"How do you like the suit, kid?" Ranger asked, his voice a calm rumble that cut through the low, ambient hum of the garden.
"It's awesome, Mr. Ranger! It's beyond awesome!" Peter gushed, his usual barrage of words amplified by pure, unadulterated excitement. He executed a series of impossibly fast, gravity-defying backflips before landing silently on the polished obsidian floor, a crouched, perfect Spider-Man pose. "It feels… alive, Mr. Ranger. Not like a machine, but like… part of me. I can fly faster than Mach 3, and the AI—I'm calling him WEB-ster, by the way—he says my webs are much stronger and even come with different characteristics depending on the stuff they 'eat'! He suggested Vibranium for tensile strength, but said to stay away from anything radioactive. My strength is amplified to about two times my normal output, which is just… nuts. And most importantly." he ran a hand over the seamless red and blue fabric, a look of profound relief in his posture, "my suit doesn't tear that easily. Even if it does, the suit heals when it absorbs metals. It's like nanotech but much more advanced, almost… sentient. And the AI is so good. It can fight on its own." Peter finally paused for breath, practically vibrating with the energy of a kid who'd just been handed the keys to the universe.
"And what of the kill mode? You haven't tried it, have you?" Ranger questioned, his tone neutral, though his gaze held a deep, analytical knowing.
Peter's enthusiastic posture slumped instantly, the vibrant energy deflating like a punctured balloon. "Uhh… Mr. Ranger, I don't like to kill." The words were quiet, a mumble filled with the distinct, palpable fear of disappointing a figure.
Ranger walked over and placed a firm, reassuring hand on the young man's shoulder. "Thought so." he said, and there was no judgment in his voice, only a quiet, pragmatic understanding. "That mode isn't a temptation, Peter. It's a tool. A scalpel. You give a scalpel to a butcher, he'll make a bloody mess. You give it to a surgeon, he can save a life. It is a tool for removing a cancer, nothing more. A tool you hope to every god you've ever heard of that you never have to use. But you're a damn fool if you go into the operating theater without one." He gave Peter's shoulder a light squeeze. "Anyway, don't worry about it, kid. You will get the chance to use it soon. Fifteen minutes later, soon. You have contacted your aunt and your girlfriend, right?"
Peter's eyes widened behind his mask at the sudden shift, but he steeled himself and nodded. "I have contacted my aunt and MJ. But… she isn't my girlfriend yet." The last line came out as another angst-ridden mumble. "May is asking when I will return, though. Mr. Ranger, how long is this battle going to be? And what are our chances of coming back alive?" The youthful bravado was gone, replaced by the raw, honest fear of a young man staring into the abyss.
Ranger turned from him, his gaze drifting towards the impossible, cosmic vista visible through the throne room's grand archway. "Kid, Doom, me, and Thor are going to war. Three beings who could, if they so chose, crack this planet like an egg. And none of us wishes for you to die. Not even Doom." Ranger assured him, his voice taking on a strange, almost instructive tone. "Let me explain something to you about a man like Victor Von Doom. His ego is not a flaw; it is a fundamental constant of this universe. It is more reliable than gravity. He gave you his word that you will survive. For his word to be broken, for him to fail in ensuring the safety of someone he has personally guaranteed, would be a wound to his pride so profound it would threaten his very sense of self. He would sooner unravel the fabric of spacetime than admit such a failure. So, even if you don't believe in yourself, believe in Doom's pride. Because of it, you will survive. The chances of you dying are less than the chances of The King in Black winning."
Peter heaved a sigh of relief so profound his shoulders sagged. The logic was twisted, born of an arrogance he couldn't comprehend, but it was also unshakable. "Thank you for clearing that doubt of mine, Mr. Ranger."
"Anyway." Ranger said, his tone becoming business-like again. "Tell your aunt you will be back in about three to four hours and to prepare food for one more person. Me. And if she grills you for details, tell her the one you are bringing is a billionaire who is thinking of giving you an apprenticeship or something." Ranger gave him the pre-packaged, plausible lie. It made the young kid's jaw drop, but he picked it up and nodded hard. "Tell her your boss will pay you a pretty sum if you pass his internship. At least it will make sure you and she won't live a bad enough life during the war."
"Billionaire? You are a billionaire, Mr. Ranger?" His eyes widened again, his mind clearly struggling to reconcile this enigmatic, god-like figure with something as mundane as earthly wealth. "But are you sure, Mr. Ranger? I mean, I haven't even joined your team yet. I am still on Captain America's team, and you two… you don't have the best relationship. Wouldn't it not make problems for you?"
Ranger let out a short, humorless laugh, a sound that seemed to echo with the weariness of a thousand worlds. "Kid, we are going into a battle, or rather a war, that would make Thanos's attack on Earth seem like nothing but a child's tantrum in a sandbox. And we are going with a handful of people. Though Thanos's attack was indeed child's play; I would say not even one percent of his actual forces were present. The Black Order, the Outriders… they were a scouting party, a sideshow. His true legions were busy fighting other cosmic powers in other galaxies. But I'm getting sidetracked." Ranger shook his head. "Anyway, we are fighting a cosmic horror so powerful that if you combined everything Earth has to offer—every army, every nuke, every so-called hero aside from a few individuals—they would still lose. Spectacularly."
He turned back to Peter, his gaze intense, almost pitying. "And do you think, when compared to such an ancient, world-devouring horror, that the new Captain America, or even the pathetic little world war that is so eager to ignite, would make my eyes go wide open, or make me shiver in fear? Kid, they will not. They are a squabble over shiny pebbles at the edge of a raging cosmic ocean. If I, Doom, or even Thor so wished, the war would have stopped the next day."
"Then why aren't you stopping the war?" The question burst from Peter, fueled by a genuine, noble frustration that was so characteristic of him. "Why join it? The news and the papers said that you will be one of the few that will lead multiple of battleship in the Indian Ocean. Why obey when you have the power to stop the war?"
"Simple, kid. If the war didn't happen now, it would happen later, and it would be much, much deadlier." Ranger's voice was laced with a cynical certainty. "Besides, the current war is not about metals. It is about ego." Ranger laughed, a sound that was a little too loud, a little too knowing, causing Peter to flinch. "Don't tell me, Peter, that you bought the propaganda from the news and from Captain Knockoff. The speeches, the righteous indignation, the carefully chosen soundbites… it's all theater."
"Peter, I thought you were smart and then naive. But it seems you are still more naive than smart. Looks like you need to grow a little." Ranger's voice softened slightly, shifting from dismissive cynic to patient, if unorthodox, mentor. "Listen to me. Don't just hear the words. Go through every little piece of propaganda the news, Captain America, and even the President told you. Look past the teleprompters. Match their movements, their tones of speaking when they delivered the news. Watch their eyes when they talk about sacrifice, and see where their gaze flickers. You will notice discrepancies. You will see the cracks in the performance. And I believe you are smart enough to figure out the truth."
Ranger kept quiet as he watched the gears turn in Peter's head, the boy's body language shifting from earnest confusion to dawning comprehension. He saw the lenses of Spider-Man's mask widen at the realization. His mouth opened to ask a question but shut again. It happened a few more times, a silent, internal battle between his idealistic worldview and the ugly truth Ranger was forcing him to confront, until a long sigh escaped him.
"Is this world really that… bad?" Peter's voice was small, filled with the profound, heartbreaking sadness of a faith being shattered. "Because some people couldn't say 'sorry,' millions, even billions, will die? Just because of someone's ego? Is this fair for all the others?" His head drooped, the weight of this new, cynical understanding too heavy to bear. "Why do we all have to suffer because of a few? Can you tell me, Mr. Ranger? Is this fair?"
Ranger walked over and stood directly in front of him, his presence a solid, unshakeable anchor in the swirling chaos of Peter's thoughts. He waited until Peter looked up, forcing the young man to meet his gaze.
"Peter, life is never fair. It never is, and it never will be. The world itself isn't bad, not by a huge margin. The rock and the water and the fire, they don't care. The ones who live in it, however." his voice was a calm, dispassionate recitation of a truth he had seen play out across universes, "are a different story. They are gloriously, tragically, and beautifully flawed."
"You ask if it is fair for others to die for the ego of a few. And I will tell you, no, from a moral standpoint, it is not. But from a historical standpoint, a biological standpoint, it is the most human thing there is. From the earliest recorded histories when men followed kings into battle for a patch of dirt, to whatever distant, irradiated future we are hurtling towards, humans have died for the egos of those above them. And they will continue to do so. For that is what the human species calls 'living.' That is their life. And as I told you, Peter, life is never fair."
He paced a slow circle around the young hero, his words weaving a complex, uncomfortable tapestry. "So I shall answer your question. We have to suffer because of a few. Because that's life. And life is never fair. Is it fair for others when a powerful few decide what will happen to their lives? No, it is not. And yet, it is. Because that is the structure of our reality, the pyramid of power upon which all our civilizations are built. And life is never fair."
"Is it fair for the world? The world is a stage, Peter. It does not feel the tragedy enacted upon it. It simply endures. So yes, it is fair to the world. And it is not. Because the concept of fairness is meaningless to it. It is a human invention, a story you tell yourselves to make the darkness bearable."
He stopped, facing Peter again, his voice dropping to an almost hypnotic whisper. "Especially human life. Humans have come so far not because we are fair, but because we are not. Unfairness is the engine of our evolution. The desire to have what another has, to be stronger, faster, smarter… that is what pushes you forward. It's the grit in the oyster that creates the pearl, Peter. You will either claw your way to the stars or drag yourselves back to the primordial mud because you will never, ever, truly be fair to one another. It is our nature."
"It is human nature to never be fair, but to maintain the beautiful, necessary illusion that it is and forever shall be fair. Fairness is the most comforting lie we tell ourselves, Peter. It's the social contract that allows good men like you to get out of bed in the morning and fight for a better world. It's the ideal you strive for, even knowing it is unattainable. But it is a lie nonetheless."
The answer stumped Peter. Even with his genius-level intellect, it took time for him to process. He mentally dissected every word, every phrase, and found a terrible, unshakeable, and deeply depressing logic within them. He sighed, a sound of profound youthful disillusionment. He understood nothing, and yet, he understood far too much.
Ranger patted his shoulder again. "Fairness is a myth, Peter. When everything is fair, nothing is. Greatness isn't fair. Love isn't fair. Sacrifice isn't fair. They are all imbalances, beautiful and terrible, that give life its meaning."