Nitrogen gas springs are compact, powerful, long-lived—packed with advantages. They're not suited to firearms, and even my old grapnel gun wasn't a good match. But paired with the web-shooters, they're just about perfect—especially the flat, canteen-shaped units I machined at the illegal shop, which contour to the forearm.
After the redesign, the "web-shooter" is almost unrecognizable—more like a concealed sleeve-dart launcher. I mount it on the outside of the forearm and trigger it with muscle movement.
The original air-cannon principle on the shooters already sent liquid webbing out fast—fast enough to beat an ordinary bullet. My grapnel gun, driven by propellant or high-pressure air and heavily modified, launched far faster than typical rounds. Combine the two and you get a new tool with the strengths of both.
"Black Cat didn't end up in a cell, so I still don't know if she has any real rap sheet."
I strapped the two new units on. A tiny thwip sounded when the muscles flexed; liquid webbing spat out at extreme speed, curing in midair and streaking away.
"Peter Parker's computer can't cut it. I need a higher-spec build—something like Octavius's lab machines—if I'm going to be hacking systems regularly."
I'd tried Peter's box—even upgraded, it couldn't run a VM. While logging performance data for the new gear, I mapped the next steps.
The target is clear: hit New York's gangs to build capital; then refine the equations and buy into Dr. Octavius's fusion project to multiply the funds. After that, form my own business empire to bankroll heavy R&D on a return device. In parallel, keep looking for other ways home—and keep fighting crime. That's carved into me. New world or not, I'm not taking a vacation.
I named the new tool the Bat-Claw and finished revising the web formula. The new mix bonds hard to anything—even something slick with mucus like the Squid-Man—so it won't slip free like last night. I also turned the webbing black; I work mostly at night, and white strands reflect light and give away my position.
There's time yet; I'm not rushing to find the Squid-Man. First I need to spend money—and deal with the guns.
The $150,000 Joseph brought is enough to buy the parts I need on the open market and assemble a stopgap workstation. As for the guns Black Cat delivered—they're from a defense contractor named Stark. After a thorough check I could see they'd been tampered with. Whoever did it knew firearms, but the flaws were obvious to me: halfway through a magazine they'll jam due to internal design tweaks. Without precision tooling to correct them, they're scrap. Taking these into a gang firefight is like showing up with a squirt gun.
I dug a pit and buried the lot. With the remaining time I went out as Peter Parker, bought the PC parts and tools, and built the machine. Instead of immediately hacking the NYPD, I sketched a portrait and imported it—Black Cat, reconstructed perfectly from memory.
That was the next move after leaving her at the precinct without worrying whether she'd slip free: go straight into the NYPD system and pull everything on her.
"Black Cat. Real name: Felicia Hardy. Age: 20. Student at Empire State University. Father: salesman…"
Most of that is true; her father's public record doesn't say he was the Cat Burglar—only a salesman. NYPD shows she does have a record, but not for murder or arson—she once kicked in the testicles of a classmate who tried to grope her her freshman year.
"In her statement she says she's trained since childhood in various fighting arts…" A solid partner.
I stopped browsing and moved to the real tasks.
First: purge every clip that could expose Spider-Man's route, voice, or build, leaving only footage with no identifiable features. With my counter-surveillance habits, that should make it nearly impossible to trace Spider-Man back to Peter Parker.
Second: pivot from the NYPD to a bigger target—the CIA. The high-spec PC is my second "piece of gear" after the Bat-Claw, built precisely to make this possible. I need to know whether this world has supernormal forces—and whether any of them can help me get home.
"Squid-Man. Real name: Don Callahan. NYC native thug. Transformed by an Oscorp supersoldier-serum program; works as a contract killer for various New York gangs; seven confirmed kills…"
Supernormal power exists. First entry is tonight's quarry in the sewers.
"Strength and speed beyond human limits; near-immune to bullets; able to breathe underwater; can cling vertically to glass—capture difficulty: extreme…"
I memorized everything in the CIA file on him and scrolled to the second entry.
"The Hulk. Real name: Bruce Banner…"
The same scientist whose portrait hung beside Einstein's in Octavius's lab.
"…No appearances since a major battle with the military in '03."
The CIA's current list of supernormal beings has only those two, plus one missing person: the first man to receive the supersoldier serum, Captain America, Steve Rogers. As for non-biological phenomena, there's a single item: the "Tesseract."
Before I could open the Tesseract file, the CIA flagged the intrusion and was back-tracing my location. No hesitation—I cut the connection, scrubbed every trace, and turned to final prep for tonight's hunt in the sewers.