The air in the restaurant felt like it had been sucked out of a vacuum. Peter Parker sat frozen, the weight of Ethan's words pressing down on him like a physical collapse. Two months. Eight mystical titans. Millions dead. The numbers weren't just statistics; to Peter, they were faces. They were the people he saw every day on the subway, the kids in the park, the families in Queens who didn't know the world was already on a countdown.
"Millions," Peter whispered again, his voice barely audible over the soft clink of silverware from the neighboring tables. "You're telling me that if we don't do this—if I don't help you—millions of people are going to die."
Ethan didn't blink. He didn't offer a comforting pat on the shoulder or a platitude about heroism. He simply watched Peter with a terrifyingly clinical patience. "The Octessence doesn't care about our morality or life outside of their own scope, Peter. This is a wager between gods, and humanity is just the dirt they're standing on. You'd be surprised how little we matter to such beings. My simulations, based on the historical data and my memories already beginning to manifest, show a ninety-eight percent probability of global destabilization within the first forty-eight hours of their awakening."
Peter looked at Felicia. She was leaning back, her face a mask of practiced neutrality, but her eyes were darting between the two of them, sharp and calculating. She didn't offer him an out. She knew, as well as Ethan did, that for Peter Benjamin Parker, there was no choice in this matter. Ethan already had him hooked, and nothing she said could influence that, so she remained silent.
"Fine," Peter said, his jaw tight, his hands clenching into fists beneath the table. "I'll help you. We save Xavier. We stop this… God-Machine. But I want to know everything, Ethan. No more secrets. You can argue that you told me, but you knew way before this that it would happen, yes? I don't want to go back and forth with you, so after this, tell me everything."
Ethan's face didn't break into a grin of villainous triumph. Instead, he offered a small, appreciative nod—the look of a man who had finally seen a difficult piece of architecture slide into its rightful place. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Peter. You're my friend, I don't want to keep you in the dark, it's just that so many things will happen back to back, I wanted to give you some normal before we started."
Without another word, Ethan signaled for the waiter. He hadn't even finished half of his sliders, the expensive food left largely untouched, as if the act of eating was merely a social performance he was finished with. He produced a sleek, titanium-alloy credit card—one of the many tools of the Isaac Maddox identity—and settled the exorbitant bill with a flick of his wrist.
"Follow me," Ethan said, standing up. "It's time you saw where the future is being built."
The transition from the warmth of the restaurant to the sterile, hidden depths of Ethan's personal lab was jarring. They didn't go to the Ilithyia Institute; instead, they traveled to a nondescript commercial building in Long Island City. Behind a series of triple-redundant biometric scanners and a freight elevator that moved with the silent precision of a Swiss watch, lay Ethan's inner sanctum.
As the doors hissed open, the lab was a cathedral of glass, brushed steel, and blue holographic light was unveiled.
"Welcome," Ethan said, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space. "To the heart of the operation."
He led them through the central hub, past workstations where N.E.A.R.'s interface flickered across dozens of transparent monitors. Throughout the entire walk, Felicia remained hauntingly silent. She didn't make a quip about the decor; she didn't ask about the cost. She walked with her arms crossed, her eyes scanning every vent, every camera, and every line of code on the screens with the intensity of a predator casing a vault.
Ethan stopped in front of a row of massive, vertical glass cylinders. Inside, a viscous, iridescent fluid swirled around skeletal frames of what looked like organic machinery.
"This is the Genesis Cradle project I mentioned before," Ethan explained, gesturing to the prototypes. "Peter, as I explained, its primary function is mainly medicinal. It can stabilize a patient, no matter how badly injured. As an added caveat, it can also be used as a gestation chamber or artificial womb. I believe that with this, medicine as a whole will undergo significant changes. Sadly, though, I still need a nutrient solution, so whoever is inside can stay as long as needed, which, depending on the damage, could take weeks. The fluid will sustain them and give them whatever they need. Currently, I've tested it on clone rats."
Peter stepped closer, his reflection ghostly on the glass. "You're growing… life?"
"Only rats. But I think I'm growing solutions instead," Ethan corrected. "This technology, if completed, can repair genetic defects that are currently considered terminal. It can stabilize the mutation process if that mutation is harmful to an individual. More importantly, depending on how long it takes to beat the Exemplar when we free them from the totem's influence, they may become catatonic. Mystical power highs usually come with heavy drawbacks. I'm not hiding anything from you, Peter. I promised no more secrets. And these," he pointed to the blueprints shimmering on a nearby wall, "are the weapons to defend ourselves."
Ethan spoke with a level of earnestness that made Peter's heart ache. He walked them through the schematics for the Machine Cells, explained the neural mesh that would allow for an integration of these cells into a human creating a silicon-organic hybrid, and showed them the data on the Exemplars. He laid it all out with such apparent transparency that Peter felt a wave of guilt for ever doubting him.
'He's just a kid who knows too much,' Peter thought, watching Ethan's animated explanation of bio-electric loops. 'A kid who's terrified of a future he can't stop alone. That's why he's doing all this. It's not about power—it's about survival. I don't know what future he suffered, but he doesn't seem to trust me much. I'm sure he's still hiding a lot. I guess I'll have to work on gaining more of his trust, so I can make sure he doesn't go down the wrong path.'
Behind Peter, Ethan's eyes briefly met Felicia's. There was no warmth in that gaze—only a silent, mutual understanding. Ethan was indeed hiding things—sublevel protocols, the true purpose of the Machine Cells, and the fact that all these seemingly innocent things were designed with a very specific, very exclusive use—but he knew Peter wouldn't like it. Peter liked him, and that blocked him from seeing the gaps in the story. Peter wanted to believe in the best version of Ethan. Ethan wanted to be that, but knew he couldn't. It wasn't how he was wired, but parts of him refused to go as far as possible because he didn't want to disappoint Peter.
"I believe you, Ethan," Peter said softly, turning back to him. "I don't like the methods, and I don't like the secrets, but… I believe you're trying to save people."
Ethan's smile was soft, almost humble. "That's all I've ever tried to be, Peter."
As they prepared to leave, Peter and Felicia handed back the phones. They probably thought they were just devices to read the information Ethan had gathered. Afterall compared to what phones looked like. These were two sleek, obsidian-colored devices. They were thinner than any phone on the market, with no visible buttons and a surface that seemed to absorb the light.
"I made these for you," Ethan said, shaking his head at Peter and Felicia. "They're encrypted and can't be opened without your faces. No one—not Shield, not the Avengers, not Stark, or even me—can tap into these. I've pre-loaded them with all the data I have on the Exemplars, the coordinates for Alcatraz, and the specs for Cerebro's dampening field. I'll be a bit busy, so I'll leave Xavier's situation to you, Peter."
Peter took the phone, feeling the cool weight of it. "Thanks, Ethan."
"Be careful," Ethan warned. "We're already on the clock, so you need to move on Alcatraz because every moment counts."
Peter nodded, glancing at Felicia. She took her phone without a word, sliding it into her pocket with a deftness that suggested she was already thinking of finding someone to take it apart and make sure it was what Ethan said it was.
"Thanks, we'll be in touch. Oh, and Ethan, don't do anything, that would force me to have to stop you," Peter said.
He led Felicia out toward the entrance. The silence between them was heavy. Peter was lost in the technical specifications and the upcoming mission. Felicia, however, was focused on the vibration in her pocket.
Ten minutes later, the elevator doors in the lobby hissed open. Peter and Felicia stepped out into the cool evening air of Long Island City.
"You okay, Felicia?" Peter asked, reaching for her hand. "You were very quiet in there."
Felicia offered him a small, tired smile. "Just a lot to take in, Peter. My brain is still trying to process the whole 'gods from another dimension' part. It's a bit out of my normal pay grade. Go on home, Peter. Get some rest. You look like you're already carrying the world on your shoulders, and we've got a long day tomorrow. I'll take a walk before going back."
Peter leaned in, kissing her forehead. "You sure?"
"I'm sure. I'll see you in the morning."
Peter nodded, shot a web at a nearby crane, and swung off into the skyline, his mind already miles away.
The moment he was out of sight, Felicia's smile vanished. She pulled the black phone from her pocket and tapped the screen. It didn't ask for a passcode; it responded to her face instantly. A single notification sat on the display.
[1 New Message: PRIVATE CLASSIFIED]
"Come talk to me after splitting up with Peter. The back entrance is still open."