At 6:50 AM, deep in the underground levels of Fisk Tower, Quentin Beck bent over a steel workbench and dry-heaved.
He wiped his mouth with the back of a trembling hand. He zipped up the heavily modified survival suit—a salvage job painted theatrical green and draped with a sweeping purple cape.
"Are you functional, Quentin?" Otto Octavius asked. His mechanical tentacles hummed, keeping his torso elevated above the floor. "Your vitals are erratic."
"I... I can do this." Beck reached out with shaking fingers. He accepted the spherical light-particle projector from Otto's metal claw.
The cavernous basement was packed with Otto's latest creations, all built from Kingpin's stockpiled Chitauri salvage over the last forty-eight hours. Fleets of combat drones hovered on standby. Dozens of bionic mannequins stood in rigid rows. They were repurposed, obsolete S.H.I.E.L.D. Life Model Decoys (LMDs), wired directly to Beck's neural frequency. Every single one of them was dressed exactly like Mysterio.
Beck swallowed hard. "Should we wait? Until the Avengers deploy somewhere else?"
Otto's thick goggles reflected the dim lighting. "Even if the Avengers were in orbit, this operation will draw a catastrophic amount of attention. You will be hunted."
Beck groaned, clutching the glass dome to his chest. "I'm not going to make it past the opening act. The police are going to shoot me on sight."
Otto extended a tentacle. He tapped the heavy glass of the helmet. "Put it on, Quentin. The interface will guide you."
Beck took a ragged breath. He raised the dome and locked it over his head.
The transformation was instantaneous. The neural electrodes engaged, flooding his synapses. His trembling stopped. His spine snapped perfectly straight. Thick, swirling green gas materialized inside the fishbowl, entirely obscuring his face.
Mysterio stepped off the staging platform. His boots hit the concrete with heavy, absolute authority.
Wilson Fisk stood by the freight elevator. He brought his massive hands together in a slow, thunderous clap. He smiled. It was Saturday morning. Mysterio was going to publicly execute Spider-Man. And Beck had only demanded his five-thousand-dollar raise a few days ago. Fisk wouldn't even have to pay out the first paycheck.
"Mr. Beck," Fisk rumbled. "Or should I say, Mysterio. A magnificent entrance. Rest assured, my extraction teams are on standby should you require them. However, I need my own syndicates to operate freely during your... performance. Do you have a workaround?"
"Doctor Octavius and I have already synthesized a polarized optical filter for your men," Mysterio's voice boomed from the helmet, rich and artificially distorted. "Speak with the Doctor."
Mysterio snapped his fingers.
The army of combat drones lifted off the ground in perfect unison. Their active-camouflage panels flickered, and they vanished into thin air. The platoon of LMDs followed suit, engaging their own stealth cloaks and disappearing.
Mysterio turned and strode out of the basement.
Otto watched him go. His mechanical claws clicked softly against the concrete. Doctor Octavius and I. Beck had actually credited him first. After years of Norman Osborn stealing his patents and burying his name, the simple professional courtesy almost made Otto pause.
He is a remarkably decent man, Otto thought.
7:00 AM, Avengers Tower.
"Cap, do you think the spider-kid has social anxiety?" Tony Stark leaned against the glass conference table. He held a glass of whole milk in his right hand. His left hand swiped through a holographic interface detailing Peter Parker's recent server search queries.
"He hasn't stopped by once since we got back from Wakanda," Tony complained. "He isn't even using the lab."
Tony flicked a file away. Parker had been tracking the 'spider swarm' mutation, but the threat was marked resolved. Tony opened the next search file. Quentin Beck. A washed-up Hollywood special effects artist missing for two months. Accused of defrauding multiple studios with non-existent holographic tech. Tony tossed the file into the virtual trash bin.
"Are you even listening to me, Cap?" Tony asked.
Steve Rogers sat in a leather armchair by the window. He didn't look up from his sketchbook. He dragged a piece of charcoal across the heavy paper, shading the sharp contours of T'Challa's Black Panther cowl.
"Sorry, Tony. My mind was elsewhere."
The Avengers were hosting a global press conference in three days to formally induct T'Challa into the roster. Adding a sovereign monarch—especially from an isolationist African nation—was a massive geopolitical statement. It was the first major step in completely decoupling the Avengers from S.H.I.E.L.D. and United States oversight.
"Where's Hank?" Steve asked, softening the charcoal edge with his thumb.
"Down in the sub-basement," Tony said. "Tearing apart that weird optical projector the kid confiscated from the bank robbers."
Steve stopped shading. He frowned. He looked out the floor-to-ceiling window.
Thick, unnatural green smoke was pouring out of the streets of Manhattan. It wasn't localized. It was rising from every single avenue, gridlocking the skyline in an emerald haze.
"Tony?" Steve dropped the sketchbook. "What is that?"
Tony spun around. He slammed his glass of milk onto the table. "JARVIS. Atmospheric scan. Give me a chemical breakdown."
"Warning," JARVIS's crisp voice chimed. "Spectral analysis returning critical errors. I cannot isolate a chemical compound. The particulate matter does not exist on the standard electromagnetic spectrum."
The green smoke surged upward. It condensed, solidifying into towering, hundred-foot-tall humanoids. They wore segmented green armor and wide purple capes. Featureless glass domes sat upon their shoulders. The giant avatars crossed their massive arms over their chests.
"Citizens of New York!" A booming, theatrical voice rattled the reinforced glass of Avengers Tower. "Prepare yourselves. Mysterio has arrived!"
The largest of the avatars raised its hands. It launched itself into the stratosphere. Its massive glass head eclipsed the rising morning sun.
Black smoke violently filled the sky-high dome, blotting out the light like ink dropped into a glass of water. In seconds, the sun vanished. Total darkness slammed into Manhattan. Artificial starlight flickered into existence across the blackened sky.
Panic erupted in the streets below. Car horns blared. Then, floodlights snapped on. Spotlights from the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, and Avengers Tower hijacked their own power grids, sweeping upward to converge on a single point in the sky.
The real Mysterio hovered in the dead center of the intersecting beams.
He took a step forward. Swirling green mist solidified beneath his boot, forming a perfect, emerald staircase. His boots clicked sharply against the hard-light constructs. He walked slowly down from the heavens. There were no news helicopters in the air. But every single billboard, jumbotron, and television screen in New York City simultaneously cut to a high-definition broadcast of his descent.
"You have exactly ten minutes," Mysterio declared to the city. "Park your vehicles. Find a quiet cafe, a library, or return to your homes. Turn on your screens. Enjoy the flawless performance I have prepared for you. If you choose to remain on the streets, your safety is entirely forfeit."
Mysterio raised his right hand.
The hijacked spotlights snapped off one by one. A massive, hyper-realistic moon crested over the artificial horizon, casting a blinding, silver glow over his armor. Mysterio swept his cape back and bowed deeply to the city, a maestro acknowledging his audience.
"While my performance is underway, the criminal element of New York may run rampant. Therefore, I formally invite this city's so-called 'heroes' to try and stop me. The moment I am defeated, your sun will return."
"Audio biometric analysis complete," JARVIS interrupted inside the Tower. "Voice matches missing person Quentin Beck. Per Mr. Parker's previous operational notes regarding this technology, I am disabling all optical sensor arrays and defaulting to sonar topography."
"Switching to acoustic imaging," Tony snapped. "JARVIS, drop the Centurion."
Steve grabbed his shield from the sofa. "I'll rally the ground teams."
"Keep drawing, art student," Tony said, stepping onto the deployment platform. "Iron Man's got this one."
The floor panels opened. The Mark 33 Silver Centurion armor rocketed upward, snapping onto Tony's body piece by piece.
A localized sonic boom shattered the Tower's exterior windows. Iron Man tore through the artificial night sky, flying straight at the hovering Mysterio. He drove a repulsor-charged fist right into the illusionist's chest.
He hit completely empty air. The visual projection warped around his armor.
The illusory Mysterio casually turned his head. A blinding, hyper-concentrated thermal laser ripped out of the empty space to Tony's left, slamming into the Silver Centurion's flank.
Tony spun out of control. His stabilizers sparked and failed. He plummeted out of the sky, crashing brutally into the Great Lawn of Central Park and carving a fifty-foot trench through the dirt.
"Electromagnetic radar is returning zero feedback," JARVIS warned over the blaring alarms. "The hostiles are utilizing advanced stealth-coating composites."
"Next time lead with that!" Tony groaned, spitting dirt out of his helmet vents. "Activate active sonar!"
Tony pushed himself out of the trench on his hands and knees. The sonar pulse washed over the park.
The heads-up display populated. Iron Man froze.
Hovering in the air, completely invisible to the naked eye, were three hundred heavily armed combat drones. And every single weapon barrel was pointed directly at his head.
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