Chapter 1 – JJ, Grandson of JJJ

Waking up in New York City, in 2013, in a world where Tony Stark exists is still baffling to an Ohioan from a non-Marvel world like me, even after fifteen years of living here. Waking up in the big downtown apartment of Internet-infamous J. Jonah Jameson as his grandson was even stranger.

There'd just be some things I'd never get used to, I supposed. I'd never get used to the long, angular face staring back at me in the mirror, with that light brown, curly hair instead of the dark brown, nearly black and straight hair I'd spent the first eighteen years of my existence with. I'd never get used to being taller than most other people my age instead of either the same height or shorter, and even though I was entering my first year at Midtown High, I still hadn't gotten used to going to sleep with the sounds of the city that never sleeps constantly in my ear.

Also, having to suffer through elementary and high school all over again was not fun at all. At least I had another opportunity to go on Foreign Exchange again, which I would absolutely be taking. God, that had been fun the first time around.

"Jack!" my grandfather's booming voice came from the room below me. "I have a very important meeting tonight with some construction workers who understand the dangers posed by the Avengers—those vigilante menaces! I won't be driving you home from school, so you'll have to walk by yourself!"

I rolled my eyes. Classic J. Jon—I mean, Grandpa. God, it feels weird calling him grandpa. "Sure, whatever, Grandpa," I groaned a bit. Ever since the Incident, as the world had taken to calling that time when aliens fell upon Hell's Kitchen through a portal in the sky, my grandfather had been furiously ranting against the Earth's mightiest heroes. He wrote tons of disparaging articles against everyone but Captain America, and even then that was only because in his words, "Captain America has an excuse because he was an actual army captain!"

"Love you, Jack! Have fun at school!"

Ugh. School. Please, dad, don't remind me. "Probably not," I joked back in response.

I sat eating a breakfast steak-and-egg meal that dad had ordered from a nearby restaurant for me, musing over what I needed to do for the rest of the day. I had homework to turn in for my Geometry and Physics courses, soccer practice after the school day ended, and… Oh, shit. The interview was today! Panicking a bit, because I still wasn't finished with breakfast and I needed to pack up my suit and tie for the interview, I rushed into my bedroom to fetch said suit.

Oh, did I forget to mention that? Yeah. I was a journalist, too—well, an aspiring journalist, anyway. I was a part of Midtown High's Youth Journalism program, and through it, I'd been set up to interview Norman Osborn.

That was one of the weirdest sentences of my life, right up there with aliens fell out of the sky and attacked Hell's Kitchen.

The day passed slowly, my nerves crawling underneath my skin. I was about to meet the man who'd become the Green Goblin—probably. If the comics and past Spider-Man movies were anything to go by. I kept twirling a pencil between my fingers, and halfway through English, accidentally did it too fast. The pencil flung through the air and almost hit the class beauty, Leanne Hahn. Whoopsie. I kept playing awkwardly in soccer practice.

Finally, soccer practice ended, and I rushed into the locker room to change into my suit and tie.

"Wow, Jackie, you clean up nice," Nick Hardman, who was my best friend in this world and who had the second most unfortunate name ever behind Richard Hardman, wolf-whistled. He stood in front of his locker, drinking from a water bottle. When I finished showering and came out of the bathroom attached to the locker room in my suit and tie, he rose an eyebrow and clapped me on the shoulder. "Lookin' good there, my man."

I rolled my eyes. "God, Nick, you know I hate being called Jackie."

"But it's your name," Nick countered cheekily.

"I know, but it's a girl's name. For the… what, nine hundredth time now? Call me Jack or JJ."

"Will do, Jackie."

Little shit. My eye twitched a bit. Nick was a nice guy, super loyal and dependable, but he definitely had his annoying side. While, I guess I did, too, though. Like, my entire being, for example. Maybe that was why we made such great friends—we annoyed the hell outta each other. A little counterproductive? Maybe, but who gives a shit? It's high school. High schoolers are allowed to be a little counterproductive. Besides, Nick was great at Smash Bros.

…Though he mained all the zoning characters. Little shit.

"So, off to your big interview?" Nick asked as I walked out. He slung his bookbag over his shoulders and took a sip of water, then walked out behind me, across the cement blocks leading from the locker room to the school parking lot. "Norman Osborn… man o' mystery. The genius millionaire who's the closest thing Tony Stark has to competition. You scored big!"

"I got lucky," I corrected, smirking. I swallowed and nodded. "But, yeah. Tonight's interview night."

"Neat," Nick approved, nodding. "Get me a signed souvenir, huh?"

"Sure, sure. I Went to Oscorp and All I Got Was This T-Shirt."

"I'm looking forward to it!" Nick laughed as he raced ahead of me to wear his mom waited for him in her old '67 Chevy.

Relaxed somewhat thanks to Nick, I headed off into town. I boarded the metro and hitched a ride into the heart of the city, where Oscorp's HQ was located. It was a tall skyrise, towering over the rest of the buildings and absolutely dwarfing me. I always felt like an ant in this city. I wasn't sure if I liked that feeling or not.

Hesitating a bit, I walked toward the big, rotating glass doors of the Oscorp Tower. Oscorp HQ looked rich; it had marble floors, and big, golden chandeliers hanging from the walls. To the left sat two vending machines, one selling candy, chips, and snacks, the other selling drinks like water, iced coffee, and soda. Rows of long seats with what looked like leather cushions sat 'round tables, and the backs of the seats had charging ports; several scientists in white lab coats sat huddled around one table, eating Chinese takeout and talking over some blueprints. A brilliant, royal purple rug stretched out to the front desk. To the right was the entrance to the first floor bathrooms, and further from the door, the entrance to the elevator. On either side of the front desk was a stairwell; the one on the left side went down and read To Archives and Library while the one on the right side went up and was labeled To Offices, Labs, and Penthouse.

Holy shit, Oscorp HQ had its own library? Color me impressed.

"Hello, sir," the lady at the front desk greeted. "How may I help you today?"

I nodded, reached into my backpack, and pulled out the paper that the teacher in charge of the journalism club had given me, signed by Norman Osborn himself. "I have an interview with Norman Osborn scheduled at five, ma'am, for my school newspaper."

The blonde woman—Karen, according to her nametag—took the paper and glanced it over. "Ah, Jackie Jameson, through the partnership with Midtown High." She smiled at me and nodded. "I'll buzz Mr. Osborn and let him know you've arrived. Have a seat in the meantime. If you need any snacks, feel free to use the vending machine."

"Thanks, um, Karen," I said with a smile and a nod. I made my way over to the cushiony seats—Jesus Christ they were soft—and snacked on a KitKat bar. I sat in silence, lost in my own thoughts, and as they often tended to when I found myself alone, they started to stray. The sweet chocolate on my tongue tasted delightful, but distracted me enough that I didn't hear the person behind me until she said:

"Jackie? I've let Mr. Osborn know you've arrived. He expects you on the penthouse floor in the room immediately on the right. It'll have a nameplate on it that says it's his personal office."

I jumped a little and turned, blushing. That was embarrassing, getting scared like that. I smiled at Karen the Front Desk Lady and nodded. "Thank you."

"And here's a card so that you can access the penthouse floor," she added, smiling at me and handing me a green card with the white Oscorp logo on the front and a mag strip on the back. "Please return it when your interview is over."

"Can do, thanks," I agreed, taking the card, pulling my wallet out, and slipping it in. She returned to the front desk, and I headed over to the elevator. It had a massive amount of numbers for floors, as well as buttons labeled P, G, and S. I didn't know what the S stood for, but I guessed G meant Ground and P meant Penthouse. I pressed the P button and found myself with a—surprisingly short elevator ride, actually, considering the 90 floors it has.

…The elevator played a remixed elevator music version of Iron Man.

Not what I was expecting for Tony Stark's closest competitor but okay, whatever. Sure. Or, wait, actually, thinking about it, it kind of made sense why a song about an "Iron Man" being unloved and unwanted would be something Norman Osborn would love to have in his elevator.

A ding rang out as the elevator stopped, and I left, finding myself in a waiting room with a fancy red and gold-trimmed carpet, as well as a locked door in front of me. I walked forward, swiped my card along the card detector next to the door, and the stainless steel colored doors slid open to the side. I stepped through, found the door with Osborn's nameplate on it, and entered.

It was a large office with two bookshelves on the right, and on the opposite wall, a picture of a woman who I assumed was Norman's wife, and a picture of what looked to be Harry Osborn. Potted plants were spaced evenly around the pictures, as well as small waiting couches. Two chairs were pulled up to the front of Norman's desk, the latest and highest-end model of the Oscomputer 11X (I did not like how that rolled off the tongue, and had a few choice alternate name suggestions) sat on his desk, and he'd mounted a widescreen 4k OsTV Infinite on the wall next to the door.

The OsTV Infinite was a much better name than the Oscomputer 11X, I'll give him that.

Norman Osborn himself sat behind the desk in a chair that looked more expensive than my whole house had been in my last life. A full glass wall illuminated him from behind, giving a truly beautiful view of Midtown Manhattan. He smiled at me and nodded. "Hello—Jackie, right? I have fifteen minutes before my next appointment, so I must forgive you if the interview won't be as long as you'd like; I'm afraid I'm a busy man."

I cringed a bit at the use of my full name. "Please, just call me Jack or JJ."

Norman nodded and motioned to the right. "Would you like a drink?" he asked, and I blinked, following the area he'd indicated and staring. There was a glass door, the kind you'd find on a vending machine, and a panel with a down arrow button and an up arrow button hugging a screen vertically. It also had a red button on the left corner. "Head up to that screen and go ahead and tell it what you'd like to drink. Tony Stark isn't the only one with a natural language UI."

"Whoa, no kidding," I said, raising an eyebrow. I walked up to it and paused as the screen blinked on.

"Hello, my name is G.E.R.T.Y.," the intelligent system greeted me, startling me a bit. I blinked a few times at it, awed. "What can I do for you today?"

"Uh, I'd like you to get me something, G.E.R.T.Y.," I responded, nodding. "How about a wa—" Some spit or something must've caught in my throat, because I felt something moist in there and started coughing mid-sentence. I bent over a bit, blinking in surprise, and shook my head. "—water." The word had come out kinda mangled because of the cough, and for a second I thought the UI. might need a second response, but the screen turned into a white background with a green checkmark.

"Understood, sir. Coming right up." The robotic voice stopped speaking.

I paused and glanced at Norman. "How long—" As soon as that had left my lips, the vending machine-like door slid open, and I spun around to see a glass filled with water sitting there. It was a bit tall and thin, but I blinked and shrugged. I took the glass to my lips, started drinking, and paused. It tasted kind of… sweet. Frowning, because I hadn't really been wanting that, I shrugged and placed the glass back in the clamper it had come in. It lowered quickly, vanishing.

"Alright, what would you like to ask about?" Norman asked amiably, and I blinked and nodded, going over to sit down in one of those chairs in front of the desk.

"Ah, yes, I'd like to style my interview over the up and coming Oscon that's going to be airing in two months," I told him, scratching my cheek. I sat my backpack down next to the chair, pulled out my yellow notebook, and took out a Sharpie pen. "With the Stark Expo right around the corner, what events do you have planned for this year's Oscon to counter?"

Norman's eyes lit up, and he sat forward in his chair. The man looked just like that guy who played Jamie Lannister in The Game of Thrones—what was his name… Waldau? Yeah, Waldau. If his hair was black instead of blonde, anyway. His eyes looked interested, but they were really deep, and had something in them that made it seem like he wasn't fully here. "Ah, Oscon 2013! Now that is an interesting topic. As many people are aware, I am working on the next Oscomputer, code name SESHAT. Its design is finished, and we're currently finishing up on the software, but it'll be present at the Oscon." He rattled off a few other mainstream products that'd be appearing—his company's own foray into the video game industry, aka the Genie Generations; his series of home security devices; and his wife's new clothes lineup.

I also asked a few other questions—What kinds of specs can we expect to see in the Genie Generations? Why was it delayed after having been revealed at E3 last year and set to release in February? Does the SESHAT have a working title decided upon? And last but not least—

"There have lately been rumors you're dabbling in chemistry," I asked, noticing how Norman grew oddly still. "Can you give us any hint if those rumors are true? And if so, what kinds of things are you working on?"

"I'm afraid those rumors are baseless," Norman sighed, shrugging. "You know the Internet—rumor mills do what rumor mills do best. The age of information is also the age of lies and false leaks. Our previous console didn't have a paywall for the internet, and I'm not dabbling in chemistry."

I tapped my pen against my chin. "Even though public reports show that Oscorp HQ has taken on scientists who worked with Bruce Banner, who turned into the Hulk last year?"

Norman's face grew stormy and annoyed. "They have backgrounds in engineering; that is why I hired them. Do you have any other questions?" His voice was gruff, and highly indicative that he didn't want to continue any further.

Hmmm… interesting. I studied him for a few moments, then shrugged and nodded. "Fair enough," I concluded, scribbling down his response on my paper. Norman glanced at the time on his wrist watch (also Os brand, of course).

"Well, I'm afraid we're out of time. I hope your story goes well, and don't forget to leave Karen the entry card."

"Thank you for letting me interview you," I said, letting out a breath of nerves now that I could leave. I snapped my notebook shut, slipped it in my backpack, and swiftly left after sticking my pen into the little pouch on the front of my backpack. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Osborn, sir."

"Likewise," he said, though the smile he plastered on didn't quite reach his eyes.

As I closed the door to his office and returned to the elevator, I thought back over the interview. I'd been keeping a close tab on important figures from the Marvel world that I'd caught wind of, which was how I knew about those hires I'd asked Norman about. I wanted to be as well-informed as I possibly could be; the last movie that had come out for me before I'd died the first time around was Infinity War. I had no idea what to expect from Endgame outside of the few trailers and fan theorizing that had been going on, and had absolutely zero clue what the MCUverse would look like spanning out past that. Any information I could gather, since by the way Tony Stark looked exactly like Robert Downey Jr. I strongly guessed I was in the MCU, was more than welcome.

Strange, though, that my grandfather still looked exactly like Simmons.

As I thought over this and other multiverse-related things, I winced and cracked my back. It felt… weird. Uncomfortable. Cracking it felt nice, but it didn't change much. I distracted myself from the strange feeling in my spine by listening to the elevator music, which had changed to a remix of Africa by Toto.

The feeling went away after a moment, but as the floor count changed from 20 to 19 to 18, I blinked and canted my head to the side. I reached up to my ear, stuck a finger in like a Q-tip, and cleaned it out a bit. I blinked again and glanced around, swallowing. Why were the sounds of the gears, belts, and metal grinding against metal in the elevator shaft so damn loud? They'd been pretty much impossible to hear inside the elevator box when I first went up to the penthouse. What was going on? Was it some kind of equipment malfunction?

My heart fluttered fearfully in my chest.

Shit, I didn't want to die like this—well, die again, really! Dying hurt like hell!

The moment the box finally reached the ground floor, I hightailed it out of there, a bit surprised myself at how quickly I sprinted out. Karen the Front Desk lady looked taken aback as I slapped the card on the desk. "Is everything alright?" she asked, brows knitting.

"I-I think you guys need to work on your elevator," I gulped, sweating a bit. I'd never been one to be afraid of elevators, enclosed spaces, or heights, but that had been terrifying. "B-bye!"

I could feel her confusion as I left, and I quickly hurried to the doors. I wasn't quite focused on where I was going; my senses were all weird, somehow, and I felt like they were slowly growing louder and louder. I could hear the bites of Chinese takeout that those scientists who sat around the tables took; an office lady and man came down the stairs, and I could hear their conversation like I stood right beside them. I flinched as someone pressed the button on the vending machine, ordering a soda; the sound of it was like someone had placed my ear right up against it and blown the volume up.

What in the world was going on!?

Suddenly, the sounds of the building dulled and I found myself blinking rapidly as light bore into my eyes. Super strong scents of burnt gasoline and fresh hot dogs barreled into my nose; flinching back, I struck something hard and thin behind me, yelping. "Ow!" I cried, nursing my head and turning in surprise—

Oh, that was the turning glass door. Wait, I'd already made it outside? That explained all the smells, and the sounds of those people yelling about bad driving. I hadn't even noticed I'd made it out. I stumbled backwards. I nearly bumped into someone, but suddenly my instincts flared up and I swerved out of the way.

"Whoa, watch it!" the pedestrian gaped, staring at me. "Weirdo…"

I took a few deep breaths, shaking my head and rubbing it. "S-Sorry…"

Not quite knowing what to do about this, I took a few more deep breaths and was pleased to find that my senses grew—well, not quite normal, but more manageable, at least. I ducked my head and hurried quickly back towards the metro station.

What was happening to me? Why were all my senses so hyperactive? And—why were all my thoughts so loud!?

After a few minutes and a few more deep breaths, I once again felt normal enough that I wasn't too concerned. Feeling more relaxed thanks to the interview being over and my senses back to usual, I paused in the street and considered what I should do next. I could go home, or… I bit my lip, mood dropping.

Or… I could always go to the Queens Med Center.

God, I hated going to the Med Center.

There was a reason why I lived with only my grandfather. It wasn't a pleasant one. My father died when I was young in this world, and grandpa basically became my surrogate dad. I didn't remember my father at all… only vague memories. A small smile, warm, brown eyes… Nothing solid. And I didn't like bringing up the subject; my grandfather always got this pained, sad, far-away look in his eyes.

And my mother? She's why I hated visiting the Med Center.

...I hadn't seen her in a month. I hesitated, and almost went down into the metro. My morals and self-worth battled for a few minutes, and at last my morals won out. I turned back down the street, headed toward the Queens Med Center.

(I did buy a hotdog from a street vendor on the way, though; hey, I was hungry!)

A few minutes later, I arrived at the doorstep of the hospital, taking a deep breath. This was my last chance; I still didn't have to visit her. I hadn't called her or anything. Who knew if she'd even be awake? Half the time, she wasn't; more than half the time, even.

I swallowed, shook my head, and entered.

Hospitals always have a certain stink to them—the stench of being too clean. Personally, I hated the smell. I hadn't minded it much in my past life, but in this life, I couldn't help but link it with the pain I always felt entering this damn place. Shoulders scrunched up, I shuffled to the front desk. "Name's Jackie Jameson," I murmured.

There were several ladies handling things, but the one I had walked up to, I recognized. She'd worked there for quite a few years; she was middle-aged, somewhat on the shorter side, had beautiful ebony skin, and a really nice smile. She'd become something of a family friend and used to bake me cookies for the family tradition of visiting the day after my birthday. "Ah, hey, JJ," she greeted warmly as I shifted about from foot to foot. "Haven't seen you in a while. It's nice to see you. You know what floor your mom's on. Go on and go ahead."

"Right," I mumbled, nodding a short, awkward nod. "Thanks."

I took the stairs to the second floor—where they housed the invalids—and my mood sunk more with each step. I rounded a corner, and arrived at room 234; Tessie Jameson, the nameplate on the door read. Hating the fact that I was here, and hating myself for hating that, I opened the door and stepped through.

Entering my mom's hospital room felt like entering a tomb.

It was almost always dark when I entered, even the blinds shut. If the lights were on while she slept, my mom got terrible nightmares. It smelled… well, not good. My mom couldn't exactly clean herself properly. Not since… Well. Not since Iraq.

My mom had been a soldier fighting in the Iraq war. That was how she'd met my dad; war romance and all that sappy, love-story stuff. She'd been a pretty decorated soldier, too—super good at her job.

Then, during one of her rare visits back home, my family had received a mysterious package in the mail. I'd been the one to find it; I'd thought little of it at the time. I'd been a six-year-old kid, still slowly regaining my old memories and suffering from the slight confusion that having two conflicting pools of memories gave. I didn't question the mysterious brown package with the odd shape filling it, and brought it in the house as my mom finished up getting ready to go out to eat with us. I had placed it on the table, walked out to the car, and a few minutes later...

The authorities later said it had been sent by jihadists seeking revenge on my mom. It hadn't killed her as they'd been hoping, but it had caused her severe enough brain damage that she'd been reduced to the state she remained in these days.

My fault.

I sat in a visitor's chair, staring sadly at my mother. Darkness suited this place, I decided; as much as it made the room feel like a tomb, it helped hide my mother's face. It helped make it so that I couldn't see her disfigured forehead, eye, and nose as easily. And as grateful as I was for that… shame ate away at me.

Mom stirred a little, and not wanting to be there while she was awake, I got up, swallowing a lump in my throat.

Time to go.

"...M-Mom, I'm…" I started to apologize. I froze, the words catching in my throat, and shaking my head at myself, I hurried out of there. Down the stairs, through the lobby, and out the door… I only felt like myself again when I had emerged onto the streets of the Big Apple.

Deep breath, Jackie. In, out. In, out…

Alright.

I rounded the corner of the block and almost ran down the street. I wanted to get as far away as quickly as possible, because I felt terrible. I took a shortcut, ducking through an alley, and emerged on the other side, lost in worry.

The sky above slowly grew dark. It was about six-thirty, now, after all, and the sun was low enough that the streets were covered in shadows. Evenings in New York always had lots of shadows because of all the high rises… Another thing I still had to adjust to.

Alright, school was done, the interview had ended, and my visit to mom went… well… Kind of. So… unless I wanted to grab a few bags of candy, first, it was time to return home.

Pausing, I frowned and shrugged. I did want candy, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to spend some time getting it… As I walked, I didn't quite pay attention, but maybe I should have because—

LOOK OUT!

My senses absolutely SCREAMED at me. My head whipped around in the direction they were freaking out over, and my skin crawled. I stood in the middle of the street, and a green Ford bore down at me. Shit, shit, shit! I froze, fear rooting me in place like a deer in the headlights. The driver looked down, probably at his phone or something, and had no idea he would run me over unless he stopped now.

If I died again, was I going to reincarnate in another world? Or would I die for real? Time slowed down. Or, that's how it seemed, anyway. Shit, shit, shit...

I was going to die, I was going to die, there wasn't any time to dodge and I was going to die—

A small part of me shut down the part that currently freaked the fuck out. No. I was not going to die. Not again. Not in a painful way like this. I growled, an almost animalistic sound rumbling out of me, and around me, it felt like the pavement and sidewalk nearby started moving downward. I could feel my arms grow hairier, bulge in size. I could feel power rip through my body, bursting the clothes I had on and leaving them hanging in tatters around my arms and waist. My backpack felt WAY too small on me, hugging my arms tight and threatening to restrict circulation. I let out a defiant roar, and not quite knowing what had overcome me, I planted my feet on the ground, then shoved my hands forward.

CRUNCH.

My whole body shivered with the force of the car ramming into my hands, and the sound of asphalt tearing underneath my feet filled the street. My palms dented the car from the sheer force, and I slid back a few feet, the car pushing against me. In the driver's seat, the guy looking at his phone lurched horribly, then finally glanced up and paled. I could feel the moment he slammed on his breaks thanks to the decrease in force I had to push against, and I let out another defiant roar as I finally slid to a stop.

At last, everything calmed down, and my blood stopped pounding in my ears. Full awareness of the situation returned to me, and for a moment, I just stood there, hands still pressed into the dents they'd made in the car, shocked. When the hell did I get that strong? Then I glanced down at my arms—quickly glanced back up at the windshield of the car I'd stopped, and stared.

The face and body of a gorilla stood in place of where my reflection should have been, and my arms were super bulky and hairy. My hands looked exactly like a gorilla's.

S-Shit.

I stumbled back, shaking my head in equal parts disbelief and panic. I was a gorilla!? The hell!?

Absolutely freaking out, I turned, ran onto the sidewalk on all fours, and pounded down the road. My new, strong legs shook the cars around me as I rushed away.

This was not how I wanted to spend my Tuesday!