"I think I just found our new project."
Those words echoed in my head as I sat in the back of the taxi, heading towards Brooklyn. They tasted like ash in my mouth.
Why did I say that? Project.
Was I becoming like Norman? Seeing people as assets? Seeing tragedy as opportunity?
I shook my head, trying to activate my [Mental Strength] to suppress the guilt, but for the first time, I hesitated.
'No,' I told myself. 'Don't suppress it. Feel it. You're losing yourself, Matthew.'
Brooklyn. A deserted playground. 6:30 PM.
The location Miles sent was a small park near his school. It was getting dark.
I found him huddled under a slide, knees pulled up to his chest. He was wearing a hoodie that was two sizes too big, the hood pulled low.
He was shaking.
"Miles?" I called out softly.
He flinched violently. His hand slapped against the metal pole of the slide—and stuck.
"No, no, no!" Miles panicked, trying to pull his hand free. But the more he panicked, the harder it stuck. He yanked his arm, and with a sickening screech of metal, he bent the thick steel pole as if it were playdough.
He stared at the bent metal, terrified tears streaming down his face.
"I... I broke it," he sobbed, his voice cracking. "Matt, I'm a freak. I'm a monster."
I froze.
In the comics, this is the part where the reader smiles because they know he's becoming Spider-Man. It's cool. It's exciting.
But standing there, watching a 14-year-old boy hyperventilating because his body is changing in ways he doesn't understand... it wasn't cool. It was body horror. It was terrifying.
This wasn't a comic book panel. This was a real child, alone in the dark, thinking his life was over.
And I had called him a project.
A wave of shame hit me harder than any physical punch could. My cold, analytical demeanor shattered instantly.
I dropped my bag and ran to him. I didn't care about "composure" or "maintaining an image."
"Miles, hey, look at me," I said, kneeling in the dirt next to him.
"Stay back!" Miles yelled, scrambling backwards. "I might hurt you! My hands... they stick, and I hear everything! It's too loud! The cars, the lights, it hurts!"
He covered his ears. Sensory overload. His enhanced senses were assaulting his brain without a filter.
I knew that pain. I had felt it on my first day.
I reached out, but he flinched.
"Miles, listen to me," I said, my voice trembling slightly. Not with fear, but with empathy. "You are not a monster. You're just... overwhelmed."
"Make it stop," he begged, rocking back and forth. "Please, just make it stop."
I took a deep breath. I deactivated my own mental shields. I made myself vulnerable.
"I can help," I whispered. "May I touch your forehead?"
Miles looked at me through tear-filled eyes. He nodded slowly.
I gently placed two fingers on his forehead.
I didn't use my power to control him. I used it to share the burden.
[Mental Strength: Soothe]
I visualized a blanket. A thick, heavy, soundproof blanket wrapping around Miles's chaotic mind. I dampened the noise of the traffic. I dimmed the brightness of the streetlights in his mind's eye.
"Just breathe," I guided him. "In... and out."
Miles took a shuddering breath. Then another. His shoulders dropped. The shaking stopped.
"The noise..." Miles whispered, opening his eyes. "It's quiet."
"I know," I said, giving him a sad, genuine smile. "It's scary, isn't it? When the world suddenly turns the volume up to eleven."
Miles looked at his hand, which was still stuck to the metal.
"How do you know?" he asked. "Are you... like me?"
I sat down in the dirt next to him, ruining my expensive Oscorp-internship pants. I didn't care.
"I'm not exactly like you," I admitted. "But I know what it feels like to wake up and feel like a stranger in your own body. To feel like the universe is playing a cruel joke on you."
I looked at the bent metal pole.
"You're not a freak, Miles. You're changing. And change is painful."
"I thought I was dying," Miles confessed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Or turning into a zombie."
I laughed. It wasn't a calculated, cool laugh. It was a relieved, human chuckle.
"No zombies. Just sticky fingers. Think of it like... puberty. But with superpowers."
Miles let out a weak giggle. "That's worse."
"Yeah," I agreed. "It kinda is."
I reached out and gently took his stuck hand. "Relax your hand. Don't pull. Just... let go. Imagine the stickiness is melting away."
Miles closed his eyes, concentrating. A few seconds later, his hand detached from the metal smoothly.
He looked at his palm in wonder. Then he looked at me.
"Thank you, Matt."
The way he looked at me—with pure trust—made my chest ache. He wasn't an experiment. He wasn't a soldier for my future army against Thanos. He was Miles. A kid who liked physics and probably played video games.
"I'm sorry," I said suddenly.
Miles blinked. "For what? You helped me."
"For..." I hesitated. "For thinking I had all the answers. I don't. But I promise you this, Miles: You won't go through this alone. I've got your back. Always."
Miles grinned, a real smile this time. "Thanks, bro."
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Harry.
Harry:My father is asking for the initial report on the 'Project'. Where are you?
I looked at the text. Then I looked at Miles, who was testing his grip strength on a rock, looking amazed.
I typed a reply.
Me:There is no project. Just a friend who needed help with homework. Tell your father I'm done for the day.
I turned off the phone and shoved it deep into my pocket.
"Come on," I said to Miles, standing up and offering him a hand. "Let's get you some food. Super-puberty burns a lot of calories."
"Can we get pizza?" Miles asked, his eyes lighting up.
"Yeah," I said, putting an arm around his shoulders. "We can get all the pizza you want."
As we walked out of the park, I realized something.
I had S-Rank Mental Strength. I had an A-Rank Teleportation skill. I had money.
But right now, walking this scared kid to get pizza... this was the most important thing I had done since coming to this universe.
This wasn't a story. These were my people. And I would burn the world down before I let Norman Osborn or anyone else treat them like lab rats.