When Peter emerged from the police station, he learned that the guy he'd caught was Dimitri Smerdyakov, codenamed Chameleon, a former ace agent of the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service who had defected to the US. He was currently wanted by federal authorities for multiple counts of contract murder and commercial espionage.
Chameleon was a classic Spider-Man villain, though his powers were truly... unremarkable. He was essentially a low-budget Mystique; in comics and cartoons, he even needed a special belt to take photos for his transformations.
Although it seemed he didn't need that in this world. The police chief said that Chameleon had replaced his own skin with some kind of old Soviet black-tech mask and no longer had his true face—but it was strange that such a master of disguise used his real name.
"Anyway, that little impersonation incident is handled. It's a shame Mysterio seems too cautious; he already cut the connection when I tried to hack into his equipment. But since his light particle display can't fool thermal imaging, dealing with him might not be too difficult after all."
Peter checked the time after leaving the NYPD and quickly headed for school. If he didn't run into any trouble, he wouldn't be late.
Inside the NYPD, two officers watched the bored Chameleon in the holding cell, who was casually shifting his appearance: one moment a curly-haired policewoman, the next a bald detective, his skin rippling like liquid metal. They were utterly fascinated.
"So, why don't we just take off this guy's mask?"
"Didn't you hear the chief just now? The guy replaced his face with high-tech skin; it can't be removed."
As the two monitoring officers spoke, before they could finish, two unfamiliar colleagues approached. One flashed his badge and said, "The chief wants to see you two. Time for a shift change."
Once the two officers were out of sight, these "colleagues" took out keys and opened the holding cell door.
"Dimitri, Mr. Fisk is very displeased with your failure." The crooked cop who opened the door gave him a sidelong glance: "The surveillance footage in the holding cell is a pre-recorded loop. You can leave; Mr. Fisk is waiting for your reply."
Chameleon lazily stood up, his skin rippling as he perfectly replicated the appearance of one of the guards. He tugged at his uniform collar: "If Fisk knew Spider-Man's new suit could see through holograms, he wouldn't use the word 'failure.'"
The real crooked cop, whose appearance had been mimicked, dutifully walked into the holding cell and sat down. Chameleon left with the other crooked cop, asking as they walked, "Where are the others, like that damned Quentin Beck and Mac Gargan?!"
"They're already in the safe house, just waiting for you."
As they spoke, the two walked towards the exit. Suddenly, Dimitri noticed a small speck of light flickering on the crooked cop's face. He subtly warned, "Someone's aiming at us outside; I saw the reflection on your face."
"What?"
The crooked cop instinctively dodged, but it was too late. The moment he moved, a bullet that pierced the wall struck him squarely in the head. Chameleon, who had reacted a step faster and dodged behind the wall, muttered to himself as he moved along it.
"Even if you're running for your life, don't rush, especially not in front of him."
The sudden gunfire set off alarms throughout the police station. Numerous officers rushed to the scene and cordoned off the perimeter. Outside the NYPD building, the shooter's face was grim as he looked at the feedback from his equipment. The special bullet hadn't destroyed any voltage-carrying devices, meaning Chameleon hadn't been killed.
At that moment, police drones had already taken flight, capturing the image of the shooter—he wore a black leather trench coat over a black T-shirt with a large white skull. He held a terrifying anti-material sniper rifle but merely glanced calmly at the drone's camera before quickly departing. With the relayed footage, the entire police department almost descended into chaos.
"It's Frank Castle! All units, highest alert! All units, highest alert!"
Chameleon, who had already blended in with the police officers, took the opportunity to escape. He was certain he'd been targeted by the infamous "Punisher" once again. If he wanted to live, he had to find Kingpin. As for the Punisher, he didn't need to worry about him for a while; though the guy was a lunatic, he wouldn't just shoot indiscriminately.
Chameleon found a police car, expertly drove off, and entered a shopping mall. A few minutes later, a completely different person emerged. He subtly looked around, then headed towards Kingpin's properties in Hell's Kitchen.
Hours later, Chameleon, finally back at his hideout, completely dropped his disguise, revealing a white mask with only vague features attached to his face.
As soon as he returned, he immediately launched into a furious tirade, scolding the incompetent private investigator.
"What kind of investigation did you do? Nothing you found was right!"
"I told you yesterday, Spider-Man changed into a new suit! You just didn't listen!"
Gargan, of course, wouldn't take the blame. He immediately threw it back at Quentin, who, being the timid and easily scared special effects artist he was, shook his head like a rattled drum.
"It has nothing to do with me! I don't have photos, nor have I seen Spider-Man's new suit. There's no way I could have created a new model and projected it onto every scene in such a short time."
"So you're saying I'm the problem?"
Gargan grabbed Quentin, interrogating him, which scared Quentin into frantically waving his hands in apology. But Dimitri was clear: "Yes, you're the problem, you damn useless detective. Do you know how Spider-Man beat me up? With thermal imaging! You said Spider-Man was a damn poor kid who couldn't afford high-tech gear, and what happened? I got a severe beating!"
"How was I supposed to know where he got high-tech gear from? Huh? The day before, when he fought that Shocker guy, he was wearing a tattered nylon suit!"
"Alright, I didn't call you here to argue."
Kingpin's slow but authoritative roar silenced the three individuals present. The King of Hell's Kitchen, who had arrived at the scene at some point, looked at the three people he had hired at no small cost, unsure whether to be angry or disappointed.
"I hired you to eliminate Spider-Man! To eliminate this person who has caused significant trouble for my... business, not to shift blame amongst yourselves here."
Kingpin said with a touch of disappointment, then sighed helplessly: "If your framing plan, Mr. Smerdyakov, cannot succeed, then we'll switch to another plan. If Spider-Man sees you imitating him again, he'll surely come after you. We can arrange something—an abandoned construction site, a certain bridge. We can use bombs, many, many bombs, to lure Spider-Man into a trap and blow him up."
"It's not that simple. Frank Castle and I have some history; he's after me now."
Hearing that name, even Kingpin was silent for several seconds before sighing.
"Then really act out how Spider-Man does his superhero work. Strike some crime to let him know you escaped, and let him come to us for the rest."