Down, Down, in Hobgoblin Town

[Rift]

Roderick Kingsley scoffed as he moved through the muck of the New York City sewer system. His very expensive, imported Italian leather shoes were covered in hideous protective wear, gloves shielding his hands, and an old fashion wooden clothesline pin pinched his nostrils shut. Still the smell was bad enough to strip paint and he was already certain that despite his protective measures he was going to have to burn his wardrobe when he was done. It was all incredibly depressing to a man that prided himself on looking good and wearing only the best, most expensive, and awe inspiring attire. He had after all been one of the most successful fashion designers with a business empire that seemed poised to overtake ghe biggest names in the industry. Of course that was before. Before that wallcrawling idiot in spandex and Norman Osborn with his cheap suits and god awful hair ruined everything.

"Now look at me, trudging through literal crap and who knows what else," he said.

It was not how he had intended to spend the day. The plan had been simple. He was going to call in some markers, get working on building up his arsenal, and wait until Van Adder got in touch with him about when the proposed prison break scheme was to happen. He did after all need to prepare. He couldn't just throw on any old costume and call ita day. No if the Hobgoblin was going to announce his return to the Big Rotten Apple it had to be an event. There would be pizazz, grandiose spectacle, and of course a huge degree of class! Spider-Man, Norman Osborn, and every single cit izen of the concrete jungle would tremble in awe and fear at the rebirth of the greatest criminal mastermind to ever grace their sad lives!

Unfortunately fate, fickle mistrress that she was had other plans.

He'd turned on the television to see a familiar scene. Death, destruction, chaos, and more would be super idiots than you could shake a stick (or a pack of razor bats) at. Someone hit a transport vehicle drawing the attention of Nick Fury's goon squad and that tasteless Iron Man knockoff. But what was likely par for the course for most viewers was very familiar to Kingsley. Too familiar.

"Don't know if Stormin' Norman has gone fully around the bend or if some rank amateur has gotten their hands on gear they shouldn't have, but that was the work of a specialized Pumpkin bomb. And I was seen in The Bar with no Name recently . Last thing I need is for some do gooder thinking I did it!"

Thus his trek through diseased ridden filth began. He needed a place to lay low just in case. And there was no place better than the old base he'd begun construction on so many years ago. An abandoned and long forgotten section of subway it was perfect for all his criminal needs. Fully stocked arsenal and a direct tap into power and fiber optic cables meant he'd be in business sooner rather than later. An entire town's sized network of tunnels and secret entrances and exits. A kingdom worthy of the Hobgoblin...if he didnt vomit before reaching the high tech hidden door only he couldopen.

[Rift]

Roderick walked the several mile stretch of sewage system, each step bringing to mind new torments he would like to visit upon the people responsible for his having to trek through human waste. There was of course Spider-Man who couldn't just leave well enough alone. Aside from his do-gooder routine interfering in his plans time after time, the wallcrawling buffoon didn't know how to take a win. He had handed him the Hobgoblin on a platter, but he had to become an intrepid little investigator and dig deeper past the Ned Leeds deception. Then there was Fisk, the so-called Kingpin of Crime. The fatman had been so in love with his own legend that he had to expand into superhuman crime, as if the old ways the mob did things could translate to a world with thunder gods and alien invasions. Fisk had been poised to be a fixture in the NYC crime scene for as long as his enormous personage could live, but of course upon Kingsley's return he saw that Kingpin was apparently too good for the streets that made him. Now he fancied himself a politician, one of the worse kind of criminals, and had even put his never ending feud with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen on ice for the time being.

And then there's the worst of them all, the crème de la crème of backstabbing fools. Norman Freaking Osborn! he thought with a sneer.

If Fisk thought himself a politician or was at least playing at it for cover than Norman was the genuine article. He had manipulated and lied his way into the White House and became one of the most powerful men in the world, capable of ignoring the Spider-People of the world because he had an entire group of superhuman soldiers under his command. He had gone from tussling with Spidey on the six o'clock news to actually having discussions with international leaders, to planning foreign policy rather than how to blow up Midtown, and all of this was despite the fact that the man was crazier than all the loonies in Ravencroft put together. Sure he had come up with a good gimmick even if he hadn't seen the full potential, but that was about it. A sniveling, morally depraved lunatic was now running the whole of the United States of America!

At least we legitimate criminals have to plan and scheme to steal from people. We don't just just get to sign a piece of paper or have congress do it for us! But to make matters worse he went from screwing over the likes of me and my fashion empire to having the power to mess over the entire planet. IRS, FBI, ATF and the like are all weapons at his disposal and old Stormin' Norman holds grudges. He hears that I'm back in town and what's going to happen? Might get dragged off to Guantanamo or some CIA black site and then that's the end of little old me. I mean I survive Spider-Man, I survive the Kingpin, and even throw downs with the Green Goblin but now I run the risk of being done in by Uncle Sam?

Grumbling as an abnormally large rat scurried over his already ruined shoes, he came to a stop at a slight depression in the wall. He pushed a loose brick and a doore swung open revealing a hidden entrance to a headquarters he had founded long ago, nestled somewhere between the sewage system and an old abandoned subway station. Finding a large switch on the wall he rapidly pressed it up three times before power kicked in revealing a large, brightly lit space. A workbench had various tools of the trade from razor bats to pumpkin bombs. A mini-glider was suspended above the old subway car that had been converted into a comfortable living space. One of the masks he had pilfered from Osborn's stash, still unaltered to the jaundiced yellow he preferred for the face, hung on a wall. And naturally as a designer everything was perfectly spaced for the right level of Feng Shui.

"Home sweet home," he cooed.

It was from here that his plans would unfold. If that Proto-Goblin was actually capable of delivering on his promise it would be where he'd run a new criminal empire. If not it was as good a place as any to hide out for a bit before plans to undo all his enemies were ready.

Soon, very soon the world would revel in the return of the HOBGOBLIN! Until then though there were showers and scheming to be had.

[Rift]

Several Weeks Later...

Roderick Kingsley was livid.

Slumped in a chair, clad in full gear sans mask and with the addition of designer house shoes, he drummed his fingers on a desk as he stared daggers at wall. On the wall were plans, connections, even the occasional newspaper clipping celebrating his return to New York City. It was meant to partially help him keep track of all the plans he had in motion and to act as motivation for him to move on up from the subterranean lair he'd been forced to inhabit since his return. As of a few hours ago it was all a giant waste of time, energy, and resources.

Pointing his index finger he triggered a laser within his glove that lanced out and destroyed the board, the pictures, and everything else on it. The lingering smoke was almost a welcome distraction from the constant scent of sewage that tended to leak in and this realization only infuriated him more. This place, this squalor, and this setback was not something he was accustomed to and was not a condition he could suffer any longer.

The plan had been relatively simple despite the multitude of moving parts. He was to return stateside and begin rehabbing the Hobgoblin brand. People would remember why they once feared the sight of that pallid, grotesque mask and billowing orange cloak as it streaked overhead. The icing on top of the cake would be that he'd get revenge, revenge he longed for and deserved, against everyone that had wronged him. Those that had caused him to flee, those that had stolen from him and double crossed him would all suffer humiliating defeats as Hobgoblin came once more to the forefront of the criminal community.

Since he had first stepped foot back in the Big Apple he had begun to put coals in the fire and draw targets on the backs of all who had wronged him. The Proto-Goblin he'd met with at the Bar with No Name had assured him he could have an army if he assisted with a small jail break. Then there was the shadowy deal he had struck with Fisk, one that would see him set Hell's Kitchen ablaze in attempt to ruin the public image of the Defenders, a ragtag group of costumed do-gooders that had built up support among the common folk of their sad few blocks despite having resisted signing the Superhuman Registration Act. In exchange he would be given access to the former Kingpin's intelligence resources enabling him to enact revenge on Norman Osborn despite his rather prominent position in the world of politics. In the end he'd have a Goblin army, he could make Osborn pay, and he'd hoist the fat man out on his own gigantic backside as he became the new Kingpin.

It was all too good to be true. The Proto-Goblin never contacted him again. His attack on Hell's Kitchen had led to a good portion of the goblin gang being put in jail or traction and had that lunatic clad as the devil and his boy band chasing him through the streets on New Year's Eve. The attack, though well planned and executed, reduced the number of would-be goblin themed subordinates to a paltry amount that couldn't even adequately run a protection racket.

So much for a Goblin Kingdom. A king needs subjects, not wastes of space languishing in hospitals and prisons! he thought bitterly.

"I knew that whole prison break scheme was too good to be true. Even if it had happened, I'd of been left with a bunch of rejected gangbangers playing at being anarchists rather than a proper force, a proper army of Goblins. Besides, don't want to oversaturate the market. That flies in the face of the overall goal. Cleaning up the goblin brand."

Looking over one of the various charts he had set up on a white board he smiled.

Sure things were not going to work out with the goblin army and yes he may yet have to increase the pressure on Hell's Kitchen using the morons masquerading around in in devil masks, but all was not lost. If he could up the ante enough to get he Avenger's attention without actually being revealed as the culprit, he'd of made good on his end of the bargain with Fisk.

"Kingpin is a man of his word if nothing else. Unless of course his foray into politics has ruined that whole 'honor amongst thieves' thing he has going. Still, what is a politician of not a crime boss with good PR?" he said. "Besides, maybe this whole Devil thing can work out to my advantage in more ways than one."

Wheels turning in his mind he smiled as a new plan started to form, one that would make his comeback tour something truly memorable.

[Rift]

ELSEWHERE...

When he became a soldier Flash Thompson was convinced that he was doing the right thing. Protecting his country, doing honorable work, and making the world a better place. Of course he was young, foolish, and had a rude awakening even before the explosion that took his legs. The world was not always so black and white and even if he still believed in the mission, there were times when he had to question the people planning the operations. Sometimes targets that were obviously evil people were allowed to go free and other times it seemed as if sending him and his "partner" were simply overkill for situations where non-superpowered forces could have done the job just fine. Every now and then though the Brass got things right and this was one of those rare situations where the threat was both not going to be ignored and the use of Agent Venom was more than justified.

Wrong Flash. We are heroes, we save people, we permanently end the bad people. But this is beneath us. He's old, washed up, and unimportant, the symbiote whispered.

Thompson sighed. The alien, always tempting him with power, had actually decided it was too good to go after someone? If that was a step up or down from wanting to eat the brain of every jaywalker in sight he wasn't sure.

"Stow it. You know how dangerous this freak is? Every lunatic that has ever donned a goblin mask and went gliding through the skyline had been a thief, murderer, and all around scumbag of the highest order. And this guy? He's the worst of the lot. He started the whole Hobgoblin thing, he killed people, shook up the entire criminal underbelly of this city, and even brainwashed other people into thinking they were him. Sure he was a fashion designer, but that just let him launder his blood money. This guy actually scared both the Kingpin and Spidey, so you better take him seriously, old guy or not."

Oh poor Flash, of course Spider-Man was scared of him. Scared of us too, of what we could have done together. Just like you. Scared of Hobgoblin, scared of me, scared to be Venom. You are even scared of yourself, [erhaps most of all. Don't want to admit it but you are not in this just for doing the right thing. You are one of the idiots that Hobgoblin tried to pin his crimes on. This is about revenge as much as it is justice. You want to kill him, to make him pay for what he did to you so long ago, but that part of yourself scares you. Looks like your daddy was right. You are not tough enough. Speaking of old men that could beat you...

Flash fought down the anger. The alien was only trying to get to him, irritated that the honeyed words were not taking and that like his hero Spider-Man he was strong enough to resist it. This back and forth was getting increasingly common as of late. It was almost enough to make him wonder if he should report it. His time as Venom was already getting short and it would surely make it even more so.

But you won't. You'll lie in the psych eval, tell the lab coats and generals and anyone else what they want to hear. Because you need this. You need us.

"What I need is for you to shut up and start sniffing out where Hobgoblin's trail might be. The NYC sewage system is huge and I don't want to be wading through literal crap all night."

Unfortunately for Agent Venom, a security sensor had already triggered, alerting Kinglsey to the unwanted visitor.