Inside a West Coast construction materials warehouse, a man in a red shirt desperately pleaded his case:
"Frank, I swear I'm not lying! That bastard came out of nowhere, took out all my men in minutes, and walked off with the payment!"
Surrounded by a group of enforcers, one of his fingers was clamped in a pair of metal pliers... a prelude to far bloodier consequences if his explanation failed to satisfy.
"You're telling me 'one guy' took down over twenty armed men in minutes? What was he, Captain America stepping out of a comic book?!" Frank D'Amico, the impeccably suited drug lord, let out a cold laugh, "Terry, between that fairy tale and you pocketing the cash before tipping off the cops about the shipment... well, I know which one I believe."
"Frank, you have to believe me! The guy even said he'd be paying you a visit soon!" The man named Terry screamed, raw terror in his voice.
Having worked under Frank for years, he knew exactly how the West Coast kingpin dealt with traitors.
"Alright, my son is waiting for me to take him to the movies. I don't want to disappoint him." Frank shook his head and turned away, "Joe, handle this." he ordered.
Ignoring the agonized shrieks behind him, Frank leisurely strolled into his car....
Truth be told, business hadn't been going well lately.
Two weeks ago, over a dozen of his men were slaughtered in a Queens factory, which cost him hefty bribes to contain. Now, someone seemed to be systematically sabotaging his New York operations, hijacking payments and tipping off cops to drug stashes.
The financial blow hit the West Coast kingpin hard...
"Who the hell did I piss off?" Frank racked his brain to no avail.
He had built his empire through smuggling, laundering profits through posing as a legitimate import-export business owner. As his influence grew, even law enforcement turned a blind eye to his operations.
Yet now, his empire was under attack...
.....
While the drug lord fretted over his crumbling operations, a certain part-time vigilante in Queens was having a far better evening happily counting cash on his bed, tossing Benjamins onto the floor...
"Crime-fighting really is the fastest 'get rich quick' scheme." Sean sat up from his bed, grinning at the stacks of cash strewn across his room.
Several suitcases nearby overflowed with neatly banded bills, generous "donations" from Frank's operations, soon to be converted into top-tier training equipment.
Stashing the money under his bed, Sean pulled on a compression shirt. His once-lanky frame now carried defined muscle, each brutal training session inching him closer to transcending human limits.
Soon, he'd pay the West Coast kingpin a personal visit... Eliminating threats required cutting them at the root.
If Frank connected the dots between Sean and his dead men, the retaliation would never end. It's much better to just remove the problem permanently... not that the world would miss a drug lord.
The past month had been intensely productive. By day, Sean maintained his high schooler facade... by night, he pushed his body through hellish regimens.
Thankfully, his lack of social ties made reinventing himself effortless.
*Ring ring*
The phone interrupted his workout. A familiar voice greeted him:
<...Hey Sean. Harry here. So, New York's Carnival is in two weeks. I booked a hotel suite with an insane skyline view... Are you in? Peter and Mary Jane will be there...>
Harry Osborn's tone carried his usual mix of enthusiasm and privilege.
After Sean helped Harry at the Columbia University's research center, he had become the rich kid's second friend at Midtown High.
Compared to Sean's disciplined routine, the young Osborn was living it up... As graduation neared, Harry had finally made his move on Mary Jane and won the redhead's heart.
The outcome left Peter Parker (now Spider-Man) heartbroken. Torn between his best friend and longtime crush, the hapless hero could only bury his feelings and wish them well.
"Sure, I'll stop by if I'm free... Thanks for the invite." Sean kept it brief before hanging up.
His interactions with Harry were limited to school chatter, but the Osborn heir was surprisingly decent. He was privileged yet unspoiled, also genuine when it came to his friends.
Without the dual tragedies of his father becoming the Green Goblin and his best friend being Spider-Man, Harry might've had a brighter future.
'Maybe I can change that...' Sean pondered.
Could Oscorp become his first stepping stone?
Frank D'Amico's drug money was pocket change compared to the scientific and military-industrial might of Oscorp. It wouldn't sustain his ambitions.
To truly establish himself in this world, Sean needed more than power... he needed wealth and influence. In a nation ruled by capital, authority flowed from economic and institutional leverage.
"Start small... Superheroes and Infinity Stones can wait." His path crystallized.
Every grand ambition required foundations. Frank's empire, Oscorp... they'd be rungs on his ascent.
Rome wasn't built in a day, but Sean had the vision to lay its first stones...
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Read ahead on my P@treon...
p@treon.com/MayaMatengele01