2 Agenda Active
Obligatory Disclaimer : I do not own anything (except maybe OC characters) all characters, places, worlds, universes…etc mentioned here belong to their respective owners and/or companies.
This is purely a work of fiction. Not meant to offend or incite, but to entertain and (maybe) inspire.
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AGENDA ACTIVE
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I was out the hospital and shuffled by police car to the place that was to be my new home. I'd remained silent with what I could muster as a smile on my face while the driver, my body's father, Jeff, told me what new weird thing he'd seen during patrol, what hero did what where, and what villain caused what casualties while escaping. I paid attention to first hand accounts of my new world, coming from the mouth of a first responder, he had more than what I'd learn from the media.
He interspaced his updates with information that I'd be able to return to school after the weekend since I was cleared. What he failed to notice was the vehicle tailing us from two blocks back. I took note of the driver in the gray sedan and memorized the number plates as they decided to pull away.
Coincidences in a comic book universe were never just coincidences. "harg ha ha." I hid my groan in laughter. Whatever process of change was occurring within me was still ongoing; my muscles restructured themselves, growing denser and stronger, prompting my bones to respond in kind to facilitate the extraordinary changes occurring within me.
We parked outside a home located in a warm neighborhood, it wasn't as sterile as the suburbs but possessed a looked after appearance. The people themselves were what made it warm, they waved and smiled, calling out my, or Jeff's name in greeting.
Jeff led me up the pavement and into a modest home. One decorated with shelves of photographs, wooden furniture, trays of fruits and flowers. It felt lived in, the wood had age, the carpet looked new yet felt broken in, the cases of CDs on the tv stand brought up fond memories as did the scent of fresh fruits and air. It simply felt like a family home.
I carried myself up to my room and entered. Jeff told me to stay safe and take it easy as he left. He made it clear that there was ample food in the kitchen along with an assortment of desserts and that Rio, the body mother, would be off work soon.
I closed the room door behind me and sat on the spring bed, the room was as you'd expect a teenager's to be. Clothes, comic books, action figures littered it in no specific order. The bed was unmade, and the closet was open.
There was no drawing board or pad, and coke was still coca cola. I sat by the desk and turned the pc on. I kept the driver and vehicle description on a note, and clicked up the browser.
Tony Stark was Robert Downey jr. Captain America was Chris Evans. The Hulk was a cannibalistic monster. Mutants existed and were hated. Magneto was a seeming terrorist and the X-men were trying to change the status quo. The Fantastic Four were a thing and they were in the Baxter building. Avengers did not exist, they were called the Ultimates.
Okay, so Earth-1610. The ultimate universe then, a dimension where heroes were reimagined and reinvented to fit a modern retelling. That did not mean it adhered entirely to the 1610 progress of events, nor did it mean my conclusion was entirely correct.
Captain America could be a hydra agent, the skrulls could be in hiding and waiting to enact their invasion, Apocalypse or Thanos could attack the planet, Dr Doom could enact a plan to seize power over everything, Galactus could come to feed, Annihilus could unleash his horde and a great many number of terrible events could occur.
Leaving the question of my meta-knowledge aside—my sister loved comics, I made it a tradition to read as many of them as I could whenever I visited her gra--, her resting place. She preferred marvel comics, she related to the more flawed and human characters within, she would hate what it turned into, the political agendas and flimsy storylines—There was no operational guide other than to be prepared to face these threats, if they came, when they came.
Why? Why was I brought to this world? What is my reason for being here? Was I put here to save people, to enjoy life, to bring death or for no reason at all?
The answers eluded me. If I was the man before my revenge, I would use all means necessary to see myself become powerful, I would kill, steal, murder my way to the very pinnacle, but that was a past life. My revenge was complete, my life did not have meaning save for the moral obligation to atone for my sins. This was a place with an afterlife, heaven sounded like the place I could be reunited with those I loved.
Perhaps it was simple; with great power, comes great responsibility. My family and I suffered only because those with great powers chose to be irresponsible. I turned to destruction only because there was no one there to offer me the aid I needed when I needed it, because no one brought vindication.
With that in mind, how could I not offer my own aid to others? How could I with such a great power in my grasp rest on my laurels while others suffered, when I could very well end or ease their suffering?
Was this it? Was this my grand purpose then or was it simply self rationalization to give me meaning in this new world?
It mattered not, what mattered was taking action.
I had memorized Jeff's access to the police network. I used his credentials and a series of silent nodes and vpns to access the police server, logging in with what was essentially a ghost account. Typing in the plates brought up a name and picture entirely different from the driver's, but it came with a thread, the vehicle owner had their employment status listed under OSCORP—a name that made everything click into place.
OSCORP was where the class went on an excursion trip, it was also where I got bitten. Norman Osborn at this point in time should be working on a super soldier serum replica for SHIELD or the US government.
I knew who my watcher was now. I also knew why I was being watched.
. . .
It was a scrapyard. Abandoned cars sat in advanced states of disrepair, others were stacked in towers of red rust. The ground was littered with pieces of discarded metal fragments that were once useful cogs in a machine. I closed the map function of my phone and stepped over a puddle of black oil.
A tour of the area led me to a secluded spot. One where I'd be hidden from prying eyes, ears and mouths.
I approached the turned over, champagne blue minivan. It was an appropriate target. I wrapped both arms around its crushed and folded bumper. My fingers easily dug into the metal as though it were sponge.
With a low grunt of effort, I hefted the reluctantly groaning vehicle clean off the ground, holding an approximate weight of three tons above my head like a 40lb weighted barbell.
"Jesus." I whispered. This was amazing, how could physics allow such a small body with such a small surface area of muscle to lift such a large car? For hulk or others of his stature and size to lift such a weight would be commonplace, they had the musculature to allow me, and yet I, with my compact and dense musculature which would only be obvious under very fitting clothes, accomplished the same. The enhancement resulting from the spider bite had turned me into a post human, a super being capable of ridiculous feats of strength and power.
I waved the vehicle around as though it was a pillow of feathers, it felt as such, I pulled an arm away and held it up with just one. It was barely even taxing, I had yet to break a sweat. The windscreen broke, filthy water and loose parts doused my clothes and body. In the same vein as a spasm fizzled through my body, the grip I maintained on the vehicle faded when the stickiness gave out and my fingers refused to follow my commands.
I only managed to shield my face as the minivan fell on me. Instead of being crushed however, I created a me-shaped dent in the already broken bumper. I pushed the car off me with minor cuts and aches, no broken bones, no lacerations, no internal trauma. This was downright miraculous.
I still felt an urge, one hard to put into words. Something was racing within me, something that wanted to be free. I could feel it course through my veins, it made me jumpy and restless, a valve needed to be turned open. I followed my instincts.
Yellow arcs of electricity arced and eagerly danced along my outstretched fingers. It was intoxicating! I brought both arms to near proximity, allowing the current to pool between the cupped space of my hands. With the loud cry of a thousand sparrows, the piercing wingbeat of a horde of locusts, the current turned into a ball of crackling electricity, threads of it lashing all along my hands, singing off the sleeves of my shirt.
I rammed the ball against the side of the car—BAAAM!! The vehicle folded at the strike's epicenter, a small shockwave followed the exploding strands of electricity which spread all over the minivan's broken exterior as it rolled away for meters on end, kicking up dirt, honking and flashing lights as the temporary charge powered its yet unbroken electronics.
It crashed next to a stack of cars, broken and disfigured beyond resemblance. I fell to my knees in exhaustion, fire burned at the back of my throat, my heart thumped in my ear, my hands shook and my vision doubled.
The fatigue was more than I thought, but the relieved sensation gave me joy. It was obvious that to fully utilize my powers and grow, I would have to exercise and push my limits with effort. I may have been changed but I needed to find proper resistance if I wanted to improve further.
I couldn't understand why turning invisible was so easy for me, but it simply was. It operated, or I perceived it to operate as an internal switch.
Flip; invisibility on.
Flip; invisibility off.
Watching my hands flicker in and out of existence was entertaining, as much as it was; however, it was time to head home before Rio got there.
Flip went the switch as I blended seamlessly with my environment.
*.*.*.*.
"You're saying he's stabilized?" Norman Osborn reclined comfortably into his chair, he found comfort in it and its orthopedic effect. He read the data projected on the screen before him.
"In effect, yes. The deterioration that should've been in progress has instead reversed itself, it seems to have even resulted in an advantageous effect for the child as it has increased his physical attributes to an Olympian standard." The scientist in a lab coat explained. He clicked on a button to display graphs and charts, a before and after of the subject's physical state.
"Interesting." Norman said. It was a blessing that unlike other test subjects that had been exposed to the oz-serum, the child's body did not deteriorate from the accidental exposure. He had been prepared for the bitter legal battle that would've ensued should had the boy died. Perhaps this was proof that the ozserum was ready. That his scientists had been wrong. That he would finally be able to prove to his power and impatient investors and impertinent board of directors that he had developed that which he was tasked with.
This was a heaven sent opportunity to bring results, the serum was successful and he would prove it, despite the advice of those under him, this was his chance to show that he had succeeded where a multitude of others had failed, a chance to obtain unimaginable power and wealth.
A grin was etched across his face as he brought his hands together, a dangerous thought brewing in his mind. "The serum is ready."
"I do not believe so sir. This isolated event was, forgive my words, a miracle resulting from a series of uncontrolled coincidences. It is impossible to replicate" the scientist quickly warned.
"We will match the situation, control the environment and replicate the effects. The serum is ready." Norman was confident. He knows when to be. He became the CEO by recognizing when to take risks, that and when to be ruthless even if it meant eliminating his competition. Why would he limit himself to by staying loyal to his clandestine investors? Not when he could rule the world and own the biological arms race.
"But sir—"
"You are excused, Dr Warren."
The dejected scientist left the office. He wasn't saddened by the ethics of human experimentation, he cared little for the lives of others outside his own. No, Dr Warren was one who sought perfection, the ozserum needed to be perfected, it couldn't be rushed, it shouldn't be! Perfection must be maintained at all cost, for only with it, could they create the ultimate being.
"Brian." Norman called, prompting his bodyguard and assistant to approach.
"Yes, sir."
"Silence the doctor and promote his replacement." Norman ordered, the boy's existence was a secret that he could not have anyone else knowing of. It was his and his alone.
A sinister grin appeared on his face as a dangerous thought grew in his mind. He was on the precipice of all he sought, the world would soon bow before him.
*.*.*.*.
Shumalummadumma that's birdspeak for cheeeeeeeeee
Things are getting heated up with our resident hero boi.
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