Inside the quiet hum of his car, Nathan reviewed the current state of his long-term plans.
At the center of it all was one target:
The enhanced spider.
Originally, he had marked the genetically engineered spider from the Osborn Corporation as a key asset for the future. Now, with OsCorp in financial crisis and its stock tanking, the opportunity was too perfect to ignore.
After all, what good was his regenerative ability if he couldn't also defend himself?
Spider-like powers were his solution.
Highly adaptable, naturally enhanced, and with a track record of incredible results — Spider-Man was living proof. If fully unlocked, the potential of the spider DNA was terrifying. Strength measured in hundreds of tons, ultra-reflexes, near-invisibility to tech-based tracking — it was nearly on par with early Hulk and even the Abomination.
If Nathan could access those abilities and integrate them with his existing enhancements, he'd become nearly unstoppable.
Stealing the spider outright was risky.
But buying OsCorp at rock bottom, absorbing their assets and tech, and then quietly resurrecting key projects under new ownership? That was elegant. Strategic.
He didn't want to reinvent the web. He wanted to control who spun it.
Klaus had handed him a fortune — and a functioning lab — just in time.
Now, all he needed was an identity.
In a modern surveillance state, moving without credentials was like breathing in a vacuum.
No ID meant no rentals, no utilities, no banking, and no entrance into the shadowy elite circles where real power changed hands.
The $50,000 in his pocket would cover that.
Nathan turned onto the ramp leading to Queens, blending into the sea of aging sedans and yellow cabs.
Just as he crossed an intersection near the industrial blocks, a motorcycle roared by in the opposite lane.
Their eyes met for a fraction of a second.
Nathan's instincts kicked in.
That face…
"Baron Zemo," he muttered under his breath.
The irony hit him a second later.
"New York really is small," he whispered, shaking his head.
Baron Helmut Zemo — the man who brought the Avengers to the brink of collapse. The one who lost his family in Sokovia and then orchestrated the Avengers' Civil War by manipulating them from within.
Nathan hadn't expected to see someone like Zemo just riding casually through the boroughs.
His reflection caught in the rearview mirror — mask, sunglasses — a complete cover.
But it wouldn't last. He needed something better.
Disguises were useful, but they made him stand out. What he needed was to blend in — to become invisible by being entirely ordinary.
Minutes later, Nathan reached his destination — a run-down alley with no signage. A flickering bulb illuminated the narrow space between buildings.
He parked, stepped out, and approached the barely marked door.
Pushing aside a curtain, he entered a cramped room filled with wires, humming servers, and ancient furniture.
A man hunched over a workbench littered with keyboards and cables didn't even look up.
"What do you want?" the man grunted.
"Fifty thousand. I need a clean identity," Nathan replied calmly.
That made the man pause.
He tilted his head, revealing dark-rimmed glasses and tangled hair, before muttering, "You've been here before?"
"No," Nathan said. "But I was referred."
"Figures," the man sighed. "Cash first."
Nathan opened his backpack and dropped a banded stack of crisp bills on the table.
Clatter clatter clatter — the money-counting machine did its job.
Once satisfied, the man gestured to a stool near a white screen.
"Sit. Let's get your photo."
As the flash fired, he explained his process in a low, practiced tone.
"The identities I provide are real," he said. "I don't fabricate from scratch. I take data from missing persons — clean records, no fingerprints, no flags — and repurpose it. Then I overwrite biometric markers in national databases and adjust the photo."
"As long as you don't do something stupid — like get caught at a crime scene or apply for a federal job — you'll be fine."
Nathan didn't flinch. "I just need to disappear."
The man's fingers flew over the keyboard.
Tap tap tap.
Less than ten minutes later, he handed over a plastic ID card.
The photo was eerily similar to Nathan's real face — a 70-80% match. Enough for cameras to not trigger suspicion, but distinct enough for facial scans to log it as someone else.
"You're efficient," Nathan noted.
"Efficiency is survival," the man replied.
Nathan held up the card and read the name.
"From now on, I'm... Liam Rhodes."
With this, he could buy property, sign contracts, register accounts, or even enter government buildings.
The man waved him off without a second glance. "Pleasure doing business."
Nathan stepped back into the alley and headed toward his vehicle.
Time to begin the next phase.
Across the street, however, trouble was brewing.
Parked near the curb was his car, with the motorcycle strapped to the roof.
Three men stood around it, eyeing it like vultures.
One of them whistled. "Nice ride. And that bike on top — gotta be worth five figures."
"Let's jack it," said another. "Quick and easy."
One of them pulled out a lock-picking device, kneeling beside the car door.
Just then—
"That's my car," Nathan's voice cut through the alley.
They turned.
Sunglasses. Mask. Calm posture.
Not a cop. Not a soldier.
Just another guy.
Or so they thought.
Instead of backing down, the thugs pulled out their weapons — one brandishing an iron pipe, the other a knife.
"Get lost before we bury you under that car," the one with the iron rod snarled.
Nathan's expression didn't even twitch.
"New York," he muttered. "The real Gotham."
Stealing cars wasn't enough. They escalated to armed robbery without blinking.
He took a step forward. "Last warning. Walk away."
They didn't listen.
Instead, the biggest one lunged.
CRACK.
He never reached Nathan.
A blur of motion struck from the side.
A powerful kick sent the attacker flying into a parked van.
Another spinning back-kick knocked the second thug to the pavement. The third bolted without a fight.
"What the hell—"
Nathan turned and saw her.
A tall, lithe woman with golden-blonde hair tipped with pink.
She wore casual clothes, had a guitar strapped to her back, and was now standing in a combat stance — graceful and confident.
She looked at him, smiling, dimples forming on both cheeks.
"You okay, friend?" she asked cheerfully.
Nathan blinked. "I was doing fine."
She raised an eyebrow, amused. "You were about to get ganged up on by three street rats. I couldn't let that happen."
He studied her.
Not just pretty. She moved like someone trained. Her balance. Her reaction speed.
This girl wasn't just a street performer.
"Thanks," Nathan finally said.
"No problem. I'm Gwen. Gwen Stacy."
Nathan froze for a split second.
That name.
That name.
He didn't react outwardly, but deep down, he realized: he had just met a future Spider-Woman.
What were the odds?
___________________________________
Get membership in patreon to read more chapters
Extra chapters available in patreon
patreon.com/Dragonscribe31