Chapter Text
[Earth-836] Hells Kitchen, NY - 2 Weeks ago - Riverside Quay [Roxxon Cache]
“We’re preparing the start-up sequence now Mr Fisk.” One of the white-coated techs said absently, too engrossed in his work to turn to the figure on the viewing platform. Wilson Fisk painted a large and looming presence at the front of the control room, but as it was, no one in this facility would pay him any mind. Too drawn to the lure of scientific discovery. And that was the way Wilson liked it. He’d watch the sparrows toiling to build the nest the cuckoo lays its eggs in. At least they seemed just as anticipatory for results as he was.
“Have we received any initiation data from ATLAS yet?” Another tech asked the first, twittering away in excitement.
Wilson continued to ignore the offal in the room, his flat, burning gaze too intent on the colossal structure behind the convexed, floor to ceiling sheet of glass offering a spectacular view of the machine that would soon act as his Becoming. His new world order. His chance at a new beginning.
Vanessa.
He felt the sidling presence of a viper at his back. The sound of Olivia’s heels clicking against the smooth floors a fair warning to her moving into his space. He wasn’t concerned. She had her own part to play in this, and she’d been well compensated.
Mr Poindexter and Mr Davis however, his two newly hired contractors, shifted on the balls of their feet. Eyes keen on the hand that she dragged up Wilsons spine.
“Looking forward to seeing the spoils of our hard work, Mr Fisk ?” She purred, stepping up to his side to look out of the same window that contained the sum of his aspirations. Her motivation was the science of discovery itself. The discovery of a new reality. She wanted to explore and measure and hypothesize her way through an entire universe that would be at her beck to plunder. She would distract herself with the massive piles of data soon to be laid at her feet.
Whilst he would be the one ruling it.
“It couldn’t have come sooner, Dr Octavius.” He replied, monotone. The sound of his graveled voice seemed to thrum in the brightly lit space their team occupied. Though he never needed to raise his voice.
“Well, perfection shouldn’t be rushed, dear.” She smiled, “And this is perfection. I’ve never seen anything so spectacular,” she was looking at the monitors displayed above the wide curvature of the glass now. Several incredibly complex read-out’s ascended across the screens with no rhyme or reason that Wilson could tell. But she could read it. And what she saw had her breathless and clasping her hands together in excitement, bouncing on the balls of her tall boots. Her moods were too mercurial for his tastes.
“We’re so close.” She breathed, eyes wide when she stepped away from Wilson and towards the edge of the viewing platform.
Wilson began to feel the simmering excitement bubble in his chest, echoing hers, though he didn’t show it. He held no love for the psychotic genius, in fact, he couldn’t wait to be rid of her, but she’d done her job spectacularly well. And in just a few short minutes, they would be beginning the countdown sequence to their new horizon. Seeking the new territory which would be the manufacturing ground for an army. His army. Under his control, not that licentious ingrate parading himself around in a Tin Can. Wilson gnashed his teeth at the thought of him. Their preponderant dictator. The lofty authoritarian and his fabricated legion of scouts and butchers. Oh, how Fisk envied him.
But not for much longer.
“U-um, Miss Olivia?” One of the techs chimed up, female, timid, and afraid to look Wilson’s way.
His mountainous attention was drawn to her anyway, not happy with his anticipation interrupted, and Olivia tutted again at his expression, before cooing at the tech, who’d flinched.
“Really now-”
“What is it?” He spoke for the lead scientist. Interrupting her simpering garbage.
“W-well, it-it’s just that I- think there may be a problem with the second quadrant of the Beam Pipe.” She cringed at first, rushing the words out to the last. Like ripping a bandaid off a wound.
Both Wilson and Olivia stood and stared at her for a brief moment. His gaze full of cold, eternally simmering fire and her face in paused refrain, before her lips turned down and her eyes narrowed in venomous irritation.
“...Why?” She hissed.
“I-it’s not sending back any of the presets we were expe-!” Her voice squeaked up several octaves as Octavius stormed her way across the room towards her, grabbing the back of her chair and shoving it out of her path with the poor girl still in it.
“Get out of the way!” She spat, interrupting the techs rambling before she could finish.
Wilson felt his hackles rise in furious dread. Of course, there would be a setback. Of. Course. He thought, livid.
Poindexter and Davis shifted behind him. The taller, quieter man looming closer in response to his anger, whilst the more diminutive of the two tilted his head and leaned into his slouch a little more casually. The white titanium of his blade dancing a slow, meandering figure eight between his thumb and forefingers. Eyes keen. The other hand resting casually on the handgun strapped to his flack jacket, a similarly gleaming SIG Sauer P226.
Olivia bent her upper half over the computer screen in front of her, face inches away from it, focused. Wilson waited for her verdict, and soon enough, she straightened with a seethingly suspicious look in her eye, and snapped her head towards another tech, a young man this time, who was monitoring the angles of the collider room. Watching as the last of the personnel ambled their way towards the exit in preparation for the countdown sequence via CCTV.
“You.” She barked. “Pull up the internal cameras for HC Quad Two. And throw it on the monitors.” She added, marching back towards Kingpin. As soon as she reached his side again both of their heads collectively snapped up towards the displays. Keen to find the problem.
The image flashed up. And they were staring at an empty tunnel.
Olivia’s eyes narrowed once again, and she stepped a little closer to the monitors. Intent.
It was quiet.
“There.” She pointed, abruptly.
Wilsons gaze flashed when he caught sight of what she’d seen. A small dot of red and blue, crawling his way up the side of the immense surface of the beam pipe wall.
“Spider-Man.” He snarled, lowly.
Bullseye whistled lowly from the back of the room, clicking his tongue as if impressed.
“Can you fry him?” He asked Olivia, who was making her way back over to the desks. The techs had all backed away from the scene, instinctively sensing Doc Ock’s festering need to take charge of the situation so she could count the variables.
She clacked away on one of the keyboards quickly, pulling up a second camera angle from within the chamber and zooming in on the external control panel in section two. The wires, usually tucked away neatly behind a reinforced cover to avoid tampering, were spilled out and sparking towards the floor like overfilled spaghetti.
“Unfortunately not,” she gritted out.
Wilson felt the molten pit of anger in his stomach writhe in containment. He wanted to explode. His head bowed and his fists curled, clenching and unclenching in impotent need to break something. His pulse thrummed, thick and pulsating, in the sides of his neck and his temples. His breathing deepened to a meditational level of control.
Control.
He needed control.
Prowler finally slinked close enough to put himself in Kingpin’s periphery, and Bullseye holstered his knife, standing to attention, waiting.
Fisk’s head lifted, and though he was outwardly calm. His eyes burned.
“Deal with it.” He ordered.
They slinked out of the room at his command, no further instruction required, and Wilson felt a brief flush of welcome gratitude amidst the fire in his chest. There was a reason he’d hired those two. They both, individually, came highly recommended. No expense could be spared for enforcement that was as independent, efficient and lethal as they were. Capable of getting the job done right with only the barest of instructions.
They were well suited to this task, and there was a reason he had hired them.
His gaze focused back in on the two-toned menace webbing his way up to the exit of the accelerator chamber.
A very applicable reason.
“No… NO!” Olivia shouted from across the room, and the clicking of her sharp-tipped nails against the keyboard sped up to a rapid pace.
Wilson felt a vein in his temple pop in internal vexation.
“What. Now.” He ground.
“The sensors,” She snarled, sounding desperate. “I can’t override them from here. We need all the quadrants up and coordinating the preset data before ATLAS can fire. With one down we’re dead in the water.”
She straightened, sucking in a livid breath through her nose.
“I’m going as well.”
“Doctor-” Fisk rumbled, but the lead scientist did little more than flash him a stubborn glare as she stripped off her lab coat and, cracking her neck side to side, allowed those long, dextrous beasts of hers out. The sharp, staggered tines chinking and clacking together as they stretched loosely, dancing wickedly around her shoulders. Adjusting themselves to their newfound freedom.
The pincers turned towards Wilson, and for a second, whilst he stared at the sinister red gleams of light trapped between their claws, it felt like they were staring right back.
“I need to fix this.” She said, resolute. And then she was gone.
Wilson sighed in frustration. His gaze met the faces of the three techs left in the room. All of them scrambled to return to their desks. Avoiding his eyes.
“Keep a close eye on the monitors. And watch the data like a hawk, I wanna know what the arachnids been up to.” He commanded.
“Yes, sir.” They each said.
Just as they’d organized themselves into somewhat of a cohesive unit, a short series of loud echoing pops sounded from beyond the glass, drawing his attention.
The web slinger was visible to him now. And Bullseye seemed content to let him know his presence had been noticed.
He watched as they danced before his eyes, rapid fire blows traded between them where shots of web couldn't reach and knives couldn’t pierce. Both too well-versed in their individual styles of combat for an easy take down. Poindexter seemed aware that any more ill aimed gunfire could be disastrous for his boss. Good.
As the Spiders' back was turned, narrowly avoiding a slice from Bullseye's knife, Prowler made his debut. Sticking to the shadows of the room, the bright lenses of his enforcers mask glowed in readiness. And with one great lunge, fast as lightning, he shot forward. Dagger tipped gloves just narrowly missing the webhead by a fraction of an inch as he performed a truly inspired twist in mid-air. He landed nimbly, but didn’t pause to re-assess. That eerie pre-cognition of his seemed to adjust at breakneck pace to the new variable in the room.
But he hadn’t noticed the third.
Olivia sauntered her way around the edge of the ante-chamber, boots click clacking on the metal rung balcony of the observation deck that circumferenced the collider. She B-lined for the sparking control box from her elevated position, taking a second to observe the three men in combat, and then those artificial limbs of hers stretched out and took a firm hold of the balcony railing, lifting and then lowering her to the floor below. When her boots hit the surface this time, distance from the control room made them silent, but with the way Spider-Man was prioritizing trying not to get pin-cushioned, Wilson didn't think he’d even noticed her.
Which was a mistake.
Olivia and her four enhanced robotic arms made quick work of the sparking mass of wires, doing something to tie them off and get them re-hooked up to the main control board, and then she disappeared up the side of the collider hastily. Dipping in through the panel the Spider had entered.
Bullseye and Prowler continued their threeway tango with the menace, both equally matched in distance and close combat capabilities.
The pair of them toyed with the webslinger, keeping him confined to a limited area of the chamber, tiring him, and not allowing him leeway to utilize the vast pace. Switching off on range, they kept him on his toes, Poindexter quickly nipping beyond Spider-Man’s reach to throw his gleaming knives with unnerving accuracy while the vigilante narrowly dodged them, attention kept by Davis, whose terrifying gauntlets and pneumatic footwear gave him a lethal and fast upper-edge in hand to hand. Not allowing him time to web himself fully away from their dual assault.
They really were worth every penny.
“The sensors are back online!” One of the techs exclaimed, excited.
So, Olivia had worked her magic.
“Are we receiving data from all four quadrants?” He asked.
“Yes, Sir. Sequencing analytics look good on all quarters. We’ll be ready to start syncing and preparing the HC Accelerator in just a moment.” They replied, occupied with their computer once again.
“Hurry it up,” Kingpin said, continuing to watch the festivities below. Not waiting for their response.
Spider-Man seemed to be in a spot of trouble. Both Prowler and Bullseye had worn him down into a corner, backed up against the gigantic structure behind him.
He tried to go for a leap, but just as he reached a good height of around ten or so feet above their heads; a pair of long segmented appendages shot through the air and snatched him by the waist and neck. Coiling and wrapping around his lean form quickly enough that he couldn’t squirm away.
Olivia lowered herself down the rest of the way from her perch, Poindexter and Davis backing up for her approach. She said something to the Spider, dragging a sharp, pointed nail tip along his masked face while he struggled, before brutally lifting him into the air and slamming him into the concrete floor of the collider room. Once, twice, then three times. Disorienting him.
Wilson still thought the good Doctor to be a troublesome woman. But perhaps he could afford her some leniency.
She really was.. Quite brilliant.
She had the good sense not to release the vigilante when she was through with him as well. Instead, she raised him up into the air for observation, weak and dangling from her grip, then she turned her head. Giving the Kingpin an enquiring look through the thick glass between them.
Kingpin, pleased about the turn of events, beckoned her up. She nodded, once, and started making her way towards the balcony stairs.
Prowler and Bullseye followed her six, keeping a close eye on her captive.
“The ATLAS preset coordinates are ready for loading now, Sir. Would you like me to begin initiation?”
“Yes I would,” He rumbled. Following the group's trajectory, Wilson turned away from the observation deck window and towards the door, eager to greet their uninvited guest. The boiling wrath festering in his chest had dulled to a simmer from his team's win, but he wasn’t dumb enough to think the Spider had given up just yet.
The door opened, and Wilson knew exactly how he was going to take the wind out of those irritating sails.
Dock Ock looked pleased as punch with herself, not letting go of her bounty for even a second. She ran a hand through her hair flagrantly as she sauntered through the door, the trapped vigilante trailing behind her in mid-air. Tightly constricted.
“I caught a rat, dearest, can you believe it?” She simpered towards Wilson mockingly, “In our house?”
With a tut of her tongue, she lifted her captive high into the air, and then slammed him into the hard floor at Kingpin's feet. Still keeping her limbs coiled around his arms and torso, but freeing his neck so he could cough freely. The audible, gasping groan that was forced from behind the mask on impact was music to his ears.
“Oh? Right you are Doctor,” Wilson replied, indulging her.
He lowered slowly into a crouch, looming over the downed hero and clasping the back of his skull with a meaty palm. The Spider faced him bravely, masked lenses meeting his gaze head-on. Unafraid.
Wilson slammed his head into the floor, just to hear the thud.
When he lifted his palm back off, Spider-Man still kept up that kitschy heroic bravado of his, meeting Kingpin's eyes once again, slurring “...M’not a rat. Mh’a Spider.” With a woozy huff of laughter.
Irritating.
Still Irritating.
Kingpin grabbed him by the back of the head again, but this time, instead of the floor, the arachnid's face meets Wilson's fist. Which hit a whole hell of a lot harder.
Wilson felt something crunch under the mask, and it egged him on. Each breathless, wet-sounding gasp and cry of pain egged him on. Olivia egged him on. Laughing as she lifted the spider higher so Kingpin could start laying those unyieldingly powerful strikes to his stomach and lower torso, unashamedly re-arranging the pests guts in fury.
When Fisk finally stopped, Spider-Man croaked weakly and retched a little. Not quipping any longer.
Dock Ock lowered him down to a kneel. Prostrate and panting. The front of the mask looked wet. Though from blood, spit, or vomit Wilson couldn’t tell.
He contemplated pulling off the covering so he could see the mess he’d left behind it. But he paused to take stock of the room now that his vision had stopped pulsing red. Bullseye was leering, eyes wide, looking entertained. Prowler was as silently observant as ever, and all the techs in the room were quiet as the grave. Not allowing themselves to look at the downed hero.
Just as Fisk reached forward towards the edge of the mask, one of them found their confidence.
“M-Miss Olivia?” It was the same female tech as before, brave enough to speak up yet again. “We’re ready to begin the initiation sequence. Would you like us to set the countdown?” She said, voice high and nervous, but her chin was tilted upwards. Set.
Both Wilson and Dr Octavious paused, staring at her in a strange echo of before. Then Olivia shifted and smiled joyously in her direction.
“That would be fabulous Fatima, thank you.” She smiled and then turned her stare towards Wilson. “I would like to get this show on the road,” she added, and there was something sharp about her tone that annoyed him.
But Wilson had had his fill anyway. He too was keen to finally see the penultimate realization of his goals. And the simmer in his chest had finally been snuffed out with calm. The vermin was done.
He backed away, giving a considering glance towards his associate in crime.
“Go ahead, Doctor Octavius.” He acquiesced, nodding his head to her in respect.
She turned back to her worker bees and gestured to get on with it. They immediately flurried into action, caught on an anticipatory wind. Olivia and he both stepped up to the viewing platform, and she dragged the Spider along behind them.
“Initiating sequence.” One of the male techs said, and Kingpin felt his pulse jump. Thumping with new excitement. It was finally happening.
“Firing ATLAS in T-minus 10… 9…”
He turned to Spider-Man then, to see if he was paying attention. Those eye-lenses were facing the floor, but when Kingpin hooked a thumb under his chin to lift it, his shoulders flinched. He was awake. Good.
“8… 7…”
“You’re lucky, little Spider,” Wilson rumbled, “You’re about to witness something no one’s ever witnessed before.”
“6…”
Spider-Man’s breath rattled in his chest, and his head tilted up a little.
“5…”
“A portal to a whole new universe.” Fisk shook his head. “Who knows, maybe in the next life, you can be my pet.” He chuckled darkly, shoving mockingly at Spider-Man's chin and turning his head where it listed on his neck. Then facing his own attention to the spectacle outside.
“4…”
“...I’d rather be dead than anything for an asshole like you.” the hero croaked quietly. But he was ignored.
The Collider's massive accelerating rings hummed with power, and the giant magnet silos in the center began emitting a high pitched frequency, not unlike standing under a power-line. Except much, much louder.
“..3..”
Fisk and Olivia both held their breaths, eyes glued to the glass.
“..2..”
Fisk stepped forward even further.
“..1..”
Vanessa.
“Firing now.” The tech said, eagerly. And with a prompt push of the control button, lit up red and surrounded by black and yellow tape. The entire room froze in anticipation for launch.
“...”
But nothing happened.
“...”
It was quiet.
The Tech clicked again.
Everyone was looking his way now, but still nothing was happening.
He clicked more, frantically.
Several faces around the room darkened with thunderous expressions, and Dock Ock started to stalk her way slowly towards the control desks.
Behind her, all the displays showing the ascending data streams flashed, and then turned black. Unnoticed.
The younger male began to click at a rapid pace watching her approach, sweating nervously. “...I-I swear I don’t understand. It’s-It’s just not working?”
“Understanding is supposed to be your job, Samuels. ” She hissed, and one of her robotic arms stretched over her shoulder to come towards him, clawed pincers gleaming a haunting red.
“I..Miss Olivia, please! I-I swear I-”
And then the lights went out.
There was a short clicking sound, like the static input from a microphone when it’s first switched on, and everyone went still, standing in the dim ambience of the red emergency lights. Waiting.
The static hissed again, and with a crackle from the overhead monitors, still displaying only black screens, the silence was breached.
Hissssss. Pop.
...
“...Hello Wilson.” A low, masculine voice purred.
...
Oh God.
Fisk caught the snap of Olivia’s head towards him as they registered the presence of the newcomer.
“You weren’t having a party without me now, were you?” The voice asked, amiably.
Oh Fuck .
Olivia stumbled back a little, pivoting slightly towards the control desks, where she looked at the three young techs in the room. The wildness in her eyes had tapered, and then softened. Pained as she looked them over.
“...Go.” She breathed tightly, gesturing at them with a quick hand towards the exit. Tense and protective. Swaying slowly on the balls of her feet as she looked back towards the monitors. “Go. Now.”
The three of them took the hint and scarpered, quick and quiet. Leaving the remaining group to continue watching the displays. Waiting on eggshells.
Olivia’s robotic limbs had unwittingly loosened their grip, but Spider-Man stayed still and continued to rasp wetly in the silence. He remained quiet also. Observing.
Kingpin’s pulse pounded for an entirely different reason now.
“Did you really think-” Hisssss. Pop. “-that I wouldn’t find out?” The interloper hissed.
There was a budding clamor from the collider room, pops and bangs of metal on metal coming from the ceiling, gradually rising to a crescendo that they took no notice of at first. Each too apprehensive to pay attention.
Spider-Man tilted his head subtly towards the window.
Kingpin gnashed his teeth in petrified frustration. His hands twitched into fists by his side. No. No, this couldn’t be happening.
Vanessa.
“I’m not afraid of you Stark.” Wilson barked.
“...You will be.” The voice promised, darkly.
With an almighty BANG, the roof of the collider room exploded open. Thousands and thousands of shards of rubble, glass and debri rained down into the chamber, followed by swarms of flying metal suits, each b-lining straight towards the collider. Lining up their stances, palms outward, and taking aim.
“No!” Wilson snarled. “No, no no -NO, he’s going to destroy it!”
Spider-Man, taking advantage of their distraction, slipped his way free of Olivia's hold and tried to get a few hits in. He spun in a twist and managed to get away from her entirely with a harsh kick, backing up towards the window. She snarled in fury and went barrelling after him. Determined to get in a few licks of her own.
The Sentinels let their repulsors engage, each shot beginning to eat holes into the gigantic accelerator wall, blast upon blast until the massive machine looked moth eaten and wearied with every hit received from scorching hot plasma.
“No! Stop them!” He roared, and the room descended into chaos.
Just as Dock Ock managed to get a rough grapple hold on the Spider, he directed one of her claws towards the viewing window, which smashed under the piercing pressure of her claw. Hundreds of large glass shards joined the carpet of debri littering the floor below after about a fifty foot drop. She latched back on to him just as he jumped, and they ended up tumbling off of the viewing platform and into the ante-chamber below. Still fighting.
Prowler shot past them, compelled to follow his boss’s directive. His pneumatic boots launched him out of the now non-existent window quick as a missile. Trajectory aimed towards the sentinels.
Wilson spun around to glare at Bullseye, who stood warily watchful at first. But when he caught his bosses eye he nodded, and turned towards the door the techs had gone out of. His lack of flight capabilities wouldn’t do him much good if he tried the window the same as his associate.
Poindexter yanked open the door, and froze.
In the second it took Kingpin to register the tall, gleaming figure in a suit of armor, Stark had already raised his repulsor, taking aim, and shot his enforcer point blank in the chest.
‘His tactical suit won’t be much good to him now,’ Wilson thought desperately. Watching as Bullseye’s smoking body went sailing across the viewing platform, impacting in a harsh thud and bouncing with momentum until he tipped over the edge. Gone.
The Superior armor stepped into the room. Slow and nonchalant.
“It’s nice to finally meet again in person, Mr Fisk.” Tony Stark's voice was darkly amused as he mocked the man, “I hope I’m not late?”
“...Stark.” Wilson bit in response, heart pounding.
“You look surprised to see me.” the Superiors voice sneered derisively through his faceplate, stalking closer. Still in that slow, meandering pace. “I’m almost offended,”
“If I’d wanted you here I would’ve asked.” Fisk snarled in return, keeping a close eye on the other man's movements. Watching the gleams of red light slice across that chrome monstrosity of a weapon he wielded on his body. His second skin.
Stark stepped closer, until they were finally opposite one another. Facing off from either side of the platform.
“Well now, that’s just rude,” he said. And it was on.
Temples pounding with resentment, Wilson leaped towards the giant metal douchebag, determined to at least get a few strikes in against his adversary. He went high deceptively, before dodging the repulsor blast, forcing Stark to jettison over the sweeping leg kick that followed.
They traded blows, bright shots of light and gleaming chrome dyed red meeting the hulking form of the mob boss, who packed every inch of his tightly controlled fury into his swings, fast paced. The whine-pop of the repulsors made Kingpin's ears ring dully when he narrowly avoided taking one of those deadly plasma shots to the face. Dancing around each other.
“Word on the street is you’re after an army.” Superior taunted, unfazed, and dodged another attempt from Kingpin to corral him deeper into the room. He darted around to the back of the larger form and stretched his leg out, kicking the man forward with a heavy metal boot, slamming him into the back of the control desks harshly.
Kingpin was starting to look worn down, and he didn’t respond. He turned back to the Superior, breathing fire. Rage steadily turned his eyes a burnished red and the veins in his face and neck bulged prominently. His suit was disheveled, and he had multiple scorch marks from near misses littering his figure.
“You wouldn’t know what to do with one if you had one.” Stark finished, laughing darkly.
He stood in front of the wide open edge of the viewing platform. Back facing the antechamber as he opened his arms wide, and he cut a menacing visage. The jeering autocrat was still dyed that deep, deep blacklight red. The lenses of his mask glowed menacing white, and behind him the antechamber burned. Illuminating him from the back in a hellish visage. His own army was making light work of their immense destruction. And Kingpin saw the culminations of his desires literally getting turned into a smoldering pile of ashes.
Furious, he launched himself at the Superior again, bellowing with rage. But the armor dodged casually, and Stark drew first blood. Gauntleted fist snapping out and catching Kingpin in the face, neatly. Throwing him off.
“... I hate you, Stark. ” Wilson hissed, voice dripping with poison as he stumbled back.
The Superior tilted his head, and the next thing Fisk knew, he was staring at that irritatingly handsome face. Stark had retracted his helmet to meet his gaze dead on, face twisted into a small moue of distaste as he raked his eyes along the mob boss.
“...I don’t care.” he deadpanned, and he launched himself at Kingpin again. Once more trading furious blows that got faster and faster than Wilson could register. But the tight, blustering hurricane in his belly kept him going. He bayed in victory when one of his meaty knuckles managed to get a swipe at that abhorrent face, fist making a heavy impact with Stark’s jaw. Forcing him to back up this time.
They paused, and circled around each other again slowly, the Superior raising his gauntlet-covered hand to his lip.
He felt around the shape of the cut. Drawing his hand back and observing the dark slash of liquid on his gloved fingertips. Then he looked back up at Kingpin, tonguing lightly at the injury.
Wilson felt a manic shiver of pleasure crawl up his spine at the sight of that blood. His blood. He wanted to draw more.
But his delight didn’t last longer than a moment. Because when he met Tony Stark's eyes again, they were burning bright, and the smirk on his face belied his mocking amusement. He drew his armored fingertip to his mouth and licked the stain off, mouth curling at the edges wickedly.
Just like that, the oozing cut was gone.
Disappointment flooded his veins and Wilson clenched his jaw, great heaving wuffs of air being sucked through his nose in fatigue.
In the face of that nonchalant power he was sufficiently spooked.
The larger man felt weary. He could feel his muscles trembling. He wouldn’t be able to last much longer, he thought. Stark had him worn to the bone and untethered. Those ecstatic tingles from just moments before had faded to an icy, seeping dread. Like that of a prey animal being stalked from the tall grass.
The Superior was toying with him.
Wilson Fisk was going to die.
…His fists clenched in livid apprehension.
Suddenly, like a dawning ray of light on his darkest day, two blurred figures barrelled into the room via the opened observatory window. Smashing and crashing into each other, forcing the two adversaries to back away. One of the figures made a skillful, twisting movement, and with a knife tipped wrench of his gauntlet, the sentinels head popped off and went sailing back out off the platform.
Prowler rose from his crouch above the decommissioned droid, and his lenses glared as he took in the scene.
“Protect me.” Wilson ordered.
Stark laughed at him. And his stance turned casual as he watched the enforcer make up his mind. Loyalty won out, and the Prowler shifted subtly into a defensive position, slightly in front of his employer, readying himself for a leap.
Stark was still calm.
Fisk felt a twinge of unease. And just as the assassin stepped forward into his lunge, launching himself at the suited tyrant, Stark’s armor flared around his form. Snatching the man in mid-air quick as a flash. Gleams of silvery molten liquid formed a long, thick, ghastly tendril that wrapped around Prowler's head as he dangled there writhing in his grasp, holding him arrested whilst Kingpin looked on, horrified.
With an abrupt twist and a sickening crunch, the jerking body fell still. Quiet.
The armor released him, and the way the man's body dropped like a stone reflected the way Wilson’s heart fell into his feet.
“I don’t like uninvited guests,” The Superior said. And his attention was back on Wilson.
Fever and uncontrolled desperation had the Kingpin throwing himself at Stark one last time with a terrible roar, but Stark was apparently done playing. Because that physics defying armor continued to bleed and convalesce around his suited form. Snapping out of its restraints and shooting towards Fisk with intent.
The next thing Wilson knew, he was on the floor, face down and restrained by the wrists and torso. Parallel to the edge of the platform.
Glancing over the edge, he didn’t have much hope for Olivia either, who seemed to be losing her fight with the weakened Spider-Menace. Fighting to the bitter end.
Behind him, he heard the menacing clanks of metal boots on a hard floor. The Superior approaching from behind.
Wilson heaved exhausted breaths as he struggled, tonguing around the insides of his mouth for a loose tooth and spitting the blood onto the floor beneath him. He crunched his torso, attempting to rise into a kneel. But Stark kicked him back down, chuckling.
Kingpin’s blood boiled.
“...UuaaAARGH- Fuck you Stark!” He barked. Choking on his enraged shout of anger.
“Oh? Have I finally broken that infamous control of yours Wilson?” Stark chuffed, still laughing under his breath.
The autocrat flipped Wilson over with a casual flick of his finger. That abomination of a suit obeying his beck and call with nary a thought.
Fisk felt that dreaded shiver of fear wriggle its way down his spine again as the Superior moved to stand over his prone form. Towering. And instinct had Wilson pushing his feet against the floor, trying to push himself away.
Stark placed a firm boot onto one of his knees, arresting him instantly.
“Who’d have thought I’d have to see such an upstanding figure in my community brought so low Mr Fisk?” The Superior taunted, and Kingpin’s eyes widened in animal fear.
“It really is such a shame.”
CRUNCH.
Wilson’s scream of pain echoed off the walls of the room whilst Stark laughed once more. The immediate, shocking agony of his shattered kneecap blinded him momentarily. White stars dancing behind his eyelids.
The Superior watched as he writhed and struggled to pull himself together. Sweating and panting like a race horse foaming at the withers.
Stark shifted his foot, and placed the opposite on his other kneecap.
The impotence of his pride and molten, fiery pain had Wilson glaring back up at his enemy, huffing in agony.
“...Why, Stark?” He panted, “Why go through all this? Were you really that worried that I would succeed..? Do I piss you off that much?” he tried to taunt. Pain made his voice hoarse, but he fastened a bloody smile on his face anyway. Glaring up at the tyrant through gritted teeth.
“Your ego would like to think that Wilson,” Stark replied, “But in reality, you just broke the rules.” The pressure on Wilsons kneecap increased until it burned.
“And that means you need to be punished.”
CRACK.
Fisk cried out again, back arching off the floor as lightning shot up his nervous system, forcing him to jolt and tense in agony.
Beside himself, the Kingpin began to laugh through the pain while Superior watched on, interested.
“Ego…” Wilson muttered, head tipped back, veins prominent. “He wants to talk about ego…” he croaked.
The Superior’s head tilted slightly.
Wilson’s eyes snapped back to those blazing orbs, flush with challenge, heaving.
“...And why should you hold all the power, Stark?” he hissed. “You made the rules. But I had a right to seek my own,” he finished, spitting fire at the authoritarian above him.
Stark tutted lightly down at him, entertained. “You’re a villain, Kingpin, ” he emphasized, “You don’t have rights.” And with a heavy snort, he removed his foot and booted Fisk in the flank, hard. Watching as the bigger man jolted closer to the edge of the platform on impact and enjoying the ensuing crunch as he landed on broken glass. He toiled weakly to orient himself, recovering slowly from the kidney bruising kick.
The mobster was failing, brought low like an oxen hunted for sport. But something must not have been right in his head because he began to laugh all over again. A low chuckle that slowly built in its crescendo. Until he was hacking and spitting out blood onto the floor once more.
“You-” Spit, “You’re just-ah as much a villain as I am Stark,” he panted, “A tyrant. Bloated with power. Using fear to manipulate the world. And all in the name of Justice?” Kingpin hissed, and then laughed and laughed. “You’re a butcher.”
“You get off on digging your own grave, Fisk?” the Superior growled, darkly.
Wilson stared him dead in the eye.
“Murderer.”
Taking Fisk's skull in a broad, strong palm, both Stark and the suit dragged his upper body about a foot off the floor so he could start wailing on him mercilessly. Punch. Punch. Punch. And with each brutal impact, splinters of skin tore open in Wilson's face, bleeding freely and splashing to the floor.
Once Stark had deemed his face sufficiently a broken mess, he threw him back down, slamming his head off the metal grating.
He laid there. Still. While Stark panted above him.
Kingpin blearily opened up a bloodshot and swollen eye, rolling it in his head until he could make sense of up and down. His blurry vision caught sight of three figures directly below him, but he was disoriented and struggled to make sense of what he was seeing at first.
An odd shape with eight limbs. A quick, darting spot of red and blue firing lines upon lines of sticky webs to trap it successfully. And a smaller, less obvious figure, prone on his belly right under Wilson’s position, weakly dragging himself across the rubble to position himself in a better vantage point.
The figure removed a gun from his flack jacket. Taking aim.
“I may be a murderer,” Stark said, collecting himself, tall and confident, “...But my methods?” He ran a hand over his hair, “My methods mean the bad guys lose. ” He finished with conviction.
A loud BANG echoed from below, and even though he stilled, cautious of the noise, Stark didn’t see what happened.
But Wilson did.
A bright, radiant beacon of red and blue, blurry to his eyes, jolted forwards with impact, and then dropped like a stone.
And it didn’t get back up.
The collider-chamber beyond them was quiet as the grave. Suddenly, Wilson started howling and hacking on his own delirious joy. His delight was grim, savage. Savoring his own small victory as Stark looked on, confused.
His ghastly laughter echoed around the vaulted space, hauntingly.
He bared his teeth back up at the other man in a manic grin, his entire face a mass of blood and swelling and pain but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about his disheartening losses anymore. All he cared about in this moment was the look on Stark’s face when he raised his head slightly to look him dead in the eye through blackened lids, and said;
“Not this time they didn’t.”
The Superior tensed. Wary.
Still chortling, Fisk enjoyed as a slow look of realization dawned on the other man’s face. Power was a saccharine motivator, Kingpin thought, as the Superior’s eyes surveyed the scene outside of the room quickly before they shot back to meet Wilson's own again, full of fury and righteous anger.
‘But sometimes, vengeance is just as sweet, ’ he smiled. And as a gauntleted palm took aim at his head and began to glow, whining up its charge, he was still smiling. Looking beyond those metal fingers to stare into Stark’s eyes, which had darkened with rage.
“At least I got rid of the pest problem,” he taunted.
Hsss-BANG!
.
.
.
Besides the still crumbling thuds of rockfall and the high, squeaking pops of smoldering shrapnel, the entire building was silent.
.
.
.
—-----
Tony took a deep breath and swiped a hand through his hair again, looking down at the messy splatter painting the floor beneath Kingpin's twitching corpse. The room was so hot from the radiating flames beyond that if it weren’t for Extremis, he’d have been sweating buckets.
His palm scorched when it made contact with his skin, still hot from the assholes execution. But he wasn’t phased.
He stepped away from the piss-ant and closer to the edge of the platform, eyes roving over the scene and each of the still figures below, pulse pounding in aggravation.
There were only two that he could see, each lay scattered in different positions amongst the giant heaps of smoldering rubble and flames.
He could feel the grit of brick dust and ash begin to accumulate at the back of his throat.
Grimacing, he reactivated his helmet and HUD.
He needed a closer look.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y. Any survivors?” He asked, cautiously gliding his way down into the lower vista, avoiding any of the large unstable looking structures cluttered around the space.
“I count two heartbeats, Boss.” The AI answered promptly “Although I detect the resting pulse rate of the second to be critically low. The survivor appears to be hemorrhaging from a wound in the upper torso.”
And right she was. The first body he found belonged to Benjamin Poindexter AKA Bullseye. He scanned the read-out that popped up on his mask display. Former SEAL, dishonorable discharge, multiple counts of murder and high profile weapons trafficking. All around scumbag.
Tony flipped him over whilst beckoning a sentinel, which landed next to him smartly.
The man didn’t move.
“Looks like I may have gone a little overboard shooting him point blank.” He said, as he took in the ruined and bloodied state of his flack jacket. How he’d even survived the fall Tony had no idea, he thought, looking back up to the platform and judging the distance. Never mind a repulsor to the chest.
But survived he had. His ruined chest rose and fell slowly, long, gurgling rasps drawing in through his throat and inflating his still intact lungs. Tough bastard.
“Tag ‘im.” He said to the sentinel, who nodded and gripped the half-dead soon-to-be convict under the shoulders and knees, lifting him upright, then taking off towards the massive opening that was now the ceiling. The night’s sky twinkled down into the room, only partially marred by the long billows of black smoke rising up and being taken by the wind.
He moved on to the next, and had the dubious pleasure of meeting two bright and alert eyes glaring at him from behind a whole sticky mass of webbing. Her face and neck were covered from the mouth downwards, and from there her body was a mass amalgamation of flesh and metal limbs, all tied up in a pretty knot with the same sticky fluid. Heavily wrapped. Four red, glowing light sources stared at him through the mess, and what little leeway the white substance could allow saw them following his trajectory as he crouched down to her level with a smirk. Defensive of their mistress.
Hmm. Those were interesting. The scientist in him wouldn't mind having a closer look sometime. Her tech seemed just as instinctively responsive as his own Endo-Suit. Though nowhere near as advanced. Almost.
“Well, well, well Doctor Octavius,” He said, “Looks like you got yourself caught up in a spider’s web.” He boasted, and the muffled noises she made behind the thick white layers of goop seemed a little angry as she twitched and struggled against her restraints.
“Catch yourself a little of that vigilante action huh?” He asked, smiling.
He didn’t much care one way or another about the local crime fighting street presence. He’d had one or two encounters with self made ‘Heroes’ who’d both crossed his path and crossed him , and he’d made sure those idiots had sorely regretted it, but other than that they tended to keep to their turf. Operating on a much more microscopic level than the platforms within which he himself moves. They helped to clean up the streets in the nooks and crannies where his own droids and sentinels had the capacity to fail due to nuance alone. It was an ever irritating flaw in his system that someday he’d like to fix. But for now, they could be the cleaner shrimp, picking away at the parasites in his giant, continent sized fish tank.
Besides, he used to like comics as a kid. He got a kick out of characters with guts.
Speaking of the ‘hero’ in question.
“Where is the red and blue wunderkind?” He asked the Doctor, as if she could give him an answer. And was surprised when actually… she did.
Scowling distrustfully, with a feral look about her, her eyes darted to the side quickly, as if checking her peripheral.
Tony frowned back and turned, wondering where he should be looking. His eyes scanning the rubble until he saw it. There. Hidden behind a large segment of broken silo, piled up into a heap of twisted steel, concrete and sparking wires, was a foot. Or more specifically a boot. Laying prone against the floor, covered in bright, effervescent red and decorated with black patterns of web. Still and unmoving.
The fires continued to crackle and burn into the night.
‘Two heartbeats.’ F.R.I.D.A.Y had said.
“...ah.”
He turned to look at the doctor again, but deemed her suitably stuck in place, not to be moved for now.
“Call someone to keep an eye on her F.R.I.D.A.Y.” He ordered as he rose from his crouch, neck craned in the direction of that ruby slipper, ignoring her quick ‘Yes, Boss’ in response.
Two more sentinels came to land behind him, watchful and stoic.
Tony didn’t know why, but something inside him made his approach towards that rubble feel anticipatory. A quick, fleeting flicker in his chest that gave him pause before he brushed it off.
It was just the spider-kid, he thought. It's not like he was a fan or anything.
And yet, as he rounded the corner of the pile, his footsteps slowed.
Tight red boots led up to the equally form fitting pants legs of his onesie, clad in radiant sapphire blue. And Tony's eyes followed the mounds and dips of that lean, strong back laying still, face down on the floor.
“Anything F.R.I?”
“No vital signs detected, Boss.” She replied.
He sighed, disappointed. Okay, maybe he was a little bit of a fan. Sue him. But the Spider had always been one of the more wholesome vigilantes on the scene this side of the east coast. And somewhere deep down Tony kinda liked that there was a small-time hero who couldn't be mired by the taint and filth like the rest of them.
He walked a little closer to the downed web-slinger, taking in the large perforations in his suit and the odd angle of one of his wrists. Looked like he'd been put through the ringer.
It really was a shame.
Morbid curiosity had Tony crouching back down again beside the svelt form, and when he turned the guy over, his head rocked with the motion until it was facing Tony. Loose and-... Well. Pretty dead.
Those wide, white lenses reflected the glow of his own back at him. Cold and a little eerie to look at.
Tony wanted to see what was behind them.
He reached out and hooked a gauntleted finger under the seam of the mask after a quick scan for the edges, and slowly drew the soft, elasticated fabric upwards. First catching sight of a pale, strong Adam's apple. Then the firm cut of his jaw. Finely shaped, masculine lips were swollen and split. Marred with the stain of blood that had leaked at some point from a small, classically formed nose, and Tony admired the portions of his face that were clear of it. The way the Spider's long lashes swept downwards to dust the pale, clear skin of his cheeks.
He was young, maybe low to mid-twenties or so. But his maturity was belied in the way he had a prominent, but not unattractive brow ridge with a slight uptick in the hairs on one side. A smooth forehead, and thick, luscious brunette waves crowning the top of his head, damp, slick, and curling against his skin with previous sweat.
Wow.
It really was a damn shame.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y who is he?” Tony asked, still staring solemnly down at the young hero.
“Facial recognition has him down as Peter Parker, Boss. Male, 21, former resident of Midtown, NY.” She said, but threw the information up onto his HUD anyway for his viewing leisure.
“Peter Parker, huh?” He asked quietly into the empty air. Blowing out a quick breath as he registered some of the IQ read-outs flashing across his screen, which had him raising an eyebrow and feeling mildly disappointed all over again.
He looked back down and into the face of Spider-Man.
He wondered what color his eyes were.
“Well, Mr Parker.” He said, lowly. And he delicately reached out to move a damp, blood stained lock away from that face. “Thank you for your service.”
After a moment or two more of looking his fill, eyes roving, his arms lifted, pulling the mask back over the hero's head. Concealing those fine features from prying eyes in his own measure of respect. He made a mental note to find out if the younger man had any surviving relatives. But for now, he needed to take care of the clean-up.
Shifting in his crouch, he readied himself to stand and direct his droids into rounding up the last of the rabble involved and begin damage control proceedings when suddenly, Tony felt…
Off.
The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and as he shot up, his ears caught the sound of a strange, sparking, hissing noise over the cacophony of burning metal and flames. A warm glow began to form around him, and when he swung around to look, almost tripping over his deceased companion, he saw a small, orange ring sparking and fizzing in the air like a pin-wheel firework, growing larger and larger until it rapidly grew into a portal wide enough to fit a fully grown man. Framing the image of an empty alleyway in a New York skyline, flush with the pink glow of an early dawn.
“Wha-” Tony started to say, but was suddenly and inconveniently yanked into a crushing vice hold.
He gasped, panicked, endo-suit rapidly rising to the surface to try and stop him from being dragged forwards. But the only items it managed to get a hold of were loose flags of broken concrete, which either broke or got dragged with him, and the ankle of Peter Parker's body. Which he quickly let go of, not fancying the idea of ferrying a corpse.
His head swam and his vision crackled white as he fought to stay, but with no leverage it was futile. The force tugged harder, and for a few split, agonizing seconds he was seeing every color under the sun, guts twisted and rearranging themselves in one of the worst sensations he’d ever felt in his life, until the squeezing pressure finally ended. And the next thing he knew, he was watching that glowing ring of death shrink itself shut with him on the wrong side of it.
When he looked back around, disoriented and breathless, he was staring at the same empty alleyway as before.
Except he was standing in it.