The shattered remains of the Echo Unit sparked and hissed on the grimy dock, sending plumes of steam curling into the night air. The once-imposing exosuit was now little more than a twisted cage of fractured metal and sparking circuitry. The skull insignia on its chest flickered weakly beneath the weight of Dante's final, devastating blow—almost mocking in its persistence.
Spider-Man knelt beside the wreckage, fingers lightly tapping at the cracked chest plate, tracing circuits exposed by the damage. His voice was low and thoughtful. "This tech isn't homemade," he muttered. "Way too advanced. Military-grade stuff… maybe even S.H.I.E.L.D. at one point."
Daredevil leaned against a nearby crate, arms crossed, his voice deep and steady. "Someone's feeding Phantom more than just muscle and mercenaries."
Dante's gaze stayed fixed on the space where Phantom's hologram had vanished only moments ago—the smug grin, the calm, unnerving certainty like the man already knew Dante would win this fight. That chilling confidence wasn't arrogance; it was a calculated move. Phantom expected Dante to succeed because it meant his next plan could unfold.
"He's testing me," Dante said quietly, his voice rough with exhaustion and something colder, more determined. "Every encounter, every fight with his mercs—it's all data. He's mapping out exactly what I can do."
Daredevil's eyes narrowed. "And you're passing every test. That's what worries me the most."
A distant wail echoed through the city—the faint but growing sound of sirens converging on their location.
Spider-Man stood up from the wreckage and casually flipped up onto a nearby crate, eyes scanning the horizon. "We should bounce. No offence to the boys in blue, but I'd rather not have to explain why there's a pile of unconscious cyborgs and one busted war mech in a city dockyard."
Daredevil nodded in agreement, then turned toward Dante. "Come on. We regroup. We need intel—something concrete—before we can plan the next strike."
Dante cast one last look at the sparking chest plate, the faint flicker of the skull insignia still glowing like a dying ember. Then he turned away. He was done playing defence.
Back at the safehouse—a bare-bones apartment tucked above a shuttered bookshop in Hell's Kitchen—the three of them gathered around a battered table cluttered with laptops, wires, and half-empty coffee cups. The air was thick with tension and the scent of stale caffeine.
Spider-Man carefully extracted the data core from the Echo Unit's chest and plugged it into an encrypted reader.
"This thing is firewalled tighter than Fort Knox," he said, opening his laptop. "I'm not a hacker—at least, not like the pros—but I know enough nerd tricks to crack a corporate vault in my sleep."
Lines of indecipherable code streamed across the screen—red warnings blinking, then green confirmations as systems unlocked. The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on the scrolling data.
"There," Spider-Man said, fingers pausing. "Got a partial list. Check this out."
Names. Dozens of them. Codenames, unit numbers, operational statuses.
"Echo Units 01 through 11: Active. Locations scrambled," he read aloud. "Project Overseer: Phantom. Project Classification: Off-Grid Experimental Combat Division."
Daredevil leaned in close, voice low but sharp. "Off-grid means off-book. No official trail. This isn't just mercenaries with toys. Someone's building these soldiers—military-grade, but without the chain of command."
Dante swallowed hard, the weight of the revelation settling like a stone in his gut. "Who?" he asked, voice clipped. "Phantom? Or whoever's backing him?"
Spider-Man scrolled down further. "This isn't just one isolated programme. It's a fragment of something bigger. And—oh crap."
He swivelled the laptop to face them both.
"Project REVERB", Spider-Man read. "Status: Reactivated. Primary Target: Dante [Adaptive Type — Level Unknown]. Secondary Directive: 'Initiate Capture or Forced Integration'".
Dante's heart slammed against his ribs, breath caught in his throat.
"They're not just tracking me," he said, voice low but fierce. "They want to control me."
Daredevil stepped back, fists clenched tight at his sides. "This is more than Phantom. This is black ops. Government-adjacent or worse. They're weaponising your ability."
Spider-Man leaned back, unease darkening his tone. "They want to plug your powers into their weapons program. Turn you from the hunter into the hunted—and then make you their ultimate weapon."
The weight of that realisation crushed Dante. His chest tightened painfully. This wasn't a hunt for survival anymore. It was about repurposing him as a tool.
"I'm not going to be their blueprint," Dante growled, eyes burning with resolve. "I'll burn the whole thing down before I let that happen."
Spider-Man nodded slowly, a steely glint in his eyes. "Then we hit them first."
The next days were a blur of planning, reconnaissance, and tense moments where the three of them blended into the shadows of the city. Dante trained his senses, pushing his Shock Feedback skill further, knowing every use brought him closer to the next upgrade. His system whispered promises of power, but he didn't forget the cost.
At night, the city hummed with danger and secrets. Phantom's forces moved with ruthless efficiency, and the splintered programs behind Project REVERB spread their tendrils deep into every corner of Hell's Kitchen.
"You're getting stronger," Daredevil observed one evening during a sparring session in the safehouse's small makeshift gym. "Your adaptations are accelerating. But don't let it blind you."
Dante wiped sweat from his brow, breathing heavily. "I'm not blind. Just tired of running."
Spider-Man swung in through the open window shortly after, landing lightly on the floor. "Got something. A lead."
He dropped a folder on the table, the edges worn but the seal unbroken.
"Inside is the address of one of their facilities," Spider-Man said. "Small, off the grid. Maybe where they're building the next batch of Echo Units."
Daredevil's face tightened. "Then it's time to go on the offensive."
Dante felt the surge of adrenaline, the familiar rush of impending battle. But beneath it was something new—a determination not just to survive but to end this. To stop being the subject of someone else's experiment.
"I'm done waiting," he said, voice steady. "Let's make sure they remember the name Dante."
As they geared up, the city's night swallowed them whole. A trio of unlikely allies united by survival, vengeance, and an unyielding will to fight against the darkness creeping closer.