Marvel's Iron Lady

When Miss Stark returned to Stark Tower from Osborn Industries, it was already 11:30 PM on Saturday night.

If it hadn't been for the green-colored Franklin lighting the way, there probably wouldn't have been any lawyers helping to finalize the stock transfer agreement at such a late hour.

Upon her return to Stark Tower, J.A.R.V.I.S. suddenly chimed in, making his presence known.

"Miss, do you remember the letter you sent to Mr. Wilson Fisk? He has replied, and he is ready to meet with you at any time."

"He has cleared his entire schedule for tomorrow and will be waiting for you at Fisk International Financial Group's headquarters whenever you're ready."

Hearing this confirmation, the weight on Miss Stark's shoulders lifted a bit—she had been slightly concerned about the matter.

After all, Wilson Fisk was the notorious crime lord of New York, known as the Kingpin. Even though he had a legitimate public persona, would he actually agree to meet her?

In the past, she had lived under the protective wings of Stark Industries, rarely exposed to the darker aspects of the world.

But after inheriting memories from another world, she had grown up overnight, facing these challenges head-on.

Regardless of how things turned out, Miss Stark had to meet with Wilson Fisk—Kingpin—face-to-face.

But now, as it was nearing midnight, there was little point in overthinking it. She simply went to bed.

Unfortunately, while Miss Stark slept soundly, changes began happening in ways she couldn't see.

Norman Osborn, having had the Goblin Serum consumed by the Extremis Virus, found his body rapidly regenerating. Gray hair turned into thick, youthful black locks, and the wrinkles on his face vanished. Overnight, he had regained the prime of his youth and strength.

Elsewhere in Midtown Manhattan, Peter Parker, on the verge of graduating from middle school, suddenly experienced a strange transformation. Within minutes, he matured from a young teen into an adult who had already been Spider-Man for years. In this new reality, he had just graduated from Empire State University alongside his girlfriend, Mary Jane.

Over in the Raft, the high-security prison in the Hudson River, several new inmates mysteriously appeared in the cells: Aleksei Sytsevich (Rhino), Mac Gargan (Scorpion), and Shocker. No one knew how these people arrived, but everyone recognized them as Spider-Man's adversaries.

Even the city itself had transformed overnight. New neighborhoods emerged where none had existed before, and buildings mysteriously appeared out of nowhere—like a homeless shelter in central Brooklyn or a city-funded tech laboratory in Manhattan.

However, the residents of New York didn't find anything strange about these changes. To them, these locations had always been there, as familiar as ever.

Even Steve Rogers, having completed his rehabilitation and brushed up on history at a S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility, found himself reassigned in the middle of the night. He was now part of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s New York rapid response unit. The catch? He was the only member.

It was an eerie but peaceful night. As Miss Stark slept soundly, the world around her—centered on her—had been radically altered. Yet, the sleeping Miss Stark remained blissfully unaware of the monumental changes she had unwittingly set in motion by altering the future.

The next morning, Miss Stark, freshly washed and dressed in a new suit, set out alone for Manhattan's Upper West Side.

The Fisk International Financial Group headquarters, a ten-story skyscraper, was located just a few blocks from Wall Street.

Upon seeing Wilson Fisk in person for the first time, Miss Stark was a bit taken aback.

The man before her was as imposing as a mountain, with a massive black frame and an oddly disproportionate, round head. Was this really Kingpin?

Miss Stark had never met Wilson Fisk before, but in her memories, she knew him as a notorious enemy of Spider-Man.

However, seeing this towering figure, dressed in custom-made clothing to accommodate his bulk, left her momentarily speechless.

Despite his fearsome appearance, Wilson Fisk's demeanor was that of a refined gentleman. There was no trace of his rough beginnings in the way he spoke.

Perhaps reaching such heights required impeccable manners and presentation—anything less would invite scorn from his peers.

Fortunately, Miss Stark had not forgotten the purpose of her visit. She quickly got down to business with Wilson Fisk.

The two engaged in negotiations for about half an hour, with Miss Stark meticulously painting a detailed business vision for Fisk.

"I must say, I'm very interested in your proposal, Miss Stark. But I do have one question."

Though his face was full of muscle and scar tissue, Fisk's personality was unexpectedly charming, making him quite the conversationalist.

"I'm curious why you chose to partner with a real estate company under our group?"

In just thirty minutes of conversation, Miss Stark had already realized that Wilson Fisk was a savvy businessman.

He wasn't as easily manipulated as Norman Osborn, and he was filled with doubts—although this was a challenge, it wasn't insurmountable.

Wilson Fisk's office took up the entire top floor of the company's headquarters, and it was more fitting to call it a "lounge" than a typical office.

Moreover, perhaps due to his massive size, regular sofas wouldn't suffice. The seating here consisted entirely of oversized, plush sofas that seemed to swallow you whole.

Leaning back comfortably on the orange-red sofa, Miss Stark elegantly crossed her long legs.

"To be honest, the reason I chose to come here and discuss this deal with you is entirely because of your personal charm."

Unlike her usual laid-back style, today Miss Stark had dressed more professionally for the business meeting.

She wore a sleek black women's business suit—a pencil skirt that ended just above her knees, revealing her slender legs, which were smooth and slender. Paired with three-inch black heels, she exuded a composed and dignified image.

Just as their conversation reached a critical juncture, the noise from outside the window grew louder.

Suddenly, the phone on Fisk's desk rang, and Miss Stark paused mid-sentence, noticing Fisk's darkening expression.

Damn it—don't these people know I'm in the middle of negotiations with Stark Industries' heir?!

Despite his irritation, Fisk's good manners prevented him from showing his anger in front of a lady.

With a quick apology and Miss Stark's nod of understanding, he moved to his desk and answered the phone.

As Wilson Fisk lowered his voice to take the call, Miss Stark's curiosity grew, prompting her to pick up the tablet she had left on the coffee table.

The call lasted long enough for Miss Stark to use her tablet to hack into the building's network and access the surveillance cameras around the area.

At this moment, the scene on the ground floor of Fisk International Financial Group headquarters was chaotic. Dozens of NYPD patrol cars had surrounded the building, and something was clearly off. Yet, Miss Stark showed no intention of leaving—she was intrigued and wanted to see how things would unfold.

"I must apologize, Miss Stark. You really chose a bad time to visit today."

Minutes later, Wilson Fisk hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and returned to a composed expression.

Miss Stark watched his every move, her opinion of the crime lord rising yet again. Fisk's ability to remain calm and courteous in such a tense situation explained how he had climbed to his current position.

"It seems like I didn't come at the best time, did I, Mr. Kingpin?"

For the first time, Miss Stark dropped the formal "Mr. Fisk" and directly addressed him by his other title: Kingpin.

Wilson Fisk stared back at her without a flicker of surprise, his expression calm and unchanged.

The name Kingpin wasn't unfamiliar to certain circles, and to those people, Wilson Fisk's criminal reputation wasn't all that shocking.

And Miss Stark, heir to Stark Industries, America's largest military contractor, certainly belonged to that circle.

Hearing Miss Stark utter his other name didn't faze Fisk—if anything, he found it amusing.

"Since you know my identity, then you're aware that I have many enemies, Miss Stark."

"This time, they're coming for me. But I'm more interested in something else."

"Given that you know who I am, why did you choose to approach someone like me, a crime lord, for a business deal?"

He fixed his gaze on her, as if trying to strip her bare with his eyes, exposing her true intentions.

"As I've already said, the reason I'm here today to discuss this matter with you is entirely due to your personal charm."

Facing Fisk's intense stare, Miss Stark merely smiled, shrugging her shoulders in response.

"You're in trouble, and I don't want my business partner to be in trouble. Would you like me to give you a hand?"

"I haven't fallen so far as to need your help, Miss Stark. But I don't want you to get caught up in this either."

Wilson Fisk shook his head slowly at Miss Stark's offer, opening a drawer in his desk as he did.

"They're coming for me, so if you don't mind—I'm afraid I'll have to inconvenience you."

As Fisk pulled out a pair of gleaming silver handcuffs, Miss Stark's eyes narrowed, her smile growing a little strange.

What's this? What's Fisk planning—does he intend to handcuff me? What a bizarre turn of events—wait a minute, this could be an opportunity.

The forces targeting Wilson Fisk were likely part of New York's official power structure, possibly involving both political and business elites.

Imagine the headlines if it got out that Stark Industries' heir had been "kidnapped" by New York's crime lord.

It would undoubtedly damage Stark Industries' reputation and potentially cause the company's stock price to fluctuate.

In fact, this could be the perfect opportunity to strike at the company's board of directors and even force shareholders to sell their stock.

If shares were dumped on the market, she could scoop them all up, consolidating her control.

At the very least, the chaos would certainly irritate the board—at worst, it could lead to a corporate takeover.

A flood of thoughts raced through her mind before she finally smiled and decided to play along with his plan.

"Of course, I don't mind this method of escape—and I completely understand your dilemma."

With that, she rose gracefully from the sofa, taking the handcuffs from Fisk and putting them on herself.

Hmm... they weren't professional police cuffs but something more... playful. With a little effort, she could easily slip out of them.

Chances were other women had used these cuffs here before, but Miss Stark wasn't concerned with that.

A few minutes later, several of Fisk's men, disguised as riot police, stormed into the office.

They weren't carrying any sophisticated weapons—just a Remington Model 870 and a couple of door-sized riot shields.

"When the police break through, blend in with their forces and get her out of here," Fisk ordered his men. "Keep her safe. If she so much as loses a single hair, I'll send you to meet your maker."

Fisk turned back to Miss Stark, still cuffed, and spoke with a hint of regret in his voice.

"I'm truly sorry for this situation, Miss Stark. I hope you won't think any less of me because of it."

The woman before him had come to discuss a lucrative business deal—one even Fisk found tempting.

But circumstances had spiraled out of control. The unexpected police raid had come too fast, and there was no time to arrange for his helicopter escape. The building was already surrounded.

If he wanted to get Miss Stark out of here, he had no choice but to resort to these less-than-legal means—fortunately, she had agreed to cooperate.

"I'm looking forward to our next meeting, Mr. Kingpin. You're truly a fascinating man."

Regardless of what had transpired between Miss Stark and Wilson Fisk, the fact remained that Kingpin had been set up.

As for the full extent of what had happened, no one knew for sure. However, one thing was clear—a certain superhero was on his way.

"All units, initiate level four mobilization. Target location is Fisk International Financial Group headquarters."

Peter Parker had been jolted awake by an alert from a surveillance program he had coded into his phone. Still groggy with sleep, he rubbed his eyes.

But when he heard the name Fisk, any trace of grogginess disappeared.

Wilson Fisk. He had been keeping an eye on this long-time nemesis for years, and now Fisk was in trouble. Interesting.

Peter Parker jumped out of bed, his body clad in nothing but boxers.

This Peter Parker wasn't the same kid who had met Miss Stark not long ago. Thanks to her meddling with the future, he had grown into a full-fledged adult, with years of experience as Spider-Man.

At least his Uncle Ben, whom Miss Stark had saved, was still living with Aunt May.

But Peter didn't seem to find anything strange about his sudden transformation into an adult. In his mind, it had been seven years since he gained his spider powers.

No one seemed to notice the changes to him, just as no one noticed the drastic changes to the city.

Fastening his web-shooters around his wrists, Peter grabbed his suit, preparing to suit up.

With a slice of toast in his mouth, he quickly slipped into his Spider-Man costume, though the tight-fitting suit was a pain to get on.

Time was running out—if he didn't hurry, he'd be too late.

As he slipped into his costume, his eyes fell on the stack of letters by the door.

Through the lenses of his high-tech mask, his suit's augmented reality display zoomed in, revealing the writing on the envelope.

It was a rent notice, signed by his landlord. But right now, Peter Parker was flat broke—no money to pay rent.

"SWAT team has arrived. Situation 10-14. All units stand by. The search warrant is en route."

The hacked communication system on his phone picked up a transmission from the NYPD dispatcher.

The situation was getting more complex by the second, and if he wasted any more time, things would get even worse.

With that thought, Peter hesitated only a moment before dropping the rent notice and looking out the window.

No more time to waste. He flipped his wrists, shooting two strands of webbing that stuck to either side of the window frame.

Spider-Man's webbing wasn't exactly the same as a real spider's. It was a synthetic liquid, stored in cartridges and compressed to an atomic level.

When activated by an electrical charge from his web-shooters, the liquid was released and turned into gas.

The gas, interacting with the atmosphere, caused friction and heat, turning the gas back into a liquid, which then solidified into webbing.

That webbing was what Spider-Man swung from—but it didn't last long, quickly dissolving after a short time.

The reason was simple: the material used to create the webbing remained liquid at room temperature.

When the liquid was fired from his web-shooters, it briefly transformed into webbing through air friction before cooling and dissolving.

This was why Spider-Man's webbing never covered all of New York—it was self-dissolving.

Two strands of webbing stuck to the window, yanking Peter out of his apartment and into the night.

Swinging through the city like a pendulum, Peter Parker sped toward the scene near Wall Street.

The streets weren't exactly clear, with several NYPD helicopters already heading toward Manhattan.

Fortunately, as Spider-Man, Peter had eyes and ears within the NYPD—his own informants.

His mask's built-in communication system worked just like a phone, allowing him to make a quick call.

He needed to find out what the NYPD was doing and how far things had escalated.

On the other end of the line, the NYPD had already surrounded Fisk International Financial Group headquarters.

"Sorry to bother you while you're busy, but I hear you're planning a raid on Kingpin's stronghold?"

"Not exactly. We've surrounded the building and are waiting for the search warrant to come through."

The voice belonged to Yuriko Watanabe, a captain in the NYPD and one of Peter's trusted allies.

Though she kept her emotions well in check, Peter could still detect a hint of tension in her voice.

Things at Fisk Tower were indeed heating up—crowds of onlookers had gathered, including New York's residents and the media.

Everyone had been stirred up by the NYPD's big move, and the public was eagerly watching the events unfold.

But only someone with authority at the scene, like Yuri, could understand just how dangerous the situation was.

"Hold on. I'm almost at Manhattan. Try to keep things under control."

"What are you doing? This isn't something you should be involved in. Wait—Fisk's men are coming out?!"

The call abruptly cut off, leaving Peter momentarily stunned.

He hadn't expected Fisk's men to be so brazen—charging out of a building surrounded by the NYPD?

But then again, Fisk's goons were all desperate criminals, and they were likely armed to the teeth. The NYPD could be in real danger.

His suspicions were spot on. While the police were preparing for a tactical raid, Fisk's men had already taken action.

A group of heavily armed thugs—wearing bulletproof vests and wielding assault rifles, even RPGs—stormed out of the building.

No one knew how much firepower Fisk had stockpiled inside, and even the police surrounding the building were caught off guard.

The NYPD outnumbered Fisk's men, but they were only equipped with pistols and riot shields.

No one had expected such resistance from Fisk's forces—the situation was rapidly spiraling out of control.