'Auction Master, Auction Master, where are you…?'
Regarding the location itself, Auction Master knew how to play to the elites. Knowing European aesthetics was exotic in India and that the Chinese preferred their own over the Europeans was very specific and cunning.
Felicia scanned the crowd. Rogue had not yet returned yet. She seemed to be interested in getting some wine. A way for her to disengage from all this hell.
Felix observed the people scattered throughout the room. Some faces — or rather, masks — stood out despite the anonymity.
A red-haired woman in an elegant silver gown laughed near the balcony bar. Even through the thin mask shaped like a stylized spiderweb, her poise was unmistakable.
Felicia blinked. "Hey, hold on, is that Pepper Potts?"
Felix wanted to face-palm. 'You're kidding.'
"That's definitely her. Looks the same as the one that I know. CEO of Stark International, front and center." Felicia's voice dropped to a whisper. "And over there—no way—that's Norman Osborn's son. The green tie gives it away."
Harry was here too, huh. Not too much of a surprise, he was on the records. But Pepper Potts, she was…well, not new, but she only visited the Emporium Auction twice. From the recordings of his investigation, he recalled her not enjoying it very much. The company was too criminal for her liking.
Felix's eyes darted around. She wasn't wrong. There were several recognizable silhouettes among the guests. Wealthy figures from around the world, industrial titans and financiers. They'd been drawn in by curiosity or greed, or both.
'The Auction Master sure is cocky to keep this going…' Felix thought. 'He's hosting billionaires like nothing's happened. Like Peggy Carter isn't dead. Not even a ripple of fear—'
Huh? He saw a clean-shaved, middle-aged man with piercing eyes and reddish-brown hair. Frankly, he looked to be close to his fifties or sixties. Wrinkles were drawn on his face. Most of all, Felix recognized this man not as a figure but someone he saw recently.
'Alexander Pierce…! Secretary of the World Security Council!'
So he was here after visiting the Indian Prime Minister's place. Fascinating. He definitely wasn't apart of the original auction. Was he investigating Director Carter's death or what? Did he come along for the fun of it? It was hard to read his intentions since he was mulling over his lonesome.
'Oh crap, Rogue—'
Alexander would know his own agents, right? Or, wait, no…
The secretary was looking about, a hand in his pocket and another hand with wine. He didn't even blink at gazing over Rogue. He…did not recognize Agent Shadowcat.
The mask plus the fact that she did not interact with him must have saved her. Being the Secretary of the World Council, only top-tier and (more importantly) well-mannered SHIELD agents could speak to Alexander Pierce. So he was safe. She was safe. For now—
'TRANSMISSIONS BEING SENT BY LOCAL RADIO. IMPOSSIBLE TO INTERRUPT.'
'Ah, fuck.'
No, they weren't safe, because somebody like Alexander Pierce had agents around him. They saw Rogue and reported it. He side-eyed Rogue again. She was…actually, she wasn't gunning for the wine. She actually quietly knocked someone on the neck and pushed them to slump down on a chair.
'She knows. That was why she left so quickly. Herbie, you might not be able to stop the radio waves, but you can track them down, right?'
'AFFIRMATIVE.'
'Excellent. Track them, and Rash, it's our turn next. We'll my invisibility and your tendrils to strike every single agent at once. There won't be any time for them to react.'
'Understoood…!'
The Symbiote within him was getting ready. The threads of his suit were an illusion. They were a mix of his suit and the Symbiote. Of the best that Earth had to offer, biologically and metalically, and the best of something that came from beyond.
'TARGETS ACQUIRED.'
Felix exhaled quietly, shoulders straightening beneath the black sheen of his suit. 'Let's do this, Rash.'
'With pleasssuure!'
Microscopic threads of Symbiote slipped away from Felix's shoulders, invisible in the dim light, refracting and bending around the lamps and chandeliers. They moved with precision — liquid shadow given purpose — weaving through bodies, champagne glasses, and laughter.
To anyone watching, nothing changed.
Yet unbeknownst to them, things were moving. Spider-Man was amongst them, attacking. A male agent near the bar lifted his drink. A tendril attached itself to the base of his skull and added electricity — pressure on a soft choke of nerves — and he slumped in his seat, glass still balanced between his fingers. His neighbor caught the cup before it could fall, chuckling at what he thought was simple drunkenness.
By the balcony, another agent leaned forward, whispering into a concealed mic. The same tendril brushed past the man's collar, disconnecting him from consciousness in a heartbeat. His hand fell over his glass, head tilted down as if deep in thought.
Three near the chandelier. Two more at the stairs. Another, stationed at the main exit. Each one — silenced.
The Symbiote worked in tandem with Felix's breathing, every heartbeat in sync with a takedown. Every move timed to the tempo of the ballroom's jazz. Ten seconds total.
By the time anyone could notice, whether it was a waiter passing by with a tray of caviar, the passed out agents were propped up naturally, their eyes closed like dozing guests in the lull of a too-long evening.
Felicia clung to his arm, oblivious, her silver hair brushing his shoulder. "You okay, Spidey? You look like you're holding your breath."
Felix blinked once. The only sign anything had happened. In reality, his body felt drained. Stretching out his tendrils and invisibility like that…he had never done it before.
But it was done. Across the room, Rogue turned her head slightly, wine glass halfway to her lips. Her eyes — sharp, trained — caught his for a moment. She didn't need a gesture to know. Her glance flicked down, scanning the perimeter, noting the faint stillness of the men who had been watching her seconds ago.
Her lips curved, the faintest smirk. Gratitude, maybe even admiration, but she said nothing.
Felix gave the smallest nod.
The Symbiote retracted in an instant, threads merging seamlessly back into his suit. The illusion was restored. The spider emblem across his chest pulsed once, then dimmed.
'ALL AGENTS DOWN,' Herbie confirmed in his head. 'ALEXANDER PIERCE REMAINS UNAWARE. SURVEILLANCE SHOWS NO CHANGE IN CROWD BEHAVIOR. OPERATION SUCCESSFUL WITH NO MITIGATIONS.'
"Look," Felicia said. He glanced at Felicia and down at her hand still wrapped around his arm. "It's beginning."
The chandeliers dimmed to embers. A single red light cut through the haze, centering on the velvet curtains. The music died. The crowd hushed. The curtains parted.
Out stepped a tall figure in a dark crimson coat and maroon suit. His mask was what made the room fall still.
It was the mask of the devil.
Two sharp, hornlike ridges curved upward from the brow, polished and gleaming. The face was a distorted grin; teeth too long, angles too sharp, the color an almost organic red that looked alive under the light. Felix took a longer look and it…it wasn't quite a devil's mask, though. Not mythic enough. Not elegant. There was something wrong about it. Something twisted.
"Ladies," the devil's voice came smooth as silk and soaked in power, "gentlemen." A pause. "And those who come as spiders and lizards."
Felicia's breath hitched. Her eyes widened in disbelief, then sharpened into fury. "That's him."
Felix turned his head slightly. Mask or not, what Felicia was saying mattered. And looking at the rage that lit up in her pupils, there was no mistaking it.
"The Auction Master," she snarled. "That's him, no question."
Applause erupted. The masked figure — the Auction Master — spread his arms. "Welcome… to the Emporium Auction! This is my first ever appearance, as you may know! And, well, I plan to make it special!"
The Auction Master snapped his fingers.
His Spidey-Sense went off, only for the briefest of moments.
In an instant, circular tables materialized across the ballroom, unfolding out of nothing, shimmering with blue light before solidifying. Silverware, crystal goblets, plates, candles — everything blinked into existence, perfectly arranged.
Felicia froze. Her pupils constricted. "That—" she whispered, breath catching, "that's my tech. How did he—?"
'Perfect technology from another world.' Felix's eyes flicked toward her. The number of people who could understand and power Felicia's technology was low considering the fact that said technology was decades ahead of what they had now. The Auction Master had not only stolen her technology — he had mastered it. Refined it. Integrated it casually.
The crowd clapped in awe, unaware of the genius — and theft — on display. Felicia and Felix took their seats. They had to. The auction was to begin in a minute as everyone took to their seats and checked out the numbers assigned to them. Like in any auction, there was auction paddles with numbers to identify them.
Rogue appeared beside them, slipping into a chair with a scowl. "Found the exits," she muttered. "Two security wings and an emergency shaft. We can bail whenever."
Felicia didn't look at her. "We're not leaving."
Rogue's brow furrowed. "You kidding me? Governments are crawling over our last mess, and you wanna stay for an auction?"
"My vendetta's here." Felicia's voice was cold, steady. "He's the reason I was dragged into this world's underbelly. And if the Auction Master's here, Ambassador Yvan can't be far behind."
Rogue clicked her tongue. "Tch. Great. A personal grudge." Still, she leaned back in her chair, arms folded. "Fine. I'm staying. Not 'cause I care about your drama, but because Web-boy here proved he's my best ticket outta this mess. Without him, I'm toast."
On stage, the Auction Master raised his gloved hands. "Tonight," he purred, "we celebrate rebirth. From the ashes of tragedy comes opportunity. And from the corpse of a god… comes fortune."
A murmur spread through the crowd. The lights shifted again — blue, then gold — illuminating a long glass display case rising from the center of the floor. Inside gleamed a jagged, iridescent fragment the size of a man's torso.
"Behold," the Auction Master declared, "the scales of Creature Z. The fallen Titan of New York."
The crowd gasped, then applauded, awed and greedy.
Felix's fists clenched. He remembered the fire, the roars, the skyscrapers collapsing under the monster's mass. The moment he threw it into orbit. The agony. The muscles that tore themselves as the tendrils stretched around the kaiju.
Now, here it was. Sold like jewelry.
'They're selling pieces of something that nearly wiped us off the map,' Felix thought bitterly. 'Of course they are. That's just the way the world works.'
The bidding began.
Prices jumped by the millions within seconds — 50, 80, 120 million — the crowd feeding on itself like sharks. And then—
"I'll buy all of them," a calm, familiar voice said from across the room.
Pepper Potts was a measured woman, but her words dropped like a grenade. The crowd turned to her. Even behind her yellow spiderweb mask, she radiated confidence.
'...no.'
Felix kicked Felicia's ankle. "Ow! What?" He gave her a look. That look. She caught on. "What? Are you kidding me? I'll reveal my location. There's dozens of tables, there's no reason to—" Another kick. Felicia humphed. "Fine, fine. I'll trust you know what you're doing, Webhead."
Felicia Hardy raised her hand. "Two hundred million!"
The Auction Master instantly honed in on her. Felix could tell only from a vague feeling that was void of logic or even his Spidey-Sense. He just knew that the Auction Master was aware of Felicia.
Then the devil's gaze shifted to the sole male of the group. To Spider-Man.
Even this time, his Spider-Sense did not go off. He only had this strange feeling that he knew he was there.
The moment passed. The Auction Master's gaze turned away. The bidding war began.
Pepper was steady with the white paddle indicating her number and announced, "Two hundred and fifty."
Felicia smirked and lifted her paddle ever so higher. "Three hundred."
The numbers climbed. The Auction Master watched from his pedestal, silent amusement curling through his voice as he called each bid. "Three-fifty. Four hundred. Four-fifty. Five hundred million to the lady in the mask."
Felicia was getting a tad nervous. This was money she couldn't possibly conceive. This was far, far too much. Felix kicked her ankle and he gestured subtly: keep going.
Felicia grinned. "Oh, we're really doing this?" she murmured, before announcing loud and proud, "Six hundred million!"
Pepper Potts was getting nervous too. "Seven!"
"Eight hundred!"
The bidding war escalated into billions. Pepper's tone stayed even, but there was a faint irritation now, a twitch in her composure.
"Seven point five billion," she said flatly and with a finality.
Suddenly, they were in the billions. Felicia hesitated once more. She looked to him for support. "Uh—"
Felix nudged her.
"Eight billion!" she blurted out.
A murmur rippled through the room. Even the Auction Master tilted his head slightly.
An attendant in a black suit approached, polite but wary. "Excuse me, ma'am, sir — can you truly cover such a sum? We would like to see your card, please."
"Me?" Felicia let out a dramatic gasp and put a hand on her chest. "Please, let the gentleman speak."
Felix knew the ins and outs of the auction. There were two methods of payment: hard cash and wire transfers. The latter obviously required a sophisticated system. Specifically, at the start of the auction, those that wished to pay in wire transfers were told to go to the attendant's side and deposit the amount of money they wished to spend for this auction in a new bank account. By doing this, they received a card, which the attendant was asking for. This new bank account was owned and operated by the Emporium Auction, and any money not spent would be returned promptly. Very promptly, actually. They had to be swift in order to be trustworthy enough to bring in all these VIPs.
The auction had their own underground system of banking that had a backend entry to most major banking institutions. In other words, legitimate or illegitimate, anyone could participate in this auction. Before an auction began, they prepped and created exactly one hundred and thirty new accounts. Usually, only sixty would be used.
Obviously, having already done all his homework, Herbie knew what to do from the get-go. Hack into their systems, take a bank account, and deposit all that money inside.
Spider-Man didn't have a card nor did he have any evidence of actually being invited here. He stole the pen off the attendant's breast pocket and wrote down the bank account number on a napkin. The attendant was confused and asked, "S-so that's your card number."
"He lost it," Felicia chimed in. "Apologies, that was my fault. I spilled water all over it. Luckily..." She latched onto him. "My hubby here has a great memory. Just write the number, 'kay?"
Ha. As expected of a master thief, she was quick with her lips.
The attendant wrote the number down into his tablet for verification. The earpiece chimed almost immediately. There was no mistaking it. He glanced down at his tablet too. His eyes went wide. "Ah—yes, of course. Your money is unquestionably within our system. A-as for your card, we will hand a new one to you right away. My apologies."
He bowed deeply and hurried off.
Taking advantage of the momentary eyes on them, Felicia stood up and announced, "Ten billion!"
The crowd fell silent. Ten billion. Even Pepper couldn't match that unless she wanted to go bankrupt.
"Ha...." That was the Auction Master, his laughter booming through the speakers. "Excellent! Great! Sold to the Spider-Man of table 65!"