By the time Peter stepped out of the precinct, he had learned that the guy he had caught was none other than Dmitri Smerdyakov, the Chameleon, a former top operative from Russian foreign intelligence who had defected to the United States and was now on the federal wanted list for multiple contract killings and the theft of corporate secrets.
The name meant something to Peter, even if the man himself had never seemed especially dangerous. A master of disguise was annoying rather than overwhelming, at least in theory.
Though apparently that wasn't the case in this world. According to the police chief, the guy had replaced his own face with some kind of old Soviet prototype disguise tech, meaning he no longer had a real face of his own. The strange part was that a master of disguises like that still went by his real name.
"Whatever. One small impostor problem solved. Shame Mysterio was a little too careful. The second I tried to crack his equipment, he cut the connection. But if his photonic projector can't fool thermal imaging, taking him down probably won't be too hard either."
After leaving the NYPD, Peter checked the time and hurried toward school. As long as nothing happened on the way, he still wouldn't be late.
Meanwhile, inside the NYPD, two officers stood watching the man in the holding cell. One second he was turning himself into a curly-haired policewoman, the next into a bald detective captain. The Chameleon's skin rippled like liquid metal as he casually changed faces to amuse himself, and the two officers watching him couldn't help being fascinated.
"So why don't we just take his mask off?"
"Didn't you hear the chief? The guy replaced his whole face with high-tech crap. There's nothing to take off."
The two officers assigned to watch him were still talking when two unfamiliar colleagues approached. One of them flashed a badge and said, "The chief wants you. Shift change."
Once the two real guards were out of sight, the newcomers took out a key and opened the cell door.
"Dmitri, Mr. Fisk is very unhappy with your failure." The Black officer who opened the door gave him a sidelong look. "The camera feed in this holding cell is looped prerecorded footage. You're free to go. Mr. Fisk is waiting for your report."
The Chameleon rose lazily to his feet. His skin rippled, and in an instant he perfectly copied the appearance of one of the officers. Tugging at the collar of the uniform, he said, "If Fisk knew Spider-Man's new suit could see through holographic projections, he wouldn't be using the word failure."
The Black officer whose appearance had just been copied calmly stepped into the holding cell and sat down. The Chameleon walked out beside the other officer and casually asked, "What about the others? That idiot Quentin Beck and Mac Gargan?"
"They're already at the safe house. Just waiting for you."
The two of them kept talking as they headed outside. Suddenly, Dmitri noticed a flicker of reflected light dance across the officer's face. Keeping his voice calm, he warned him, "There's a shooter outside. I saw the reflection on your face."
"What?"
The officer reflexively tried to dodge, but it was too late. The instant he moved, a round punched straight through the wall and drilled through his skull. Dmitri, who had reacted half a step faster and was already moving behind cover, muttered to himself as he slid along the wall.
"If you're going to run for your life, don't hurry. Especially not in front of him."
The sudden gunshot sent the entire precinct into chaos. Alarms blared, and officers flooded toward the scene while others formed a perimeter outside. On the far side of the NYPD building, the shooter frowned at the readout on the device in his hand. The special round he had used hadn't destroyed any powered equipment.
Which meant the Chameleon wasn't dead.
By then, police drones were already in the air, capturing the shooter's image. He wore a black leather trench coat over a black shirt printed with a huge white skull, and carried a monstrous anti-materiel sniper rifle. He merely glanced at the camera drone before disappearing into the city.
The moment the footage came back, the entire precinct practically exploded.
"It's Frank Castle! Maximum alert! Maximum alert!"
Now disguised as one of the officers, the Chameleon slipped out in the confusion. He was sure the infamous Punisher had marked him again, and if he wanted to stay alive now, he needed to get to Fisk. As for the Punisher, that could wait for the moment. The man was insane, but not the kind of insane that fired blindly at everything that moved.
So the Chameleon stole a patrol car and drove off with practiced ease. He found a shopping center, walked inside, and a few minutes later a completely different person came back out. Without drawing attention to himself, he looked around, then headed for one of Fisk's properties in Hell's Kitchen.
A few hours later, once he finally made it back to the hideout, the Chameleon fully dropped the disguise, revealing the pale, featureless mask fused over his skin, a white face with only the vaguest suggestion of human features.
The moment he got inside, he started unloading on the incompetent detective.
"What exactly did you investigate? None of that intel was right!"
"I told you yesterday Spider-Man had switched to a new suit! You idiots just didn't listen!"
Gargan wasn't about to take the blame for that. He immediately tried to shove it onto Quentin instead. The perpetually timid special-effects man nearly shook his head off.
"That has nothing to do with me! I didn't have photos and I'd never seen Spider-Man's new suit. There was no way I could build a new model and project it into every scene in that amount of time!"
"So now you're saying this is my fault?"
Gargan grabbed Quentin by the collar and hauled him up, starting to interrogate him right there. Quentin panicked and started apologizing at once, but Dmitri caught the real point immediately.
"It is your fault, you worthless excuse for a detective. You know how Spider-Man beat the hell out of me? Thermal imaging. You were the one saying he was some broke little nobody who couldn't possibly afford high-end gear. Well? Turns out I was the one who got the hell beaten out of me!"
"How was I supposed to know where he got high-end gear from? Huh? The day before, when he fought that Shocker guy, he was wearing cheap nylon!"
"That's enough. I didn't call you here to listen to you scream at each other."
Kingpin's low, heavy reprimand shut all three of them up instantly. Sometime during the argument, the ruler of Hell's Kitchen had arrived in person. He looked at the three men he had spent a fair amount of money assembling and seemed unsure whether he was more angry or disappointed.
"I brought you in to eliminate Spider-Man, to remove the man who has become a serious problem for my business. Not so you could stand here and pass blame around."
Kingpin spoke with visible disappointment, then let out a weary sigh.
"If Dmitri's smear campaign can't succeed, then we change tactics. If Spider-Man sees you impersonating him again, he'll come after you. So we arrange something else. An empty construction site. A bridge. Somewhere suitable. Then we fill it with bombs. Lots of bombs. Lure Spider-Man into the trap and blow him to pieces."
"It's not that simple. Frank Castle has a history with me. He's locked onto me now."
At that name, even Kingpin fell silent for several seconds before sighing again.
"Then give him a proper performance. Show him how Spider-Man does his little hero routine. Hit some criminals. Make sure he knows you're out. The rest... let him follow back to us."
(End of Chapter)
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