A year and a half could do a lot to a person.
The basement beneath Ethan Vale's house no longer felt like a place people forgot existed. It wasn't just concrete and shadows anymore. It breathed with purpose. Mats covered the floor, worn smooth by repetition. A heavy bag hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly as if it remembered the last strike. Dumbbells sat in uneven pairs, collected over time instead of bought all at once. Nothing here was flashy. Everything here was used.
Ethan stood barefoot at the center of it all.
Sweat ran down his temples, soaking into the collar of his shirt. His breathing was steady—not rushed, not strained. Controlled. He moved again.
Jab. Cross. Step in. Elbow.A low kick snapped out, sharp and clean.
He pivoted, reset his stance, and went again.
There was no audience. No mirror. No one counting his reps. Ethan didn't need any of that anymore. His body remembered what to do even when his mind went quiet.
When he finally stopped, his arms dropped to his sides. He bent forward slightly, hands on his knees, catching his breath. The heavy bag rocked back and forth, chain creaking softly in the silence.
"Cooldown," he said under his breath.
The lights dimmed a little as the ventilation adjusted.
Apocalypse's voice came from the speakers, calm as always."Heart rate elevated but stable. Muscle fatigue within safe limits."
Ethan grabbed a towel from a bench and wiped his face. He sank down onto the mat, sitting with his back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him.
"Show me something," he said."Something… not depressing."
There was a brief pause.
Then the main screen flickered to life.
At first, it was just the city—New York from above, loud even when muted. Cars. People. Motion everywhere. Then the camera zoomed in.
A red-and-blue blur crossed the frame.
Ethan leaned forward without meaning to.
The image sharpened, locking onto a familiar figure clinging to the side of a building like gravity had simply given up on him.
Spider-Man.
Peter.
The footage followed as Spider-Man dropped into an alley. Two men barely had time to turn around before webs snapped out. One hit the wall with a shout. The other was yanked upward, left hanging upside down and swearing at the sky.
Peter moved fast, but carefully. Always carefully.
Ethan watched closely—not just the fight, but what came after. Peter crouched down, speaking to the woman they'd been trying to grab. His body language softened instantly. Awkward, gentle, human.
"He looks better," Ethan said quietly.
Apocalypse responded, "Coordination, reaction time, and threat assessment have improved significantly since initial awakening."
Ethan nodded."Yeah. He figured it out."
The screen changed again.
Now it showed a newsroom bursting with noise. Reporters shouted over each other. Cameras flashed. At the center of it all stood J. Jonah Jameson, red-faced and furious.
"A masked vigilante swinging through our city!" Jameson yelled. "No accountability, no identity, and suddenly we're supposed to trust him?!"
The footage jumped between Spider-Man stopping crimes and Jameson tearing him apart word by word.
Hero to some. Menace to others.
Ethan leaned back, exhaling slowly.
"They'll never be satisfied," he said.
"Public opinion rarely stabilizes around anonymous actors," Apocalypse replied.
Ethan snorted softly."Figures."
Then the screen shifted again.
This time, the room went quieter.
A hidden feed appeared—inside a large, private workshop. Tools lined the walls. Half-built machines rested on tables. Holographic displays floated above metal frames, reshaping themselves as calculations updated in real time.
At the center of it stood Tony Stark.
Ethan didn't say anything.
He just watched Stark work—hands moving confidently, muttering to himself, fixing something only he fully understood.
For a moment, Ethan felt very aware of the space he was in. The rough walls. The secondhand equipment. The fact that everything he had built came from scraps, patience, and stubborn refusal to give up.
"This feed won't last," Apocalypse said. "Countermeasures detected."
"Yeah," Ethan replied softly. "I know."
The screen went dark.
The basement fell silent again.
Ethan stared at the blank display for a long moment.
Peter was out there, being seen. Being judged. Saving people anyway.
Tony Stark was somewhere else entirely, shaping the future behind locked doors and layers of money and brilliance.
And him?
He was still underground.
Still invisible.
Still getting ready.
"Apocalypse," Ethan said at last.
"Yes?"
"We keep going."
The lights brightened slightly. Training data reset on one of the side screens.
"Next phase?" Apocalypse asked.
Ethan stood up, rolling his shoulders as he faced the equipment again.
"I don't want to be late anymore," he said. "I don't want to react."
He tightened the wraps around his hands.
"I want to be ready before it happens."
Above them, the city kept moving.
Spider-Man swung through the skyline.
A genius built gods out of metal.
And beneath a quiet house in Queens,a boy who had already lost too much kept training—
Not to be seen.
Not to be praised.
But because when the moment finally came,someone would have to act—
and Ethan Vale intended to be that someone.
Ethan left the training space behind and walked deeper into the basement.
The air changed as he crossed an invisible boundary. The concrete gave way to clean metal flooring, the hum of power lines growing louder with each step. This part of the basement had once been nothing more than storage—old boxes, broken furniture, forgotten things. Now it felt like the inside of a living machine.
The lights came on automatically.
And Ethan stopped.
The room opened up before him like a hive.
Thousands of small shapes rested in perfect order across modular racks lining the walls and ceiling. Each one was no larger than a coin, crafted with delicate precision—thin legs folded neatly beneath compact bodies, matte-black shells absorbing light instead of reflecting it.
Spider-like.
Five thousand of them.
Ethan didn't smile. He didn't gasp. He simply stood there, hands in his pockets, taking it all in the way someone might look at a field they'd planted themselves—row by row, day by day.
"Operational status?" he asked.
Apocalypse answered immediately."All units are active. Passive surveillance mode. Zero external detection incidents."
Ethan stepped closer to one of the racks. A single unit detached itself smoothly, crawling onto his open palm. It was almost weightless.
"These aren't weapons," Ethan murmured. "They're eyes."
The drone paused, then skittered back to its place, blending seamlessly with the rest.
Ethan turned—and froze.
Someone was speaking.
Not Apocalypse.
"Well now," the voice said gently, warm and slightly amused, "you're staring like you've never seen your own work before."
The sound came from the far side of the workshop.
A holographic figure shimmered into view.
She looked old—wrinkled face, silver hair pulled back neatly, posture straight despite her age. She wore a simple cardigan and carried herself with quiet dignity. Her eyes were sharp, knowing, kind in a way that made Ethan's chest tighten unexpectedly.
He hadn't heard that voice in years.
"…Grandma," he said softly.
The AI smiled.
"Still slouching," she replied. "Even when you're standing proud."
Ethan swallowed.
This wasn't just a program. He'd made sure of that. Every inflection, every pause, every subtle shift in tone—it was built from memory, from old recordings, from moments burned into his mind long before everything went wrong.
Her name appeared briefly on a side display:
AGNES
He had named her after his grandmother.Not because he couldn't let go—but because he didn't want to.
"Financial overview?" Ethan asked, his voice steady despite the ache behind it.
Agnes turned slightly, hands folding behind her back as data bloomed around her like floating ledgers.
"Initial capital sourced from anonymous bounty transfers," she said. "Diversified across low-risk real estate, long-term equities, emerging tech stocks, and conservative foreign holdings."
The numbers kept climbing.
"Total net growth: ten-point-two times over eighteen months," she continued calmly. "Minimal exposure. No patterns that invite attention."
Ethan let out a slow breath.
"Good," he said. "Still quiet."
"As you asked," Agnes replied. "Money should work for you, not announce you."
Ethan nodded. That sounded exactly like her.
Apocalypse spoke again, this time more reserved."Cross-system efficiency between surveillance assets and financial forecasting has increased predictive accuracy."
Agnes glanced toward the ceiling, unimpressed."Of course it has, dear. Someone has to make sure he doesn't bankrupt himself trying to save the world."
Ethan huffed a quiet laugh.
For a moment, the room felt… full. Not crowded. Just alive.
Two AIs—one born of logic and ambition, the other shaped from love and memory. One watched the world for threats. The other guarded the future Ethan was quietly building beneath it.
He looked again at the thousands of spider drones, then back at the hologram of his grandmother.
"I'm not rushing," he said, more to himself than to them. "Not this time."
Agnes's expression softened."Good. Rushing is how people get hurt."
Ethan clenched his fist slowly, resolve settling deep in his chest.
Above them, heroes swung through the sky and geniuses forged legends in towers of glass and steel.
But down here—in silence, in patience, in preparation—
Ethan Vale was building something just as dangerous.
Not a suit.Not a name.
A foundation.
And when the world finally noticed him,it would already be too late to stop what he'd become.
Ethan stayed where he was, hands resting on the edge of the workbench, eyes still lingering on the quiet efficiency of the workshop. The hum of machines felt almost like breathing now—steady, familiar.
"Agnes," he said casually, as if the thought had only just crossed his mind, "run a market scan for companies related to Amazon."
The holographic woman tilted her head slightly, already processing.
"Clarify," she replied. "Retail, logistics, cloud services, or all sectors?"
"All," Ethan said. "Anything operating under that name. Direct or indirect."
Agnes nodded once. Data began streaming across the air in neat columns, graphs forming and dissolving as her analysis deepened. A few seconds passed. Then a few more.
Her expression changed—not alarmed, but curious.
"That's… unusual," she said.
Ethan looked up.
"There is no major company operating under the name Amazon," Agnes continued. "No dominant retail presence, no large-scale logistics network, no cloud infrastructure bearing that title. The term exists only in minor trademark filings and abandoned business registrations."
She paused, then added, gently teasing, "Certainly nothing worth investing in."
Ethan's eyes narrowed—not in disappointment, but realization.
"…Of course," he muttered.
Agnes studied him. "You sound as though this was expected."
His mind was already moving, gears clicking into place. He straightened, pacing slowly between the worktables, hands clasped behind his back.
"It doesn't exist yet," he said. "That's the point."
Agnes's eyes widened just a fraction. "Ethan… are you suggesting—"
"Not competing," he interrupted. "Creating."
He stopped walking.
"This world doesn't have Amazon," he said quietly. "No one thought to connect online retail, logistics, cloud computing, and consumer data into one ecosystem. They're all fragmented. Separate companies. Separate inefficiencies."
Agnes folded her arms, thoughtful now. "You're considering founding a company from scratch. At your age. With that scale in mind."
Ethan let out a breath, half-laugh, half-disbelief."Yeah. Sounds insane when you say it like that."
She smiled warmly. "It sounded insane when your grandfather said he'd buy land no one wanted either."
Ethan looked at her.
Agnes continued, her tone shifting into something more analytical. "If such an enterprise were to be built, these would be the viable approaches."
Data blossomed around her.
"Option one: Begin as a small online marketplace. Focus on electronics and second-hand goods. Low overhead. Gradual expansion."
"Option two: Logistics-first model. Acquire warehouses early. Prioritize delivery speed and reliability before scale."
"Option three: Cloud infrastructure development. High initial cost, but long-term dominance potential."
She glanced back at him."All options require time, patience, and—most critically—remaining invisible while growing."
Ethan smiled faintly.
"Invisible," he echoed. "I'm good at that."
Apocalypse chimed in from the background, neutral but observant."Predictive analysis indicates a seventy-three percent probability of market disruption if execution is optimal."
Agnes arched a brow. "Only seventy-three?"
"Conservative estimate," Apocalypse replied.
Ethan stopped in front of the main terminal and placed his hands on the keyboard.
"I don't need it to be big tomorrow," he said. "I just need it to start."
Agnes's voice softened. "Then we begin small. Clean. Legal. Quiet."
He nodded."One step at a time."
The screen lit up as Ethan typed the first few lines of a business outline—nothing flashy, nothing bold. Just a foundation.
Aboveground, heroes fought villains in public view.
But deep beneath Queens, a different kind of future was being written—not with webs or armor,but with foresight, restraint,and an idea that hadn't existed in this world…
until Ethan Vale decided it should.