New York

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***

Underwater lab.

Dr Otto Octavius.

The unexpected flash of the monitor screen caused a glare in the pensive scientist's eyes.

With an irritated growl, Otto directed one of his upper tentacles towards the monitor screen, a place he had managed to make comfortable for himself over the months. An existence, after the events that had made those metal limbs part of him forever. After Rosie. It hasn't been a life since. But that would soon change.

Opening the letter, the glare of its receipt having injected a note of irritation into the doctor's neutral state, Octavius delved deeper into the information.

A Latverian domain and only one word:

"Agreed."

Otto closed the tab and leaned back in his computer chair with satisfaction.

Excellent!

At last his own plan was beginning to take shape. Ever since Norman Osborn had given him the space and resources Otto had been duly grateful, for if it hadn't been for the businessman, the injured luminary's journey might have ended, best case scenario, in a prison cell.

Yet Octavius was not an idiot. A man who realises his intellectual superiority over others? Undoubtedly. A brilliant scientist whose gift has always been buried by envious people? Definitely. A victim of the injustices of the world? Perhaps. But an idiot? Never. He knew he was useful to Osborn right here, in his place, but if this forced measure continued to bring him resources to achieve his goal, he would endure. As he had endured the beatings of his alcoholic troglodyte of a father, and as he had put up with the weakness of a mother unable to take responsibility for her own and her son's destiny.

But Otto has never and will never back down, especially in the face of such a noble goal as revenge. Herman Orn, the damned envious worm, he had taken everything from Otto, bullied him, spoilt the moment of his greatest triumph. But one day Octavius would find him and there would be no mercy.

But it wasn't just Orn who had ruined the doctor's life. Spider-Man. Another obstacle in Otto's life, one of many he's overcome in his life. But not this time. The damn arachnid had beaten and humiliated Octavius! If it hadn't been for that wench sneakily stabbing him in the back!

It won't happen now. And at least he can get to the Spider.

Well, the die is cast!

The outline of a plan has been forming ever since Norman got him the Internet here. News bulletins, electronic catalogues of newspapers and magazines, interviews and the rest of the channels carrying the latest and not-so-fresh data. Rothschild was right after all, whoever has the information has the world.

And also true was the saying that strength is in numbers. At times Otto could be unrestrained and perhaps overconfident, but he knew he had great leadership skills and would be able to put together a team for revenge. The idea came to him when he had studied enough facts and realised that the Spider could not be defeated alone.

Police reports, newspaper reports, news reports, sources of varying degrees of veracity, but unanimously confirming one thing - during the months of his presence Spider had participated in many events: from fighting with gangs of city importance to preventing the robbery of Pirogova. And from each fight, or almost, he came out a winner. And battles with "supervillains" were discussed for weeks. And it was such opponents of his enemy that Octavius was interested in, of course, as potential allies.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

The first candidate was Herman Schultz, nicknamed Shocker. On the face of it, a rather useless, second-rate criminal, however, in the shadowy side of the Internet it is said that he was the one who first met Spider in a fight and could be useful. Plus, he's clearly seen something that others haven't, otherwise why would he turn down lawyers sent by his possible employer? He may be the only one who has to be brought to the meeting place by force.

The other Adrian Tooms, thanks to the dubious humour of one of the cops, called the Vulture. Robotics businessman, a bit of a scientist. Interesting personality. As Otto has learnt, he was about to destroy the company of his long-time rival Donald Roxton. But he was thwarted by the ubiquitous Spider. Beaten up and taken to the police. Well, I'm sure Mr Tooms will be grateful for both his early release and the opportunity for revenge.

The next candidate is Rhinoceros, aka Alexei Sicevich. There's not much information about the man himself; he's a common bandit who, apparently, has been experimented on, giving him impenetrable skin, immense strength, and a razor-sharp horn. And his battle with Spider, as well as the destruction Rhinoceros had wrought, was the most talked about of all. Of course, after all, it was after this case that Spider was recognised live on air by the police. Surely Sicevich is someone who won't even have to be convinced of an alliance. The suggestion of destroying the Spider would be a red rag to a bull.

The fourth member, a recent arrival to the hospitable walls of Raft - Electro. Maxwell Dillan. A curious character, at least in that there is virtually no information about him. A few priors in his early youth, then a five year sentence for robbery, but nothing after that. The trail goes dead, and the next second he shows up with the ability to control electricity. Mutant? Could be. Either way, he was arrested while transporting drugs and, judging by the police reports, not without heroes. At least, that's what the Spider-Man who met the crew opaquely hinted at. Once again, leaving behind an enemy with a grudge. An unforgivable mistake.

The last but not least candidate for the crew is one about whom finding even a bit of data was an indescribably difficult task. However, Otto is not one of those who easily retreats and, after a while, his labours paid off - Latverian mercenary, whose services are not a stranger to use even the rulers of states, ghost man, perfectly fulfilling every contract, but bearing absolutely inappropriate nickname - Beetle. And even the reputation of such a man has been tarnished by the Spider. The one contract that the Latverian had failed to honour.

All of them, perfect tools of his plan and each except Beetle imprisoned in one place - Raft. Like gifts in a sack. All that remains is to tear the sack open. And judging by the word from the mercenary, he's agreed to be Octopus' punishing tentacle in this endeavour.

***

At this time.

Deep underground.

Peter Parker.

- I don't mean to bore you, but we're having a hell of a time looking for someone who's been confidently smashing up the city recently, don't you think? - The Human Torch started the conversation.

- What can I say, it looks like you've done irreparable damage to his delicate poet's mental organisation," I replied, peeling myself off the wall and shooting out cobwebs.

- Very funny. But seriously, were you prepared that under the modern metropolis, just a few kilometres down, there is a network of deep and, what is to say, HUGE spacious caves? Personally, I wasn't.

And you can't argue with that. It's one thing to descend into a tunnel dug by a monster. It's quite another to discover there are dozens of them. And now me and Johnny Storm have been wandering around in near total darkness (thanks to my enhanced eyesight and Johnny kindly choosing to be a light bulb) for half an hour.

The conversation died down on its own, and we continued down the tunnel.

Finally, something bright began to loom in the distance. The excited heroes ran to the light.

However, they did not expect to see the next picture.

- Am I seeing things?

- No, I see it too.

"Raj?"

"Your eyes do not deceive you, Bearer."

The source of those very bright glares turned out to be a scattering of hundreds of sparkling crystals vaguely resembling the ones sticking out of that creature's back. They glittered, but it seemed that those crystals had once burned much brighter. But it wasn't until we lowered our heads that we saw that this was just the tip of the iceberg. Although it was more like we were at the top. At the bottom, the whole gamut was revealed. There was life there. Today we saw one monster, but down there were dozens of them, as well as crowds of small yellow people, vaguely resembling someone.

A real underground city.

- What are we going to do?

I completely forgot I'm not alone here.

- Get back.

- What?! - Johnny exclaimed in surprise.

Loud enough to be heard, only there was no one else in the place.

"Sorry, Raj," - still grabbing and dragging a fiery Storm away was a bad idea.

"It's all right, Bearer," I could tell by the sound of his voice that the symbiote was far from orderly, but to my partner's credit, it didn't even drain from my hand from such close contact with the fire.

- Quiet!

A single growl was enough to cool Johnny's temper and make him look at me guiltily. He thinks I burned my hand? Well, that's not far from the truth.

- Now listen here, yes I imagine your first outing as a superhero, but only in comic books do heroes rush into the thick of things without first scouting the situation.

"Or reborn before they realise that what's around them is real."

I hope Raj didn't overhear the thought.

- What do we do then?

- You live in the same house with a famous research scientist and three other people with superpowers and you're really asking me?

- Are you suggesting--

- I'm sure Dr Richards would love to explore the hitherto unknown, let's call it, Underground New York.

- That makes sense.

- Great, now I hope you're flying fast, or we'd better get out of here soon," I said, shooting out a web and flying towards the exit.

The way back is always easier, and these few kilometres are behind us. Still, there's something that needs to be done.

- Johnny, can you organise fireballs to your ceiling or a powerful jet of flame?

- What for?

- To block the passageway. It's not like we need another visitor. At least not this fast.

- Oh, I got it! I'll be right there!

A second later, Storm took off and, not far from the exit to the hole dug by the monster, began to massively knock down earth and stone layers, blocking the passage.

Once the deed was done, Torch and I made it safely out of the ground and into the city, straight to the spot that was already surrounded by gawkers and police. The officers had already started moving towards us.

- Wait! I'm Johnny Storm, member of the Fantastic Four, we stopped the monster. It's okay now!

I don't know if it was the blond guy's charisma or something else, but to my surprise, the cops nodded calmly and continued to survey the recent battlefield.

- Good job, Fire," I noted both his actions and his explanation to the police.

- Thanks, that was cool, wouldn't you say?

- I'll say yes, now if you'll excuse me, I'm about to hit the building when a voice calls out to me.

- Wait! Listen, Spidey, we did a good job and you know, maybe you'd like to join this Underground New York thing, just in case, - Storm started scratching the back of his head.

- Hmm," he started scratching his head, "it's not a bad idea. Plus the opportunity to meet the most brilliant mind in the world is worth a lot," he said. Write down the number.

To my surprise, Johnny's suit was equipped with such an indispensable thing as pockets. Buttoned. So it was quite safe for Matchstick to take out an undamaged phone.

After exchanging numbers, I said goodbye to the Torch and headed for the place I was already ungodly late for.

*

Twenty minutes later.

I landed on the roof of an unremarkable, seemingly abandoned building and approached the door leading downstairs. I ask Raj to keep a low profile, so I'm in my usual red and blue suit in a second. Shield doesn't need to know about the Symbiote yet.

I'm opening the door. Funny, I've been trained in smaller places before.

I'm met on the stairs by an angry Black Widow.

- You're late," the spy "greeted" me coldly.

- And you just look great," I tried to change my anger into mercy as charmingly as possible. It didn't work. - I repent, I'm a sinner, but I had a good reason.

- You'll have to justify yourself later," Natasha turned and walked forward, "in front of Fury.

Oh, great.

We calmly pass a few floors, and the lady ahead of me enters something clearly masquerading as a flat. With a little sigh, I follow.

My premonition had not deceived me. Inside was a real advanced sports complex. Quickly looking around, I noticed a small room with reflective glass upstairs. Definitely not a caretaker's closet.

In the next moment I noted all the details, from the piles of sports equipment and the huge ring set in the centre, to the instructors I knew. There was Mia, waving sweetly and winking at me.

- So," Natasha began to speak, turning to me, "now we will begin the exam to confirm your skills as a Shield agent. First the test," Romanova pointed to a small, typical school desk.

- Really?

- You think we only take in people who can swing a fist?

- Well...

- Sit down.

I didn't argue. I pulled back the chair and took my seat. The test was put on the tabletop and the report began.

Everything started with tasks from the school programme, then the questions became more complicated and smoothly passed to the test of skills necessary for agents, for example, the description of methods of interrogation with different, in terms of emotional state of people and in different circumstances. But I thought (or hoped) that I would be asked to interrogate a criminal. All in all, quite amusing. Half an hour later, I handed in a test filled with answers, and sometimes detailed explanations for each question.

The "jury" took another twenty minutes to check all the assignments and make a general decision.

After listening to everyone's opinion, Natasha stood in front of me again.

- According to the decision of the examiners, you have been given an excellent grade for the test," Romanova said as an entertainer. - The next test, a test of the applicant's physical performance.

The widow calmly pointed to a pile of sports machines.

*

At this time.

Observation room.

- What do you think? - The bald, one-eyed man asked, watching Spider-Man swing on the bars and do a triple somersault while bouncing back.

- My opinion? Too green," replies a young blond-haired man with a quiver behind his back. - Look at him, he accompanies every exercise with silly wiggles and sarcasm and doesn't take the test seriously at all! It's like he thinks he's got it all figured out.

- In his defence, he has every right to think that.

- Principal Fury? You really don't plan to..." the man cast another quick glance at the New York hero, currently lifting a heavy barbell with one hand with exaggerated ease, "seriously, him?

- Relax, Clint, it's not what you think. I'm not going to bring Spidey into the Avengers Initiative, your right, he's too green yet.

- To be honest, I feel better now," Barton wiped non-existent sweat from his forehead. - Then what did you have in mind?

- The Avengers need to become a team of grown-up heroes with a certain credibility from the world community," Nick glanced a little at his agent, "after all, the big people at the top need to show off the big guns. But until there are no worthy contenders, plan B needs to be taken care of.

- The Team?

- That's right. Not the most famous, not the most powerful, disciplined or experienced, but the "young and hungry" ones, the ones who will fight evil without question.

- You sure about that? This guy doesn't look like your average executive goon.

- I wasn't talking about him. You've noticed that the tests we're running aren't exactly routine, right?

- Yeah, but I thought you were just being safe because Spidey's a New York superhero, and a well-known one at that.

- Especially after he's got a social media page and a YouTube channel," Fury grinned. - No, I plan to make him Team Leader.

- Really?

- Extremely. He's young, he's strong, he's got leadership skills. I've heard nothing but favourable comments from all the instructors, and Agent Romanoff has always been extremely complimentary about Spider. And, most importantly, he's someone who can take responsibility for the team without making leadership a burden, accepting it honourably.

- Is he that good? - Falcon Eye asked with noticeably less scepticism.

- Do you want to test it?

- In what way?

- Sparring. And instead of Natasha, you'll be the one testing her hand-to-hand skills, what do you say?

- Take notes, Chief.

*

Peter Parker.

I jumped over the wall and hovered on the rope under the ceiling.

- That's enough, Natasha said calmly. - I don't think anyone can doubt that your physical fitness is excellent," the Widow smirked.

- It's all vitamins and walks, - I warmed up my muscles a little, - what's next?

- There is still the test of handling cold and firearms, and then sparring.

- Class, will you be my opponent?

- Who else would it be," Natasha smiled noticeably brighter and led me to the firing range.

On the table were a standard M4 without accessories, two Berets that I love so much and an army bayonet knife.

- Natasha began in the tone of an experienced commander, "You are to hit all twenty-five targets in a limited time, then gather your equipment and storm the building. That's fifteen minutes, any questions?

- Absolutely not, Mum, I mean, ma'am!

To the Widow's credit, she didn't move a muscle, but I feel like I'm in for a fight.

- Here we go.

I calmly take the nearest Beretta and, having inserted the magazine, systematically shoot at the targets: head, left part of the chest, joint of the spine, so that they count extra points accurately. I calmly reload and in two minutes I finish with the dummies at the shooting range. I throw Emka over my back, good thing there is a belt, take berets in my hands and fix bayonet-knife on my trousers. Yes, my suit is obviously not designed for this.

I run to a separate wooden building behind the firing range and kick the door with my foot. As if on cue, the "opponents," cardboard dummies posing as criminals, rise from the ground. I continue the sawdust harvest and sweep the rooms.

I think the test would make more sense if they put real agents against me. Or don't want to risk it? Meanwhile, the Berets are out of ammo, and of course I can't get extra magazines. I put my pistols away and pulled my assault rifle from over my shoulder. Things went faster.

By the last room, the assault rifle was out of ammunition. Calmly I throw away the rifle and pull out a bayonet knife. I hit the nearest cardboard, punching it through, in the last "enemy" I throw the knife, it went through the hilt exactly between the eyes.

With a sense of accomplishment I go to the exit, but near the door from the ceiling hangs another dummy. I shoot a web at it and break it, pulling it to me.

- Not bad, - Widow meets me at the exit, - but the time is not the best, and for the use of additional equipment minus points.

- Hey, I was improvising! Besides what was I to do, the suit wasn't really suited to hold extra magazines. Couldn't you have given me one of those Shield jumpsuits?

- It would have made you look even more ridiculous than usual.

- Ha ha ha, see how much fun I'm having? All right, what's next?

- Sparring.

I calmly overtake Natasha and jump into the ring in a few moves.

- Okay, let's dance, - I'm getting into the standard combat "spider" stance.

- Stand down, - everyone turned round at the director's loud voice. - I'm afraid I have a new dance partner for you, kid," Fury grinned at the man standing next to him.

- Agent Clint Barton," the archer introduced himself.

-Falcon Eye, nice to meet you," I nodded.

- You heard about me?

- You did your homework well. But still, Agent Romanova trained me and knows all the techniques, sparring with her will obviously be more difficult.

- Don't worry, Spider-Man," Barton began, climbing into the arena, "I'm not a bad fighter either.

- Besides, consider this a punishment for being late," Fury added.

- No problem, you're the boss here, Director," a joking bow completed the demonstration of my attitude towards the situation.

- Get ready," Nick rolled his eye at my clowning around.

Falcon Eye tossed the quiver of arrows aside and stood in a standard boxing stance. Adopting, in turn, the familiar spider stance, waiting.

The gong sounded.

But neither of us moved. For several tens of seconds we study each other, but we don't start the fight. In the end, I decide to take the initiative. Closing in on my opponent, I throw a straight punch, which Barton dodges, moving away. In response, Clint tries to strike from the bottom, but I calmly take it on the block. Once again, we're closing the distance.

- That's not bad. I thought bows were your thing.

The archer doesn't say anything and attacks again. He throws a standard series of boxing punches to the body, which I have no problem dodging. Not even a hint of warning. I intercept my fist and slam my opponent's arm, but Clint rolls over and throws me, quickly recovering from the throw by pushing my hands off the floor.

- Okay, looks like you're on to something, Falcon Eye. Why the nickname, by the way? Has the marksman, or Mr Point Blank, been busy?

- Do you ever shut up?

- Only on Fridays or when I'm eating, good manners.

I run up to Clint and throw myself in a stanner, trying to take him down, but Barton legitimately intercepts the hold and takes me for a choke. As expected. I start running backwards and slam Clint against the arena fence. Then another and another until the archer's grip begins to loosen. Grab Barton and flip him to the floor. I end the fight with a retaliatory choke, and after a minute Clint slaps my arm, admitting defeat.

I let go of the archer, and he starts gulping for air.

- Good fight, Agent Barton," I give Falcon Eye a hand.

- I agree," the man accepts the gesture and stands up. "Nice job trapping me, kid.

- The audience appreciated it, too," Fury spoke up.

- So, did I pass?

- Let's see," Natasha took the instructors' notes, "physical fitness: excellent; test score: excellent; handling of various weapons: above expectations and sparring: excellent.

- Sounds pretty good.

- It is, there are only three agents this year who have performed even remotely like you.

- That's great, even though I was only using the skills I'd learnt. Maybe a little dexterity here or super strength there, just a little. - So I'm free?

- Are you kidding me? You will now be briefed on the location of the main offices to meet the field agents, given an official Shield Agent briefing, given your new clearance level and told where you need to go tomorrow to get your ID.

Just cool.

***

Later this evening.

Harlem.

Wilson Fisk.

New York's crime kingpin sat in his fancy limo, drinking champagne and reflecting on recent events.

Since the attack of that flying madman, Fisk had become a bit of an icon. A philanthropist who had decided to open a medical centre to help children had been hunted by a deranged psychopath, and that was how the newspapers had presented the situation. Many interesting scenarios opened up and acquaintances were available that could not have been possible before.

And he could have died that day.

- Mr Fisk?

- Westley. I'm sorry, I was thinking.

- It's all right, we're here," the assistant said as he opened the door.

- Excellent.

Ambal stepped out of the car and looked at the sign of the Ice Peak Club, the place where a very important conversation was to take place.

Wilson's guards, armed with Uzis and short shotguns, emerged from the escort vehicles.

The motorcade began to move. The guards standing at the door opened the doors in front of them.

To Wilson's mind, the interior of the club was too garish and garish, tasteless. Kingpin himself was in favour of a more neutral and simple style. But to each his own.

There was no one inside the room, apparently Shieldbearer was concerned with the confidentiality of the conversation and general privacy.

Stokes was sitting at a table in the centre of the room, surrounded by eight men, obviously personal security and muscle in one.

- 'Wilson,' the gangster stood up and spread his arms out to the sides, 'you're looking good. Bourbon, whiskey?

- Thanks, Cornell, but I'll pass. I'd like to discuss the job.

- Oh, I see, let's sit down.

The men took seats across from each other, Stokes snapped his fingers and one of the bodyguards handed him a glass.

- I'll have a drink, if you don't mind.

- Not at all. So," Fisk loosened the top button of his jacket, "you may have heard about the recent case on the docks....

- Oh, yeah, the cops busted the biggest drug bust in New York history.

- They also arrested my personal bodyguard. The best.

- Yeah, that sucks, that's a terrible screw-up. I'm sure our friend Lincoln is very happy about that," Shieldbearer said with a sly smile.

- I'm sure you'd be happy too, if it weren't for your own problems. How are the borders of Harlem? No one bothers you?

Cornell's smile faded.

- Well, I agree, I have some unwanted difficulties of my own," Stokes sipped from his glass.

- Look," Wilson stepped forward, "I know there are a few heroes in your neighbourhood.

- And they're keeping you busy.

- That's right. So tell me, don't we need to take certain actions?

- Like what?

- Send people to solve our problems.

- Really? Honestly, my guys are only good for neighbourhood watch, but supers? That's a whole other level, Wilson. Even our combined forces aren't gonna be enough.

- Who says you have to send OUR men?

Stokes leaned back in his chair and put his foot on his leg.

- I'm listening.

- Mercenaries, Cornell, we need mercenaries. And I've got a lead on some very interesting individuals.

*

After the conversation, Ambal left the club and got into the limousine. His trusty sidekick took the seat opposite.

- James.

- Yes, Mr Fisk?

- The guy who covered for me at the opening, I need his name," Wilson said thoughtfully.

- 'Certainly, sir. Address too?

- 'No, not yet.