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The suit itself was tight, exposing Peter's wrists and revealing the muscles hidden beneath his loose clothing. He wasn't a giant, but no one doubted his perfect build, allowing him to be considered agile and strong. The material must have been tight, since tiny, almost microscopic fibers along his body allowed him to stick to walls through the thin fabric. He landed backward against a wall, rolled to his feet without a problem, and launched himself off the building. If someone were to examine these fibers along Peter's body under a microscope, they would find an uncanny resemblance to the tips of a spider's legs.
As the air whipped against his face and the honking horns and train tracks invaded his ears, Peter's mask reacted to the changes in his senses. It was red and covered with the same black web pattern as the top of the suit. His eyes were covered by white lenses with black rims. They were wide lenses, designed in such a way that it seemed impossible for someone without Peter's senses to see through them. He'd worn glasses for a long time, but a spider bite had given him better vision, along with the spider's strength and speed.
He was a mild-mannered, bookworm, science nerd Peter Parker, but he was also your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.
Gary Stewarts , a hero, looked at him in amazement. He watched him walk off the street before entering his apartment. Upon arriving, Gary threw his bag onto the couch and pulled out his phone. Liz had sent him a photo, telling him she'd brought a new outfit for Dazzler 's performance that night. The young man, impatient, took off his shirt and went to the bathroom to shower. As he did so, he felt that pain in his stomach again.
Only this time it was much worse.
Stepping out of the shower, Gary clutched his sides, gritting his teeth as he walked over to the mirror. He took out some aspirin and put two down his throat. He took a few deep breaths, letting the pain dissipate a little; the aspirin would take a while, but for now he could bear it. But then he grabbed his throat, feeling like he was about to throw up. But it wasn't vomit that gushed out, but a black substance that looked like a jellyfish floating in the sink. Inside, Gary could see the pills he'd taken.
She shook her head, staring at the jellyfish-like creature slithering across the sink. Glancing in the mirror, she recoiled in astonishment at the lump on her cheek. It faded, but the damage was done. When the doorbell rang, she cried out in astonishment. Her heart pounded as she approached the door. She looked through the peephole and saw a tanned woman in a floral dress.
"Mr. Stewart," her voice brimmed with compassion and understanding. "I understand your situation; the organization I belong to can help you."
Support groups for mutants and "enhanced" individuals were difficult to find. Government-sponsored ones always had an agenda: the desire to use the abilities of those they supported. They built gilded cages for the enhanced individuals they found. However, Hank Pym was no longer a government agent; he wanted to make that clear to those who visited his laboratory in upstate New York. A brilliant scientist of forty-one years, Pym was still wearing his lab uniform when he walked into reception.
"Thanks, Piers . I'll take it from here," he told the receptionist.
Trovaya Foundation building was small, and Pym ran it with a small team he knew well. He also knew the two men waiting for him, both consultants for the global disaster-response organization. Felix Blake, at least, seemed reasonable; not someone Hank liked or disliked, simply a man doing his duty. Mitchell Carson was someone Pym didn't like; people called him with due respect; Hank preferred him to be "rude, controlling, and a complete jerk."
"You're late," Carson said.
"Helping people isn't an exact science, Carson. I don't have deadlines; I get the job done no matter how long it takes," Pym explained .
"You know, proper funding could help," Blake suggested, though he didn't seem interested.
"You know my answer," Hank replied.
"I have orders to make the offer at least," the man shrugged.
"Carter knows my current status. Anyway, here's the status report on the members of my support group. As you know, as a doctor, I'm not required to give their names. With the exception of your Colonel Danvers, he's progressing very well; you can leave whenever you want," Hank explained.
He turned to leave, but Mitchell grabbed his shoulder. Blake shook his head, clearly unhappy with Mitchell's actions.
"You know you can't keep this going forever, Pym , running this place on patents and charitable donations? It won't last. You have the most powerful weapons in the world here, Pym , weapons that can make the world a better place," Carson explained.
Pym removed Carson's hand and turned to look at him with a sarcastic smile on his face.
"They're not weapons, Agent Carson, they're people, but maybe you're right, maybe someday they'll make the world a better place. That's why, as long as I live, I will never allow you or your bosses to control them," Hank emphasized, firm and proud.
Carson mimicked Hank's sarcastic smile.
"I wish you had protected Maria with such ferocity," he said.
Hank took a deep breath before butting his head against Carson's nose.
"Shit!" the man growled as he fell backward.
Blood was coming out of his nose, he felt like his nose was breaking.
"Let's talk about my wife again and I'll show you what ferocity really looks like," Hank said.
Blake helped his fellow agent up, showing him no sympathy.
"See you next week, Hank, come on, idiot," he said.
"I'll sue him," Carson growled.
"And I'm going to report you for inappropriate behavior, for talking about that man's wife," Blake shook his head as they walked away.
When the doors closed behind them, Hank returned to the elevator and his lab, where his assistant Raz was reviewing the results with the endoscope.
"Have there been any changes during my absence, Ultron?" Hank asked the building's AI.
"Colonel Danvers is fully charged, Mr. Willis and Astro have acclimated to their containment suits, and Raz is reviewing the scan results on Miss Jones," the robotic but reassuring voice explained.
"What's the prognosis, Raz? Is it what we thought?" Hank asked.
The Hispanic man raised his head, nodding and pinching his nose to keep from crying.
"I've confirmed that the radiation Angelica produces is not harmful to other people, Hank, it's already done damage here," Raz stood up, allowing Hank to see the results for himself.
Angelica Jones couldn't use a hospital's standard MRI, but Hank used the Pym particles he created to run tests on drones capable of scanning at the cellular level. When Angelica Jones's projection mutation awakened, she was fortunate enough to have not harmed anyone. However, that didn't mean she was one of the lucky mutants. She had been with the support group since she was thirteen. One day, while changing out of her containment suit, she noticed a mole on her left breast.
"I'll tell her," Hank rubbed the back of his neck as he walked toward Angelica's room.
She was wearing her containment suit, a yellow one with red lines on the sides and arms. She was reading a magazine and listening to music, but that all ended when Hank came in. He sat across from her and, as gently as possible, told her the scan results. There was a small group of people who considered the mutation a gift.
Angelica's gift, besides being able to produce heat, was infertility and cancer!
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