Greetings, True Believers!
Thank you for returning to the Midwestverse (Earth-9920) as the threads of our story begin to converge. I want to take a moment to apologize for the delay in posting—there isn't a consistent schedule for updates just yet, but I promise they'll be worth the wait.
Your feedback and support mean the world to me, so don't forget to rate and review (R+R)! Every comment inspires future adventures and keeps the Midwestverse alive and thriving.
As always... Excelsior!
COLLISION COURSE
The Missouri River churned below the bridge, its dark waters catching the fading light of day. Sirens wailed, lights flashed, and the voices of emergency responders echoed in desperation. At the center of the chaos, a sedan teetered precariously on the edge, its front half dangling over the river like a toy balanced on a tightrope.
The vehicle groaned ominously, the metal straining against gravity. Inside, a young girl screamed, her tiny fists pounding against the window. Her tear-streaked face was pressed against the glass as her cries grew hoarse. In the driver's seat, her mother slumped against the deflated airbag, blood trickling down her face. The faint rise and fall of her chest were the only signs of life.
"We can't touch it!" a police officer shouted into his radio. "The car's too unstable—if we add any weight, it'll go over!"
"Then what are we supposed to do?" a firefighter snapped, throwing his helmet down. "We can't just stand here while they—"
A loud creak from the car cut him off, and the group tensed as the vehicle shifted slightly forward. Gasps rippled through the crowd of onlookers as the child inside screamed again, her small voice barely audible over the chaos.
The rhythmic chopping of helicopter blades added a new layer of noise as a local news chopper circled above. Inside, veteran reporter Donna Greene leaned toward the camera feed, her voice crackling through the live broadcast.
"We're live over the Missouri River, where a sedan hangs dangerously off the edge of the bridge," she began. "Emergency crews are on scene, but the situation looks grim. Officials have deemed the vehicle too unstable to approach. A child and her unconscious mother remain trapped inside, and time is running out."
The camera zoomed in on the car, the girl's small form barely visible through the glare of the windshield. Donna's voice tightened as she continued. "You can see the child pounding on the window, clearly terrified. The mother appears unresponsive. It's unclear how much longer this vehicle will hold before it plunges into the river."
Among the onlookers gathered at a distance, Fred Dukes stood silently. At 8 feet tall and nearly a thousand pounds, his hulking frame loomed over the crowd. Despite his size, he seemed almost invisible at first, his weathered flannel shirt and slumped shoulders blending him into the background. But as the girl's cries echoed over the commotion, something shifted in his expression.
Fred let his duffel bag drop to the pavement with a dull thud and began walking toward the barricades. His boots hit the asphalt with quiet authority, each step heavy and deliberate.
"Wait a moment," Donna's voice cut in again. "It looks like someone is approaching the scene. Is that… one of the responders? No, it appears to be a bystander—a very large bystander."
Fred's massive form caught the attention of the police, and an officer ran to intercept him, craning his neck to meet Fred's calm but unyielding gaze.
"This is an active scene!" the officer barked, his hand hovering over his holster. "You'll make it worse!"
Fred stopped, towering over the man. His deep voice rumbled like distant thunder, carrying quiet certainty. "If I don't, they're dead. Your call."
The officer faltered, the murmurs of the crowd growing louder as tension rippled through the air. After a long beat, he stepped aside, his shoulders slumping in reluctant surrender.
"Oh my," Donna said, her voice filled with disbelief. "This man—this giant—is walking directly toward the vehicle. He's not a first responder. Who is he, and what is he planning to do?"
Fred crouched at the rear of the car, his immense hands curling around the crumpled bumper. The steel looked fragile in his grasp, his fingers digging into the warped metal like it was nothing more than wet clay.
"Unbelievable," Donna continued, her voice rising. "It looks like he's trying to move the car with his bare hands. I—can this even be real?"
Fred planted his feet and pulled. The car shifted instantly, the motion smooth and controlled as though it weighed nothing at all. With a few steady steps backward, Fred brought the entire vehicle onto solid ground, the front tires settling with a dull thud.
"He's done it!" Donna exclaimed, the disbelief in her tone giving way to awe. "He just moved that car—pulled it back onto the bridge like it was a piece of furniture. Ladies and gentlemen, I don't know what we're witnessing, but this is extraordinary."
The crowd broke into cheers, but Fred didn't seem to notice. His focus remained on the girl inside, her small face pressed against the window as her wide eyes locked onto his massive frame.
Fred moved to the driver's side, crouching beside the crumpled roof. "Hey," he said gently, his deep voice cutting through her fear. "I've got you. Just hold on."
The girl hesitated, her trembling hands hovering above the window, but she nodded faintly. Fred gripped the twisted steel of the roof, his massive hands curling into the jagged edges. With a single, effortless motion, he peeled it back, the metal screeching as it gave way. He tossed the debris aside, the sound echoing across the bridge like a gunshot.
Reaching in, Fred cradled the girl carefully, his enormous hands dwarfing her small frame. She clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder as her sobs wracked her tiny body.
"He's got her!" Donna's voice rang out from the chopper. "He's pulled the child from the wreckage. Look at how gently he's holding her. It's hard to believe someone so massive can be so careful."
Fred carried her to the waiting firefighters, crouching to set her down. "You're safe now," he said softly. "Stay with them."
The girl didn't take her eyes off him, even as the responders surrounded her. Fred turned back to the car, where the mother remained slumped in her seat. He reached for the seatbelt, but his thick fingers fumbled with the small latch.
"No time for this," he muttered under his breath, gripping the base of the seat instead. With a sharp pull, the bolts groaned and snapped, and Fred lifted the entire seat free, the woman still strapped in.
"He's carrying the mother out now," Donna narrated, her voice tinged with awe. "He just tore the seat out of the car like it was paper. This… I don't have words."
Fred set the seat down near the medics, stepping back as they swarmed around the unconscious woman. The girl ran to her side, clutching her hand as the EMTs worked.
Fred ignored the cheers, the flashing lights, and the murmurs of astonishment. He walked back to his bag, slinging it over his shoulder without looking back.
"Wait!" the girl's voice cut through the noise, stopping him.
Fred turned to see her running after him. She skidded to a halt, staring up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice trembling. "You saved us."
Fred crouched, his massive hand resting gently on her shoulder. "Stay safe, kid," he said quietly.
She nodded, her lip quivering, as Fred rose to his full height without another word.
The Missouri River churned below the bridge, its dark waters fading into the night as sirens wailed and emergency lights painted the scene in hues of red and blue. The tension that had gripped the crowd began to dissolve into cheers and murmurs of awe as Fred Dukes turned away from the medics and the family he had just saved.
The girl, now clutching her mother's hand, watched him intently, her tear-streaked face glowing in the harsh spotlight of the news helicopter. She whispered something to her mother, who nodded weakly, her lips trembling with unspoken gratitude.
Fred adjusted the strap of his duffel bag and began walking toward the edge of the crowd. His immense frame cast a long shadow across the bridge, and the pavement beneath him groaned faintly with each step. But this time, he didn't go unnoticed.
People surged toward him, cautiously at first, but with growing enthusiasm. Hands reached out to touch his broad shoulders, his thick arms. A man clapped him on the back, his voice full of emotion. "You're incredible, man. That was unreal."
A woman in a business suit squeezed his forearm briefly, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Thank you. You saved them—thank you."
Fred gave a faint nod, avoiding eye contact as he kept moving. The crowd's attention, the gratitude, it all felt strange. Uncomfortable. He wasn't used to this.
Near the barricade, the same police officer who had tried to stop him earlier stepped forward. His posture was different now, his shoulders no longer tense, his expression softened with a mix of awe and respect.
"You're a hero, son," the officer said, his voice steady but kind. He extended a hand, hesitating for a moment as if unsure how to properly thank a man so massive. "What's your name?"
Fred stopped, his massive form towering over the officer. For a moment, he seemed ready to give an answer. His lips parted, and the name "Fred" nearly slipped out.
But he stopped himself. His gaze flicked to the news chopper hovering overhead, the cameras fixed on him. He thought about the life he was trying to leave behind—the name "Fred Dukes" tied to a history he wasn't proud of. A history he didn't want following him into this new beginning.
He hesitated just long enough for the officer to notice, then squared his shoulders. "Blob," he said simply. His deep voice rumbled with quiet finality.
The officer blinked, then gave a short nod. "Well, Blob… whatever your name is, you did good tonight."
Fred didn't respond. He adjusted the strap of his duffel bag and turned, the crowd parting instinctively as he walked away. Their cheers grew louder, a mix of awe, gratitude, and bewilderment. The girl's voice carried faintly over the noise.
"Thank you," she called again, her small voice trembling with sincerity.
Fred paused for a moment, turning his head just enough to glance back at her. He raised one hand in a subtle gesture of acknowledgment, then continued forward, his towering frame disappearing into the shadows.
Behind him, the crowd buzzed with excitement, and Donna Greene's voice crackled through the live broadcast.
"Blob," she said, repeating the name as if testing its weight. "The man they're calling the 'human blob' has disappeared into the night, leaving behind nothing but astonished onlookers and two lives forever changed. Hero doesn't feel like a strong enough word for what we've seen here tonight."
As Fred's footsteps faded, the bridge returned to its usual chaos, the police and medics refocusing on their duties. But for the crowd and those watching from afar, the image of the giant man who moved a car like it was weightless and saved two lives without hesitation would linger long after the sirens faded.
/ / /
The warm hum of the cafe was interrupted by the animated voice of Ryan, one of the baristas. "Did you see this guy?" he said, nodding toward the TV mounted on the wall. The screen showed grainy footage of Fred Dukes gripping a mangled car, his massive frame dwarfing the vehicle as he hauled it back onto solid ground. "They're calling him the Human Blob. Dude's huge—like, could-juggle-a-bus huge."
Behind the counter, Nadia, his coworker, glanced up from organizing cups. Her bright headscarf framed her wide eyes as she studied the footage. "Oh, yeah, I saw that earlier," she said, leaning against the counter. "He's, what, eight feet tall? Arms like redwoods. And the way he moved that car? It didn't even look hard for him. That's not normal."
Ryan snorted, shaking his head. "Not normal? The guy makes bodybuilders look like action figures. It's insane."
At their table, Jubilee froze mid-doodle, her pencil hovering just above the margin of her notebook. Her eyes snapped to the screen, where the footage replayed Fred tearing the roof off the car like it was foil. "Holy crap," she murmured. "That guy's a tank."
"No kidding," Taylor said, leaning forward to get a better look. She nudged Chris, who was scrolling through his phone. "Hey, that guy's bigger than you."
Chris raised an eyebrow, glancing up. "Bigger than me? Okay, sure."
"No, seriously," Taylor insisted, gesturing at the screen. "Look at him. He's like… twice your size."
Chris studied the footage, letting out a low whistle. The camera lingered on Fred lifting the car with ease, his enormous hands gripping the mangled metal. "Okay, yeah," he admitted with a chuckle. "I'm big, but I'm not that big."
Ryan passed by their table, grinning. "Nobody's that big. You wouldn't think someone like that could even exist."
"And yet, there he is," Nadia said, shaking her head. "The Human Blob. I mean, it's not the nicest nickname, but what else would you call him?"
Jubilee's pencil started moving again, sketching quick, faint lines in the margin of her notebook. She focused on Fred's shoulders, softening the lines of his face. The raw power that dominated the screen faded in her drawing, replaced with something almost gentle. Thoughtful.
"He's incredible," Taylor said, leaning back in her chair. "You don't just wake up with strength like that."
"Unless…" Ryan hesitated, glancing at Nadia. "Unless he's a mutant."
The word hung in the air, heavy with implication.
Nadia frowned, crossing her arms as she studied the screen. "If he is… aren't mutants supposed to be dangerous?"
Jubilee's pencil stilled, her grip tightening slightly as her shoulders stiffened. Her face didn't change, but the tension was unmistakable—at least to Ben, who had been quietly watching her.
"Dangerous?" Nadia continued, gesturing toward the TV. "I mean, look at him. He's huge. He could level a building if he wanted to."
"Yeah, if you got on his bad side," Chris added, smirking. "That guy looks like he could snap a tree in half."
Taylor rolled her eyes, throwing a crumpled napkin at him. "Don't be a jerk. He could've walked away, but he didn't. He's a hero. That's all that matters."
Nadia nodded slowly, her tone softening. "That little girl was holding onto him like he was Superman," she said. "I mean… He saved her. That's not dangerous. That's amazing."
Jubilee kept her head down, her pencil moving again as she added delicate shading to Fred's face. Her drawing was soft—gentle lines framing his heavy brow and the faint curve of his mouth. In her sketch, he didn't look threatening. He looked tired. Kind.
Ben's eyes flicked between her and the screen, then down to the drawing in her notebook. He noticed the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers pressed the pencil just a little too tightly, and the deliberate care in her work. His gaze shifted back to her face, catching the faint shadow in her expression.
Jubilee glanced up, and their eyes met for a moment. Ben's expression was calm, thoughtful, as if to say he understood. He didn't press, didn't ask. But in the quiet look they shared, there was recognition.
The footage shifted to the rescued family. The little girl clutched her mother's hand, her small voice trembling as she said, "He saved us. He was so strong."
Taylor smiled softly at the screen. "See? Nice. That's not dangerous. That's someone who cares."
Jubilee broke their eye contact, her pencil slowing as she added the final touches to her sketch. Her pulse quickened as the word mutant echoed in her mind. She closed the notebook carefully, her movements deliberate, as though shielding the drawing from prying eyes.
Taylor broke the silence with a grin, tossing her highlighter onto the table. "Mutant or not, that guy's a superhero. End of story."
Chris smirked. "Blob's not a bad nickname. He's a big dude. Own it."
"Blob or no Blob," Jubilee said lightly, slipping her notebook into her bag, "he's cooler than anything on this midterm."
Ben leaned back in his chair, his thoughtful gaze lingering on her for a moment longer. He didn't know Jubilee well—not yet—but the tension in her posture and the way she had drawn Fred spoke volumes. It wasn't just awe; it was personal. He let out a quiet breath, filing the observation away.
"Superhero or not," Ben said finally, his voice calm, "you don't see people like him every day. That kind of strength… it's rare."
"Yeah," Taylor said, sipping her coffee. "And if we're lucky, maybe Bridge Blob will distract everyone long enough to cancel midterms."
The group laughed, the comment breaking the tension. The conversation shifted back to lighter topics, but Jubilee's thoughts lingered on the word mutant. Ben glanced at her one last time, his fingers drumming lightly against the table. Whatever she was hiding, he'd figured out enough to know it wasn't easy to carry.
/ / /
The glass doors hissed open with a cold precision as Rick Jones stepped into the lobby of Essex Biomedical Innovations. He hesitated just inside the threshold, his massive frame blocking the light spilling in from outside. For a moment, he stood still, taking it all in. The space was pristine—almost unnervingly so. The polished floors gleamed under bright, white lighting, and the air smelled faintly of disinfectant, a chemical sterility that clung to his nose. Everything about the place screamed of control, of order, of perfection. And Rick didn't trust any of it.
The receptionist looked up from her desk, her polished smile clicking into place like a mask. Rick had seen that expression a thousand times—an overly rehearsed attempt at professionalism that couldn't quite hide the flicker of unease in her eyes as she registered his size. At just over seven feet tall and built like a walking boulder, Rick wasn't exactly inconspicuous. His deep blue, rock-like skin didn't help matters either, drawing second glances wherever he went. Even in a world where superheroes and mutants weren't unheard of, Rick knew he didn't blend in. Not anymore.
"Welcome to Essex Biomedical Innovations," the receptionist said brightly. "How can we assist you this evening?"
Rick shifted awkwardly, his broad shoulders slumping as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The fabric stretched taut across his frame, barely holding together. He wasn't used to places like this—polished, corporate, sterile. Everything about EBI felt like the opposite of him: jagged, rough-edged, broken. "Uh… yeah," he began, his deep voice rumbling awkwardly. "I heard you guys handle, you know, special cases. People with… conditions."
The receptionist's smile didn't falter. If she was alarmed by the vagueness of his statement—or by his towering presence—she didn't show it. "Of course, sir. We're always happy to help those in need. Let me see what I can arrange." She turned back to her computer, her long, manicured nails clicking against the keyboard in a steady rhythm.
Rick glanced around as she worked, his sharp eyes taking in the lobby. Everything about it was too perfect. The walls were a seamless white, interrupted only by sleek digital displays showcasing EBI's supposed accomplishments. One screen flashed with images of smiling patients, their faces lit with gratitude as captions scrolled below: "Breaking Barriers. Changing Lives." Another display highlighted their cutting-edge research into regenerative medicine, depicting computer-generated cells dividing and healing damaged tissue. It was the kind of glossy marketing that might have comforted someone else. But to Rick, it felt like overcompensation—like they were trying too hard to convince people they were the good guys.
His gaze shifted to the far end of the room, where three security guards stood by a wall. They were too still, too watchful, their dark, tactical armor looking far too advanced for a corporate facility. These weren't rent-a-cops with flashlights and walkie-talkies. Their helmets had built-in visors with faintly glowing HUD displays, and their rifles were military-grade, the kind that could drop an armored vehicle. Rick's gut tightened. What kind of research needs guards like that?
The receptionist's voice pulled him back. "Mr. Jones," she said, her tone still bright, "if you'll follow me, our security team will escort you to the consultation wing."
Rick's jaw tightened slightly. "Security team?" he asked, his tone laced with skepticism.
"For your safety and ours," she said smoothly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "We want to ensure you're comfortable."
Rick wasn't buying it, but he nodded anyway. "Right. Comfortable. Sure."
One of the guards stepped forward, his boots clicking sharply against the tile. His movements were deliberate, almost mechanical, and his voice came through a modulated helmet mic. "This way, please," the guard said, his tone devoid of warmth.
Rick followed, his boots thudding heavily against the floor as the guard led him deeper into the building. Two more guards flanked him on either side, their presence silent but oppressive. Rick's senses prickled. He wasn't a stranger to being under surveillance—hell, he'd spent a decade in a prison cell with guards watching his every move—but this felt different. These weren't just men doing their jobs. They were waiting for an excuse to act.
The hallway they entered was just as pristine as the lobby, its white walls and recessed lighting creating an almost clinical atmosphere. The faint hum of electricity buzzed in the background, like the building itself was alive. As they walked, Rick noticed doors lining the corridor, each one marked with a sleek, black plaque: Research Wing 01, Cryogenic Storage, Genetic Development Lab. The words didn't mean much to him, but the sheer variety of them set him on edge. What the hell kind of place is this?
He glanced at one of the guards walking beside him. The man—or at least Rick assumed he was a man—was silent, his visor reflecting the corridor's harsh lights. Rick cleared his throat. "So, uh… how long you been working here?"
The guard didn't answer.
Rick tried again. "You get a lot of, uh… people like me coming through here?"
Still no response.
Rick snorted, shaking his head. "Right. Real chatty bunch."
They rounded a corner, and Rick caught sight of another security team stationed at an intersection. These guards were dressed identically to his escort, their postures rigid as they scanned their surroundings. One of them turned slightly as Rick passed, the faint whir of servos in his helmet audible in the otherwise silent hall. Rick's frown deepened. These guys aren't just here to look tough. They're ready for something. Or someone.
The farther they walked, the more Rick's unease grew. The air felt heavier here, like the weight of the building's secrets was pressing down on him. He couldn't shake the feeling that the walls were watching him, that there were eyes everywhere. His instincts screamed at him to turn around, to get out before it was too late. But he kept walking, his steps steady and deliberate. If there was one thing Rick Jones had learned in his life, it was that you didn't get answers by playing it safe.
The guards stopped in front of a set of double doors, their polished metal surfaces gleaming under the fluorescent lights. One of them swiped a keycard, and the doors slid open with a soft hiss. "Please step inside," the lead guard said.
Rick hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping forward. The room beyond was dimly lit, its walls lined with monitors displaying streams of data he couldn't begin to understand. In the center was a sleek, metal chair that looked more like something from a sci-fi torture chamber than a consultation room. Rick's eyes narrowed. This doesn't feel right.
"Make yourself comfortable," the guard said, his tone utterly devoid of sincerity.
Rick turned slightly, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the room. "Yeah," he said quietly, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "Real comfortable."
The Kansas City skyline sparkled against the deep blue of the evening sky, but Ben Reilly barely noticed as he crouched atop a nearby rooftop, his focus locked on the sprawling complex below. The Essex Biomedical Innovations building stood out like a fortress, its sharp angles and sleek glass walls radiating wealth and power. It was a little too perfect for Ben's liking. He'd spent enough time in the shadows of cities to know that anything this polished was hiding something beneath the surface.
Ben's Scarlet Spider suit clung to his lean frame, its deep red fabric gleaming faintly in the moonlight. Across his chest, the jagged black spider emblem spread like the shadow of a predator, bold and imposing. Over the suit, his iconic blue hoodie hung loose, the edges torn and frayed as if it had seen one battle too many. The hood rested against the nape of his neck, fluttering slightly in the breeze. Around his waist, a utility belt gleamed with silver pouches, each containing tools and gadgets he might need for the night ahead. It was a look that screamed makeshift yet iconic—raw and purposeful, just like Ben himself.
From his perch, Ben scanned the complex below. His blue-lensed mask tilted slightly as he analyzed the security measures in place. Guards patrolled the perimeter in pairs, their rifles slung across their shoulders. The cameras were strategically placed, their lenses sweeping in rhythmic arcs. Spotlights illuminated key sections of the grounds, but there were just enough shadows for someone like him to slip through unnoticed.
"Not exactly subtle," he muttered under his breath, the modulated tone of his voice bouncing slightly in the still night air. "But I've seen worse."
He flexed his fingers, his gloved hands brushing over the triggers of his web-shooters. With a burst of webbing, he launched himself from his vantage point, the line sticking to a nearby rooftop. He swung across the street in a graceful arc, his body cutting through the air like a shadow. Landing lightly on the roof, he crouched low, the fabric of his hoodie fluttering faintly as he moved. Every muscle was tense, every movement deliberate. He had to be careful. He couldn't afford mistakes tonight.
His sharp eyes darted across the building, searching for an entry point. "Cameras… guards… more cameras," he murmured. "Come on, there's gotta be a crack in the armor."
That's when he spotted it: a ventilation shaft running along the side of the building. The metal grating covering the vent was bolted down, but not tightly enough to keep someone like him out. He grinned beneath his mask. "Bingo."
Ben leapt down to the side of the building, his feet sticking to the wall with ease as he descended toward the vent. The claws of his gloves dug into the smooth surface, holding him in place as he worked. He reached for the grating, his fingers curling around the edges as he inspected it. The bolts were old, the metal slightly corroded. With a bit of effort, he could pry it loose.
"Old-school," he muttered, wrenching the grate free with a faint creak. "My favorite."
He slipped inside the vent, his slim frame fitting easily into the narrow space. The air inside was stale and metallic, but Ben barely noticed. Crawling forward, he moved with the fluidity of someone who had spent years navigating tight spaces. The duct creaked faintly under his weight, but his movements were careful, deliberate. The last thing he needed was to alert anyone to his presence.
The deeper he went, the more the atmosphere began to change. The air felt heavier here, charged with an almost imperceptible energy that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He paused at a junction, peering through a slatted vent into the room below. What he saw made him frown beneath his mask.
A sprawling lab stretched out beneath him, its cold, sterile lighting casting sharp shadows on the walls. Scientists in white coats moved with eerie precision, their faces illuminated by the glow of monitors. Their movements were synchronized, almost robotic, as they worked on something Ben couldn't quite make out. He adjusted his position, leaning closer to the vent to get a better look.
At the center of the room was a strange device. It pulsed faintly, its surface smooth and metallic, with intricate carvings that looked almost organic. The light it emitted cast strange patterns across the walls, creating an otherworldly glow. Ben's brow furrowed. "What the hell are you people up to?"
He lingered for a moment longer, watching the scientists move between the monitors and the device. None of them spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of machinery, steady and relentless. Ben's instincts screamed at him that something wasn't right. These weren't just researchers—they were cogs in a much larger machine.
Shifting slightly, he brushed the edge of the vent, and the metal creaked faintly. His entire body froze. One of the scientists paused, their head snapping up as if they'd heard something. Ben held his breath, pressing himself flat against the duct. His pulse pounded in his ears as he waited, every second stretching out painfully. The scientist scanned the room for a moment, their eyes narrowing, before turning back to their work.
Ben exhaled slowly, his body relaxing. "Close one," he whispered to himself. "Gotta be more careful."
He crawled forward, his movements slower now, more deliberate. As he continued deeper into the ducts, he began to notice more unsettling details. The rooms below him were filled with strange, glowing specimens—organic masses suspended in viscous fluid, each one pulsing faintly. Their surfaces writhed as if alive, their textures shifting in ways that made his stomach churn.
The deeper he went, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The faint vibrations in the walls felt almost alive, like the building itself was watching him. Every now and then, he caught glimpses of guards patrolling the hallways, their boots echoing faintly through the ducts. Their tactical armor gleamed under the harsh lights, and their movements were so precise, so coordinated, that it reminded him of soldiers preparing for war.
Ben paused at another vent, his fingers brushing the edge of his utility belt. He didn't like this. EBI wasn't just hiding something—they were hiding a lot of somethings. And whatever was going on here, it was bigger than he'd anticipated.
"This place is a ticking time bomb," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "And I just walked into the middle of it."
The Essex Biomedical Innovations complex loomed ahead, its sleek, sterile architecture cutting sharp lines against the evening sky. To most, the facility might have seemed like an unassuming hub of scientific progress, but to Shuri, it radiated secrecy. Danger. As someone who'd maneuvered through covert operations and hostile environments, she recognized the subtle tells: the overzealous security, the reinforced walls hidden beneath the glass facade, and the faint hum of energy flowing beneath the ground. EBI wasn't just conducting research—it was protecting something.
Shuri approached the western edge of the building, her movements cloaked by the advanced stealth systems integrated into her Doom armor. The sleek silver plating of her suit gleamed faintly, its surface adapting to the dim light around her. Vibranium accents pulsed softly, their glow almost imperceptible. Her green cape swayed lightly behind her, the fabric more than ornamental—it was woven with Wakandan nanotechnology, doubling as a defensive barrier. The hood of her armor framed her helm, which resembled Doom's iconic mask, yet carried subtle Wakandan flourishes in its design. The look was regal yet menacing, blending the technological prowess of two great nations.
Inside her helm, Shuri's HUD flared to life, displaying a three-dimensional schematic of the building's exterior. Blue holographic lines outlined the facility's structure, highlighting potential entry points, patrolling guards, and security cameras. Shuri's eyes narrowed as she observed a trio of guards stationed near a side entrance. They were equipped with military-grade weapons, their tactical armor bristling with advanced tech—far more than what a typical biomedical facility should require.
"Tsk. Overcompensating," she muttered under her breath. Her voice, distorted slightly by the modulator in her helm, carried a faint edge of amusement. "Let's see how prepared you really are."
Shuri crept forward, her movements silent as she approached the first group of guards. Their patterns were predictable: sweeping the same arcs, their eyes scanning the same spots. She activated the stealth field of her armor, the vibranium weave absorbing the light around her, rendering her nearly invisible. As she closed the distance, her gauntlet emitted a faint hum, and a soft blue pulse rippled across the area, temporarily disrupting their communication systems.
The guards paused, their hands moving to their earpieces as static crackled faintly.
"Control, we've lost audio. Requesting—" one began, but his words were cut short as Shuri darted forward, her movements a blur of precision. She grabbed the first guard's rifle, twisting it free from his grasp with ease before delivering a precise strike to the back of his knee. He crumpled silently to the ground, and Shuri caught him before he could fall heavily, lowering him gently to the pavement.
The second guard turned, his rifle raised, but Shuri was faster. Her cape swirled as she spun, her gauntlet emitting a short, controlled energy pulse that struck him squarely in the chest. The vibranium-channeled shock sent him stumbling backward, his body locking up momentarily as the weapon deactivated his motor functions. She caught his rifle mid-fall, disassembling it in one smooth motion before tossing the pieces aside.
The third guard froze, his finger hovering over his weapon's trigger. Shuri raised a single armored hand, her tone calm but commanding. "I wouldn't," she said sharply. The man hesitated, his weapon trembling slightly in his grip. Before he could make a decision, Shuri stepped forward and pressed a small device against his armor. It emitted a faint chime, and the guard collapsed to the ground, his body immobilized by a harmless paralysis field.
Shuri stood over them, her green cape billowing faintly in the breeze as she surveyed her work. "Sleep well, gentlemen," she said dryly, before stepping over their unconscious forms and approaching the maintenance door.
Once inside, the cold, sterile atmosphere of the building enveloped her. The white walls gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, and the faint hum of machinery vibrated through the floor. Her HUD highlighted more guards patrolling the corridors, as well as motion sensors and cameras stationed at key junctions. Shuri moved with practiced precision, her boots making no sound against the polished floor. She crouched at an intersection, her sensors picking up faint heat signatures around the corner.
Two more guards stood at the far end of the hall, their postures relaxed but their weapons ready. Shuri's gauntlet emitted a soft hum as she activated her drone system, a small, spherical device detaching from her armor and floating silently into the air. It zipped down the hall, projecting a faint shadow against the wall opposite the guards.
One of them stiffened, his head snapping toward the movement. "What was that?"
"Probably just a shadow," the other said dismissively, but he shifted slightly, his grip tightening on his weapon.
Shuri smiled beneath her helm. "Predictable." She stepped out from her hiding spot, her gauntlet emitting another pulse that struck the lights above the guards. The hallway plunged into darkness, and before they could react, she was upon them. Her armor's vibranium plating absorbed their clumsy attempts at resistance as she disarmed them with ease. A quick series of precise strikes left them slumped against the wall, their weapons disabled and their bodies unharmed.
As Shuri moved deeper into the building, the air seemed to grow heavier, charged with an almost oppressive energy. The hum of machinery grew louder, and her sensors picked up traces of electromagnetic interference emanating from deeper within the facility. Her HUD marked the source of the interference, highlighting a reinforced door at the end of the corridor. Shuri's sharp eyes narrowed as she approached, her gauntlet extending to interface with the lock.
The security system was more advanced than anything she'd encountered so far. Multiple layers of encryption pulsed across her holographic display, each one more complex than the last. "Now we're getting somewhere," she murmured as her fingers danced across the interface. The lock resisted, its protocols pushing back against her intrusion, but Shuri's smirk only widened. "You're trying too hard."
After a few tense moments, the lock disengaged with a loud *click,* and the door slid open. The room beyond was dimly lit, its walls lined with massive monitors displaying streams of data. At the center of the room was a cylindrical device, its surface glowing with a pulsing, otherworldly light. Shuri's sensors struggled to process the energy radiating from it, their readings flickering erratically.
"What in Bast's name…" she whispered, stepping closer. The device's glow illuminated the intricate patterns on her armor, casting long shadows across the room. Whatever this was, it wasn't just technology—it was something far more advanced. And far more dangerous.
Before she could investigate further, the faint sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway behind her. Shuri turned sharply, her armor's systems powering up as her HUD detected multiple heat signatures approaching fast. She clenched her fists, the vibranium plates of her gauntlets humming with energy. "Looks like I've made some new friends," she said dryly, her tone calm but tinged with anticipation.
The guards outside had no idea what they were walking into.
The Essex Biomedical Innovations lab was a cathedral of sterile precision. Long rows of glowing glass tanks lined the walls, their contents twisting and rippling beneath bubbling, green-tinged fluid. The faint hum of machinery vibrated through the air, a rhythmic pulse that made the hairs on the back of Rick Jones' neck stand on end. The light here wasn't warm; it was clinical and unfeeling, the kind that turned human skin pallid and made the shadows under the eyes seem deeper.
Rick's footsteps echoed dully against the polished floor as he entered, flanked by two guards whose rigid postures made it abundantly clear they weren't here to babysit. He glanced around the room, his expression a mix of wariness and disdain as his eyes landed on the glass tanks. Inside each, barely visible through the swirling liquid, were shapes that seemed to defy nature itself. Muscle, bone, sinew—stitched together in ways that made no biological sense. Limbs where there shouldn't be limbs. Eyes opening and closing on surfaces where no eyes belonged.
"This is what you call innovation?" Rick muttered, his voice low. "Looks more like Frankenstein's basement."
"Keep your comments to yourself, Mr. Jones," one of the guards snapped, his tone clipped. His hand hovered near the rifle slung across his chest, fingers twitching as though ready for trouble.
Rick raised his hands in mock surrender, his tone thick with sarcasm. "Relax, Rambo. Just making an observation."
He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Not by the guards or the cameras discreetly positioned in the corners of the room—but by the things inside the tanks. He swore one of them moved, its eyeless head tilting slightly as he passed. Shaking the thought off, he turned his attention back to the guards.
"This really what you people do here? Cook up nightmares in a jar?" He gestured toward one of the tanks, its contents shuddering faintly against the glass. "What exactly are you expecting me to do about it?"
Neither guard answered. Their silence said more than words ever could.
High above the lab, hidden among the rafters, Ben Reilly crouched in his Scarlet Spider suit. His sharp lenses swept across the room, taking in the guards, the tanks, and the unsettling organic masses within. The red fabric of his suit clung to his body like a second skin, its jagged black spider emblem seeming to ripple in the dim light. The blue hoodie he wore over his suit swayed faintly as he shifted his weight, careful to stay in the shadows.
"Okay," he whispered to himself, his modulated voice low. "Creepy secret lab? Check. Weird goopy monsters? Double check. And, oh look, armed guards. This just keeps getting better."
He watched as Rick entered, noting the man's broad frame and the way he carried himself—tense but confident. Ben's mind raced. He wasn't sure who Rick was or why he was here, but one thing was clear: the guy didn't look thrilled to be there.
Then the lab doors on the far side hissed open, and all hell broke loose.
Shuri stepped into the lab, her presence commanding the room without so much as a word. Her Doom armor gleamed in the cold light, the silver vibranium plating reflecting the fluorescent glow with an almost otherworldly shimmer. The sharp angles of the armor, coupled with the rich green of her cape, gave her the appearance of a warrior queen—regal yet utterly intimidating. Her helm tilted slightly as she took in the scene: the guards, the tanks, and Rick, who had turned to face her with a mix of confusion and suspicion.
"And who are you?" Rick asked, his voice steady but cautious.
Shuri didn't answer him. Her sharp gaze locked onto the guards, their weapons now raised and aimed directly at her. "Lower your weapons," she said, her voice calm yet carrying an edge of authority. "You have no idea who you're dealing with."
"Stand down!" one of the guards barked, his grip tightening on his rifle. "This is a restricted area. Identify yourself or we'll open fire!"
Rick held up his hands, stepping slightly between Shuri and the guards. "Whoa, let's not start shooting, okay? Lady, I don't know who you are, but maybe we can all take a breath—"
The first gunshot rang out, sharp and deafening.
The bullet ricocheted off Shuri's armor, sparking against the vibranium plating before clattering harmlessly to the floor. Another shot followed, then another, and the guards opened fire in a panic. Shuri didn't flinch. Her armor absorbed the rounds effortlessly, her cape billowing as she raised a gauntlet and fired a controlled energy pulse. The burst sent one guard's rifle flying from his hands, the weapon skidding across the floor.
"Great," Rick muttered, backing away as the room descended into chaos. "Exactly what I was trying to avoid."
But the damage had already been done. A stray bullet struck a nearby control panel, sending sparks flying as the lab's machinery sputtered and groaned. Warning lights flared to life, bathing the room in pulsing red. A shrill alarm blared overhead, drowning out all other sound.
Up above, Ben groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his mask. "And there it is," he muttered. "This is why we can't have nice things."
The tanks began to shake violently, the fluid inside sloshing as the creatures within thrashed against the glass. Cracks spiderwebbed across the tanks, glowing fluid spilling onto the floor as the creatures howled—a guttural, otherworldly sound that sent a shiver down Ben's spine.
The first tank shattered with an ear-splitting *crash,* and a hulking creature emerged, its massive frame covered in jagged spines and pulsating veins. It roared, its glowing eyes locking onto Rick, who was by far the largest target in the room.
Rick clenched his fists, his muscles tensing as the creature charged. "Aw, hell," he muttered. The creature swung a clawed arm at him, but Rick caught it mid-swing, his massive strength stopping it cold. With a grunt, he twisted and heaved the creature over his shoulder, sending it crashing into a wall with enough force to dent the steel.
"Okay, I'm officially done being nice," Rick growled.
Ben landed gracefully beside Shuri, firing a webline at another creature as it broke free from its tank. "So, uh," he quipped, dodging a swipe from the creature's claws, "you guys come here often?"
Shuri didn't respond. Her focus remained on the creatures, her gauntlets glowing with energy as she fired a precise pulse that slammed another monster into the far wall. It howled and collapsed, only to be replaced by two more emerging from shattered tanks.
Rick barked orders, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Hey, Spider-Guy! Web that thing down! Metal Lady, keep them off my back! We're not letting this spill into the city."
Ben shot a webline to pin a smaller creature to the floor. "Um, Scarlet Spider?" he corrected, flipping out of the way of another swipe. "And I don't take requests!"
"T'Channa," Shuri snapped, her gauntlets humming as she struck down another beast with a blast of energy. "Less arguing. Focus!"
Rick grabbed another charging creature by its torso, planting his feet and slamming it into the ground with a roar of effort. "You two are already exhausting me," he muttered, shaking his head.
The chaos continued to escalate as the trio worked together, despite their differences. Each move they made was dictated by necessity, the battle forcing them to coordinate in the heat of the moment. For now, survival was all that mattered.
/ / /