1:45 PM EDT, Friday, July 4th, 2025
J. Jonah Jameson sat behind his desk at the Daily Bugle's bustling headquarters, the faint scent of ink and stale coffee lingering in the air. His office was a fortress of organized chaos—piles of newspapers and scribbled notes littered the desk, a flickering fluorescent light casting harsh shadows across the room. A digital clock on the wall ticked down the minutes: 1:45 PM EDT, Friday, July 4th, 2025. In just fifteen minutes, he'd be live on air, delivering a scathing segment about the city's masked menaces—Spider-Man and that new nuisance, Omni-Guy. His mustache bristled with anticipation as he adjusted his tie, the red fabric stark against his crisp white shirt. Today was a holiday, sure, but crime—and his crusade against it—didn't take a break.
He stood, pacing the narrow space between his desk and the window overlooking Manhattan's skyline. "Vigilantes," he grumbled, his voice a low growl. "They think they can swing around, playing hero, while the police get sidelined. Well, not on my watch." He rehearsed his opening line in his head: "Good afternoon, New York! Once again, we're under siege—not by criminals, but by costumed freaks who think they're above the law!"It was perfect—sharp, biting, classic Jameson.
But as he turned to grab his notes, a sudden chill prickled the back of his neck. The room dimmed, the lights flickering erratically. He froze, his breath fogging in front of him despite the summer heat outside. Before he could process it, a misty, translucent face materialized in the air—a vague, smirking visage with glowing eyes. "Sorry about this," it said, its voice echoing with an eerie playfulness, "but I'm not doing this for fun… at least, not your fun." A mischievous grin spread across the misty features, and before Jameson could shout or swing a fist, the entity surged forward.
A cold, invasive sensation flooded his body, like ice water pouring through his veins. His vision blurred, his knees buckled, and for a moment, he thought he'd pass out. Then, just as abruptly, it stopped. He straightened, blinking rapidly, but something was wrong—his thoughts felt fuzzy, his tongue heavy. He tried to mutter a curse, but it came out as a slurred, "Wha… whatshappenin'?"
The door burst open, and a harried production assistant poked her head in. "Mr. Jameson, you're on in five!" She didn't wait for a response, or to see the faint Makeup on Jonahs face, she was already halfway down the hall. Jameson stumbled after her, his legs moving as if guided by someone else. By the time he reached the studio, the bright lights and bustling crew barely registered. He plopped into his chair, squinting at the anchor—a polished young woman named Lisa—who flashed him a professional smile.
"Welcome back to the Daily Bugle Live," Lisa began, her tone smooth. "We're here with J. Jonah Jameson to discuss the growing vigilante problem—namely, Spider-Man and Omni-Guy. Mr. Jameson, your thoughts?"
Jameson opened his mouth, expecting his usual venom to spill out. Instead, a sloppy grin spread across his face, and his words tumbled out in a drunken slur. "Y'know, Lisa, these guysh—Spider-Man, Omni-Dude—they're not so bad. They're protectin' everybody better'n the cops ever could!" He hiccupped, then chuckled, the sound high-pitched and uncharacteristic.
Lisa's smile wavered, her eyes darting to the crew off-camera. "Uh… Mr. Jameson, are you alright?"
"Oh, I'm great!" he exclaimed, leaning forward so his face loomed into the camera. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes glassy. "And their makeup—hilarioush! A facial a day keepsh the bad thoughtsh away, right?" He erupted into laughter, slapping the desk with a clumsy hand.
The studio descended into chaos. The director waved frantically from the control booth, mouthing, "Cut it!" Lisa tried to regain control, her voice tight. "Perhaps we should take a quick break—"
"No, no, no!" Jameson interrupted, waving a finger. "Lesh keep goin'. Omni-Guy's a geniush, a real protector. And Spider-Man? Mishunderstood. We should thank 'em, not hunt 'em!" His words sloshed together, and he swayed in his seat, grinning like a fool.
Finally, the feed went dark, the screen replaced by a "Technical Difficulties" placeholder. The crew swarmed Jameson, one technician checking his pulse while another called for water. "What's wrong with him?" someone whispered. But as they fussed, the haze lifted from Jameson's mind. He blinked, his posture snapping back to its usual rigidity. "What the hell just happened?" he barked, shoving the technician away. His voice was clear now, but the damage was done—and the internet was already lighting up.
Midtown High, Later That Afternoon
Alex Carter lounged in the cafeteria at Midtown High, his phone vibrating nonstop on the table. The news of Jameson's meltdown had spread like wildfire, and the memes were relentless. His favorite? A still of Jameson's red, laughing face with the caption, "A facial a day keeps the bad thoughts away." He chuckled, shaking his head. Dimple—the mischievous entity tied to the Omnitrix—had outdone himself this time. Possessing Jameson to praise Spider-Man and Omni-Guy? It was poetic justice.
Across from him, Peter Parker and Ned Leeds were hunched over their own phones, barely containing their amusement. Peter, usually the quiet one, was laughing outright, his brown eyes bright with glee. "I can't believe he said that," he said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Jameson's been on my case—er, Spider-Man's case—for years. And now he's calling him a hero?"
Ned grinned, scrolling through his feed. "Check this one out: 'When your boss catches you drinking on the job but you roll with it.' The internet's having a field day."
Alex leaned back, savoring the moment. "Guess Jameson's not as big a threat as he thinks," he said, shooting Peter a knowing glance. "More of a loudmouth than anything else."
Peter nodded, still smiling. "Yeah, he's annoying, but he's never really hurt Spider-Man's reputation. People see through the bluster."
The conversation drifted to their plans after graduation. Peter and Ned were both set on tech degrees—Peter had his sights on Oscorp's prestigious internship program, while Ned dreamed of coding something revolutionary. Alex listened, his mind buzzing with an idea he'd been mulling over for weeks. Carter Tech—his own company—was still in its infancy, but it was time to take a leap.
"Hey, guys," he said, leaning forward with a spark in his eyes. "What if I told you I'm starting a tech company? Carter Tech. And I want you both on board."
Peter raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "You're serious? We're still in high school, Alex."
"Doesn't matter," Alex shot back, undeterred. "I've got a project ready to go—something big. Picture an AI that can do anything you ask, based on a simple prompt. It's like ChatGPT, but smarter, more adaptive. I call it C.AI—Carter Artificial Intelligence."
Ned's jaw dropped, his excitement palpable. "Whoa, that's insane! How does it work?"
Alex grinned, feeding off Ned's energy. "It's got an advanced algorithm. If it gets a 'bad' prompt—something vague or tricky—it searches the internet every four hours for a week, refining its response. It learns, grows, adapts. It's not just a chatbot; it's a public AI companion."
Peter crossed his arms, intrigued but cautious. "That's a huge undertaking. I was planning to go for Oscorp—they've got the resources, the labs—"
Ned jumped in before Peter could finish. "But think about it, Pete! If we build this with Alex, we could make more money in a year or two than Oscorp would ever pay us. Plus, we'd be the ones calling the shots—creating something totally new."
Peter frowned, torn. Oscorp had been his goal for years—a chance to work with cutting-edge tech and maybe, just maybe, impress Tony Stark's legacy. But Alex's pitch was tempting, and Ned's enthusiasm was infectious. "I don't know, guys…"
"Come on, Peter," Ned pressed, practically bouncing in his seat. "Just give it a shot. If it's as good as Alex says, it could be huge. Bigger than Oscorp."
After a long pause, Peter sighed, relenting. "Alright, I'll help. But I'm not joining full-time unless this project's worth it. Deal?"
"Deal," Alex said, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. "You won't regret it."
The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, and the trio gathered their things. As they headed to class, Alex's mind raced with possibilities. He didn't know it yet—none of them did—but this moment was the spark of something extraordinary. A superior vision, one that would one day rival the greatest minds and machines of their world.