In reality, a whole skyscraper becoming structurally unsafe was a much bigger deal than Peter had imagined.
He had only been gone a few minutes when the Avengers took over the surrounding streets.
The Avengers in this universe were not exactly the same as the MCU lineup. The five founding members who had fought in the Battle of New York were Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Hulk, and Ant-Man. There was also one non-combat team manager attached to the group: the Wasp. Captain America did not work for S.H.I.E.L.D. in this world, and was instead stationed full-time at Avengers Tower, formerly Stark Tower.
"I still think the cleanest solution would be to shrink the entire building with Pym Particles," Hank said after returning to full size from inspecting the web structure up close. His helmet folded neatly back into his suit, revealing short light-brown hair and a surprisingly youthful face that looked barely into his thirties. "These webs are slowly degrading on their own. They'll be gone in less than two hours."
He paused, studying the strands again.
"And this structure looks familiar. I swear I've seen it somewhere before."
"I've already stabilized the building with Stark Industries engineering equipment, so I don't think we'll need your help this time, Hank." Iron Man rose into the air and admired the message Spider-Man had left for the police on the giant web stretched between the two buildings. "Pretty nice penmanship, don't you think, Cap?"
Only three Avengers had come. Bruce had not, and Thor was not even on Earth. Steve sat on his motorcycle, watching restored footage on a tablet. J.A.R.V.I.S. had reconstructed the bank's surveillance feed, and the screen now showed the full recording of Spider-Man's fight.
"Under seven minutes," Steve said. "He handled the entire situation in under seven minutes, and everything was over before we got here."
"I could've done it in one." Iron Man landed beside him and lifted his faceplate.
"That's not the point. He's trained, and it looks like military-style training. More importantly, he's clearly practiced control over his own strength." Steve paused the footage at the exact instant Spider-Man's fist hit Herman's face. "With strength like that, one badly controlled punch could've killed him. But that man wasn't even knocked out cold from the hit."
"So we've found somebody who actually knows what he's doing. That's good. I was starting to worry about how I'd clean his webbing out of the seams in my armor."
"It's Richard Parker," Hank said suddenly, cutting off the banter.
Tony glanced over as J.A.R.V.I.S. pulled up the file. "An entomologist? One of your people, Hank?"
"No. He specialized in genetic engineering and programming. Several major experts in related fields, including Curt Connors, Miles Warren, and Jonathan Drew, were his students."
"Wow," Tony said. "I haven't heard of a single one of them."
"He was once one of the lead researchers on the U.S. military's super-soldier serum project. His main focus was enhancing humans through animal genetics. He published quite a few papers on the subject, though most were sealed by S.H.I.E.L.D. Back when I was working for them a few years ago, I read some of those files. One of them covered the artificial synthesis of a specific spider-silk protein."
Hank looked up at the web overhead.
"The structure in that paper is identical to this."
Tony gave Steve a quick glance, but Steve said nothing. He showed no obvious reaction.
"At the time, the super-soldier serum project was being handled by Oscorp. I assume it still is. But Richard left the project years ago, joined S.H.I.E.L.D., and died in a plane crash three years back."
Tony folded his arms.
"I'm not even surprised. So what, this Spider-Man is some super-soldier developed by Oscorp? Great. J.A.R.V.I.S., set up a meeting with Norman Osborn."
"He's not a manufactured soldier, and he's not a weapon," Steve said calmly. "He looks more like a volunteer vigilante."
"We'll know once we talk to Osborn." Tony did not sound especially bothered either way.
Steve thought for a moment, then made his own decision.
"Or Nick Fury. I'll ask him. And the police too. They must've done at least some background digging on Spider-Man."
"I'm taking one of these back for analysis," Hank said, picking up one of the Shocker devices. "Might prove useful."
The three Avengers turned at the sound of police sirens approaching from down the street.
Tony raised an eyebrow.
"Wow. The NYPD's showing up right on time."
George had brought the suspects back to NYPD headquarters in an awful mood.
Today was supposed to be his daughter's first day of high school. He should have been taking her to school himself and staying through the opening ceremony. Instead, not only had he overslept, but the second he woke up and tried to get moving, he got stuck transporting criminals.
And to make it even worse, he had heard that the street they wrecked was the same one Gwen took to school.
If Ben had not already confirmed that she was safe, George might have turned off his body cam and dealt with them personally.
Now all the suspects had been brought into the station and were waiting to be questioned once they woke up.
George had only just taken a sip of coffee when one of his officers came over with "good news."
"Captain, the gang leader is awake."
George nodded, but had no intention of doing the interview himself. Instead, he stood outside the interrogation room with several other officers behind the one-way glass, watching a heavyset white cop and a broad-shouldered Black cop handle the questioning.
The man in the chair looked like a small-time gang operator in his mid-twenties. He had neat dreadlocks, a lip piercing, and he had the wary, defensive look of someone used to trouble.
"Name?"
"Herman Schultz."
"Age?"
"Twenty-six."
"Occupation?"
"None."
"What about before?"
"Mechanic."
He seemed cooperative on the surface, though distracted. From the answers, they pieced together a rough profile: a man with limited schooling who had worked as a mechanic, gotten rich scavenging after the Battle of New York, and then decided to keep chasing easy money.
So the heavier officer moved on to the next question.
"Where'd you get these weapons? How much did they cost?"
"I built them myself from alien material I scavenged."
The two interrogating officers froze for a moment.
So did the cops gathered outside to watch.
Then the room erupted in laughter.
"You know how that sounds, right?" the Black officer said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Those weapons nearly sliced through an entire building. And you're telling us you made them?"
"I did make them!" Herman shouted, furious now. "I built them!"
"That might be the wildest confession I've ever heard," the white officer said, exasperated, not even writing it down. "Look, I get it. You don't want to name whoever supplied you. Fine. But at least come up with something believable. You built all this yourself? Come on."
"What's that supposed to mean? I made them!"
"Come on, man, you know how advanced those weapons are? Even our evidence guys can't fully work out how they function." The Black officer spread his hands. "And you expect us to believe you built them? You're a mechanic with a rough background, not some research lab."
"So what, only guys with fancy degrees get to invent things?" Herman snapped. "You think somebody like me can't become the best engineer in the city?!"
"Take it easy. Nobody said that," the white officer replied. "You're hearing disrespect that isn't there."
The two officers exchanged a look. It was obvious they were not getting anywhere with him. So they had Herman removed and taken back to holding.
They would question somebody else instead.
Surely not everyone in the gang was going to claim that this man had built all the high-tech weapons himself.
As Herman was escorted to his cell, all he could think about was the laughter, and the way Spider-Man had moved during the fight.
By the time he reached the holding area, he had gone quiet.
A shove from the officer behind him finally got him moving again.
Several of his men had already woken up.
"Hey, Herman, what's wrong?"
Herman said nothing.
Then suddenly, as if something clicked into place in his mind, he pulled a hairpin off one of his crew and stepped toward the barred cell door. Using the pin, he picked the lock on his handcuffs, then the lock on the holding cell itself.
Herman Schultz was one of the best master safecracker in New York.
His crew stared in shock as he pulled the cell door open, got the jump on the patrol officer before the man could react, and choked him unconscious. Then he stripped the uniform off the officer, put it on himself, and tossed the keys back to the others still locked up inside.
"You can decide for yourselves whether you leave. If they ask where I might've gone, tell them the truth."
His men looked at each other, all of them realizing something had changed in him.
Finally, one of them could not help asking, "Where are you going, Herman?"
"To do what I've always done," Herman said. "Show New York who the real engineer is."
He pulled the police cap lower and walked straight out of holding.
It was still early, not even nine in the morning. The station was far from fully staffed, and somehow Herman managed to slip out of the "heavily guarded" NYPD without much trouble at all.
A little over half an hour later, he reached an aging residential district. Hidden there was an abandoned construction site he had been using as a secret base. This was where he kept the alien technology he had stashed away, a place even his crew did not know about.
He pulled out the scavenged alien components, stared at them for two seconds, then kicked them aside.
Later, they might still be good for money.
But right now, he did not need flashy borrowed tools.
"You're the best engineer there is, Herman. You don't need alien tech."
The whole fight with Spider-Man kept replaying in his head.
That powerful, agile figure.
His own clumsy body, lugging around oversized weapons.
The contrast was unbearable.
He needed a suit like Spider-Man's. Something flexible, powerful, and fast.
"A mobile suit. It has to absorb excess shockwaves so I don't tear myself apart with recoil. The hardware needs to be compact. Wristbands are too small, but forearm units could work. I need to recalculate the firing frequency too... maybe like this..."
By the end of the morning, working under a broken desk lamp with nothing but colored pencils and scrap paper, he had done the impossible.
A pair of wrist-mounted devices built on the same principles as the Shocker launchers, but far more controllable.
A suit built on a yellow base, with sections of red metal plating to absorb and redistribute kinetic force.
When the design was finally complete, Herman stared at it with bloodshot eyes, hardly believing what he had just drawn.
Then he smiled.
"I did it. I actually did it."
"I didn't invent shock."
He laughed softly to himself.
"I became the Shocker."
(End of Chapter)
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