Beneath Fisk Tower, in a state-of-the-art underground laboratory, Wilson Fisk strode down a dimly lit hallway, his heavy footsteps echoing against the metallic walls. A man in a neatly pressed suit walked beside him, flipping through a clipboard. The air smelled of chemicals, oil, and something more sinister—ambition unchecked.
As Fisk passed by glass enclosures, he took a moment to inspect each one. A sleek winged exosuit, its metallic feathers razor-sharp, gleamed under the lab's sterile lights. Further down, a set of four mechanical arms twitched slightly, as if eager to move. Next, a jar containing a writhing, black mass pulsed against the glass, as if aware of his presence. Finally, his gaze landed on a green vial labeled "Goblin Formula."
Fisk smirked. So many weapons. So many ways to kill a spider.
At the end of the corridor, a reinforced door hissed open, revealing a man in a green lab coat with slicked-back red hair. Norman Osborn.
"Mister Fisk," Norman said, his voice tight with nerves. "The volunteer is prepped, and the suit is ready for testing."
Fisk stopped in front of a lab table where a heavily scarred man lay strapped down. His breathing was ragged, and his face twisted in pain. Above him, an armored exoskeleton with a long, segmented tail dangled from a mechanical frame.
"This better work, Norman," Fisk said, his voice carrying a weight of unspoken consequences.
Norman swallowed and nodded. "It will."
He pulled a lever.
The exoskeleton detached, slamming down onto the man's back. Metal fused with flesh. The man's screams filled the lab as the suit bonded to his body, the tail lashing wildly as if coming to life.
Fisk smiled. "Soon, the spider will be crushed."
Back in Peter Parker's apartment, he and Johnny Storm sat on the floor, surrounded by piles of documents from Matt Murdock's files. The more they read, the worse it got. Fisk's crimes weren't just limited to smuggling and bribery—there were dozens of murders, missing persons cases, and even connections to terrorist organizations.
"This is insane," Johnny muttered. "How is he still walking free?"
Peter flipped through a list of known Kingpin associates. One name stood out:
Norman Osborn.
Johnny squinted. "Wait… the Norman Osborn? The guy running for mayor?"
Peter nodded. "Yeah. According to these files, he's been working with Fisk for years."
Johnny leaned back. "Dude's out here giving speeches about 'cleaning up the city' while shaking hands with the biggest crime lord in it."
An idea sparked in Johnny's eyes. "What if you sneak into his office and dig up more dirt?"
Peter shook his head. "Too risky. If we can't find anything else, then we'll consider it."
Johnny sighed, conceding the point. Before they could continue, Ben's stomach growled
"Hey," Peter said. "Wanna grab something to eat?"
Johnny smiled. "Yeah, sounds good."
Peter and Johnny sat across from each other in a small pizzeria, the smell of melted cheese and garlic filling the air. They laughed between bites, trading stories about school, movies, and whatever nonsense came to mind.
Johnny suddenly grew quiet, looking down at her plate. "I am going to ask Jessica out and I need your help."
Peter tilted his head. "With what?"
Before he could answer, his spider-sense screamed.
Without thinking, Peter grabbed Johnny and dived under the table just as a car came crashing through the restaurant window.
Glass shattered. People screamed. The car skidded across the tiled floor, slamming into the counter in a burst of flames.
Peter groaned, pushing himself up. Johnny lay unconscious beside him. His heart pounded as he checked his pulse—he was alive.
He hoisted him into his arms, carrying him outside to waiting paramedics. "He got hit—please take care of him," he told them before disappearing into an alley.
He ripped off his outer clothes, revealing his Spider-Man suit underneath, then pulled on his mask.
As he stepped back onto the street, he saw a towering figure in an armored green suit with a massive mechanical tail whipping behind him.
The man slammed a police officer into a car, snarling, "Where is Spider-Man?!"
Peter narrowed his eyes. "You rang?"
The man turned, his red visor glowing menacingly. "There you are."
Peter cocked his head. "Cool cosplay, man. Lemme guess… giant mechanical scorpion? What's your name, 'Scorpion'?"
The armored man smirked. "You got it."
Peter sighed. "Wow. Subtle."
Scorpion lunged.
Spider-Man barely dodged as the mechanical tail sliced through the air, carving a chunk out of the asphalt. Peter flipped backward, webbing a streetlight and swinging around to kick Scorpion in the chest.
It barely phased him.
"Okay," Peter muttered. "Noted."
Scorpion grabbed a nearby police cruiser and hurled it at him.
Peter webbed onto the car, flipping over it midair, and landed on a traffic light. "Dude, that is so not covered by insurance."
Scorpion fired his tail like a spear, forcing Peter to leap again as the metal spike pierced straight through a delivery truck.
"Gotta say," Peter quipped, "this is overkill. Did I steal your lunch money in another life?"
"You ruined everything!" Scorpion roared, slamming his tail into the ground and sending a shockwave through the street. Peter lost his footing, and in that moment of weakness, Scorpion grabbed him by the throat.
The grip tightened. Then he started punching him in his ribs and they started to ached. Breathing became impossible.
Scorpion smirked. "Not so funny now, are you?"
With every ounce of strength left, Ben shot a web at a nearby fire hydrant, yanking it loose. Water exploded upward, dousing them both.
While Scorpion flinched, Ben grabbed a fire extinguisher from a smashed fire truck and sprayed him point-blank in the visor.
The white foam blinded Scorpion, and he screamed in frustration.
"Looks like someone can't handle the heat," Peter rasped, barely able to stand.
Snarling, Scorpion turned and fled into the shadows.
Peter collapsed against the wall, his body screaming in pain. He was bleeding. Multiple broken bones. He needed to get home—fast.
Peter used the alleyways to avoid being seen, stumbling through the dark streets. Every movement sent a new jolt of pain through his ribs, his legs, his head.
Finally, he reached his apartment.
With the last of his strength, he crawled through the window and collapsed
Peter barely got out a groan before his vision went black.