"So the next guy I'm up against is Mysterio? Great. Can't wait."
His brand-new suit snapped in the New York night wind as Spider-Man swept past neon-lit skyscrapers. Peter could barely work up any enthusiasm for this new enemy, especially since the very idea of Mysterio put him on edge. An enemy built on lies and illusions was the kind of opponent Peter instinctively hated.
And the problem wasn't just that.
Mysterio's upper limit could get ridiculous.
If all he could do was fake what people saw, that would be one thing. But a good illusionist could do far worse than trick the eye. He could throw off timing, distort judgment, and trap someone inside a false reality.
"Let's just hope this universe's Mysterio isn't that insane..." Peter muttered. He'd specifically upgraded his suit with infrared vision just for him, hoping it would help when the time came.
But that wasn't the only issue.
Behind all the stolen high-tech gear, there was clearly someone even more dangerous hiding in the shadows, someone smart enough to combine a photonic projector, a neural connector, and other cutting-edge tech into a working system. Doctor Octopus? Norman Osborn?
Peter rubbed his temple.
He still understood way too little about this world.
In fact, Peter Parker wasn't the only one thinking along those lines. Mac Gargan, the notorious New York private investigator who specialized in digging up dirt for mob bosses and using it to blackmail people, looked up at the new Spider-Man swinging overhead and couldn't help reflecting that he still understood far too little about Spider-Man himself. The moment he confirmed that Spider-Man had switched to a brand-new suit, he immediately called Kingpin.
"Mr. Gargan, what is it? Don't tell me you've already uncovered Spider-Man's real identity."
"Not yet, Mr. Fisk."
Gargan glanced around, ducked into an alley, and lowered his voice.
"But has your smear plan already started? If it hasn't, delay it, now."
"I'm afraid Chameleon has already begun his part. Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing like that." Gargan didn't dare raise his voice with Fisk, so he forced himself to stay calm. "It's just... Spider-Man changed costumes. If you're going ahead with the plan, you need to update the look too."
Kingpin hung up.
And Gargan was left to continue his own pointless task of finding Spider-Man's true identity.
As for the plan, just like Fisk had said, it was already too late to stop it.
Chameleon was ready.
His custom suit let him become anyone he'd seen. At its core was an engineered artificial skin based on technology derived from Mystique's mutation, and as far as Dimitri knew, it was completely unique. He'd heard that S.H.I.E.L.D. had developed similar mimic masks, but nothing as seamless or convenient as what he wore.
He was currently in contact with his special-effects man, Quentin Beck, through a miniature earpiece.
"You sure the equipment is calibrated? I found a good target."
Quentin Beck had been stuffed into a panel van disguised as a delivery truck, his back pressed against the freezing metal wall. Two large men sat on either side of him like prison guards, while the three monitors in front of him rendered a live 3D illusion model of Hell's Kitchen.
"It's ready whenever you are, Mr. Dimitri."
Walking casually down the street in disguise as an ordinary pedestrian, Chameleon tossed down a small round sphere.
The light bent.
And he vanished without a trace.
Not far away, two thugs were mugging a passerby. This was Hell's Kitchen. That kind of thing wasn't exactly rare. But Quentin couldn't help being curious about why Chameleon had chosen this place.
"Mr. Dimitri, why start in Hell's Kitchen? If the goal is to ruin Spider-Man's reputation, wouldn't somewhere like Times Square be much better?"
"The rule is simple. If you want to frame someone, you can't make them act completely out of character right away. People notice that."
As he spoke, Chameleon shifted into the old Spider-Man suit and raised a grappling launcher.
"You have to stay consistent with the role and then twist it a little."
"It's like mixing a drink, dear Beck. You don't pour milk into whiskey. You add vodka. Strong enough to change the taste, but not so much that people immediately know it's fake."
If any passerby had happened to look up, they would've seen Spider-Man swinging on a webline, arcing around a building and dropping into the street. Even the landing sounded real. Chameleon rolled forward, and under Quentin's light projection, merged perfectly with the Spider-Man illusion already posing there.
"Guys, seriously, can you not figure out some other way to make money?"
Spider-Man rose and addressed the two muggers. The moment they saw him, the thugs bolted. Then Spider-Man fired a web, yanked one of them back, and drove a punch into his mouth so hard blood sprayed out.
"Sorry, I didn't think you were that fragile. You okay, buddy?"
"Uh... yeah. I'm fine. Thanks, Spider-Man."
The victim cautiously stepped closer to thank him, then watched as Spider-Man bent down, took the mugger's wallet, pulled out the cash, and stuffed it into his own pocket.
"Wait... what are you doing?"
"It's nothing. Superheroes don't get paid, after all. Want a little? Call it compensation."
Spider-Man smiled, then leaped away on a webline.
As for Chameleon, he didn't go very far.
A few of Fisk's men stared at each other.
So this is what you're doing?
"Relax. We've got a lot more of this to do tonight. Spider-Man stops crimes, but takes money off the criminals. Is that theft? Maybe. But it isn't enough to make people stop seeing him as a hero."
"People will call it a moral flaw, not proof that he isn't a hero."
Dimitri laughed.
The next part would be even easier. After this came Spider-Man going too far during his interventions, hitting people a little too hard, hurting a few bystanders. Then after that, Spider-Man would "execute" a few criminals.
As public debate around Spider-Man grew uglier and uglier, Chameleon could make the act more extreme, as if all the criticism had finally pushed Spider-Man over the edge.
And if the real Spider-Man showed up?
That was fine too.
All Spider-Man would be able to see was the illusion Quentin created.
He would never be able to tell the difference between Chameleon and a hologram.
Quentin, meanwhile, was practically vibrating with excitement. He could see on the holographic feed that Chameleon wasn't just imitating Spider-Man's motives and tone, he was even perfectly copying the tiny habits, like the way Spider-Man tilted his head slightly faster than normal in certain moments.
"This... this is incredible, Mr. Dimitri. You're the best actor I've ever seen... That performance just now was perfect. Exactly like Spider-Man..."
Even if Quentin Beck was just a nobody Kingpin didn't think much of, Dimitri still enjoyed praise like that. He could tell Quentin envied him, or more specifically, envied his ability to perform.
He was a talented special-effects artist.
But what Quentin really wanted, Dimitri suspected, was to be an actor.
That thought got Chameleon thinking. Maybe there was a way to use that, get close to Quentin, and eventually pull him over to his own side. With a special-effects artist like that working for him, his espionage and assassination business would reach a whole new level.
Still, first things first.
Help Kingpin get rid of Spider-Man.
Thinking that, Chameleon smiled.
He still had no idea Spider-Man had already changed suits.
And that same night, a post titled Spider-Man Started Robbing People? began spreading online. In the blurry video, "Spider-Man" could clearly be seen stuffing cash into his belt. Kingpin's online network immediately started pushing the clip as hard as possible.
Only Chameleon remained quietly in the shadows, watching it all unfold.
(End of Chapter)
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