting his confidence even greater.
Little did Pritchard know, Norman could see everything that was happening on his phone. He then turned up the frequency to military mode.
Marilyn began bouncing wildly up and down on Pritchard's junk, his face growing more intense as he could feel his orgasm about to erupt.
And then, just as he was about to blow his load, Norman's ominous voice came through the comm. "Back to formula, huh?"
Before Pritchard could realize what was going on,
KABOOM! Pritchard and the entire lab exploded, the blast rattling an entire city block.
In the end, Norman received the most satisfaction, his laugh echoing throughout the mansion. "This is only the beginning!"