"You actually cracked the formula this fast?" Huang Wen's eyebrows shot up, genuine surprise coloring his voice.
It had barely been thirty minutes since Huang Liang and Peter Parker had locked themselves in the secondary lab. In the world of high-stakes R&D, thirty minutes was usually just enough time to calibrate the equipment, yet here they were, holding the Holy Grail of urban mobility.
"It wasn't all us, Master," Huang Liang admitted, scratching the back of his head. "I did a deep dive into the Silly Girl's archives. Turns out, some eccentric chemist researched this 'snot' decades ago."
He pulled up a digital file on the nearby monitor. "The original inventor wanted to market it as a revolutionary industrial adhesive—a temporary building material. But he hit a wall. Because the substance spontaneously dissolves into carbon dioxide and water vapor after exactly sixty minutes, it was useless for construction. The guy went completely bankrupt trying to sell 'disappearing bricks.' He was laughed out of the industry."
Huang Wen sighed, looking at the glowing slime. "The world is full of geniuses who were just one perspective shift away from greatness. One man's failed glue is another man's perfect tactical tool."
It was a common theme in this world; the line between a superhero and a forgotten bankrupt scientist was often just a bit of luck and a better sense of PR.
For the next hour, the lab became a high-speed production line. Huang Liang and Peter didn't just make a vial; they brewed a massive batch. Since Peter's biological "web-shooters" (or rather, his spider-sense and natural agility) didn't require external tanks, he volunteered to act as the primary "mule." He strapped several pressurized canisters to his tactical belt, serving as a walking ammunition depot for Huang Liang.
They didn't stop at the fluid. Utilizing the 3D printers in the lab, they mocked up twin wrist-mounted launchers for Huang Liang. With a flick of his wrist and a press of a pressure plate in his palm, the martial artist could now mimic the web-swinging style of his younger counterpart.
That night, the citizens of New York were treated to a bizarre sight: two figures soaring through the concrete canyons of Manhattan. Peter, in his iconic red-and-blue spandex, moved with a fluid, instinctual grace. Huang Liang, however, was a different beast. Lacking the "Spider-Sense," he relied on his peak human reflexes and Wing Chun precision. His swings were sharper, more calculated, using his internal force to snap the lines with terrifying speed.
The following day, after a quiet breakfast, Huang Wen made a quick trip to Base One. Tony and Bruce were still huddled around the Captain America popsicle, arguing over thermal gradients and cellular stability. Seeing that they were "in the zone," Huang Wen decided not to interrupt. He left a stack of takeout containers on a side table and slipped away.
Returning to the Wing Chun school, he found Belle waiting. It was "Library Day," a tradition they had formed where they'd swap out her massive pile of research books for fresh ones.
"So, Belle," Huang Wen said as he maneuvered his car through the mid-morning traffic, "how's the telekinesis coming along? You've been buried in those scrolls for a week."
Belle leaned back against the leather seat, sticking her tongue out in a rare moment of playfulness. "I've been a bit busy reading about the history of quantum mechanics and ancient linguistics. The 'moving things with my mind' part has been on the back burner."
"You know," Huang Wen said, glancing at her with a gentle smile, "it's not a binary choice. If you actually used your telekinesis to flip the pages or hold three books at once, your brain would process the information faster. It's about mental synchronization."
Belle crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes in mock suspicion. "I don't believe you. You're just trying to get me to do more 'training' under the guise of studying. Besides, you talk a big game about reading, but I've never actually seen you finish a book."
"Me? I read all the time," Huang Wen lied through his teeth, his face heating up slightly.
"Oh, really?" Belle teased, leaning closer. "Every time we go to the library together, I look over and you're staring at me, not the pages. Are my ears that interesting, or are you just a terrible student?"
"Hey, can you blame me?" Huang Wen countered smoothly. "The library is full of dusty old stories. You're a masterpiece in progress. Why would I look at a screen when the best view is right in the passenger seat?"
Belle rolled her eyes, but the faint blush on her cheeks and the upward tug at the corners of her mouth betrayed her. "You're impossible."
He parked the car near the grand steps of the New York Public Library. As they walked toward the entrance, Huang Wen's ears suddenly pricked up. His refined senses picked up a high-pitched, mechanical whine—something like a turbine engine, but dirtier, more erratic.
Whoosh.
A shadow streaked across the pavement. Huang Wen looked up, his eyes sharpening as he projected his mental intent toward the sky.
High above the yellow cabs and confused tourists, a man in metallic green armor was banking hard around a clock tower. He was standing on a sleek, bat-winged glider that spat purple flames from its exhaust. The figure was laughing—a jagged, manic sound that set everyone's nerves on edge.
Usually, New Yorkers were desensitized to weirdness. They'd survived the Hulk's rampage and the Abomination's tantrum. They were used to seeing Iron Man fly by like a shiny celebrity. But this was different. This guy looked... unhinged. The glider was bristling with dark gun barrels and pumpkin-shaped canisters.
"Hahahaha! Ivan Vanko! Justin Hammer! Are you watching?" The man's voice was amplified by his helmet, though it lacked the supernatural boom of a true powerhouse. "Today, I erase Hammer Industries from the map! I'll show you who the real visionary is!"
Huang Wen squinted. Norman Osborn? He recognized the silhouette from the news. The CEO of Oscorp had been under immense pressure lately, especially with Hammer stealing government contracts.
According to Huang Wen's assessment, Osborn didn't have "powers" in the traditional sense. He'd injected himself with a botched Super Soldier serum that had bumped his strength up to eight or ten times that of a normal human, but the cost had been his sanity. He was a peak-human lunatic with a very expensive toy.
"Hey! You on the kite!" A police cruiser screeched to a halt below. Two officers hopped out, drawing their sidearms. "This is a restricted flight zone! Land that device immediately or we will use lethal force!"
Norman Osborn looked down, his emerald visor reflecting the tiny, insignificant men in blue. "Lethal force? Against a god? How cute."
He kicked the glider into a steep dive, the twin machine guns on the nose beginning to spin. "Die, you pests!"
Huang Wen felt a pulse of annoyance. He checked his surroundings; Jack wasn't stationed in this precinct today—he was likely still processing a smuggling bust from the night before. This meant the police were effectively target practice for a flying tank.
Is this the Little Spider's first real test? Huang Wen wondered.
As if on cue, a web-line snapped against a nearby gargoyle. Peter Parker swung into view, but he wasn't alone. Trailing behind him was a figure in a black spider-mask and a matching T-shirt—Huang Liang. The "Spider-Duo" had arrived.
"Hold your fire!" Peter yelled at the cops, but it was too late. Osborn pulled the trigger.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
Heavy caliber rounds sprayed toward the officers. The cops dove for cover, bracing for the impact of lead against asphalt. But the impact never came.
A few feet above the ground, the bullets simply... stopped. They hung in the air, glowing with a faint, almost invisible ripple of energy, as if they had hit an impenetrable wall of gelatin. The police officers froze, staring up at the hovering ammunition in stunned silence, unsure if they were supposed to run or pray.