The magnificent rainbow bridge descended from the heavens once more, its prismatic light painting the desert landscape in brilliant hues before slowly fading into memory. When the radiance finally dissipated, Ben Parker stood alone on the distinctively patterned sand of New Mexico, surveying the vast wilderness that stretched endlessly toward the horizon.
"I should probably check what day it is," he muttered to himself, pulling out his phone only to remember that interdimensional travel tended to play havoc with cellular service. The desert around him showed no signs of the recent excitement that had briefly transformed this remote location into the center of attention when Thor's hammer had fallen from the sky.
Ben's first priority upon returning to Earth was retrieving the Casket of Ancient Winters from its underground hiding place. He transformed into Diamondhead, his crystalline form glinting in the harsh desert sun as he dove several kilometers beneath the surface. The Casket waited exactly where he had left it, its ancient Jotunheim craftsmanship still radiating the kind of cold that could freeze entire star systems.
"Leaving the broken Destroyer armor on Sakaar was the right call," he reflected as he carefully extracted the artifact, "but keeping something this dangerous on Earth feels like a disaster waiting to happen."
The planet's security infrastructure simply wasn't equipped to contain a weapon of this magnitude. The Casket possessed enough power to plunge the entire world into a new ice age if its containment ever failed. Finding a secure hiding place on a planet where the most sophisticated security system was probably a bank vault seemed laughably inadequate.
"Maybe I should just keep it with me," Ben decided pragmatically. "At least it'll help with the summer heat."
He carefully placed the artifact into his school backpack, right next to his chemistry textbook and a half-eaten bag of chips. Somewhere in the frozen wastes of Jotunheim, Laufey would have wept if he knew that his people's most sacred weapon was now serving as a portable air conditioning unit for a human teenager.
The entire situation served as a stark reminder of how much his life had changed since acquiring the Omnitrix. "I really need to prioritize developing that interdimensional transport device," he noted as he began his journey back to civilization.
"Primus should have gotten the healing serum into full production by now," he calculated as he transformed into XLR8 and began racing toward New York. "And if everything went according to plan, Harry's smartphone prototypes should be ready for market testing."
In the Marvel Universe, smartphone technology was relatively simple to develop—especially when you had access to advanced materials and manufacturing techniques that wouldn't be available in the real world for another decade. The challenging part was establishing the production infrastructure and distribution networks necessary to compete with established electronics companies.
The ideal scenario involved Primus leveraging its partnership with Oscorp to gain credibility in the medical market, then using that reputation to break into consumer electronics. With any luck, the healing serum's success had already generated enough capital to fund the smartphone project's next phase.
"Government contracts alone should have brought in serious money," Ben reasoned as the landscape blurred past him. "S.H.I.E.L.D. and the military would pay almost anything for a reliable healing."
Rather than heading to the airport and dealing with commercial travel, Ben simply change into XLR8 and ran the entire distance back to New York City. The journey gave him time to think and appreciate the familiar sensation of his feet touching solid ground after weeks of navigating Sakaar's alien terrain.
New York looked exactly as he remembered it—a bustling metropolis of glass and steel reaching toward the sky, filled with millions of people going about their daily lives in blissful ignorance of the cosmic dramas playing out beyond their atmosphere. It was comforting in its normalcy, a reminder that some things remained constant even as his own life became increasingly surreal.
As Ben approached Manhattan's skyline, he spotted a familiar red and blue figure swinging between the skyscrapers on gossamer strands of webbing. Spider-Man was in pursuit of what appeared to be a heavily armored figure riding some kind of advanced aircraft, the chase weaving through the urban canyon with the fluid grace of a three-dimensional ballet.
But it was Spider-Man's opponent that truly caught Ben's attention. The pursuing figure wore distinctive green and purple armor, complete with a grotesque goblin-like mask and a high-tech glider that moved with predatory efficiency through the air.
"Is that the Green Goblin?" Ben asked aloud, his enhanced Kineceleran vision tracking the aerial battle with perfect clarity. "How is that possible?"
Norman Osborn's genetic disease had been cured months ago. The Osborn Group was flourishing thanks to their partnership with Primus, generating unprecedented profits from the healing serum's medical applications. There should have been no reason for either Norman or Harry to undergo the psychological breakdown that typically preceded a transformation into the Green Goblin.
Yet there was no mistaking the figure pursuing Spider-Man through the city's airspace. The armor design, the glider technology, the cackling laughter echoing off the building facades—it was definitely the Green Goblin, in all his unhinged glory.
"I've only been gone for a month," Ben muttered, temporarily abandoning his plan to head straight home. "What the hell happened while I was away?"
Instead of rushing to assist Spider-Man immediately, Ben changed course toward Primus Technologies headquarters. He needed information before he could effectively intervene, and Dr. Connors would have been monitoring the situation closely.
Dr. Curt Connors looked genuinely surprised when Ben appeared in the laboratory doorway, still wearing in his XLR8 form. The scientist was carefully handling two vials of pale green serum, while a small lizard perched contentedly on his shoulder..
"Your space adventure is over already?" Connors asked, setting down the vials and gently transferring the lizard to Ben's outstretched hand. "Look at this—it's the first generation of enhanced lizards produced using our refined mutation protocols. With careful genetic manipulation, we should be able to—"
"Dr. Connors," Ben interrupted, recognizing the signs of an incoming lecture that could easily consume the next several hours, "what's the situation with the Green Goblin? How is Norman handling all this?"
He transformed back to his human form and moved quickly to the laboratory's computer terminal, where Eunice had helpfully displayed live news feeds of the ongoing aerial battle above Manhattan.
Understanding dawned in Connors' expression. "Ah, you mean the attacks on Osborsn," he said. "Norman has been trying to reach you for weeks, but your communications went completely dark."
"My phone got destroyed during the..." Ben paused, realizing that explaining interdimensional warfare might be more complicated than the situation warranted. "Wait, back up. The Green Goblin is attacking Norman Osborn?"
The information was staggering. Ben knew each individual word in that sentence, but their combination created a logical paradox that his brain struggled to process.
"So Norman isn't the Green Goblin?" he asked, just to be absolutely certain.
"Why would Norman be the Green Goblin?" Connors replied, as if the suggestion were absurd. "Based on our analysis of the attacks and the technology being used, we're fairly confident that the perpetrator is Mendel Stromm."
Ben blinked. "Who?"
"Don't tell me you've forgotten the man we bought most of our equipment from," Connors said with mild exasperation. "Mendel Stromm was one of Oscorp's original investors and board members."
The name triggered vague memories of financial transactions and equipment purchases during Primus's early development phase. "Oh, right. The guy who sold us all that lab gear at below-market prices."
"Exactly," Connors confirmed. "The glider technology the Green Goblin is using was developed by Oscorp's aerospace division, and Stromm would have had access to the prototypes through his board position. More importantly, we suspect he may have stolen and modified samples of our original lizard serum."
The pieces began falling into place. "The formula that got stolen before we perfected the healing serum?"
"Precisely. After the Lizard incident on the Williamsburg Bridge, the military canceled their order and returned all the samples. But several vials went missing during the transfer process." Connors gestured toward the news footage, where the Green Goblin was performing aerial maneuvers that seemed to exceed normal human reflexes. "We believe Stromm has been experimenting with modified versions of the formula, trying to create his own enhancement serum."
"Let me guess," Ben said wearily. "He sold his Oscorp shares when he thought the company was finished, then watched helplessly as our healing serum turned them into a pharmaceutical goldmine."
"A classic revenge story," Connors agreed. "Stromm apparently believes he was cheated out of billions in potential profits, so now he's trying to destroy Norman's reputation and steal our research to create his own competing empire."
Like many supervillains, this new Green Goblin's origin story followed a depressingly familiar pattern: greed, poor decision-making, and an inability to accept responsibility for the consequences of his own actions.
"What about Norman and Harry?" Ben asked, his concern shifting to his friends' wellbeing. "Are they safe?"
"They're fine," Connors assured him, then paused with a thoughtful expression. "Actually, Norman is probably the happiest he's been in years. Stromm's attack turned out to be the best advertising campaign we could have asked for."
Ben raised an eyebrow. "How do you figure that?"
"During the live television interview where Stromm first revealed himself as the Green Goblin, he managed to seriously injure Norman with some kind of energy weapon. The whole city watched as Norman collapsed, apparently dying from his wounds." Connors smiled at the memory. "Then Harry administered one of our healing serums on live television, and Norman made a complete recovery within minutes. He literally stood up and walked away from injuries that should have been fatal."
The implications were staggering from a marketing perspective. "So the entire city witnessed our product performing a literal miracle."
"The footage has been broadcast worldwide," Connors confirmed. "Every major news network has been running stories about the 'resurrection serum' that brought Norman Osborn back from the brink of death. Our order backlog is currently measured in years rather than months."
Of course, the enhanced formula that Norman had received wasn't quite the same as the commercial version they were selling to hospitals and medical facilities. But the basic principle remained sound, and the dramatic demonstration had eliminated any lingering doubts about the serum's effectiveness.
"I suppose we should send Stromm a thank-you card," Ben said dryly. "Though I'm guessing Norman isn't quite ready to forgive the attempted murder."
"The situation is... complicated," Connors admitted. "We have strong suspicions about the Green Goblin's identity, but no concrete proof that would hold up in court. And Stromm has been careful to avoid leaving evidence that could definitively link him to the attacks."
"Well, as long as everyone's safe, I guess we can work with the situation." Ben moved toward his personal laboratory to begin working on some overdue projects. "I should probably design a new suit before I get involved in this mess."
"Speaking of complications," Connors called after him, "you've got some personal issues that need attention. Felicia Hardy has been here looking for you multiple times since the serum launch."
Ben paused in the doorway. It wasn't surprising that Felicia knew Primus's location—her connections had been instrumental in acquiring Oscorp's surplus equipment at bargain prices. But her continued interest suggested that their relationship had progressed beyond simple business transactions.
"I see you're developing quite the social network," Connors observed with amusement.
The month-long communications blackout had apparently created more complications than Ben had anticipated. May and Ben Sr. had been asking increasingly pointed questions about his extended "holiday," forcing Peter to construct elaborate cover stories about Ben working with reclusive scientists in remote locations without cell phone coverage.
"The story becomes less believable every day," Connors noted. "And Felicia isn't the only one who's been worried. Mary Jane Watson has been stopping by regularly to check if you've returned."
"It's not that complicated," Ben protested, though he could already see the potential for awkward conversations and hurt feelings in his immediate future.
Compared to overthrowing a planetary dictator and establishing an interstellar peacekeeping organization, managing his teenage social life should have been relatively simple. But somehow, explaining a month-long absence to worried friends and family felt more daunting than anything he'd faced on Sakaar.
The 3D printer finished fabricating his new costume, and Connors examined the design with professional interest. "Interesting aesthetic choice. Going for a more intimidating look?"
"I want to avoid being confused with Spider-Man," Ben explained as he tested the suit's flexibility and fit. "Our fighting styles are different enough that sharing an identity could damage Peter's reputation."
The new costume incorporated several technological innovations inspired by his experiences on Sakaar. The base color was deep black, accented with white geometric patterns that formed an abstract spider design across the torso. The most distinctive feature was a series of black metallic chains wrapped around his forearms.
When Ben activated the suit's systems, the transformation was dramatic. Where moments before had stood a relatively normal-looking teenager, now there was a figure that seemed to have stepped out of a noir comic book—sleek, dangerous, and more than a little intimidating.
"What are the chains for?" Connors asked, examining the metallic components with scientific curiosity. "I thought Spider-Man relied on web-shooters. Is this some new technology?"
"You'll see" Ben replied.
Ben attached several small disc-shaped devices to where the web-launcher would be positioned. "Borrowed technology from my trip. These discs contain a modified neurotoxin that can incapacitate targets without permanent harm."
The Red King's implant technology had been crude but effective. Ben's modified version was far more precise, capable of rendering opponents unconscious without the brutal side effects that had made the original so horrifying.
"Fascinating," Connors murmured, stepping back to give Ben space to test the suit's mobility. "Non-lethal but highly effective. Much more sophisticated than traditional law enforcement tools."
Ben moved to the laboratory window, preparing to make his exit in dramatic fashion rather than walking through the front door like a normal person. Before he left, Connors called out one final question.
"So what should we call you now? I assume you'll want a distinctive codename to avoid confusion with your cousin."
Ben paused on the windowsill, his new costume's dark fabric rippling in the evening breeze. The question deserved a thoughtful answer—a name that would reflect him.
"Prime," he said finally, testing how the words sounded. "Call me Prime."
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