Hobgoblin of the Museum: pH

A Story by Abishai100

Hero-man of telepathy defies the terror-eye of the unusual/terrifying Hobgoblin, in this Marvel adaptation for Earthlings.

Marvel adaptation/fanfiction of the eerie Hobgoblin (Roderick Kingsley). Happy Wednesday all,

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I was at a Homeland-Jersey hostel-station, in a typical TV-lounge area enjoying fitness-image on a given Sunday for pre-Bowl anticipations, cheering for my soaring Lions and Eagles teams for Earthling cleats, when I realized I was developing psychic powers (of the Ego). Follow along, folks.

My name's Amlan Satan, and I found myself becoming more than human, which is how this adversarial creature found me, finally, the dreaded Hobgoblin, pumpkin-bomb throwing Homeland anarchist and terrorist (damn). I knew my Selfie-image of life-securities was forever shaken (for the Ego).

So, I decided to make a special post/blog featuring my beloved color-doodle stick-figure renditions of comic art avatars (from childhood!). I knew Hobgoblin had made mark of me as a defender of the soul of Earthling sportsmanship and heroics-storytelling leading up to the time of Super Bowl TV-ads flowery for everyday fantasies of the heart (damn).

I decided to switch-sports and visited a local ice-hockey venue where I began to trumpet and post, mid-game, about the delights of a local team challenging a West Coast team, and I knew then I wanted to skate/glide with my psychic eyes to challenge the Hobgoblin's pronoun-threats to the Earth-environment (Selfie-like).

What he didn't know was that I was trained in computer access skills and honed my psychic power to create a special net-grid securities feeling pre-Bowl season in '24, and I sensed the Hobgoblin would feel rage at my acumen for thinking about electric nets of mind-connected humanity in the West (American Homeland). I was wait-listed from MIT, after all, folks!

HOBGOBLIN: You fool idealist, you!
ME: I've made special rings of sports-cheers magic for TV-culture here/now.

HOBGOBLIN: I'll put you in a dark cage of Hell, fool idealist.

ME: I'll cast your visage in a terror-exhibition in a Western museum, mad-eater!

HOBGOBLIN: Selfie-like?

Folks, did I deliver on my promise(s) (successfully)? I found myself the next-year ('25) in a Windy-City museum enjoying works of great empirical fantasy for securities 'consciousness' on Earth (American Homeland) and forgot about that nasty invader, the hideous Hobgoblin who had become simply a ghost-memory of my Selfie-age of life-linked fantastic synthetics collections of sporting human social quiet cleats (for chemistry!).