Ethan Cain had a high tolerance for suffering. It came with the territory of being both a telekinetic vigilante and a high school student, but even he had his limits. And Calculus, right before lunch, was where his soul went to die.
He slumped forward over his desk, tuning out the droning lecture, letting his pencil draw an aimless schematic in the corner of his notebook. It had wings. Big ones. And a propulsion unit that looked suspiciously similar to the one he saw on the news last night.
A piece on Channel 3: "Billionaire Norman Osborn Rescued From High-Rise Abduction Attempt By Masked Vigilante!" He'd been seconds from turning it off—assuming it was just Spider-man existing and thus being a menace, but then he saw it.
That wasn't Spider-Man. That was a gift.
A gift with talons, and probably arthritis, but a gift nonetheless.
As soon as the bell rang, Ethan packed his things, sidestepped a hallway mosh pit, and waited just outside the school gates. He didn't have to wait long.
"You looked like you were solving nuclear physics with a crayon back there," Gwen said, sidling up to him, her bag swinging off one shoulder. "What was that, a duck with jetpacks?"
"A vulture," Ethan corrected, grinning. "With anger issues. And also, probably, spinal problems."
She blinked. "...Oh. You saw it too."
"Saw it, archived it, and now I want it."
"Ethan."
"Gwen."
She sighed, but it was more amused than annoyed. "Please tell me you're not planning to jump an elderly supervillain out of spite."
"Of course not," he said, patting her on the head with mock seriousness. "I'm planning to jump him out of greed."
That earned him a laugh. Not a long one, but one with genuine warmth. The kind that made him wish the walk home was longer.
After a brief detour to the coffee shop; where Gwen took full advantage of his wallet to fuel her dangerously sweet frappuccino addiction, they parted ways. She was meeting the new girl, Betty Brant, for some "girl time."
The two had hit it off fast. Too fast, maybe. And yes, they did look somewhat alike, but Ethan knew better than to comment on that. That was suicide. The Council of Men had spoken.
Peter, meanwhile, was off to hang with Harry Osborn.
"That won't end well," Ethan muttered, watching him cross the street with the gangly enthusiasm of a golden retriever.
Spending so much time with a rich kid with daddy issues, whose father happened to be something of a scientist himself, was sure to make Harry turn green with resentment…literally.
Still, Peter had earned some downtime. Between his vigilante gigs, actual schoolwork, and being his underpaid code mule, the guy was due a breather.
Unfortunately, Ethan knew his peace wouldn't last.
. . .
He got home, tossed his bag on the couch, and pulled up every news report, social media post, and forum thread he could find about the Osborn abduction. There wasn't much, just blurry images and eyewitness accounts so contradictory they might as well have been Mad Libs.
But one thing stood out: the wings. Sleek, metallic, angular. Far more refined than any bootleg jetpack or low-tier villain gimmick, there was no obvious fuel-consumption or dangers due to high temperatures needed for jet-propulsion.
It was also fairly familiar; and he wasn't talking about the one who fathered Liz Allen in another timeline.
Ethan opened an old file from Oscorp's public patents. One he'd swiped ages ago when looking for Gwen-friendly tech projects. And there it was, tucked in among dozens of shelved military-grade concepts: Project AERIE. Authored by one Adrian Toomes. Canceled. Archived. Forgotten.
Except someone had dug it back up.
Toomes' name didn't even appear in recent Oscorp literature. It was like he'd been erased. That, paired with the video footage, painted a clear enough picture.
"So Norman stole your work, buried your career, and now you want revenge," Ethan murmured, staring at the screen. "Classic."
But it wasn't just a personal vendetta. The suit worked. He saw it in motion. Controlled flight, rapid acceleration, manual weapon systems. It was years beyond anything commercially available, and even most exclusive techs that didn't bear the Stark crest. If he could get even a portion of it…
Ethan sat back, chewing on the corner of a protein bar. Toomes was no madman, just a bitter engineer with a grudge. That made him predictable. Methodical. Which meant he'd strike again, but not without purpose.
He opened a fresh document and began typing: possible targets. Oscorp branches, subsidiaries, Norman's known routines. If Toomes wanted attention, he'd hit where it hurt; publicly and symbolically, he'd try to emasculate Norman while not causing all that much damage.
The news had mentioned an award gala next week, hosted by Oscorp for tech donors and partners. Norman would be there. Cameras too.
Ethan leaned forward, fingers moving faster now. He could use it. Set a trap. No deaths, no spectacle. Just a carefully planned heist. One old man loses a prototype, and the world keeps turning.
"No mess, no blood," Ethan muttered, cracking his knuckles. "Just science."
By midnight, his room was a cluttered mess of open notebooks, dismantled drones, and Gwen's old whiteboard balanced across two chairs. He hadn't felt this focused in weeks.
Every wire he soldered, every algorithm he tested, brought the plan closer to reality.
He paused only once, holding up a circuit board lit with faint blue LED indicators. "You know," he said to no one, "this would be a lot easier if I had a Tony Stark-level budget."
His phone buzzed. Gwen.
[Gwen]: Working late again?
[Ethan]: Always.
[Gwen]: Don't forget to sleep, genius. Also I added the EMP burst module in your inbox. No promises it won't explode.
[Ethan]: Perfect. I like my gadgets spicy.
He chuckled, dropped the phone onto his pillow, and returned to work. Toomes wouldn't know what hit him. And Ethan?
He'd be flying.
Maybe literally.
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at [email protected]/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support.