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Under a barrage of voices and camera flashes, Stark stood at the podium dressed in a suit and tie. When he took his seat, a dozen microphones were thrust at him. Keeping his composure, he pressed his hand down.
"Hello, Mr. Stark," Eddie Brock said. "Eddie Brock, special correspondent for The Daily Globe. How do you respond to accusations that by ending your medical collaboration with the military, you are callously disregarding human life?"
"Get one thing straight," Stark said, pointing to the male reporter. "I'm not the one who terminated the project. And given your limited cognitive capacity, I doubt you can even distinguish between industrial medical technology and what a hospital actually uses."
He appeared sharp enough, but the heavy shadows under his eyes revealed how little he had slept.
Pepper was overwhelmed—Stark Industries only functioned properly because of her. Tony had been under attack from all sides since his confrontation with the military.
He looked over the group of reporters. He was aware that at least half had taken military money. They'd do the same thing Brock was doing: ask loaded questions to place all the blame on him.
Brock went on to say, "Stark Industries' enthusiasm for medical R&D clearly lags compared to Oscorp's. Does this imply that you are less concerned with the advancement of human medicine or that you simply lack the compassion to care about people suffering from disease?"
Tony cast a glance at the badge. Right, Eddie Brock came to pick a fight.
"I'm not arguing with you about this. If you want to know why the medical project was terminated, ask the Army's general."
"And what about your weapons? After your weapons are used in battle, you refuse to develop medical technology to save injured soldiers. Doesn't this imply that Stark Industries only profits from war and ignores civilian casualties, making it a parasite on humanity?"
Brock rattled the words off like a machine gun. Tony thought that if the military hadn't handed him a script, he'd almost be a genius to come up with all of this on his own.
When someone wants to nail you, they'll find a way regardless of what you do.
The next day, New York's newspapers were filled with hit pieces about Stark, led by Eddie Brock, the Daily Globe's golden boy.
Tony was aware of the drill: the military was squeezing him to force him to bow. He had to hold the line for Pepper's sake, if nothing else.
The mess made him think deeply about love, friendship, and family. Iron Man does not back down—not for ideals, but for those he cares about.
The media campaign was successful. They boosted Oscorp's reputation while dragging down Stark's. Oscorp excelled in bio/medical research, while Stark Industries excelled in weapons development. That contrast became the cudgel: portray Stark as inhumane, a global blight—as if the world would be peaceful without him.
To say Tony was unaffected would be a lie. If the stories were just rumors, he'd shrug. The issue was that he was aware that his weapons had caused harm to others. Not every statement they made was false. Stark Industries did prosper from the profits of war.
Tony slid into another bout of despair, having just come from the previous one.
Meanwhile, Peter's sewer survey uncovered additional signs of activity. He'd been watching every maintenance bay since his first discovery, and he realized the 'sewer hermit' didn't live in a single location. The same signs appeared in five or six bays throughout the neighborhood.
Following the clues, Peter concluded that the individual must have a true base at the intersection of these paths. As his map grew, he discovered it: a location near a reservoir where four tunnels intersected, each leading to a busy street. A main base at the reservoir, with temporary stops elsewhere. It made sense: unless you were Spider-Man, you couldn't walk kilometers through damp darkness without rest.
That informed Peter that his quarry was most likely a normal human. He might be able to catch them if he could get the upper hand.
One night, he crept into the reservoir bay. It was the hour when the hermit would not be present, so he pried open the maintenance door.
Inside, he was astounded by the abundance of bottles, jars, and crude equipment. One bottle contained what appeared to be biological tissue samples. Who is this gentleman down here, conducting experiments?
He pushed through the chaos to discover something even worse: numerous biological specimens, ghastly in the sickly light.
It appeared to be the lair of a mad scientist.
Furthermore, the person has not left any notebooks, data, or names. Peter discovered nothing that could identify them.
A crazed scientist performing biowork in New York's sewers? Peter's mind sketched a villain's silhouette.
He couldn't let this continue. The sewers were New York's lifelines; dumping the wrong waste put the entire city at risk.
He grabbed dry cardboard from a high shelf near the door, tore it up, and set it on fire, intending to torch the entire place. The bay was dry enough that smoke billowed quickly. He closed the door and watched the fire consume the gear.
It's a good thing he discovered it early. It may have been too late if a poison or gas had been developed down here.
He was still difficult to deal with on top. Burning one site was insufficient; the scientist may have other locations. He'd conduct a close patrol for a few days to apprehend them.
During those days, Peter interned at Stark by day and went to the sewers at night. After the fire, all traces of human activity disappeared.
The madman appeared to have given up.
Peter relaxed slightly, but his internship wasn't going well. Mr. Stark appeared drowsy, skipping experiments, smoking, drinking, and occasionally passing out on the lab floor for Peter to haul up.
Peter had seen the hit pieces but didn't believe anything they said. He considered them smears. Iron Man was a hero who saved people, not the monster depicted.
He wanted to assist but wasn't sure how. Confrontation was not his strong suit—he couldn't even bring himself to call and argue with the journalists. So he visited the clinic. Dr. Schiller would understand how to influence public opinion.
However, Schiller was preoccupied with feeding a symbiote.
When Peter arrived, Schiller was bandaging Pikachu. The little guy was hopping around the kitchen when his tail dipped into a pan, causing him to lose a tuft of fur. He is now lying pitifully on the table while Schiller works.
"Hey! Am I interrupting? I can come back tomorrow…"
"That's fine. Come in. I have no pressing matters."
When Peter entered, he squished Pikachu's cheeks hard. Pikachu wrinkled his nose and tried to get away, but Schiller still held his tail. He hopped and yelped, knocking over a few cups.
Schiller said, "Hold still. Or your tail's going to stay bald."
Peter took his seat. "Dr., have you seen the reports? One journalist claims to have witnessed Mr. Stark selling weapons to terrorists and vividly describes their 'meeting'…"
"That's the real talent. If you can't spin like that, you won't make it in New York."
"But they're lying!" Peter slammed the table down. "Mr. Stark isn't like that!"
"Is he? If it were all lies, Stark's attitude would be identical to yours. You're upset for a friend; the accused is usually even angrier."
"That…" Peter faltered. Schiller had a point: when Flash made up lies about him at school, he was furious. So why wasn't Tony furious? So, why not fight back?
"Why are you so sure what you believe is correct?" Schiller inquired.
"Because I… I know Mr. Stark is not like that!"
"Perhaps you've only seen one side."
"But…" Peter clenched his fists tightly. "Doctor, isn't Mr. Stark also your friend? Do you really believe he is the monster they describe?"
He shook his head. "My Stark and your Stark may be entirely different—like a thousand Hamlets for a thousand readers."
"Judgment changes depending on perspective. A good person may appear bad to a bad person, while another bad person may appear good to a bad person."
Peter smashed a fist into his palm. "Then those reporters and Oscorp are bad people who praise bad people—birds of the same feather. And bad people despise good people—so they despise Mr. Stark!"
"How do you define good and bad?"
"Uh… people who do good things are good; people who do bad things are bad?"
"And what's a good or bad thing?"
"At the very least, one should be true. No lies. Stay within moral boundaries and avoid breaking the law. That's good, right?"
"Do you think swinging over New York traffic doesn't violate safety codes?"
"But I do it because.... ok. My intent is good, and the outcome is positive. I save lives. Some rule-bending is acceptable, right?"
Schiller shakes his head. "One day you'll realize there aren't any purely good or bad people. The world is full of bad acts with good intentions and outcomes, as well as good acts with bad intentions and outcomes."
"That sounds like a tongue twister."
"If you insist on black-and-white thinking, someday you'll find the colors have smeared into gray."
"But a good deed is a good deed; a bad deed is a bad deed. I simply want to save more people and do more good." Peter remained steadfast.
His head was spinning as he left. Schiller's moral parables felt like riddles. Peter's philosophy was straightforward: be a good person, do good, and prevent bad people from doing bad. Why add complexity?
He dismissed it. If everyone thought like him, the world would be a better place. Crime exists because bad people will continue to do bad things. Sure, if everyone was good, there would be no crime.
While walking and thinking, he checked his watch. However, it is still early. He had taken time off from his internship; if he went home right now, Aunt May and Uncle Ben would not be there.
He decided to return to hero duties.
Not only that, but he went through the nearest manhole. Better patrol the sewers and ensure that the scientist isn't up to anything dangerous.
But as soon as he walked in, a shiver ran up his spine—not quite spider-sense, but close. He changed into his suit, tucked his backpack away, and moved deeper.
As he got closer to the central reservoir, his spider-sense started tingling. His heart beat faster. There is no clear source.
A little further, then a faint hissing and the scrape of metal against stone.
Spider-Sense flared up. Peter dove aside as a chunk of masonry shattered in his path.
A massive shape loomed in the dim end of the tunnel, standing four or five meters tall. He spotted a lizard in the dim light. A tall, upright lizard-man who nearly filled the tunnel.
Peter gulped. He stood next to it, a thin twig.
The creature was already aware of his presence. Peter raced along the wall. The Lizard thundered after him, shaking the ground with each step. It roared, hurling slabs that forced Peter into constant dodges and slowed his pace.
Webs were awkward here, so he had to rely on his legs. And anything that runs on two legs has a flaw: once your balance is lost, you're down.
He rolled to the right to avoid one slab, but a flying shard clipped him from the left. He stumbled across the floor because he was unbalanced. The massive lizard grabbed his leg and flung him.
He slammed into the tunnel wall, hacking twice as a coppery taste rose in his throat.
He struggled up, braced for another round, when the lizard shook its head, as if dazed, then abruptly turned away and pounded off in another direction.
📝 FOOTNOTE
The NYC Department of Sanitation has issued a new advisory: "Unauthorized bio-labs in drainage systems are prohibited. Furthermore, if you discover a 15-foot reptile with a PhD in molecular biology living in Tunnel 7-B, do not offer it a teaching position. Last time, it ended poorly."