"So, the next guy on the roster is Mysterio?" Peter muttered.
The wind snapped against the Stark composite high-flex fiber of his brand-new Mk. 2 suit as he vaulted over a neon-lit billboard. He didn't exactly have high hopes for this guy. He remembered Quentin Beck's hypocritical, manipulative performance in Far From Home and had preemptively decided he disliked him. Plus, comic-book Mysterio was genuinely terrifying. In some runs, his illusions could override the Spider-Sense entirely and manipulate every physical sense until the victim was completely lost in a false reality.
"I really hope this universe's Beck isn't that much of a headache," Peter said. He tapped the side of his mask. Inside the round white lenses, a tactical HUD blinked to life. Infrared overlay online. He had specifically built the thermal imaging feature into the suit to counter light-particle illusions.
But Beck was just a special effects guy. Who was funding him? Who was providing the military-grade hardware? Doctor Ock? Norman Osborn? Peter rubbed his temples through the mask. He still knew entirely too little about this world.
MacDonald Gargan stood in a shadowed alleyway. As a private investigator who specialized in gathering blackmail on criminal organizations, he wasn't used to being out of his depth. He looked up.
A flash of red and blue swung overhead.
Gargan narrowed his eyes. The suit was different. Brighter colors, no bulky utility belt, a smaller spider emblem. Gargan pulled out a burner phone and dialed.
"Mr. Gargan," Wilson Fisk's deep rumble answered. "Have you identified our spider?"
"Not yet, Mr. Wilson," Gargan said, using the Kingpin's criminal cover name. He stepped deeper into the shadows. "But your defamation project. Has it launched? If not, delay it immediately."
"I am afraid the Chameleon has already begun. Is there a problem?"
"Spider-Man just flew over my head," Gargan hissed, keeping his voice strictly regulated. "He's wearing a brand-new uniform. If your actor is out there right now, his costume is obsolete."
Fisk hung up. Gargan shoved the phone back into his coat. He had to get back to his investigation. Kingpin was right; it was too late to abort.
Across the city, Dmitri Snerdyakov rolled his shoulders. The custom bionic artificial skin rippled across his flesh. It was a flawless, one-of-a-kind piece of Soviet black-tech. He tapped his earpiece.
"Are we positioned, Mr. Beck?"
In a delivery van parked three blocks away, Quentin Beck sat wedged between two of Fisk's massive enforcers. He stared at a bank of three monitors rendering a real-time 3D topographical map of Hell's Kitchen.
"Any time, Mr. Dmitri," Beck said nervously.
Dmitri dropped a small, three-centimeter metallic sphere onto the pavement. The Horizon Labs prototype activated, casting a flawless, photorealistic light-particle projection field across a one-hundred-meter radius.
Down the street, two thugs had a pedestrian pinned against a brick wall.
"Why start here?" Beck's voice crackled in Dmitri's ear. "If you want to ruin him, why not a high-profile target like Times Square?"
"Framing is an art, dear Beck," Dmitri whispered. He willed the bionic skin to shift. The red and blue of Spider-Man's old suit—the narrow black eyes, the external belt—wove itself over his body. "You do not jump to the total opposite immediately. That breeds suspicion. You introduce a slight deviation. It's like mixing a drink. You don't pour milk into whiskey. You add vodka. Strong enough to bite, but smooth enough to swallow."
Dmitri pulled out a grappling hook. Beck's projection field masked it perfectly as a strand of white webbing.
Dmitri swung down into the alley, his boots hitting the pavement with a heavy, realistic thud. He stood up slowly.
"Guys, I have to say, can't you find a hobby that actually pays?" Dmitri perfectly mimicked the cadence and pitch of Peter's voice.
The thugs scrambled back. Dmitri fired the grapple—rendered as webbing—yanked one thug forward, and delivered a measured, brutal punch to the jaw. Blood splattered the pavement.
"Sorry about that. Didn't expect you to be so fragile," Dmitri quipped. He turned to the trembling victim. "Are you alright, friend?"
"I—yeah. Thank you, Spider-Man."
Dmitri bent over the unconscious thug. He pulled out the man's wallet. He thumbed out the cash and shoved it into his suit pocket.
"What are you..." the victim stammered.
"Hey, being a superhero doesn't come with a salary," Dmitri said cheerfully. "Want a twenty? Consider it emotional compensation."
He fired another grapple and vanished into the night.
Back in the van, Fisk's goons looked confused. "That's it? He stole pocket change from a mugger?"
"It is a foundation," Dmitri said over the comms, walking calmly out of the projection radius. "He fights crime, but he takes a cut. Is it theft? Legally, yes. But it's not enough to destroy his hero status. People will debate his morals. Next, he makes mistakes. People get hurt. Finally, he executes a villain. By the time the real Spider-Man realizes what is happening, the public will have already condemned him. And because of Mr. Beck's illusions, the real Spider-Man won't even be able to trust his own eyes."
Beck gripped the edge of his console. "That was... that was incredible, Mr. Dmitri. The micro-movements. The slight tilt of the head. It was a flawless performance."
Dmitri smiled. Beck was a brilliant technician, but beneath that, he was a frustrated actor who craved the spotlight. Dmitri filed that away. A special effects artist of this caliber would be an invaluable asset to his own assassination and espionage business once Fisk's contract was concluded.
He had no idea the real Spider-Man was already wearing a completely different suit.
By midnight, a grainy smartphone video hit the web. The title: Is Spider-Man starting a robbery? Kingpin's online infrastructure amplified it instantly. The algorithm caught fire.
Only the Chameleon watched it burn.
PS:
Did you know the Chameleon was the very first supervillain Spider-Man ever faced in his solo comic? He debuted all the way back in The Amazing Spider-Man #1 in March 1963! In the comics, he's actually Kraven the Hunter's half-brother, and he originally used physical makeup and masks before upgrading to holographic belts and surgical modifications. Our universe's version leaning into high-tech Soviet espionage gives him a seriously terrifying edge!