MM Racing Chapter 9 Herman in Action
Chapter 9 Herman in Action
Chapter 9 Herman in Action
"Thanks, Spider-Man. Without you, we really wouldn't be able to handle these dangerous criminals." Sheriff George Stacy looked up at the figure crouching on the telephone pole, expressing his gratitude. The handcuffed criminal grumbled indignantly, "This isn't fair! That freak can toy with rocket launchers like rubber balls, how are we supposed to deal with a monster like that?"
"Shut up!" the young officer snapped. "How dare you say something like that, using a rocket launcher against police officers who only have pistols?"
The police officer, who looked like a rookie, roughly shoved the criminal into the patrol car. George could only express his embarrassment with a silent smile, then said seriously, "We all know that your spider silk will take several hours to decompose. But this is Manhattan, and the whole of New York can't afford such a long traffic closure."
"Oh, right." Spider-Man scratched his mask, then snapped his fingers. "Acid will speed up the dissolution. If we can't get any chemicals," he pointed to the confiscated energy shield, "try this? Just stuff it in the middle of the web and open it. Repeat a few times and it'll pry open my web. As for batteries, they should be on that power ring."
George nodded his thanks. Spider-Man stood up, about to launch his webs, when he remembered something and crouched down to remind Commissioner Stacy, "By the way, Commissioner, their weapons use Chitauri parts. Only four months after the Battle of New York, people are already arming ordinary criminals with alien technology circulating on the black market. You need to be extra careful."
"Thank you, Spider-Man. We'll find out who's been modifying this alien technology."
"You're welcome, your friendly neighbor is always at your service!" With a whooshing sound of spiderwebs, Peter Parker streaked across the sky. He glanced at his watch, then suddenly slapped his forehead as if remembering something: "Aunt May's cake! Meteno's Cake Shop. What day is it today? Aunt May actually ordered a cake? Is it someone's birthday or someone coming over?" He adjusted his direction in mid-air. "Hopefully nothing else goes wrong. Oh right, I also need to find my backpack."
In the shadows of the crossroads, Hermann Schulz, his hood pulled low, witnessed the entire battle. He had to admit the thug was right—a few high-tech weapons were utterly useless against a freak in a bodysuit who could swing in the air. To defeat a monster, you had to become a monster first.
Moreover, Spider-Man is not invincible. The child's bicycle thrown into the subway is proof of that—the tracker he attached beforehand showed a sudden change in altitude, indicating that Spider-Man is willing to help a child on the street. This masked vigilante is neither a fame-seeking scoundrel seeking praise nor a cold-blooded law enforcement machine; he's simply a busybody who's overly kind.
Since he's an overly kind person, there are ways to deal with overly kind people; the whole of New York can be used as a tool to manipulate him.
Herman weighed the backpack on his shoulder; it contained the last batch of Chitauri parts they had scavenged over the past few months, his entire capital for a comeback. He walked slowly to the edge of Manhattan Island, then suddenly flipped and leaped off the embankment, landing precisely on a rusty maintenance ladder. In the damp air, the entrance to New York's sewers seemed like a gaping maw, waiting to swallow him whole.
He glanced behind him to make sure no one was following, then stepped over the dismantled and fallen railing at the sewer entrance, clutching a key as he made his way down the sewer. The sewer was incredibly dark, illuminated only by a few maintenance lights. The sounds of rats or cockroaches scurrying about were constant, along with the dripping of water and his own footsteps.
This key is a token given by the "buyer" to each seller; only this key can open the door to that place. Herman stopped in an inconspicuous passageway, inserted the key into the cracks between the bricks that appeared to be covered in cement, and then turned it.
The key made a screeching sound as it turned between the bricks. Herman waited a full minute before an eerie green light appeared in the darkness. The brick wall slid open to reveal several old-fashioned computers flashing green code. He tossed his backpack onto the stainless steel plate that served as a table, the clanging of metal particularly jarring in the confined space.
"Not bad, there are fewer and fewer delivery people lately." A voice, tinged with electronic static, came from the depths of the darkness. Three green dots arranged in a triangular array flickered from somewhere, swept over the package, and then chuckled with satisfaction: "Scarcity drives up value. Name your price, and I'll make you happy."
"I don't want money." Herman pulled out a crumpled list. "Weapons made from these parts have appeared on the streets. You should know who made them, right?"
The "buyer's" laughter was punctuated by static: "Want to get rich off this? Or start your own gang? No problem, this stock is enough to buy one or two custom-made pieces of equipment. What features do you need? I can customize one for you on the spot."
"They were completely wiped out, easily."
Herman could sense the "buyer's" nonchalant reply: "This is what happens to people who can't learn to be discreet. New York has the Avengers; those who cause a big commotion will only get dealt with by those circus members."
"It wasn't the Avengers who did it."
"What?! Who is it?!"
"It's Spider-Man." Herman's lips curled into a smile as he listened with satisfaction to the sudden rise in the other party's electronic voice, but the "buyer" quickly regained his composure: "That bug in the red and blue bodysuit? That's an unexpected surprise. Ever since the alien invasion, all sorts of monsters and demons have appeared."
The voice in the darkness suddenly turned somber, "A reptile has appeared in the skyscrapers of New York, and demons and skulls have emerged in Hell's Kitchen. Ten years ago, superpowered individuals were mutants captured and imprisoned; now, they're all superheroes. How ironic."
The "buyer's" silence lingered for several seconds in the darkness, then suddenly erupted into a distorted, electronic laugh: "Aha! I remember now—you guys were behind that 'fireworks show' at Midtown Bank this morning?" The mechanical voice suddenly took on a hint of admiration. "Those weapons were well-designed, you did them? Now you want to upgrade?"
Herman squinted in the darkness, able to make out only three eerie green electronic dots flickering in the shadows like the eyes of a predator. "It's not just about upgrading," his voice echoed ominously in the sewers. "I want to become someone like Spider-Man. Look at this world—"
He clenched his fist. "Those costumed superpowered freaks are running rampant; weapons alone aren't enough. What I need is... a complete overhaul." A crumpled list was slapped onto the metal table. "These parts should be enough to buy what I want."
The sound of machinery suddenly drew closer. Herman saw three gleaming mechanical claws emerge from the shadows, one of them clamping down on the list and retreating back into the darkness. The rusty hinges creaked painfully.
"A complete overhaul?" The "buyer's" voice, tinged with electronic glee, laced with amusement. "You think I can get my hands on that?"
"You might not, but your supplier definitely can." Herman stared directly at the three green lights. "After all, you can't just sell all your earnings from the past few months for scrap, can you? There are still a lot of modified weapons; they need a big buyer, right?"
A blinding flash of light suddenly illuminated the scene. In the instant of intense light, Herman glimpsed a massive sphere suspended in mid-air, its extended mechanical arms resembling octopus tentacles. As the glare faded from his retina, the electronic voice resumed: "The list has been sent to the big boss. He's always happy to have someone help clean up the streets with vigilantes. But there's something I'm curious about."
A mechanical claw suddenly brought its tip close to Herman's nose: "Why are you so obsessed with competing with those clowns? You don't seem to be doing it for the money..."
"Is there a problem?"
"Of course not." The mechanical claw handed over a wad of crumpled banknotes. "This is the payment for your shipment."
"I used it to buy my materials."
"I know."
Seeing Herman hesitate, the mechanical claw forcefully stuffed the money into his pocket. "Consider it an investment. The big boss is happy to fund those fighting the masked vigilantes. I know you black people don't have it easy; you have to leave something for your families."
"……Thanks."
The mechanical claw made a handshake gesture. As Herman grasped the cold metal, an eerie electronic laugh echoed through the pipes: "Pick up the goods at the same time tomorrow. By the way, you can call me Otto; that's what my friends call me."
Herman left the sewers, but didn't go to his secret base. Instead, he traversed the intricate network of sewers back to Harlem. Starlight streamed down from the maintenance manholes, trying to evoke his memories, but he couldn't recall what it was like to return home last time—nothing good ever came of it.
It's the same this time.
Pushing open the creaking door, I saw a familiar corpse lying on the sofa, its chest smashed open, blood pooling on the floor.
"Sobi?"
"A gang fight." The mother, without looking up, sewed a shroud. "Like your father and your brother, he fought to the death for the boss, but he didn't even have a home. I have to pack things up first; the people from the community church will be here soon."
Herman silently pulled out the purse of money. His mother expertly hid the bills: "Still messing around with your 'business'? I thought it was over a long time ago."
"This is the last vote," Hermann muttered, staring at his friend's deathly pale face. "I have to do what I have to do. It's time for the whole world to remember who Hermann Schulz is."
(End of this chapter)