"Stop firing! Where did he go? Don't let him get away!"
They'd finally punched back with everything they had, and still—Green Goblin had vanished like a bad magic trick. The special police scrambled, panic eating their training for breakfast.
"Haha, I'm right here! Time for a one-way trip to the sky!"
Green Goblin dove in on his glider, razor grin cutting the air. He plowed through a row of officers, then—because theatrics are his cardio—threw a huge net over them. Thick ropes flung across the terminal like a spider's shrug. Men who had been shouting orders a second ago were now dangling, pinned against a metal beam, useless as holiday decorations.
"Stay put. Enjoy the show," he crooned.
A middle-aged man who'd been crouched and shaking was yanked up by Green Goblin's grimy hands. He screamed and thrashed as the Goblin rifled through his pockets like a collector checking inventory.
"What am I gonna do? Robbery, of course. Hand it over."
"Please—no!" The man begged.
Green Goblin's laughter had teeth in it. He blasted the terminal's alarms with a laser beam, turning the sirens into a bleeding, chaotic howl. Panic multiplied.
"Let's play a game!" he shouted, eyes glittering.
He produced a smoking pumpkin grenade and pointed at random: "You, you, and you—stand up. Make a circle. The game starts now!" The chosen were a brutal mix: old people, women, kids so small they looked at him like he was a nightmare.
"No, please don't—" one woman whimpered.
Someone bolted for the exit, hysterical. Green Goblin feigned pity, then grinned like a canyon and tossed the grenade. The man and the gate collapsed in an instant of fire and metal. The terminal became a coffin for any hope of calm.
Screams. People crouched, hands over faces, all surrender and sob.
"Enough!" Several big, desperate men snatched fallen rifles and charged. Heroism isn't polite in the face of a psychopath.
Green Goblin's eyes went cold. He raised a hand; lasers sliced through the would-be defenders. They dropped, red blooming across the floor.
"Tsk. Such a sad little play. Who's to blame?" he said, palms wide, like a director taking applause.
"Do what I say," he snarled. "Form a circle and pass my grenade. Last one holding it wins... death. Happy?"
Hands trembled as the smoking bomb changed owners, humanity passing along terror like a cursed relay. Green Goblin watched, satisfied. Then he tossed another grenade into the pile. Sweat, sobbing, a dozen lives reduced to a frantic coin toss.
"Faster! Or boom!" he cackled.
Everyone collapsed into panic and prayer. Two figures suddenly moved like blades through fog: they ducked, twisted, and shoved the device out of the crowd just in time. Two detonations flattened the terminal; dust and ringing filled the air.
"Green Goblin! You're not getting away with this!" a voice cut through.
Two silhouettes landed: Gwen, hair whipping, and Ryuuto — not the humbled kid the world had written off, but a man who moved as if the chaos around him was a choreography he'd been dying to interrupt. He landed lightly, eyes locked on the Goblin. His stance said: don't make me use words I don't want to use.
[Ding! System Activated!]
[Host: Ryuuto — Codename: Red Mirage]
[Shion: Newbie Package Unlocked. Don't mess it up, Host.]
Ryuuto's internal voice was sharp, half-sneer, half-grin. Nice party, he thought. Someone brought fireworks and decided to torch the venue.
"Everyone, get out—now!" Gwen barked, already shifting into extraction mode. "We'll handle him. Move!"
Ryuuto's mouth quirked. He didn't love crowds, but he hated targets more. The "Powerless Freak" label had followed him like a bad cologne; labels get rewritten in blood or in headlines. He pulled his hands into his sleeves, feeling that old fizz—the system thrumming under his ribs like a trapped storm. He was not here to be saved. He was here to steal the narrative.
Green Goblin glanced between Gwen and Ryuuto, sizing trouble versus theatrics. "Two brave little birds," he mocked. "Come closer and I'll carve your names into the smoke."
"Cute," Ryuuto said. His voice was low, but it cut. He didn't shout or monologue. That wasn't his style. He readied himself like someone who'd been told he had nothing and decided to prove everyone wrong.
Gwen moved first, agile and furious. Ryuuto took a breath. Shion pinged a suggestion—snarky as ever—and Ryuuto smiled a tiny, dangerous smile. The world had a way of underestimating him. Fine. Let it.
The terminal smelled of dust and burned electronics. Somewhere a child sobbed. Somewhere a man who'd tried to be brave lay still. That was all the reason Ryuuto needed.
"Don't get attached to the scenery," he muttered. "I don't do small exits."
He sprinted.
End of scene — two heroes vs. a lunatic with a taste for spectacle. The blast left the airport a ruined, ringing stage. The real show, everyone knew, had only just started.