For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
The academic quiet of the library felt a world away the moment Peter hit the bustling campus quad. The flimsy excuses they'd given each other were a necessary fiction, a flimsy curtain drawn over the stark, dangerous reality of their intentions. He didn't go to the Applied Sciences annex. He headed straight for the nearest subway station, his mind a frantic, parallel process: one half was plotting the fastest route to Red Hook, while the other half was a low, constant hum of worry. I hope Diana's consultation is quick. I hope she gets home safe. It was a ridiculous thought—worrying about the safety of a woman who could lift a bus—but he couldn't help it. He was worried about Diana Prince, the brilliant, beautiful history student, not the Amazonian powerhouse he didn't know she was.
The transformation was a practiced, desperate ritual performed in the sliver of privacy offered by a grimy, graffiti-scarred alley two blocks from the Red Hook subway stop. He shed the skin of Peter Parker—the worried boyfriend, the diligent student—and pulled on the skin of the Spider. The mask settled over his face, and the world snapped into a different spectrum. The city was no longer a collection of buildings and people; it was a three-dimensional map of angles, trajectories, and threats.
Diana didn't go to the museum. She found her sanctuary on the roof of the classics department, a secluded Grecian-style colonnade that offered a clear, commanding view of the sky. Her transformation was not a frantic change, but a quiet, powerful becoming. She stood in the center of the rooftop garden, closed her eyes, and let the mortal shell dissolve. The spin was a formality, a catalyst for the divine energy that resided within her. The armor settled onto her skin like a second, truer self. She was no longer a student seeking knowledge of the past; she was a living piece of it, a warrior born of myth and duty.
She launched herself into the sky, a silent, graceful ascent. She didn't need to navigate the city's labyrinthine streets. She flew above them, a direct, unwavering line towards the coordinates she had memorized from Peter's laptop. Her thoughts were a calm, strategic analysis of the coming confrontation, but underneath the tactical assessment was a quiet, steady current of concern. Peter is so brilliant, she thought, but he is so fragile. His passion and intellect were his greatest strengths, but she had seen the storm in his eyes, the deep well of pain he tried to hide. I hope his research on the servers is not too taxing.
Spider-Man arrived first, a ghost in the industrial graveyard of the Red Hook container yards. He landed silently on a tall crane overlooking the target warehouse, a rust-brown, windowless box that hummed with a low, unnatural energy. The air smelled of salt, rust, and the sharp, sterile scent of ozone. His spider-sense was a low, insistent thrum, not a shriek of immediate danger, but a deep, resonant warning that he was standing on the edge of something profoundly wrong.
He crept closer, a shadow moving among shadows, clinging to the sides of shipping containers. He used his suit's enhanced lenses to scan the building. He saw a complex network of power conduits, all bypassing the main city grid, snaking into the building from underground. He detected faint, rhythmic vibrations—the thrumming of a massive, powerful machine.
He was about to look for a way in when he felt it—a subtle shift in the air, a whisper of displaced wind. He looked up. She descended from the darkening sky like a falling star, landing on a nearby container with a silence that defied the laws of physics. Wonder Woman. She was a figure of impossible power and grace against the gritty, industrial backdrop.
She saw him immediately. There was no surprise, no wasted words. A single, sharp nod of acknowledgment passed between them. They were no longer two strangers who happened to be at the same crisis. They were partners.
He pointed to a series of ventilation shafts near the roof of the warehouse. She nodded again, her meaning clear: You find the way. I will provide the cover.
He moved with a fluid, insect-like grace, scaling the corrugated metal wall. The shaft cover was bolted down. He began to work on the bolts, the metal groaning in protest under the quiet, immense pressure of his fingers. As he worked, he was aware of her below, a silent, golden-eyed guardian, her senses scanning their surroundings for any sign of A.I.M. patrols.
The last bolt gave way, and he lifted the heavy grate. He peered down into the darkness, his lenses adjusting. Below was a network of ducts, and through the metal slats, he could see the interior of the warehouse. It wasn't a lab full of scientists in beekeeper suits. It was cold, clinical, and mostly automated. Robotic arms moved with a silent, eerie precision. The air was filled with the deep, guttural hum of a massive, active machine.
He dropped into the ductwork without a sound and signaled for her to follow. She simply leaped, a single, powerful bound that carried her effortlessly to the roof. She was too large to fit through the shaft, but she didn't need to. Her hands gripped the edges of the opening, and with a low grunt of effort, she tore the metal as if it were cardboard, widening the entrance. She dropped inside, landing beside him with a soft thud that barely disturbed the dust.
They crept through the cavernous ventilation system until they found a large grate directly overlooking the center of the warehouse floor. They peered down.
And they saw it.
It was the device from the blueprints, but it was no longer just a theory. It was a terrible, living reality. A massive, crystalline cylinder, at least twenty feet high, stood in the center of the room, dominating the space. It pulsed with a sickly, greenish-blue light, the source of the unnatural hum. They could clearly see the stolen components, integrated into a single, monstrous machine. At the base, the Hammer Industries power core glowed with a furious, unstable energy. Thick, insulated tubes pumped a viscous, glowing green fluid—the Oscorp bio-agent—into the main chamber. And a complex lattice of pipes, covered in a thick layer of frost, snaked around the entire structure—the AccuTech cryo-condenser, working overtime to contain the immense heat.
It was a cage. An incubator. And it was occupied.
Suspended in the swirling, green fluid within the cylinder was a figure. It was humanoid, but gaunt, emaciated. Its skin was a pale, almost translucent grey. Tubes and wires were connected to its head and chest, feeding it with the glowing green restorative agent and the raw power from the core. Its head was massive, disproportionately large for its withered body, and even from their vantage point, they could see the faint, purple glow of psionic energy pulsing around its temples.
"Sensors are off the charts," Spider-Man whispered, his voice a tight, tinny rasp. "Massive bio-energy readings... and some kind of high-frequency psychic output. It's... it's alive. Barely."
"They are not containing it," Wonder Woman murmured, her voice a grim, horrified whisper. "They are cultivating it. They are feeding it."
As they watched, a team of A.I.M. scientists in their familiar yellow beekeeper suits entered the chamber, their movements brisk and clinical. One of them began to adjust a series of dials on a control panel connected to the cylinder.
"Power output is at ninety-seven percent," the scientist announced, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "Subject's cellular regeneration is exceeding projections. The M.O.D.O.K. project is almost ready for activation."
Spider-Man and Wonder Woman looked at each other, the same chilling realization dawning on them. They hadn't just found a secret project. They had found the birth of a monster.
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