Clark frowned.
Hell's Kitchen.
He knew all about it. Back in his previous life, every Marvel novel and story made the place sound dangerous as hell.
Now that he was actually living in New York, he had discovered something important.
They had not exaggerated.
If anything, it was worse.
He did not hesitate. He pushed open the window and jumped straight out.
Clark still had not learned how to fly, though he experienced it all the time in his dreams.
So instead, he moved at terrifying speed across the rooftops of New York, so fast that even security cameras could not catch more than a blur.
Hell's Kitchen. West 47th Street.
Ben's car was parked in a discreet spot, and he walked toward the meeting place with both hands in his coat pockets, alert and wary.
A skinny man covered in tattoos stepped out of the shadows with a brown paper bag in hand.
"You bring the money?" the man asked, glancing around nervously, terrified of being seen.
Ben pulled out several stacks of cash and tossed them over. "It's all there. Is what's inside real?"
"These are the shipping records for the past month. Includes the buyers too." The man greedily felt the thickness of the money, then handed over the paper bag.
Just as the exchange was completed, something shifted in the distance.
At that moment, Clark was standing on the roof of a nearby building, taking in every detail around him.
With his super-vision, he spotted four gunmen in sleeveless shirts quietly moving to surround Ben and the informant, assault rifles in hand.
"Looks like word got out," Clark muttered, preparing to intervene.
He could not expose himself.
He needed to make it look like an accident.
One of the gunmen had already raised his weapon, aiming right at Ben's back, finger tightening on the trigger.
Clark exhaled.
He did not use heat vision. That might give away too much. Instead, he simply blew in the gunman's direction.
Not freezing breath.
Just a very strong burst of wind.
The gust slammed straight into the spot where the gunmen were hiding.
It knocked them off balance and sent a nearby stack of metal pipes crashing down with them.
Clang, bang, rattle.
The pipes smashed into three of the gunmen and knocked them cold, but a fourth one had stayed farther back and hidden himself more carefully, so he escaped the worst of it.
Hearing the sudden crash, Ben's hand flew to the handgun at his lower back. He grabbed the terrified informant and pulled him behind a wall, eyes scanning everywhere.
"That was... wind?" The surviving gunman was terrified. Some freak gust had just dropped out of nowhere.
But there was no time to think about that. He raised his rifle and opened fire toward Ben's position.
Seeing the situation, Clark got ready to act again.
He picked up a small pebble from the rooftop and weighed it carefully in his fingers. He could not just kill the guy outright, so he had to control the size and force.
Then he pinched it between thumb and middle finger and flicked it.
Empowered by super-strength, that pebble hit harder than a sniper round.
Several pebbles shot out in succession. The rifle was shattered instantly, and the gunman's arm and leg were punched through, blood spraying as he collapsed.
The man screamed, "No! Don't kill me! They made me do it! It was Kingpin!"
He had no idea where the attack had come from. Surrendering as fast as possible seemed like his only chance to live.
Even as he begged, he kept crawling away. As for his fellow hitmen, he did not care about them in the slightest. They were all in it for the money. What did he owe them?
He dragged himself into a car and sped off.
Clark let him go.
After all, he had already heard something important.
Kingpin.
The underground emperor of New York.
Ben kept his gun raised behind cover for a while. When nothing else happened, he cautiously leaned out and looked.
He saw the unconscious hitmen, the blood on the ground, and the scattered metal pipes.
He could barely believe it.
"These gang idiots..." he muttered to himself. "Did they buy defective rifles that backfired on them? Thank God."
Watching Ben complete the exchange and leave safely, Clark finally let out a breath.
Soon enough, Saturday morning arrived.
The New York sky was bright and clear.
Oscorp Tower.
This hundred-story skyscraper was one of the city's defining landmarks. And with Tony Stark missing and Stark Industries in disarray, Oscorp had been aggressively swallowing market share, steadily pushing toward becoming the largest tech giant in America.
Clark and the others stood outside the revolving doors, staring up at the building.
Aside from Harry, who had grown up around the place, everyone could not help letting out some kind of amazed reaction.
God, rich people were annoying.
"This place is absurdly huge. You could fit our whole school inside and still have room left over," Peter said, adjusting his glasses and looking around excitedly. Richard's old camera hung around his neck.
The girls had all clearly put real effort into how they looked today.
Gwen wore a pale blue cardigan over a white pleated skirt, her blonde hair tied back into a ponytail.
She looked sweet enough to fool anyone.
Mary Jane, on the other hand, had gone with a denim jacket and denim shorts, looking energetic and bright.
Cindy was dressed more casually, which was fine, moving on.
But the one who drew the most attention was Felicia, who had arrived last.
A fitted black leather jacket over a tight purple top, silver hair moving in the breeze, and a face that made people instinctively look twice.
"Morning, big guy." Felicia ignored everyone else completely and walked straight to Clark. She reached out and adjusted his collar, even though it was not messy at all, then leaned in just enough to breathe near him.
Clark instantly went rigid. He pushed her away at once, survival instincts screaming, and took a half-step back.
"M-morning... upperclassman."
"Shameless little fox..." Gwen muttered under her breath through gritted teeth, then shoved herself directly between Clark and Felicia.
She turned to Harry and asked, "So, Harry, when are we going in? I think everyone's ready."
Harry very much wanted to say, No rush, no rush, by all means keep going, but his relationship with the group was not quite there yet. So he wisely cleared his throat.
"Follow me. My father's waiting upstairs. He'll be showing us a few of the top labs in person today."
The group followed Harry through the lobby, swiped their VIP passes, and entered the elevator leading up to the high-level laboratories.
A short time later, the doors opened.
What greeted them looked exactly like something out of a science-fiction movie.
The kind of place where a biohazard outbreak would start at any second.
Researchers in full protective gear moved briskly through the halls.
At the far end of the corridor stood a middle-aged man in a perfectly tailored, very expensive suit, his hair immaculate.
He looked polished and energetic, with a smile that never fully left his face.
But beneath that smile was the unmistakable pressure of someone used to power.
Harry's father.
The man who controlled Oscorp itself.
Norman Osborn.