"Long time no see, Pete! What's all this?"
"Uh, nothing!" Peter practically jumped out of his skin, his newly enhanced reflexes almost sending him to the ceiling in surprise.
"Harry! I can't believe it—you look so different! Aren't you supposed to be at boarding school?" Peter quickly shoved the costume designs behind his back while positioning himself in the doorway to block Harry's view of his room's interior.
The space beyond was littered with web-shooter prototypes, chemical equipment, and fabric samples that would raise far too many questions.
Harry allowed himself to be distracted by Peter's nervous energy. "Ben called me, so I decided to break out for a day. That place really is like a prison."
"We've barely seen each other since your dad sent you away!" Peter said, his genuine excitement overriding his anxiety.
If his room hadn't been transformed into a superhero workshop, he would have invited Harry inside immediately. Instead, he stepped fully into the hallway and pulled the door firmly shut behind him.
"How about we play some games? Ben borrowed something new from a classmate a few days ago."
"A new game? Perfect! I'd be excited to play Pong at this point," Harry replied enthusiastically, then paused to study his friend more carefully. "Pete, you've... grown."
The changes were dramatic. Peter was no longer the scrawny, undersized kid Harry remembered. He'd gained several inches in height, developed visible muscle definition, and most noticeably, had abandoned his thick-rimmed glasses.
"Did you get laser surgery?" Harry asked.
"Contact lenses," Peter said quickly, guiding Harry toward Ben's room.
He felt guilty about using Ben's computer without permission, but redirecting Harry's attention took priority over propriety. Peter powered up the system and loaded one of Ben's games, handing Harry a controller.
"By the way, where's Ben?"
"Downstairs in the kitchen, I think," Harry said, gripping the controller like a steering wheel, his attention already absorbed by the screen. "Come on, let's start!"
The irony wasn't lost on either of them. Harry's bedroom back home contained a state-of-the-art gaming setup with the latest hardware and cutting-edge graphics capabilities. By comparison, Ben's modest computer was practically prehistoric. Yet somehow, Harry felt more excited about this simple game than any of his expensive equipment had ever made him.
He hadn't yet learned that the best gaming experiences had nothing to do with technology and everything to do with friendship.
A few minutes later, Ben appeared with three glasses of juice, watching those two with amusement. There was something distinctly parental about the scene—two teenagers completely absorbed in their entertainment while he provided refreshments.
"Come join us, Ben," Peter called out, though his initial panic had transformed into genuine gaming enthusiasm.
"I've got other things to handle," Ben replied, setting down the drinks. "You two have fun."
He wasn't lying. Despite securing Harry's financial backing, countless practical details demanded attention. The money wouldn't arrive for several days, and even when it did, ten million dollars wouldn't stretch as far as most people imagined in high-tech development.
"First priority is finding laboratory space," Ben mused as he settled in the living room with a notebook. "Then equipment acquisition, market research, and establishing distribution channels."
The Grey Matter transformations had filled his mind with advanced weapons technology, but Ben had no intention of entering that market. While Stark Industries' withdrawal from arms manufacturing had created a temporary vacuum, Ben refused to profit from military interventions.
"Focus on consumer applications," he decided. "Civilian technology that improves daily life."
This approach offered multiple advantages. Consumer electronics required less sophisticated manufacturing equipment, reducing startup costs significantly. More importantly, the technological landscape of 2008 was still relatively primitive—Apple had only released the iPhone 3G, and most people carried flip phones or basic smartphones.
"But I need to move fast," Ben realized. "In a few years, alien technology is going to accelerate Earth's development exponentially."
The Battle of New York would mark a turning point. When Loki's Chitauri invasion failed, the abandoned alien technology would trigger a technological revolution that would make his current advantages obsolete within a decade.
Then there was the larger cosmic threat looming in the background. Thanos represented a challenge that dwarfed all earthly concerns, though Ben wasn't sure this universe would follow the exact same timeline he remembered from the films.
Still, those were problems for the future. His immediate concern was more practical: he needed a secret laboratory, preferably something like the hidden facility from "Spider-Verse." But that would require extensive construction, which meant involving Mom and Dad in at least some capacity.
Ben opened his notebook and began sketching preliminary plans, though without Harry's financial contribution actually in hand, everything remained theoretical.
Meanwhile, several miles away in Manhattan, Dr. Curt Connors was facing a crisis that would reshape his life forever.
The laboratory door burst open as a group of Oscorp executives invaded his sanctuary, their expensive suits and predatory expressions transforming the sterile research space into something resembling a corporate boardroom.
"Dr. Connors," the lead executive said with barely concealed contempt.
The man moved through the lab with casual arrogance, his gaze settling on a small vial of green serum sitting on the main workbench. He picked it up with the proprietary air of someone claiming ownership.
"You've succeeded," he announced.
Connors hadn't yet grasped the true nature of this visit. His excitement over the breakthrough overcame his caution as he eagerly explained his progress.
"Not completely," he said, his remaining hand gesturing enthusiastically. "The trials have only been conducted on laboratory mice so far. But the results are promising! Give me just a little more time, and I can refine the formula for—"
"There is no more time," the executive interrupted with brutal finality.
Connors felt his enthusiasm drain away, replaced by growing alarm.
"Mr. Osborn has run out of patience. Human trials begin immediately."
"What? No!" Connors stepped forward, his scientific ethics overriding his physical limitations. "The serum isn't ready for human testing! The risks are completely unknown!"
"I said there's no time for your perfectionist delays, Connors. You've stalled long enough."
The executive's tone carried the casual cruelty of someone accustomed to absolute authority. In his mind, Connors was just another employee—and a disabled one at that, which made him inherently expendable.
"This isn't a request," the man continued coldly. "It's an order."
Connors moved to block the executive's path, his scientific integrity overcoming any concern for his job security.
"I will not allow you to endanger innocent people with an untested formula!"
He'd devoted his career to helping the millions of people living with physical disabilities. The thought of his research being weaponized or rushed into premature human trials violated everything he stood for.
"Then you're no longer useful to us."
The executive's expression didn't change as he gestured to his companions. Immediately, they began systematically removing equipment and research materials from the laboratory.
The serum, of course, was their primary target.
"What are you doing?" Connors demanded, trying desperately to intervene.
But his disability made physical resistance impossible. When he attempted to stop them, one of the men casually shoved him aside, sending him crashing to the floor with humiliating ease.
"I'm simply reclaiming Oscorp property," the executive said with mock patience.
"This is my life's work!" Connors shouted from the ground, his voice carrying the anguish of a man watching his dreams being stolen. "My invention!"
The sound was raw and primal, like a wounded animal backed into a corner.
"No," the executive replied with detached amusement. "It belongs to Oscorp."
He tucked the serum vial into his suit jacket with casual indifference, then deliberately stepped on Connors's empty sleeve—the fabric where his missing arm should have been.
"Oscorp funds your research, Connors. Without our support, what possible value could someone like you have?"
The words hit with surgical precision, targeting every insecurity and fear that Connors had carried since losing his limb. In that moment, his heart shattered as completely as his body had years before.
Lying on the cold laboratory floor, watching his life's work disappear into corporate hands, Dr. Curt Connors felt something fundamental break inside him.