Twelve hours later. Pizza boxes were strewn around. He lay on the couch, watching television while waiting and investigating.
The plane landed. The shipment was officially in Delhi. As the crates were being loaded, Felix paid close attention to every single Spider-Bot.
At the back of the hotel room, Sue slept. She snored louder than he expected.
In front of gim were several perspective cameras of the Spider-Bots. "Come on, come on."
Four trucks selling a total of sixteen Creature Z scales. All of them heading to one address. No meet up with the Auction Master so far.
"Unless those spies were the Auction Masters," he told himself. For a moment, he almost considered that as an opinion.
Blip.
Until a heat signature suddenly appeared in one of the trucks.
Until he saw white hair.
"Well, well, well. Let's take a lookie here."
The same white device was being used, although not by the hands of a man. The Spider-Bot crept out. The heat signature didn't notice. A white-haired woman, she hummed to herself, all confident and invisible.
"Felicia…"
Felicia Hardy was the Auction Master? That was—
Blip.
She appeared in a different truck. Felicia looked and sounded the same except for her outfit. With white fur lining the collar and explicitly focused on sex appeal. She whistled and scanned the crates…
"Perfect!"
The Black Cat brought out a certain, familiar teleportation device. Advanced blue circuits ran down the edges. The same device she used back at the vineyard to leave the underground room in Project JARVIS.
"So that's how I couldn't detect you. You've gotten an upgrade on that teleportation device."
Blip.
She teleported to the other pair of trucks on the whole other side of the city. Felix couldn't even fathom how.
"She told me power sources here aren't compatible. Did Felicia find someone to make them compatible?"
Whistle, check, teleport. Next truck. Sing, check, teleport.
Just like that, in three minutes, Felicia Hardy the Auction Master (potentially a messenger) was able to confirm the contents of the crates without anyone knowing. Without getting caught.
"Bye-bye." Black Cat waved and blew a kiss to her precious crates and blip! She was gone.
Unfortunately for her, two of his Spider-Bots decided to join her for the ride. Clinging to her heels, they teleported right with her.
"Come on, come on…"
Her teleportation almost caused his Spider-Bots to malfunction. Almost, because a beat later, both of them blinked online.
VISUAL FEED: ACTIVE.
Thank goodness. The camera sharpened. Every satellite in his arsenal honed in on her signal.
Woah.
Felicia ended up in an entirely different city in India: Mumbai. Felicia yawned and started to strip.
"God, even the truck was so hot. Mm, this is why I prefer coastals."
More importantly than her hourglass rockin body was her location. A house in Malabar Hill, a house in the richest area in India. Felicia walked barefoot toward a distant, massive bathroom, hips swaying with each step, white hair loose and cascading down her back.
Felix blinked and focused—not on the distracting, slow unraveling of black synthetic fabric, but on her location.
"GEOLOCATION CONFIRMED. MALABAR HILL, MUMBAI. CURRENT PROPERTY BELONGS TO: DIPLOMATIC RESIDENCE OF THE LATVERIAN CONSULATE. TITLE LISTED UNDER: YVAN DRASKOVIC, LATVERIAN AMBASSADOR TO INDIA."
Herbie pulled up data on the building: three floors, 9,200 square feet, secluded garden, private helipad, underground vault with biometric locks. Estimated value: $22 million USD—excluding the geopolitical weight of Latverian soil protection laws.
Satellite overlays confirmed it was nestled quietly between embassies and high-value estates—off-limits to almost all surveillance.
Except his.
Ring, ring, ring!
An old school dial phone. Felicia Hardy, already half out of her catsuit, the top half peeled off and hanging at her waist, walked back out of the bathroom. Sighing, she tossed her gloves onto the table and picked up the phone.
"Yes? Yes, the job is finished. Uh-huh. Fine. Bye." Felicia rolled her eyes and put the classic red telephone down. "Those Europeans—so clingy. Should have stayed in Paris."
In the meantime, Herbie was pulling up every possible forged ID and document Felicia had used this past year. At some point in the past year, before he gained Master Control, he lost track of her general location.
"With that teleportation device, it was only a matter of time." Felix drummed his finger on the couch. He decided to order food from the hotel. He was getting hungry.
"Can we confirm the ID of the callar?" Felix asked Herbie.
"AFFIRMATIVE. SYNTHESIZING THE VOICE. BY COMPARING WITH SOCIAL MEDIAS, 99.7% MATCH WITH YVAN DRASKOVIC, LATVERIAN AMBASSADOR TO INDIA."
Yvan Draskovic; he could be the true Auction Master, abusing his authority and all that. Or he was a chess piece in a much grander plan. Assuming that was indeed the case, then there were a dozen suspects, that being the Ministers and Supreme Judges of Latveria. But the most prime of suspects would be Lucia von Bardas and Kristoff Vernard.
"I've been keeping a long list of the people coming in and out of the Emporium Auction House in Delhi. The Emporium is different where it requires not messengers but the actual VIPs. My experience is telling me that there's something with it. If I were a betting man, Felicia is in it for the money whereas either Lucia or Kristoff wish to gain blackmail. The pen is mightier than the sword, after all."
The heights that Princess Ororo and Monarch Lucia reached, they were of a wealth that was fundamentally different from being a simple billionaire. Tax revenue was their revenue. They almost quite literally owned people and land. It was just different from a base level. On the flip side, their interests were rather easy to read: the prosperity of their country. The better their country was, the stronger they became.
"A world leader and a world-class thief…"
Lightning erupted from his fingertips.
Felix was no slouch himself in regards to wealth, power, or skill. In many ways, he was the best of them.
In order to hide his wealth, he established many, many identities. Chiefly: Peter Parker, Miguel O'Hara, Pavitr Prabhakar, and Anna May. Peter Parker and Miguel were completely made-up whereas Pavitr Prabhakar and Anna May were stolen. Pavitr, for example, was a half-white, half-Indian son of a wealthy sugar cane farmer. With said wealth, Pavitr was able to establish a small electrical company until his assassination—orchestrated by his own government. Pavitr's company was shut down and and his family was either coerced into silence, forced to leave India, or hunted down. Eventually, the rich man was forgotten by all. This was twelve years ago. Getting the police to turn a blind eye and forge evidence was child's play.
Herbie found the fake death certificate of Pavitr, finding it out, and with Felix's human touch solved the mystery and edited everything out. Pavitr fit all the criteria: same height, weight, same physique, etc. All Felix needed to do was learn Hindu, wear traditional Indian clothes, rearrange and rewrite old documents, and of course a latex mask. Another new invention of his for the sake of switching between his disguises without risking his old identity.
By researching the lightning at his fingertips, the fake Pavitr was able to establish the third largest electrical company in India. Most of his influence was focused in just India but much of Central Asia too. Ever since he was a child, Felix found it strange how neglected the Central Asian market was by the wider world, so he did something for it. His reward? Today, the Prab Electrical Company was valued at $135 billion USD by market cap.
Pavitr was the mysterious, reliable CEO while the board ran the actual company. Any advice the CEO gave was like a crumb from God. The Board of Directors were people Herbie psychologically analyzed and chose. Some for their skills, others for their obedience. Most of them were struggling entrepreneurs from India with the rest being representatives of Central Asian countries. Since the company was in its growing phase, the number of directors was yet to be determined.
"Point is, I have many identities to select from. The one most likely to be able to meet is Pavitr. If I say I want to meet Latveria's Monarch or Prime Minister, I can do it by saying I'm here on behalf of the Indian government and they'll believe me."
India was a continually developing nation. To strengthen ties with them, especially a man of Pavitr's wealth, it would be illogical to act otherwise.
"I could also go in as Spider-Man."
There was a knock on the door. Ah, his food was here.
***
The Daedalus hummed softly as it cruised at 40,000 feet—sleek, cloaked, silent. The interior was still bathed in the same quiet, low-blue glow that Felix enjoyed. Above him, the stars shimmered through the panoramic ceiling window. Below, the lights of Europe faded as the jet banked westward.
Italy was behind him. Next stop: New York City.
Felix sat stretched out on the main lounge sofa, black T-shirt, one leg crossed, one hand casually scrolling through his phone. Across from him was a suitcase containing the Heart-shaped Herb. A cup of cold coffee sat untouched on the table beside him.
The screen lit up with a headline.
SPIDER-MAN SIGHTINGS IN MILAN? Or Just Wishful Thinking?
Below it, a grainy still of someone claiming to have caught a blur swinging between rooftops. Comment sections were full of speculation, edits, memes, and the usual noise.
He scrolled further.
CRACKDOWN ON MAGGIA, GLOBAL MAFIA NETWORK IN CHAOS.
Interpol: 'A sudden wave of intel. Dozens of international arrests.'
Forensic Breakthrough? Evidence Found in Dozens of Cold Cases.
Felix chuckled, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. That headline was worth the coffee.
All around the world, hidden in different corners of law enforcement databases, the same pattern had emerged over the past week.
Crime rings—long thought untouchable—were suddenly falling like dominoes.
In Rome, police found detailed shipping logs in a previously "clean" nightclub basement. In Seoul, stolen US military drones were linked to a known fixer through biometric traces no one knew to look for until now. In Bogotá, a cartel safehouse mysteriously "forgot" to wipe digital records… that were now conveniently decrypted.
Felix knew what they were saying behind closed doors. No public press conferences. Just whispers in precincts and quiet meetings between agencies.
"It has to be him."
"No one else could've laid it out this clean."
"It's the spider."
But no proof. No footage. Just a hunch. A feeling. That was the way he liked it. He leaned back, set the phone on the armrest, and stared up at the ceiling.
Herbie's voice filtered in from the intercoms: "DAEDALUS APPROACHING TRANSATLANTIC CORRIDOR. ETA TO NEW YORK: THREE HOURS."
"Good," Felix said. "Let's go home."
The jet adjusted course smoothly, slicing across the upper atmosphere, leaving behind the lights of Europe and the whispers of those still trying to piece together what had happened. Felix closed his eyes briefly.
Let them guess.
Let the world wonder.
Because Spider-Man had returned.
The Daedalus descended in silence, cloaked to every radar and invisible to every eye, until its landing gear touched down on a private runway at Westchester County Airport, about 33 miles north of Manhattan. Hidden from public view, Hangar 6B had been leased—under five layers of shell corporations—by a "private aerospace firm." In reality, it was Felix Faeth's personal docking bay.
'Master Control, I love you.'
He had like…a million different shell companies. It was amazing. With Master Control, Herbie was able to pretend to be dead people. Herbie could pretend to be even currently alive people by extrapolating their voice and facial features. Assuming they had an online presence. Otherwise, it was a tad difficult. That was where Spider-Man slipped and filled the gaps by stacking and following.
He never targeted men that did good. Never. He was Spider-Man after all. He had rules to follow.
The ramp lowered, steam curling from the hydraulics. Yuri Watanabe was already waiting.
Sharp as ever in a charcoal-gray suit, her long black coat fluttered slightly in the wind. Felix's two suitcases—one for tech, one for appearances—were by her side. A blacked-out limo idled quietly behind her, its engine already humming.
The scent of New York hit him like…home. Concrete, rain, oil, city breath. He hadn't even seen the skyline yet, but he felt it.
Yuri offered a short bow. "Mr. Faeth."
"Yuri," Felix nodded, suitcase in hand. "Everything quiet?"
"Quiet enough. Traffic's building by Midtown. Would you like to go directly to Oscorp Tower?"
"Yep. Mr. Osborn would be pissed if I kept skipping out. We're too close to completing Project Rebirth II after all."
Yuri held the door open as Felix climbed in. The interior was matte leather, low-lit, and already set to his preferred temperature. No noise. No unnecessary chatter. Just space to think. Oh, and to change too. She left him a readied suit.
Yuri closed the door behind him, walked around, and took the driver's seat herself. Seconds later, the limo pulled away from the hangar, rolling down the service road toward the expressway.
Felix touched the hanging suit and the Symbiote absorbed it. Whip! Slowly, his clothes shifted in a proper black three-piece suit. Smiling, he rolled down the window.
"Ah…"
The air. It tasted better, courtesy of Norman Osborn. That was one of three reasons why he won the Nobel Peace Prize. Just a month ago, Norman redesigned his Ganali Device and he planned to sell it in every city all over the world. The Ganali Device itself was meant for dispersion, so it was a matter of what chemical he was using to make the air better. It was a Norman Osborn original, something Felix had Herbie analyze thoroughly in order to make sure it was okay. And it was okay. It did work.
Oscorp Tower was nearing.
Half of the tower was under construction. It had been almost completely demolished during the Creature Z attack. Today, it stood with a meager ten floors, with half of them being incomplete.
They stopped. Yuri opened the door. In a low hush, Felix jabbed a thumb behind him. "You see that suitcase behind me, yeah? Take it to the mansion. Keep it safe. Don't leave it out of your sight."
"Understood."
The revolving doors opened as he approached, scanners quietly acknowledging his biometric signature before he even reached them. Security got tighter. Duh. If there were new features to be added, Norman Osborn would add them.
The inside of the tower was a rush with suited executives brushing past engineers in lab gear, displays showcasing Oscorp's latest advances in bio-weapons, clean energy, and synthetic ecosystems.
Felix took a sharp left down the executive corridor, his reflection slicing across black stone walls. He passed through a set of security gates and approached the front desk of Level B Access.
Oscorp Tower changed. It had to. More security, more everything. Bigger, better. That was the Osborn way.
What didn't change was a certain desk and elevator.
Sitting behind a desk, legs crossed, was Czarina. He smiled instinctively. Flame-red hair curled effortlessly, smart blazer paired with a pencil skirt. The usual. It felt like home seeing her. Her heels clicked lightly on the marble as she swiveled to face him.
"Mr. Faeth," Czarina greeted. "Back so soon?"
"I hope I'm not late."
"Never." Czarina smiled. "Are you available for dinner tonight?"
"I should be."
"Same place, same time?"
"Yep."
She winked. Felix went over to the elevator, waving. He pressed the button. The symbol on top of the elevator signifying the number popped out with a cute little camera. The camera turned, cocked its head, and then scanned him. His body, his weight, and even his eyes.
The elevator accepted Felix's retinal scan. The doors opened. He went inside and the elevator closed. IT descended without music. Just the low, calculated hum of high-speed descent to Sublevel B4.
Three months ago, Felix had taken over all operations relating to Project Rebirth II. His lab, his team, his serum. He was given Level 9 clearance in Oscorp now.
The doors opened with a hiss. Well, the team was actually pretty much the same. The labs too. A hallway with countless doors and a variety of laboratories inside. Felix took to the first door on his left.
Massive LED lights flooded the lab in sterile white. High-end modular stations filled the space—digitized testing tables, stasis chambers, holo-screens. A reinforced observation chamber dominated the east wall, where Luke Cage sat on a custom med-bed, stripped to the waist and covered in sensor pads.
Across from him stood Dr. Jane Foster, scanning his vitals with a gravimetric field wand, brow furrowed in focus. Nearby, Dr. Kavita Rao and Dr. Maya Hansen conferred quietly at a molecular replication terminal.
The room smelled of alcohol wipes and ozone. Serious business.
Luke looked up, grinned.
"I'll be damned. I haven't seen you since last week, man."
Felix walked over and dapped Luke up. "They let you out already?"
"They kinda had to for all this."
In a shelf, behind three layers of armored glass, was the serum. The completed Super Soldier Serum, but unlike its ancestors, this version was plain better. The best feature came from the Universal DNA Compatibility. Thanks to Luke mutant blood and Rao's gene expression work, the serum could adapt in real-time to the subject's unique genome, making it theoretically viable for 97.6% of the population.
What made the universal effective were the Vita-Reys 2.0. Felix had developed a synthetic energy scaffold: pulsed photonic sequencing. This used rhythmic light pulses to activate cell absorption safely without tissue degeneration. Annnd, just in case, there was a Buffer Layer, a failsafe co-injection that suppressed any hypermutation or neural rejection, a direct refinement of a work Maya Hansen worked on a long time ago.
Finally, there was the cerebral anchor – Doctor Jane Foster's addition. A way to ensure memory, identity, and psychological baseline remained intact through the transformation. Imagine becoming buff and strong and losing all of your memories.
The reason why Samantha Wilson was picked by Dr. Erskine for the initial serum was for her willpower. She powered through the pain and every potential downside. Her existence was a miracle created from genius and mankind's need to evolve.
But this serum was painless. It healed. For Felix, this wasn't about evolution, it was about healing. Getting to see a mother feel happy after seeing her son finally being able to walk. Curing brain damage in every capacity possible, making it so that even a fatal car accident won't make a man lose every bit of wisdom and knowledge and memories he accrued.
The serum didn't solve everything. There would always be ails in this world. There would be always be a degree of mystery in the brain. In some ways, the serum actually amplified certain neurodevelopmental disorder like autism and ADHD.
But the things that prevented people from being to speak or act past the mental age of a child: that, Felix could solve. That, Felix could help families with.
All this was done from scratch and with hope, not impatience. Initially, animal testing and human testing were being sped up. It would have been a disaster. Felix promised Osborn that he could bring results; he only needed time. One year. One year to redo the project from scratch.
And it was better. Far better.
That didn't mean everyone that came before them didn't put the effort. No, no, they were standing on the shoulders of giants: of Reed and Alistair and everyone scientist who had dared to replicate the legendary Super Soldier Serum.
"The cerebral anchor thing weighs more than a football helmet," Luke said. "Am I really gonna have to wear it?"
"Safety first," Felix remarked.
"Damn."
In 48 hours, Luke would become the first official test subject. The first true Super Soldier of the modern era.
The era of a new kind of medicine.