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Earth-857
Medford, New York
The main campus of the Future Foundation was a sight to behold. A series of futuristic buildings, more advanced than almost anywhere else on Earth, with lush greenery planted wherever possible to preserve as much nature as they could. The campus was occupied by people from all walks of life, powered or non-but mostly the latter. In the quad, two particular students-Franklin and Valeria Richards-stood beneath a tree, watching a video on their phone of their adoptive father Reed, addressing a large crowd of people.
In the video, he said, "It's said that children are our future. But in order for them to make a good future, we need to give them a good present first. I didn't come from the most well-off family, the only reason I'm here now is because I won a scholarship to ESU, the same as my roommate and best friend, Ben Grimm."
"Roommates and best friends?" whispered Valeria in a faux-scandalized tone, getting shushed for her troubles.
"The only reason we were able to climb up here in the first place is because someone gave us something to grab onto. That's what the Foundation aims to do, help anyone from any walk of life, no matter their income or nationality, become the best version of themselves they can be." He finished his statement with a polite nod, earning a round of applause from his audience.
"I hear in Latveria, they give free rides to anyone who says Reed Richards sucks," Valeria snickered, Franklin elbowing her as he tried concealing his own laughter.
"This is something dad would've done," he said with a smile, his sister nodding in agreement. "Something that helps people without punching a bad guy."
"It's like Batman if he put all his wealth into funding civil services and not a tactical fursuit."
"That's a very reductive interpretation." The two yelped in surprise, looking up to see a brunette girl, somewhere in her early 20s, hanging upside down from one of the branches, staring back at them. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you, I've just been a fan of Batman since I could toddle, not everybody gets his characterization."
"Y…You're good," stammered Valeria.
"Why are you in a tree?" asked Franklin.
"Why not?" she shrugged, reaching up to grab hold of her branch, then dropping back to the ground. Rightside up, the siblings got a better look at her, particularly her attire. She wore a pair of sunglasses alongside a Foundation hoodie and some jeans. "Anyway, the name's Jessie. You guys must be the Richards kids."
The two seemed perplexed. "How did you know?" they asked.
"Uh, two kids show up out of nowhere, get adopted by the biggest superhero team in the world, and enroll in this school, you're famous now," chortled Jessie, scratching her nose. "But hey, as long as you aren't jerks to anyone, I don't think a little fame will hurt."
"Guess you can't be famous, Valeria," jested Franklin, earning an eye roll in response. "So, what are you studying, Jessie?"
"Business communications, but I'm minoring in entomology," she answered, now scratching at her neck. "My parents studied spiders when I was growing up, guess it imprinted on me."
"But isn't studying spiders called arachnology?" corrected Valeria.
"Well, I've been at it for a year and a half now, too late to back out." She noticed the kids suddenly looked downcast. "Hey, is something up?"
"It's just… well, we had this friend back home," said Franklin. "His name was Peter, he liked to go by Spider-Man."
"Yeah, he also had a lot to do with spiders," agreed Valeria. "We… We don't really know what happened to him."
"Oh. Well, I'm sorry about your friend." Jessie gave a small smile, wanting to comfort the pair. "Y'know, when my dad died, my mom said the best way to keep him around was to talk about him."
The two contemplated her words, slowly returning her smile. They would have started talking about her, but then Jessie's face contorted into an unreadable expression, and she quit scratching. Bringing her arm forward, she stared at her watch.
"Drat, I've got class soon," she said. "It's Dr. Connors, you know how he is about punctuality. I'm in Hickman Hall, swing by and you can tell me all there is to know about this Peter guy."
The two were perplexed, but understood and bade her farewell, Jessie waving as she hastily departed. Once she was out of their sight, she walked up to one of the buildings, placing her hands against the wall, and soon followed suit with her feet. All four appendages sticking to the building, she hastily scurried to the roof, climbing like a spider.
Once on the roof, she let out a huff of frustration. "Shit," she swore, taking off her sunglasses and revealing solid silver eyes. "I swear, this always happens whenever my skin finally settles…"
Jessie Drew reached back where she was scratching at her neck, where she had scratched hard enough to begin peeling the skin off. Sucking a breath in and gritting her teeth, she proceeded to continue the procedure. Indeed, her parents had been studying spiders-rather, they had been studying all sorts of different chemicals and using spiders as test subjects. One of them bit Jessica when she wasn't looking, and her life had been fantastic ever since.
After a while, she successfully peeled away everything from the neck up, revealing a wine red "underskin" with a yellow mouth area, six silver eyes dotting her forehead. "Blimey, that was a mess," she huffed. "Better find my dorm before I do anything else."
Her overskin usually grew back after a few hours, starting from the head and working down. But she had to peel the rest away first, a task necessitating privacy. She peeled the skin away from her hands like they were gloves before tossing one forward forward, shooting webs from her fingers that stuck to a far away building. Jessie ran forward, leaping from the roof and swinging through the air, catching the eyes of a few people below. After swinging a few more times, she'd found her dorm, hastily clambering her way inside and closing the blinds.
Jessie spent the next ten minutes picking herself clean, turning her room into a visceral sight. Her hair was one of the only parts she hadn't torn off, and yellow markings adorned her abdomen and limbs. As she looked herself over in a mirror, she thought back to what Franklin and Valeria told her.
"Spider-Man," she said to herself. "That sounds like a superhero name if ever there was one." The conversation, brief as it was, had given Jessie a lot of food for thought. But first, she had more pressing tasks, like disposing of her overskin without raising alarm bells across campus.
Kansas City, Missouri
Beyond teaching, the FF had other means of aid and outreach. Another venture of theirs was building affordable, stable housing for those who otherwise couldn't afford it. And that's what one group of FF volunteers was up to now, setting up the frames of what would become new homes.
Off to the side, resting under the shade of a tree were three of these volunteers: a lanky redhead girl dressed in a red tank top and cargo shorts, a Ruuhtian Kig-Yar with red plumage whose Foundation uniform was modified for her digitigrade legs, and a humanoid robot with stark white plating, decorated with blond hair and a green and yellow polo shirt.
"Cripes, we needed this," the redhead, Carol Martin, sighed, offering a water bottle to her companion. "They've had us flat out like a lizard drinking today!"
"Busy," translated the robot, Curt Cowan. "She means we've been busy."
Dania Forn, the Kig-Yar, simply nodded. "People need homes, we build them."
"Fair dinkum," shrugged Carol, looking at the houses. "Lotta blokes in rough spots these days."
"Good project, helps people," went on Dania. "Why not everyone do it?"
"Prejudice, mainly," said Curt. "State leaders and city officials consider homelessness a personal failing, and thus refuse to give them any resources. Tragically, it's a problem that's long afflicted the country."
"Not just this one, mate." Carol closed her water bottle, expression firm. "Back home, we never treated our locals the best." At Dania's confusion, she clarified, "Aboriginal Australians. Go anywhere on Earth, you'll find drongos making things worse for people who don't deserve it."
Dania glanced at the others. "Universe full of morons," she said. "Still good people too. Many pirate and warlord Kig-Yar, but not all bad."
"Bonza," cheered Carol, patting Dania's shoulder. "You got a way with words. Ever thought about being a superhero?"
Just then, a timer on Curt's visor went off, and he turned to the other two. "Break time's over," he told them. "We can help Dania with her superhero identity later."
"Could make name while working."
"Curt's got a point, lotsa hard yakka ahead, better save our strength."
And so the three went back to work, Curt and Dania carrying a number of wooden beams single-handedly while the weaker Carol followed up with a muchc less taxing load. It was hard work, but it helped people.
Manhattan, New York
One floor of the Baxter Building was dedicated to Future Foundation business, with Susan overseeing most of the group's administrative efforts. Their receptionist, Roberta, did decently filtering the best candidates who met the requirements of the job, although she wasn't perfect. Susan would inspect the finalists herself (alongside a few that Reed felt had been unfairly filtered out), and then perform interviews from there.
As she sat at her desk, reading glasses perched on her nose, she checked through the names of different applicants and arranged interview dates with each of them. It was absolutely routine, a task she'd done dozens of times and would continue to do dozens more, but today one name above others stood out to her:
Javier Ricardo.
Sue pursed her lips, picking up her phone and dialing Reed. After a few seconds, it picked up. "Hi, hon," he greeted. "What's up?"
"Nothing, just looking through applicants for the algebra teacher position," replied Sue. "There's a name that popped up, though." While there wasn't a verbal response, Reed made a noise indicating she could continue. "It's your father, he's applying."
For a beat, there was silence. "You're sure about that?"
"I haven't seen many other people with his name, it has to be him." She leaned back in her seat. "Just say the word, I'll toss his application in the trash."
"Hold on. Just… hold on a moment. Let's not be hasty here."
"Hasty? Reed, you never got on with him, you told me this. And if it was your mother, I'd be visiting her personally."
"All he's doing is applying for a job, that's it. Even if he does get hired, he could be posted in… I dunno, San Francisco or Ottawa. I haven't seen his face in nearly two decades, that can easily continue."
"So if, hypothetically, I did hire him, you wouldn't be upset?"
"Sue, it'll be fine. We're all grown ups, if we meet again, I'll deal with it. But anyway, I have some business I need to get back to. I'll talk when I get home."
She smiled, sitting back up. "Alright, we handle this together. Love you."
"Love you more."
The call ended soon after that, Susan getting back to work. She scheduled an interview with Ricardo, carrying on through the list. Another name, this one for part of the upcoming space course, stood out to her: Shota Hebikura. It didn't ring any bells, but it sounded Japanese, which stood out since most of the FF's job applicants came from the Americas. Still, that on its own wasn't enough to raise a red flag, so she just ignored it and set up an interview date.
Rapid City, South Dakota
A pair of teenagers stepped out of a Sam's Club, their arms laden with grocery bags. The first was a Mexican-American girl with dark, somewhat reddish, hair beneath a black beanie, and she was having an argument with the second, a brunette with a green streak dyed across her bangs.
"I'm just saying, there are far better options for meals than Cheerio cups," said Patricia "Pat" Walker. "Why can't we just stop by McDonalds? I'll get you a salad and you can have my fries, those are vegan."
"We need to be responsible with our spending," chided Roberta "Bertie" Baxter. "We still need to afford gas and food until we reach Medford."
"Having one meal won't break the bank, Bertie."
"But it will add up eventually. This is why I helped you with your math, remember?"
Pat just rolled her eyes, not wishing to argue further. The duo reached their vehicle, a Type 2 Volkswagen camper, and began unloading. The interior was cramped, sporting a mini fridge, microwave, and a foldout bed. The fridge and cabinets were loaded, and the pair were ready to get back on the road.
"Oh, one more thing, Pat," said Bertie, right before the pair could leave the back. "Since you don't know fiscal responsibility, next shift is yours."
"What?!" spluttered Pat. "But I drove last time!"
"If it's truly that bad, we can stop and swap. But you can survive a few more hours."
"Fine. But if we get into some awful crash because I fell asleep at the wheel, I'll be mad at you."
"Acceptable."
The two laughed, sharing a peck on the lips before Bertie pulled out the bed and climbed in, while Pat got in the driver's seat. Upon starting the ignition, they were out of the parking lot and back on the road.
Pat grew up in El Paso, where her mother quickly pushed her into being a child star. It had been fun at first, but quickly her life stopped being her own and started being what her family told her it should be. By the time she became a teenager she was saved from ending her life by Bertie, the two quickly becoming close. After a nasty fight with her mother, Pat was ready to run away, Bertie joining her as they fled Texas.
Their current destination was the FF campus in Medford, and with it, the freedom Pat desired. She smiled and turned on the radio, Bertie giving a light groan of disapproval that only made Pat smile wider.
Neither one took any notice of a brown Hummer H3 pickup driving past on the nearby road, a beak-like insignia stenciled on the hood. "Growl reporting," he gruffed. "This insipid town's as devoid of heroes as almost every other in the damn country."
"Keep looking," replied the Strategist Megatron. "I want a full list of the targets this world has to offer, and suitable agents that would gladly destroy themselves in my name."
"Remind me again why we aren't just blasting these worms to pulp?" Growl… growled. "My specialty is killing."
"If you have grievances with playing the long game, you're welcome to make them in person." Growl huffed, but didn't respond. "Besides, this world has a target, Franklin Richards. He and his sister escaped me once before, so I expect nothing less than for them to be delivered to me alive."
"Rrrgh, understood. Out." And he continued driving.
Roswell, New Mexico
Roswell was a town well known for an incident in 1947, when wreckage of a supposed UFO was recovered by the military. Now, the outskirts were home to another spacecraft, although this one was intended to go up, rather than down.
The Excelsior was a spacecraft intended to be piloted by Ben Grimm, bringing Reed Richards and his team to study a distant nebula. Due to the Mass Disappearance and the subsequent global restructuring that happened soon after, this plan was scrapped and the Excelsior mothballed. Recently, Reed had convinced the Foundation to pull the craft from storage, with the Excelsior delivered outside Roswell as construction of its launch zone was underway.
The man himself was currently exploring the interior of the craft, joined by engineering students Uzi Williams and Onome, and UA Professor Anan Kurose-better known as the space hero Thirteen. "This hunk's been sitting in a warehouse for years," Reed told the group. "Ben never even had a chance to familiarize himself with the controls."
"An impressive craft," mused Onome, glancing around the cockpit. "The control layout is almost as sophisticated as Wakandan airships."
"I get Wakanda is, like, so far ahead of everyone else," said Uzi, "so why don't you guys have your own spaceships?"
"Our craft are powered by vibranium reactors, which lose effectiveness in the atmosphere." She then gave her fellow a wry smile. "Besides, what can space provide that the Earth does not?"
"More vibranium, probably," muttered Uzi, the two turning back to the grownup's conversation.
"We'll need to run tests to ensure the Excelsior can withstand waves of cosmic radiation," advised Kurose, speaking from her own experiences with space flight. "Not to mention all the other kinds of shielding it requires."
"I understand that, that's why these two are here," said Reed, gesturing to Onome and Uzi. "They're some of the best engineering students we have to offer, they'll ensure we can withstand the rigors of space, and find a workaround if we can't."
Kurose glanced at the two. Onome gave a polite wave, while Uzi tried keeping her tail from gnawing on one of the computers. Her expression was unreadable behind the visor of her space helmet, but she ultimately gave a nod of approval.
"This will be a satisfying project," she said, shaking Reed's hand. "Thank you for the invitation, Mister Richards."
"I'm the one who should be thanking you," replied Reed, smiling. "You have no idea how much help you're bringing to the project." He started walking away, turning to the two students. "Miss Kurose will be in charge of the project, so I need you to run everything by her. And Miss Williams, keep your tail under control."
"Gotcha," she replied, glaring at Cyn and jabbing a finger in her face. "Do not embarrass me in front of Mister Fantastic."
"I make no promises."
"And if the workload is too much, I'll roster other engineering students your way. Good luck!"
And at that he departed, allowing the trio to begin their work.
Within the atmosphere
A portal opened up above the surface of a cloud, Charlotte stepping out. She wasn't alone for long as a figure descended from above, and the hellspawn's breath was taken away. It was a woman, skin like a porcelain doll, white hair cropped short, clad in a light gray gown with pastel details, and with two vibrant moth-like wings behind her. Another eye-catching feature of this newcomer was the area around her left eye, which looked like it had been shattered and reconstructed via kintsugi.
"Lady Viola," greeted Charlotte, bowing respectfully.
"Charlotte Helstrom," Viola replied, curtsying in return. "You have something for me?"
Charlotte nodded, pouring a glowing blue orb from her jacket. "There were cultists in Spain, attempting to summon a demon lord. We managed to stop them before they could complete the ritual, but…" She frowned, looking again at the soul. "…we weren't fast enough."
Viola was also upset with this development, but placed a hand on Charlotte's shoulder. "You couldn't save the mortal's body, but you managed to recover their soul," she comforted. "They'll be well cared for."
This seemed to cheer her up, and she smiled. "The Defenders are a good team," she went on. "Miss Williams makes for a superb leader, despite being unorthodox, and Doll has the makings of a fine sorcerer."
Viola nodded. "Surely you have something to bring, since they selected you for the team."
Charlotte chuckled, running a hand through her hair. "Well, I guess I have something to contribute," she said modestly. "I'm able to recover slain souls before my father can get his hands on them."
Viola tilted her head. "He doesn't allow you to deliver the souls?"
"Not exactly. He doesn't approve of his underlings running rampant in the mortal realm, but he sees any souls slain in his name as his." She handed the soul to Viola, who gingerly took it in her hands. "And he doesn't know about our meetings either. I don't think he likes angels that much."
"Trust me, he doesn't. The feeling's mutual, if you're curious." Viola subconsciously ran a hand over the scarred portion of her face.
"I… wasn't. Regardless, I'll continue to bring innocent souls into your care."
"You're… fascinating, Charlotte. I hope to see you again soon."
"R…Really? I-I wouldn't mind that myself."
Viola smiled, spreading her wings once more and taking off into the sky once more. Charlotte was mesmerized, so taken by the beauty of the departing angel that she attempted to follow after.
And promptly walked straight off the cloud.
Earth-93000
Dyerville, Louisiana
Becky Lopez sighed as she leaned against the counter of Hirsh and Loubert Confectionaries. Ever since the arrival of that weird superhero about a month ago, the company had begun selling all sorts of bug-themed treats. They proved immensely popular, and Becky found herself swamped with customers. It was the middle of one such busy day, and the young woman let her face fall as the last few customers either sat down or left with their food.
She didn't have time to do that for long, however, as another customer walked in, and her brain immediately flagged them as suspicious. He was dressed in both a hoodie, covering up most of his face (which seemed to be covered up by some kind of mask), as well as a dark colored trench coat that went down to his ankles-it didn't look like he was wearing much beneath those.
"Good afternoon," she greeted regardless, putting on her customer service face. "Do you need a moment, or are you ready to order?"
"A small coffee, black," was all the customer requested. Well that was a normal order. "That'll be it."
"Alright, that'll be easy to do," replied Becky, tapping at her computer. "That'll be two-fifteen." The customer reached into the jacket pocket, slapping a five dollar bill on the counter. She took it, entered it into the register, then handed him back his change and a receipt. "You're order number twelve, I'll have that coffee out in a jiff."
The customer nodded in appreciation, taking his things and walking off to take a seat. It was by the front window, close to a table where three other men were enjoying their pastries. Becky didn't trust that guy at all. Nobody casually wore such heavy clothes in the middle of summer, he had to be some sort of drug dealer, and her bosses wouldn't be pleased if they learned she let him into the store.
She put that introspection aside and instead focused on fixing his coffee. At least he had a simple order, not like some of the utterly nonsensical concoctions some customers came up with. It was only a few moments later she called number twelve up, and right as he came up and took his small black coffee somebody else came in. An average looking man, dressed a lot more casually than number twelve.
"Good afternoon. Do you need a mo-" She was cut off by the appearance of a snubnosed revolver pointed right at her head.
"I'll take every cent you've got," he greeted bluntly.
Becky looked around frantically, hoping to see somebody call the cops, but instead the rest of the customers stood up, producing guns of their own. Was this a hit?
"Don't get any bright ideas," the apparent leader said. "Open it up, and we'll be on our way. And somebody tie him up too, we don't need any heroes here."
That statement took her eyes away from the leader, because apparently the possible-drug dealer was the only "customer" not holding a gun. Two of the gunmen approached him, grabbing his arms to force him on his knees. Except when they did so, he didn't budge. They turned red in the face, but stock still the stranger stood.
The leader turned frustrated, pointing his revolver away from Becky and towards the stranger. "Hey, tough guy! What kinda game are you playing?!" he snarled, yanking down his hood-and then stumbling back in surprise.
The stranger's head… it was made of metal. A two-tone blue color scheme, with a fin running down the center alongside a red gem on his forehead. Where his would be, there was instead a red X-shaped visor, the letter also present on two discs where his heads would be.
"My 'game' is drawing your fire away from her," replied the stranger. "And I just won."
He suddenly headbutted the leader, making a loud metallic CLANG and sending him to the ground. At this, the other three's pistols began spraying bullets. Becky yelped and ducked beneath her counter, listening to the sounds of bullets bouncing off something metallic, followed by further thuds as the stranger seemed to be fighting against the gunmen.
Peering up in curiosity, she was taken by surprise when a beam fired from the stranger's forehead gem, melting one of the guns to uselessness-and then proceeded to knee its wielder in the gut, sending him to the ground. The last gunman slammed a chair over his head, shattering the wooden object but leaving the stranger unharmed. He reached back and flung the gunman over his shoulder, knocking him out cold.
The leader attempted to get back to his feet, before the stranger swung his right arm forward, unfolding it into some sort of weapon, aimed right at the leader's head. "Go," he demanded. "Take your friends and leave. Check yourselves over, then never set foot in this store again."
And that's what he did, picking up his followers and scrambling away down the street. The stranger's arm cannon folded back into a hand, and he glanced back at Becky, staring wide eyed.
"Are you a superhero?" she asked after a beat.
"I was just in the right place at the right time," was all he said, brushing himself off. His clothes were picked with bullet holes, but he didn't seem to have any damage to his person. "You should call the police, make sure those robbers are stopped before anyone else gets hurt."
He walked up to the counter, where he had set his coffee at, and miraculously found it hadn't spilled. "Hang on," said Becky. "You just popped up out of nowhere, and now you're leaving just like that?"
"I'm not native to this world," answered the stranger. "With any luck, I'll be gone soon anyway."
Becky was taken aback by this information, but pressed on. "Can I at least know your name?"
He stopped by the door, turning back her direction. "It's X," he answered, holding the drink up in an appreciative gesture. "Thank you for the coffee."
And just like that, he was gone. Becky wanted to chase him down and learn more, but first she had to call the police and tell them about the attempted robbery.
Ultimately, there were much lamer things called X, she told herself.
Earth-625
Oakland, California
Peter Parker sat atop the Fox Theater, watching as cars passed on the street below. He was a brunet in his late teens, dressed in what looked like a navy blue wetsuit decorated with a cobalt spider emblem on the chest and back. Attached to his back was what looked like a miniature surfboard in matching colors. He was watching videos on his phone, grunting in frustration as an ad suddenly popped up.
It looked like it was for some kind of game show, with a host eagerly hamming it up for the camera. "There are ten teams here, but only one will get this prize!" he cried, footage of the upcoming show playing over his words, which Peter half-listened to. "By the end of this show, four lucky kids will go to space! Tune in for the exciting premiere of Fantastic Science!"
"Not interested," Peter drawled, waiting for the ad to finish so he could keep watching his video.
He was cut off, however, by the sound of screeching tires. An armored truck was careening down 18th Street, police cars close behind. Peter Parker just sighed, putting his phone away and pulling a set of white, pointed goggles over his eyes. The runaway truck tried veering into a parked car, maybe planning to make an obstacle for the cops following behind. But Peter acted quickly, making a Shaka sign and launching webs from his wrist; it caught the left fender of the truck, dragging it out of the vehicle's path, then slinging it onto Telegraph Avenue.
He launched a second web from his other wrist, latching onto the vehicle's roof, and leapt from the building. He landed atop the truck with a thud, adjusting his stance as though he were riding on a surfboard. He glanced back upon hearing the truck's rear doors swing open, a masked robber climbing up onto the roof.
"That was a gnarly move, trying to hit that car," Peter chided. "Most bogus of you."
"Why the hell are you talking like that?" the robber demanded, charging forward.
Peter dodged, then grappled the robber and tossed him off the truck-webbing him to the side of a building to save him from a nasty fall. The driver seemed to be aware of Peter's presence, as they made a sudden sharp left turn onto 21st Street, driving against the flow of traffic. The stowaway was nearly tossed off by the turn, and then again as the truck weaved through incoming cars, but he quickly had an idea.
He dashed along the roof of the truck, leaping into the air. He splashed down some webs on the ground beneath him, forming wave shapes, then unclipped his board and quickly mounted it as he hit the waves.
"Surf's up, dudes!" he gleefully exclaimed, a smile splitting his face as he glanced back. The truck didn't take so kindly to the waves, launching into the air and slamming onto its side. It skidded along a few feet, before Peter snagged a few webs to it, bringing the vehicle to an abrupt stop. "Wwwwwwipeout!"
The pursuing police screeched to a stop upon noticing how their quarry had been disabled, which Peter took as his cue to leave. After fixing the surfboard back to his back, he launched a web at the top of a building and hauled himself up as the police officers left their cars.
"Hey, you!" one of them shouted, noticing Peter on the roof. "Get back here!"
"No need to thank me, brahs! Just another day's work for the one and only Spider-Dude!"