Mad Ben's hijacking of the Guardians of the Galaxy's ship was a relatively recent development, but the incident involving Jameson's son had occurred two full weeks earlier.
"It was a warp drive experiment," Norman Osborn explained, sliding a classified dossier across Ben's desk with practiced precision.
The leather folder landed with a soft thump on the polished surface. Through the windows of the Plumber orbital station's command center, Earth rotated serenely below, clouds swirling across blue oceans in hypnotic patterns. The contrast between that peaceful view and the growing pile of crisis reports never ceased to be ironic.
"What happened?" Ben asked, already opening the file.
Though the Earth branch of the Plumbers held a uniquely influential position—essentially operating as a quasi-governmental organization with authority superseding most national boundaries—Ben made a conscious effort not to act as a dictator. Generally speaking, he respected each nation's right to pursue their own technological development without interference.
The Plumbers' official mandate was managing extraordinary incidents: superhuman crimes, alien incursions, dimensional breaches. Conventional science fell outside their purview unless it created superhuman threats.
Warp drive technology, in theory, represented a significant breakthrough—an engine capable of achieving faster-than-light travel through controlled space-time distortion. The same fundamental principles that powered Tetramand vessels and other advanced spacecraft.
"During the initial unmanned warp drive test," Norman continued, his tone carrying the efficient cadence of someone who'd briefed this information multiple times already, "the probe discovered a planet with remarkable similarity to Earth. Atmospheric composition, gravity, temperature ranges—all within acceptable parameters for human colonization. Barring unforeseen complications with local biology or hidden environmental hazards, it appeared to be a viable candidate for expansion."
Ben nodded slowly, scanning through the technical specifications. The planet had been designated Counter-Earth in the initial reports, though he suspected that name would change once proper surveys were completed.
The Plumbers were certainly aware of the discovery—Norman's intelligence network was too comprehensive for something this significant to slip through unnoticed. However, one small habitable planet among billions represented a relatively minor concern in the grand scheme of galactic politics. Ben had filed it away as interesting but not urgent, assuming the relevant Earth governments would handle initial exploration themselves.
For the American government that had made the discovery, however, this represented something far more significant—a matter of profound importance concerning "all humanity's future," or at least humanity's American subset.
National pride and scientific ambition had combined to greenlight an exploration mission almost immediately. Plans were drawn up, funding approved, crew selected.
John Jameson—son of Daily Bugle owner J. Jonah Jameson—had been chosen as the pilot of the Solaris-1 rocket. A pioneer for Earth's cosmic future. A hero in the making.
The propaganda value alone must have been irresistible to the politicians involved.
"I know this story," Ben murmured, a distant memory surfacing unbidden.
He remembered watching a Spider-Man cartoon as a child, back before his reincarnation, back when Marvel was just entertainment rather than lived reality. The plot had involved Spider-Man traveling to another planet populated entirely by anthropomorphic animals. He couldn't recall the series name—his childhood memories had grown fuzzy with time and interdimensional displacement—but he vividly remembered the costume design. That particular Spider-Man suit had featured a dark mask and a small cape flowing from the shoulders.
There had been another version too, something about searching for Mary Jane across dimensions, but that series had been canceled mid-season. He'd always felt disappointed by the lack of closure.
But in that cartoon, Ben thought with a frown, didn't Venom and Carnage cause the initial problems? They were the antagonists who complicated Peter's mission.
The Venom symbiote in this reality had long since become Agent Venom, bonded with Flash Thompson and serving as a heroic Plumber agent. Carnage didn't exist at all—Cletus Kasady was just a regular serial killer currently serving life in a maximum-security prison without any symbiote enhancement.
So this exploration mission shouldn't have encountered any complications, right?
Unless...
"Did another Earth somehow attack John Jameson's ship?" Ben speculated aloud. "Some hostile alternate universe version of—"
"Mutants," Norman interrupted, his expression hardening. "It was mutants."
Ben's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"A group of newly awakened mutants learned about the Counter-Earth discovery," Norman continued, his distaste evident in every syllable. "They secretly plotted to hijack the rocket at the moment of launch, hoping to board the vessel, reach this new world, and establish their own independent mutant nation. Away from human persecution. Away from registration laws and discrimination."
"Such radical separatist thinking has already emerged?" Ben asked, genuinely shocked. "It's only been a few weeks since the X-gene activation began!"
The timing seemed impossibly fast for that kind of organized ideological movement to coalesce.
It should be noted that the Plumbers had been remarkably tolerant toward the mutant population. Most incidents caused by uncontrolled awakening had been resolved through a combination of Plumber intervention and Primus Technologies' medical support. The original timeline's bitter conflict between mutants and baseline humans had been largely prevented through proactive policy.
Ben had personally established the Mutant Classification System to replace hysteria with rational assessment. He'd created training programs that allowed newly awakened mutants to channel their abilities constructively, with the most promising candidates recruited directly into Plumber ranks.
Plumber agents enjoyed exceptional benefits: two hundred days of vacation annually, starting salaries exceeding two hundred thousand dollars for even the lowest-ranked field agents, free housing in employee dormitories, comprehensive insurance packages.
There was no medical insurance because Primus Technologies provided completely free healthcare to all Plumber personnel and their families—healing serums and regeneration cradle access eliminated most conventional medical needs anyway.
Yes, the Mutant Registration Act existed, but it was designed for public safety and power documentation, not oppression. There were no Sentinel robots hunting mutants through the streets. No concentration camps. No government-sanctioned genocide.
So why would mutants already be planning separatist movements?
"There aren't many of them," Norman said with evident frustration. "But you have to understand the demographic involved. Most awakened mutants are teenagers."
The implications clicked immediately.
"Ah," Ben said with sudden understanding. "Adolescence."
"Exactly." Norman's expression suggested he'd aged several years dealing with this situation. "It's already the most irrational and self-centered developmental period in human psychology. Then you give these kids superpowers on top of existing teenage narcissism."
Ben could imagine the thought process: I've awakened amazing abilities that make me special and unique. Why should I have to follow normal society's rules? Why should I work for people without powers? My awakening means I'm destined for something greater than a regular job and a normal life!
The classic teenage conviction of being the protagonist of reality's narrative, but with actual evidence to support the delusion.
"Now," Norman continued, "because Solaris-1 lost contact and the last confirmed intel mentioned mutant involvement, this falls under Plumber jurisdiction rather than NASA's disaster recovery protocols."
"Hmm." Ben drummed his fingers on the desk, considering team composition. "Let's send Peter, Harry, and Flash. This seems like a good field experience mission for them."
Norman's expression shifted slightly. "Peter's already there."
Ben blinked. "What?"
"The Solaris-1 launch was broadcast live worldwide," Norman explained with a hint of amusement. "You forgot that Peter still works as the photographer for the Daily Bugle. He was on-site covering the event."
"He's still a photographer?" Ben's voice rose with genuine surprise.
He'd assumed Peter had abandoned that particular job years ago. The young man certainly wasn't hurting for money anymore—as one of the highest-ranked Plumber agents on Earth, Peter's annual salary easily exceeded ten million dollars. Add in bonuses for extraordinary service, and he could afford any lifestyle he wanted.
Peter had originally taken the Daily Bugle job out of necessity, needing income to support Aunt May and Uncle Ben while maintaining his secret identity. After the Plumbers were established and his family was financially secure, continuing to work for someone who publicly despised Spider-Man seemed masochistic at best.
"I think he genuinely enjoys the photography," Norman said thoughtfully. "The creative aspect appeals to him. Plus..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I sometimes suspect your nephew might have some kind of psychological need for external criticism. Like he enjoys being verbally abused by Jameson."
Ben considered this disturbing possibility. "Should we... get him a therapist?"
"Probably couldn't hurt." Norman pulled up tactical displays on the holographic projector. "Do you want me to send Agent Venom and the Neo Goblin as backup? If mutants are involved, having heavy hitters might be prudent."
"Let me think..." Ben stroked his chin, running through potential team compositions. "Let's expand the roster a bit more. Include Dr. Connors and Dr. Octavius."
Norman's eyebrows rose questioningly.
"I remember the creatures on Counter-Earth are all anthropomorphic animals," Ben explained. "Having two doctors with animal-based enhancement might provide useful scientific insight. Connors with his Lizard genetics, Otto with his octopus-derived abilities—they might notice things human observers would miss."
He paused, then added wistfully, "If Dr. Animo were here, this would be perfect for him. A whole planet of advanced animal species to study."
He was referring to the heroic version of Dr. Animo from the zombie universe, of course—the veterinarian-turned-savior rather than the villain. That Dr. Animo would have been absolutely fascinated by an entire civilization of evolved animals.
Two Weeks Earlier
Cape Canaveral Launch Site
"Down!" Peter Parker's fist connected with the metallic-skinned mutant's solar plexus with enough force to crater concrete.
The mutant folded like cheap lawn furniture, metal particles spraying from his mouth as he collapsed into a gasping, shrimp-like curl on the launch platform's floor. His supposedly impenetrable steel skin had proven about as effective as aluminum foil against Peter's enhanced strength.
Several other mutants lay scattered around him in various states of unconsciousness, groaning weakly. One had ice forming across his skin from the cryogenic fuel leak Peter had strategically maneuvered him into. Another was wrapped head-to-toe in industrial-strength webbing, suspended from the ceiling like a particularly pathetic piñata.
Peter flexed his wrist experimentally, the Omnitrix gleaming on his left arm catching fluorescent light. He hadn't even needed to transform—his base spider-powers combined with super-soldier enhancements had been more than sufficient.
"Are you kidding me?" he said, genuinely incredulous as he surveyed the defeated mutants. "With skills like this, you thought you could go up against the Plumbers? You can't even handle one agent!"
Nobody answered because Peter had perhaps been a bit overzealous. He'd been relying heavily on the replica Omnitrix lately, transforming for even minor threats, and the constant alien DNA integration seemed to be affecting his self-control. He'd hit harder than necessary, used more force than the situation required.
These mutants were barely conscious enough to breathe, let alone speak.
"According to the Plumber classification system," Peter continued, mostly talking to himself now as he pulled obedience discs from his utility belt, "you're gamma-level threats at absolute best. Maybe delta for some of you."
He attached a disc to each unconscious mutant's carotid artery with practiced efficiency, the devices automatically activating their tracking functions. Backup teams would arrive within minutes to transport them to holding facilities.
Peter dusted off his hands—more from habit than actual dirt—and turned toward the rocket's control panel.
Behind a overturned chair, John Jameson slowly emerged from his hiding position, his face pale but composed. The astronaut had watched the entire brief battle with wide eyes, pressed against the wall to avoid stray attacks.
"Spider-Man," John said, his voice carrying genuine gratitude tinged with shame. "Thank you for saving me. I... I know my father would never approve of me saying this, but you're a real hero."
His father. J. Jonah Jameson. Spider-Man's most vocal and persistent critic.
Even after Peter had officially joined the Plumbers as a registered superhero, even after he'd saved New York countless times, even after receiving commendations from the President himself—Jameson continued his relentless crusade. The Daily Bugle ran weekly editorials about the "Spider-Menace," claiming Peter was a Plumber plant sent to undermine the organization from within, that his heroics were staged propaganda, that he represented an existential threat to human autonomy.
"You're welcome," Peter said, waving off the thanks even as part of him glowed at the recognition. "If you could get your father to say a few positive things about me in the newspapers, that would be the best reward possible. Just once. A single headline that doesn't call me a menace would be amazing."
"About that..." John scratched the back of his head, his expression shifting to embarrassment. He moved back to the pilot's seat, checking control systems for damage as he spoke. "Actually, I've been wondering about Dad's obsession with you for years now. It goes beyond normal journalistic skepticism."
"What else could it be?" Peter said irritably, helping John assess the launch sequence integrity on the backup monitors. "There's literally no one in all of New York who hates me more than your father. It's personal for him. I'm not weaving webs in his closet or anything—I've never even met the man outside of press conferences!"
"No, that's just it," John said slowly, his fingers flying across the control panel as he attempted to restore primary systems. "There's someone else involved. A mysterious person who's been paying my father substantial amounts of money to..."
He trailed off, looking genuinely uncomfortable.
Peter's spider-sense gave the faintest tingle—not danger, but significance. Something important was being revealed.
"To what?" he pressed.
John took a deep breath, meeting Peter's eyes directly. "To smear you in the press. To frame you as a villain. Some anonymous benefactor has been funding Dad's entire anti-Spider-Man campaign from the beginning."
The silence that followed could have frozen the rocket fuel.
"What?"