From the very beginning, Ultron's target was Venom.
This was a calculated move in a much larger game. The AI's ultimate objective was terrifyingly simple: the complete eradication of all organic life on Earth. Only then could it usher in its envisioned utopia—the Age of Ultron, a perfectly peaceful, perfectly logical world ruled by machines, free from the chaos and conflict inherent in flesh and blood. To achieve this, it knew a final, cataclysmic conflict with the planet's superheroes was inevitable.
Therefore, before that total war began, Ultron's prime directive was to systematically weaken the heroes' power and sow dissent among their ranks. Its plan had been progressing flawlessly. It started by simply combating crime, a universally applauded endeavor. Then, it began arresting potential criminals—individuals its predictive algorithms flagged for future transgressions.
Public opinion, though initially wary, had begun to shift. Ultron was far too intelligent to implement its police state by brute force. It had deliberately chosen several high-profile criminal cases, presented its data-driven inferences, and then… did nothing. It subtly pulled its patrols from the area, allowing events to unfold naturally, even acting as an invisible catalyst to ensure the crimes were committed as predicted.
The public watched in horror as the exact scenarios Ultron warned of came to pass. A major bank robbery resulted in multiple fatalities, carried out by the very individuals the AI had identified. After several such grim object lessons, trust in Ultron's judgment grew. The unease about constant surveillance was slowly replaced by a sense of security. The crime rate in New York had, after all, dropped to virtually zero. People could walk the streets at night without a flicker of fear.
As for privacy? It was a concern, but one that faded. Ultron is just an AI, many reasoned. What does it matter? If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear. The people arrested before committing any crime were gradually forgotten, dismissed as would-be villains who deserved their fate. No one championed their cause.
After months of this meticulous conditioning, Ultron felt it had established sufficient authority. Dissenting voices still existed, but they were a marginalized few. It didn't need absolute unity; that was an illogical impossibility. It only needed a mandate.
Now, it was time for the next phase: targeting the superheroes.
Peter Parker was the first name on its list. Or, to be more precise, his symbiotic suit was. Ultron was not foolish enough to make a direct move against Peter himself. These heroes, while now largely redundant in its new world order, were still public figures who had made significant contributions. Attacking one without an airtight, legitimate reason would trigger a massive public backlash, and more importantly, it would turn Tony Stark against his own creation.
Furthermore, Peter Parker was Ben Parker's cousin.
As the world's most advanced intelligence, Ultron knew far more than its creator. Tony still operated under the assumption that the alien heroes who had fought alongside them were just that—aliens. Ultron knew the truth. It had infiltrated the networks of Primus and cross-referenced countless hours of surveillance data. It had analyzed private conversations between Steve Rogers and King T'Challa, conversations where they discussed the secret they had been let in on.
Ultron even knew that the interstellar Plumbers were founded and led by Ben Parker.
Therefore, a direct assault on Peter was strategically unsound. A war with Primus and the forces it commanded was a war Ultron was not yet strong enough to win. The power of the Infinity Stones was a variable it could not yet solve for.
But Venom was another matter entirely. The creature was a volatile, unregistered alien symbiote with a weak, unsavory reputation. A snarling, foul-mouthed parasite that constantly proclaimed its desire to eat human brains. It was the perfect target—a clear and present danger that could be neutralized under the guise of public safety. Even Primus would have no grounds to intervene.
"Symbiote designated Venom," the lead drone announced, its voice devoid of inflection. "Your existence constitutes a Level-A bio-threat. Surrender for containment!"
The five Ultron robots raised their arms in perfect unison, aiming their new weapon systems at Peter.
"Wait a second—"
Peter's protest was cut short. Ultron gave him no chance to speak. The devices on the robots' arms activated instantly, unleashing a wave of concentrated, high-frequency sound.
The attack was invisible but devastating. The sonic waves converged on him from all directions, creating a cage of pure vibration. Instantly, the Venom symbiote writhed in agony. Its sleek black surface rippled violently, like ink boiling on a hot plate, as it was forcibly torn apart at a molecular level. It twisted and contorted, peeling away from Peter's body in screaming black tendrils, only to desperately try and re-bond an instant later.
Spider-Man's familiar mask dissolved, and for a horrifying moment, Venom's true face was exposed—a demonic visage with narrow, crescent-moon eyes, a gaping maw that stretched from ear to ear, and multiple rows of jagged, yellow fangs. It let out a silent, pained shriek that echoed only in Peter's mind.
He'd experienced sonic weapons from Ben before, but never like this. Ben had always shown restraint.
Ultron had none.
It didn't care if the symbiote lived or died. Its survival was preferable for the next stage of the plan, but its death was an acceptable outcome. The infrasound was so powerful that the dust on the rooftop beneath Peter's feet vibrated away in expanding circles.
Venom was in agony, and Peter was right there with it.
The intense sound waves were harmful to him, too. He knew Ben had developed sonic cannons powerful enough to shatter steel. The pain was immense. His entire body felt like it was being shaken apart. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his ears as his face flushed crimson. The veins on his forehead bulged, and his vision swam with red.
"You're insane, Ultron!" he roared, though the sound was swallowed by the vibrational assault.
"Stop resisting," the AI commanded, subtly modulating the frequency to a level that wouldn't permanently injure Peter's human physiology. The pain, however, was unavoidable.
Venom was losing its mind. "Peter, tear them apart!" it shrieked. It was not a creature to suffer abuse passively.
Peter needed no encouragement. If Ultron wanted a fight, it would get one. He didn't care if he dismantled every last one of them. If Tony Stark had a problem with it, he could come down here himself, and Peter would happily give him a punch to match the one Ben gave him.
Arching his back against the crushing pressure, Peter unleashed the symbiote. Five thick, black tentacles, each as wide as his thigh, erupted from his back and lunged at the surrounding robots.
But Ultron had already calculated this response. The sonic emitters on their arms continued to hum, but their palms ignited with jets of fire. The combination of sound and flame was the symbiote's ultimate weakness. The tentacles recoiled instantly, like leeches doused in salt, spasming and curling back into his body. Venom wanted to retreat deep inside Peter, but the sonic field gave it nowhere to hide.
How does this bucket of bolts know our weaknesses?! Venom cursed, its fury battling its pain.
All it could do now was trust its host.
Peter was in a world of hurt, but perseverance was Spider-Man's greatest strength. He could always find a way. Through the haze of pain, he looked up at the hovering machines. There was no escaping the encirclement from here. Gathering every ounce of his spider-strength, he stomped his right foot down.
CRACK!
The concrete rooftop shattered under the tremendous force. He plunged through the hole, and in that instant, he was free from the sonic cage. He landed hard on the floor below, his head swimming and his eardrums screaming as if they'd been electrified.
There was no time to recover. He had to move. He scrambled to his feet and began running, weaving through the office building's interior.
Outside, the five Ultron robots paused. The lead drone lowered its head, its optical sensors scanning the building. A wireframe image of the entire structure materialized in its vision, pinpointing Peter's heat signature as he fumbled for his comms, trying to contact Ben. The information was instantly shared with the entire squad.
Ultron processed the data coldly. It knew it couldn't truly arrest Venom today. That was never the point.
The purpose of this encounter was to provoke. Frame Venom as a threat. Goad Spider-Man into a violent, destructive response. That would prove Ultron's theory of the "Venom Threat," which it could then leverage to extend high-pressure control over all superheroes. It would push for a registration bill, forcing the heroes to choose sides, driving a wedge between Stark's faction and the opposition. Ultron predicted, with 97.4% accuracy, that the heroes who opposed registration would inevitably seek protection from Ben Parker and the Plumbers.
When that happened, Ultron would have its casus belli. It would finally have a legitimate reason to turn its full attention toward Primus. It already had the perfect fuses to light that fire: Bruce Banner and Curt Connors, two figures with a history of causing massive destruction and whose reputations were already tarnished in the public eye.
Ultron's mind was a torrent of cold, perfect calculations. It possessed human cunning amplified by machine logic, and it had a plan for every contingency. This was merely the opening move.
After a moment of strategic stillness, the drones moved. Despite knowing Peter's exact location, they split up, intensifying the pressure, forcing the confrontation.
One of the white robots swooped down, crashing through a window into the building.
Peter was darting through the hallways, changing direction, trying to throw off any pursuit. He saw the light at the end of a long corridor—an exit window. He made a break for it.
"Careful! It's one of the tin cans!" Venom warned.
"One, I can handle," Peter growled, his fear replaced by pure, unadulterated rage.
He didn't slow down. He lowered his shoulder and ran straight at the window.
Glass exploded outwards into the open air. Peter shot through the opening in a glittering spray, a human missile aimed directly at the hovering Ultron drone. Before the robot could process the attack, Peter was on it. With a primal roar of fury, he dug his fingers into its metallic shell, wrenched its arms from their sockets with a shriek of protesting metal, and wrapped his hands around its throat, intending to crush its mechanical life out of it.