2014
Empire State University
The fluorescent lights of the university bathroom flickered overhead as Eugene splashed cold water on his face. Another headache—the third one today. He gripped the porcelain sink, knuckles white, and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
His face looked the same. Brown hair, slightly disheveled. Nothing about his appearance screamed "mutant," yet that's exactly what he'd become.
When he'd punched the bathroom stall door in frustration earlier, the metal had crumpled like tissue paper. That wasn't normal. That was definitely not normal.
Physical enhancement, Eugene thought bitterly, flexing his fingers. Of all the mutant abilities I could've gotten—telepathy, flight, energy blasts—I get the world's most boring power-up.
He couldn't even bring himself to feel disappointed. After eighteen years of a perfectly ordinary life in the Marvel universe—a fact he'd discovered shortly after his reincarnation as an infant—getting any mutant ability can be considered pretty normal.
But the irony of awakening now was not lost on him. Mutant abilities were supposed to manifest during times of extreme emotional stress. By that logic, his powers should have awakened a month ago when the police knocked on his door with news about the car accident. When they told him his parents were gone.
A car accident, Eugene thought, turning off the faucet with more force than necessary. Of all the ways to die in a universe filled with alien invasions, super-powered criminals, and cosmic entities, my parents died in a goddamn car accident.
He dried his hands, took a deep breath, and forced himself to push down the familiar ache in his chest. The day wasn't going to wait for him to process his feelings.
The lecture hall felt suffocating. Eugene barely registered Professor Hartley's droning voice as she discussed organic chemistry compounds.
"Pssst, Eugene."
He glanced to his right. Peter Parker was leaning over, concern evident behind his glasses.
"You okay, man? You've been staring at that blank page for twenty minutes."
Eugene forced a smile. "Yeah, just tired. Didn't sleep well."
Peter didn't look convinced, but he nodded anyway. "If you need the notes later, just let me know."
"Thanks, Pete."
On his left, Gwen Stacy shot him a knowing look. Unlike Peter, she wasn't buying the tired excuse. She'd been watching him like a hawk ever since the funeral, waiting for him to crack. But Eugene had gotten good at pretending everything was fine.
Fake it till you make it, he thought. Or fake it till you completely fall apart. Whichever comes first.
The bell finally rang, releasing them from academic purgatory.
"You guys want to grab something to eat?" Eugene asked, gathering his mostly empty notebook.
Gwen winced. "Can't. Band practice. Sorry, Eugene."
"Lab work," Peter added apologetically. "Dr. Connors needs help organizing the new samples."
"No worries." Eugene slung his backpack over his shoulder. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."
As he walked away, he heard Gwen whisper to Peter, "Should we cancel? I'm worried about him."
"He needs space," Peter replied quietly. "Hovering won't help."
Eugene appreciated the sentiment, even if they were wrong. Space was the last thing he needed. Space meant being alone with his thoughts, and his thoughts were a dangerous place to be lately.
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The parking lot was nearly empty by the time Eugene reached the bike stands. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the pavement. He was just unlocking his bike when he noticed them.
Three men in dark suits, walking toward him with purpose. They moved like a unit, spreading out to form a loose semicircle around him.
The man in the middle—broad-shouldered, early forties, with a scar above his left eyebrow—stopped a few feet away. His smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Eugene Miller. Our boss would like a word with you."
Eugene straightened, keeping his voice light despite his racing heart. "Gentlemen, I think you have me confused with someone else. I'm just a normal college student. Nothing interesting here."
The man chuckled. "Oh, we know exactly who you are, kid. And trust me, you're far from worthless. In fact, I'd say you're worth quite a bit. Wouldn't you agree?"
His tone was jovial, but his eyes were ice-cold.
Eugene's mind raced. He glanced around the parking lot. A few students were walking to their cars, too far away to help. Campus security was visible in the distance, at least a hundred meters away, dealing with some other issue.
He subtly shifted his weight, calculating if he could run fast enough to—
"I wouldn't recommend it," another man said, with slicked-back hair and an expensive watch. "You're fast, I'm sure. But are you faster than a bullet?"
Eugene's jaw clenched. "What if I say no?"
The scarred man sighed, almost disappointed. "See, that's the thing, kid. I've been working for the boss for fifteen years. You know how many times I've failed him?" He paused for effect. "Zero. Not once. And I really don't want to break that streak today."
He shifted slightly, and Eugene caught a glimpse of matte black metal tucked into a shoulder holster.
"So here's how this is gonna go," the man continued, his smile widening. "You're going to get in the car parked right over there. We're going to take a little drive. You're going to have a civilized conversation with a very reasonable businessman. And then, if everything goes well, you go home. Simple."
Eugene felt his newfound strength would be useless against bullets. He wasn't bulletproof. Not yet, anyway.
He forced himself to smile. "Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse? It would be an honor to meet your boss. Lead the way, gentlemen."
"Smart kid," the scarred man said, gesturing toward a black sedan.
-----------
The Johnson Pharmaceutical Group Building also decorated the Manhattan skyline like the other giants. Eugene's two escorts—the third had stayed with the car—flanked him silently.
The scarred man knocked twice on a heavy oak door before pushing it open.
"Boss, I've brought the person."
The office was exactly what Eugene expected: massive mahogany desk, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, abstract art that probably cost more than a house. Behind the desk sat a man who looked like he'd stepped out of a Fortune 500 magazine spread.
Richard Johnson. Mid-fifties, silver-streaked hair, suit tailored to perfection. He radiated control, the kind of man who'd never had to raise his voice to get what he wanted.
Eugene recognized him from news articles and his parents' frustrated dinner conversations. Johnson Pharmaceutical had tried to acquire Hope Pharmaceuticals—his parents' company—at least three times over the past two years. Each time, his parents had refused.
Now they were dead, and here Eugene stood in the viper's den.
"Good work. Any issues?" Richard asked, not looking up from the document he was signing.
"No, Boss. Clean pickup."
"Excellent. Bring him in."
The scarred man stepped aside, and Eugene walked forward.
Richard finally looked up, removing his glasses with a practiced motion. His eyes were sharp, dissecting Eugene like a specimen on a slide.
"Mr. Miller. Thank you for coming." His tone suggested this had been Eugene's choice.
"Did I have a choice?" Eugene asked, managing to keep his voice steady.
Richard smiled thinly. "We always have choices. Some are just easier than others." He pushed a document across the desk. "I believe in getting straight to business. This is a transfer agreement for Hope Pharmaceuticals. Sign it, take twenty million dollars, and walk away. Go live your life. Travel. Enjoy your youth. Forget about the pharmaceutical business."
Eugene picked up the paper, scanning it quickly. The number at the bottom might seem large to some people, but he knew better. Hope Pharmaceuticals wasn't a corporate giant, but it was worth far more than twenty million. His parents had poured their lives into that company.
And there was something else. A memory, half-forgotten, surfacing now with sudden clarity.
His mother saying something about a breakthrough. His father mentioning "super soldier serum" with a laugh, like it was a joke, but with an undercurrent of genuine pride.
At the time, Eugene had tuned them out, too focused on his own life, on school and friends and pretending he was just a normal kid in a very abnormal world.
But what if they hadn't been joking? What if they'd actually succeeded where countless others had failed since Project Rebirth?
A cold dread settling in his stomach. The car accident.
He looked up at Richard, seeing him with new eyes.
"Hope Pharmaceuticals is my parents' legacy," Eugene said slowly, setting the paper down. "I'm not selling."
Richard's expression didn't change, but something shifted in the air. The scarred man and his companion straightened behind Eugene.
"Legacy?" Richard leaned back in his chair. "Be realistic, kid. You're eighteen years old. You can't run a pharmaceutical company. You don't have the experience, the connections, or the capital. Hope Pharmaceuticals will bleed money within six months, and you'll lose everything anyway."
"That's my problem to deal with."
"No." Richard's voice hardened. "Your parents were brilliant, I'll give them that. But they lacked vision. They lacked the understanding of what their work could become. They were not sensible. Now, I hope you can be more sensible!"
Before Eugene could respond, the office door opened. More men entered—four of them, all large, all clearly security or worse. They positioned themselves between Eugene and the exit.
Eugene felt his body tense, ready for a fight he couldn't win.
"I need time to think about this," he said, backing toward the door even as the men blocked his path.
Richard stood. When he looked up again, the veneer of civility was gone.
"Think about it? There's nothing to think about. You're going to sign that paper. Now. Tonight. Or you're not leaving this building. Do you understand me, boy?"
Eugene's phone rang.
The sound was jarring in the tense silence, some cheerful pop song Gwen had set as his ringtone as a joke. Everyone froze.
Eugene slowly reached for his phone, keeping his movements visible. The scarred man's hand twitched toward his gun, but Richard held up a hand.
The caller ID read: Gwen Stacy.
He answered, putting it on speaker.
"Eugene?" Gwen's voice was cheerful, deliberately loud. "You've been in the Johnson Pharmaceutical Building for almost an hour. My dad's wondering if everything's okay. Should I have him come pick you up? He's nearby."
"Hey, Gwen. Yeah, sorry, just finished up a meeting. I'll be right down."
"Okay. Take your time. Dad said he might stop by too if you're not down in five minutes."
"I'll be there in three."
He hung up and turned to Richard with a smirk. "So. Can I go now?"
Richard's face had gone carefully blank. His jaw worked silently for a moment before he spoke.
"Clever. Very clever, Mr. Miller." He sat back down, steepling his fingers. "I underestimated you. To think you'd have the Police Commissioner's daughter as insurance. Well played."
The men blocking the door stepped aside reluctantly.
Eugene walked toward the exit, his heart pounding so hard he was sure everyone could hear it.
"Mr. Miller."
He stopped at the door but didn't turn around.
Richard's voice was soft, almost friendly. "A word of advice. People disappear in Hell's Kitchen every day. Accidents happen. Muggings go wrong. It's a dangerous city we live in. I'd hate for something unfortunate to happen to such a bright young man. Please, do be careful with your personal safety."
The threat was crystal clear.
Eugene's hand tightened on the doorknob until he heard the metal groan under his grip. Rage flooded through him.
But he didn't. Instead, he opened the door and walked out, keeping his expression neutral until he reached the elevator.
Only when the doors closed and he was alone did he let himself feel it. The confirmation he'd been dreading, the truth he'd suspected but hadn't wanted to believe.
The car accident wasn't an accident.
His parents hadn't died because of bad luck or poor timing or fate.
They'd been murdered.