Hello, just a quick warning!
Peter is still a teenager, and in this story, I wanted to show that, despite being a genius, he won't always make the most intelligent, or even rational decisions, as he is very emotional in certain situations.
In a way, this story can be interpreted as a look at the consequences of his choices.
Thank you and enjoy!
Norman watched New York from his room at the top of the Oscorp Tower, his hands folded behind his back, his piercing green eyes intently following the monitors in front of him.
The main screen displayed grainy images from security cameras, pictures of journalists on the scene and amateur recordings.
Spider-Man, shirtless for some reason, wearing pants and sneakers that indicated he had been at a party perhaps before getting involved in this situation, stood over a field of smoking debris. A destroyed helicopter soon followed, twisted hardware strewn across the streets. All around, mercenaries lay unconscious, some moaning in pain, others motionless as he swung away from the scene.
He sighed and focused his gaze on another monitor. Among the rubble, the bodies of Adrian the Vulture and Herman the Shocker. He'd be honest, he didn't know them, he'd never heard of them before, but he was interested in their costumes. A little research here, a poke there, and he knew what he needed.
It wasn't one of his inventions, but it was high quality. He wasn't stupid, he knew about the involvement of third parties, and had recently learned about such a reward. Not that he needed to worry about someone stealing that power, in fact, they were great tests to see how the little spider was progressing. As for the two mercenaries, they both fell, defeated.
Norman pressed his lips together. The boy was growing and he could see it. However, at a fast pace, too fast and in a way that was beginning to seem... uncomfortable. Not worrying yet, but it could become, he saw the potential more than anyone.
He saw the scene from the camera images on the suits. A means of prevention by the notorious kingpin to make sure the spider was killed. He watched intently as he broke the vulture's helmet, dealt with the shoquer, how he broke his bones and immobilized them with inhuman movements...
He tapped his index finger against his own hand, thoughtful, a little impatient.
"Impressive..." He muttered. He turned away from the monitors and walked slowly to the bar in his office, pouring himself a glass of whisky.
He swirled the amber liquid in the glass before taking a sip. He loved that taste... the sensation of that little poison that was alcohol coursing through his body.
If he let Spider-Man continue to grow, he would soon become more than just a nuisance. He would become a problem.
And problems need to be solved.
He put the glass down on the glass table and pressed a button on his intercom.
"You can let Otto up." The secretary's voice sounded on the other end, confirming the request. Norman turned back to the monitors, watching the last frozen frame.
The door opened with force.
"Norman!" Otto entered the office with firm steps, his eyes burning with indignation behind his glasses. His voice echoed off the glass walls. "What does that mean?! I thought we had a partnership!"
Behind the huge desk, Norman didn't even raise his gaze immediately. With his fingertips, he slowly swirled the glass of whisky on the table, a small smile playing on his lips. His green eyes sparkled with a mixture of amusement and disinterest.
"Why, Doctor..." He began, finally raising his head. "I really expected a little more finesse from you. But I suppose I expected too much."
Otto clenched his fists.
"My funds are being cut, Norman. My research laboratories are being shut down. My assistants who worked on this research have been fired. I'm the greatest scientist in this city, and you're dismissing me as if I were an incompetent intern! Do you know what this could mean for the medical field of humanity? We could be saving lives! Why are you shutting down the stem cell research sector?"
Norman laughed. A low, superior laugh. He leaned back in his leather chair, crossing his fingers in front of his face.
"'The greatest scientist in this city'?" He tilted his head slightly, as if analyzing something funny. "I'd say that's a rather pretentious statement, Otto. After all, being brilliant doesn't make you indispensable."
Otto took a few steps forward, resting his hands on the table.
"Norman, the stem cell sector that YOU asked me to open is being dismantled overnight. I insist on receiving an explanation!" Norman raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair.
"I'd say you already have your answer, Otto. If I'm cutting funding, it's because your research no longer interests me."
"Doesn't interest you?" His voice rose. "You promised me full support! You said you wanted to revolutionize medicine, Norman! That this project could change the world!"
Norman laughed, a low, superior laugh.
"Ah, Otto... Do you really think I wanted this out of sheer benevolence?" He turned the glass in his fingers, looking at the amber liquid. "I support research that brings returns, that makes Oscorp grow. But your sector? So noble... all you've done is consume resources. With no applicable results. No breakthroughs that can be monetized."
Otto gritted his teeth.
"Fucking hell, Norman! I thought you were an entrepreneur, this is an investment for the future! We could make billions in the future from this research! We were taking a big breakthrough!"
"Breakthroughs that were spending hundreds of millions every month." Norman held up his hand, interrupting him with a lazy gesture. "And when would we get that return, huh? In five years? Ten? Time is a luxury I can't afford to waste, Octavius."
Otto clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. Norman didn't reply immediately. He just leaned forward, crossing his fingers in front of his face.
"Control... is the key to everything." His voice now had an almost professorial tone. "And you, Otto, are forgetting that."
Otto stared at him, his jaw clenched.
"I'm not your employee, Norman. I never have been. And until this week, I was your partner." Norman laughed again, louder this time.
"Aww, that's sweet. You were never my partner, Otto. And I think you'd better just accept the way things are. The neuroprosthesis sector is a one-off, I have no control... but don't forget that I can make it all disappear as fast as you can even think, and that's a lot, considering you're 'the best scientist in town'." He said arrogantly, sarcastically, as he took another swallow of his drink.
Otto stood there for a few moments, incredulous... until he turned away, his eyes darkening with a mixture of anger and disappointment.
"You'll regret this, Norman." Norman watched him walk to the door, a glint of amusement in his eyes. The door slammed shut, leaving Norman alone in his office.
He picked up the remote control and pressed a button, activating the screen on his desk. Images of Spider-Man appeared - the man taking on mercenaries, defeating the Vulture and the Shocker, bringing down an entire helicopter on a group of soldiers.
Norman drummed his fingers on the glass thoughtfully.
Yes...
Before he could play with the famous Octavius...
Before Spider-Man became too strong...
He had to pay the arachnid a visit.
Peter swung his legs in the rhythm of an unconscious tic as he watched the city below. The glow of the streetlights was faint, despite the busy place, and the smell of freshly baked bread escaped through the openings of the bakery below him. It was one of the few places that still smelled good after a chaotic night.
The new suit still felt strange on his body. Perfect fit, the same material as before, but the color distribution had changed. Before, black dominated almost everything, now red was gaining ground again - 60% black, 40% red, if he had to guess. Perhaps it was an attempt to balance things out. Maybe it was just superstition. Or maybe he had no idea what the fuck he meant by that... the black material had run out and he was forced to use more of the red.
It was a shame he couldn't reinforce the costume. Unfortunately, he didn't have enough money for Kevlar plates... not after the doctor prescribed other medication for May. And of course, not after he had bought other materials, both for his spider-byte, hacking device, and for other inventions he would make for Spider-Man.
He listened to the news on his phone. "Crime in New York and Manhattan is down 57% since Spider-Man's appearance..."
Peter sighed. It was a big number, a lot of people congratulated Spider-Man on it. There were more people on the streets now.
"That sounds good..." But the anchor continued. "...However, the collateral damage continues to generate controversy. Experts point out that, despite the drop in violence, the structural and financial damage caused by clashes involving the vigilante is extremely high. Last week, after a clash with mercenaries, a helicopter crashed in the city center, resulting in the destruction of several buildings, cars and public infrastructure. The New York government is still assessing the cost of repairs..."
He pursed his lips, looking at the surrounding rooftops. Yes, he hadn't thought about that particular consequence when he decided to bring down that helicopter, his mistake, okay? But some of that destruction had already been caused by the time he arrived. Several dead cops and damaged vehicles.
That didn't change anything, of course, but maybe it was just a thought to make himself feel better or something.
People were divided. He was fully aware... and he could tell himself as much as he wanted, the truth would always be different.
With every criminal arrested, every life saved, it seemed that another part of the city paid the price. Cracked floors, overturned cars, smashed windows - every battle he won seemed to leave a trail that was hard to ignore.
And deep down, he knew: it was only going to get worse. There was a bounty on his head, that guy, the green goblin or whatever that thing was called... the two mercenaries who had disappeared and were sure to return.
It wasn't his fault, he didn't ask for it. It was the fault of a corrupt system.
He rested his elbows on his knees, looking out at the streets.
If only he could do this without having to destroy half the block in the process...
In that case, he'd have to break up the fights quickly... and usually, that involved more powerful, quick, strong... dangerous blows.
Peter changed the station, leaving the traditional news to tune in to the Daily Bugle. He knew that Jameson would never go easy on him, but at least the program didn't hide the facts. The Daily Bugle presented real figures, both pro and con, and, ironic as it was, there was something... closer about it.
"They say Spider-Man protects people. So WHY did I have to pay for TWO new panes of glass for my office after a glider flew past my window?!"
Peter let out a sigh, knowing where this was going.
"I SENT THE BILL TO THE CITY HALL, BUT GUESS WHAT?! 'You need to prove that it was caused by Spider-Man'. PROVE?! THERE'S A HOLE IN MY WINDOW! I should sue that bastard, but no, no, you know why?! Because every time something explodes, who pays the bill? Us! The working people of New York!"
There was a pause, and one of the guests on the show tried to intervene:
"But Jonah, crime has fallen by almost 60% since Spider-Man appeared. You can't ignore the numbers-"
"Oh, OF COURSE! Let's clap for a guy in a jockstrap because now the city only catches fire HALF the time! Wow! Let's have a parade! What? He also throws children out of burning buildings?! THANKS, HERO, BUT HOW ABOUT NOT SETTING THE BUILDING ON FIRE FIRST?!"
Peter buried his face in his hands. Well, this time, he found exactly what he expected.
"Look, I'm not saying he doesn't do ANY good! But he attracts trouble like a magnet! And WHO has to deal with the chaos afterwards?! Huh?! The ordinary citizen! And most importantly... ME!"
The guests laughed in the background. Jonah snorted.
"I'm telling you. This guy could be a real danger. Would you trust a man who decides to use AIR vehicles as a WEAPON?! HE'S NOT BATMAN! HE HAS NO MILITARY TRAINING! HE'S A PIROUETTE IN A MASK WHO WANTS TO PLAY AT THROWING THINGS!"
Peter turned off the radio. In all honesty, he felt uncomfortable when good citizens felt afraid of him, he admitted. He wasn't looking for these fights, it seemed that these mercenaries and maniacs wanted to pick a fight with him.
And maybe he should start doing something about it.
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard footsteps approaching from the fire escape of the building behind. It was a slight person, with a low breath, a girl.
He heard her footsteps walking across the roof, and the effort she made to jump from one roof to the other, almost falling in the process. Okay, curious. No one ever went to that place, and although it wasn't late, it was still night.
But it wasn't long before he smelled a scent, and knew immediately who it was. How the fuck?
"You know, Pe... Spider-man, this roof is becoming famous because of you." He turned around quickly, confused and surprised. Bea was balancing on the edge as if she was just strolling by. She had one of those amused, almost debauched smiles as she crossed her arms.
He winked.
"What... what do you mean? Wait, what are you doing here?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Just saying hi. You know, either you're deliberately showing off, or all that super-sense talk was a lie. Several people have seen you on that roof, you know." He rolled his eyes.
Of course he had already noticed... a little, he thought. More or less... okay, maybe he hadn't paid that much attention. He wasn't used to staying in that place for so long, and usually paid more attention to what was coming from above than what was coming from below.
Although he had occasionally heard the sound of a camera... hm.
"Oh, and the owner of the bakery... He says that some things have been disappearing from the counter lately... some bread, pieces of cake... but, mysteriously, money appears in the till out of nowhere." She looked at him sideways. "Do you know anything about that, Spidey?"
Peter looked away, scratching the back of his head.
"Oh, uh... coincidence?"
"Coincidence, huh?" She narrowed her eyes, but her smile didn't fade. "Well, the bakery has never been so busy. It seems that people think that if this place is good enough for Spider-Man, then it's worth checking out."
He looked down and noticed the constant stream of customers coming and going. Well... that makes sense... but then, why haven't any cops, so far, shot him in that time?
Although there had actually been an increase in police movement lately... anyway, whatever, it wasn't important.
"You shouldn't be here."
His tone was more serious than before, with no trace of the lightness of seconds ago. Bea raised an eyebrow, but kept her smile.
"Relax, Parker. I can handle myself." Against a son of a bitch in a glider who threw me through who knows how many buildings? I doubt it.
"That doesn't mean you should expose yourself." He shifted his gaze to the street below. "If people know I come here, and someone sees that you're talking to me, it won't be long before someone wants to use you to get to me."
She sighed, putting her hands in her pockets.
"If I let fear control me, I'd never leave the house."
Peter didn't reply immediately. He understood what she meant, but frankly, she had no idea of the magnitude of the situation. She was greatly underestimating his enemies.
Bea changed the subject before he could continue.
"What about you?"
"Me what?"
"You look like you've eaten something bad. What?" How the fuck did you notice that? I'm wearing a mask!
"Don't try to change the subject." He said, moving away from the edge so that no one underneath could see him.
"The only way you can make me go home is by taking me there yourself... and even then I'll still leave. You can trap me with your webs, but eventually, they'll dissolve. Won't they?" She asked with an innocent smile, staring deep into his eyes through her lenses.
Peter was silent for a few moments. What a headache... who knew she could be so... so stubborn!
"The city is divided." He sighed in defeat and gestured towards the buildings, as if pointing at each citizen there. "Half think I'm saving everyone. The other half think I'm the worst thing that ever happened to New York."
Bea remained silent, watching him.
"And you're worried about that?"
Peter let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Of course I am. It's not as if I want to see people idolizing me, far from it, but... there are people who really believe that I'm a problem, good people. They have nothing to fear, I would never hurt someone innocent." He shrugged, trying not to make too much of it. "I don't know, it's just frustrating, that's all."
Bea tilted her head thoughtfully. Then she suddenly took a step back.
"Come with me."
Peter winked.
"What?" She rolled her eyes, impatient.
"Come with me." She held out her hand to him. "I know a place that might make you feel better."
He looked at her hand, then at her face, trying to decipher her intention. In the end, he just let out a resigned sigh. "I'm not going to accept your hand while I'm in the suit, someone might see, and you'll get unwanted attention, I guarantee it." He said, shooting a web into his backpack and walking away.
He changed clothes after making sure no one would see him, and just signaled to Bea as he kept hidden in the shadows. He wasn't going to risk some funny guy with a camera at maximum zoom watching everything from one of those many buildings in the distance.
"Right. That won't get me into trouble, will it?"
Bea smiled.
"Only if you're afraid of going off the beaten track."
Peter followed Bea through the busy streets of Chinatown, dodging colorful hanging lanterns and the irresistible smell of food being prepared in the stalls. He didn't know exactly what to expect, but he trusted her.
"Don't tell me this is some kind of trap to get me to eat fried tofu." He muttered, and this only drew a confused eyebrow from the girl.
"Fried tofu?"
"I hate tofu... and fried is even worse." Well... he eats practically everything these days, his taste buds aren't fussy, not at all, not anymore. But he didn't have fond memories of that time.
"You don't have to worry about that."
Bea replied, laughing.
When they finally reached their destination, Peter blinked, surprised.
It was a small community event, something that didn't seem to attract the attention of the media, but which clearly meant a lot to those who were there. But what really caught his eye were the children running around among the adults, some wearing Spider-Man masks made out of paper, while others held handmade figures in his uniform. There were T-shirts with his symbol printed on them, some with phrases like "Our neighborhood friend" and "Thank you, Spider-Man".
He had stopped many crimes in and around Chinatown, from thefts to drug sales to attempted murders. And if he wasn't mistaken, he took a man to hospital after he was shot and left in critical condition. He survived, but another minute's delay and he would have been dead.
He understood the feeling of gratitude... but that? Peter stood still for a moment, feeling a lump in his throat.
"Is this... is this for me?"
"Well, technically it's not for you." Bea corrected, crossing her arms. "But it's about you. The people here have always liked you- ahm, Spider-Man."
He took a deep breath, trying to absorb the scene. It was different to see numbers and statistics saying that he helped.
These were real people, grateful that he was there. There were even some amateur costumes that tried to imitate his outfit. Well, that was new.
Bea dragged him around a few more corners. Food stalls with Spider-Man names on them... literally.
Spider-burger, spider-fries, web-dog... who came up with those names? They were great!
There were also shirts, full costumes... he stopped in front of some costumes. Some of them were a bit strange, he admitted, but others were quite... creative. There was one that was red with web patterns and blue, predominantly on the pants.
Friendly.
There was another that was completely red and only had a kind of blue hooded sweatshirt with a spider symbol on it... simple, and a bit "too much", too red for his taste.
There was one that was totally different. White with black and blue details on the webs. A hood above a mask that was also white... for some reason, he found it very feminine.
Hm... definitely interesting.
The movement and excited voices diminished as they approached a quieter area, lit by lanterns and candles. Peter noticed several people gathered, some kneeling, some standing, all in silence. Some mumbled prayers in Mandarin, others just closed their eyes in respect.
He blinked.
There were photos and names carefully arranged on small makeshift altars. Some images were in simple picture frames, others stuck on with tape, surrounded by flowers and handwritten notes. A subtle smell of incense mingled in the air.
"They're tributes." Bea explained. "Here, the community has a custom of remembering those who have passed on. And as you can imagine... not every battle of yours ends without loss."
Peter looked at one of the photos. A middle-aged man was smiling at the camera in an old picture, while next to it, a note read: "Dad, we miss you. Thank you for watching over us until the end."
Peter swallowed.
"Do they... do they know it was me?"
Bea stared at him for a moment before shaking her head.
"They know you were there." She replied. "But they don't blame you, Peter. If blaming someone was so simple, they wouldn't be praying. They're here to remember, to honor."
He looked around once more. A group of elderly people were lighting candles, while a young woman held the hands of a child, leading her in a silent prayer.
Peter swallowed some saliva.
"That shouldn't have happened."
Bea frowned, moving a little closer.
"The city is better with you, Peter. But not perfect. It'll never be perfect."
He clenched his fists, his jaw locking.
"Still... I should have done more." She wouldn't understand, how could she? Not even he himself understood, his own limitations imposed on him by something he didn't know. He wanted to break free, but he had no idea how.
He wanted to embrace his other side, but how?
"You already do more than anyone could ever ask for. You save people. But saving everyone? That was never possible, Peter."
He wanted to disagree, but before he could, he heard his name called.
"Parker!"
He didn't even have time to react before he felt a firm slap on the shoulder. Turning around, he found MJ with her hands on her waist, an annoyed look mixed with amusement.
"You should be grateful I didn't break your legs! You left before the show was over!"
Peter opened his mouth to explain, but she held up a hand, interrupting any attempt.
"I don't want excuses, I want presence! You missed our BIG moment, you idiot!"
Before he could retort, MJ snorted and pulled him into a tight hug, taking him by surprise.
"It was a success, Parker. The restaurant wants us back more often."
Peter smiled without realizing it.
"Really? That's incredible, MJ."
She pulled away just enough to give him a smug little smile.
"Of course it is! I'm amazing, Gwen is amazing, Liz is amazing, Bea is amazing... and you weren't there to see it."
Peter rolled his eyes.
"Okay, okay, I get it. I'm a terrible friend."
"Yeah, a terrible friend with terrible taste in clothes, what the fuck are you wearing?" She asked, staring at her abnormally baggy clothes.
"What? They're comfortable."
"Argh, I knew it was May who chose those clothes of yours! Seriously, why are you hiding? You have a great body. I can't understand it." She shook her head. "You'll make up for it."
He winked.
"How?"
MJ just grabbed his and Bea's arm, ignoring their confused expressions.
"We're going to celebrate! Gwen, Liz and a few others are already waiting!"
Peter hesitated for a moment. He was tired from thinking so much, he'd seen so much that day, part of him wanted to just go home and sleep. But when MJ looked at him with that determined expression, he gave in.
Bea, next to him, let out a laugh through her nose.
"Well, I'm not against it."
"You couldn't refuse anyway." MJ exclaimed, already pulling them down the street.
They made their way through the event, dodging the crowd as MJ dragged them to where Gwen, Liz and the rest were. Peter soon spotted some familiar faces among the people. Colleagues from school, including Tiny, Jason and some of the ex-bullies who miraculously stayed so quiet when Flash was suspended.
He frowned. He really didn't want to be around them... he might break someone's nose.
MJ noticed his immediate discomfort and smiled mischievously.
"Don't worry, Parker, you'll be a great excuse for us to leave." Peter stared at her, noticing the tone of satisfaction in her voice.
Bea laughed beside him.
"Basically, it's just an excuse for us to get away from them without looking snobbish."
Peter let out a sigh, relaxing a little.
Peter was sitting in front of three glowing screens in his darkened room, the only sound apart from his breathing was the slight rattle of the keyboard as his fingers moved quickly.
On the main screen, he had tracking software open, cross-referencing city traffic data with images from security cameras. That ambulance the mercenaries had used as a trap... He knew that if he could find the point of origin, he could start pulling at the threads of this web.
He typed the ambulance's license plate number into the system and pressed Enter.
Result found.
Peter leaned forward, his eyes scanning the information.
Vehicle registered as AMB-732.
Last stop before the attack: Warehouse in the Industrial Zone.
According to the images from the security camera at the end of the block that had a view of the entrance to the street, the ambulance remained there for four hours before being used.
He started looking for information about the warehouse. Who owned it? He pulled up the property's financial and historical records. Apparently, it was an abandoned building. No activity had been recorded in recent years. Not just in the building, but in the whole block.
"In other words... a front. Of someone very rich and influential."
He continued investigating, pulling up recent satellite images. The photos showed strange movement on the site. Trucks coming and going, armed security. It definitely wasn't just an abandoned building.
Peter opened another tab and hacked into one of the nearby traffic cameras. He sped through the recorded images until he found something interesting.
An armored truck leaving the warehouse a few hours before the attack.
He paused the image and zoomed in.
A group of armed men entered the vehicle. He didn't need to analyze the images, the exoskeleton gave them away.
Peter continued pulling records. Cross-referencing data, he found other locations connected to that warehouse. Warehouses, storage rooms, small offices... strategic points throughout New York.
Among the financial transactions associated with the site, there were absurdly high deposits. Millions of dollars flowing into offshore accounts. Dirty money being laundered through various front companies.
It was big... well, of course it would be, there were six million in his head.
He had an idea who it might be, but he had to be sure. He wouldn't find anything, the rest was encrypted and there was no name. He certainly knew how to hide.
Well, not forever. He stood up and put on his suit. Time for field work.
Peter took a deep breath at the top of an industrial building, his eyes focused on the warehouse. It was set back, inside a restricted area. From the outside, the streets definitely looked abandoned. But the warehouse itself was very busy.
He swung himself around the building and landed silently on the roof of the warehouse. Entry point: a poorly locked skylight. He opened the latch with ease and slid inside, grabbing onto the metal beams of the ceiling.
The interior was huge. Rows of metal boxes, shelves full of advanced equipment and giant screens projecting images of financial records and maps.
There were guards... or rather, workers who were actually guards, all armed with at least one pistol.
But what really caught his attention were the mechanical structures in the corner of the shed.
Peter leaned over to get a better look and... there they were.
Exoskeletons.
Large, robust, unlike anything he had ever seen in the police or the army. Advanced combat armor, some still being assembled, others ready for use.
On the side wall, screens displayed documents on human experiments.
He squinted, reading the titles quickly.
"Project Ares - Neural Enhancement Implants"
"Goliath Project - Artificial Muscle Enhancement"
"Test Subjects - Status: Volunteers Eliminated"
Spider-Man shook his head... it seemed to be something related to the server attack that had taken place at Oscorp a while ago.
They were messing with human enhancements. It wasn't Oscorp, it couldn't be.
Before he could analyze further, he heard footsteps approaching.
He moved quickly, climbing further up the metal structure as two men in suits entered the warehouse. They walked up to a table full of documents, talking in a serious tone.
"The exoskeleton prototypes have already passed the combat phase. Now we need the integrated version. Once the next test subject is stabilized, we can sell the units on the black market."
Black market? Ah, but of course... no, seriously, it makes sense, I don't know why I expected anything different...
Spider-man moved silently across the roof, using the shadows. It didn't matter if the alarm went off, they wouldn't find him.
He sneaked between the beams, moving across the ceiling like a real spider. When someone looked up, his sense alerted him and he stood still, then moved even faster.
He slid silently down an exposed ventilation pipe and descended to a mezzanine where the central computer was located. Security there was heavier - armed guards protected the room.
He fired a thin, discreet web into a toolbox on the other side of the base and pulled it out.
The noise echoed through the warehouse.
The guards immediately turned towards the sound. That was enough.
Spider-Man leapt from the ceiling without making a sound, slipped behind one of the guards and entered the room before anyone noticed.
The computer was unlocked. Perfect.
He sat down and began to hack into the system, going through files, transactions and communication logs. Everything was there.
International payments
Trafficking schemes
Weapons and exoskeleton purchases
Illegal human experiments
Locations of other bases
And then he found the answer he wanted.
The name that ran it all.
Wilson Fisk.
The Kingpin.
Spider-Man snorted. He was right, his suspicions had been confirmed.
"Weren't you the one who said you wouldn't get involved with me if I didn't get involved with you? Aww, poor Fisk, you broke your word first." He muttered. Fisk put mercenaries behind him. He made alliances with scientists who played God. He created a market in human enhancements and exoskeletons.
All this for good old me...
The file showed the locations of other bases, distributed throughout New York. Strategic locations, hidden under warehouses, business buildings and even sewage plants. Apparently, he'd had those bases for years, some had even been abandoned, but had recently come back into use.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk... ah, the reward has grown. Nine million dollars. So little? I was hoping for at least fifteen. I'm underestimated in this market."
He pulled out the Spider-Byte, transferred all the data, opened a control panel and started overloading the base's generators.
The lights began to flicker. The system began to heat up.
"ALERT: OVERLOAD DETECTED. IMMEDIATE EVACUATION."
Outside, the guards began to panic.
He was already leaving.
The first generators exploded, setting off a domino effect. Flames began to consume the warehouse.
The mercenaries began to flee. There was no more base.
Spider-Man leapt out of the building, swinging himself through the air just as the place imploded in a sequence of explosions.
The fire lit up the night, reflecting in the lenses of his mask.
The big man loved the silence of the evening, it was a great time to have a drink, to relax even, with a good whisky and a beautiful view of the city of London. It was especially pleasant when things were going according to plan. Which didn't seem to be the case...
The silence was broken by the heavy sound of a telephone being slammed down on the table.
Fisk was annoyed.
Across the room, one of his men, an executive in an expensive suit who looked more like a lawyer than a criminal, cleared his throat before speaking.
"Mr. Fisk... we've lost another base."
Fisk didn't reply immediately. He just turned his face to the huge panoramic window of his office.
"Explain."
The man took a deep breath. "The warehouse in the Industrial Zone. Reports indicate that someone-"
Fisk slowly turned his head, his piercing eyes making it clear that he was not a man who wanted to make assumptions.
His subordinate swallowed. "Spider-Man."
Fisk closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose slowly, as if processing the information.
"One more."
"How many so far?"
"... Six."
"And the loss?"
"Hard to say precisely, sir, but with the high-end exoskeletons, the equipment, the weapons, I estimate... about 2.5 billion."
In a single night... yes, Fisk wasn't happy at all.
The executive looked down at the tablet in his hands, where the summary of the night was detailed.
Base destroyed. Significant material losses. Stolen files. Employees incapacitated.
Suspect: Spider-Man.
Fisk walked over to his desk and pressed a button on a secure line phone.
"Captain Weston, come in."
Silence came first.
Fisk frowned.
"Captain Weston, come in NOW."
And then a different voice answered.
"Hello, fatso! I finally get a direct link to the Kingpin. The last time this happened, you hit me so hard that you threw me off the building. The last time I fell off a building, at least I got an autograph from J. Jonah Jameson... in the form of a lawsuit." The slightly distorted voice due to the damaged voice modulator made Fisk grimace.
"You... I thought you-"
"I mean it, man! You threw me so hard I almost had to pay tolls on the way back." He interrupted him, laughing to himself on the other end of the line as another explosion was heard.
"You know, Wilson, you should be more careful with your investments in me."
The spiderman's tone was playful, but there was something sharp behind the voice.
"Stocks in Spider-Man go down fast!"
Fisk was silent for a moment, analyzing the situation.
"You're playing with something you don't understand, kid."
"Come on, don't even give me that shit! You broke your word first... weren't you the one who said you wouldn't pick on me as long as I didn't pick on you? Look, I'll be honest, I wasn't planning on going along with this deal, but with several mercenaries coming at me, I was kind of forced to let you off the hook... only to find out that they were sent by you. What a surprise!"
He said smugly. Fisk gritted his teeth.
"To be quite honest, I'm almost offended. Nine million? That's it? Seems like a pretty small reward for someone who's made such a big dent in your business, doesn't it?"
There was a slight tone of venom in his voice, a threat hidden amid the mocking words.
Fisk leaned back in his imposing leather chair, his fingers interlaced on the table, his eyes fixed on the phone screen.
"You've got a lot of guts, kid. But courage without intelligence is suicide."
Spider-Man laughed on the other end of the line.
"If I wanted to be threatened with ready-made phrases, I'd call Jameson." There was a pause. "Actually, forget it, he's quite creative."
"Do you think this war is just between you and me? You think you can keep swinging around town, knocking over my business, and get away with it? You're on your own, bug! You can be fast, strong, clever... But in the end, you're just a kid playing at being a hero."
Spider-Man paused for a moment.
"Are you really giving a villain monologue now? Hang on, let me straighten up here, maybe I should write it down."
"You think you're uncontrollable. But everything in this world has a price. And I don't need to hunt you down directly... when I can go after something you value."
The hero rolled his eyes.
"Here comes that classic 'I'm going after your loved ones' talk. Man, have you ever thought about writing movie scripts? Because I swear I've heard that one before."
Fisk smiled slightly.
"The vulture... You broke him pretty good." There was a silence. "But he was still conscious enough to see... someone. A companion."
Oh shit, I knew it!
Spider-Man stiffened his posture.
"The girl you were with. Is she your girlfriend?" The silence lasted... He had found a weakness. "Unfortunately, he didn't see your face, but he saw hers." He didn't know who she was, he didn't know if what the vulture saw was reliable, he didn't even know if it was someone really close, but it seemed to work.
"He won't see anything else the next time I meet him." Spider-Man said, coldly, his voice serious and the tone of jest and mockery from before not even remembered. "But I'll deal with him later..."
"You brought this on yourself, little spider."
"No, don't put that on me. You'd go on to capture me, and as soon as you found out my identity, you'd go after everyone I know." He said. Fisk just smiled.
"Well... maybe. But I'm not an animal. There's a chance I'd leave them alive if I saw that they had no involvement with your 'hero work'."
"Bullshit!" He growled.
"You struck the first blow. You came into my world, destroyed my business, thought you could go on living your little masked kid life without consequences."
"You know what's funny, Fisk?" He asked quickly, almost interrupting him. "I'm tired of you."
Fisk said nothing, just waited.
"Tired of you sending these idiots after me, trying to kill me just because I tried to do the right thing. Tired of these corrupt assholes who think they're gods in this fucking city." Spider-Man leaned back against the building where he was sitting, watching New York below him. He removed his mask, leaving only Peter Parker on the phone.
"I hear you're in Europe now, London, aren't you? When you get back, before you sit on the 'throne' of your empire, you'll see that I'm not so nice to my enemies... and it'll be no different with you."
Fisk merely laughed, despite the clear threat and serious tone in his voice. He was used to being threatened, attacked, it was nothing new.
"Ah, boy, you still have to learn a lot about consequences. What makes you think that?"
"... You want to talk about consequences? Then let's talk about them."
Peter typed quickly into his Spider-Byte, pulling up the information he had already collected on the big fish in Fisk's empire. The people who really made the gears turn.
"Randall Duvall. His chief accountant. He has a small office in Brooklyn, gets there at eight and leaves at five sharp. He likes sushi and golf, and his wife thinks he's just a financial analyst."
Fisk remained silent.
"Jonathan Kreel. Lawyer. Covers your operations in Harlem and has a summer house in Miami. He has three children, all studying in private schools. If investigations begin, if secrets are revealed... what happens, huh, Fisk?"
The silence grew even deeper.
"And there's your little darling, Bernard Henshaw. Your 'security advisor'. Ex-CIA agent. He arrives at work at six, works out in his private gym at seven, and has the same coffee every morning. A routine guy. How many of your businesses do these three run at the moment?"
He paused for a moment.
"You know, Fisk, you talk about consequences as if only you could dictate them. As if the game was always played by your rules. Surprise, surprise..."
"Hmpf." Fisk snorted. "You've done your homework, do you think you're the only one who's ever threatened me like this? You're only making things worse for yourself."
"But you're not as confident as you used to be, are you?" He asked smugly. "You're worried... you know I can do damage..."
Fisk didn't reply. Peter leaned back against the beam where he sat, looking down at the buildings below him, where so many of Fisk's operations took place away from the public eye.
"And while you're not back..."
He snapped his fingers, as if considering something.
️ "I think I'll play with your money laundering companies for a bit."
He let the phrase hang in the air, almost casually, almost disinterestedly.
️ "You don't mind, do you? I mean... you're a billionaire."
The phone went silent.
The smell of melted metal and plastic hung in the air of the laboratory, mixed with the reheated coffee that Otto insisted on drinking. Peter, sitting on one of the work benches, held a screwdriver while adjusting a small mechanism on the table.
"If we can reduce the latency of this neural processor by at least 0.3 seconds, the motor response will be almost instantaneous." Peter said, his eyes shining with excitement.
Otto smiled, crossing his arms. "That would be an absurd advance. Do you realize what we're creating here, Peter? When we're finished, amputations will no longer be an impediment. Motor disabilities will be a thing of the past."
Peter turned the screwdriver one last time and leaned back in his chair, a proud smile on his face. "It's great... gee... it makes me think of people who lose limbs through accidents, you know? Even war veterans. There are many cases of soldiers being hit by grenades and losing their limbs... this will give them hope."
He said, letting his mind wander as he stared at the project. Otto just smiled, pleased to have found such a promising young man.
"And that's just the beginning. Imagine what we could do with the fusion of bionic technology and cell regeneration."
Peter laughed. "You know that sounds like science fiction, right?"
Otto arched an eyebrow, picking up a circuit board. "Peter, it was all science fiction before someone made it a reality. You have a rare talent. If you wanted to, you could create anything."
Peter looked away, embarrassed. "Oh, don't exaggerate. I just... like solving problems."
Otto tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "And that's what makes you a genius, my boy. But what do you intend to do with this talent? Are you just going to carry on as my assistant?"
Peter arched an eyebrow. "What do you suggest, create my own company and compete with Oscorp?" he asked with a laugh, but Otto merely arched an eyebrow.
"And why not?" He said, and Peter stopped laughing.
"Are you serious?" Otto shrugged, the question still hanging in the air. "Oh, ahm, wow, like... create a company of my own? I don't know... although 'Parker Industries' has a nice ring to it." He said, and Otto smiled.
"And what about you...?" Peter asked carefully, and Otto just stared at him in confusion. "I heard about the funding cut..."
"Ah..." The doctor sighed. "It's... strange. He was the one who initiated the idea, and now this... you know Norman and I have never really seen eye-to-eye. A kind of rivalry, you might say."
Otto placed a clipboard on the table and walked to the corner of the room, refilling his cup with coffee.
"But this partnership could change thousands of lives... we could cure cancer, even give sight back to the blind with projects we had. It was ambitious, to be sure, but possible..." He stared at the ground with a faraway look in his eyes. Peter just remained silent, not knowing if he should really say anything. "But anyway, it's all behind us now, Peter... and I don't want to bore you with my problems."
"Oh, come on, sir. You don't bother me." He replied politely.
"Anyway... back to the neural processor..."
"Oh, of course... as I said, the motor response will be almost instantaneous, the problem is that the delay occurs in the conversion of the electrical signal from the brain to the prosthesis. There's still a little noise in the transmission."
Otto tilted his head, interested. "What do you suggest? Increasing the density of the electrodes?"
Peter shook his head. "Not exactly. If we increase the density, we could have cross-interference between the signals. I was thinking... what if we implemented a neural prediction model?"
Otto arched an eyebrow, curious. "Explain."
Peter turned in his seat to look at him, excited. "Our brains anticipate movements before we even make them. That's why we can catch a ball in the air or walk without thinking. If we apply a machine learning system inside the prosthesis processor, we can train the device to predict the user's motor patterns based on the signals the brain emits milliseconds before the actual movement."
Otto widened his eyes slightly, smiling, impressed. He had thought the same thing, but it was one thing for a scientist with decades of experience and studies to think of this kind of thing, but quite another for a young boy still in high school to have the same line of reasoning. "That would almost completely eliminate the sensation of movement lag."
Peter smiled. "Exactly, the prosthesis would respond at almost the same instant as the brain thinks about moving."
Otto clapped his hands once, excited. "That's brilliant, Peter! But there's a problem: it would require a lot more processing power. How will we cope with the energy consumption?"
Peter scratched his chin. "I thought of that too. We could use a microprocessor based on artificial synapses, something closer to the structure of a biological brain. If we use a system that stores movement patterns, it wouldn't have to recalculate everything every time the person wants to move a finger, just access the previously established patterns and adjust them in real time."
Otto crossed his arms, testing it. "What if we applied this to more complex movements? For example, instead of just predicting an immediate movement, the prosthesis could adapt to the person's motor style. If someone has a slight tremor in their hands, the neuroprosthesis would automatically compensate for this."
Peter snapped his fingers. "Exactly! Just like an image stabilizer on a camera. We could apply feedback sensors to correct deviations before they're even noticeable."
Otto smiled. "That's not just advanced science, Peter. That's the future."
Peter laughed. "Well, at least until we discover that there's something even better."
Otto watched him for a moment, his gaze filled with pride. "You know, if you wanted to, you could revolutionize this field all by yourself. Not many people think like that. 'Parker Industries' could well become a reality."
"Ah, Otto, come on..." He said, smiling embarrassedly.
"I'm serious. With more time and resources, we could completely transform the concept of neuroprosthetics."
Peter scratched the back of his head. "Well, I guess I should be grateful that this isn't funded by Oscorp. Otherwise..." He said, and Otto sighed.
"Yes... but look at it another way... this was a momentary cut. If we manage to finish other projects, we'll have enough money to get back to research. Nothing is lost, just... delayed." He said, and Peter smiled.
Otto was a good man, and he always thought on the bright side. Peter was proud of that, he admired that side of the man, he always had, even when he only saw him in videos he recorded himself or in interviews.
"Let's take a break... it's already lunchtime." Otto said, and Peter removed his gloves as he stood up.
The smell of reheated food in the microwave soon spread through the lab as Otto turned on the television. Peter, still hastily chewing on a half-crumpled sandwich he had taken from his backpack, stared absent-mindedly at the screen as he adjusted some settings on his tablet.
The television showed images of helicopters flying over the wreckage of what used to be warehouses and commercial buildings.
"And once again, the city wakes up to signs of the destruction caused by the vigilante known as Spider-Man."
Peter rolled his eyes.
"So far, the estimated damage exceeds tens of millions of dollars, according to the police. Neighbors report explosions in the early hours of the morning, while trucks loaded with mysterious supplies have been abandoned in the streets."
The image cut to a reporter in front of one of the destroyed buildings.
"The locations attacked by Spider-Man appeared to be goods handling points, but so far, no company has come forward as the owner. The authorities are still investigating who could be behind these clandestine operations."
Of course they are... Peter made sure no one found out. Fisk was his.
Not to mention that, even if they did, it's likely that nothing much would happen.
"Ah... Spider-Man, huh?" Otto spoke up from behind Peter, next to the microwave as he stared at the television.
"Yeah. You don't like him?" Peter asked, a little fearful.
"Hm... I don't dislike him. I don't exactly have an opinion on the way he does things. But I think he's extraordinary." This caused Peter to turn and face him.
"Really? Does the great Otto find anyone extraordinary?" He joked, and Otto snorted a laugh.
"Ah, it's not every day you see a man shoot webs like a spider. The things he does are nothing short of incredible... I think everyone helps in any way they can. Me and you? We're the brains, we think, that's our job. Him? He fights, he's the muscle. While we're in here, confined and safe, he's out there, exposed, fighting... each special person has their place, their job." He said, picking up the food after the microwave beeped.
Peter continued to watch him for a while longer, thoughtful but relieved to know that his idol didn't hate his... second personality(?).
"Meanwhile, nearby residents are complaining about the collateral damage. Some had their windows smashed, and a fire hydrant was destroyed during the vigilante action, causing flooding in part of the street."
Peter grimaced, indignant. Really? Organized crime supplying illegal weapons? No big deal. But a broken fire fuckin hydrant? The real end of the world. What the fuck?!
He snorted, and soon Otto changed the channel and they started eating.
The lab was a mess - at least for anyone who wasn't an engineering genius. Metal parts, circuits, cables and monitors were scattered everywhere, and the smell of solder permeated the air.
Peter was sitting on a swivel stool, holding a small prototype of the claw while Otto fiddled with one of the main mechanical arms, adjusting the articulation.
"Okay, so recap." Peter spun around on the bench, pointing at the whiteboard, where frantic scribbling of formulas and sketches took up the entire surface. "You want a fast-response neural system, with no latency, that connects directly to the brain. That means you need an intermediary between the interface and your motor cortex."
Otto nodded, adjusting a screw with surgical precision. "Exactly! That's why I thought of this bionic connector. If we can stabilize neural communication with an electromagnetic buffer, we can eliminate the delay."
Peter nodded thoughtfully. "Right, right... But what if, instead of a buffer, we used a neural redundancy system? That way, if there's interference, the arm will still receive alternative signals and won't lock up."
"Otto blinked, surprised. "That could work. We can program the code to recalibrate automatically!"
Peter smiled and pointed to himself. "Genius."
Otto laughed and shook his head. "You're a terrible example of humility."
Peter held up his hands. "Hey, humility doesn't build robotic arms with super strength."
Otto took one of the mechanical claws and moved it manually, testing its flexibility. "The next step will be to implement the hydraulic motors. We need something strong enough to lift at least half a ton, but I don't want it to look like a heavy piece of junk."
Peter scratched his chin. "So adamantium is out?"
Otto let out a laugh. "Yes, Peter, adamantium is out."
"Damn, and I was already planning to turn you into weapon x."
"Weapon X? From the comics?" Otto asked amused. "He's four feet tall, Peter!"
"Hey! He fought Vulk! And came out alive! And ripped his head off!"
Otto just smiled and went back to work.
After a few hours, with tools everywhere and coffee being consumed in industrial quantities, the first prototype was ready.
Otto held it carefully, as if he were admiring a work of art. It was rudimentary, unfinished, with exposed wires and a still crude design, but there it was: the first working mechanical arm.
Peter smiled and crossed his arms. "And so the future is born."
Otto turned the arm's claw, which opened and closed with a metallic snap. "If it works..."
Peter patted him on the shoulder. "It will work. And when it works, you'll be famous. Like Bruce Wayne famous. Only less... billionaire... and without a butler... can I be the butler? All the benefits, no field work."
Otto laughed and picked up a control to activate the first tests. "Let's see if this wonder walks before it wants to run."
Otto held the control firmly, his eyes shining with anticipation. He pressed a button, and the mechanical arm creaked, moving a few centimeters before letting out a loud pop and... locking.
Peter and Otto exchanged a look.
Peter tilted his head. "So... does that mean it works?"
Another snap. The arm began to twitch, spinning the claw wildly until it tangled in its own cables and fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
Otto let out a deep sigh, wiping his hand across his face.
"Okay, maybe it won't work completely." Peter muttered, poking at the fallen structure with his foot.
Otto took a screwdriver and bent down to analyze the damage. "The neural connection failed. The system couldn't translate the electrical impulses correctly, so the motor went into a loop."
Peter snapped his fingers. "Which means..."
Otto looked at him, already anticipating the answer.
Peter pointed to the whiteboard. "We need a better signal translator. The current sensors aren't accurate enough."
Otto was silent for a moment, then smiled. "Exactly."
Peter smiled back. "Well, that wasn't a complete failure, then."
Otto laughed, standing up and cracking his back. "In science, failure means learning. Now we have a way forward."
Peter looked at his watch and grimaced. "Speaking of a way... I have to go."
Otto nodded, glancing at the clock on the wall. "It's already late. I haven't even seen the time go by. Your aunt must be worried."
Peter started putting his things away. "Well, not so much, I already warned her that I might be late... she's going to kill me anyway, so what's the point in worrying?" He said with a smile, and Otto shook his head.
"Well, thanks for your help today, Peter. You really do have an impressive talent."
Peter shrugged. "Nah, you're the genius. I'm just the guy who holds the tools and talks nonsense."
Otto smiled. "Definitely not. You have a bright future."
Peter gave a little wave and stepped out into the cold New York night. He had barely walked a few meters when his phone vibrated. A message from MJ.
Where are you? Tiny and the
others decided to
to bother us again, but
managed to escape.
If you want to find
us, we'll be in the
usual place.
Peter arched an eyebrow. Ever since their first gig was a success, they've been getting... unwanted attention from even more unwanted people who just wanted to bask in the band's success.
Heh, enjoy it without me
Oh, and try to be kinder
With Danny, poor guy, he's
Trying so hard to
to date you
"ψ (｀∇') ψ
I hate you!
(╯°□°）╯
He laughed to himself, focusing on just leaving. That is, of course, until he felt his instincts kick in.
He immediately turned around, and his eyes focused on the glider that was flying hundreds of meters above his head, silently in the afternoon.
He was looking for him, for sure... this time, he would be the one to deliver the welcome.