"Um… Karl… could you give me your phone number?" May asked softly as he put on his helmet. "Peter said he wants to call you…"
She lowered her head immediately after speaking, not daring to meet his eyes.
Karl glanced at her in mild surprise. He knew perfectly well Peter had said no such thing. Though his expression remained composed, inwardly he felt a surge of quiet satisfaction. Even if she hadn't asked, he would have found a way to stay in contact.
"Alright," he said gently. "Write this down."
He recited the number, giving her a meaningful look before starting the engine and riding away.
May stood there watching his taillight disappear into the night.
Only then did realization strike her.
Peter had gone upstairs after his medicine — he never asked for a phone number.
A faint blush spread across her cheeks.
She had exposed herself completely.
And Karl… hadn't refused.
She struggled to define what she felt. It wasn't love — they had only just met. It wasn't even infatuation. But she felt a quiet sense of reassurance around him, a stability she hadn't felt in years.
Since Ben's death, she had raised Peter alone. The compensation from the accident had helped, but it was far from enough. School expenses, daily living costs, and medical needs weighed heavily on her shoulders.
She survived by doing sewing work and small handicrafts, carefully stretching every dollar.
The sense of safety Karl had given her — brief as it was — lingered in her heart.
And she could not forget it.
…
Karl sped along the road toward home, mood unusually light. He twisted the throttle, and the motorcycle surged forward, slicing through the night.
When he arrived at the farm, his expression shifted instantly.
Something was wrong.
He distinctly remembered closing the farm gate.
Fresh tire tracks marked the dirt road — tracks that did not belong to his motorcycle.
Karl cut the engine.
Darkness rippled around him.
Hundreds of shadow ninjas emerged silently and slipped into the farmhouse and surrounding grounds.
One Hour Earlier — Fisk Tower
BOOM!
Wilson Fisk slammed his fist onto his desk, splitting the reinforced wood in two.
"Useless!" he thundered. "You told me he could handle it. Bullseye is dead."
His voice dropped into a cold snarl.
"Deploy the enhanced assets. All of them."
"Yes, boss," Wesley replied, bowing slightly before leaving to carry out the order.
Fisk's organization had already concluded that Karl possessed superhuman abilities — most likely a mutant power. A dozen enhanced operatives were dispatched to the farm to lie in ambush.
Most were physically mutated enforcers: thickened skin, bone protrusions, bestial limbs, or abnormal musculature. Few possessed refined abilities. Those with stable appearances and high-level powers were rare — many had been recruited, sheltered, or hidden by institutions such as Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters or various clandestine programs.
But Fisk did not require elegance.
He required force.
Back at the Farm
The moment the shadow ninjas infiltrated the property, combat erupted.
Karl received their sensory feedback instantly, mapping enemy positions in his mind.
So they had come.
Then they would not leave.
More shadow ninjas surged from the darkness, swarming the intruders.
Karl's body dissolved into crystalline frost as he entered elemental form. With a sweep of his arm, razor-sharp ice spikes launched forward, impaling one of the attackers and pinning him to the ground.
The man's mutated hide cracked under the freezing assault.
Karl did not stop.
Ice spread across the ground, freezing boots in place. Another spike pierced a mutant through the torso.
One by one, they fell.
These were not high-tier mutants with energy projection, telepathy, or advanced regeneration. They were brute enforcers — dangerous to civilians, but outmatched against elemental power and an endless tide of shadow soldiers.
Shadow ninjas could be destroyed, but they reformed in darkness. Their resurrection drained Karl's stamina, yet against opponents lacking overwhelming power, attrition favored him.
Within minutes, the farm fell silent.
Twelve bodies lay scattered across the frozen earth.
Karl stood still, frost mist curling around him.
"Dispose of them," he ordered.
Shadow ninjas dragged the corpses into darkness, feeding them to the entities lurking within the Shadow Realm.
Karl remained motionless, thinking.
They had found his home.
If Aunt May and Peter were ever connected to him, they could become targets.
That was unacceptable.
Kingpin needed to be dealt with — sooner rather than later.
He returned inside and sat on the sofa, mind already shifting toward the future.
His thoughts turned to the spider serum.
He had the research.
But he lacked the expertise.
He knew nothing about genetic engineering, recombinant DNA, or cross-species gene expression. Stealing the data was easy; replicating it was another matter entirely.
Several names surfaced in his mind — brilliant scientists, bioengineers, and corporate researchers.
He dismissed them.
Such individuals could not be controlled without leverage.
Then another possibility emerged.
Stark Industries' biological enhancement research.
Early super-soldier derivatives and gamma-based enhancement studies had produced unstable results and catastrophic side effects. Military oversight — particularly under General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross — had restricted further development after the failures that would later culminate in Emil Blonsky's transformation.
Karl's eyes sharpened.
It was 2008.
Tony Stark would soon be captured in Afghanistan.
If Karl intervened… rescued him… earned his trust…
Access to advanced bioengineering and refinement of enhancement formulas might become possible.
And obtaining a perfected genetic enhancement later would not be impossible.
Karl leaned back slowly.
The game had just grown larger.
…