Aldrich Killian sat hunched in a plush leather armchair in the pristine reception area of Primus Tower, his fingers nervously drumming against the worn fabric of his trousers. The air buzzed with quiet efficiency, a stark contrast to the frantic anxiety churning in his gut. He was here to beg, to pitch, to secure a lifeline for his life's work.
He was a brilliant chemical pharmaceutical expert, though one would never guess it from his appearance. Twenty years ago, he and his colleague, Maya Hansen, had birthed a miracle: the Extremis virus. High on the thrill of discovery, he had taken their research directly to Tony Stark, seeking an investor, a partner. Instead, he had been met with casual dismissal, a flippant promise to meet on the roof that left him shivering through a cold winter's night, his hopes freezing alongside him.
Humiliated but not broken, he found a new patron in an organization called A.I.M. For two decades, they had funded his research, allowing him to refine Extremis to the very brink of perfection. But then came the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. In the chaotic aftermath, H.A.M.M.E.R.'s campaign to purge Hydra's remnants had swept through the corporate world, and A.I.M. was exposed and dismantled as one of its many fronts.
Just like that, Killian's funding vanished. He was a single, final step away from perfecting the virus, from achieving the breakthrough that had consumed his entire adult life. He couldn't stop now. It was no longer just about the science; it was about vengeance. It was about proving Tony Stark, the man who had looked at him like he was dirt, devastatingly wrong.
After months of scrounging and dead ends, he had set his sights on Primus Technologies. It was the only company in the world with the resources and reputation to rival Stark Industries—in fact, in recent years, it had surpassed it. If he couldn't secure an investment here, his only remaining option was to crawl to the international terrorists and black-market arms dealers he had so far managed to avoid. This was his last, best hope.
A soft knock on the doorframe startled him. "Mr. Killian? We're ready for you now."
Killian scrambled to his feet. The speaker was Mary Jane, the stunning young woman who had greeted him, and the sight of her made his ingrained insecurity flare. At this point in his life, before the virus had remade him, he was a stooped figure, his posture cowardly, a noticeable limp affecting his gait. He had spent a lifetime being overlooked, and he couldn't bring himself to meet her direct, kind gaze.
"I—I'll be right there," he stammered, hastily trying to straighten the lapels of his ill-fitting suit. He hurried to follow her, his mind racing. What would he say? How could he possibly convince the mysterious president of this corporate behemoth? What if this was just another setup for humiliation?
He was so lost in his anxious thoughts that he almost walked straight into Mary Jane when she stopped before a set of grand office doors. The doors slid open silently, revealing the person waiting inside.
Killian froze. He had never, in his wildest imaginings, pictured this. The legendary president of Primus Technologies, the architect of a global empire, was a teenager. The shock was so profound that for a terrifying moment, he wondered if he was being played for a fool all over again.
"Aldrich Killian?"
The boy's calm, steady voice pulled Killian from his stupor. He blinked, nodding dumbly.
"Please, have a seat." Ben gestured to a comfortable sofa. Mary Jane poured two cups of tea with practiced grace, set them on the low table between them, and then quietly excused herself, the doors whispering shut behind her.
Killian wrapped his trembling hands around the warm teacup, the simple heat a grounding comfort. The experience was already worlds away from his encounter with Stark. Ben Parker, like Tony, was clearly a genius of unbelievable proportions. But where Tony had treated him with contemptuous indifference, Ben offered something Killian hadn't realized he was starving for: respect.
For his part, Ben saw no reason to underestimate the man before him. Killian might be a villain in another timeline, a thorn in Tony Stark's side, but that had nothing to do with him. Tony's troubles were of his own making, a product of his arrogance. The man had been isolating himself for weeks, even refusing to attend the H.A.M.M.E.R. banquet celebrating their victory over Thanos. Ben felt no obligation to clean up his messes.
He had agreed to this meeting for one reason only: the Extremis virus. The technology, as volatile as it was, represented a fascinating new frontier in genetic engineering. Primus had already perfected a regeneration serum; Ben was curious to see how Killian's approach differed, what advantages and disadvantages it held. Was it worth the investment?
Killian, likely aware that the president of Primus would be well-versed in biological sciences, dove straight into the core of his research, dispensing with pleasantries.
"The Extremis virus I've developed enhances the user's physiology by… by rewriting their DNA," he began, his voice shaky at first. "It utilizes the body's own bio-electricity to activate the latent repair functions in the brain, triggering a complete chemical recoding of the user's biology…"
As he spoke of his work, a remarkable transformation occurred. The timid, hunched man began to straighten. The stammer vanished, replaced by a torrent of excited, fluent explanation.
"This allows us to hack the very operating system of the human organism! If the body accepts the change, the user gains regenerative abilities beyond imagination. They can heal from any wound, regrow previously amputated limbs, even repair deep-seated psychological damage!"
Growing more animated, Killian pulled a pen from the pocket of his shabby suit and began frantically scribbling complex formulas on a notepad from the coffee table, pushing it across to Ben. He was careful not to reveal the most critical components, but he showed enough.
Ben's expression remained neutral, but his eyes sharpened. He was no longer the struggling student from Midtown High. He could read the language of these equations, and what he saw there gave him pause. The more he looked, the deeper his brow furrowed.
Killian, oblivious, was now on his feet, pacing with his limping gait. "It also enhances all bodily functions, granting superhuman strength, reflexes, and a vastly higher level of physical resilience! It's like the Super Soldier Serum, but organic, natural! Furthermore, those injected can generate extreme heat through a complex metabolic process, producing temperatures of thousands of degrees Celsius from their own bodies…"
"Wait, Mr. Killian." Ben's voice was quiet, yet it cut through Killian's manic energy, stopping him in his tracks. The passionate scientist instantly deflated, sinking back onto the sofa and clutching the fabric of his suit like a shield.
Ben picked up the paper, tapping the elegant, sprawling formulas with a single finger. "If I'm not mistaken," he said, his tone clinically precise, "this Extremis you've developed… it isn't a treatment. It's a literal, biological virus, isn't it?"
Killian's body went rigid, a flicker of panic in his eyes. Ben was right. Extremis wasn't some cleverly named super-potion; it was a pathogen.
He swallowed hard, his mind racing for the right words. "You're correct," he finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper. Then, a new fire lit within him. "But that doesn't matter!" he insisted, his voice rising with desperate conviction. "What matters is what it can give us! A perfect body! Unbelievable power! Special abilities!"
He leaned forward, his eyes pleading. "Does it really matter what we call it," he asked, his voice trembling with the weight of his own desperate belief, "when it has the power to make us gods?"