Early the next morning, Maguire sat with the newspaper, his thoughts turning heavy.
**\[Head of Stark Industries, Tony Stark, missing in Black State.**
**Suspected kidnapped by terrorists.**
**Stark Industries leaderless.]**
Reading the headline, Maguire muttered to himself:
"So Iron Man's birth isn't far now. Once Tony returns, he'll stop weapons development. I'd better start planning ahead myself."
…
Meanwhile, at the Daily Bugle.
A man wearing sunglasses entered J. Jonah Jameson's office—it was Mac Gargan, whom Thompson had hired to investigate Spider-Man's identity.
"How's the investigation? Any progress?" Jameson asked, cigar clenched between his teeth.
Gargan sighed, looking helpless.
"Nothing. Spider-Man moves way too fast. I just can't keep up with him."
Jameson exploded in anger.
"It's been a month, and you've found *nothing*? You useless hack!"
Gargan lowered his head, muttering under his breath.
"It's Spider-Man… I'm not Superman."
But Jameson heard him.
"What did you just say?" he snapped.
Frustrated, Gargan snapped back,
"That's Spider-Man! I'm just a regular guy. I'm a private investigator, not some superhero hunter!"
Jameson's fury boiled over.
"Enough! You're fired. Worthless. Can't do a damn thing right."
Gargan's face fell. He panicked.
"Please, give me more time! I'll find out Spider-Man's identity, I swear! Don't fire me—I'm broke, I need this job!"
Jameson paused, an idea forming. He leaned back, eyes narrowing.
"You say you need money? I have another job. The pay's very generous. Interested?"
At once, Gargan's face lit up.
"Yes! Whatever it is—I'll do it!"
A smile crept across Jameson's face.
"Good. It's simple. All you have to do is test a suit."
…
One hour later.
Empire State University Research Lab.
A black car pulled up outside. Jameson and Gargan stepped out and entered the facility.
Inside a large lab, a man in a white coat approached eagerly.
"You're here! This must be Gargan?"
"That's him," Jameson said. "Dr. Connors, is it ready?"
"Yes," Connors nodded. "The Scorpion armor is complete. All that's left is for Mr. Gargan to try it on."
Hearing this, Gargan felt a chill of unease. But with his pockets empty, he bit down the fear and stayed silent.
Soon, they stood before a massive glass chamber. Inside gleamed a dark green battlesuit, angular and menacing, a long, heavy scorpion tail arched over its back.
The Scorpion Suit.
This was the project Jameson had secretly funded at ESU—his obsession fueled by grief, convinced Spider-Man was tied to his wife's death. Now, he had the weapon to take revenge. He just needed someone desperate enough to wear it. Gargan was perfect.
Looking at the armor, Gargan felt a spark of hope.
With the help of several technicians, he donned the Scorpion Suit. At once, power coursed through him. His body felt stronger, harder, faster—like a single punch could shatter the world. Of course, it was only the illusion of newfound strength.
Jameson's eyes gleamed at the sight. A wild idea flared in his mind.
"Go capture Spider-Man. Rip off his mask. Expose him to the world for the fraud he is."
He stepped closer to Gargan.
"Now you have power, real power. Bring me Spider-Man, and I'll give you wealth beyond anything you could spend in a lifetime."
Gargan nodded heavily. Honest, desperate Gargan had no idea what he was getting himself into. All he knew was—he needed the money.
…
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