Peter Parker remained blissfully unaware that certain government agencies were developing elaborate recruitment strategies that would supposedly work in his favor. The three teenagers didn't linger at Primus much longer before returning to the chaos of their regular lives, where the aftermath of another school attack required careful management and coordinated storytelling.
Despite their successful rescue operation, appearances still needed to be maintained. Official statements had to be given, paperwork had to be filed, and concerned authorities had to be satisfied that everything was proceeding according to standard emergency protocols.
Police Captain George Stacy arrived personally to conduct the interviews, and his expression grew notably darker the moment he spotted Peter among the witnesses. The look he gave the young man clearly communicated a single, exasperated question: Why does this kid keep showing up at every major incident in the city?
Fortunately, Ben's team had rehearsed their cover story thoroughly during the ride back from Primus. Their testimonies aligned perfectly, presenting a coherent narrative that explained their presence and survival without raising uncomfortable questions about superhuman intervention.
After completing their obligations to law enforcement, Ben suggested that Peter should prepare some kind of appreciation gift for J. Jonah Jameson. Despite the newspaper editor's notorious antagonism toward Spider-Man and his generally abrasive personality, he had demonstrated genuine integrity by refusing to betray Peter's civilian identity under extreme duress.
That kind of loyalty deserved recognition, regardless of the man's other character flaws.
Peter readily agreed to the gesture, but before visiting Jameson, they had a more pressing concern to address.
The attack on their school had left two classrooms with significant structural damage where Kraven's strength had punched holes through reinforced walls. While the physical destruction was manageable, the psychological impact on the student body was considerable. School administrators had made the practical decision to suspend classes for several days while both repairs and counseling could be arranged.
Most importantly, Flash Thompson remained in critical condition at New York Presbyterian Hospital.
Flash's situation represented the kind of cruel irony that made Ben's jaw clench with suppressed anger. As someone with superhuman abilities, even Kraven's casual backhand had been enough to inflict life-threatening injuries on an ordinary teenager. The hunter hadn't even been trying to kill Flash—he'd simply swatted him aside like an annoying insect while pursuing his real target.
Now Flash lay unconscious in the intensive care unit, his condition balanced on a knife's edge between recovery and permanent disability.
His parents maintained a vigil outside the surgical suite, their faces etched with the kind of helpless anguish that only comes from watching a child suffer while being powerless to intervene.
"The situation is quite serious," Dr. Martinez admitted as he emerged from the operating theater after several hours of emergency surgery.
The exhaustion in his voice spoke of a medical team that had pushed their skills to the absolute limit trying to save a young life.
"We've managed to stabilize the patient's vital signs," he continued with professional caution, "but the head trauma is extensive. There's significant risk of permanent neurological damage—potentially including a persistent vegetative state."
The words hit Flash's parents like physical blows, draining the color from their faces and leaving them swaying on their feet.
Mrs. Thompson grasped the doctor's arm with desperate intensity, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Please," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "There has to be something else you can try. Anything. He's our only child."
Dr. Martinez's expression softened with genuine sympathy.
"There is one theoretical option," he said carefully. "Osborn Industries has developed a serum that could potentially reverse this type of damage. However..."
He hesitated, clearly reluctant to raise hopes that might be crushed by practical realities.
"The cost is prohibitive for most families, and availability is extremely limited. Most of the production run has been reserved for military and government contracts. What little reaches the civilian market is typically acquired by... individuals with significant financial resources."
The unspoken price tag hung in the air like a death sentence.
Flash Thompson came from a solidly middle-class family—comfortable enough to afford a nice house in Queens and send their son to a decent private school, but nowhere near wealthy enough to compete with politicians and billionaires for access to life-saving medicine.
Even if they could somehow raise the necessary funds, actually obtaining the serum would require connections and influence they simply didn't possess.
Mrs. Thompson's legs gave out entirely, and she collapsed to her knees as the full weight of their helplessness crashed down upon her.
"Maybe in a few years," Dr. Martinez offered with forced optimism, "when production increases and the price comes down..."
But everyone present understood the cruel mathematics of that scenario. Flash would spend years connected to life support equipment, burning through the family's savings while his mind remained trapped in pharmaceutical-induced limbo. By the time the treatment became accessible, the best years of his life would be gone forever.
Ben Parker stepped forward without hesitation.
"Primus Technologies will handle Flash's medical care," he announced with quiet authority.
The promise drew startled looks from both parents and medical staff, but Ben's expression brooked no argument.
Flash Thompson wasn't perfect—he could be arrogant, impulsive, and occasionally cruel in the thoughtless way of privileged teenagers. But at his core, he was a decent kid whose worst impulses had been gradually corrected through years of friendship with Ben. More importantly, he'd been injured while trying to protect Peter from Kraven.
Ben couldn't stand by and watch someone suffer for doing the right thing.
"The serum might not be sufficient for this type of neurological damage," Ben continued, addressing the practical medical concerns. "Brain tissue is significantly more complex than muscle or bone, and crude cellular regeneration could potentially cause memory problems or personality changes."
He paused, considering alternative solutions.
"However, Primus has access to medical technologies that go beyond conventional pharmaceuticals. We'll find a way to help him."
In the back of his mind, Ben was already considering more exotic options. If traditional medicine proved insufficient, there were always the symbiotes—alien organisms capable of healing virtually any injury while granting their hosts enhanced physical capabilities.
It would mean bringing Agent Venom into the world ahead of schedule, but sometimes circumstances demanded flexibility.
"Eunice," he said quietly, activating his communication link, "monitor the Life Foundation's network traffic and satellite communications. Alert me immediately if there's any unusual activity."
After completing Flash's transfer paperwork and explaining the situation to his grateful parents, Ben transported the entire Thompson family to Primus for advanced medical evaluation.
He made it clear that while the regenerative serum might provide some benefit, he couldn't guarantee immediate results. What he could promise was that Flash would receive the best possible care until a complete cure could be achieved.
The Primus Technologies Tower's upper floors contained medical facilities that rivaled anything available at Johns Hopkins or the Mayo Clinic, staffed by experts who had access to technologies that wouldn't reach the general public for decades.
After settling the Thompson family in comfortable quarters, Ben sought out Dr. Curt Connors for a comprehensive analysis of Flash's condition.
Between Eunice's sophisticated scanning capabilities and Connors' expertise in regenerative biology, they were able to develop a detailed understanding of the neurological damage within hours.
"The regenerative serum can definitely repair the physical trauma," Connors confirmed after reviewing the scan results.
"However," he continued with scientific precision, "the healing process will be somewhat crude by necessity. Brain tissue doesn't regenerate the same way as other organs—there will likely be significant memory disruption and cognitive side effects."
He pointed to specific areas highlighted on the brain scan.
"Think of it like rebuilding a complex machine without the original blueprints. The basic functionality will be restored, but the fine details might be lost."
Ben nodded, having expected as much.
"Then we'll need to consider symbiote intervention," he said matter-of-factly.
"Symbiote?" Connors asked with professional curiosity. "I'm familiar with symbiotic relationships in biology, but you're clearly referring to something more specific."
"An alien species," Ben explained, seeing no reason to conceal information from someone already privy to so many secrets. "They're amorphous organisms capable of bonding with other life forms."
"That sounds uncomfortably similar to parasitism," Connors observed with obvious concern.
"The key difference is mutual benefit," Ben clarified. "Symbiotes can heal fatal injuries, grant enhanced physical capabilities, and even provide protection from environmental hazards. The relationship is genuinely cooperative rather than exploitative."
He'd learned much about symbiote biology during his time on Sakaar, where Brunhilde had shared extensive knowledge about their species.
"Most symbiotes actually originate from a planet called Klyntar in the Andromeda Galaxy," Ben continued. "They're naturally altruistic and enjoy helping other species achieve their potential. The negative reputation comes from a few bad examples under unfortunate circumstances."
Connors listened with the fascination of a scientist encountering an entirely new form of life.
"If such creatures exist," he said thoughtfully, "they could revolutionize medical treatment across countless species."
"Exactly," Ben agreed. "For now, though, let's proceed with the regenerative serum and see how Flash responds. We can introduce symbiote therapy later if needed."
After all, amnesia was a manageable problem compared to permanent brain death. Getting Flash conscious and functional took priority over preserving every detail of his memories.
Meanwhile, across the city, Peter Parker was fulfilling his obligation to visit J. Jonah Jameson with an appropriate gift of appreciation.
The Daily Bugle's editor-in-chief had been transferred to New York Presbyterian's VIP wing, where he was currently berating his staff with characteristic enthusiasm despite his own injuries.
"You incompetent morons!" Jameson's voice echoed through the hospital corridor as Peter approached. "Why did you put me in the expensive ward? Do you think I'm made of money? These medical vampires charge enough to buy a small country!"
He sat propped up in bed with bandages wrapped around his head, his face flushed with indignation as he gestured wildly at Robbie Robertson and Betty Brant.
When Peter entered the room, Jameson's tirade stopped mid-sentence. His expression softened dramatically, transforming from irritated employer to concerned grandfather in the space of a heartbeat.
"Peter!" he said with genuine warmth. "Are you hurt? Are you okay? Did those animals do anything to you?"
The unexpected tenderness in his voice left Peter momentarily speechless. He'd never heard Jameson speak with such gentle concern, and the contrast with his usual bombastic personality was jarring.
"I'm fine, Mr. Jameson," Peter managed, setting down the flowers and gift basket he'd brought. "Thank you for asking."
"Good, good," Jameson said with obvious relief, studying Peter carefully for signs of injury or trauma.
Once he was satisfied that Peter had escaped serious harm, his personality reverted to its default setting with almost mechanical precision.
"Since you're unharmed," he declared with renewed energy, "where are my photographs?!"
His voice rose to its familiar decibel level as he launched into a fresh round of accusations.
"You completely failed in your professional responsibilities! You had a perfect opportunity to document Spider-Man's brutal methods and expose him for the menace he really is! Instead, I get nothing but medical bills and therapy sessions!"
Peter tried to defend himself.
"But Spider-Man saved me—"
"He didn't save anyone!" Jameson interrupted, practically launching himself out of bed in his excitement. "He's the reason you were in danger in the first place!"
He pointed an accusatory finger at Peter's chest.
"He's the reason my newspaper was attacked! He's the reason I'm stuck in this overpriced medical prison being bled dry by doctors who charge more per hour than most people make in a month!"
The rant continued for several minutes, covering Spider-Man's various alleged crimes, the incompetence of the New York Police Department, and the predatory nature of the American healthcare system.
Finally, Jameson climbed out of bed, delivered a playful kick to Peter's backside, and physically escorted him from the room.
"Go home to your family," he ordered with gruff affection. "They're probably worried sick about you."
The gesture, despite its aggressive presentation, was actually motivated by genuine concern for Peter's wellbeing and his family's peace of mind.
Ironically, Ben Sr. and May remained completely unaware that their nephew had been kidnapped in the first place. Harry Osborn had moved quickly to suppress media coverage of the incident, ensuring that the specific identities of Kraven's targets never reached public attention.
The official story simply referred to "students" being rescued from a dangerous situation, without naming names or providing details that might compromise ongoing investigations.
When Peter arrived home to the modest Parker residence in Queens, he found the house empty. Ben Sr. and May had departed earlier that morning to participate in community volunteer work—a fulfilling use of their time now that financial pressures had been alleviated by Ben's success.
Both teenagers supported their guardians' decision to focus on helping others rather than simply pursuing additional income. Peter viewed it as another form of heroism, while Ben was simply happy to see them enjoying life without the constant stress of economic uncertainty.
However, the empty house didn't mean Peter was alone.
Standing on the front porch with the patient bearing of someone accustomed to waiting, Steve Rogers offered a warm smile as Peter approached.
"Hello, Peter Parker," Captain America said with the kind of genuine friendliness that immediately put people at ease. "I was hoping we could have a conversation."