The fundamental difference between Ben Parker and Aldrich Killian was one of desperation.
For Killian, the Extremis virus was everything. It was the singular, all-consuming hope he clung to, the miracle that would transform his miserable existence and force the world—especially Tony Stark—to finally see his greatness. He craved success with the burning intensity of a dying man, because only success could grant him the healthy body, the extraordinary power, and the wealth and status he so fiercely believed he deserved.
For Ben, however, Extremis was just another file in a cabinet full of wonders. The perfected healing serum, the improved Super Soldier formula, the other dozen projects humming along in the labs below—they all offered similar, if not superior, benefits without the catastrophic risks. He had no intention of sinking resources into a technology that was fundamentally flawed. Viruses, by their very nature, were unpredictable. They evolved, mutated, and resisted control.
Ben had seen enough to know that even if he could contain Extremis within the sterile confines of a laboratory, there was no telling what it would become once unleashed upon the world. It was an unacceptable liability.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Killian," Ben said, his tone polite but firm. He pushed the papers back across the table. "Your research, while brilliant, is not aligned with the developmental philosophy of this company."
The simple action felt like a physical blow. Killian stared, his face a mask of disbelief and despair.
"But… I'm almost there!" he pleaded, his voice cracking. He couldn't comprehend it. A project on the verge of bearing fruit, a guaranteed return with minimal investment—and Ben was simply saying no? "Is it the profit sharing? We can discuss that. I'll take thirty percent! You can have the rest!"
The offer was so lopsided Ben almost did a double-take. For a project this close to completion, a thirty percent stake for the original inventor was practically giving it away.
"It's not a question of profit, Doctor," Ben said patiently. "You're the creator of the Extremis virus. You, more than anyone, must be aware of its flaws."
Killian flinched as if struck. He knew. Of course, he knew. The instability was the ghost that haunted his every success. Current data indicated that any subject experiencing intense emotional distress was highly likely to suffer a catastrophic overload, their body igniting from within and exploding violently. And that was just the defect he knew about. Who could predict what new horrors would emerge as the virus continued to evolve?
Facing a man who clearly understood the science, the usual reassurances of "I can control it" died on his lips. He sat there, trembling, and then, like a balloon pricked with a needle, all the frantic energy drained out of him. He slumped in his seat, a broken man once more.
"I'm sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Parker," he mumbled, his voice hollow. "I'll… I'll be going now."
The disheveled man clumsily gathered his scattered papers, rising to his feet with the defeated air of a stray dog being shooed away.
"Wait," Ben called out.
Killian froze, his back still to Ben. "Yes, Mr. Parker? Is there something else?" Hope, faint and foolish, flickered within him. Had he changed his mind? He knew it was unlikely, but he couldn't stop himself from wishing.
"I couldn't help but notice, Dr. Killian," Ben said, his voice even. "You seem to be dealing with some health issues yourself?"
Killian's fists clenched at his sides, a sharp pang of shame piercing his heart. Before he could form a defensive reply, Ben continued.
"As it happens, Primus's own healing serum has just reached a new stage of development. It's shown success in treating both acquired injuries and congenital defects. I was wondering if you would be willing to try it?"
Killian's eyes widened, then immediately dimmed. "Thank you for your kindness, but I'm afraid I can't possibly afford…"
"There will be no charge," Ben said calmly. "While the Extremis virus may not align with our philosophy, I have immense respect for your genius. A mind like yours should not be constrained by a flawed body."
Killian didn't know how to respond. He couldn't find the words—or the will—to refuse. The next thing he knew, the world had blurred, and he was blinking up at the ceiling of a pristine medical bay inside Primus Tower, waiting for a procedure that promised to change his life.
Outside the operating room, Mary Jane watched the medical team prep Killian through the observation window, a puzzled look on her face.
"Ben, you obviously turned down his project," she said, turning to him. "So why are you helping him like this?"
"I didn't reject him," Ben corrected, shaking his head. "I rejected the current direction of his research. The path he's on leads to a dead end." He saw potential in Killian that the man couldn't see in himself. In some timelines, Extremis was based on nanotechnology. If Killian and Hansen could create this volatile biological version, perhaps, with the right guidance, they could create a superior, stable one. This was a simple gesture of goodwill, a low-cost investment in a brilliant mind.
Whatever Killian chose to do after this—whatever path of revenge he pursued against Tony—was his own business. Tony had made his bed; he could lie in it. Ben had his own research to conduct and magic to learn.
As he was about to leave, a thought struck him. He reached into his pocket and produced the fake Mind Stone, its energy sealed within a small containment device, and handed it to Mary Jane.
"An Infinity Stone?" she gasped, recognizing it immediately. "I thought this was being kept at the orbital station."
After creating Genesis, Ben had returned the real stones to their vaults. The three most powerful were secured on Sakaar, while the Mind Stone remained on Earth, its energy needed to help stimulate the latent abilities of Wanda and Pietro.
"This one's a replica," Ben explained. "The energy inside can only be used once. Keep it safe here at the company. I have a feeling someone will have a use for it soon."
That someone, of course, was Ultron. Tony was already deep into the development of his global defense system. The intention was noble, but the outcome was inevitable. Ultron was the kind of AI that would browse the internet for five minutes and conclude that humanity needed to be erased. Ben couldn't even blame it; some days, a quick scroll through social media made him feel the same way.
His focus, however, wasn't on Ultron itself, but on the body Ultron would inevitably try to build for itself: a perfect, vibranium-laced synthezoid created using Dr. Cho's regeneration cradle. The body that would become Vision.
Not on my watch, Ben thought with a wry smirk. Ultron can do all the heavy lifting and prepare the perfect vessel, and I'll graciously accept it. He planned to give E.U.N.I.C.E. the upgrade she deserved.
"Tony Stark, Ultron… you're all going to come work for me in the end," he said, clapping his hands together. He handed a data slate to Mary Jane. "Get this file to Dr. Cho. And increase the funding for her Regeneration Cradle project. Tell her if she runs into any problems, she should upload them directly to the E.U.N.I.C.E. database. I'll solve them myself."
With his instructions given, he prepared to head back to Kamar-Taj. Cultivating his own power was the priority.
As Ben departed, a continent away, the ancient threads of the Web of Life and Destiny began to stir, weaving a new, violent pattern in a forgotten corner of a broken city.
The past few months had been a surreal nightmare for William Baker.
First, Kingpin, the titan of the underworld, had been deposed by a new vigilante queen calling herself the Black Cat. Then came the alien invasion. The whole of Manhattan had been razed, and his home turf of Hell's Kitchen was now a smoldering ruin. The chaos had created opportunities, though. Scavengers picked through the wreckage of alien tech, and many had made a fortune. For a while, the Black Cat had vanished, and the rats came out to play again.
William was no exception. It was just his luck that he'd been in prison during the initial free-for-all. By the time he was released, the good pickings were gone, and the Black Cat was back on the prowl. Worse, the number of costumed heroes on the streets seemed to multiply by the day. New York was no longer a viable place to work.
He walked down a darkening street, the skeletons of skyscrapers covered in green safety netting and scaffolding. The city was a wounded giant, but at least it was being treated. The reconstruction projects run by Primus Technologies provided work for thousands. Everyone seemed happy, except for William. Honest work was too slow. He couldn't afford to wait.
One last score, he thought, his jaw tight. Then I grab the kid, ditch this name, and we head for Georgia.
This is William Baker or in the future will be better known as Flint Marko AKA 'Sandman'.
The name Ben had searched for in the NYPD databases was Flint Marko, not his original named William Baker, thus Ben found nothing, because the man who would one day become the Sandman didn't exist yet.
In the sub-basement garage of Primus Tower, Ben Sr. and May Parker shrugged out of their Plumber uniforms. They had both passed their primary assessments, officially becoming First-Class Plumbers. In terms of combat prowess, Ben Sr. could now go toe-to-toe with Harry Osborn.
"It's gotten lonely in the tower since Wanda and Pietro moved to the orbital station," May sighed.
"It can't be helped, May," her husband replied. "Too many of our missions are Earth-side. Commuting from space every day would be a bit much, even for us." He grinned. "Besides, nothing beats sleeping in our own bed in Queens."
May nodded in agreement. "I just hope Dr. Banner is making sure they don't fall behind on their studies." In her eyes, a good education was the most powerful tool in the universe. Look how far it had taken her Ben.
They chatted as they walked to their old, reliable car. Their current assignment was tracking down stolen alien weaponry. Though Norman's H.A.M.M.E.R. teams had been thorough in the cleanup, some tech had inevitably slipped through the cracks. They, along with a few other Plumbers and even Peter, were tasked with retrieving it. Their nephew had just returned from a mission in space and was already investigating some flying menace over the city. They weren't too worried; after fighting a galactic war, a small-time crook in a vulture costume seemed manageable.
The sky had darkened completely. Christmas was only a few days away, and they idly discussed gift ideas for the children.
It was in that peaceful, domestic moment that a sudden shout echoed from the end of the street.
The sound instantly snapped them to attention. Ben Sr. braked, and they both turned to see a burly man clutching a canvas bag, running for his life.
It was William Baker. He'd just hit an underground boxing ring. In his haste, he hadn't planned an escape route. Now, with the ring's security guards hot on his heels, he saw their car stopped on the side of the road.
A single, desperate thought dominated his mind: Take that car and run!
He veered toward them, his face a mask of grim determination. If anyone inside tries to stop me, he thought, pulling a small, cheap pistol from his waistband, I'll shoot them dead.
Not yet realizing he was about to try and carjack two super-soldiers, William Baker raised his gun and fired.