With Locke's financial backing, Ivan's situation changed overnight. What had once been a crude setup built from scraps and desperation was now something far more refined, supported by resources he had never even dreamed of accessing before. Under the combined guidance of Doctor Octopus and Donnie, the pace of development accelerated to a terrifying degree.
At first, Ivan couldn't help but feel conflicted. He knew better than anyone that these two had taken apart his original equipment and reconstructed it within minutes, even improving upon it in ways he hadn't considered. If they had been enemies, the humiliation alone would have been enough to drive him mad.
But they weren't enemies.
They were partners now.
And suddenly, everything felt different.
How could that be called theft? This wasn't someone stealing his work—this was someone elevating it, pushing it to heights he couldn't have reached on his own. That realization shifted something in Ivan's mindset, replacing resentment with a strange sense of admiration.
He had witnessed their abilities firsthand. Ideas flowed from them effortlessly, one concept leading to another in rapid succession. Doctor Octopus, in particular, was something else entirely. With his mechanical arms working in perfect coordination, he could handle multiple complex processes at once, accomplishing in minutes what would take a team of researchers hours.
Speed wasn't even the right word.
It was efficiency on a level that bordered on absurd.
In less than twenty-four hours, Ivan's entire arsenal had been reborn. His old, rough mechanical suit was replaced with a semi-automatic exoskeleton that enhanced both mobility and durability. The energy whip, now upgraded to version 2.0, was more stable, more powerful, and far more versatile.
Even the reactor—the core of everything—had been optimized.
Doctor Octopus had refined its internal structure, boosting its output by thirty percent. For a device like that, such an improvement wasn't just significant—it was extraordinary. It was the kind of leap that normally took years of iteration.
And yet, Otto wasn't impressed.
"What a shame," he said, studying the results with a slight frown. "With better materials, we could've pushed it at least another twenty percent higher."
Ivan stared at him, speechless.
Was that even something a human being should say?
He had always believed himself to be a genius, someone who could stand shoulder to shoulder with the best minds in the world. But now, standing in the same room as these people, that belief felt… naive.
He wasn't on their level.
Not even close.
At best, he could contribute ideas, occasionally offering insights that aligned with their direction. But compared to what they were doing, even Donnie—this seemingly playful turtle—was ahead of him in practical application.
And Donnie's modifications weren't minor either.
One of the new features integrated into the whip had been entirely his idea. With a simple trigger, the weapon could release a burst of energy that spread outward, forming a grid-like field capable of trapping or overwhelming opponents.
Ivan tested it once.
That was enough.
If this had been available before, even facing multiple enemies wouldn't have mattered. He felt an overwhelming surge of confidence, a certainty that with this weapon, even someone like Tony Stark wouldn't stand a chance.
"Father… I can finally avenge you," Ivan whispered, his voice thick with emotion. For the first time since arriving in this country, he felt like his goal was truly within reach.
But the surprises weren't over yet.
Just as he was still processing everything, the Bloodhand Butcher brought him a message. He was to attend a press conference at one in the afternoon.
At first, Ivan didn't understand.
A press conference?
What did that have to do with him?
But once the purpose was explained, realization dawned.
This wasn't just an event.
It was a weapon.
By dragging the issue into the public eye, by exposing Stark Industries' alleged actions to the media, they could force Tony Stark into a corner. The man who painted himself as a savior would be put under scrutiny, his image questioned, his reputation shaken.
It was pressure.
Calculated and precise.
Ivan inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling as something like respect filled his gaze. "Locke… I can't repay this," he said quietly.
At the same time, Locke stood off to the side, his attention drawn to something else entirely.
A notification.
A system prompt.
[Ding. A random mission has been detected nearby.]
[Mr. Whiplash's Gratitude: The supervillain Ivan originally intended to seek revenge on Stark Industries alone. Due to the host's intervention, his objective has expanded. He now aims not only to destroy Tony Stark's career, but also to ruin his reputation.]
[Ding! Upon accepting this mission, the host must assist Ivan in humiliating Iron Man and stripping him of his public image. Rewards will scale based on Ivan's level of gratitude.]
Locke's lips curved slightly.
This wasn't something he had planned for.
Helping Ivan had been, at most, a convenient move—something done in passing to stir trouble for Tony Stark. But now, that small action had turned into a formal opportunity, backed by the system itself.
An unexpected gain.
He was already looking forward to what would happen next.
The press conference alone would have drawn attention. Gathering a majority of New York's media was enough to create a spectacle. But now, that wasn't enough.
If they were going to make a statement, it had to be overwhelming.
Locke pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
"Danny," he said simply, "get every reporter in New York there. I want the whole city watching."
On the other end, Danny paused briefly.
"What are you planning this time?" he asked, curiosity evident in his tone.
But he didn't question it further.
Ever since aligning himself with Locke and gaining access to the Shadow Legion, his position had changed dramatically. The silent, obedient ninja forces had become an unstoppable tool. Any gang that dared oppose him would find themselves surrounded and eliminated overnight.
After several decisive actions, his reputation had grown rapidly.
People had started calling him something else.
Danny the Killer.
And yet, instead of fear, he felt gratitude.
"Meeting Locke… that was my turning point," he muttered to himself before getting to work.
—
The press conference venue was already packed.
"Milcom Industries really doesn't hold back," April said, her eyes scanning the scene as she stood among the crowd. Since her recent promotion, she had gained more access to major events, but even she hadn't expected something on this scale.
Nearly every major outlet in New York was present.
The Daily Bugle.
The New York Times.
Independent media, local networks, freelancers—everyone was here.
Cameras filled the space, flashes going off constantly, turning the venue into something closer to a red-carpet event than a corporate announcement.
On stage, Danny stood at the podium, his posture confident as he began outlining Milcom Industries' future plans. His voice carried clearly across the room, steady and composed.
One announcement, however, immediately set the entire crowd on edge.
Electricity prices.
He planned to cut them.
Not by a small margin—but drastically.
From fifteen cents down to five.
The comparison hit instantly. It was like slashing fuel prices by more than half overnight. It wasn't just ambitious—it sounded insane.
The room erupted with activity.
Cameras clicked relentlessly as reporters scrambled to capture every moment. Whether this promise held up or not didn't matter. The statement alone was explosive enough to dominate headlines.
Questions came flying almost immediately.
"Mr. Danny, when can this low-cost electricity actually be implemented?" one reporter shouted. "Is this a concrete plan, or just speculation?"
Danny didn't hesitate.
"We've already completed development," he said. "If everything goes smoothly, it could be operational as early as next month."
The response only fueled the frenzy.
Then he added something else.
"I didn't do this alone," he continued, his tone shifting slightly. "Without my brother's guidance, none of this would have been possible. Milcom Industries might be able to function without me—but not without him."
There was genuine admiration in his voice.
The reporters exchanged glances.
That statement alone was enough to spark curiosity.
Who was this "brother"?
Who was the person behind the scenes, the one even the company president was openly praising?
Danny didn't keep them waiting.
He stepped back slightly, raising a hand toward the entrance.
"Let's welcome them," he said, his voice carrying across the room. "Give them a round of applause as they come on stage."
.....
Join my p@treon and read ahead by more than 60+ chapters.
Link : [email protected]/Sonic_Spectre
Free members can read the next two chapters for free on my p@treon