Phil figured he'd been riding the subway long enough to shake off anyone that might be following him. Not that he really expected anyone WAS following him, but it never hurt to take precautions when one needed to be... discrete. He got off and caught a bus another several blocks into a warehouse district. A few blocks on foot and he was where he
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"Poor poor pretender. Poor Phil. A terrible waste of an incredible gift..."
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"Who's there?"
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The voice echoes around the room.
"I am the true Goblin. The true inheritor of Osborn's legacy..."
The voice breaks into a mad cackle.
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His eyes flitted around the rafters of the warehouse, trying to pin down the source of the laughter. His other hand felt the bulge of his cellphone in his pocket, but he didn't reach for it just yet. 911 wouldn't really mean much against a costumed type, and how could he explain this to Captain America or Richards?
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