Anticipated Battles. Preparation

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***

8 June, 2013. 8:00.

New York City, Main Tower.

Wilson Fisk.

- I've decided to hire you because you are the best in the business, perfect for the job at hand," Ambal said as he looked over the three candidates with a careful eye.

- Speak business, Willy, I've had a big breakfast and I've polished it all off with an elephant's coffee, the chimichangas are begging to come out, so schneller, schneller! - a man in a red and black suit said in a dorky tone.

The red-clothed woman standing next to him grimaced.

The third mercenary didn't react, he was listening to his employer and playing with one of his throwing knives.

Kingpin kept a very professional expression on his face.

- Mr Wilson, spare us the details of your body's digestion, please.

- Pfft, it took a lot of pain, and you're not canon at all, Negro," the Chatty Mercenary muttered resentfully.

Fisk only sighed.

How could such a degenerate be a professional who hadn't failed a single contract?

- Shall we get back to discussing the case? - A man in a black uniform, with a white target on his head, spoke unhappily.

- Of course, Swordsman," Ambal nodded calmly, folding his palms together. - So, your targets.

To Fisk's right, a slideshow of slowly changing images begins: Spider-Man crawling along a wall, Daredevil jumping over a roof, Luke Cage leaning against a stone wall, Iron Fist meditating, and Jessica Jones munching on a donut.

- You must take down a team of street heroes long troubling the good criminals of the Big Apple.

- Payment? - In a calm and cool tone, the only woman in the room specifies.

- Twenty-five million dollars, Miss Electra. Each.

Wade Wilson whistles.

- So, if I didn't skip the fourth grade, that's a hundred and twenty-five million dollars in the bank and forty-one million and a penny per brother, - a quick glance at the disgruntled Electra, - or sister, right?

- That's right, Mr Wilson.

- It's a good sum," says the one who never misses putting his knife behind his belt, "but not for such purposes.

- You got a problem with that? - Fisk clarifies, remaining a monolithic block of pure superiority.

- Forty million for the head of some dictator or president, no problem, but these guys," he nods at the images, "are on a different level.

- You want to turn down the assignment?

- Are you kidding me? - Shines a crazy smile on the Swordman. - Please invest some of my kush in large calibre weapons, as far as I know, Mr Cage is very hard to wound.

- That won't be a problem. Any other questions?

Elektra remained standing, and Deadpool raised his hand. I'll bet you do.

- I have one extremely important clarification.

- I'm listening to you, Mr Wilson," Fisk said with a sigh.

- Hypothetically speaking, can we not kill Spidey? I'm just a fan.

Everyone in the room stares at the regenerator in shock.

- Excuse me? - Wilson was speechless.

- Have you seen his YouTube followers? And the flying around the city, I'm floating! Of course, I'm a hundred per cent sure he copied most of the costume from me, but Spidey's still very pissy," Deadpool said with an unnatural adoration.

Kingpin thought his eye twitched.

- We have to kill them all. Is that clear?

- Uh, yeah, that's clear.

- All right, stand by, you'll be contacted.

***

In a few hours.

Parker residence, Queens.

Peter Benjamin Parker.

- Thank you for coming, darling, I've been needing to clear out the attic for a long time," May says as I bring down another box.

- 'You're welcome, Aunty, I'm surprised there's so much stuff in the attic though, you used to tidy up there a lot.

- I haven't had time.

I open the box and see a good black leather jacket. I take it out.

- Nice leather jacket, where did you get it from, May?

- Oh," the woman walks over to me and runs her palm over the material, "it's your uncle's old jacket, I'm surprised it's still there after all these years.

- Uncle Ben's jacket," I take a new look at the item, "cool.

- Put it on.

- Are you sure?

- What nonsense, of course I'm sure," May helps me put it on.

- What do you think? - I'm spinning on my axis.

- Oh, honey, you look just like your father, but now you look just like Ben when he was young," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

- Well, they were brothers," May's reaction made me sad.

And, as luck would have it, I remembered my conversation with George last night.

- Aunt May, tell me, if I found out that the driver who caused your uncle's accident was a very bad man doing bad things, what would I do?

- Darling, that accident was an accident, a terrible accident, but an accident - you shouldn't rake up the past," my aunt says in a sad voice.

I press my lips into a thin line.

- I understand, Auntie, but if I manage to find him, what should I do in that case?

- What are you talking about, Peter? - Auntie asks with a frown.

- I've arrested over the months, I won't be unsubstantiated, several hundred criminals, if not more, all of them committing crimes of various kinds, from minor offences to terrible atrocities, but I've always tried to keep my attitude in check, to hand them over to the police. But how do you stay impartial when the criminal has hurt your family? How do I hand over to the police a criminal I want to hurt with every fibre of my soul?

May comes closer and takes my hand.

- Honey, tell me, why do heroes like Spider-Man arrest criminals instead of lynching them?

- Because it's the right thing to do. It's the right thing to do. That's what you taught me.

- Then tell me, why are you questioning it now? Is it because I got hurt and Ben died? If that's the case, remember what your uncle Peter taught you. What did Ben Parker say about principles?

- My uncle always said that a decent man can survive the most difficult events in life and not lose himself by doing what is right.

Mrs Parker kisses her nephew on the forehead.

- 'Then let's not return to this subject again. Please sort out the rest of the boxes, and I'll go and make lunch. Tonight it's your favourite meatballs in tomato and sour cream sauce.

- Thank you, Aunty, you're lovely.

*

After I finished clearing out the junk in the attic, I went to what would become my primary habitat during my teenage years-- my first lab ever, aka the famous Parker basement. Well, at least it wasn't the closet under the stairs.

"And it's smaller than I remember."

"Or you've gotten bigger, Peter."

"Hey, I'm watching my figure," I smirk, "and actually you're right, it really has been a while since I've been down here."

I walk over to the table and run my palm over the young chemist's kit, which is a little dusty. I used it to design my first spider web. So many memories. I approach my old computer killer and switch it on.

- Ha, still worthy, huh?

Pulling out my hoodie pocket, Spiderbot. I wait for the Generation X cybermachine to boot up and plug my invention into the tech, downloading security updates. Great, another twenty minutes and even the best Shield technicians will be tinkering with this old guy for weeks.

Now that I've taken care of security, it's time to move on to solving my investigation. I activate the Spiderbot's search engines and, using the old blueprints, connect to the Oscorp servers. I set up a search to locate any testing grounds for a variety of dangerous developments.

If my vision doesn't deceive me, I'll find the Sandman at one of them. My instincts tell me I'm on the right track.

While Spiderbot is busy searching for information about my personal enemy in the person of a multi-billion dollar corporation, I was busy analysing information in another sphere. If memory serves me correctly, Flint Marko has a variety of origin stories, some of which even state that Flint Marko is not his real name but an alias, but, more often than not, Sandman becomes a criminal because of circumstance, not nature.

Hacking into children's hospital data.

For example, to pay for surgeries for sick kids.

Penny Marco, nine years old, early stage operable brain tumour. Poor girl. Drugs and surgery aren't cheap.

If it doesn't come to a fight, we should try to talk Flint down, he's not bad at heart. But if it comes down to a fight, other methods should be considered. I've got one in mind.

I'm distracted from my thoughts by a knock on the door.

I go upstairs, having covered the spiderbot with my hoodie.

- Peter, dinner's ready, it was May after all.

- I'm on my way, Auntie," I lock the basement door.

***

At this time.

New York City, Harlem engineering warehouse.

Quentin Beck.

The former special effects master planned to break into the warehouse of his last employer and recover what was owed.

Recent events have given Beck and his kind a lot of leeway. For the past three years Quentin has been a prisoner of the Raft, he was serving a sentence for attempting to commit the murder of the lead actor on the film set where he worked, because of the actress with whom Beck was in love, Miranda Wilson.

Alas, the massacre was not carried out with particular cruelty and that smiling prick was rescued and Quentin was arrested. Miranda never even visited him in prison, but the illusionist sacrificed everything for her! Another proof that women are not worth half of what men do for them.

Beck managed to get in touch with a specialist who promised to help transfer the stolen equipment, for a return promise to help in the future. Well, hand washes hand.

The illusionist gathered the necessary equipment and waited a few blocks from the warehouse, where they had agreed to meet the source.

Beck waited thirty minutes for the informant to arrive and finally an unremarkable dark-haired man in a plain grey coat moved in his direction. Nothing special.

- You are Mr Beck, I presume? - The man began the dialogue.

- Are you right, mister?

- John. You can just call me John.

- All right, just John. Are you ready to go?

- Sure, let's go, shall we?

The perps moved towards the warehouse they needed. Behind the fence line, a guard was waiting in the guard room.

- Leave it to me, John said and moved forward.

- Wait, wait! This is a restricted area," the guard shouted.

- Well, that's too bad.

At the guard's shocked look, the man in the grey cloak took on his appearance.

- What?

In the next second, "John" punched the guard in the throat with his fist. The man fell to his knees and wheezed, the perpetrator finishing his attack with a kick to the head. The fake guard went into the guardhouse and disabled the outdoor surveillance system.

At this time, Quentin approached "John."

- How did you do that? - The former Raft prisoner asked with interest looking at his accomplice.

- Mr Beck, you are an excellent specialist in special effects, but not the only one who can create convincing illusions, - answered the fake guard in a neutral tone. - I've disabled the outside cameras, but just in case, wait here while I deal with the alarm system and the cameras in the warehouse, okay?

Quentin only nodded lethargically. Who is this guy?

Beck waited twenty-seven minutes and forty-one seconds until his partner returned.

- All set.

The men made their way into the warehouse with no problem.

- Finally," the special effects master's eyes glittered feverishly.

Beck began to open boxes and from one of them he took out a favourite item, a bright lilac cloak.

- This will be a perfect addition to the look I have in mind.

- You got what you wanted, Mr Beck.

- Later," the blond man replies, turning round to face him, "first, let's move everything into the storage locker.

- As you wish.

Within hours, the criminals were delivering the equipment.

- Well, this is the last, - wiping sweat said the master of special effects.

- Then I guess we can move on to my part of the deal," John said, regaining his same appearance.

- As I recall, we had a deal, quid pro quo," Quentin replied, shaking off the cloak he had fastened behind his back.

- That's right. When you've done what you stole all this equipment for, I'll contact you and you'll help me with one thing, agreed? - The man held out his palm to the blond man.

- 'Sure, no problem,' Beck responded to the handshake, and behind his back a bright lilac cloak was developing, due to the resulting draught.