Oscorp Tower presents a different face depending on your perspective. From the plaza below, it's an architectural marvel—glass and steel rising in elegant curves to dominate the Manhattan skyline. From the executive floors, it's a corporate kingdom with Norman Osborn as its unquestioned ruler. From the research labs, it's a fountain of innovation, producing technologies that continually push the boundaries of science.
But beneath it all—literally beneath the massive foundation—lies a forgotten world that none of these perspectives acknowledge.
I discovered the entrance by accident while reviewing the original architectural plans in Oscorp's archives. A maintenance tunnel, sealed off during renovations in the 1980s, connecting to an abandoned subway line that dates back to the early 1900s. According to official records, this section was permanently closed after a partial collapse. Unofficial records—the kind buried in city planning office footnotes that no one bothers to read—tell a different story.
The "collapse" was actually a government project, a Cold War-era attempt to create secure underground facilities throughout the city. When funding dried up, the tunnels were simply abandoned, their existence obscured by bureaucratic misdirection.
How convenient?
Now, at 2:17 AM, I'm carefully moving aside a false utility panel in Oscorp's lowest basement level, revealing the sealed entrance to this forgotten underworld. The heavy steel door hasn't been opened in decades, its locking mechanism fused with rust and neglect. Fortunately, I no longer need keys.
With my enhanced strength, I grip the edge of the door where the hinges have nearly disintegrated and pull steadily. Metal groans in protest, then surrenders with a dusty exhalation of stale air. I slip through the opening, flashlight illuminating what lies beyond—a concrete tunnel stretching into darkness, its walls lined with outdated electrical conduits and water pipes.
This is my third expedition to map these tunnels, each journey taking me deeper into the elaborate network that spans beneath midtown Manhattan. Tonight's goal is to reach what city planning documents cryptically labeled "Chamber N-7"—a large underground space that might serve as the perfect Batcave.
The tunnel slopes downward, taking me well below the level of the subway system and ordinary utilities. The air grows colder, mustier, undisturbed for generations. My enhanced senses pick up faint sounds of water dripping somewhere in the distance and the scurrying of rats in adjacent passages. No human has ventured this way in a very long time.
After twenty minutes of careful navigation through branching corridors, referring occasionally to the rough map I've been developing, I reach a massive circular door reminiscent of a bank vault. "Chamber N-7" is stenciled in faded yellow paint above it. Unlike the entrance near Oscorp, this door appears designed to be sealed from the inside—a final refuge rather than a controlled access point.
The locking mechanism is sophisticated for its era but yields easily to my strength after I decipher its operation. The vault door swings open ponderously, revealing the space beyond.
My flashlight beam seems swallowed by the sheer scale of what I've discovered. Chamber N-7 is enormous—maybe 15,000 square feet of open space with a ceiling that rises at least thirty feet above the concrete floor. Support columns spaced at regular intervals hold up what must be tons of Manhattan real estate overhead. The walls are lined with what appear to be equipment mounts, cables, and control panels long since stripped of anything useful.
In short, it's perfect.
I walk the perimeter slowly, mentally mapping the space, imagining the transformation it will undergo. Here, the main computer systems. There, vehicle bays. That raised section would be ideal for the suit fabrication and storage units. The natural alcoves along the east wall could house specialized equipment and weapons development.
My footsteps echo as I reach the center of the chamber. This is it. My Batcave. The hub from which Batman Beyond will emerge to protect this universe from threats both familiar and unexpected.
I set down my backpack and retrieve a small device I've assembled in my apartment workshop—a compact environmental analyzer that measures air quality, structural integrity, electromagnetic fields, and radioactivity. The readings are all reassuringly normal. No toxic gases, no dangerous radiation, no structural instabilities that might compromise the chamber.
Next, I deploy small mapping drones I've developed using modified Oscorp surveillance technology, sending them to create detailed 3D scans of every corner of the space. As they whir softly through the darkness, I begin the more mundane but essential task of assessing what infrastructure remains usable.
Some of the original electrical conduits appear intact, though the wiring inside has long since deteriorated. Water lines show minimal corrosion—stainless steel that's held up remarkably well over the decades. Most promising of all, I discover what looks like a dedicated ventilation system with shafts leading to multiple surface access points, carefully disguised as ordinary street fixtures.
The Cold War planners built this place to last, to function as a self-contained emergency operations center if necessary. Their foresight will serve my purposes perfectly.
By 4 AM, I've completed my initial assessment and retrieved the mapping drones. Sitting against one of the support columns, I review the data on my tablet, developing preliminary plans for the renovations required. Power will be the first priority—I'll need to run new lines, possibly tapping into Oscorp's grid through untraceable substations. Then communications, security systems, and environmental controls.
The scope of the project is daunting, but not impossible with the resources at my disposal. Oscorp's materials science division is already unwittingly developing components I'll need for the cave's systems, just as they're creating elements of the Batman Beyond suit under the guise of military applications.
As I gather my equipment and prepare to leave, my phone vibrates—a secure message from the surveillance system I've set up in Norman's private lab at Oscorp. Motion detected at an unusual hour. Norman is working late. Or early, depending on your perspective.
I quicken my pace back through the tunnels, mind shifting from Batcave planning to more immediate concerns. Norman's nighttime activities have been increasing in frequency and duration. According to the monitoring systems I've discreetly installed, he's accelerating the Prometheus treatments—taking greater risks with the experimental procedures that are gradually transforming him into the Green Goblin.
By the time I return to the Oscorp basement and reseal the hidden entrance, dawn is approaching. I take the executive elevator directly to my office on the 85th floor, where I keep spare clothes for occasions exactly like this. A quick shower in my private bathroom, a change into business attire, and I'm ready to begin the day officially, as if I hadn't spent the night exploring underground tunnels.
My assistant Claire arrives at 7:30, momentarily startled to find me already at my desk reviewing reports.
"Mr. Osborn! I didn't expect you so early."
"Thought I'd get a head start," I reply, gesturing to the stack of documents before me—quarterly projections from the materials science division. "Dr. Martinez's team is making impressive progress. I want to ensure they have the resources to continue."
Claire nods, professional composure quickly restored. "Your father has requested your presence at a demonstration in Lab 7 at nine. Dr. Mendel will be presenting the latest Prometheus results."
My heart rate ticks up slightly. A formal demonstration means Norman is ready to show off the progress of his transformation to a select audience. Things are moving faster than I anticipated.
"Thank you, Claire. I'll be there." I return to the reports, though my mind is now focused on what the demonstration might reveal about Norman's condition.
At 8:45, I make my way to Lab 7—a high-security facility on the restricted research level. My executive access card grants me entry to areas most Oscorp employees never see, including the corridor leading to Norman's most sensitive projects.
The security guard at the lab entrance checks my credentials with extra scrutiny. "Mr. Osborn is expecting you, sir. They're already inside."
They? I'd expected a private demonstration, not an audience.
The lab is arranged like a small amphitheater, with tiered seating facing a central demonstration area. Five people occupy the front row—Norman, Dr. Mendel, and three men in military uniforms bearing general's insignia. A Pentagon delegation, here to witness whatever progress Norman is prepared to showcase.
Norman looks up as I enter, his expression unreadable. "Ah, Harry. Just in time. Gentlemen, my son and our Director of Advanced Materials Research."
The introduction is telling—acknowledging both my familial connection and my new corporate role. I nod respectfully to the generals as I take a seat in the second row, directly behind Norman.
"As I was saying," Norman continues, "Project Prometheus represents the next evolution in military enhancement technology. Dr. Mendel, please proceed with the demonstration."
Dr. Mendel—a thin, intense man with wire-rimmed glasses—steps forward. "Phase One of Prometheus involves baseline physical enhancements through a proprietary bio-formula that restructures muscle tissue and neural pathways for optimal performance."
A display screen activates, showing side-by-side comparisons of standard physical performance metrics versus "enhanced" results. The differences are dramatic—strength increased by 400%, reflexes accelerated by 300%, endurance extended by 600%.
"These results," Mendel continues, "have been consistently reproduced in our test subject over a series of treatments with minimal side effects."
One of the generals leans forward. "And the psychological stability issues noted in previous reports?"
A flicker of tension crosses Mendel's face. "Completely manageable through our refined formula. The earlier... incidents were related to dosage calibration."
Norman interjects smoothly. "Perhaps a practical demonstration would be more convincing than charts and graphs." He stands, removing his suit jacket and handing it to Mendel. "Gentlemen, I believe in leading from the front. The test subject Dr. Mendel refers to is myself."
The generals exchange surprised glances as Norman moves to the center of the demonstration area. A technician wheels in what appears to be a standard military bench press setup, but the weights are clearly non-standard—much heavier than normal plates.
"This equipment is calibrated to measure force output precisely," Mendel explains. "The total weight assembled here is 2,000 pounds—approximately ten times what an Olympic athlete might manage."
Norman positions himself on the bench, grips the bar, and without apparent strain, performs ten perfect repetitions. The generals lean forward in unified astonishment.
"That's impossible," one mutters.
"Not with Prometheus," Norman replies, standing without a hint of exertion. "And strength is merely the beginning. Dr. Mendel, the reflexes demonstration."
What follows is a carefully choreographed display of Norman's enhanced capabilities—catching projectiles fired at high speed, navigating a complex obstacle course in record time, performing cognitive tests while under physical stress. Throughout it all, his expression remains controlled, almost serene, betraying none of the psychological instability mentioned in the reports I've accessed.
But I notice what the generals don't—the subtle indicators that Norman isn't quite himself. The slightly too-wide pupils. The occasional muscular tick at the corner of his jaw. The unnatural stillness between movements, as if he's consciously restraining excess energy.
The Green Goblin lurks just beneath the polished surface of Norman Osborn, CEO.
After the physical demonstrations conclude, Norman returns to his seat, casually donning his jacket as if he hadn't just performed feats beyond human capability.
"Phase Two," he continues without missing a beat, "integrates mechanical enhancements with the biological foundation established in Phase One. Dr. Mendel?"
Mendel activates another display, showing schematics for what is unmistakably an early version of the Goblin glider and armor.
"The combat application system includes an aerodynamic transport platform and protective exoskeleton, both neurally linked to the enhanced operator. Reaction times are measured in milliseconds, with targeting systems that interface directly with the user's visual cortex."
The presentation continues, detailing weapons systems, tactical applications, and projected development timelines. The generals are clearly impressed, asking technical questions that Norman and Mendel answer with practiced precision.
I maintain a neutral expression throughout, though my mind is racing. Norman is further along than I realized—not just physically enhanced, but already integrating with the mechanical systems that will complete his transformation into the Green Goblin. And worse, he has military backing, legitimizing his experiments under the guise of national security.
The demonstration concludes with Norman outlining the next steps in the Prometheus program—expanded testing, refinement of the neural interface, and preparation for potential deployment scenarios. The generals depart with handshakes and promises of continued support, leaving Norman, Mendel, and me alone in the lab.
Norman turns to me, eyes assessing my reaction. "Thoughts, Harry?"
A careful moment. What would he expect from his son? Awe? Concern? Business interest? I opt for measured appreciation with a touch of scientific curiosity.
"Impressive technical achievement," I say. "The neural interface particularly—it's years ahead of anything Stark or HammerTech have demonstrated publicly."
Norman seems pleased with this response. "And it's only the beginning. Prometheus will establish Oscorp as the definitive leader in human enhancement technology."
"The military applications are obvious," I acknowledge, "but have you considered the medical possibilities? The neural interface could revolutionize prosthetics, treatment for spinal injuries—"
"Always looking for the humanitarian angle," Norman interrupts, though his tone remains light. "Yes, there are civilian applications we'll explore eventually. But the military contracts are our priority."
Dr. Mendel excuses himself to oversee the dismantling of the demonstration equipment, leaving Norman and me momentarily alone.
"You weren't surprised," Norman observes, eyes narrowing slightly. "By what I can do now."
A dangerous moment. I need to be careful.
"I've been reviewing the Prometheus files since you shared them," I reply smoothly. "The projected capabilities were well-documented. Seeing them in practice is different, of course, but not unexpected."
Norman studies me with unsettling intensity, as if trying to see through my explanation to the truth beneath. Finally, he nods, seemingly satisfied.
"Your materials division is contributing significantly to the Phase Two systems," he says. "Dr. Martinez's adaptive fabric technology integrates perfectly with the exoskeleton design."
"I'll let him know his work is appreciated," I respond, mentally noting that Norman is monitoring my division's research more closely than I realized.
"Join me for lunch," Norman says, more command than invitation. "There's a larger conversation we need to have about Oscorp's future."
"Of course."
As we exit the lab, my phone vibrates with a message from Bernard: "Sir, a Detective Stacy called regarding a break-in at your residence. Nothing appears missing, but he requests you contact him at your earliest convenience."
A break-in at my apartment? My spider-sense hadn't triggered any warnings about my home being compromised. Either the intruder posed no direct threat to me, or they were sophisticated enough to avoid triggering standard security measures.
Given the timing—immediately following Norman's demonstration of Prometheus capabilities to military officials—I have to consider the possibility that this is related. SHIELD monitoring Norman's activities? Competitive espionage from another company? Or something else entirely?
"Problem?" Norman asks, noting my distraction.
"Minor security issue at my apartment," I reply, downplaying the concern. "Nothing serious."
Norman's expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his eyes—a calculating assessment. "Security issues should never be dismissed as minor, Harry. Especially given your new prominence at Oscorp."
Is that a warning? A threat? Or genuine paternal concern? With Norman, it's increasingly difficult to distinguish.
"I'll handle it," I assure him, pocketing my phone. "Now, about lunch—"
Our conversation continues as we head toward the executive dining room, discussing Oscorp business in broad terms. But beneath the corporate dialogue, a more significant exchange has occurred. Norman has revealed the extent of his transformation, and I've revealed my unsurprised acceptance of it.
And beneath it all—literally beneath our feet—lies the chamber that will become my Batcave, the headquarters from which I'll launch my mission to reshape the destiny of this universe.
The cave beneath Oscorp. A fitting irony.