Herman Schultz rolled over on his dilapidated mattress. This might be the last time he slept on it—regardless of whether his plan succeeded, no good end awaited him, only death in the streets or decades behind bars.
But what did it matter? As long as the whole world, no, as long as all of New York remembered the name Herman Schultz, it would be enough.
As the morning light filtered through the grimy window, Herman had already bought a two-dollar hamburger from the burger joint downstairs. The burger was cheap, but the taste was terribly bland; the cheap patty and stale bun chewed like sawdust. Still, he had no right to complain about the burger's taste. The burgers here were specifically for the poor of Harlem; the impoverished residents of Harlem simply couldn't afford more expensive ones.
The rusty iron gate of the abandoned construction site, pushed open furtively, creaked in the wind. Herman lifted a corroded manhole cover and skillfully slipped into Manhattan's intricate sewer system. In the darkness, the squeaking of rats intertwined with his heavy footsteps, forming an eerie duet. He walked along the sewer, arriving once again at Otto's underground warehouse. It still reeked of oil and mildew. The moment the door opened, three eerie green electronic eyes glowed in the darkness. Mechanically synthesized electronic voices echoed strangely through the sewers.
"You're earlier than scheduled."
"I don't have the patience to wait. Is the stuff here?"
Herman impatiently brushed a stray web off his sleeve. His response was met with a harsh, mechanical laugh. Two mechanical claws reached out from the shadows, tossing a bulging package onto the metal table, the parts clattering with a crisp sound.
"The big boss is also very interested in getting rid of that spider," Otto's electronic eyes flickered. "It was delivered last night, every piece."
Herman rummaged through the expensive gold titanium alloy components, seemingly casually saying, "I'm asking for controlled materials, and they arrived so quickly. Who exactly is this 'big boss'?"
"Isn't it what you asked for? Are you having doubts yourself?"
"Just curious."
The mechanical claw, which was about to retract, paused mid-air, then suddenly darted towards Herman's face, almost touching his nose.
"Want to know? Why don't you go ask in Hell's Kitchen yourself?"
Herman understood, a dry chuckle escaping his throat.
"Wilson Fisk, haha, the infamous Kingpin... No wonder. It must be him who ordered large quantities of alien tech weapons from you, right?"
"I only care about business. As for what clients intend to do with my products, I couldn't care less."
"I heard he's been busy lately, something about... a devil."
Herman looked at Otto, who remained silent, and no longer pressed his luck. After confirming that nothing was missing, he picked up the package, ready to leave. However, as he was about to exit, Otto stopped him with an outstretched mechanical claw.
"As I said, you could actually complete your design in my lab. I admire talented young people like you."
"No, thanks anyway."
Herman declined Otto's invitation: "My equipment, when I'm experimenting with it, the whole sewer system can't handle it, believe me, I've tried."
"The Midtown Bank building? That was indeed a masterpiece."
Otto's electronically distorted, chilling laugh continued: "Alright, then I look forward to your grand display. Hopefully, it won't be too long."
"You won't wait too long."
Herman took the package and left. Logically, the New York police should have been pursuing him already, but he had slept at home all night with no news. As he left, he noticed the New York police hadn't come for him. Either his subordinates kept their mouths shut, or the police simply looked down on him as a "small-timer."
If it was the latter, they were terribly mistaken.
Returning to the long-abandoned, unfinished building, Herman pulled out his mechanic's welding torch and other equipment and began to work. The welding torch emitted a blinding blue light. Herman repurposed ice hockey pads—gloves and elbow guards—into weapon bases, with wires of different colored insulation winding like veins across the arm guards. Several parts salvaged from the old Shocker gauntlet were directly welded onto them. Pliers lay beside countless cut wires, copper strands intertwining. He bit off a piece of electrical tape and wrapped it around the connected wires.
As the setting sun stretched his shadow, Herman wiped sweat from his face with his grimy cotton glove and raised his left hand. He had donned the new generation of Shocker gauntlets. As his custom-designed battery system was wired up, the indicator light flashed green.
He slowly clenched his fist; the indicator light turned from green to yellow. In tense anticipation, Herman punched with his left hand.
The indicator light turned from yellow to red.
A piercing shriek kicked up a fierce cloud of dust, leaving an impeccably clean streak in the long-abandoned hallway. Simultaneously, a "bang" echoed, and Herman was violently thrown against the wall by the powerful impact.
"Cough, cough, cough... hahahaahaha! I did it! I did it!"
Now, all he needed was a matching suit of armor, and everything would be complete. This was Herman's next step; the entire bag of gold titanium alloy, used for Iron Man's armor plating, was his confidence. Herman looked at his designs, estimating it would take about a week to finish the right-hand Shocker gauntlet and the full suit of armor.
"Then you can be arrogant for one more week, Spider-Man."
At the same time, unknown to either Herman or Peter, the Avengers' investigation into Spider-Man's identity continued. In the president's office at Osborn Industries, Iron Man, Tony Stark, held a not-so-friendly meeting with the CEO of Osborn Corporation, Norman Osborn.
Norman Osborn was only a few years older than Tony Stark, but he appeared much more mature and composed. His slicked-back brown hair and dark green suit created a stark contrast with Stark, who habitually wore T-shirts under his suit jackets.
"Anthony, long time no see."
"It has been a long time, Osborn."
Tony Stark actually disliked Norman Osborn. His impeccably slicked-back hair reflected the sunlight like the scales of some cold-blooded animal. He was a bit like Obadiah Stane from Stark Industries before—a pure, Edison-esque businessman.
"When I first heard about your meeting invitation, I thought Stark Industries was planning to enter the biotechnology field. Thank goodness I don't need to compete with you."
"I've already handed the company over to Pepper. Unless something essential comes up, I'm not really focusing on it now."
Tony casually steered the conversation away from business. Norman Osborn also seemed disinclined to dwell on the topic and instead raised a champagne glass, offering it to Tony: "So, when's the wedding?"
"What?"
"The wedding, formally starting a family. Having your own children, those were my happiest years..."
Norman spoke with considerable emotion, then looked at Tony: "You and I are roughly the same age, Anthony. We're both over forty, but you still don't have children."
"I... Pepper and I aren't thinking about marriage yet," Tony truly hadn't expected to be prompted to marry now that he had no elders. "We've only just begun; many things haven't been settled yet... Let's get back to what we need to discuss. Do you know Spider-Man?"
Norman Osborn had no idea that Tony's true purpose was related to Spider-Man, so he asked with a smile, "I've heard a little. Why?"
"I was wondering... Hank discovered that the web structure he uses is consistent with the experimental results of one of your former employees, Richard Parker. I'm here to find out about him."
"I'm afraid I can't help you," Norman had no intention of hiding anything. "But Richard left my employ five years ago, and his research was taken over by others. Even if you ask me about Spider-Man, all I can say is, I don't know if that's Richard."
Richard Parker's death was an internal S.H.I.E.L.D. secret, and Ant-Man only coincidentally remembered it, so Norman's reaction was entirely reasonable.
"So... your research, it hasn't yielded any results in these past few years?"
"No results at all. We only created some mutated spiders. The Osborn Tech Expo half a year ago even accidentally caused the glass in that exhibit area to shatter, and the exhibits escaped. They're still unaccounted for now..."
It was as if a window had opened in a dark room; both men were stunned. Then, Norman Osborn smiled.
"If you're looking for Spider-Man, I truly have no information here."
"I understand."
Tony shook Norman's hand and strode away. As he left Norman Osborn's office, J.A.R.V.I.S.'s comment came through his miniature earbud: "Your behavior just now was not in line with social etiquette, sir."
"When have I ever followed that stuff?" Tony muttered as he walked.
"J.A.R.V.I.S., open the satellite images. On the day of the Osborn Tech Expo, upload all personnel data to the cloud."
"Green Goblin," Norman Osborn commanded, and then Osborn Industries' own AI began to operate according to its master's order: "Input keyword, Richard Parker."
The searches on both sides proceeded almost simultaneously and, almost at the same time, yielded the same name.
[Keyword retrieved: Richard Parker.]
[Search result obtained: Peter Benjamin Parker. Reason for retrieval: direct familial relationship, father-son.]