The Coming Shock

Herman Schultz rolled over on his worn-out mattress. This might be the last time he slept in this bed—regardless of whether his plan succeeded or failed, a grim fate awaited him, either dying on the streets or spending decades behind bars.

But what did it matter? As long as Herman Schultz's name was remembered by the whole world, no, by the whole of New York, that would be enough.

When the morning light filtered through the grimy window, Herman had already bought a two-dollar burger at the burger joint downstairs. The burger was cheap, but the taste was truly awful. The low-quality patty and stale bread tasted like sawdust in his mouth. However, he had no right to complain about the taste of the burger; these were made for the poor people of Harlem, who couldn't afford more expensive ones.

The rusty iron gate of the abandoned construction site, pushed open furtively, creaked in the wind. Herman lifted the corroded manhole cover and skillfully slipped into Manhattan's intricate sewer system. In the darkness, the squeaking of rats intertwined with his heavy footsteps, creating a bizarre duet. He walked through the sewers, arriving once again at Otto's underground warehouse. It still reeked of a mixture of machine oil and mold. The moment the door opened, three eerie green electronic eyes lit up in the darkness. A synthesized electronic voice echoed strangely in the sewer.

"You're earlier than expected."

"I don't have much patience to wait. Is the stuff here?"

Herman impatiently brushed off some web fluid clinging to his sleeve, met by a harsh mechanical laugh. Two mechanical claws emerged from the shadows, tossing a bulging package onto the metal platform with a crisp clatter of parts.

"The big boss is also very interested in getting rid of that spider," Otto's electronic eyes flickered. "It arrived last night, every piece accounted for."

Herman rummaged through the expensive golden titanium alloy components, saying casually, "This is all regulated material you got for me so quickly. Who exactly is this 'big boss'?"

"Isn't it what you asked for? Why don't you trust it yourself?"

"Just curious."

The mechanical claw, which had been about to retract, paused in mid-air before suddenly thrusting towards Herman, almost touching his nose.

"Want to know? Why don't you go ask in Hell's Kitchen yourself?"

Herman understood, letting out a dry chuckle from his throat.

"Wilson Fisk, haha, the infamous Kingpin... No wonder. He must have ordered a large quantity of alien technology weapons from you, right?"

"I only care about business. I don't care what my clients do with my products."

"I heard he's been very busy lately, involved with some... demon."

Herman stared at Otto, saying nothing, and decided not to push his luck. After confirming everything was there, he picked up the package and prepared to leave. However, as he turned to go, Otto stopped him with an extended mechanical claw.

"I told you, you could actually complete your design in my lab. I admire talented young people like you."

"No, thanks anyway."

Herman refused Otto's invitation. "My equipment research is too much for the entire sewer system to handle, believe me, I've tried."

"The Mid-Town Bank building? That was indeed a masterpiece."

Otto's electronic voice continued with a grim chuckle. "Alright, then I'll look forward to your grand performance. Hopefully, it won't be too long."

"You won't have to wait long."

Herman left with the package. Logically, the New York police should have been hunting him by now, but he had slept soundly at home all night without any news. As he left, he noticed the police weren't pursuing him. Either his subordinates were keeping quiet, or the police simply looked down on him as a "minor character."

If it was the latter, they were gravely mistaken.

Back in the long-abandoned unfinished building, Herman took out his welding equipment from his days as a car mechanic and got to work. The welding torch emitted a blinding blue light. Herman modified hockey protective gear, gloves, and elbow pads into weapon bases, with wires of different colored insulation snaking across the arm guards like veins. He directly welded several parts removed from an old Scarecrow launcher onto them. Piles of cut wires lay next to the wire cutters, copper strands intertwined. He bit off the electrical tape and wrapped the connected wires.

As the setting sun cast his shadow long, Herman wiped sweat from his face with his right hand's blackened cotton glove. He raised his left hand, now equipped with the new generation Scarecrow launcher. As the wiring for his custom battery system was completed, the indicator light flashed green.

He slowly clenched his fist, and the indicator light turned from green to yellow. With tense anticipation, Herman punched with his left hand.

The indicator light turned from yellow to red.

A piercing shriek kicked up a cloud of dust, leaving a perfectly clean scorch mark in the long-abandoned corridor. Simultaneously, a "bang" echoed as Herman was thrown against the wall by the powerful impact.

"Cough, cough, cough, cough... Hahahahaha! I succeeded! I succeeded!"

Now, all he needed was a matching suit of armor, and everything would be complete. This was exactly what Herman planned to do next. The entire bag of golden titanium alloy that Iron Man used for his armor shells was his foundation. Herman looked at his blueprints; it would take about a week to complete the Scarecrow launcher for his right hand and the full suit of armor.

"Then I'll let you be arrogant for another week, Spider-Man."

At the same time, in a place neither Herman nor Peter paid any attention to, the Avengers' investigation into Spider-Man's identity was continuing. In the president's office of Osborn Industries, Iron Man Tony Stark was having a less-than-friendly meeting with the president of Osborn Enterprises, Norman Osborn.

Norman Osborn was only a few years older than Tony Stark, but he appeared much more mature and composed. His slicked-back brown hair and dark green suit immediately contrasted with Stark, who habitually wore a T-shirt under his suit jacket.

"Anthony, it's been a long time."

"It has been a long time, Osborn."

Tony Stark actually disliked Norman Osborn. His meticulously combed-back hair glinted like the scales of some cold-blooded creature in the sunlight. He was a bit like Obadiah from Stark Industries before—a pure, Edison-esque businessman.

"When I first heard your meeting invitation, I thought Stark Industries was planning to enter the biotechnology field. Thank goodness I don't have to compete with you."

"I've already handed the company over to Pepper. Unless it's something absolutely necessary, I don't pay much attention to it now."

Tony casually steered the conversation away from business. Norman Osborn also didn't seem inclined to dwell on the topic. Instead, he picked up a champagne flute and offered it to Tony. "So, when are you getting married?"

"What?"

"Married, officially start a family. Having your own children, those were the happiest years of my life..."

Norman said with emotion, then looked at Tony. "I'm about your age, Anthony, we're both over forty, but you don't have any children yet."

"I... Pepper and I haven't thought about getting married yet." Tony truly never expected to be pressured into marriage even without elders around. "We've just started, many things aren't settled yet... Let's get back to what we were supposed to discuss. Do you know Spider-Man?"

Norman Osborn hadn't expected Tony's real purpose to be related to Spider-Man, so he asked with a smile, "I've heard a little. What's wrong?"

"I'm thinking... Hank discovered that the web fluid he uses is consistent with the experimental results of one of your former employees, Richard Parker. I'm here to find out about him."

"I'm afraid I can't help you," Norman seemed to have no intention of hiding anything. "But Richard left me five years ago, and his experimental results were taken over by others. Even if you ask me about Spider-Man, I can only say, I don't know if it's Richard."

Richard Parker's death was a S.H.I.E.L.D. internal secret, and Ant-Man only happened to record it. Therefore, Norman's reaction was understandable.

"So... your research hasn't yielded any results these past few years?"

"Not a single result. We've only created some mutated spiders. Half a year ago at the Osborn Tech Expo, it even caused the glass in the exhibition area to shatter, and the exhibits escaped. We don't know where they are now..."

As if a window had been opened in a dark room, both men froze. Then, Norman Osborn smiled.

"If you're looking for Spider-Man, I really have no information here."

"I understand."

Tony shook Norman's hand and left. As he walked away from Norman Osborn's office, J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice came through his tiny earpiece, "Your behavior just now was not in accordance with social etiquette, sir."

"When have I ever followed that stuff?" Tony muttered as he walked.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., bring up the satellite imagery from the day of the Osborn Tech Expo and upload everyone's data to the cloud."

"Green Goblin," Norman Osborn commanded. Then, Osborn Industries' own artificial intelligence began to operate according to its master's orders: "Input keyword: Richard Parker."

The searches on both sides proceeded almost simultaneously, and almost simultaneously, they yielded the same name.

[Keyword retrieved: Richard Parker.]

[Search result obtained: Peter Benjamin Parker. Reason for search: Direct familial relationship, father and son.]

"Shock" is a pun in English. The code name for Shocker is "Shocker." It would have been a better pun to translate it as "shocking person," but "Shocker" sounds cooler.