Herman had never forgotten Spider-Man. He had long been convinced that if he wanted to make a name for himself, he had to defeat a real superhero. Compared to those well-equipped Avengers, that spider kid swinging between skyscrapers in a cheap bodysuit was undoubtedly the best choice.
The setting sun shone through the steel skeleton of the unfinished building, casting mottled shadows across the floor. Then, a flash of silver streaked past—Herman, clad in silver armor, leaped high into the air and smashed his mechanical gauntlet into a concrete wall. With a deafening roar, the entire wall shattered. His body fell alongside the collapsing bricks, punching through three floors before crashing heavily into the ground level and kicking up a cloud of dust.
"Finally... it's done."
Improving the Scarecrow launcher had never been difficult for Herman. What had truly taken an entire week was the suit of armor on his body. It had an internal energy system, backup batteries on the back, gauntlet-mounted Scarecrow launchers, and titanium-gold alloy plating capable of withstanding automatic rifle fire. More than that, the recoil from its vibration waves could be fully converted into kinetic energy, granting him superhuman strength and speed. Concrete crumbled beneath his fists like crackers, while the hundred-plus pounds of metal shell did nothing to slow his hundred-meter sprint. Its only flaw was that it was extremely cumbersome to put on—this was no high-tech exoskeleton, merely a pile of metal plates linked by a complex transmission system that had to be assembled onto his body piece by piece like a medieval knight's armor.
When the final piece of armor came off, Herman let out a long breath. The last cash in his pocket had been meant for food, but the sight of J. Jonah Jameson spitting venom at Spider-Man on a giant screen by the street changed his mind. The red-and-blue bodysuit on the screen reminded him of his own rough silver armor—still marked by scorch marks from welding and hammer dents from forging.
So he turned and walked into the convenience store. A few minutes later, he came back out carrying two cans of spray paint.
"It's time for a stunning debut."
"Today! Is! Such! An! Ordinary! Day!"
High school life flew by. For Peter Parker, nothing particularly good or bad had happened. The Detective Agency's investigation had made no progress, the nights Harry and Amadeus came over to build LEGO were full of laughter, Gwen secretly joined a rock club, and homecoming season was drawing near... Everything was so ordinary that it felt reassuring. The only minor annoyances were his internship applications vanishing without a trace, and the embarrassment of not being able to afford a cosplay outfit—it looked like he would have to leave this year's homecoming dance early.
As for Spider-Man? The friendly neighborhood work continued as usual. There were no supervillains, no alien-tech weapons, and even the street punks had vanished. If Avengers Tower were not still standing on the skyline, Peter would have almost suspected that he had traveled to some Spider-Verse where only Spider-Man existed again.
"Oh, oh. This doesn't look good."
The shriek of police sirens and the wail of ambulances tore through the sky. Something serious had obviously happened. Spider-Man sprang into action, swinging after the police cars.
"Okay, what is it this time? Gang thugs? Bank robbers? High-tech criminals?"
He landed on a familiar exterior wall, looked at the familiar sign, and scratched his head.
"Or maybe all of the above? Why would anyone rob a bank that's already been robbed?"
The source of the billowing smoke was Midtown Bank. Its load-bearing structure had been damaged, and it should have been declared an unsafe building, but Tony Stark had used one of his disaster-relief devices to keep it stable. As a result, demolishing the building had become a massive bureaucratic dispute. The various companies inside all wanted to retrieve their remaining assets, using the excuse of "no major safety issues" to delay its demolition.
Thus, this "building that wouldn't collapse" had become a temporarily famous attraction in New York.
Peter was not sure whether there was any money left in a bank inside an unsafe building that had already been robbed, but looking at the two overturned police cars outside and the officers standing ready, Spider-Man knew it was time for him to make an entrance.
"Hey, Captain Stacy. Long time no see."
Spider-Man landed on a utility pole beside Captain Stacy's police car, drawing his attention. Seeing the superpowered individual arrive, George had to admit that although civilians called them incompetent, some criminals really could only be dealt with by masked vigilantes.
"You came just in time, Spider-Man."
"Who's inside?"
"Based on our assessment, Herman Schultz."
"Who's that?"
"The leader of the bank robbery gang you arrested here last week. He escaped from the NYPD. His men said he invented that weapon himself and used it to rob banks. Our two police cars were overturned by vibration waves, so it can only be him."
Only then did Peter realize who Captain Stacy was talking about.
"Oh, Mister Scarecrow. I remember now. Don't worry, Captain Stacy. I'll catch him again."
Captain Stacy watched Spider-Man make his bold declaration before swinging into the bank lobby. He could only arrange traffic control and wish him luck.
Once inside the bank, Spider-Man found that nothing had changed. The marks from their battle a week ago were still there. More importantly, his Spider-Sense was completely still, nothing like the warning of danger—and correspondingly, the dimly lit bank was empty, with no visible signs of an intrusion.
"Hello? Herman? Mister Scarecrow? Are you in here?"
After shouting twice and receiving no answer, Spider-Man continued forward. He saw the bank vault door. It was slightly ajar, as though someone had opened it, but strangely, it did not look like it had been blasted open by a vibration weapon.
"I once called myself the best lockpicker in New York. No safe could stop me. I thought that was just bragging, but this vault door tells me otherwise. I can pry it open instead of destroying it."
A man's muttering came from behind the vault, sounding especially clear in the empty building. Spider-Man stood outside the vault and calmly waited for him to finish. Then he shrugged. "How about you come out and talk? Or I can come in, as long as you promise not to shoot me with your Scarecrow gun."
"Don't you think they're stupid, Spider-Man?"
"Who are you talking about? Yourself? I mean, what kind of person comes back to rob a bank they already robbed?"
"But they didn't take a single cent. They left it all here, as if they were waiting for me to come rob it."
An intense stab of pain struck Peter's brain. The last time he had felt pain on this level was when he faced the Chitauri mothership. Peter instinctively flipped backward, narrowly avoiding the vault door flying out at him. The several-ton metal door crashed to the floor, and the only thing Spider-Man could manage upon landing was an impressed curse.
A torrent of dollar bills erupted like a golden avalanche. Walking out through that blizzard was an opponent he had never seen before. He wore heavy yellow-and-brown shock-resistant armor, with segmented metal plates on the shoulder and chest armor, while every surface of the suit was covered in honeycomb shock-absorption structures. His arms were fitted with gauntlet-mounted Scarecrow launchers, and his brown helmet resembled a dangerous owl.
"Just like I was waiting for you to come back!"
At that moment, Herman Schultz—no, he should be called Scarecrow now—threw a left punch. A shockwave powerful enough to send the entire vault door flying blasted toward Spider-Man. Spider-Man dodged with his Spider-Sense, then swung on webbing back into the bank lobby—where there was more room to fight.
"I'm truly flattered, Herman. You upgraded your gear just to beat me up? You even made yourself a suit of armor?" Spider-Man clung upside down to the wall, watching Scarecrow step out. "Look at your inventions. You're practically a genius. You could use your talents to do something meaningful. You could help a lot of people, maybe even become a hero. What do you say?"
Scarecrow paused and lowered his arms. Peter could sense his Spider-Sense ease slightly.
"You make a good point, Spider-Man." Scarecrow nodded and looked up at him. "Except for one thing."
"You should have invited me when I was still a nobody!"
Sheriff George waited outside the bank for news from within, but the situation was clearly not looking good. A massive hole was blasted through the bank's outer wall, and Spider-Man came flying backward straight out of it.
"Don't go in, Sheriff! Herman is dangerous! Evacuate the people nearby!"
Spider-Man, blasted out by the Scarecrow launcher, stuck webbing to the floor of the bank lobby and launched himself back into the fight. The upgraded launcher's area of effect had become absurd. Even with Spider-Sense, he had not managed to dodge it completely.
And now, all he could do was strike a standard superhero landing directly in front of Herman.
"Okay, Herman. Looks like I'll have to teach you some hard lessons first."
To meet 21st Century standards, Scarecrow's equipment resembled the version from the Marvel's Spider-Man game rather than the comic-book bodysuit.
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