Ben had no idea that his cousin was currently bleeding in an alley three miles away, learning harsh lessons about the difference between neighborhood crime and the organized brutality of Hell's Kitchen. If he had known, he might have put down his research notes and gone to help. But Spider-Man's greatest strength had always been his independence, and his greatest weakness was his stubborn refusal to ask for help when he needed it most.
In truth, Ben wasn't particularly worried about Peter's nocturnal activities. Most of Spider-Man's dangerous encounters seemed to revolve around threats to their family—and Ben had made damn sure that his parents were as protected as two people could possibly be.
The kid's grown up, Ben thought as he adjusted the molecular structure of his latest serum sample. He needs to learn to handle things on his own.
Besides, Ben had his own problems to worry about. The laboratory hummed with activity as he and Dr. Connors worked through their third consecutive all-nighter, fine-tuning the healing serum that would soon revolutionize modern medicine. The technical challenges had been conquered weeks ago—now it was all about perfecting the formula and preparing for mass production.
"Hand me that spectrographic analysis," Ben called out, not looking up from his microscope. "I want to verify the cellular regeneration rate one more time."
Dr. Connors—passed the requested data with his newly regenerated right arm. The limb was still pale and slightly undersized compared to his left, but it was growing stronger every day. Connors had taken to flexing his fingers obsessively, as if afraid the miracle might suddenly reverse itself.
"The basic formula is perfect," Connors said, his voice carrying the satisfaction of a job well done. "Rapid tissue repair, minimal scarring, no adverse side effects. This is going to change everything."
Ben nodded, sealing the final samples in temperature-controlled containers. "Time to hand this off to Harry. Production planning, marketing strategies, distribution networks—if he can't handle the business side of things, then all those expensive business school classes were a waste of Norman's money."
It had been an intense week. Felicia had visited the lab several times, ostensibly to check on their progress but really just to spend time with Ben.
Mary Jane Watson had also become a regular presence, stopping by after her band practice to bring coffee and encouragement.
But despite the welcome distractions, Ben's focus remained laser-sharp. The healing serum represented more than just a scientific breakthrough—it was the foundation of an empire that would reshape the balance of power in multiple industries.
"Eunice, schedule a meeting with Norman for tomorrow morning," Ben said, carefully organizing his research notes. "It's time to discuss our market strategy."
"Already done," Eunice replied, her holographic form materializing beside the workstation. "Mr. Osborn has cleared his entire morning. He seems quite eager to begin the next phase."
The meeting took place in Norman's newly renovated office, high above Manhattan in the heart of Osborne Industries. The space radiated confidence and power—exactly the image they needed to project as they prepared to take on the pharmaceutical establishment.
"First, we launch the basic version," Ben explained, placing a vial of crystal-clear, faintly luminescent serum on Norman's desk. "Rapid wound healing, tissue regeneration, minimal recovery time. Strong enough to save lives, but not so powerful that it triggers immediate panic among our competitors."
Norman held the vial up to the light, watching the liquid shimmer with an almost otherworldly beauty. "How rapid are we talking about?"
"A deep laceration that would normally require surgery and weeks of recovery? Four to six minutes for complete healing," Ben said. "Broken bones, severe burns, internal bleeding—everything short of organ failure or massive trauma."
"That's going to cause quite a sensation," Norman said with obvious satisfaction. "The medical community will have to take notice."
"That's the point," Ben continued. "But we need to be strategic about this. The pharmaceutical giants are going to come at us hard once they realize what we're threatening. Having Osborne's name on the product gives us credibility and protection."
Norman's expression grew serious. "You're worried about industrial espionage. Corporate sabotage. Maybe worse."
"I'm worried about everything," Ben admitted. "The moment this hits the market, we're going to have targets on our backs. But with the right approach, we can weather the storm and come out stronger."
"What about the upgraded versions?" Norman asked.
"Phase two launches in three to four months," Ben explained. "The advanced formula can handle more severe trauma—organ damage, spinal injuries, things that current medicine considers permanent disabilities. But we'll also release a consumer version."
"Consumer version?"
Ben smiled. "Minor cuts, scrapes, bruises—and complete scar removal. The profit margins on cosmetic applications are enormous. Every athlete, every model, every person who's ever been self-conscious about old injuries will want this product."
Norman leaned back in his chair, clearly impressed by the scope of Ben's planning. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"
"I try to be thorough," Ben said. "But Uncle Norman, there's something else we need to discuss. Once the basic serum launches, your former board members are going to realize they've been played. They sold their shares at rock bottom prices, and now they're about to watch those same shares skyrocket."
"Let them rage," Norman said dismissively. "They betrayed me when they thought I was weak. Now they can live with the consequences."
"They might not be content to just live with it," Ben warned. "Desperate people do stupid things. We should be prepared for attempts at sabotage, corporate espionage, maybe even violence."
Norman's eyes hardened. "Then we'll be ready for them. I didn't survive this long in the business world by being naive about human nature."
With the immediate planning complete, Ben felt a weight lift from his shoulders. The hardest part was over—now it was just a matter of execution. "I think I can finally take a vacation," he told Connors back at the lab. "Maybe visit New Japan, see some sights."
"You've earned it," Connors agreed, flexing his new hand experimentally. "When Martha and Billy see me again, they won't believe their eyes."
"We can get you a new identity," Ben offered. "Curtis Connors is officially dead, but Curtis Shaw could have a bright future ahead of him."
"I like the sound of that," Connors said with a grateful smile.
Ben's vacation plans were already taking shape. Marvel Timeline was entering a new phase, and he wanted to position himself for the opportunities ahead. Recently news of Meteor had reportedly fallen somewhere in New Mexico—an event that would soon bring the God of Thunder to Earth. While Ben had no illusions about his ability to lift Mjolnir, he was very interested in studying Asgardian genetics.
"The God of the Universe," Ben thought, recalling the non-canon alien form from the Ben 10 continuity—an Asgardian physiology elevated to cosmic proportions. It possessed flight, energy manipulation, and something close to immortality.
The scientific possibilities were intriguing. Asgardians represented one of the most advanced biological forms in the known universe, and the Omnitrix's genetic optimization protocols could potentially unlock capabilities that even Thor didn't possess.
But those were plans for tomorrow. Tonight, Ben was looking forward to going home, having dinner with his family, and getting his first full night's sleep in weeks.
He was halfway through packing his research notes when Peter stumbled through his bedroom window.
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