Masters wore a raggy, hole-punctuated white sheet as a cape, using an open plastic bag as a hood. He had white stuff, probably chalk, smeared all over his face, possibly as war paint. He had a service revolver tucked into a pair of ratty old pants, a sword made of a sharp piece of metal tied to a wooden cross, and a shield made of a trashcan lid reinforced awkwardly with sheet metal. He wore white combat boots, and had a blue, frayed rope looped into his belt.

In front of him knelt three people (a man, woman and child). Specifically chosen to represent the people who screwed him over.

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Tony flew, while Peter tested out flinging himself from building to building using his agility and his web. He'd been given an earpiece for communication without shouting.

"Hey, webhead."

"What, Tin Pan Alley?"

"According to Jarvis, our friend Masters lost his family to some professor, Roderick Kingsley. Went insane, started stalking them, threatened to kill the three of 'em. Got put into witness protection."

"So?"

"The three hostages? A man, woman and child. He's delusional, obviously thinks they're them."

"Then why kill uncle Ben...wait, was Masters ever treated?"

"Once, by a Christopher Chackwell. Why?"

"Pull up a picture."

"Okay."

"Describe him."

"Old, kinda sullen."

"He thought Ben was Chackwell! He killed him because...because he made a mistake..."

"Well, we're going to make no mistakes. He's down there."

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Masters turned as the two heroes burst in.

"Who the hell are you?!" he cracked, waving the sword around.

"Well, I'm Eva."

"And I'm Tim."

"Names of my wife and kids. You think I'm insane, don't you?"

"Kinda."

"Well I'm not."

"You're a killer though!"

"Really?"

"Remember that old guy? The one you gunned down?"

Masters sighed.

"Listen, kid. A hitman is a hitman. I got a job, I do it."

"Hitman? What kind of hitman takes hostages?"

"The kind of one who's a professional. One who went undercover as a bum, the kind who used family history to create an insane persona. The kind of professional hired to create distractions."

"From what?"

"From those high-up. That old timer used to be a journalist. Let's just say that he had something which my employers need. Something big, bad and- well, big. But, they won't care for witnesses, so..."

He raised the sword to swipe at the kid, but Peter pulled him and the others out of the way using a string of web. He got them safely outside.

"Y'know Masters, I know a guy who knows you."

"Really, who's that? The Cowardly Lion?"

"Tony Stark. We're kinda friends."

"So, what's the name?"

"Iron Man. You? I'm guessing bagman? Super Bum?"

"They call me Taskmaster. You wanna guess why?"

"Not particularly."

Taskmaster growled and lunged at Tony. They grappled, and punched. Tony felt the force of each hit, as if he had amazing strength.

"They call me Taskmaster. Some say I'm an absorbing man, who can take any physical power he sees and mimic it. Others call me insane. I prefer to be an artisan, or maybe a figurehead. Just don't call me lazy."

"I wasn't planning on!" Tony heaved, as he pushed Taskmaster out of the way. Peter swung in and kicked his adversary against the wall. They too became embroiled in a clumsy fist-fight, Taskmaster returning each of Peter's moves exactly.

"You missed the talk. I'm not really the kind of guy who repeats himself, so come in on time if there's a next time!"

He lunged again.

"I know you're thinking, 'why doesn't he use the gun?' Well, that's just messy work. And too easy."

"Well, good thing I like the easy way out."

Tony blasted a repulsor shot, which sent Taskmaster soaring outside. He ran, and Peter followed despite Tony's warning against it.

Taskmaster ran into a secluded alley and emerged into the sky on a sleek silver, sort-of glider. It resembled a motorcycle with wings. Peter jumped after him but Tony brought him back.

"What are you doing?!"

"Saving you from ruining your life!"

"As if you'd know!"

"I would, actually. Because unlike you I have killed a man! Now, you do the sensible thing and work on researching Masters and all his stuff, and then work on a bloodless vendetta! I'll see you 'round."

He flew off. He forgot the messaging link was still connected.

"Thank you." Peter sighed, tears evident.

"Don't mention it, kid."

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Taskmaster hopped inside his employer's office.

"You took your time, Masters. I was going to send out a search."

"Sorry boss. Ran into two problems of equal annoying value."

"No matter. With Ben Parker gone, I'm almost done. We just need Murdoch. Go. Lay low, until I raise the alarm."

"`Kay boss."

Taskmaster left. His employer reclined and sighed, the pale moonlight reflecting off their forehead.