"I know you said you had something to show me... but I'm starting to worry you're going to chop me up and bury me somewhere," Peter laughed nervously, his voice echoing off the damp, stone walls as he trailed behind Wyatt through the shadowy tunnels of the long-abandoned subway station.
The air was thick with the scent of mildew, and the dim glow from Wyatt's flashlight danced across the crumbling tiles, revealing an elaborate network of passages that seemed far too complex for any ordinary subway system. The walls were adorned with faded graffiti and remnants of old advertisements, whispering tales of a forgotten era.
"Haha, very funny," Wyatt said without turning around, carefully stepping over several large chunks of concrete. "It's not much further."
The two pressed forward through the shadowy tunnel, their flashlights slicing through the oppressive darkness with narrow beams of illumination. The air was thick and musty, a concoction of damp earth and the faint metallic scent of rust. The rhythmic sound of their footsteps echoed off the cold, concrete walls, and a distant dripping sound reverberated every now and then, adding to the eerie ambiance that surrounded them.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity lost in shadows, they stumbled upon an old subway car, marooned and forgotten in this subterranean graveyard. Its once vibrant paint was now a peeling mural of rust and grime, the iron framework succumbing to years of neglect. The interior was cloaked in darkness, yet an unsettling sense of history lingered in the air, thick with the ghosts of countless passengers who had traveled this route long ago, now silent in the depths of Manhattan's forgotten underbelly.
"How… amazing," Peter said in disappointment as Wyatt smiled in amusement.
"You won't be saying that in a minute," Wyatt grinned and stepped into the old subway car. "Come on."
Peter raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued as he followed Wyatt into the car. The moment he peered inside, a wave of confusion washed over him; the interior was a chaotic mess, with the floor littered with dust, crumpled papers, and remnants of takeout meals.
Peter quickly noticed something unusual: Wyatt had selected a spot on the far left subway bench, which stood out sharply against the surrounding clutter. This bench appeared almost spotless, as if it had been shielded from the grime that covered the rest of the car.
"Come on, take a seat," Wyatt said, amusedly.
"Okay, did something take over your body, or are you an alien that's impersonating Wyatt?" Peter asked.
"Just sit down, Pete."
Peter sighed and sat beside Wyatt. He turned to his friends and stared at him with an exasperated expression.
"See? Was that so hard?" Wyatt chuckled and motioned to the handrail to Peter's left. "Now grab that bar."
With no more energy to question what was happening, Peter shrugged his shoulders and grabbed the handrail.
"Ooh! So cool-"
"Biochemistry confirmed. Hello, Peter." A soft robotic voice bellowed out, surprising Peter. "Please keep all limbs within the bench."
Before Peter could voice his confusion, the sturdy bench he and Wyatt were sitting on began to tremble as it rapidly descended down a slick steel pathway. As they plunged deeper, Peter calculated their rate of descent and estimated that they had dropped approximately 25 meters. When they finally came to a stop, they found themselves in a large steel room adorned with colorful accents and a pair of doors.
Abruptly, the twin metal doors parted with a hiss, revealing what looked like a technological wonderland.
Peter stood in amazement and walked inside, his senses heightened by the array of advanced computers and futuristic technology that filled the expansive room. The air was filled with the soft hum of machinery, and blinking lights cast colorful reflections on polished surfaces. To his right, a section dedicated to scientific gear and equipment boasted an impressive array of instruments, each more complex than the last. Against the far wall loomed a large 3D printer, pulsing gently, alongside a sleek workstation, its display flickering with vibrant graphics.
At the room's center, a massive OLED screen dominated the space, seamlessly broadcasting various news stations and public security feeds from around the city. Below the screen, a sprawling digital map of New York illuminated with real-time updates guided the eye, showcasing the city in its full dynamic glory.
Peter wandered through the room like a child in a high-tech toy store, his heart racing with excitement. He paused in front of a striking red and yellow armored version of his Spider-Man suit. The vibrant colors caught the light, and as he moved closer, he marveled at the intricate details of its design. Beside the Iron-Spider suit stood an assortment of other suits, each uniquely tailored for different purposes. Nearby, his first red and blue suit, the one he had sewn together in his room, was proudly displayed, evoking fond memories.
Off to the side, several mannequins stood silently, ready for whatever new suit his imagination could conjure. Peter turned and noticed a sprawling workbench overflowing with materials, just waiting for him to craft the next evolution of his suit. Various fabrics, high-tech components, and tools were neatly organized, inviting him to unleash his creativity in this sanctuary of innovation.
"Wyatt… what is this?" Peter whispered, too stunned to speak up.
"This," Wyatt motioned to everything around them. "Is your new headquarters! It has everything you could ever need to help you perform as Spider-Man. Come on, follow me. We're not done yet!"
Peter blinked owlishly as he followed Wyatt through a hallway. "There's more?!"
Wyatt chuckled as they stepped into a spacious room, the atmosphere buzzing with an air of creation and possibility. In the center stood an impressive futuristic pod, its sleek exterior gleaming under the soft, ambient lighting. The pod was intricately connected to a network of thick, translucent tubes and robust wires, suggesting a complex web of advanced technology.
"This," Wyatt said with a grin, gesturing proudly toward the pod, "is my latest creation—a reverse-engineered healing pod, crafted with the brilliance of Asgard's genius minds. It's designed to expedite recovery like nothing you've ever seen before. So, if you find yourself battered and bruised after a tough fight, just hop inside, and you'll be back on your feet in no time."
"You… just said a lot of words that don't go together," Peter muttered as he walked up to the healing pod. "You're telling me that you weren't kidding when you told me you spent a week in Asgard and fought alongside the god of thunder himself?! How is this even powered?"
"Magic. It's powered by magic," Wyatt said, gazing at the pod with pride. "With my Mystic Eyes, I can perceive the natural flow of magical energy in the Earth. Although I haven't learned any spells yet, I have discovered how to guide and manipulate magic itself. Which allowed me to reverse engineer the healing pods they used in Asgard to heal me after my battle with the Destroyer."
"Wyatt… what is your life?"
"A good question. A question I lack the answers to," Wyatt chuckled and motioned for Peter to follow him.
As they exited the recovery room, Wyatt guided Peter toward an unassuming wooden door.
When they stepped inside, Peter's eyes widened in surprise at the sight before him: a luxurious living room that, while it appeared quite ordinary at first glance, was tastefully furnished with plush sofas and elegant décor. The open kitchen seamlessly connected to the living space, showcasing state-of-the-art appliances that any professional chef would envy, from a stainless-steel refrigerator to a sleek induction cooktop and even a double oven.
As Peter wandered through the home, he discovered a sprawling master bedroom, its soft color palette creating an inviting atmosphere. The attached bathroom boasted modern fixtures and a deep soaking tub, perfect for unwinding after a long day.
Every corner of this apartment-style home exuded sophistication and comfort, reminiscent of the lavish dwellings in the city's most upscale condos. The combination of style and functionality made it clear that this was not just a place to live, but a sanctuary designed for those who appreciate the finer things in life.
Too overwhelmed by it all, Peter turned to Wyatt with confusion. "Wyatt… why did you do all this?"
"Because I'm your friend, Pete. I have the power to help you protect the city and its people. So why wouldn't I do everything I can to help ease your burden?" Wyatt said, gesturing to all that surrounded them.
"I... don't know what to say," Peter said as Wyatt led him back into the main control room. Here, the two looked around at everything at Peter's disposal.
"You don't have to say anything," Wyatt smiled and was momentarily surprised when Peter enveloped Wyatt in a tight hug.
"Thank you, Wyatt. I doubt there's anything I can do to ever pay you back," Peter smiled as he stepped back.
"You risking your life each day as Spider-Man to do what's right is all I need," Wyatt grinned and patted Peter's shoulder. "Now come on, I need to show you your system's OS and your own personal AI."
"Wait… you made me an AI too?!"
"Yup, she's the same one you heard back in the subway. Her name... is SP//dr," Wyatt said as he and Peter spent the next several hours going over everything within Peter's new high-tech headquarters.
••o••o••o••
King Namor McKenzie, often referred to as the Sub-Mariner, was the son of Captain Leonard and the Atlantean princess Fen. He served as the esteemed ruler of Atlantis.
As he floated gracefully beneath the shimmering waves, his sharp eyes noticed an unusual scene unfolding nearby.
A group of sturdy, dark blue and grey MSM-07 Z'Gok mechas, their metallic bodies glistening in the filtered sunlight, maneuvered with surprising delicacy. They meticulously approached a distressed sea turtle, entangled in a plastic six-pack ring that threatened its life.
With expert precision, the mechas carefully disengaged the harmful debris, showcasing both their advanced technology and their creators' commitment to marine conservation.
"How curious," Namor muttered.
"What are these things, my king?" one of the dozen Atlantian soldiers asked as they watched the mecha descend into the depths to continue its responsibility of cleaning the ocean floor alongside its comrades.
"They belong to the surface dweller known as Atomic," Namora, Namor's fierce younger cousin, declared as she glided gracefully through the azure waters, surfacing beside a colossal Gok.
Towering and menacing in its design, the mecha exuded a sense of power, yet it remained utterly indifferent to Namora's presence. Even when she delivered a sharp kick to its metallic frame, the behemoth continued its work, showing no signs of aggression.
"The ocean has greatly suffered at the hands of those living on the surface," she continued, her voice echoing through the depths. "After cleansing the seas of the pollution caused by humans with his unique power, Atomic transformed the floating islands of waste that once plagued our home into thriving underwater sanctuaries. However, it seems that Atomic has now entrusted the ongoing task of clearing away the remaining debris to his obedient robots."
"Impossible! No one could have cleaned up all that waste in such a short amount of time without attracting any attention!" A soldier said in disbelief.
"No, it's very much possible," Namor declared, his gaze shifting away from the imposing Gok mech that loomed nearby. The ocean king had been deep in thought, contemplating the surface dweller known as Atomic ever since Namora had brought the situation to his attention. "I've delved into his background," he continued, a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. "The man possesses immense power and remarkable skill in wielding it. His abilities… to manipulate the very atoms that constitute existence itself is a phenomenon beyond comprehension. It's an extraordinary gift, one that could potentialy alter the fabric of reality."
"What should we do, Namor?" Namora asked.
The ruler of Atlantis hummed as the grip on his trident tightened. For several moments, he remained silent. Contemplative.
"For now, we shall do nothing," Namor proclaimed, his voice resonating with authority as he surveyed the endless expanse of shimmering ocean beneath him. The sun glinted off he surface, making the water appear as if it were strewn with diamonds. "I will permit these diligent robots to continue their tireless cleaning efforts, striving to rid my beloved seas of the detritus left by those surface dwellers."
He turned to his cousin. "Namora," he continued, the weight of his words carrying a sense of urgency, "I have a vital mission for you. Assemble a team of our most skilled Atlantean warriors and venture to the surface world. Seek out Atomic and bring him before me. I wish to exchange words with him." The currents around them seemed to shift as his conclusion flowed through the water, a clear signal that he would not tolerate any delay in this vital task.
Namora's eyes widened at Namor's orders.
Namora had always lived under the protective shadow of her cousin, Namor, the formidable king of Atlantis. As the younger cousin, she found her life restricted to the sprawling underwater realms, rarely venturing beyond the familiar embrace of their oceanic territory. Though surrounded by the wonders of the sea, Namora's heart ached with an insatiable curiosity about the world above—the land of sunlight, mystery, and adventures untold.
When her overprotective cousin unexpectedly gave her permission to ascend to the surface in search of one of their heroes, Namora felt a rush of emotions.
Confusion mingled with excitement as she wondered what had prompted this sudden shift in Namor's stance. Was this a test of her capabilities? A trial designed to measure her worthiness in his eyes? The thought of proving herself to her powerful cousin ignited a fierce determination within her.
Whatever Namor's intentions might be, Namora resolved to embrace the challenge wholeheartedly. She envisioned the possibilities that awaited her, the landscapes she had only glimpsed in impressions and stories, and the people she might encounter. Each step away from the safety of Atlantis brought with it a feeling of liberation, but also a tinge of anxiety.
With a deep breath, Namora performed a graceful bow, careful to mask the giddy smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. "...very well, my liege," she declared, her voice steady despite the excitement within her.
As she raised her head, she sensed the weight of her cousin's gaze, a mix of expectation and perhaps, just a hint of pride. Whatever lay ahead, she was ready to dive in and face it head-on.