Peter exhaled the crisp, autumn air, watching his breath materialize and vanish before him. The trek to his mentor's address took longer than he would've liked. After nearly an hour on public transport and a few more minutes walking to specific stations, Peter finally found himself in Murray Hill.
Of course, it would have been faster to have taken an Uber or a Taxi there straight from his house. That would've only taken approximately 20 minutes. Of course, the boy had to go to Central Station to pick up his new costume, listen to all of Professor Murdock's warnings, and say goodbye to his friends.
Still, Peter was in a mix of emotions. On the one hand, he was a little irritated by the distance he was from his internship location. On the other, he was full of curiosity over the man with whom he'd be learning from. Professor Murdock hadn't said much about him, just that he was a retired instructor who was extremely selective with his pupils.
After leaving the bus stop, quickly checking his GPS to be sure of where he was going, the boy recalled the extensive research he had done online turned up very little. He was a founding member of something called the Chaste, which was an equally secret organization connected with monitoring criminal activities the world over. His highest profile students, of course, were Daredevil, and the reformed assassin Elektra. Even though he wasn't a hero, and didn't seem to have many hero connections, he was definitely impressive.
Momentarily lost in his daydreams, Peter barely noticed when he arrived at the address given to him by Professor Murdock. Looking up at it, Peter had thought that he'd been sent to the wrong place. One would think that a mentor of heroes would've lived in a nicer place. Instead, Peter stood before a rundown looking apartment complex.
Entering the place, Peter quickly climbed a few flights of stairs towards the top floor, as directed on the paper. It was almost 9:30 in the morning, and there didn't seem to be anyone else in the building, it barely seemed habitable. There weren't even any squatters hanging around.
Reaching the final door before the roof, he knocked on the door, which opened with a creaking sound, it was unlocked. Poking his head in, he looked to see if there was anyone waiting.
"Hello!? Anybody home?" The boy asked, but received no answer.
The interior was spacious, as though the entire floor was left open without walls. It looked not dissimilar to a dojo or a zen garden, with tall walls, a wooden floor, some matts, even a little pool with a running fountain. In it, a wooden sōzu added to the scene, tapping against a stone every so often. It was a very tranquil, albeit dark atmosphere.
Danny would love this place, Peter thought to himself.
"I'm Peter Parker, from M.A! I'm here for my internship?" He called out, looking around the darkened area for anyone waiting, but saw nothing.
Suddenly, Peter's Spider Sense went off and he moved quickly to avoid a shrunken thrown from above. It imbedded into the floor, right where the boy was standing.
Now on guard, Peter looked around wildly for the source of the weapon, seeing nothing in the darkness. Another shrunken launched from the shadows, the boy narrowly avoiding it by arching backwards, but he lost his balance and fell over. As if on cue, a wooden staff swung down from above, freezing just before it hit Peter's nose.
"You're slow, kid," said a gruff voice. "Matty said you weren't utilizing your Quirk to its fullest, but I didn't know it was this bad..."
At the other end of the cane was an older man. He wore an opened green button down shirt with a grey undershirt, and matching greenikhhs pants. Additionally, in spite of the darkness, he wore sunglasses and a green baseball hat.
He whipped his cane around, setting the end on the floor, "You gonna sit on your ass all day or you gonna stand up?"
Peter's eyes narrowed, The sass is strong in this one. Yup, he's definitely Mr. Murdock's mentor. He rolled back and righted himself with a quick upward thrust.
"Hmph, at least you're somewhat in shape," the man said, unimpressed.
"I take it you're 'Stick'," Peter replied, equally less than enthusiastic.
"So I've been called," quipped Stick. "You drink tea?"
Peter shrugged, "Never tried it."
"Well I do, go put the kettle on," he indicates to a kitchen area just outside the dojo, one of two areas kept blocked off.
Peter walked over, lit the stove and filled a kettle with water. "So, you miss an electric bill, or just like the moody ambiance?" He asked, finding the teabags.
"In case you couldn't take the less than subtle hints," Stick called over. "My eyesight's about as bad as your teacher's."
"I noticed," the boy replied. "I'm just chatty, makes things a little less tense."
"Great, another smartass," said Stick, loud enough for the boy to hear. "Just make the tea and get back out here."
Moments later, the tea kettle was whistling from the heat and Peter poured it into a few mugs and dropped a teabag in each. The boy walked out with a mug in each hand, holding one out to his temporary mentor. He grimaced upon smelling its contents.
"I can tell without tasting that it's crap," Stick took the mug but didn't drink from it.
Peter just shrugged, "It's your tea." He took a sip from his own mug, nearly spitting it out over the bitterness and coughing.
Stick smirked in amusement, "Alright, let's get to the point. You're here because I owed Matty from way back. I'm not a babysitter, and you sure as hell aren't on vacation. I've got one week to whip you into shape and have something to show for it."
He turned toward the boy, "From what I hear, you've got a decent head on your shoulders. But you don't use it the right way."
"What're you talking about?" Peter asked defensively. "I'd like to think I'm pretty smart."
"'Smart' doesn't come out of books, kid," replied the old man. "'Smart' is making the right decisions at the right time. Sure, your head's capable of making them, but your body isn't fast enough to discern them."
"I think Mr. Murdock would argue otherwise..." Peter muttered, but at that moment, Stick struck the end of his staff at the boy's foot. His Spider-Sense warned him it was coming and the boy moved the foot, only for the old man to adjust the staff and jab Peter in the stomach. The impact made the boy drop his mug.
Stick moved quickly, catching the mug by its handle with his staff, not spilling a drop of tea.
"See what I mean? That ability you've got is a neat trick," he elaborated. "But you only listen to the immediate danger. You've gotta broaden your scope, there's always gonna be danger around in this profession. But you should be able to see it coming before it even happens."
Peter looked at the old man, who held the mug out for him to take. The boy gingerly removed the mug from the staff, "So I need to increase my reaction time and expand the reach of my Spider Sense. How do you suggest I do that?"
Stick grinned darkly, "Pretty simple, kid. For the next week, you're gonna be blind."
Some time later, Peter knelt before Stick in the middle of the dojo. He held a blindfold in his hands. "Connection, mind, body," his new mentor explained. "The mind controls the body, the body controls your enemies, your enemies control jackshit by the time you're done with them. Get it?"
"Yes, Master Splinter," replied Peter.
"Don't sass me, kid," said Stick.
"You know, I do have a name right?" The boy put in, "It's 'Peter'."
"Do something to impress me, maybe I'll start using it," the old man clearly had no patience. "Anyway, for the next week you'll be wearing that blindfold during training. We start by sharpening your instincts, then putting it into practice."
"How?" Asked the boy. "Are we going to be sparring?"
"Fighting's just one aspect, you gotta work your way up to it," Stick replied. "During the day, I'll have you accomplish different tasks; simple household jobs, avoiding a few traps set up, things like that. Once you get a handle on things, we'll move into one on one sparring."
"That's fair," Peter nodded.
"Alright, we'll get started in 10 minutes. If you want to unpack your things, your bedroom's the door on the left. The bathroom's the door on the right," he said, pointing to the hallway with his staff.
With that, Peter picked up his briefcase and walked toward the bedroom.
Entering the room he is faced with a very simple room; beige walls, a window overlooking the street, a single bed with white sheets, a small wooden wardrobe, and a wooden chest of drawers. Not wanting to waste time arranging his clothes in the drawers, the boy simply left his backpack on the floor at the foot of the dressed. He placed the suitcase with the number 18 on the bed, opening it to reveal his newest uniform.
A previous attempt to repair his original costume with Aunt May's help had gone about as well as could be expected. Since the original base was created by Stark Industries, Peter tried to ask Tony for help.
Unfortunately, there were some problems; Tony said that the design of the uniforms passed through other people, so having a late student ordering the uniform would raise suspicion. He'd promised that he contacted someone who'd make him an 'ultra-modern uniform' in the future. But for the moment, he was on his own.
Fortunately, Peter had made a new friend at the Sports Festival: Riri Williams from the Support Course. They ran into each other after the big event and the two got on famously, talking for hours about all things science and gadgety. Of course, it helped that they were both huge fans of Iron Man.
Between conversations, Peter mentioned the state of his costume and she volunteered to be responsible for repairing and upgrading it. This not only gave Riri a chance to express her creativity with a new project, but also fulfilled several of her class requirements for Professor Foster. She'd invited him to come up to the laboratory sometime and he promised to do so once the work study was over.
Opening the case, Peter could see the three separate parts of the uniform; the bodysuit, the mask, and the gloves. A similar setup to his original one, complete with adjusting white lenses in his mask. Since this was the start of his training, Peter figured he'd get used to the feel of his new costume.
He first took off his clothes, leaving only his underwear and taking out the larger part of his uniform. It was packed very well, folded in very little space for its size. Apparently, Riri had actually considered his notes and requests, the blue and red tones were still present with a web pattern, but now there was extra padding for the knuckle tips and over his knees. The material had thermal properties which would keep his body warm in the fall and winter months. The biggest visual change however, was the large black spider which covered a considerable area across his chest and back.
He puts his legs in first through the opening up top and pulls himself into the torso before tucking his arms into the sleeves until his hands are out. Peter then stopped, realizing that the costume was at least two sizes too big. It didn't make sense, he'd checked his measurements three times before sending it out, it was okay to be a few inches off, but he felt like two of him could fit in there.
Quickly looking at the briefcase, he noticed a note that has been left in the space under the uniform;
"Press the spider to adjust the size. – Riri"
Peter wasn't sure what exactly the girl in the Support Class was referring to, until he looked down at the black spider symbol on his chest. Its legs were splayed across the chest of the uniform and he notices the symbol's different texture and material, looking more like light metal. He then pressed the center in like a button, causing the uniform to shrink and fit right to his body, taking only a second. Peter felt that some old movie had a sneaker that did that, but he couldn't remember exactly which one it was.
The same thing happened to the long sleeves and leg portion of the suit. Peter noticed they came down to the middle of his arm. He turned his right arm over, looking at the scar tissue on his wrist. The boy needed to find a way to use that part of his quirk better, and hopefully with his spare time, he'd finally be able to perfect the much adjusted web shooters he designed. In retrospect, Peter could've just asked Riri to look at them, but this was a project that was spiritually between him and his father, and he wanted to complete them himself.
The boy then took the gloves from the briefcase and put them on. These were the ideal size in the case and with the preferred features; the fingertips with a thinner fabric for his wall crawling and with bulges at the end of the knuckles for harder punches. At the wrists were small holes, in case Peter had to shoot webs.
He decided to leave the mask for now, he wouldn't need it if they were training inside, and went over to consult his new mentor. Arriving back in the dojo, Peter could see the older man drinking his tea at the far end of the space.
"You changed," he said, regarding the outfit. "Guess the old spandex look is still hanging around. Never got that concept, why would someone dress up in a pair of bright colored pajamas to kick someone's ass when you can do it just as easily in a t-shirt and sweatpants?"
Peter shrugged, "Maybe it makes the good guys easier to identify?"
"Never did much for me," Stick said, tapping his sunglasses. "But whatever sells more action figures, I guess. Anyway, let's get started. Put on the blindfold."
The boy raised it over his eyes and tied it around the back of his head, "Hey, what's your Quirk, by the way?"
"What, being blind isn't enough?" Stick replied. "It's 'Sonar'. When I speak or strike a surface, it sends out a sound wave that makes a map of my surroundings in my head."
"Kind of like a bat," Peter compared, somewhat impressed. "Should've called yourself 'Batman'."
"Then I would've gotten sued," Stick quipped. "Now shut up, it's time to start training. Your first task is simple enough: walk from where you are now to where I'm standing."
Peter shrugged and started to walk over. But things would prove to not be as simple as Stick would have him believe.
His Spider Sense went off and Peter froze, as if judging which action to take. Finally, he dodged to the side and avoided and object thumping to the ground where he once stood. It went off again and as Peter tried to focus, he was whacked on the head by a bamboo shoot that swung out from the wall.
"Ow!" Peter grabbed his head, "What the hell was that?"
"That was you taking too long between your moves," answered Stick from the other end of the dojo. "In a life or death situation, you can't wait and take in your surroundings. It's all about instinct."
He stood up from his position, "Once your Sense starts to tingle, you've gotta think of it as a trigger, and react. You only have a split second to make your move. So listen to that little voice in your head, and do what the hell it tells you to. Start over."
Peter reluctantly felt his way back over to where he started.
"Not like that," called Stick. "Use your instincts."
The boy took a deep breath and walked to the side, not walking into anything. After a moment, he felt the tingle and stopped. Turning to the left, Peter took another step before feeling the tingle again. But before he could stop himself, Peter stepped deeper than the floor should've been, falling into the little pond about waist deep.
The wooden sōzu hit a stone, as Peter spat out a bit of water. From up in his position, Stick roared with laughter as the boy climbed out. It's gonna be a long week, he thought grimly.
Not so far away, in a secluded, dimly lit bar in Harlem, three figures met in main room and faced each other. The first was the young Harry Osborn, sitting on one of the stools and leaning over the bar in a relaxed way. The second was his henchman/bodyguard Azazel, who was cleaning some dusty glasses he'd found.
The last figure was someone relatively famous in the criminal underworld. He was a former weapons developer with government ties who had no scruples over selling to the less than savory types; Bolivar Trask. He wore a brown business suit, glasses, and had a well groomed mustache with brown hair.
"Alright gentlemen, here's your order," he said, pulling photos out of his coat, revealing a number of familiar looking robots. "Six fully automated Sentinels. They're not as powerful as the first model, but they should serve your purposes. I'm currently working on a more powerful, high end model, but it won't be ready for testing until Spring. Now then, as soon as the funds are transferred to my account, you'll be given their location and the controller, as per our agreement."
Osborn wanted to get this over with, and nodded to Azazel. The demonic looking man took out his cellphone and pressed a button. A moment later, Trask's own phone pinged. He took it out and read the notification, smiling at the verified transaction.
"Excellent. The details will be sent to you via our usual third party," Trask spoke plainly to the pair. "Can't afford to be caught up in any outside business, you understand."
Harry just rolled his eyes while Azazel remained cordial, "As always, a pleasure doing business with you."
Trask stood up to leave, pausing briefly when he saw the tv playing a news story on the latest efforts to apprehend the Punisher.
"They still haven't found him..." He muttered, "I remember when he first hit the streets a few years back. Brutal but efficient, left plenty of bodies in his wake. A true one man army... You gonna try and recruit him?"
"Hell no," said Osborn. "Guy's a ticking bomb, with a grudge against heroes and villains alike. I'm not looking to attract that kind of crazy. If he leaves us alone, we'll sure as hell leave him alone."
Trask just shrugged and left the bar.
"I don't like that guy," Harry muttered to Azazel. "Too full of himself..."
"Perhaps, but regrettably, his assistance is necessary if we're to continue forward," the devil man replied. "Und for you to take your revenge, the Master Planner must proceed with the events sent into motion."
"Yeah, and who is this guy anyway?" Osborn asked irritably. "Who comes up with a name as pretentious as 'Master Planner'?"
"Every alias has reasoning behind them. Do they not, 'Hobgoblin'?" Asked Azazel. "Regardless, the attention will be on Punisher for a time. This can only benefit you in the long run."
Harry seemed to calm down a bit, "You're right... I appreciate you being around, Azazel. You help keep me level... Thank you."
"Bitte," he bowed slightly. "Now, what is your plan to make use of this diversion?"
"From what I know of Punisher, he'll do enough damage to take the spotlight with him while we move onto Phase Two behind the scenes," Harry poured Azazel and himself a glass of bourbon.
"'Phase Two'?" Asked the devil man.
"Recruitment," Osborn specified. "As the attack on M.A made clear, we're lacking in terms of quality manpower. After we carry out the Planner's next attack, I'll be holding auditions for new members. Our sinister little league is growing in the shadows."
With that sentiment, the two clinked glasses and downed their drinks.
