Well, this day turned out to be quite interesting.
I sat on the soft leather seat of the armored sedan, watching the city lights pass by, but my thoughts were on science and one luminary of that very science: Kurt Connors. He turned out to be a truly brilliant scientist. Sincere, passionate, with that kind, slightly naive smile characteristic of people genuinely in love with their work. And I couldn't shake the knowledge that in a couple of years, this man, without tests or checks, would inject himself with something unknown, turning into a giant, crazed lizard. Judging by his character, he couldn't sink to such stupidity. I'm no expert in psychology, but I could see he was a sane, rational person. Unlike in my past life, where I, watching the cartoon, even blamed Parker a little for not noticing the obvious hints that the professor would do something foolish, now I understood the kid.
Maybe Connors was under some external influence? Or some circumstances forced him to do it? Blackmail? Threats to his family? Or perhaps despair pushed to the limit? Obsession with an idea could break even a person like him. That thought stung unpleasantly. The main thing was not to lose my own mind over this nonsense... I didn't need to become a villain on top of everything else.
I was in the car, already planning what equipment I would need for my work. Getting all of it wouldn't be difficult—money talks—but I also needed samples. I really wanted to get my hands on that very spider that would bite Peter. I was also interested in the "OZ" serum, and the regeneration factor from the concoction Connors was brewing sounded good too. The problem wasn't so much in obtaining all of this—Connors, surprisingly, openly demonstrated all the stages of creating his serum. It seemed the whole secret was in the non-standard irradiation of the serum itself, not the drug, because without irradiation, it was just a slightly toxic substance that, if drunk, might at best solve a constipation problem.
The "OZ" serum was already more complicated to obtain—it required infiltrating "Oscorp," and it was unclear where exactly to look for it... Mercenaries would handle it. If necessary, hiring someone like Deadpool, who, by the way, currently had no online presence, would be easy, and then I could even help him save his wife... If this was even the right universe, because in Marvel, who knows what could happen—tomorrow I might find out that Wade Wilson was actually a lonely girl. What then? Pay with a whistle? Ugh...
And the spider was the simplest option. All I had to do was be with Parker and wait for them to go to "Oscorp." On that day, I would have to discreetly observe the guy and wait for him to get bitten... Or observe Mary Jane, because in some universes, the spider bit her... Or Flash... Or Felicia Hardy, who in some universes interned at "Oscorp" and got bitten... Damn, it was always like this! You make plans, think things through, and then realize that tomorrow an alien invader could crash through the window, and you're not prepared for that crap! Why wasn't I in the classic Marvel? Fate, what the hell?
At that moment, the car was violently thrown to the side with a deafening screech. I was forcefully pressed against the side door, and only the seatbelt—which, unlike in my homeland from my past life, was not neglected here—helped me stay in place and avoid slamming into the door. The driver tried to steer, and somehow managed it, but for a moment, I was struck with the realization: an attack.
The bastard decided to finish what he started? Oh, how surprised he must be to see that a car designed by my father couldn't be taken out with a simple grenade launcher.
"Contact! Two cars coming from the west to intercept!" the head of my security began dictating into the radio, his voice calm and cold as steel. "We've got a tail, James, handle it."
On command, the car behind us began to slow down, and suddenly, a turret or machine gun smoothly rose from its roof... Seeing this on the rearview screen, I admit, I was surprised. Very. Okay, armored car, but a car with a huge gun on the roof? How much money did my father shell out to get permission for such crap within the city? And the roof was only five, maybe ten centimeters thick. Technically speaking: how did they manage to fit a machine gun in there? Unless the security cars were different from ours...
"Don't worry, Mr. Hammer," the security chief interrupted my thoughts between radio transmissions. "We're prepared for any unpleasantness," the man said reassuringly, and in the next second, the ground shook even harder than from the grenade launcher shot directly at the car.
"And for this?" I whispered in horror, looking at the scene unfolding before me: something jumped onto the car in front of us from the roof of a neighboring building. A huge, five-to-seven-meter man in a gray armored suit resembling a rhino. That creature could punch through buildings in cartoons...
"Ugh..." the man choked, then started saying something into the radio again.
To my surprise, Rhino didn't break through the car. It sagged under his weight but continued moving, even though the roof was dented. The culprit of the situation slid off the roof and crashed into a building by the road—some café or something similar. The driver clearly floored the gas pedal because we overtook the car Rhino had jumped onto and began speeding toward the mansion at full speed.
Damn, if every trip of mine ended like this, I clearly wouldn't live to old age, and I didn't care that my father seemed to produce adamantium on an industrial scale—otherwise, I couldn't explain the strength of the car's armor. Outwardly remaining calm, I was nevertheless very nervous because both security cars were left behind, and I was sure Rhino had already recovered and was either dealing with the security or already running after us. By the way, since Rhino attacked us... Could our enemy be Kingpin? Rhino was a relatively weak villain, one of Spider-Man's opponents, and he worked specifically for the Big Man. In short, if Rhino attacked us, it was quite possible that after him would come...
"Shocker!" the driver shouted, turning the wheel.
Ahead, blocking a narrow section of the road, stood a figure in a ridiculous yellow-brown quilted suit. Shocker. Another one of Fisk's lackeys. Now at least I knew who was behind the assassination attempts. The head of security had already called for reinforcements long ago, but it seemed our escape route had been prepared in advance, as Shocker met us on a fairly narrow straight section of the road where it was difficult to turn or reverse. The whole time, I didn't see any ordinary people or cars, so the area must have been cordoned off in advance...
"Damn!" one of the guards cursed as a huge yellow beam of vibrating energy hit our car. It didn't penetrate the car, but the screens went out for a moment, plunging us into darkness. Then the dim red emergency lighting came on, and the screens worked again. There was clearly EMP protection here, but even that couldn't handle such a thing without complications. The car stood still, and Shocker was already approaching us, apparently thinking we had stalled completely.
"The car won't hold out for long, the door will lock, and they'll get us like from a can!" the driver reported.
"Thanks, Rick," the guard snorted.
"John, distract him," the security chief said seriously.
For a moment, there was silence, then the named man nodded, threw something onto the seat, and suddenly opened the door and jumped out, firing at Shocker with an automatic rifle. The villain immediately fired back but missed. The driver hit the gas, and we, accelerating in a second, rushed forward, straight at Shocker, who, noticing the movement, fired at the car with one hand and aimed at the shooting John with the other. Moreover, Shocker did this so calmly, with such nonchalance, that his stupid yellow suit didn't make him look better at all—in fact, it only made him more terrifying. Now it was clear why he wore that monstrosity—image. He was a mercenary, after all...
In the next instant, another beam hit the car. Again, a jolt, the screens went out and came back on. The scene that appeared before us... John was torn to pieces. Literally. Nausea rose in my throat, but I held it back. The adrenaline cocktail in my blood helped. My fists, already clenched until they turned white, tightened even more. My heart was beating frantically, but I held on.
"Damn, John..." the driver hissed.
"Shut up. Let him think the car is done for," the chief ordered. "Mr. Hammer, please, take the driver's seat," he said to me, changing his tone to a reassuring one.
For a second, I was stunned, but silently stood up and climbed into the front seat, noticing the item John had left—a pistol. At that moment, another beam hit the car. Meanwhile, the driver climbed into the back seat, and I, ignoring the lights going out again, sat in the driver's seat.
"Rick, we're getting out and running in different directions now," the security chief continued explaining to the driver. "Mr. Hammer, when we start running away—start the car and drive forward. Good luck."
The doors opened, and the remains of my security ran outside, laying down covering fire. I started the car and sped forward. Shocker had to choose. He directed his hands to the sides and fired at the guards. Both miraculously dodged. The car raced toward the mercenary, who simply... jumped over it. I didn't have a license in my past life, but here, kids as young as 16 could drive, and a fourteen-year-old billionaire's son often drove on a private track, so I knew the basics. I sharply reversed, intending to run over the bastard. Shocker just jumped away, firing at the car with one hand and hitting the driver with the other—a fragment from the wall pierced his shoulder.
The car came back to life, and I stopped improvising—forward! Shot, stop, screens flickering. With bated breath, I watched the guards continuing to dodge. I drove away again, another shot, stop. The next time the screens came on, I saw that one of the walls was covered in blood. The driver was done for. Damn! I gritted my teeth, drove away, stopped, and after a few dozen meters, I saw another torn body in the rearview window. Damn!
The lights went out again, and when the screens came back on, I saw Shocker standing just ten meters away. Both of his hands were aimed at the car. A double-handed shot. The car was thrown into the air, the screens went out and... didn't come back on. Bastard!
POV Justin Hammer
Kurt was a good guy, even if he was a bit of a pushover in university. But after the war, he changed—grew up, bulked up, matured. I remember how I found out what happened to him... It was sad to see a friend wither before my eyes—wasting away day by day, sinking into the abyss of despair. Then I finally had a relatively calm period and decided that I would find time to help my friend—I found lawyers to get Kurt his compensation as soon as possible, found a house in a quiet neighborhood, helped him arrange everything quickly and without mistakes.
That's when Kurt learned about the regenerative factor in lizards and re-enrolled in university, diving headfirst into science. At the university, he met Martha—a pretty blonde who loved him despite his "deformity," as he called his problem. I remember how Kurt congratulated me on the birth of my son, and I congratulated him on getting his doctorate... Those were good times, and the call from my friend helped me indulge in nostalgia—remembering what it was like back then when Jessica was still alive, and Zik wasn't threatened by anything...
That bastard Fisk attacked the convoy again, transporting a new weapon prototype intended for the military. The son of a bitch had completely lost all boundaries, and he would pay for it. If before I wasn't sure about the answer for the fat scum that Silvermane had proposed, now I was ready to go through with it. An attempt was also made on Silvermane's daughter, Sable—this time, a sniper killed her double. I was afraid that if this scum decided to act the same way with me, my son would already be dead...
It was time for us to strike back at his family. The idiot Fisk thought that no one knew about his wife and daughter—their fake names, living in a private house, never sticking their noses out... Well, he would be surprised to learn that even such measures were insufficient when dealing with parents whose children he dared to attack...
At that moment, my thoughts were interrupted by an emergency call—only Bishop, a retired police lieutenant and the younger brother of Hank, the head of my security service (who had recommended him), could call this number. Recently, Bishop had been the head of my son's security.
"Yes?" I picked up the phone with a heavy heart.
"Sir, we're under attack," the man's calm voice came through the receiver. "Two cars. They fired a grenade launcher at the door, then a chase began. One of the cars stayed behind to cover us; we're heading toward the mansion. I've pressed the panic button. So far, everything is—" Bishop continued, then a loud hum, like an explosion, came from the phone.
"What happened? What about Zik?!" My tension increased. My heart was pounding wildly, and anger seemed to permeate every particle of my body.
"Rhino!" came the final answer from the phone. "He jumped onto the second escort vehicle. We're moving toward the mansion; the young master is fine..."
"Good, I'll—" I sighed in relief. Rhino wouldn't break through the car immediately, and he was too stupid, so if reinforcements arrived soon, there shouldn't be any problems. A sniper wouldn't penetrate the steel like it did the glass, so...
"Shocker!" another voice came from the phone... Then the connection was lost.
"Bishop! Can you hear me? What's happening?!" I tried to reach someone, anyone. "BASTARD!" I threw the phone aside and grabbed the landline. "Hank! Do whatever it takes, but I must see my son alive and... at least just alive. Execute!" I gave the order to a competent man; I wouldn't be of any use in such a situation anyway. I'd only make things worse if I interfered, especially in this state.
Scum! What a piece of scum this damn Fisk was! Truly an "Ambal," though I'd call him "Scum." Bastard, just you wait, I'll give you a fun weekend!
"Silvermane..." At that moment, I had already dialed the necessary number and was listening to the dial tone until silence finally fell.
"Hammer?" a commanding, aged voice came through the receiver. "I've already heard about what happened. My estate was attacked. Taskmaster, Bullseye, and a bunch of meat. Do we act?"
"We act. I'll transfer the agreed amount within 24 hours. The people have already been informed."
"Excellent, I'm glad we're finally solving this problem," the satisfaction in the mafioso's voice was impossible to miss, nor was the hidden malice. Manfredi hated Wilson as much as I did.
"See you," I hung up.
You chose your own fate, bastard. You can say goodbye to your life—you and everyone you care about will be killed in the next few hours... You shouldn't have sent all your supervillains on such a mission...
A wicked laugh echoed in the office. A man worried about the fate of his heir tried to drown out the pain and fear in this way...