Marvel : Super Extraction

Leon slid into his new car and floored it toward the Osborne Group. Tucked under the passenger seat was a sleek metal briefcase. Sure, with his enhanced strength, most attacks were like swatting flies, but Tony Stark's tech was too damn good to leave behind. You never know when a little extra firepower might come in handy.

The drive from the suburbs was a breeze, almost suspiciously so. No thugs jumping out of the bushes, no tires screeching behind him—just the open road and the purr of the engine. But the second he rolled into the city, he caught someone's attention. High above, perched on a rooftop, a figure squinted through a spotting scope.

"Target is in sight," The figure hissed into a concealed radio. 

"All units, hold position. Keep your eyes on Leon. Check for backup. If he's alone, we move."

Obadiah Stane's crew was ready, lurking in the shadows like vultures circling a kill. They'd been itching to nab Leon ever since he became a thorn in their boss's side. But they didn't pounce—not yet. And with no immediate threat tripping his spider-sense, Leon cruised on, oblivious, his focus locked on Osborne's towering headquarters.

Getting his hands on their specialized spider silk wasn't going to be easy. The Osborne Group didn't just hand it out to just anyone. Lucky for Leon, he wasn't just anyone. Holding a 10% stake in Stark Industries gave him leverage—money and influence talks. The silk wasn't Osborne's holy grail, just a quirky byproduct of their bio-research. For the right price, they'd sell. Hell, they already had buyers lining up for it.

He pulled into a parking spot outside the gleaming glass building, killed the engine, and strolled into the lobby like he was walking onto a movie set. The doors parted smoothly, revealing a bank of step-type elevators guarded by security guards who sized up every soul who dared approach. To the right, a polished front desk gleamed under the watch of a receptionist in crisp professional attire.

Leon was halfway to the desk when a kid blew past him—backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder, chocolate-brown hair a mess, radiating that awkward high-school vibe. But something about him pinged Leon's radar. He narrowed his eyes, gears turning. 'Hold up…'

"Peter Parker," he muttered under his breath. No mistaking it—the kid was a spitting image of Spider-Man. Except this Peter didn't strut like a hero. He shuffled, head down, darting nervous glances as he made a beeline for the desk.

As Peter brushed by, Leon's curiosity got the better of him. He angled his body just enough to let their shoulders collide—nothing major, just a nudge to see what the kid was made of. Peter went down like a sack of potatoes, hitting the floor with a startled grunt.

"Whoa, you okay, buddy?" Leon asked, stepping up with a hand outstretched, his face filled with concern.

Peter blinked up at him, dazed but intact. "Uh, yeah, I'm good." He took Leon's hand, letting himself be hauled to his feet. "Thanks. You're, uh, built like a tank."

Leon flashed a grin, flexing just enough to sell it. "It's nothing. I just hit the gym a lot. Name's Leon Stark."

"Peter. Peter Parker." The kid's handshake was solid but shaky, his eyes flickering with a mix of intrigue and suspicion.

"Listen," Leon said, clapping him on the shoulder like they were old pals, "I owe you for knocking you flat. How about I treat you to lunch sometime?"

Peter's smile tightened, his defenses slamming up faster than a vault door. "No, I'm fine. No big deal." He took a step back, nodding awkwardly. "Gotta go, I am running late."

Leon Stark watched as Peter Parker bolted toward the elevator, a smirk tugging at his lips. 'Not Spider-Man yet, huh?' 

He strode toward the front desk, catching the receptionist's eye. She was a picture of professionalism—brunette, her name tag reading "Emily". Her gaze flickered with curiosity as he approached. She hadn't overheard his exchange with Peter, not from this distance, but she didn't need to. She'd recognized Peter the moment he'd walked in. Harry Osborne's best friend. 

"Hello," Leon said, his voice smooth and easy. "I'm Leon Stark. I'd like to speak with someone in charge about a potential business matter."

Emily's eyebrows lifted slightly, but she masked her surprise with a practiced smile. "Mr. Stark, of course. Please take a seat, and I'll contact the appropriate team."

Leon nodded and sank into a plush chair in the waiting area, ignoring the subtle stares from passing staff. The lobby buzzed with quiet energy—sleek marble floors, glowing screens showcasing Osborne's biotech marvels and the faint hum of elevators. He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, and let his eyes wander. 

...

Upstairs, Norman Osborne was hunched over a stack of quarterly reports when his intercom crackled to life.

"Mr. Osborne, Leon Stark here," Emily's voice reported. "He says he wants to discuss business."

Norman' stopped what he was doing 'Leon Stark? Tony's reclusive brother?' The name rang a bell, though not with the same fanfare as the genius playboy. "Tony's sibling showing up here?" he muttered to himself, eyes narrowing. "This ought to be interesting."

"Should I send him up, sir?" his assistant asked.

"No," Norman replied, standing. "I'll come down myself."

As he stepped into the elevator, his mind churned. Leon Stark was a mystery, holder of a hefty 10% of Stark Industries, yet a ghost in the corporate world. Norman knew the rumors: handsome, lazy, a lay about living off his family's fortune. But that 10% wasn't pocket change, and the Stark Group's influence was undeniable—military contracts, cutting-edge weapons, whispers of ties to secret government projects. Osborne Group, for all its biotech breakthroughs, couldn't rival that at least not yet.

The elevator hummed downward as Norman smoothed his tie. He had ambitions, though—his super soldier serum could change everything. If it worked, he'd leapfrog Stark in a heartbeat. But for now, he had to play nice. The Starks were unpredictable—Tony a volatile genius, Leon an unknown wildcard. Offending either could spark a war Osborne might not win.

And then there was an intelligence report about the Stark Group's internal mess. Norman smirked faintly. Word was, Obadiah Stane wasn't content playing second fiddle to Tony. Arms deals under the table, clashing with Tony's ideals—those two were a powder keg waiting to blow. 

Norman stepped into the lobby. His gaze locked onto Leon instantly, sitting on a sofa. Black hair, sharp facial features. 'Handsome, sure' Norman thought. 'But is there anything behind those looks?'

"Mr. Stark," Norman called, striding forward with an outstretched hand. "Welcome to Osborne Group. I'm Norman Osborne."