Herman Schultz rolled over on the battered mattress in his room.
It might be the last time he ever slept on it. Whether his plan succeeded or failed, there was no good ending waiting for him. He would either die in the street or spend decades behind bars.
But what did that matter?
As long as the whole world remembered the name Herman Schultz... no, as long as New York remembered it, that would be enough.
By the time the morning light came through the filthy window, Herman had already gone downstairs and bought himself a two-dollar burger from the corner shop. It was cheap, and the cost of that was obvious in the taste. The patty was low-grade, the bread hard and dry, and the whole thing chewed like sawdust. Still, he did not have much right to complain. It was the kind of burger sold to people who needed something cheap more than something good. The better ones cost more than most people there could afford.
The rusted gate of the abandoned construction site creaked in the wind as he pushed it open and slipped inside. Herman lifted the corroded manhole cover and dropped into Manhattan's maze of sewer tunnels like he knew them by heart. In the darkness, the squeaking of rats mixed with his heavy footsteps into something almost musical in its ugliness. He walked the tunnels until he reached Otto's underground warehouse again. It still smelled like a blend of machine oil and mold. The moment the door opened, three ghostly green electronic eyes lit up in the dark.
"You came earlier than agreed."
"I wasn't in the mood to wait. Is it here or not?"
Herman impatiently brushed a strand of webbing off his sleeve. In response, he got another shrill burst of mechanical laughter. Two robotic claws extended from the shadows and tossed a swollen package onto the metal table, where its contents clattered sharply.
"The boss is very interested in getting rid of that spider too," Otto said, his electronic eyes flashing. "It was delivered last night. Everything's there."
Herman opened the package and checked the expensive gold-titanium alloy components one by one. He spoke as if he barely cared.
"These are all controlled materials. Getting them this fast... who exactly is this 'boss' of yours?"
"Aren't these the parts you asked for? Why doubt it now?"
"Just curious."
One of the mechanical claws, which had been about to retract, stopped in midair. Then it suddenly shot toward Herman and hovered only inches from his nose.
"You want to know? Then maybe go ask around Hell's Kitchen yourself."
Herman understood immediately. A dry laugh escaped his throat.
"Wilson Fisk. The famous Kingpin... Figures. So he's the one who bought huge quantities of alien-tech weapons from you, right?"
"I only care about business," Otto replied. "What my clients plan to do with my products is none of my concern."
"I heard he's been busy lately. Something to do with a certain... Devil."
Otto did not say a word.
Herman decided not to push his luck. After confirming nothing was missing, he picked up the package and turned to leave. But before he could go, one of Otto's metal claws stretched out and stopped him.
"I told you before, you could do your work in my lab. I appreciate talented young men like you."
"No. Still no, thanks."
Herman shook his head.
"If I start testing my equipment properly, the whole sewer system won't survive it. Trust me. I already tried."
"Midtown Bank?" Otto's electronically distorted chuckle continued. "Yes, that really was a beautiful piece of work."
The static-laced laugh still echoed in the tunnel as Otto added, "Fine then. I'll just look forward to seeing you put on a show. Hopefully sooner rather than later."
"You won't have to wait long."
Herman took the package and left.
By all logic, the NYPD should already have been hunting him. But he had spent the whole previous night sleeping at home, and nothing had happened. No police, no knock on the door, no sirens. Either his crew had kept their mouths shut, or the cops simply looked down on him as some minor nobody.
If it was the second one, they were making a huge mistake.
Back in the half-finished, long-abandoned building, Herman pulled out the welding tools and repair gear he still had from his days as a mechanic and got to work.
The torch burst with a blinding blue flame.
He modified hockey gloves and elbow pads into weapon mounts. Different colored insulated wires crawled over the forearm housings like veins. Several key parts from the old Shocker launcher were stripped out and welded directly into the new design. Beside the pliers lay piles of cut wire, copper threads woven together, while Herman bit through strips of insulating tape and wrapped each finished connection tight.
By the time the sunset stretched his shadow across the floor, Herman wiped the sweat from his face with a blackened cotton glove and raised his left arm.
The new-generation Shocker launcher was strapped in place. As the wiring from the battery system he had designed locked into place, the indicator light flashed green.
Slowly, he clenched his fist.
The light turned yellow.
Then, with his heart pounding, Herman threw a punch with his left arm.
The light went from yellow to red.
A shrill howl ripped through the corridor, kicking up dust in a violent wave. A perfectly clean trench appeared through the abandoned hallway.
At the same time, a heavy bang followed.
The recoil slammed Herman straight into the wall.
"Cough, cough... cough... ha... hahaha! I did it! I did it!"
Now all he needed was the matching suit of armor, and everything would be complete.
That was the next step.
The full bag of gold-titanium alloy, the same material used for Iron Man's armor shell, was the foundation of his confidence. Herman looked down at his design sketches. To finish the right-arm Shocker launcher and the full suit, he would probably need another week.
"Then enjoy your little victory lap for one more week, Spider-Man."
At the same time, in a place neither Herman nor Peter was paying attention to, the Avengers' investigation into Spider-Man's identity was still moving forward.
In the executive office of Oscorp, Tony Stark was having a meeting that could not exactly be called friendly with Norman Osborn himself.
Norman was only a few years older than Tony, but he looked much more mature and controlled. His brown hair was slicked back neatly, and the dark green suit he wore only made the contrast sharper against Stark's habit of wearing a T-shirt under an expensive suit jacket.
"Anthony. It's been a long time."
"It has, Osborn."
Tony Stark did not particularly like Norman Osborn. His perfectly combed hair, shining under the sunlight, reminded Tony of the scales of some cold-blooded animal. In some ways he resembled Obadiah back in the old Stark Industries days.
A pure businessman, the kind who treated innovation like a market first and science second.
"When I first got your request for a meeting, I thought Stark Industries was planning to move into biotech," Norman said. "Thank God I don't have to compete with you there."
"I already handed the company over to Pepper. Unless something actually matters, I don't pay much attention to that side of things anymore."
Tony brushed the business angle aside with practiced ease. Norman, for his part, did not seem interested in pushing it. Instead, he picked up a champagne glass and offered it to Tony.
"So. When are you getting married?"
"What?"
"Married. Building a proper family. Having kids. Those were the happiest years of my life."
Norman spoke with something almost like nostalgia before looking back at Tony.
"You and I are about the same age, Anthony. We're both in our forties. But you still don't have children."
"I... Pepper and I aren't thinking about marriage yet." Tony had truly never expected that even without older relatives in his life, someone would still find a way to pressure him about settling down. "We only just started. A lot of things still aren't settled. Anyway, let's get back to why I'm here. Do you know anything about Spider-Man?"
Norman clearly had not expected Spider-Man to be Tony's real reason for the meeting. He smiled faintly.
"I've heard a little. Why?"
"I've got Hank looking at the web structure he uses. He says it matches research done by one of your former employees, Richard Parker. I'm here because I want information about him."
"I'm afraid I can't help you there." Norman did not seem to see any reason to hide it. "Richard left my company five years ago, and his research was passed on to other people. Even if you ask me about Spider-Man, all I can tell you is that I don't know whether this has anything to do with Richard."
Richard Parker's death was still internal S.H.I.E.L.D. classified information, something Hank only knew by chance, so Norman's reaction was perfectly reasonable.
"So you're saying... this line of research hasn't produced anything in the last few years?"
"Nothing at all. All it ever gave us were a few mutated spiders. Half a year ago, at the Oscorp science expo, the glass in that exhibit area shattered by accident and the specimens escaped. We never recovered them."
It was as if someone had opened a window in a pitch-black room.
Both men went still.
Then Norman Osborn smiled.
"If you're looking for Spider-Man, I truly don't have anything useful for you."
"I understand."
Tony shook Norman's hand and left without wasting another second.
The moment he stepped out of Norman's office, J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke through the tiny earpiece in his ear.
"Your behavior just now did not conform to proper social etiquette, sir."
"When have I ever followed that stuff?" Tony muttered as he walked.
"J.A.R.V.I.S., pull up satellite images from the day of the Oscorp science expo and upload every attendee record to the cloud."
"Green Goblin," Norman said at almost the same time, issuing a command of his own. Then Oscorp's artificial intelligence began running under his order. "Search keyword: Richard Parker."
Both searches ran almost simultaneously.
And almost simultaneously, they returned the same name.
[Search result found for keyword: Richard Parker.]
[Result: Peter Benjamin Parker. Reason: direct family relation, father and son.]
(End of Chapter)
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