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In the warehouse they’d been using for the last eight years, Adrian Toomes’s crew worked putting together weapons. The lead tech was Mason, now known as the Tinkerer to the other guys. His worktable was littered with bits of Chitauri tech, pieces of Ultron drones, even some gear holding Dark Elf magic and found Hydra components.
A bank of dusty computer monitors against the brick wall displayed highway maps, tracking the other guys’ locations—except one, which was tuned to a baseball game. Mason listened to chatter over different radio frequencies while he put the finishing touches on a new weapon powered by shards of some kind of magic metal from a Dark Elf dagger. He reached for a tool to attach the last piece, but it wasn’t where he thought he’d left it. Looking around, he remembered. It was on the other side of the wall, at another workbench.
He picked up a small device he’d just finished and stuck it on the wall next to the monitors. A section of the wall became transparent, glimmering a rich purple. The device phased matter. Mason had built several of them. They weren’t as exciting as weapons to most people, but he thought the phasing tech was even cooler. He reached through the wall and got the tool from the bench on the other side. Then he removed the device, and the wall was solid again.
Right then, Toomes swooped into the warehouse through the open loading doors and braked to a halt with the suit’s enormous wings. He raised his arms, and the wings automatically disengaged from the rest of the suit, locking themselves into a hanging frame. Then he took off his helmet. As soon as he was clear, he shouted, flinging the helmet across the room.
Mason had tracked some of what was going on, but he hadn’t really paid attention to the details. “You okay?” he asked.
“Idiots,” Toomes growled.
After a pause, Mason said, “Your wife’s been texting you. Something about a brake light.”
Toomes glared at him. “What’d I tell you about looking at my phone?”
“It was on your desk,” Mason pointed out. “I’m a curious soul—you know that.”
Squealing and groaning, the van that had barely eluded Spider-Man rolled into the warehouse. Its roof and side panels were torn up, and one of its tires was flat. Brice and Schultz hopped out, looking at Toomes. “Which one of you lit up the Stark Signal?” he demanded, meaning which of them had used the weapons. Tony Stark was bound to notice that.
Schultz gave Brice a significant glance. Toomes picked up on it. “How many times have I told you not to fire ’em off in the open?”
“You said to move the merchandise,” Brice argued. He was still wearing the electric gauntlet. Once Mason had demonstrated it, Brice had claimed it for his own, and now he wore it almost all the time.
“Below the radar,” Toomes shot back, pointing at the gauntlet. “That’s how we survive. You bring Damage Control or the Avengers down on us, we’re done. But here you are, lighting up cars, running around with that thing, and calling yourself the Shocker? What is this, pro wrestling?”
Schultz and Mason tried not to laugh. Brice bristled at the insult. “Whatever you say, old man.”
“Hey,” Toomes said before Brice could walk past him. “I know you don’t give a crap about anything, but I do. I built all this because I got people to look after.”
Brice rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
Toomes cocked his head to one side. He made a decision. “You know what? I can’t afford any more of your crap. You’re out.”
“What? You can’t kick me off the crew!” Brice looked to Mason and Schultz. Both were looking somewhere else.
“It’s my crew,” Toomes pointed out. “And I just did.”
The warehouse was quiet. Everyone watched to see how the confrontation would end. Brice had challenged Toomes, and now things were going to be settled one way or another.
“All right,” Brice smirked. He took a step back from Toomes. “So I guess you can afford me out there? With everything I know ...” Brice let his words hang in the air.
“Excuse me?” Toomes understood the threat. Brice might tell anyone about the operation—especially if someone paid him. Eight years of work would go up in smoke. Toomes would be in jail, and then who would take care of his family?
Brice shrugged, still smirking. “Just saying. Maybe your wife would like to know where you really get your money from.”
After a brief pause, Toomes said, “You’re right. I can’t afford that.”
He picked up the weapon Mason had just finished and fired. A beam of dark energy struck Brice and washed over him, disintegrating him where he stood. The Shocker gauntlet fell to the floor into a small pile of dark powder, all that was left of Brice.
Shocked, Toomes looked at what he had done. Then he looked at Mason. “I thought this was the antigravity gun!”
“What?” Mason pointed at the end of the bench. “No, that’s that one.”
Toomes turned back to Brice’s remains. He couldn’t change it now. The only thing to do was move on. He picked up the Shocker gauntlet and blew the powder off it. Then he tossed it to Schultz. “Here. Now you’re the Shocker. Clean up any messes you guys made out there.”
Everyone started to get back to work. Toomes stood, coming to terms with what he had just done. He wasn’t a killer and he hadn’t meant to kill Brice. But now the stakes of the operation were that much higher.
At a nearby worktable, one of the crew was putting a glowing purple Chitauri battery into another weapon. Shaken by what he’d just seen, he nearly dropped it. “Careful!” Toomes warned. “Those are dangerous.”
“One wrong move,” Mason added, “and ...” He mimicked a big explosion with his hands.
The tech took a deep breath and got back to work.