"Young master, everything's in place. The moment you come down, the Times Square reporters will close in around you. And I've booked every billboard in Times Square for tonight — one word from you and we start rolling the video we prepped."
The old butler's work never gave him a moment's worry. Tony nodded and waited for Happy.
Ah, Tony. I actually felt a little bad for you — and then you go and try to box me in too. Do you have any idea what happens to the punks at school who dare block Madam President's road?
Clearly Tony's Spider-Man Squad was hiding well back, past the edge of Maya's sensing range. If she hadn't eavesdropped on their little chat, she'd have gone on believing Tony was just some clueless rich fool.
Maybe this — this is the true face of Marvel Earth's biggest arms dealer.
Decision made, Maya heard Jarvis mention the billboards again, and a cold, mocking smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
A moment later, the big broad-shouldered Happy came puffing up too — and now there were four Spider-Men on the scene.
Tony stepped forward, took the silver-white briefcase, and popped it open with a grin. "Spider-Man, sorry to keep you waiting! This time I'm paying in diamonds — every one of them personally appraised by Christie's, certificates included!"
"Fine, the gun's yours!" Maya said, not the least bit concerned, drawing the pistol from her waist and handing it over.
Tony carefully accepted the "neural-pulse pistol" he'd been coveting so long. Sure enough, the surface was smooth as a mirror; through the crystal-glass barrel he could almost make out the intricate patterns inside.
"Small, all right — nice and light!" he marveled, already casting around for something to test it on.
Seeing this, Maya cut in fast. "Anything else? If not, I'm off."
Tony didn't doubt her for a second — he'd watched Spider-Man use the thing plenty of times, and he'd cracked the concept himself, which only made him more certain such a "wonder gun" was real. Seeing that Spider-Man didn't even want the case — just took the little pouch of diamonds and made to leave — Tony hurriedly set the gun back inside it and said, "Wait — Spider-Man, you're a member of my Spider-Man team now, in a manner of speaking. Let's head down and take a photo!"
That's exactly the line I was waiting for.
Maya made a show of thinking it over, then nodded. "Sure. Since you're Spider-Man now, I'll vouch for you — just this once!"
Tony said, thrilled, "Perfect — it's just a photo, and there'll be plenty of Spider-Men, so you won't stand out much. Quick and easy!"
Depp was a cub reporter freshly hired at the New York Post. The only reason he'd landed an invite to Stark Industries' press conference that morning was that his old man was the Post's editor-in-chief. He was a rookie, but he had none of that rookie-reporter's backbone or conviction — which was exactly why he'd been so happy to pocket the $5,000 from Stark's bodyguard, Happy. His shilling that morning had been clumsy and subpar, and still he'd landed another job from Happy that night. Nothing complicated: Depp had no attitude and took direction well — unremarkable, but he rarely screwed up.
Depp himself was more than satisfied. One day's work had netted him $10,000 — half a year's salary, near enough, seeing as he was still an intern.
And he'd taken his father's advice and resold the tip to a few other outlets — Elder Depp's veteran wisdom. The upside was threefold. One, another bit of side cash. Two, it made him less conspicuous — same as how a good plant has to hide himself, you sell the news alongside some fellow hacks for cover. Three, it buttered up Stark: Stark wanted to buy coverage, didn't he? Fine — buy one, get N papers free — a favor sure to earn a pat on the head from Mr. Happy afterward.
So when a whole flock of Spider-Men in every conceivable style dropped out of the sky, Depp was first to rush the front, thrusting his mic straight at the Spider-Man with the white "Stark" lettering on his left rib — the one Mr. Happy had told him was Tony Stark.
"Excuse me — are all you Spider-Men here Stark Industries bodyguards?" Depp asked, right on cue.
"Heh — I'm Tony Stark, and I'm Spider-Man!" Tony flipped up his mask, per the script.
"Whoa — it's Tony! It's really Tony!"
A wave of gasps went up from the reporters. The others were genuinely shocked — they'd assumed that after breaking his own leg, Tony would never take the field in person again. Who'd have guessed this "original" Spider-Man was still so righteous, so full of hatred for evil.
Facing the forest of outstretched mics, Tony fielded it all with ease. "I've arranged bodyguards to help the police fight crime, yes — but I'll still be out there on the front line myself."
CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP! Not just the reporters — the passersby around them broke into applause too.
Soaking up the ovation like it was the most natural thing in the world, Tony went on. "As you can all see, this is a grand gathering of the Spider-Man family — and among us you'll even spot a good many familiar faces."
"Mr. Stark, are they all your employees? Were all the earlier Spider-Man operations carried out on your orders?" Depp lobbed the pre-arranged question.
Huh — isn't that the guy from this morning? They tapped him to shill again? Whatever — decent enough tonight!
Thinking it over, Tony answered in earnest, "Yes — they're all veterans I've hired. Every one of these Spider-Men is well-trained, rock-solid in their expertise, and worthy of the public's trust. Take this Spider-Man here, with the Coca-Cola logo — he's appeared all over New York, saved a great many people. All of it arranged by me, after I broke my leg."
"May I ask him directly?" Depp was running his script steady as an old hand — pity the fool forgot again that he was asking too much, too early. He should've waited for the other reporters to go first.
Sure enough, big boss Tony was displeased. Barely done praising the kid, and here he was going brain-dead again. You don't see the reporters around you giving you those funny looks? They've already made you for this morning's plant.
Happy's dropping the ball. If you want a shill, get one with some experience. In this world, you need experience to do anything right!
But the question was already out there, and Tony couldn't very well dodge it, so he answered, "Ask whatever you like."
With that he stepped aside — and the other reporters seized the opening and swung their mics toward Maya.
"Hello. From what we've observed, your version of Spider-Man was the most active before all this. May I ask — are you really a stand-in arranged by Mr. Stark?"
Maya folded her left arm across her chest and propped her chin on her right hand — not a shred of underling humility about her. Utterly at ease, she said, "Mm — 'stand-in' isn't quite right. We're all Spider-Man; we just come in different styles. But with great power comes great responsibility, and the creed — all for one, one for all — is the same. And that's exactly the guiding idea behind Mr. Stark's 'Everyone Is Spider-Man.'"
"Wow, beautifully put!" The crowd stirred and buzzed.
"But your style is very different from the others. Why didn't you show up these past few days? And now, the very day Mr. Stark announces he's Spider-Man, you reappear — could it be you're the real Spider-Man, and you sold the name to Mr. Stark for some kind of gain?" The Daily Bugle's J. Jonah Jameson asked without a shred of restraint.
"Right — we noticed a while back that your gear and your methods are unlike any other Spider-Man's. You're always racing nonstop from one rescue to the next, you never work with the police, you've got no turtle shell on your back, and your box is smaller than everyone else's. You're the one who really looks like a street vigilante walking the edge of the law! So why the fall from grace now? Corrupted by Stark's money? Or is Stark Industries forcing your hand?"
Uh — isn't that a familiar old face, Uncle Ben — no, wait: that's the New York Gazette's Black reporter, Ben Urich!