Free from Peter's enthusiastic commentary, Ben drifted through the night sky above New York City like a vengeful spirit.
From this ethereal vantage point, the city spread below him like a constellation of earthbound stars. The lights traced intricate patterns through the urban landscape, creating an illusion of beauty that masked the harsh realities beneath.
"Beautiful from a distance," Ben mused, his ghostly voice carrying an otherworldly resonance. "But if you look closer, you'll find that beneath all this prosperity lies nothing but filth and corruption."
For those fortunate enough to occupy society's upper echelons, New York truly was the capital of the world—a glittering empire where the wealthy held court in glass towers, indulging every desire while money flowed like wine. Their parties stretched through the night, their luxuries beyond imagination, their every whim catered to by armies of staff.
But for the vast majority struggling below, that glittering world might as well exist on another planet. The lights that painted the darkness so beautifully belonged to others; the poor gathered in the shadows those lights created, invisible and forgotten.
The towering skyscrapers that defined the city's skyline weren't monuments to human achievement—they were prison walls, pressing down on the people trapped beneath them, making it difficult to breathe, impossible to escape.
Those who lived at the bottom had once harbored dreams of prosperity, had fought and sacrificed for their chance to climb higher. But this merciless city had crushed those dreams with systematic efficiency, grinding hope into dust beneath the weight of economic reality.
The prosperity belonged to a select few, built on the backs of countless others.
New York was simultaneously the shining beacon of American success and a monument to American inequality. The same city, viewed through different eyes, revealed completely different truths.
What made it even more tragic was understanding how that minority's prosperity had been achieved—through the systematic exploitation of everyone beneath them. They stood atop their crystal towers like vampires, draining every drop of blood from the working class, breaking every bone to suck out the marrow, leaving behind desiccated corpses to form the foundation of their empire.
Every brick in every building, every dollar in every bank account, was stained with the blood of people like Ben, Sr. and May—hardworking individuals whose labor created wealth they would never see.
The builders of the city would never own the city. Those born in poverty would likely die in poverty, trapped in cycles of struggle that no amount of personal effort could break.
In this gleaming metropolis, they were treated like vermin.
"But things are going to change," Ben said, his eye glowing with spectral fire. "I'm going to change everything."
Not the entire city, of course—that was beyond even his capabilities. But he could change things for his family, could ensure that the people he loved would never again worry about money or security.
Of course, he understood the challenges that lay ahead. Once he began generating real profits, the financial predators would emerge from their boardrooms like sharks drawn to blood. They would try to devour his company completely, absorbing every innovation and leaving him with nothing.
Just like poor Dr. Connors.
Ben's thoughts turned to the scientist because he happened to be passing over Oscorp Tower at that very moment. Through the building's windows, he could see a familiar figure—Dr. Connors, clutching his arm in obvious pain and humiliation as he climbed into a taxi.
"So he went through with it," Ben observed. "Made himself the first test subject to prevent them from using innocent victims."
Tonight, Dr. Curt Connors would become the Lizard.
"Connors is brilliant," Ben mused, already formulating recruitment plans. "Maybe I can offer him a position once this transformation crisis resolves itself."
In fact, several of Spider-Man's future adversaries would make excellent additions to a legitimate research company. Dr. Connors, Dr. Otto Octavius—both were genuinely motivated by desires to help humanity, only to be corrupted by circumstance and desperation.
Still, Ben chose not to follow Connors immediately. The doctor's transformation into the Lizard would serve as an excellent first challenge for Peter's superhero career. There was no need to interfere with that natural development.
Besides, Ben had his own objectives to pursue.
Leaving Oscorp behind, Ben flew in the opposite direction until he reached an even more impressive structure—the Newly build Stark Tower, the gleaming spire that dominated Manhattan's skyline like a monument to technological achievement and personal ego.
Ever since appropriating Tony's armor, Ben had been eager to examine the Arc Reactor more closely. Cold fusion had remained theoretical for decades, yet somehow Tony had not only achieved it but miniaturized the technology to power a personal suit of armor.
"Even Obadiah couldn't replicate it despite having access to the original," Ben reflected. "The technological sophistication must be extraordinary."
Ben phased through the tower's exterior glass, his form now completely translucent. In the darkness, he was essentially invisible unless someone looked directly at him with perfect lighting.
Beyond the reactor, Tony's artificial intelligence represented another fascinating study opportunity. Jarvis's sophistication bordered on true consciousness—he displayed emotional responses, creative problem-solving, and genuine personality traits that exceeded anything currently available in the market.
Granted, Ben could probably develop similar technologies using Grey Matter's knowledge, but studying existing examples would dramatically accelerate the process.
Despite the late hour, Stark Tower still buzzed with activity. The building's lower floors contained dedicated workaholics pulling all-nighters, their dedication to corporate productivity both admirable and depressing.
Ben ascended directly to the penthouse levels—Tony's private workshop and living space, where most of his serious inventions took shape.
To Ben's surprise, Tony himself was still present, hunched over a workbench with obvious exhaustion weighing on his shoulders.
"Why isn't he out with some supermodel right now?" Ben wondered. "This is definitely not his usual nighttime routine."
Tony's behavior made more sense when Ben considered the circumstances. Having his armor stolen by an unknown entity had clearly rattled the inventor's confidence. He was probably working around the clock to develop replacement technology.
"Sir," Jarvis's voice interrupted the workshop's relative quiet, "I'm detecting unusual activity on the Williamsburg Bridge. A large reptilian creature has been sighted."
Security footage materialized in holographic displays around the room, showing blurry images of something that resembled a bipedal alligator rampaging through traffic.
Tony immediately abandoned his current project, moving to examine the footage more closely while reaching for a glass of green liquid that looked distinctly unappetizing.
"What is this supposed to be?" Tony muttered, studying the creature.
He'd initially expected another encounter with XLR8, but this new threat appeared completely different—more like a miniature Godzilla than the sleek predator who'd stolen his armor.
"This is almost as disgusting as chlorophyll juice," Tony complained, taking a reluctant sip of the green concoction and immediately grimacing. "I have that Dino-Boy to thank for this charming dietary requirement."
"On the positive side," Jarvis observed with characteristic dry wit, "XLR8's damage to your Arc Reactor has actually slowed the progression of palladium poisoning. Your inability to use the armor during recovery has been medically beneficial."
Tony's current armor was still under construction, leaving him effectively powerless to respond to threats. The irony wasn't lost on him.
"I should have built backup suits years ago," Tony said, forcing down another mouthful of the medicinal drink. "Always have redundancies for critical systems."
As he spoke, additional footage caught his attention—a brief glimpse of a red and blue figure swinging past the camera's field of view. Tony leaned forward, intending to ask Jarvis for enhanced analysis of this new element.
But before he could speak, his body suddenly froze in place, muscles locked as if someone had activated a paralysis device.
No one in the room noticed the translucent, ghostly shadow that had silently invaded Tony Stark's body.
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