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Peter sat at the head of the table wearing his business suit. It was a light grey Armani suit with black shirt and red tie, he personally hated frivolous spending on such an expensive suit when he still had a few of Uncle Ben's old ones that looked just as nice, but he remembered an old conversation with Harry where he mentioned about how your suit was your weapon in the business battlefield, it was a symbol of control and power. If you wanted to survive, you'd need the best weapon possible. "$1000 on a suit now, can potentially get you that extra $1,000,000 at the negotiating table." Well, as he sat here, waiting for the others to arrive, he hoped that Harry was right about that.

Alistair was the first to enter, he was clad in a suit that accomodated his shoulder talons. He sat down, there were a few polite words, pleasantries that Peter was expecting. Damn, he had faced every single man that was going to be in this room on the battlefield before, most of them at the same time, yet this time it was going to be different. This wasn't going to be a friendly "How's the wife and kids?" this was a "I'm gonna need you to put your lives on the line alongside your hated foe." and he wasn't sure he had any right to order them to do so. I mean, technically he did, it was part of their parole agreements that they agree to do "Community Service" but he knew that most of them assumed it was the science that they were doing for him.

Next to enter was Otto, he gave Peter a friendly smile. Otto and Michael were the only ones who would be at the meeting that knew he was Spider-Man. Then came Maxwell. That one looked rather shifty, but that was normal for Max. Peter just hoped that the money was enough to keep him onside. Next came Michael and finally Adrien in quick succession, not enough time for Peter to really mentally comment on them before they sat looking at him. Peter took a deep breath before tapping the side of his neck right under the edge of his Jaw. He had heard it was a calming technique.

"Gentlemen. I have called you in here today for something that you're not going to like." There were a few quiet murmurs among the group. He had confidence that Alistair and Otto would side with him, but the other 3 would be a problem. "Last year when i managed to get you paroled at my company, i said that there would be certain Community Services that the 5 of you would have to perform. New York is our home and it's not exactly the safest place on the planet. As such, i have taken some steps to bring our criminal population down. I have talked with the Police and they have agreed to allow me to trial something." He took out his Spyder Phone and tapped on it a few times, the television screen on the wall lit up and a picture of 5 of them stood there, cobbled together from various mugshots with the words "Superior 6" posted underneath them. "The police in this city have to deal with Super Powered individuals that they have no hope of dealing with, Rhino, Grizzly, Scorpion, but we can give them the edge that they need." There was already a chorus of discord in response to this from the 5 men.

"Ummm, Peter, dear boy. May i remind you how well that worked last time some of us came together to form a team?" Otto asked. "We ended up pretty much killing each other. Now, i appreciate what you ask, but are you sure that this is such a good idea?" Peter looked in Otto's eyes. He could tell that Otto wasn't actually opposed to the idea, but he was voicing the obvious response to this idea in the most civilized way anyone in the room would. Peter appreciated that.

"The thought crossed my mind a few times..." He replied sullenly.

"Hey, i'm good so long as there's moolah in it." Max responded. This caught Peter offguard. He wasn't expecting Max of all people to be the first to unquestioningly agree. He assumed he'd have to bribe the guy... But then again with his response, maybe Max was offering Peter a way to bribe him onto his side.

'Oh Max, never change.' Peter thought. He then tried to re-rail his train of thought in response to the blindside.

"In any case..." He paused to collect his thoughts and decide how to proceed now he had 1 of the 4. "We need to consider public image. Parker Industries is paying quite a sum to get you 5 onboard-"

"Which begs the question-" Toomes butted in "That says Superior "SIX" with an emphasis on the number SIX!" He sneered. "Who you brought in as number 6? Oh don't tell me it's Chameleon" There was a chorus of groans from Max and Alistair

"Oh not Chameleon, that jerk still owes me money."

"It's... It's not Chameleon..." Peter swallowed hard before pressing a button and a picture of Spider-Man appeared in the center of the 5 of them on the screen. Max and Adrien immediately let out a great pained groan as both buried their faces in their hands. Alistair didn't seem to move. Otto and Michael simply stared at Peter.

"You know what, count me out." Max replied. "Ain't no way i'm working with Web Head. That jerk has beat me up too many times. Ain't no amount of money in the world could make me want to work with him. Peter stiffled a snicker, knowing that Max was unwittingly already doing that.

"Peter, we all have history with the guy." Otto stepped in as the villain liason again. "You should no more ask us to work with him than we should ask you to work with Norman Osborn. Too much bad blood." Otto had a point, and yes it was pretty common knowledge in the business world that Norman was utterly pissed at Peter for taking his money and his grandson. "Now, i don't personally have a problem with Web Head, sure the guy beat me up a couple of times, but let's face facts, i had it coming." There was a few murmurs of agreement. Peter suspected it was more them agreeing that Otto needed to be beaten than of them agreeing that Spider-Man was justified. "But..." He guestured around to the others. "Face facts, we are NOT heroes." Again, even though Otto was fighting him, Peter knew that this was a necessary fight that was going to happen one way or another and Otto was just getting in front of it to keep it civil.

"Alright, Alistair, Michael, neither of you have said anything, let's get an idea of where the room stands." He motioned to the pair of them. Michael talked first.

"I do not have a problem working alongside Spider-Man..." Michael began "But i am still... A little unstable at the moment. I cannot guarentee that i will not start... Feasting... If the opportunity presented itself. I will need more time in the lab to stabilize my condition before i can agree to this." Michael had a VERY good point. Peter was trying to change the public perception of these people and a vampire ripping a guys throat out with a big "Parker Industries" Label on him was probably not the best advertisement in the world.

"And you, Alistair?" Peter asked. Alistair looked down at his hands in response.

"I recreated myself as a machine to destroy Spider-Man..." He muttered in his deep, gravelly, mildly electronic voice "The Spider-Slayer i called myself. I wanted nothing more than to feel his heart beat its last in my hands... But now... I feel nothing towards him. No animosity, no hatred..." He looked at Peter. "I am willing to give Spider-Man a chance. I... I owe him that much for what i have done." Peter could see the genuine regret in Alistairs eyes. The man had turned himself into a spider-killing machine in the name of revenge for his father on a man who had never had anything to do with it. Alistair had played directly into the Maggia's hands and he could tell that it was eating him inside.

"Where is the bug anyway?" Adrien asked. "If you are so onboard with bringing in the bug to lead this team, then where is our oh so fearless leader?" The old man grinned.

"Spider-Man has agreed to join Parker Industries on the proviso that you 5 are all onboard. Naturally, he's afraid of this being a trap. I mean, last time..." Peter stopped for a second. He was about to say the wrong thing... It pained him to say the words, but appearances needed to be kept. "When Harry Osborn brought you together last time, he called Spider-Man in a similar manner. Can't blame the guy for being cautious..." There was a shift in Adrien and Max's demeanor. They both shifted a little uncomfortably... They both knew Harry wasn't the REAL Green Goblin. "I want to make sure that everybody is onboard before i bring him into the company first. I will not have my company becoming the battle ground of a Sinister 6 Reunion show." A quiet descended upon the room. "Alright, let's put it to a vote. Because of the nature of this, i will abstain and only a unanimous vote will carry." There was nods around the room. "All in favour?" Alistair, Max and Otto raied their hands. Peter was surprised, but then again, Max was probably thinking about the money and how it might dry up if he doesn't suck up to the boss. "All opposed?" Only Adrien raised his hand. Michael seemed to abstain. "Motion fails. Very well, is there any other business that we need to discuss?" He looked around the room. "Alright, meeting over. Adrien, can i see you for a minute?" The rest of them left. Adrien sat, elbows on table, fingers tented and chin resting atop them. "Strictly off the record, what do i need to do to turn that no into a yes? I need six people because alliterative names are a hassle and 4 already has a good one taken."

"I don't want to work with him, simple as. Find another." Adrien growled. "Maybe get Mac or Herman... Scorpion or Shocker, but not that guy." As Peter opened his mouth, Adrien butted in again "I'm not saying this because I hate him... Well, i do, but that's not the main reason. It's because you are trying to mix oil with water. It won't work. It's always been him vs us. And i'm still on the side of us and he's still on the side of him. And there's another reason. Web-head has it pretty good... Maybe give one of the other rogue's of New York a chance at something better." Peter wanted to argue and disagree, but Adrien did have a point. Maybe he should work on some of the others... At that point, Mary Jane walked in through the door.

"Pete- Oh hi Adrien-" She said, waving to Vulture who simply nodded. "I need to-

"MJ, Adrien here has had a good idea, can we maybe put out the feelers and see if we can get in touch with either Scorpion or Shocker?" The colour drained from Mary-Janes face as he said that. "What's wrong?" Mary-Jane looked down at her phone and tapped a few times, before up on the TV screen, a video appeared. Norman Osborn stood on a podium alongside Scorpion who was in a large coat that fitted over his battlesuit with the words "Security Detail" written on it.

"- too long, this country has stagnated and acquiesced to the wishes of the superhuman whilst completely ignoring US. Studies show that as few as 10% of this nations people are Mutants and yet with their freaky powers, they are able to take our entire nation hostage. Well we need to put a stop to that. Democracy is a system that benefits the many, not the few and it's what separates us from the dictatorships like Latveria and Madripoor... Such weak leadership led to... The death of my only, beloved son... As such, i officially announce today Peter's heart went through the floor as he realized the word that were about to come colourfully marching out of Normans mouth. "That I, Norman Osborn, will be running for President of the United States of America in 2024, for a better and safer America. Where Homo-Sapien need not live in fear of these so called "Homo-Superior" that the terrorist Erik "Magneto" Lehnsherr would have you call them."

"Well... He ain't getting my vote." Adrien stated as Peter and MJ stood slack-jawed at each other, lost for words. The pair of them looked at him. "Convicted Felon." He shrugged.

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Norman sat in his office, phone pressed against his ear. "Don't worry, Rob, i've got this... Hey, i understand perfectly, you've got a lot on your plate, but i'm here because limp-dick pissants like Creed and Krane have let you down FAR too many times before... Look, my 3:55 just showed up early, but trust me, we're gonna be laughing about this when we're in the Oval Office sipping whiskey together... Ok, bye." The moment Norman hung up, the smile on his face instantly disolved into his usual cold, emotionless, calculating face. "Officious little bureaucrat." He growled under his breath as he took a sip of Whiskey. Due to the Goblin Metabolism, it was pretty much impossible to get drunk, but he needed the taste in his mouth at the moment. Washing away the taste of defeat. It had been over a year and STILL, Parker had his grandson, almost a third of his companys wealth and his happy little family and here Norman sat, his fate was entirely reliant on a combination of word of Senator Kelly (Who he didn't trust) and the the stupidity of the American public (Which he trusted VERY much) A knock came at the door. His advanced hearing had allowed him to hear the heavy footsteps even when on the phone to Kelly. "Yes, come in." The door opened and Mac walked in.

"Hey, boss-" Mac began, but was interrupted by Norman.

"I was in a call with someone very important." Norman scolded in his dark and commanding way. Mac stopped dead in his tracks.

"Oh, sorry, boss." He stammered out. Mac was an unstoppable killing machine in a suit of nearly indestructible power armour and yet Norman still scared the bejesus out of him.

"Well, you're here now, what is it?" Norman sighed, swirling his whisky around the glass to lower the temperature as it splashed off of the ice-cube in the middle, before taking another sip.

"I, uhhh... I got a call from Parker." He scratched the back of his head. Norman didn't seem to register this, slowly spinning his chair around to look out of the window. "Said he was looking for someone with my specific skill set for something he was workin' on. You want me to take him up on it? Get some info from the inside?"

"Using your brain? How unlike you." Norman spat out. Mac clenched his fist at this response. He was sick of people treating him like a dumb animal. Norman, as if sensing that he had struck a nerve, span back around in his chair with a big, cheery smile on his face. "Kidding." He said, throwing his arms wide. Frankly the smile scared Mac even more than the scowl had. "Mac, i appreciate the sentiment, but i already have a guy on the inside who is getting me as much info on Parker's movements as i need. And it would look rather suspicious if you just up-sticks and join him without a fight. Look, buddy, i need you here." Once again, Mac was getting a little scared with how polite and friendly Norman was being. "In any case, that little thing on your leg is a stamp of ownership as far as the New York Supreme Court is concerned. Your parole is entirely based on you working your debt to society off in my care. Even if i was certain i had the political clout to get you transfered to Parker's care, he'd never trust that i let you go so easily. No, my friend, your place is here. Call him back, tell him as such, feel free to insult him, but make it clear exactly where you stand. Parker will feel more secure knowing where you are and i want him feeling as safe as possible at this very second."

"The old "False sense of security" thing, right boss?" Mac asked. Norman finished his drink before putting it on the table and letting out the signature "Whiskey wheeze" as it burned his throat on the way down, but in all of the most pleasant ways.

"Very good, you're learning." Norman laughed. Mac pretended to laugh, but he definitely knew Norman meant that and he had been a private detective long enough to know that Norman knew and didn't care that the laugh was fake. Because what choice did he have? It was be in Normans pocket or be in jail. "Anyway, I have a little something for you." Norman said, reaching under his desk for a briefcase, he pulled it out and slid it across the desk to Mac "A little trump card for when you inevitably come to blows with Spider-Man next." Mac popped the clips on the brief case before opening it and looking inside, his eyes lit up with pure awe and excitement. "We good?" Norman smiled a sinister smile.

"Oh yeah, boss, WE are VERY good." Mac laughed.

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Normie slowly walked through the halls of Parker Industries, headed towards the Neogenics lab. The clacking of his walking stick echoing through the polished, metal halls. He frowned as some of the workers walked past him. For a moment, he found himself alone, before stopping dead in the hall and listening... He could swear he could hear something. He turned around, nobody there, just an empty hallway... That's when he heard a muffled snickering, before looking straight up and seeing the face of May-Day staring at him as she walked along the ceiling above him. "HEY NORMIE!!!" She screamed at him, Normie startled for a second by the sheer volume this little girl was capable of.

"Keep it down, neither of us are supposed to be here. It's just that nobody questions the crippled kid." Normie sighed, before slowly hobbling away, the clacking beginning to echo again. May skipped along the ceiling above him.

"Want me to carry you?" She asked, him, shooting a web from her wrist to his back and pulling him up to her.

"LET ME DOWN!!!" Normie roared, flailing wildly. May-Day found this, frankly, hilarious. That was until the flailing walking stick smacked her square in the forehead. At which point, she dropped him as she sat down on the ceiling, rubbing her forehead.

"OWWWW!" She moaned, not crying, but visibly distraught. Normie landed on his backside and rubbed himself, before staring up at the little girl. "WHAT'D YOU DO THAT FOR?!" She yelled at him.

"I've told you before, don't pick me up like that!" He replied. At that point, the sound of one of the laboratory doors opened and one of the scientists walked out to see what the commotion was. A web hit Normie on the chest and pulled him straight up to the ceiling out of harms way. The pair of them sat in the shadow of between 2 of the lights in the hallway. The scientist looked both ways, before shaking his head and closing the door. Normie looked at May who smiled smugly at him "Ok, when it comes to not getting in trouble, sure you can pick me up like that..." He sighed. She carried him over her shoulder as she walked down the wall and onto the ground.

"So, Whatchya doin' in here?" She asked, rocking back and forth between her heels and balls of her feet, arms behind her back. Normie shook his head and began to hobble away again.

"I'm doing research." He grunted. May-Day skipped beside him.

"Oooh, just like Daddy, what kind of research?" She beamed at him. "Can i help? Daddy won't let me do it after last time" She groaned, pushing her index fingers together.

"Uncle Pete isn't doing this kind of research..." Normie mumbled. May-Day continued to skip in her upbeat, chipper way. Normie didn't particularly dislike May-Day, but he had to admit that he was envious of her power. Not so much the super strength and the wall crawling, but just the fact that she could walk and pass for an everyday normal person. Eventually, they came to the Neogenics lab, Normie inserted the security card he had swiped from Peter's office and walked in. As he did so, he looked around the lab. Lots of computers, lots of test tubes, lots of experiments going on.

"Hehehehe, we're gonna be in trouble!" May-Day giggled. "It's been a while since I broke in here, although it was mean old Uncle Otto who caught me."

"Otto is in the Robotics division, this is Neogenics

"Indeed, this is my lab." They both stopped dead as they heard a familiar voice speak to them. The pair of kids turned to see Alistair Smythe staring at them.

"BUSTED!" May-Day yelled, before running towards the door, but being unable to open it. Smythe quickly advanced on Normie, towering over him.

"Young Norman..." He said, staring down at the boy.

"It's Normie. Normie responded. Alistair looked down at Normie's crutch, before looking him in the eyes. They stood, looking deep into each other for about 10 seconds.

"I know why you're hear. Trust me, it's not worth it." Smythe responded, turning around and walking back towards his experiments. Normie hobbled after him. but Mayday turned and looked at them.

"YOU READ MINDS?!" She asked, grabbing her own head.

"I recognize the look of a crippled boy contemplating doing something he's going to regret in a vain attempt at normality. There are days that i wake up and would trade anything for my wheelchair again." He sighed. "It is the reason i have agreed to work for your father. If i can mutate myself back to human, my legs will cease to work."

"Why would you ever choose that?" Normie asked.

"Young Normie, there are more things to life than just walking and running and..." He reached a hand up to the spikes raising from his shoulders. "Shooting laser beams... I want to be normal again. I would rather be stared at by people pitying the cripple, than people staring terrified of the mutated freak. Look, Normie, i'm currently working on something that, if it succeeds, it could cure BOTH of us. But let's take time and get it right. Neogenics has the power to do great good, but equally great evil and most of that evil has come from people refusing to have respect for that power. Your father always says that with great power comes great responsibility, well this is one of the greatest powers and it will require the greatest of responsibility to wield it for the betterment of mankind."

"And in the meantime?" Normie asked.

"In the meantime, we suffer and we learn to respect the power we seek." Smythe looked at Normie. He saw a kindred spirit. They had both lost their fathers in a super-powered plot and he remembered sitting feeling powerless as his Spider-Slayers were utterly useless at actually delivering the revenge he sought... But Normie didn't even have anyone to take revenge on. Harry died by his own hand. He knew that the boy needed something to latch onto to focus that anger. "Tell you what, why don't i show you how this works?" He said, the children followed Alistair over to his work station. Smythe pressed a few buttons and brought up a picture of a bunch of cells on the monitor. "These are my bodies cells." He said. The computer showed a breakdown of the chemical makeup of his body. "Neogenics is the science of breaking down our bodies cells and changing them to improve them"

"So... You made yourself a spiky guy?" May-Day asked.

"Precisely. Radiation can cause this at random, but Neogenics seeks to figure out how to do it targetted. Think of it like playing a Piano. If you press the keys randomly, you just create an awful noise, but if you press the right keys in the right order, then you make something beautiful."

"So, we need to press the piano keys in our bodies in the right order?" May-Day asked.

"It's more like we need to figure out what the keys are as well." He pressed a few buttons. "Radiation can be a little unpredictable. One wrong move and you're growing laser shooting spikes." He sighed. He typed a few buttons and the cell was blasted with something. It started to slowly shrink, slowly stabilizing towards something human... Except the shrinking didn't stop, until the cell burst and Smythe grunted. "My job is to figure out what instrument i'm playing, where it's keys are, what the keys do and how to make them do what i need them to do in order to play music." May-Day looked blank. Smythe had the feeling that none of this had set in.

"Can't you use Vita-rays to try and stabilize them? I've read a few papers, it's suspected that they had something to do with Captain America's transformation."

"Vita-Rays add energy to cells, i'm trying to take energy away from my cells." Smythe replied

"But they are somewhere to start. Neuton's third law, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. We know that Anti-matter is real and cancels out matter. Surely there is some kind of Anti-Vita-Ray out there?" He asked. Smythe looked a little surprised at the 10 year old seemingly being able to debate him in the ways of science.

"Precisely what i was thinking..." Smythe answered slowly, trying to re-rail his train of thought. "But it's finding it that's the problem. In the entire of recorded human history, we have yet to document any and then it'll be the problem of finding a way to generate them safely. Until then, i'm working with what i can." He shook his head "Elementary School Science didn't teach you about Neuton's Third Law."

"My father home-schooled me. Elementary school wasn't teaching fast enough for me." Smythe nodded, looking impressed.

"Reading level?" Smythe asked.

"12th grade" Normie responded

"Favourite book?" Asked in quick succession.

"Great Expectations." Normie said just as quickly.

"I found it a little disappointing." Smythe responded equally quickly. Normie then actually cracked an amused smile, before the pair of them legitimately laughed. May-Day shuffled nervously.

"I just finished reading Gemima Puddle-Duck with Mommy." She stated as a matter of fact. Normie turned to her and smiled condescendingly. Smythe however knelt down to her.

"I LOVE the works of Beatrix Potter." As Smythe began talking with May-Day about Mr Todd, Normie quickly pulled out a pen-drive and stuck it into Smythe's computer, before silently pressing a few things and downloading a number of files, before quickly retrieving the dive before Smythe could turn around. "I shall give your mother a few of the other books i have when i come into work tomorrow." He then turned around, seeing Normie stood looking unimpressed. "I will talk with your Uncle and see if he wouldn't mind me tutoring you. You seem rather interested in Neogenics and i think you have a bright future in the field." Smythe smiled at him. Normie was a little taken aback, he could have swore Smythe was humouring him before, but this offer seemed genuine.

"I... Would like that..." Normie said.

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"Peter, dear boy, with all due respect, ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND?!" Otto shouted at him. In the room was Peter, MJ, Michael and Otto, only the ones who were in on the secret of Spider-Man's identity.

"I just wanted to get a feel for where everyone stands." Peter replied.

"Peter, I could have told you that." He sighed, a robotic tentacle reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. "Now you've put Max and Adrien on the defensive not to mention how i am now going to have to pretend i'm still bitter about it so i can keep my credit with the other bad guys."

"I don't think your street cred is the most important thing right now." Michael sighed.

"Ok, well, i'm hearing complains, let's hear solutions?" MJ replied. "Scorpion gave us an unequivacle NO, but that's probably because of his deal with the state tying him to Oscorp rather than any actual loyalty to Norman. So, who else we got contact info for?"

"I know a guy who knows a guy who could get us in contact with Chameleon, but-."

"Max hates him almost as much as Peter and I trust that guy as far as i could throw you." MJ smiled sarcastically. "Hard veto on Chameleon." Peter put his hands up as a show of submission.

"Ok, Chameleon's off the table. Anyone else?" He asked. Otto was the one to respond this time.

"I... I'm in contact with Rhino..." He replied.

"Would have been great to know before." Peter stated.

"Look, he's in no position to work with us at the moment. He's in constant pain, he's agitated, that suit is starting to cause even more feverous discomfort. If we bring him in, he's not fighting for us, he's getting out of that suit and then paying his debt to society. I never swore a hypocratic oath, i'm not that kind of doctor, but i still believe in a doctor doing no harm to their patients. And anyway, he won't come in, because he knows we'll turn him over to the cops afterwards, but i still feel it's my duty to try and help him out." Otto sighed, sitting down, his tentacles forming into a supportive chair for him. "My whole reason for doing this is to help mankind and that includes Aleksei." Peter got up and walked over to Otto, before patting him on the shoulder.

"Hey, never apologize for trying to help people. It's the reason you were the first one i came to with this whole crazy scheme." He then looked over at Michael "No offense." Michael smiled a little.

"Oh really? I assumed you didn't come to me first because you were still mad about the Fisk Foundation Science Fair." The three men laughed for a second, but MJ rolled her eyes, before snapping her fingers in the air

"Boys, back to the task at hand. So far we have a no on Rhino and Chameleon. Come on, who else?"

"Well, to be perfectly honest, during my time on the streets, i specifically tried to hunt down a few... Priority targets for my feeding. Yes, i know we don't kill here, but i need to feed and i thought it would be better to feed off of those that could do the most harm until i could get my blood substitute serums working properly." He pulled out his Spyder phone and spent about a minute whisking through his own files. "Here we go." He brought up the files on the holo projector in the middle of the table. "Quick run-down on the list." As he started listing off names, their portraits became front and center in the holograms. "Herman Schultz, AKA Shocker - Unknown, rumours range everywhere from operating as a mercenary in Madripoor to working for anti-mutant groups right here in NY. Quentin Beck, AKA Mysterio - Unknown, that man has faked his death more times than i care to count, i gave up on him quickly. He'll make himself known exactly when he wants to be. Mister Negative, AKA Martin Li - Operating with the Maggia, Had a few run ins with him, but none ended very well for me. Carnage AKA Cletus Cassedy -"

"PASS" The other three all groaned in unison.

"I hate to say "Beyond redemption" But that guy blew up a bus full of kids and laughed about it on TV. Nope, no, hell-no." Peter responded. Michael nodded with agreement.

"Hey, i'm just telling you the info, up to you what you do with it. Anyway. Sergei Dimitri Symostivych Kravinoff, AKA Kraven the Hunter - Currently in Africa working with the Congolese government to hunt down warlords."

"Good for him." MJ Smiled.

"Damn, i was kinda hoping for Kraven, good morals, even if he is a sociopath." Peter sighed.

"Norman Osborn- we all know about that." He quickly went to the next slide "Curtis Connors, AKA The Lizard - Cur" But Peter butted in before he could continue

"Veto, that guy is only interested in getting close to me and stealing my blood to improve himself." Peter said with a frown.

"But he is a doctor of Neogenics, he could help me and Alistair considerably in our- Michael began, but Peter butted in again.

"VETOED! Next slide!"

"He gave Pete some pretty big trust issues." MJ replied.

"Curt was never the same after he lost his arm." Otto sighed. "Before, i'd have recommended him for our program, but i think The Lizard has gotten too far into his brain.."

"Can we continue?" Michael asked. "Stop butting in, it annoyed me back at University, it annoys me even more now. Aaron Davis, AKA The Prowler - 2 years into a 12 year stint in Rikers for 7 count of Burglary, 3 counts of Assault with a deadly weapon and 2 counts of resisting arrest."

"Yeah, that guy does not like me, but to be fair to him, i've never seen him go after anyone with lethal intent. Guy just likes to crack safes and knock over rich fat-cats." Peter said.

"Yeah, but now WE'RE the rich fat-cats." MJ reminded him.

"Point is, the guy has potential." Peter concluded.

"Yeah, but what would he even do here, the man is a career burglar. He's not a scientist, he stole all of his super-equipment and bungled it together into a super-villain persona by me and a few others." Otto asked.

"True-" MJ retorted, looking at her phone "But he seems to have a head for computers. Hacked his way through most of those fat-cats security systems. Could always hire him to help develop software for the Spyder line, or maybe put him in charge of our Cyber Security."

"I'm with MJ on this one, even if he's not going to be in our Six, i want to give him a chance at Parker Industries nonetheless. I see a guy who can be better than he currently is. Anyone else?" He asked.

"I..." Michael shuffled nervously. "I also have a contact number for Screwball..." The picture in the hologram showed Screwball's profile on her social media and the others quickly took note of the page having activated hyperlinks only available to her premium subscribers. The 3 stared at Michael for an uncomfortable minute, before they all responded in unison again.

"PASS"

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S P I D E R - M A N

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Normie sat in his room loudly tapping away at his computer. He heard the sound of his window opening slowly and frowned, but continued tapping. His ears had pricked up and he was following the telltale sounds of May's pattern of sneaking up on him. She was powerful and stealthy, but she was still too young to appreciate that people learned from her mistakes. The notorious *Fwip* As she attached her web to the ceiling and slowly lowered behind him.

"Hi May" He said, not breaking his stride.

"NO FAIR!!!" She cried "YOU ALWAYS KNOW I'M HERE!!!"

"You've got your Spider-Senses, i have my own super senses" He smiled a little, continuing to tap away at the computer.

"Whatcha doin'? Lookin' up weird video's of Daddy and Elsa?" She asked, cocking her head to the side. She didn't particularly understand what the absolute monolithic line of code. "Or are you watching The Matrix?"

"You wouldn't understand even if i told you" Normie sighed.

"I'm not dumb!" She punched him in the shoulder. Probably a little harder than she was supposed to, since she knocked him off the chair, but quickly shot a web with her other arm to grab him before he hit the floor and pulled them back onto his feet. "I'm REALLY sorry, don't tell Mommy!" She begged. Normie stared her in the eyes for a long minute. "DON'T!!!" She yelled. He then shook his head before starting to tap away at the keys again.

"I'm writing a combination Keylogger algorithm and trojan program to sneak into the backdoor of a company." He sighed. May spent a few minutes going over what he just said in her head.

"So, you're making a Ninja Horse?" She asked. Normie doubled over laughing at this response.

"Yeah, i'm writing a ninja horse." He laughed. She sat staring at it

"Computers are WAY cooler than i thought..." She said, her mind clearly blown away by this information. The lines of code that he was writing suddenly started going nuts as the algorithm started its work on cracking into the system he was looking at. "So, which company are you hacking into? I heard that Burger King has this gold card that gives you UNLIMITED burgers." She giggled. "But that's illegal and then daddy'll have to beat you up" She said.

"I'm not going for Burgers... I've got something a little better in mind." He replied. It was at that point that Oscorps logo popped up onscreen. "And i... am... in..." As he finished typing. He then saw a mass of files pop up in front of him and he smiled. "Now, time to get what i need..." He started to search the files, but quickly found a problem. "No..." He said with a worried look on his face. "No this can't be right... I'm in... I'm on the server, this is where the documents should be." He rubbed his face.

"Out of the way dummy" May said, dropping down and "I've got an idea" She grabbed the mouse from him and clicked the search bar before typing 'files that normie wants' getting no responses "Wow, this security has to be like... at least 7 times better than daddys." Normie shoved her out of the way before starting to check his coding.

"It's... It's correct, not a single number of asterisk out of place..." At that point, the window closed and a new one opened. It was a video call prompt with an accept or reject button. It rang once, then twice. Normie looked at May-Day. "Stay down, let me do the talking. Do NOT say ANYTHING under any circumstances." She quickly webbed up to the ceiling and lay flat on it. Normie cautiously pressed the accept button. At that point, the unmistakable face popped up.

"Greetings Normie... My god you look just like your father." Norman Osborn sat on his sofa in his house, sipping whiskey, he was wearing his white shirt without a tie and the top button undone, his black trousers and solid gold wrist watch being the only other visible clothing. "I'm very glad you decided to try and do this. I had a feeling. As for how i knew what your trojan would look like? Oh, i tracked a few of these some time ago, turns out it was your father trying to keep tabs on me. I knew he would teach you his hacking skills." Norman smiled. "In all seriousness, i am very glad to meet you. Your father sent me a few baby pictures, but he kept you well hidden."

"You killed my father. Don't try to get all jolly old grandpa with me." Normie replied. Norman continued to smile, but shifted, Normie could tell he had hit a nerve. Norman took a swig of his whiskey and clearly tried to re-rail his train of thought after Normie's blitz attack on his act.

"He was your father, but he was my son and i knew him FAR longer than you did. It wasn't ME who killed him, it was that Spider-Freak. But you didn't come hacking into Oscorp files to try and find out little things like that, did you?" Norman replied. "Tell Grampy what you're looking for and i'm sure i can get it for you. I'm an open book."

"Pity i can't tear out the pages." Normie replied. Norman laughed.

"Ah, dad taught you the Osborn wit very well. Yes, i have seen that defiant look FAR too many times in his youth. When he stole cookies from the jar, when he set fire to the rug, when he told me he was running away." Norman pointed at him with the hand he was using to hold the glass of whiskey. "My son, your father, lives in you." He smiled.

"Spare me the Lion King speech, tell me what you want?" Normie demanded. Norman laughed again.

"Amazing, you ignore my ask for what you want and try to turn it back on me, but let's be fair, you were the one that came to MY files. And whatever it is that you want, i'm more than happy to give it to you, but i need to know what that something is." He leaned back on his sofa, his thumb hooking comfortably into his trouser pocket to give a reserved, relaxed posture.

"No, you're the one who lured me in, you wanted this, so you tell me what you want? If it was just about the files, you would have left them for me to find." Normie pointed out.

"Frankly, i wanted a conversation with my favourite grandson." He smiled. "Is it so unbelievable that i actually want to talk to you and get to know you?" Normie simply stared at him without moving. Norman finally relented. "Alright, you got me. I wanted you to know that i'm here for you. And i wanted you to know that it specifically was me that was giving you the info. No strings attached, i just want you to know you always have family at Oscorp." Normie could tell that Norman was still hiding his main objective, but he did believe that part of this was some kind of trust building exercise. Trying to build some kind of give and take rapport. Well, if he was giving, then it was time for Normie to take.

"I am looking for the files on Oscorps old battle-suit technology... I..." Normie began, at that point he saw the only genuine look of concern on Norman's face he had seen all night.

"Your dad told me about the complications." Norman replied. "I'll have a few blueprints sent over to you immediately, the leg servo's in that wouldn't be too difficult to adapt to help you walk better." He tapped away at his keyboard for a second, before pressing send and a popup appeared, indicatng that he had received an email. This also tipped a bit of Normans hand that he was spying on Normie, knowing his email address without any prompts. "Anything else?" Norman asked with a smile.

"Do... You mind if i add you on Facespace?" He asked.

"By all means. If you need ANYTHING from me, please, message me. I'm not a monster, no matter what... Uncle Peter would have you believe." Norman replied, before closing the chat.

"WHAT WAS THAT!?!?!?" May-Day yelled the moment Norman hung up. "First you're all 'You killed my daddy, granddaddy!'" She said in a gruff voice. "Then you're all 'I love you grampy!'"

"You ever heard the phrase 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?'" He asked.

"No, because it's stupid, why keep people you hate close to you? I'd take you over your stinky grandpa any day." She proudly said. "Wait, we gotta tell Mommy." She said, realizing exactly what happened.

"Tell her and i'll tell her you pushed me." Normie threatened. He saw the gears turn in May's head as she tried to figure out what to do. She clearly wanted to tell MJ about what had happened, but she REALLY didn't want to get punished for punching him.

"Fine, i'll keep your secret, just like Daddy being Spider-Man." She sighed.

"Thanks." Normie replied, before opening up the attached document. There was a few designs for robotic support suits... But then there was another one. Originally, Normie had been going in there to get information about something else, but he didn't want to tip his hand too much to Norman, hopefully getting something small now and opening the way to slice back in for the thing he ACTUALLY wanted later... But looks like Norman was a step ahead of him... "Goblin-Formula-research.zip"

VOL 1: PARA

ISSUE 1: THIS NEW WORLD

PART 1

FRANK CASTLE

FROM THE WAR JOURNAL OF FRANK CASTLE, MONDAY

To those find my journals, this is not an admission of guilt of criminal wrongdoing or the manifesto of someone who is politically charged, I, Frank Castle solemnly swear that my actions are made with a sound mind and a clear conscious.

Frank paused his writing to take a drink of his stale, bitter black coffee as he tried to get comfortable in his booth at Joan’s Diner, he looked around to make sure nobody paid the baseball cap wearing, sunglasses indoors, leather jacket wear man who was built like an Ox any mind, but there was nary anybody inside save for a couple of patrons in the corner keeping to themselves. “Back at it,” he whispered, halfheartedly whispering to the sounds of the light rain drizzle against the window pane.

This Journal holds the following accounts of my actions as I see them, unapologetically so. This is my war, I'm behind enemy lines with no possible ex-fil, no allies, and little to no tools of the trade save for my Dan Wesson DWX, it’s time to stock up and get to work. Entry from War Journal #1, page 1.

Frank took his wallet out of his pocket and noted that thanks to his hospital bills that he was running on a thousand dollars, which apparently today meant very little. He laid a ten dollar bill on the table before getting up and walking out the door. The rain did very little to wash the carbon dioxide from his nostrils as he started to walk down the sidewalk, noting how on this side of Bronx that graffiti was rampant and there was seldom a lonesome woman out in public. He thought about hailing a cab to get to his family home, but something nagged at him to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

In the distance he couldn’t tell the direction, but a police siren could be heard and it was moving away. Frank scowled to nobody in particular, but there was all this stimuli just begging him to react, and for a few blocks he was adrift in his own thoughts until the feeling that kept him going had a reason to be. A man ran out of a store holding a big bag and ran down an alley across the street, Frank looked back at the door he came from and a clerk peered out, exclaiming that he was a thief, and what did Frank do? He smiled, he jogged across the street, passing people who knew better than to get involved and slipped his hand into his left shoulder holster under his big black leather jacket and stepped into the alleyway, where he saw the crook dumping his bag of cash into the back of his getaway car.

“Step away from the vehicle!” Frank announced loudly, making the already excited thief jump in place, he pulled out his gun and pointed it head level at the man.

“Who the- who are you bro?” the guy dropped the bag and pulled out his own gun, aiming it sideways like he thought he was in the movies.

Frank raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t flinch. “You’ve never fired that thing, have you?”

“Man, shut the- shut up!” the thief exclaimed nervously, Frank watched his hand holding the gun was getting shakey, “who even are you?”

“Me?” Frank asked, and pulled his jacket to the side, revealing a bulletproof vest that he spray painted white in a way to look like a giant skull on his chest. “I’m the Punisher.”

The thief started to say the word, “who?” but as his mouth opened, Frank fired a round and watched unfazed as the lifeless body fell to the ground, blood and cash pooling on the asphalt.

AMY BENDIX



THE LEXINGTON HOTEL, NEW YORK CITY

The kitchen was moving like a well oiled machine, nobody made a peep as the head chef barked about orders to everyone, including the young nineteen year old Amy Bendix who was hired out as a server from her friend’s catering company, tonight was all about the mayoral race for a new up coming politician, but Amy being a little air headed knew not his name. She just really needed the money after being let go from the mailroom of The Daily Bugle, and now she was couch surfing with her friend and serving hors d'oeuvres to some of the most powerful people in New York, so with her large gold plated tray of small finger food she walked out into the large gathering and began making her rounds. She managed a coy smile every once in awhile, but not a single person said thank you, nor made eye contact with the servant woman, as she finished with her unknown number of platters and gathered drinks, she joined several other waiters and waitresses who aligned the ivory walls and looked up upon the banners displaying the man of the hour: Wilson Fisk.

The boss of the catering event came over to the group of waiters and watresses, and rather rudely told them that their jobs were far from over, so Amy got right back into the monotony, hearing whispers about the things that Fisk plans to do for the city via the elegantly dressed butt kissers and brown nosers. One couple discussed how Fist had invested into a new community outreach program called FEAST, but that was putting it politely instead of the snobby rich person talk like they were beneath those who struggled. The man of the hour himself had yet to arrive to his own campaign party, instead one of his organizers, a man in a dark blue suit with smoothed back raven black hair and a disarming smile was in his stead, shaking hands and doing photo ops with WHIH reporters amongst others.

“Would you like another?” Another Amy asked a patron who would quickly guzzled down a glass of wine, but was shooed away so she decided to make her way over to Fisk’s organizer, “Hello sir, I saw you haven’t had anything to drink for awhile, can I interest you in a beverage?”

“Oh, thank you,” The organizer spoke in a dismissive manner before returning to his boss’s patrons, “As I was saying, Mr. Fisk has been in a very giving mood as of late, he just donated an incredible amount of money towards the F.E.A.S.T Foundation, and has also partnered up with several other prominent men and women of the city to help usher in new era after that horrific time we all had with M-Day.” He paused and looked about the room where many of them shook their heads.

Amy head murmurs of “Damn mutants” and “Good on Mr. Fisk” amongst the crowd as she continued to do her job, halfheartedly listening to the Organizer’s crowd work.

“In fact,” Continued the Organizer, “Not many of you here know that Mr. Fisk’s father once ran for a seat in our fair city council, so you could say that good will is in Mr. Fisk’s DNA.”

Amy stole a glance over at the press pool where the likes of Allsworth Tonight, WHIH World News, and CNCB News were eating away at his every word.

“Just in case you all are tiring of me talking, Mr. Fisk should be arriving within the hour, and you can hear about his multi-layered plan to bring about great, prosperous change for each and every one of you here tonight.”

It was then, in a quick moment between words that Amy started to hear the sounds of protesters coming from outside. Were they always there? She wondered to herself, or was she too getting swept up in the moment?

ANDY LORIMER



Andy watched the rain fall down his father’s tombstone, and bent down to place the bouquet of flowers he had bought on the way here, it was the second anniversary of his father’s murder and Andy was pissed that the man responsible was walking free on a series of technicalities. Andy himself was a police officer and he knew from firsthand experience that a lot of the criminals today were slipping through the justice system in favor of catching the big fish, the so called super villains. As he quietly paid his father his respects, his police walkie crackled to life, “Any units in the area? I got a call about a 10-54 out near Joan’s Diner in kzzt district, any available cars, please respond.”

Andy picked up his radio and began heading back to his cruiser, “this is Cruiser number 1610, headed to location now.” He looked down at the cold cup of coffee that sat in his cup holder and shrugged before taking a swig. “Are there any 10-66's I should be aware of?” He asked as he pulled out of the cemetery and out onto the road.

“Civilian who called reported seeing a man walking the sidewalk in a bulky black trench coat, and sporting a buzzcut. Otherwise you’re as in the dark as the rest of us, Cruiser 1610.”

“Understood,” Andy reported in as he drove through the city, he could tell as he passed the homeless encampments and the gated-up businesses that this area was in desperate need of some help, but from who and from where he had no idea. It was a twenty-minute car ride he arrived at the alleyway and got out of his car with his investigative notepad, and approached a nervous looking man who seemed like he was the one to call it in.

“Sir, did you call the police?” Andy asked calmly,

“Yea-yeah,” the man nervously bobbed his head and looked behind him and gulped before returning his attention to Andy, “the gunshot came over here I-I think.”

“Okay, and when did you hear it before reporting?” Andy asked, ready to write down on his pad, he took a look around and noticed not many people had been fazed by a gunshot.

“On-Only a few minutes,” the man nodded once again.

“Okay, I need you say here while I go check it out.” Andy pocketed his notepad and began to approach the possible crime scene...

BIG JESUS



Robert “Big Jesus” Jessup knew who he was and the world he lived in he knew his place, he was a hired gun, small potatoes who worked at the kiddie table of the criminal underworld of New York and he preferred it that way. He never knew more than what his job was, and that way he figured if he even thought of snitching then he couldn’t, one of the officers interrogating him one time told him that was called plausible deniability, but it wasn’t just the name of the for him. Big Jesus’ brother found himself in the hot seat over at Ryker’s so now here he was acting as muscle in a parking garage that had poor as hell lightning for some big wig businessman who was making a deal with a new up and comer.

Unfortunately this up and comer was late, despite his boys guarding the meeting spot, but as his boss was getting antsy a Cadillac Escalade that was shiny as Hell pulled up just long enough for a middle aged man with a shiny balding head and a frightened, nervous look about him. Handcuffed to his hand was a black briefcase, “Hello,” the man nodded at Big Jesus’s boss,

His boss, Alberto Bernedetti who was of siciliano descent didn’t speak, instead he grabbed his walking cane and managed a couple steps towards this man and looked him in the eye. “I thought I was dealing with Fisk?” he grumpled, who the Hell are you?”

“Me?” The nervous man motioned at himself, “My name, it doesn’t matter. Mr. Fisk sent me to make arrangements with you for a profitable business venture. His words, I attest.”

“What do you mean, arrangements? What kind of venture would I be interested in that Mr. Future Mayor is too busy to come to me directly?” Bernedetti spoke with an angry tone.

The man making the arrangements fished in his pocket for a key to unlock his handcuff to the briefcase, “Mr. Fisk regretted being unable to attend this meeting, but with the contents of this case, with a partnership between Fisk Industries and Bernedetti Construction he has plans to make this city a benefit for people,” he paused and added the last bit with a wink, “such as yourself.”

“What are you-” Alberto stopped talking as once the man got the briefcase open, he was staring directly at plates of gold...

CHARLIE SCHITTI



Charlie was a nervous man in everything he did in life, but as he rode the Elevator up to his boss’s penthouse suit at Four Seasons in Tribeca he was sweating more than normal, and that was not a good look to be paired with his boss’s temper when he was interrupted at home. The elevator dinged and he was met once the doors opened by a two man team, one patted him down, but didn’t find any weapons. “Like I'd be stupid to bring them here.” Charlie said offhandeded, but the man ignored him, and the other made him sign a visitor log before motioning to make him look at the cameras positioned above the door in the hallway. After they finished, Charlie gulped, never ready for his boss’s wrath and knocked raptly several times, he looked back at the security team who were stoic as ever then he heard a beep noise two times, which meant the door electronically unlocked.

Charlie walked inside and was met by a very homely scent of vanilla, which momentarily disarmed him as he walked into the open floor plan and was met by a beautiful Italian woman dressed in tight formal wear, her dark brown hair down to her neck and she looked at him dismissively. “He’s not going to be happy.”

Charlie straightened up and looked abashedly down at his feet, “Apologizes Ma’am, I meant no disrespect to you or your husband I was just-” he started to try and explain himself but she interrupted him like an upset mother would to a child.

“First off, never call me Ma’m, it’s Mrs. Fisk. Secondly,” she paused and walked towards Charlie until she was an arm’s length away, “My husband’s men know the rules and never to come here, especially during the day! Thirdly, who even are you?”

“I’m-” Charlie could barely get a word out before she walked away ignoring him,

“Wilson,” Mrs. Fisk called out, “you have a visitor”

VOL 1: PARA

ISSUE 1: THIS NEW WORLD

PART 2



FRANK CASTLE

YESTERDAY- SUNDAY

FROM THE WAR JOURNAL OF FRANK CASTLE

WAR JOURNAL ENTRY #2

If there are those who find sympathy towards me, look elsewhere, do not pity my misfortune. The system did not fail me, it failed all of you, what do I want? I want those who have reason, to fear me, there is no murder in war: there is only getting the job done.

It was a bright morning at the cemetery, and everything there looked well kept and pristine, which contrasted horribly with the visage of Frank Castle standing above the graves of his family in his blood soaked black leather jacket that was riddled with bullet holes, underneath he wore a t-shirt- he bought this one once he left the hospital after finding his original was torn to shreds- emblazoned with a large white imposing skull, ripped combat pants soaked with dirt and blood and steel toed boots. There was such anger and rage burning in his eyes as he looked from his children’s tombstones to his wife’s. He then looked around to find that he was the only living person there in that moment, so he took a knee and solemnly started to study the dirt at the foot of their graves, watching it fall as he picked it up and dropped it.

“I promised you,” he started to say in a quiet voice, “they will pay. They will all be punished for what they took from us. It’s been hard, but I think I know where to start.” Frank stood up, adjusting his sidearm before he walked away without a second look. Instead he looked down at what he drew out of his pocket, a tape recorder (he was old school), and he hit play...

At first there was static as the tape began, and then a horrific scream of pain, something metal clanging on the ground, and metal scraping like a chair being pulled, and then Frank’s voice coming across matter of fact and bone chillingly distant. “That was your patella I just crushed, you’ll never walk normal again. Now you have two options, you tell me what I want to know about the Gnucci Family, or I cut off both of your trigger fingers and we start from scratch...”

The man Frank was torturing was now weeping and nearly hyperventilating, pleading for his life. The tape recorder caught Frank’s heavy sigh, which was just played up for drama’s sake. “Okay, do you want to keep the left finger or- actually I'll just take both.”

“No please!” The man finally relented, “There’s this guy, he’s set to collect protection money from a corner store, but he’s a greedy punk. I couldn’t catch everything, but one night I was drinking over at The Bar With No Name and he mentioned to his buddies that he got a job with the Family. Oh dear God it hurts!”

“Tell me when this collection goes down,” Frank spoke, “and where it happens, or you lose more than one finger.”

AMY BENDIX

TODAY- MONDAY

Amy was on break leaning against a large window pane, away from the prying eyes of the wealthy elite who were to be donors of Wilson Fisk’s mayoral campaign, she was watching the protestors who were against those of the mutant race rage like impotent children against a group of people who could be gods if they so chose. There were also protestors who were protesting against Mr. Fisk wanting to be mayor, apparently his pro stance on a safe and controlled New York wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea. Amy put her long wavy brown hair behind her ears and checked her watch with a groan, her break was nearly up, so she stood up and started to weave herself through the room, noticing a man with silver hair pull Mr. Fisk’s campaign advisor aside and out into the hallway.

Amy thought that to be strange when everything that was said had been out in the open, so she started her way towards the exit, grabbing a half empty platter of food so as to not look so inconspicuous by the security team, who she noted all sported a calligraphic letter G on their necks. She walked through the double doors that led out into the hallway and watched as the organizer and white haired man started speaking and heading towards another of the event rooms, Amy assumed they were looking for some place empty. She set the platter down on a table and took out her phone to silence her upcoming alarm in case the two of them heard it and she inevitably got her and her friend into heaps of trouble.

She realized she was too far behind them to properly hear what they were talking about so she grabbed an empty cart and climbed in enough so that she could push herself. “So Wesley,” The white haired man spoke to the organizer, “Now that we’re out of earshot, let’s get down it-” the man’s voice was raising in tone but Wesley put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Don Cervello,” Gone was the grandiose playing of his part, now Wesley was all business, “you know the rules, you and the Gnucci, and the Gorrini’s and everyone else need to stay out of the public eye. I get it, you are worried about the plan moving forward, am I right?”

There was something chilling in the way Wesley handled himself that put the Don of the Cervello crime family off, “yeah, I mean we’re all worried. It seems overly ambitious to bring together everyone across the eastern seaboard, and don’t get me wrong, me and my boys are enjoying you having the boys in blue turn the other cheek every once in a while-”

“Mr. Cervello,” Wesley interrupted the man and put a finger to his own lips, “surely you aren’t questioning Mr. Fisk and his desires, are you? Do you know the last time someone questioned our employer?”

“What-what exactly happened?” Mr. Cervello asked, both scared and genuinely curious.

“Let me answer a question, with another question,” Wesley said with what looked like a warm smile, it was obvious he held the high ground continuously in the conversation. “How hard must a car door slam against a person’s head for it to pop like a balloon?”

“Jes-jesus,” Don Cervello took several steps back, clearly shaken at learning what kind of man he was now dealing with. Amy had her phone out under the cart, and had it recording the conversation the whole time, but now she was too close and had no way getting away if they were suspicious, she was well and truly stuck...

ANDY LORIMER

Andy crept slowly into the alleyway, and almost immediately put his hand up to his nose to stop the stench of what he now believed to be a dead body, but that didn’t even work completely as he had to hold himself steady against a dumpster as his knees grew weak. After several inhales and some mental words of affirmation, he continued onwards until he spotted a very thick blood trail and noted tire tracks making an impression alongside it, and then he spotted the body, or what remained of it laying against the side, away from view of the public. A few more steps, and Andy noted a bloodstain and large goops of ripped, torn up flesh slowly sliding against the wall facing him, turning to look at the remains he started to gag and very vomited on the crime scene.

The body was headless, save for flaps of skin that would have been part of the neck, Andy made a mental note to go seek his department’s therapist after this, but he crouched down and started to study the body. He took an extra pen he had in his pocket and used that to lift up the flap of neck, and saw a stylized letter G tattoo, he looked around and noted a blood stained duffle bag- opened with crumbled up money bills. He wasn’t part of forensics, nor homicide, he was just a guy who stumbled into this horror show, so he quickly stood up and- making sure not to tamper with blood on the ground- made his way out of the alley so that he could breath a sigh of relief and fresh air before talking to the witness and calling it in.

“Dispatch, Cruiser 1610 reporting on that 10-54,” Andy spoke unsteadily after grabbing for his radio, “It’s a definite 10-4. We need to get the Techs here ASAP, A Few minutes ago Cruiser 1610 10-23'd, Officer is now questioning potential witness, Copy over?”

“That’s a 10-4, Cruiser 1610.” The calmly collected voice of a dispatch officer answered him, “Sending a unit and a 10-52 to your location, will also do a 10-66. Proceed, copy over.”

“Copy.” Andy confirmed before turning his attention to the witness, “Sir, can I see some identification?”

“Oh, oh yeah sure,” the man, who was the clerk the dead man had stolen from handed his wallet over to Andy.

Andy wrote down the man’s information on his notepad before speaking again, “So how did you find the body?”

The clerk rubbed his palms together and took an uneasy glance towards the alleyway, “Well, the guy? He robbed me where I work at so I called for help and saw another guy go after him. I didn’t get a good enough look at him, but he had really short hair.”

“Are there any cameras in the area we can use?” Andy asked him, referring to the Forensic Specialists.

“I’m sure there are, but there’s definitely one at the convenience store where he robbed me, do you maybe want to go check it out?”

“Absolutely,” Andy said as he pocketed his notepad. “Lead the way.”

BIG JESUS

Robert stole a glance from over the shoulder of his current employer, Alberto Benedetti, at the briefcase of gold which- if word on the street was right- just one of those hefty bars priced out at a million. He heard one of the other hired men whistle at the sight, and in a quick series of movements Mr. Benedetti had rounded on the man and held a revolver to his head, backing him into a corner and putting a finger to his lips. Then Benedetti looked back at the man with the briefcase and took a few pauses before nodding his head a couple of times, then he once more checked his watch and made a tsk tsk noise as he started to pace about the area.

Robert didn’t realize he was going to work for some crazy mother effer, but inwardly shrugged to himself as he thought that was what being a lifer high on the food chain did to people, which solidified that he was perfectly happy with the way things were in the here and now. The man who originally had the briefcase moved to lean against the hood of a parked car, watching Mr. Benedetti mull over his options, which were either going one of two ways: option A would be to tell this man- and in effect, Mr. Fisk- that his nationwide business was willing to get in bed the dark corners of America, or option B: decline the offer and essentially put a target on his back.

“I think I'll go with option A,” Mr. Benedetti said, finally stopping his pacing as he put his hand out to be shaken.

“I’m sorry?” The man asked, a little confused, unsure momentarily if he should shake the man’s hand.

“Oh, apologizes,” Mr. Benedetti laughed curtly, “I was just voicing a thought, I meant to say that I stand behind and with Fisk Industries in the betterment of both New York City and America at large. He says jump, I ask how high.”

The man took Mr. Benedetti’s hand in enthusiasm, “Glad we could come to an agreement,” he turned to look at his own guards and snapped his fingers. On cue one of them, who sported a fancy G tattoo on his neck handed the construction conglomerate a phone that Big Jesus recognized as a burner cell, “Mr. Fisk will be calling you within the week to a discuss...” The man paused once more to pull Mr. Benedetti closer to him and whispered something into his ear.

When he was finished, Mr. Benedetti- who was a man who enjoyed money- was smiling ecstatically, “I look forward to the call,” he turned to look at his hired guards, “men, it’s time we leave, I'll pay you back at the warehouse.” He spoke started back to his car, Big Jesus got into the passenger side after closing his employer’s door for him and watched as the van that Mr. Fisk’s men came out of, quickly rode off in the other direction.

Big Jesus heard the click of the briefcase opening again, as he listened to how giddy the money hungry Mr. Benedetti was, though nobody in the car heard the low frequency beeping of the gps bug planted in the briefcase, and if that was miraculously found then nobody would know that Mr. Fisk’s entire operation was being tracked...



CHARARLIE SCHITTI/WILSON FISK



(listen to Stay by Chad Lawson)

PRIOR TO CHARLIE SHOWING UP

Mr. Fisk, as he was known by those beneath him and Wilson by his loving wife Vanessa awoke to an early start to the day in his black satin pajamas that hung loosely over the man’s huge frame, and he did as he usually did. He immediately dropped to the ground and did a couple hundred push ups and a couple hundred squats, then he joined his wife in a bathroom fit for a king for a shower and intimacy before walking brazenly naked to his closet to peruse his clothes. He picked out a very nice three piece suit with a purple tie to give it a little accent before picking out a pair of his favorite ivory cufflinks with a stenciled black K on them.

Then the mountain of a man journeyed downstairs to prepare himself breakfast, Vanessa usually opted to eat out with clients, Wilson himself ate the same thing like clockwork. He prepared a protein and fiber shake to be paired with an omlette made of egg whites and peppers for a little kick, with a side of greens brought in from a little place down the street. Usually after he had left the kitchen appearing just as he had left it pristine he would watch the late morning news cycle, but now that he was running for mayor of the greatest city in America- that activity was replaced by a scheduling of appointments with politicians and tv appearances.

Today though, despite having a scheduled appointment with the city elites, the soon to be king was in his media room, a room that did not appear on the hotel’s blueprints. It was wall to wall with computer equipment and monitors that relayed video from his men on the ground and the internet traffic of the dark web. On one monitor he had a video surveillance of the gala that Wesley- his personal arranger of events, and best friend- was attending in his honor, he even watched as Amy Bendix, to him just some waitress hired by a third party was tailing his friend and a potential business partner.

Wilson pulled his cellphone from his breast pocket and sent a text to his friend and closest ally of the situation before turning to another monitor where he had sent in his stead a certain architect of planning to make a proposition of Albert Benedetti, for with him he could expand his plans and the plans of his other partners beyond New York. Before he knew it though, he had lost track of time watching all his monitors in his safe room when he heard Vanessa call out to him, “Wilson, you have a visitor!”

Wilson actually knew perfectly well that his nobody of a man had come into his apartment, and oh how it upset him, cracking his knuckles he walked up the steps that led out of his panic room that was behind a wall mounted mirror in his walk in closet and slowly made his way to the living room. His Vanessa was gone, which was good as they had agreed upon plausible deniability for her as a last case scenario should something happen, but now here he was staring down a petty thug of a man.

“Who are you” He growled and took a step towards the trembling man.

“Mr-Mr. Fisk sir,” the man stuttered in abject fear for his life, “I mean no disrespect, I just came by to inform you-” he started to say, but Wilson who was half a body taller than him picked him up easily.

“Do not say another word, not in my home. That. Is. The Rule!” his anger reaching a point, he tossed Mr. Schitti like a ragdoll against his dining room table...

---

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Sue sat at her desk, having returned from her little 'meeting' with the dictator of Latveria to remember her late husband, Reed Richards, on the anniversary of his death and to renew their conviction to bring about a better world. Victor would be secretly returning to the Latverian embassy to take a magical portal back to his country, where he would probably continue to work on his pet projects. Sue often joked that Victor must be the descendant of vampires, since she's rarely ever seen that man sleep. On that note, Sue looked in the small mirror she had on her desk. She wasn't getting much sleep either and she could feel the years catching up with her. As Reed Richard's widow, Sue had inherited his wealth, generated from the royalties and patents of technologies he had invented in his all-too-short, but highly-productive, life. On retrospect, he seemed far too young to have had such a detailed will, almost as if he had expected to die on that space mission. Of course, Sue knew that wasn't the case, Reed was just such an intelligent and forward-thinking man, always planning for every possible eventuality and outcome. Yet if that were true, shouldn't he have been able to prevent his own death? Sue shook herself out of that reverie. They had only been married for a few short years, but she cherished those years greatly. The fact that he had so quickly and so readily left everything he had to hear spoke to the love and trust that he had for her. At first, the wealth was something of a comfort, but Sue came from a poor background and had few extravagant wants. Her drive to honor the future her husband wanted pushed her to use his wealth to found the Fantastic Four, building the infrastructure upon which their superhero team would rely on. A portion of that wealth had initially been budgeted to Victor, the only man who would be able to continue anything even remotely close to the kind of research Reed was pushing forward. But with Victor's departure from the team, it had become difficult, if not impossible to continue with scientific research, and the Future Foundation, as their organization was now called, eventually moved to supporting social programs, local experiments to uplift the poorer population of New York City. Victor railed against capitalism, and quite frankly, some of it went over Sue's head, but she was definitely willing to test how different charitable projects could change peoples' lives for the better.

But Reed was a man of science, and it didn't feel right for the Future Foundation to not have a science department. Looking out over the city, Sue knew that the Baxter Building, and the Fantastic Four, stood as a beacon in a sea of despair. But crime lords and corrupt business magnates truly ruled this city, while superheroes provided a false sense of hope and could be publicly recognized and supported, so long as they 'stayed in their lane' and did not disrupt the status quo. Of course, fighting foreign or extra-terrestrial threats was easier than dealing with the quagmire of business and politics; she had seen firsthand the price Victor had to pay for changing lanes. But Victor was terrible at playing nice with others, he was 'too honest'. The trick was to change things within the system without painting a target on your back. Of course, that may just be Victor's ploy, to draw attention to himself to make Sue's work easier to conceal. She was the 'Invisible Woman' after all. Turning back to her computer, Sue closed the article she had been reading about Parker Industries; her mind had been made. She wanted to budget some of the Foundation towards science, but needed someone who's work she believed in, a company that wasn't just about maximizing profits, one that gave back to the people and offered opportunities for social mobility. She began typing.

Dear Dr. Parker,

I am going to cut out the formalities. You seem like an honest man, and I'm sure you recognize how rare that is, especially in business. The Fantastic Four has always sought to protect people, at first it was from external threats, like Atlantis and Attilan, then from extraterrestrial ones. But there came a time when we had to ask if protection is enough? In the absence of such threats, people still suffer and struggle, whether that be from societal factors or resource scarcity depends on who you ask. But my late husband, Reed Richards, who is the inspiration for The Future Foundation, wasn't a fighter, he was an innovator. He sought to improve the human condition, and he believed that the answer lay in science. The Future Foundation's research has been non-existent for quite a while since our falling out with our chief scientist, but it has always been my dream to revive The Foundation's science department. But as I'm sure you are aware, greed has run rampart in our society, and technology is, more often than not, turned against people; advancements always find military applications first, automation is dangled over people's heads as a threat to take away their livelihoods, communication becomes surveillance. To fall into bed with this type of scientist, with this type of businessman, would be to dishonor the name of Richards. I am looking for a scientific partner, a research collaborator with high ethical standards and unshakeable morals, someone willing to turn away corruption and serve humanity. I find that you, Dr. Parker, fit the bill. And as such, I am offering several floors of the Baxter Building for Parker Industries to open a satellite lab, as well as investment from The Future Foundation, so that our two organizations can work more closely together for the betterment of mankind.

As she leaned back in her chair, Sue got a notification in her newsfeed for a topic she followed, #latveria. Her brow furrowed, hoping it wasn't bad news as she pulled up the video.

"This just in folks, a late night, well, late night in Latveria that is, announcement, straight from the Iron Palace. let's take a look."

Dr. Doom approaches the podium, flanked by two security robots and Latverian flags. He looks up and says nothing, allowing the silence to seep in, before raising his gauntleted fist and beginning his tirade.

"Our nation of Latveria has a long and bloody history of violence against those who are 'deemed different'. My own family fell victim to this. But I have gone into Hell itself to confront the old tyrants of Latveria's past, and knowing that a 'gypsy' rules Latveria is perhaps greater torment for them than anything Mephisto could concoct. Though the past haunts us, my position is proof that change is possible. For too long, Latveria has left the mutant question unanswered. Like the rest of the world, we have viewed them as 'dangerous', leaving their status as citizens and their civil rights in flux. But Latveria is not like the rest of world. We seek to do better. Tonight I say, 'No more!' Are mutants not our brothers and sisters? Our sons and daughters? If we do not provide them with a home, then surely they will seek a home elsewhere, and there are malicious organizations ready and waiting to prey on such desperation. I have gleaned enough knowledge of 'certain' mutant academies to know that education and prevention are all that is necessary to safely integrate mutants into peaceful society. As of this moment, every mutant living within Latveria's borders will be granted full citizenship, and their rights and liberties will be guaranteed and protected by the Iron Fist of Doom. I am also revealing several mutant academies across the country that have been under construction for some time that will be accepting applications from all mutants so that they learn to control and use their powers safely and for the betterment of Latveria. I am also declaring to the world that any mutant who wishes to escape oppression may seek asylum within any of Latveria's embassies and consulates. There, mutants can apply for Latverian citizenship, upon which, they will be under MY protection. Mutants of the world! We non-mutants are also your brothers! Do not let the divisive rhetoric of some misguided supremacist turn you away from the path of harmony! You are welcome in Latveria! We embrace you with open arms!"

"Well, folks. there you have it. The 'Iron Dictator' is recruiting mutants across the world to participate in his training camps. What will this madman do with an army of mutants? I dread to even think about it. Are Doom and Magneto in cahoots? Who knows, but a 'reliable' source tells me they are. Obviously, I can't reveal the source or their life will be in danger. What is the UN doing about it? How long are they going to let this mad doctor run amok and make a mockery of all the principles we hold dear?"

Sue closed the video. "I hope you know what you're doing, Victor."