Tracking

The clone in the blue and black suit lunged like a starving wolf, each strike causing the air currents to churn violently. Two Peter Parkers darted and weaved around him, their movements swift and elusive as the wind.

As the black-clad clone grabbed Peter mid-dodge, he flicked his fingers, shooting out a thin strand of webbing. Almost reflexively, Peter contracted his abdomen, and the webbing grazed his stomach as it shot out to hit a tree trunk behind him.

"What the hell, he can shoot webbing from his fingers?" Peter yelled. "Can you guys do that too?"

"I can't," clone Peter said, lightly dodging a massive fist that grazed his nose. "That's his special modification. He synthesizes something similar to webbing fluid from proteins in his body and expels it through a spinneret."

"That's pretty cool," Peter said, rolling on the ground to avoid another web, adding, "And also pretty gross."

Clone Peter retreated, with the man in black in hot pursuit. He threw three punches, all missing, always a couple of steps behind clone Peter, letting out a frustrated growl.

"He's not a bad guy, really. We talked when we were locked up," clone Peter said.

"Yeah, judging by how he tried to rip you apart, I'd say you guys were pretty close," Peter quipped as he moved to support him.

"That's just because he's unstable. He loses control and goes berserk a lot, which happened often in the lab too. In fact, it was because of one of his rampages that we had a chance to escape the facility."

"None of that matters unless you have an idea to help him snap out of it."

"I do," clone Peter said, batting away a punch with his palm. "What do you do when a computer crashes?"

Peter's eyes lit up. "We... hit the casing really hard?"

"Exactly. That's the plan," clone Peter said. "Ready? I'm gonna count down: three, two, one."

Perfect synergy, perfect coordination. The two Spider-Men deflected punches thrown at each other, their movements synchronizing impossibly as they both ducked, sprang up, and delivered uppercuts like rockets launching into the sky, striking the black-clad man's jaw simultaneously. The black-clad clone grunted and fell backward, landing heavily on the ground.

Peter was quite sure he landed on the back of his head.

The black-clad clone lay there for about five or six seconds before slowly sitting up and shaking his head. Peter cautiously took a step back, getting into a defensive stance. "Does this mean we're going for another round? Or..."

"No need, Peter. He's fine," clone Peter said, walking forward to help the man in black stand up. "Kaine, you okay?"

"Can't die," the black-clad clone said, holding his head. "But your punches? They pack a wallop."

"Kaine? You guys have names?" Peter asked, crossing his arms.

Clone Peter glanced at him. "We only had numbers when we were created. That was until some guys in suits showed up, gave us fake identities and names, as if they wanted to recruit us as super-agents or something."

"So you have a name too?"

Clone Peter was silent for a moment.

"Ben," he nodded. "Ben Reilly."

"We can discuss identity issues later. We have more important matters now," Kaine gritted out, his dark fists clenching with a crackling sound. "We need to find the Master Controller before that lunatic creates more beings like us."

Ben Reilly frowned. "But no one knows where the Master Controller is. We don't know how to..."

"Don't lie to yourself, Ben. We know where he is," Kaine said loudly. "You can feel it too, can't you? Something deep inside our bodies... some instinct telling us where he is. Like an invisible spider-silk, following the trajectory, we will find our creator."

"There's no evidence that it's guiding us to the Master Controller," Ben frowned. "It could be... it could just be leading us into a trap. A trap that triggers the moment we escape the lab."

Kaine took a step closer, his black mask and messy red hair making him look like a grim ghost.

"You're just afraid to face it," Kaine said, enunciating each word. "But I'm not. Now, I'm going to find the Master Controller, whether you come with me or not."

"Alright, alright, I'll come with you. We don't exactly have anywhere else to go, do we?" Ben muttered, then turned to Peter. "You coming?"

"Are you kidding me?" Peter clenched his fist and punched his own palm. "We're talking about a whole bunch of my clones, and you think I can just stand by?"

***

Two pairs of laser-guided micro-missiles dove down, two watchtowers collapsed in flames, and Michael, clad in black armor, leaped over the wall and stormed into Whitehall's base facility. Hydra soldiers on the plaza quickly converged, automated turrets dutifully popped out to engage, and all troops were immediately mobilized towards the gate, attempting to slow the intruder's progress.

Michael crossed his palms, firing from both sides. Pulse beams danced in his hands like light swords. High-explosive missiles tore through the armor plating of armored vehicles, engulfing them in flames and flinging them seven or eight meters high. Incendiary rounds detonated in large bursts of flame among the infantry, Hydra soldiers engulfed in fire screamed and rolled on the ground.

Sunil Bakshi, Whitehall's most capable deputy, paced anxiously in the command center, receiving reports of the collapsing defenses. He felt the floor beneath his feet vibrate with every explosion outside, each one making him fear that the roof would collapse at any moment.

"Is it not ready yet?" he asked anxiously, looking at the experts frantically operating their computers.

"You have to understand, Mr. Bakshi, such a large-scale data destruction takes time," one of the sweating experts said, his hands working just as fast. "Mr. Whitehall wants all data related to 'Obelisk' to be completely wiped and unrecoverable in any form. We need time..."

Bakshi turned to another communicator. "Then inform the front line to hold on a little longer."

The communicator looked up helplessly. "Sir, that's 'Black Knight'... He took down all of Hydra by himself."

He didn't dare finish, but the meaning was clear.

That guy outside took down all of Hydra single-handedly. What could they do with their small numbers and limited equipment?

The outer wall of the command room collapsed ten seconds later, the blast wave from outside blowing several people, including Bakshi, to the ground. The black armor, with azure flames spewing from its back, slowly floated in. The Hydra agents in the room quickly drew their weapons and opened fire.

Michael didn't even bother to look at them. The armor's smart targeting system automatically locked onto each of their heads. The Gatling gun on the left shoulder of the armor popped out, firing almost simultaneously, headshotting every Hydra agent in the room. Michael didn't even lift a finger.

His gaze fell on Sunil Bakshi, who had been blown to the ground by the blast wave. Before he could give an order, Sherry had used the facial recognition system to confirm his identity, displaying detailed information in a list in a corner of Michael's vision.

"Looks like I won't get to meet Mr. Whitehall today," Michael said, landing and looking down at Bakshi. "But it's an honor to meet his deputy."

"Mr. Whitehall isn't here," Bakshi said with a cold sneer, staring at Michael's helmet. "He's a great man with a greater plan, a grand plan that will bring you down from your throne and restore Hydra to its rightful place. But before you came in, I had all the relevant data deleted, so you can't..."

"If you're talking about 'Obelisk,' my AI downloaded all the data you had ten minutes ago," Michael said indifferently.

Bakshi froze. "What? No, that's impossible..."

"I'm afraid that's the truth, Mr. Bakshi," Michael said, slowly crouching down. "As for you... I happen to have a special ability user. She's quite good at digging things out of people's minds, though she's a bit out of practice. I'm sure you'd be happy to spar with her."

Bakshi's eyes widened. "I'd rather die than reveal anything about Mr. Whitehall."

"You misunderstand, Mr. Bakshi," Michael said calmly. "I said I needed some information from your head, not that I needed to hear it from your mouth."

"My loyalty to Mr. Whitehall is absolutely unwavering, even if you resort to mind control..."

"Sorry, hold on a moment," Michael waved his hand, interrupting Bakshi's grand pronouncements of absolute loyalty. "But I have to take this call."

Bakshi looked incredulous. "You... what?"

Michael ignored him, casually blasting him unconscious with a low-power pulse cannon. Simultaneously, he answered the incoming call through the display interface. "Wanda?"

"I... I'm very sorry, Mr. Passo," Wanda's voice sounded full of apology, seemingly unsure of how to begin. "But we... well, we only looked away for two minutes, and she slipped out."

Michael raised an eyebrow.

"Sherry, could you help me activate the tracker on Miss Stacy?"

Wanda sounded surprised. "You put a tracker on her? You expected her to escape?"

"I expected all situations." A map of New York popped up in front of Michael, with a red dot marking the clone girl's location. "Alright, I'll handle this now. You two continue to stand by for the next mission."

Michael hung up the phone and gave another order. "Notify the nearest Sky Sword unit to clean up the scene, organize the team, and take in the prisoners."

"Agent George Bartlett's team will arrive in five minutes," Sherry said. "The plan now is to track down Miss Stacy, sir?"

Michael raised his right palm, and sparks flew in the air, cutting a circular portal through the air in a neat arc.

"What else can I say? Young people are always a handful. Sometimes we have to be more patient."

He stepped into the portal, beckoning with his hand, and the ring closed tightly behind him.