Locke's original persona had always been simple and brutally consistent. He hated evil, he killed without hesitation, and he believed in delivering justice himself. Because of that, whenever he captured criminals, he didn't just hand them over—he put them through what he called "trials," dragging out their judgment in ways that made sure they understood exactly what they had done wrong.
Naturally, that kind of behavior terrified people.
Criminals who fell into his hands didn't just fear prison—they feared dying slowly, painfully, and publicly. To protect themselves, they started spreading rumors, exaggerating every detail, twisting every story. They painted him as something far worse than a vigilante, turning him into a nightmare figure that lurked over the city.
They said the Butcher had gone insane.
According to the stories, the entire city of New York wasn't a place to live—it was his personal ranch. And everyone in it? Just livestock waiting to be slaughtered.
That narrative didn't stay confined to the underworld. Online commentators and loudmouthed critics picked it up, ran with it, and amplified it until it spread across every corner of the internet. Locke's actions, which he considered righteous and necessary, were reframed as nothing more than uncontrolled violence.
But things didn't stay that way.
When you're only a little stronger than everyone else, people resent you. They envy you, question you, and look for ways to tear you down. But when your strength becomes overwhelming—when it reaches a level no one can challenge—that resentment starts to shift into something else entirely.
It turns into acceptance. Even admiration.
At that point, people don't call you a threat anymore. They start calling you a pillar of justice.
And now, standing at the center of it all, Locke had reached exactly that level.
Was this really the same man they had once feared?
His reputation exploded almost overnight. Like a rising star, his name spread across New York, then beyond it, gaining momentum with every passing day. The whispers that once painted him as a monster were replaced by chants, slogans, and outright worship.
"I love the Butcher!"
"Heaven's Butcher!"
"Invincible Butcher!"
Those words began appearing everywhere—spray-painted on walls, shouted in crowds, shared across social media. The city that once feared him now celebrated him, and the transformation was undeniable.
There was no question about it anymore.
Locke had become insanely popular.
And it wasn't just his strength that won people over. His low-cost electricity project had fundamentally changed life for the poorest communities in the city, giving them access to something they had never truly had before. For many, it felt like stepping into a completely different world.
To them, he wasn't just a vigilante.
He was a symbol of a new era.
Was he the Thunder King who would redefine the future?
As public opinion continued to swing in his favor, something else was quietly progressing behind the scenes. Deep within the laboratories of Milcom Industries Group, research into regenerative medicine was finally bearing fruit.
Dr. Curt Connors had spent years trying to perfect limb regeneration. His obsession had once driven him too far, transforming him into something monstrous, something he could barely control. But now, with Locke's financial backing, everything had changed.
The obstacles that once blocked his path were gone.
The technology was there. The funding was unlimited. The manpower was more than sufficient.
And with Doctor Octopus joining the effort, the research team had reached a level of efficiency that bordered on absurd.
For someone driven by results, it was a dream come true.
Connors stood in the lab, holding up a freshly prepared vial. Inside, an emerald liquid shimmered faintly under the lights, and satisfaction flickered in his eyes as he examined it closely. Nearby, Otto Octavius slumped into a chair, wiping sweat from his forehead, his entire body radiating exhaustion.
The past few days had pushed him to his limits.
Nonstop research, endless testing, constant recalibration—it had taken everything out of him. If not for his determination to support Connors, he would never have pushed himself this far. His body felt hollow, drained of energy, as if every ounce of strength had been wrung out.
And yet, despite that, he didn't regret it.
Because what they had seen in the lab was nothing short of extraordinary.
Through repeated experiments on live mice, they had confirmed the effects of the self-healing serum—Prototype No. 1. It didn't just heal injuries. It didn't just cure disease. Even catastrophic damage, like a destroyed heart, could be reversed in a short time.
More than that, it enhanced the body.
Even a healthy subject would feel their physical condition improve, their strength increase, their stamina recover at incredible speed.
Was there any medical treatment in the world that could even come close to this?
They hadn't moved to human trials yet, but Otto had already made his decision.
If someone needed to take that step, it would be him.
And it would work.
"If we need a test subject," Otto muttered, his voice steady despite the exhaustion, "I'll do it myself."
Before Connors could react, the mechanical arms extending from Otto's back moved with precision. They grabbed the vial, twisted the cap open, and in one smooth motion, tilted it toward his mouth.
He drank it down in a single gulp.
Everything happened too fast.
Too naturally.
By the time Connors realized what was happening, it was already over.
"Otto… that was reckless," he said, shock breaking through his usual composure.
Otto only laughed.
He could feel it immediately—the hollow emptiness inside his body being filled, replaced with something vibrant and powerful. The fatigue that had crushed him moments ago began to fade, replaced by a surge of energy that spread through every cell.
His body was changing.
From weak to revitalized in seconds.
"This is exactly what we were aiming for," Otto said, his eyes lighting up. "Connors, we're only one step away from success. You need to be bolder."
He stepped forward, his movements no longer sluggish, and continued with growing intensity.
"We might not be able to stop wars, but we can end disease. We're going to change the world."
"We already have."
Then he pulled Connors into a firm embrace.
"That's right… we succeeded," Connors echoed, the tension in his expression slowly dissolving into genuine joy.
The experiment had been reckless, undeniably so. But Otto hadn't hesitated, hadn't looked for volunteers or safer alternatives. He had stepped forward himself, placing his trust entirely in their work.
It was dangerous.
It was irrational.
And yet, it had worked.
For a scientist, there was no greater proof than that.
Footsteps echoed through the lab as Locke walked in from outside. One glance at the scene was enough for him to understand what had happened, and a faint smile appeared on his face.
"Looks like we're about to change the world," he said.
"That's right," Connors and Otto replied almost in unison. "We are."
Their voices carried excitement, anticipation, and something deeper—a belief that what they had created would reshape the future.
And belief like that had power.
The kind of power that could truly change the world.
Meanwhile, far from the lab, the sharp crackle of electricity mixed with the metallic clang of machinery.
Inside the advanced industrial facilities of Hammer Advanced Industries, a completely different kind of revolution was underway.
Ever since Justin Hammer had brought in Ivan Vanko and Donatello—the tech genius from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles—development of his mechanized armor had accelerated at a pace that defied logic.
Day one, a new design was drafted.
Day two, the entire framework was completed.
Day three, individual components and joints were manufactured.
The speed was insane.
It left Justin Hammer stunned, forced to confront an uncomfortable truth. All those years he had spent trying to compete with Tony Stark, he had always blamed bad luck or unfair advantages.
But now, it was obvious.
His previous R&D teams simply hadn't been good enough.
With real geniuses on his side—and with the backing Locke had indirectly provided—he was finally seeing what true innovation looked like.
Beating Stark was no longer a fantasy.
It was only a matter of time.
Every humiliation, every loss, every moment where Stark Industries had crushed him—it all fueled Hammer's excitement as he paced through the facility, barely able to contain himself.
This was his turning point.
This was the beginning of his comeback.
His secretary approached, her voice cutting through his thoughts.
"The Zero Armor has been fully assembled. Would you like to proceed with an armament test?"
"Perfect. Absolutely perfect!" Hammer exclaimed, nearly stumbling as he rushed toward the testing area.
And there it stood.
A five-meter-tall steel giant, towering over everything around it.
Beside the Iron Monger unit, Ivan removed his sunglasses, his expression calm but intense. Donatello raised a hand, gesturing toward the machine as if urging Hammer to move things along.
Find military personnel. Test it. Push it to its limits.
Even though this was only the most simplified version of the warframe, even though it was designated as the No. 0 Armor—a prototype meant purely for data collection and future improvements—it already exuded overwhelming presence.
To Ivan, it felt less like a machine and more like a steel tyrant.
A weapon that could crush anything in its path.
If this was just the beginning…
Then what would the final version look like?
For the first time, a dangerous possibility took shape.
Was Tony Stark finally in real danger?
.....
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