Peter clenched his jaw and slowly sat back down.
He looked at his own thin frame—
Frustration and helplessness flickering in his eyes.
He imagined it—
If he had been there in that alley…
Facing those thugs with high-tech weapons—
Could he have protected MJ the way his brother did?
The answer was obvious.
No.
He’d probably have been knocked flat in seconds.
Clark watched him quietly, then reached out and ruffled his hair.
“Don’t overthink it.
You’re a genius—the kind that can change the world with your mind.”
He pointed at the gauntlet on the desk.
“Right now, it’s your turn to shine.
Figure out how this thing works.”
Peter took a breath, pushing aside his thoughts, and immediately got to work.
Screwdriver in hand, he began dismantling the gauntlet piece by piece.
Layer after layer came off—
Revealing a clean, intricate network of circuits.
His eyes lit up.
A stream of technical jargon spilled from his mouth.
“Incredible… there’s no way this came from some random street gang!”
He kept going.
And going.
Clark’s brain, meanwhile—
Started overheating.
So he did what any reasonable person would do.
He mentally “logged off” and went to play games with the little angel and devil in his head.
Eventually, Peter finished.
He looked up—
Only to see Clark staring blankly.
Speechless.
Clark snapped back to reality.
“Uh… can you explain that in normal language?”
Yes, he had a super brain.
But he’d deliberately sealed most of it.
Peter rolled his eyes, then simplified.
“Basically—if you push this thing to its highest setting, a single punch could generate enough vibration to pulverize a solid brick wall.”
He swallowed.
“…But it won’t cause serious harm to a human body.”
“And this alloy—” he tapped the inner structure, “I’ve seen it in advanced materials journals.
This is cutting-edge lightweight titanium alloy.”
Clark blinked.
Was there a leak inside some high-tech company?
Peter set down his tools and turned to him, serious now.
“Clark… this is military-grade.
Or at least something from a top-tier corporate lab.”
“Someone is taking advanced technology, modifying it, and selling it to street gangs.”
“If even low-level thugs are equipped with gear like this…”
He paused.
“Then it’s no surprise the NYPD can’t handle them.”
Clark nodded slowly.
He understood.
Peter was right.
And more importantly—
Clark already knew just how complicated this world really was.
Tony Stark’s disappearance had only been the spark.
In the shadows, powerful tech corporations and greedy capital were beginning to stretch their reach into the streets—into the lives of ordinary people.
And they were starting to use real human lives…
As experiments.
“Don’t spread this around.
Keep the gauntlet hidden,” Clark said.
“Tomorrow we’ll test the waters with Dad.
As deputy editor of the Daily Bugle, he definitely knows more than we do.”
The next morning, the two brothers were already awake.
The kitchen smelled warm and comforting—May was making breakfast.
Ben Parker sat at the table with a mug of black coffee in one hand, a marker in the other, circling notes and photos across stacks of newspapers.
Peter and Clark came downstairs, both yawning.
Peter looked especially exhausted—he’d stayed up half the night tinkering with the gauntlet parts even after Clark went to bed.
“Morning, Dad!
Mom!”
“Morning, Uncle Ben!
Aunt May~”
Ben looked up and smiled.
“Morning, boys.
Sleep well?”
His eyes casually swept over them—then paused on the metal piece in Peter’s hand.
Years of journalism had sharpened his instincts.
“Peter… what did you take apart this time?”
Peter froze, instinctively glancing at Clark, unsure how much to say.
Clark stepped in smoothly, speaking while fixing his breakfast.
“Last night on my way home, I ran into a few thugs bothering MJ.
I chased them off.
This piece fell off their gear.
Peter thought it looked interesting, so he brought it back to study.”
Not because Peter was dismantling things again—
But because MJ had been attacked.
And Clark had stepped in.
Which meant Clark had likely used his strength.
“M.J.
was attacked?” Ben’s voice sharpened.
“Are you two alright?”
There was no pretense—just pure concern.
“We’re fine, Dad,” Clark said quickly, even turning to show himself.
“See?
Not a scratch.
She’s safe too.”
Only then did Ben relax.
He shuffled through the papers, then pulled out a blurry photo and placed it in front of them.
The image showed a bank vault door—torn open from the outside, the thick metal twisted into something unnatural.
At the edge of the photo was a figure in yellow and black, wearing gauntlets similar to the one Clark had brought back—only larger, more advanced.
“What… is this?” Peter asked, eyes wide.
“A surveillance still from a bank robbery in Brooklyn last night,” Ben said, taking a sip of coffee.
“Over the past few months, ever since Stark Industries destabilized after Tony Stark disappeared, the New York underworld has been fighting over a massive power vacuum.”
He tapped the image.
“Jameson may be loud, but his instincts are sharp.
He put me on a back-channel investigation.
Lately, the black market has been flooded with high-tech gear.”
“Impact-resistant exoskeletons.
High-frequency vibration weapons.
Stuff that should only exist in labs or military storage.”
“You mean someone’s trafficking weapons?
High-tech weapons?” Peter immediately caught the implication.
“Not just trafficking,” Ben said, shaking his head.
“My contact in the police says there’s a mysterious engineering genius behind all this—or maybe a group.”
“They’re collecting discarded tech, prototypes, even scrap from places like Oscorp, Hammer Industries… even old Stark Industries storage sites.”
“They rebuild it, modify it, weaponize it—then sell it to street-level criminals with no limits.”
Ben looked at both boys, his expression turning serious.
“That’s why I got so worried when I heard what happened last night.”
His gaze settled on Clark.
“I know you’re strong.
I know you’re brave.
And I know you want to protect your friends.”
“But you’re not dealing with knife-wielding punks anymore.”
“These are criminals carrying weapons strong enough to destroy a car.”
He paused, his voice firm.
“This isn’t something high school kids should be getting involved in.”
And more than anyone—
He was saying it to Clark.
Because he knew exactly what kind of person Clark was.