No sooner had the dust settled in Monaco—after Tony Stark beat Whiplash into the ground—than Mr.
Duncan, their homeroom teacher, announced during Monday morning study hall that the class would be taking a field trip to the Stark Expo on Friday.
The classroom blew up.
“Holy crap, are you serious?!” “That Hammer Industries keynote!
I saw the trailer—they’re showcasing models for land, sea, and air!” Peter leaned back in his seat, tapping his fingers absentmindedly on his desk.
While everyone else wore expressions of pure excitement, only two words echoed in his mind: *Oh, shit.* He knew all too well what was going to happen at that expo.
Swarms of drones, machine-gun fire, shattering glass ceilings…
It looked thrilling in movies, but being trapped in the middle of it meant facing a literal meat grinder.
For the rest of the week, he worked like a wound-up spring.
The lights in the Baxter Building lab never went out.
Reed had assigned him a small corner, which Peter promptly converted into an improvised armory.
His first completed piece was an EMP gun whose pulse intensity could instantly fry a drone’s main control chip.
His second was concrete webbing with a rebalanced formula, doubling its tensile strength.
He set Johnny Storm’s number on speed dial.
Johnny had been completely confused by Peter’s cryptic warnings over the phone, but he thumped his chest and promised to be there whenever called.
On Friday morning, Peter layered a black compression undershirt and his suit beneath his school uniform.
In a secret compartment of his backpack, he packed his web-shooters and folded suit.
Standing before the mirror for a moment before leaving, his stuffed backpack made him look like he was heading off to war.
In a sense, he really was.
On the bus, Felicia sat right next to him.
She stared at him for a few seconds before suddenly asking, “Nervous?” Peter didn’t deny it.
“Stark hasn’t been in a good place lately,” he lowered his voice.
“You didn’t see his birthday party.
And Hammer Industries isn’t clean either—they built that Rhino armor from before.
If something goes wrong today…” “Give it a rest, Parker!” Flash turned around from the front seat, his voice loud enough for half the bus to hear.
“With an imagination like that, why don’t you write novels?
Hammer Industries is building drones, not murder bots.” Peter didn’t bother arguing.
His hand brushed against the EMP gun in his backpack, its cool metal shell bringing a sense of reassurance.
Sue Storm had initially raised an eyebrow at him commandeering lab space to build weapons, but after hearing his concerns, she hadn’t pressed the issue.
The venue was packed with people when they arrived at the Stark Expo.
A tour guide holding a little flag led their group through various exhibition halls until they finally entered the main auditorium—the stage for Hammer Industries’ new product presentation.
Their seats were in the back, while the front rows were filled with VIPs.
Peter scanned the hall, his eyes locking onto the curtains flanking the stage.
He knew what was hiding behind them.
Justin Hammer took the stage, rambling on and boasting for a full twenty minutes about “epoch-making technology,” “redefining the battlefield,” and “changing the face of warfare.” Then, with a dramatic sweep of his arm, the curtains rose.
Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines—eight drones for each branch.
And the grand finale: War Machine.
The crowd burst into cheers.
Flash jumped up in excitement, and Harry applauded along with the rest.
Peter didn’t budge an inch.
The next instant, Iron Man descended from the sky.
Tony landed on the stage, leaned in, and whispered something into Rhodes’s ear.
Then he ignited his thrusters and blasted off, with the Air Force drones and War Machine activating simultaneously, chasing him out through the glass dome.
The ceiling glass shattered instantly.
The explosion sounded like thunder, raining glass shards down like a hail storm.
Screams erupted as panic seized the crowd.
“Get down!” Peter yelled as he leaped into action.
He grabbed Mary Jane and Felicia, pulling them to the floor and shielding them with his own body.
Glass slammed against his backpack; though the padding absorbed the worst of it, the impact still forced a muffled grunt from his chest.
All around them, people shrieked and sobbed.
Peter pushed himself up and looked around.
Drones were moving down the platforms.
They weren’t firing on civilians—not yet, anyway.
But Tony’s aerial battle could spill over into the crowd at any second.
“Is everyone okay?!” he shouted.
“I-I’m fine,” Harry said, his voice trembling.
“Mr.
Duncan is hurt!” Peter whipped his head around.
Mr.
Duncan was lying flat on the floor, a palm-sized shard of glass embedded in his back, staining his shirt deep red.
Liz knelt beside him, cradling his head as tears streamed down her face.
“He blocked it for me!” Liz sobbed.
“He shielded me!” Mary Jane covered her mouth in shock, while several other girls turned pale.
Peter crouched down and glanced at the wound.
The glass was deep, but missed vital organs; pulling it out now would be disastrous.
He turned to Flash.
“Get him on your back.” “What?” Flash froze.
“We need to evacuate.
Those tin cans are heading this way,” Peter pointed toward the platform, where mechanical legs clanked heavily against the steel framework.
“Carry him!
Now!” “But I—” “Flash, please!” Liz sobbed.
Flash gritted his teeth and stooped down.
Working together, the students carefully hoisted Mr.
Duncan onto Flash’s back.
Peter took the lead, keeping his voice low as he issued instructions: “Don’t run out in the open!
The drones aren’t targeting us directly—as long as we stay clear of the dogfight, we’ll be fine.
Head toward the parking lot, move fast!” The group rushed out of the auditorium.
Peter whipped out his phone and dialed Johnny’s number.
It picked up after two rings.
“Hey, what’s up?” “I need you, now!” “Man, it’s not that I don’t wanna help, but right now—” “No time to explain, Johnny!” Peter yelled.
“Drones went rogue at the Stark Expo, people are dying!
Flame on and get over here, as fast as you can!
Bring the others if you can, but don’t let anything slow you down!” “On it!” Johnny hung up.
Felicia ran beside him, panting heavily.
“Who were you calling?” “Reinforcements.” Peter squeezed the phone tightly, his mind racing through calculations.
He could suit up as Spider-Man to fight, but that was wrong.
These drones weren’t street thugs; they had machine guns and missiles.
Taking them head-on without cover was suicide.
More importantly, he couldn’t blow his secret identity here in front of his entire class.
As they reached the stairwell, a drone smashed down from above, its metal body crashing right in front of them with twisted arms throwing sparks.
The girls shrieked, backing away in terror.
Peter stared at the wreckage for a split second.
The mechanical arm had snapped at the joint, exposing internal wiring and the shooter interface ribbon cable.
He charged forward.
“Peter, what are you doing?!” Mary Jane’s panicked cry erupted from behind.
Peter grabbed the broken joint of the arm with both hands and heaved with his full strength.
The metal let out a deafening screech of tearing steel as he ripped the entire arm right off the drone’s chassis.
Blue sparks crackled at the torn wires as he flipped the arm over to locate the firing system interface cable.
With surgical precision, his index and middle fingers hot-wired two leads together.
The machine gun module whirred to life.
Another drone dropped nearby, rotating its turrets toward the crowd.
Peter hoisted the severed arm like a heavy cannon, aiming the barrel straight at the drone’s head.
With no trigger available, he directly closed the firing circuit.
A torrent of bullets roared out.
Steel tore into steel, showering the area in brilliant sparks.
The target drone smoked heavily, its head listing to the side before collapsing into a dead heap.
The barrel burned superhot, so Peter dumped the spent mechanical arm onto the ground, turning back while catching his breath.
Behind him, his classmates stood frozen like statues.
“Move,” he said.
Nobody argued.
As they rushed out of the building, more drones poured out of the auditorium, launching missiles at Tony high above.
Most missed, leaving trails of smoke as they crashed down into the streets below.
Panic tore through the fleeing crowd amid non-stop screams and explosions.
“Stay near the buildings!
Don’t look up!” Peter yelled.
Another squad of drones blocked their path ahead, adopting a defensive formation as their rotary barrels began to spin with a deafening whine.
Peter reached into his bag, gripping his web-shooter.
A streak of roaring orange-red fire plunged from the sky.
The drone squad was instantly enveloped in a blazing inferno.
Johnny—as the Human Torch—burst through the flames, his burning form tracing a brilliant arc in the sky.
Wherever he passed, steel melted into liquid slag that pooled across the ground.
“Hey, Peter!
Sorry I’m late!” Johnny shouted, hovering in mid-air.
Peter grinned.
“You’re right on time!
Melt every single one of these tin cans!” “You got it!” Johnny laughed wildly as intense flames erupted from his body, turning two more drones into molten scrap that slammed uselessly into the dirt.
“Where are Sue and the others?” Peter called up.
“Behind me!
I’m the only one who can fly—Ben couldn’t even fit in the car, so they’re moving slower,” Johnny glanced at the explosions in the distance.
“These clunkers are trying to hit Stark, but their aim sucks and missiles are hitting civilian zones.
Should I intercept?” “Give it a shot, but don’t get reckless.” “Relax, setting off fireworks is my specialty!” Johnny kicked off with a burst of flame and zipped away.
Peter turned back, once again meeting his classmates’ stunned gazes.
“What?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Dude!” Flash’s voice was shaking.
“That was Johnny Storm!” “So?” “You *know* Johnny Storm?!” “Coworker.
A friend from work,” Peter urged them.
“Do you wanna keep chatting, or do you wanna get Mr.
Duncan to a hospital?” Flash swallowed hard and shut his mouth.
They skirted around the steaming pools of molten metal, sprinting toward the parking lot.
Felicia asked as she ran alongside him, “You work for the Fantastic Four?” “I do some work for them.
I’m not an official member.” “So *that’s* the mysterious job you kept hinting about?” Felicia realized with a nod.
“No wonder you wouldn’t say much.” “Now you know.” When they boarded the bus, Mr.
Duncan was laid down in the back row with Liz watching over him.
Peter urged the driver to start the engine, but just as the driver revved the gas, a drone crashed down from above, landing squarely in front of the bus.
Screams echoed through the bus.
“Don’t stop!” Peter surged into the cab, slamming his foot down over the driver’s to floor the gas pedal.
The bus roared forward and slammed into the drone, its front bumper grinding the machine against the asphalt.
The drone’s guns opened fire, riddling the hood with bullets and spider-webbing the front windshield.
“Keep your foot down!” Peter threw open the door and leapt out.
He hit the ground in a roll to absorb the force, swung his backpack around to his chest, and pulled out the EMP gun.
The drone seized the bus’s front bumper with brute strength and heaved upwards, causing the vehicle to slide sideways across the asphalt.
Peter sprinted up behind it, leveling the barrel at the core module on the back of its head.
“Hey, tin man.” The drone spun around.
“Shut down.” He pulled the trigger.
The electromagnetic pulse was invisible to the eye, but its impact was instantaneous.
The drone spasmed violently, its mechanical limbs shuddering as dark smoke poured from its joints, before collapsing lifelessly to the pavement like a puppet with cut strings.
Peter panted, stowing the EMP gun away and spitting on the ground.
“Piece of junk scrap.” When he climbed back onto the bus, everyone was staring at him once more.
“Everyone alright?” he asked.
“Y-Yeah…” Harry stammered in a quiet voice.
Peter turned to the driver.
“Driver, let’s get out of this hellhole.” “You got it, boss.” As the bus peeled away from the expo grounds, a massive explosion echoed behind them.
The EMP-disabled drone went up in a fireball, spewing smoke and flames into the sky.
The entire Stark Expo area resembled a waking hell.
Peter leaned back into his seat and chuckled weakly.
“Well, I’m definitely never going on another field trip.” No one laughed.
Everyone looked at him as if he were a ghost.
“What?” he asked.
“Bad time for a joke?” Felicia stood up.
“You crazy, suicidal bastard.” She lunged at him.
Peter instinctively caught her around the waist, and in the next second, Felicia pressed her lips onto his.
Her fingers tangled into his hair, her legs wrapping around his waist, locking him in place.