MacDonald Gargan's finger gently traced over the densely packed photos and clues on the wall. His fingertip paused on the images of Spider-Man and Silk, like an invisible knife slowly drawing across their throats.
Spider-Man, and his female companion, were the culprits who caused his lower body paralysis, condemning him to a life forever bound to that cumbersome tail.
Gargan mused, pulling on his coat and hat before returning to his safe house. This was a basement in a Brooklyn neighborhood, where he reviewed his latest collected clues. The previously found clues were already clear: Spider-Man was most likely a high school student, and only seven high schools in New York had class schedules that perfectly matched his activity times.
But from there, the clues became scarce, especially with Spider-Man joining the Avengers, which further protected his identity. Still, there were ways, such as investigating which families recently saw a sharp increase in income or unexpected expenditures. He had joined the Avengers; surely, he wouldn't fail to secure some benefits for his family from Tony Stark?
Then there was his female companion. In the past couple of days, the media had finally learned the codename of this female Spider-Woman who had only appeared once or twice: Silk.
Investigating her was much simpler than investigating Spider-Man. For some reason, Miss Silk chose not to fully cover her face. Although half her face was obscured, the remaining clues were enough to continue the investigation.
Asian, short hair, female, under 20 years old. She should be a high school student, just like Spider-Man. Judging by their activity times, the two matched up, meaning there was a high probability they were students at the same school.
Four or five days had passed since Spider-Man's return. MacDonald had been hiding here, continuing to control his powers while relying solely on his deductions and the information relayed by Otto Octavius's little robots.
He made a call to Kingpin using an old satellite phone.
"Mr. Fisk, how do you like the suggestion I gave you?"
There was a long silence on the other end. Kingpin didn't respond quickly. Only after a long pause did he ask, "I admit what you said makes a lot of sense, Mr. Gargan, but are you perhaps a little too eager?"
Gargan chuckled.
"Aren't you the one who wants to get rid of Spider-Man the most?"
Kingpin's muffled and helpless retort came from the other end: "That has nothing to do with what you're saying right now."
"I don't care, Fisk. I have no family, no friends; I just want money. And my spine was broken, but you're good. You're still willing to give me money and let Octavius perform surgery, so I'm willing to return the favor. Do as I say, and you'll be able to maintain control of your empire as usual. Otherwise... I'm not threatening you."
Smiling, Gargan spoke of Kingpin's greatest fear: "Herman Schultz at least has an old mother and a brother, but Quentin Beck, like me, has nothing."
"They only have testimonies, no concrete evidence. Quentin Beck never knew or was involved in much."
Kingpin wasn't trying to argue. He stood by the window of his office desk at that very moment, looking out at daytime Manhattan. Behind him was his trusted subordinate and secretary, Wesley. This capable subordinate of Kingpin, who should have died in the TV series plot, was very much alive and well, standing behind Kingpin, occasionally answering questions for him.
"Actually, Mr. Gargan, I haven't done anything else besides what I instructed you to do. I did smuggle a batch of Chitauri components during the New York reconstruction project, but beyond that, I know nothing. I don't deserve to die."
Gargan, on the other end of the phone, heard this news and laughed. He understood. Kingpin was indeed still Kingpin; he wouldn't just take things lying down.
"This isn't a threat, Fisk. It's a detective's experienced reminder to his biggest client—you yourself said the traditional era is over. Now it's the era of costumed clowns."
The call ended. Kingpin looked down at Manhattan before him, then crushed the satellite phone in his hand and threw it to the floor.
"Have someone burn it clean, Wesley."
"Understood. What's next, boss?"
Wesley nodded. Such delicate work was definitely beyond the Prowler. Kingpin glanced at him without much thought: "Tell Otto Octavius that his time is running out too. Make sure to tell him it's not a threat, it's a reminder."
On the other side, Gargan had taped up all the photos of Silk, Spider-Man, and the seven schools. There was also a final gift from Kingpin: a student list he obtained through the city's education department. Finding a fully masked Spider-Man from that list might be troublesome, but finding a minority girl with a clear height, weight, and hairstyle was no difficult task.
He quickly found the file for a girl named Cindy Moon on the Visions Academy student roster. Spider-Man was most likely also a student at this school. But it didn't matter. As long as he targeted one of them, the other would soon show up.
He made the last phone call he needed.
"Otto, I'm ready here. How about you?"
"Kingpin has already 'warned' me." Otto's mechanical claws performed the final adjustments on the huge mechanical armor before him, confirming every detail on it, and also telling Gargan where his most desired item was: "The armor has been sent through the sewer near your safe house. With your strength, finding it shouldn't be too difficult, right? Are you really not going to tell me Spider-Man's true identity that you found? Either one."
"The person you need to kill is Osborn, Otto. This has nothing to do with you."
Gargan hung up the satellite phone after getting the information. Like Kingpin, he crushed the satellite phone. Then he punched the basement wall heavily, collapsing it. On the other side was New York's sewer, where a large box lay. Inside was the armor Otto had prepared for him to defeat Spider-Man and Silk.
Today was Monday, a good day for school. It was now three in the afternoon, a good time for school to let out.
It would also be Spider-Man and Silk's last time.
Meanwhile, Otto finished his adjustments. He watched with satisfaction as the metal skin perfectly integrated with his exoskeleton frame, transplanting onto the massive Russian man before him. Even Otto Octavius, who never focused on fighting Spider-Man, couldn't help but feel proud of his achievement.
"Perfect, absolutely... excellent. Mr. Alex, you were born for this."
The taciturn man stood up and asked only one question.
"Has the money been transferred?"
"All the money you need is clean. Even if you're caught, it won't be recovered or used for fines. Go on, Rhino, buy our Scorpion some time."