Having experienced what it truly meant to inhabit a healthy body—to breathe without pain, to move without agony, to think without the fog of genetic deterioration—the Highbreed underwent a philosophical transformation as dramatic as their physical one.
"There are no inferior beings!" one of the younger Highbreed declared, his emerald fur practically glowing with newfound vitality. "We are all noble! We are all one family!"
"Unity across species!" another chimed in, her amber skin shimmering.
"Genetic diversity is strength!" a third added enthusiastically.
The speed of their ideological reversal would have been comedic if it weren't so genuine. Centuries of xenophobic supremacy evaporated like morning dew under the simple revelation that not suffering was preferable to dying pure.
However, not everyone was celebrating this newfound brotherhood.
The Kree—specifically, the ones who'd been parasitized, controlled, and used as puppets for the Highbreed infiltration—had some opinions about their former oppressors' sudden change of heart.
"Get out!" A Kree military commander, his blue skin still bearing the faded scars of parasitic control nodes, jabbed a finger toward the exit. "Get out of the Kree Empire! Return our homeland to us!"
His voice cracked with months of suppressed rage and humiliation. Behind him, dozens of other freed Kree murmured angry agreement, their expressions dark with the memory of violation and helplessness.
The nearest Highbreed—the green-furred one who'd led the charge against the Elder—barely glanced at the Kree before backhanding him casually across the chamber.
The commander flew six meters before crashing into a wall with a sickening crunch.
"No," the Highbreed said simply, flexing his fingers. "We're staying."
"You—you occupied our worlds!" another Kree protested, voice shrill with desperation. "You enslaved our people! You turned our citizens into—into monsters!"
"That was under the old administration," a ruby-skinned Highbreed replied with a dismissive wave. "We're reformed now. Fresh start and all that."
The Kree delegation stared in disbelief.
"We'll report this to the Plumbers!" the fallen commander wheezed, struggling back to his feet. "Sakaar King will make you answer for—"
"Sakaar King?" The green Highbreed laughed. "Friend, we just swore allegiance to the Plumbers. We're with them now. One big happy alliance."
The Kree's face went from blue to purple.
"You think he'll help you?" the Highbreed continued, picking at his teeth with one claw. "After you caused all that trouble at the Galactic Conference? Where were you when the Plumbers needed support, hmm?"
Technically, the Kree hadn't been the primary instigators at the Conference—that honor belonged to the Incursean Empire, the Atasians, and various Skrull factions. But they hadn't been innocent bystanders either. They'd schemed, plotted, and attempted their own plays for power.
The fact that they'd failed to accomplish their schemes didn't make them virtuous. It just made them unsuccessful traitors.
"This is our territory!" the commander insisted, though his voice had lost its conviction.
"Was," the Highbreed corrected. "Was your territory. Now it belongs to whoever's strong enough to hold it."
He cracked his knuckles meaningfully.
The Kree delegation retreated, muttering about injustice and cosmic law and the corruption of everything good in the universe.
The Highbreed watched them go with the smug satisfaction of the newly empowered.
Ben found Dr. Connors in what had once been a Highbreed genetic laboratory, now converted into a makeshift triage center for the newly-restored Kree. The scientist was running basic medical scans on former DNAliens, cataloguing the restoration process with obvious fascination.
"Ben." Connors glanced up from his datapad, relief evident in his expression. "I was wondering when you'd collect me. This entire situation is absolutely fascinating from a xenobiological perspective, but I'd very much like to return to a planet where people don't keep trying to execute each other."
"Fair enough." Ben gestured toward the exit. "Ready to go?"
"More than ready."
As they walked through the facility toward the dimensional portal Ben had opened, Connors couldn't help but notice the various conflicts breaking out around them. Highbreed and Kree faced off in tense standoffs. Arguments about territory and reparations echoed through the corridors. Several fights had already turned physical.
"You're just... leaving them to sort this out themselves?" Connors asked carefully.
Ben shrugged. "Not my problem. The Highbreed pledged loyalty to the Plumbers. The Kree didn't. That makes the choice pretty straightforward."
"The Kree will protest this decision."
"Let them." Ben's voice held no sympathy whatsoever. "They had their chance to be part of something bigger at the Galactic Conference. Instead, they chose to scheme and plot like everyone else. They made their bed—they can lie in it."
Connors considered this as they stepped through the shimmering portal, reality bending around them before resolving into a Plumber facility on Earth.
"The three great empires have been completely destroyed," Connors said after a moment, his tone thoughtful. "The Kree, the Skrulls, the Shi'ar... For centuries, they defined galactic politics. And now they're just... gone."
He shook his head slowly, as if still processing the magnitude of it.
"Caiera's going to be busy," Ben replied, utterly unconcerned. "Actually, it's fortunate they collapsed when they did. Otherwise, it might have taken centuries to properly incorporate all the civilizations within their spheres of influence into the Plumber network."
"Not all of them will want to join willingly," Connors pointed out.
"No," Ben agreed. "That's why we're not forcing them."
He explained the process as they walked through the facility's clean corridors: Plumber representatives would approach each independent planet and offer membership in the organization. Those who joined would receive reconstruction assistance, security support against pirates and raiders, and access to advanced technologies.
In exchange, they'd establish Plumber training facilities on their worlds, contribute personnel to the organization, and fulfill certain obligations regarding mutual defense and cooperation.
"And if they refuse?" Connors asked.
"Then they refuse. We move on." Ben's expression was matter-of-fact. "I'm not interested in building an empire. Just a network of mutual support."
"It's essentially the same principle as your Mana distribution system, isn't it?" Connors observed. "You provide power, they provide service. A symbiotic relationship."
"Everything comes with a price," Ben acknowledged. "But at least it's a fair price. The Plumbers won't interfere in anyone's internal politics or culture. We'll just help defend them from external threats and facilitate cooperation between member worlds."
They'd been walking for several minutes before Connors finally brought up what was clearly on his mind.
"I'm extremely interested in studying the Highbreed genetic restoration process," he said, trying and failing to sound casual. "I've spent years researching reptilian abilities and later expanded into other organisms, but achieving perfect genetic fusion has always been... problematic."
Ben raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.
"Genetic collapse is the norm," Connors explained, his scientist's passion bleeding through. "When you introduce foreign DNA into a stable genome, you create instabilities. The body rejects the changes, or the new genetic code overwrites too much of the original template, or you get catastrophic cellular breakdown."
He gestured at himself. "I can transform into the Lizard because I undergo a massive change—my entire cellular structure rewrites itself. But it's crude. Brute force. The alternative is something like Spider-Man's powers, where the genetic alteration is so minimal it barely registers. A few enhanced proteins, some modified reflexes."
"But the Highbreed..." His voice took on an almost reverent tone. "They achieved something I thought was impossible. They barely changed at all—just skin color, maybe some minor structural adjustments—yet they gained the full capabilities of whatever species they were fused with. It defies everything I understand about genetics."
Ben considered this. "You're asking how the Omnitrix did it."
"Yes." Connors met his eyes. "How did you achieve that level of precision? That perfect balance between preservation and enhancement?"
"Honestly?" Ben scratched the back of his head. "I have no idea."
Connors blinked. "You... don't know?"
"The Omnitrix operates on principles that exceed my understanding," Ben admitted. "Even when I transform into Grey Matter and gain peak Galvan intelligence, I'm still not as smart as Azmuth. And he's the one who built this thing."
He tapped the watch on his wrist. "All I can tell you is: don't ask too many questions about this Omnitrix. It does things that shouldn't be possible, using mechanisms I can't fully comprehend. That's just how it is."
Connors looked disappointed but not entirely surprised. "I suppose some technologies are simply beyond our current understanding."
"For now," Ben said. "Give it a few centuries. Maybe you'll figure it out."
After returning to Earth properly and filing the necessary reports with Norman Osborn's office, Ben finally had time to relax.
Eunice's latest projections suggested the next collision event wouldn't occur for at least another month, though there was a concerning possibility that they were entering a period of frequent collisions rather than isolated incidents.
"We can only hope Thor and Loki make progress with their mission," Ben muttered, reviewing the timeline data on a holographic display.
The two Asgardian brothers had been dispatched to track down and eliminate Maltruant, somewhere outside the normal flow of time. Until they succeeded, the collision crisis would continue escalating.
But that was a problem for tomorrow.
Today, Ben had other plans.
"Finally," Felicia said, linking her arm through his as they walked through downtown Manhattan. "Actual time off. I was starting to forget what your face looked like."
"You saw me three days ago," Ben protested.
"Three days is an eternity when you're fighting cosmic wars," Mary Jane countered from his other side.
Looma Red Wind walked slightly behind them, her massive frame drawing stares from pedestrians who'd grown somewhat accustomed to aliens in their city but still found the four-armed Tetramand princess intimidating.
Enara and Ouyana brought up the rear, their physical forms still a novelty to them. Enara kept stopping to examine street vendors' wares with childlike fascination, while Ouyana gently steered her along when she got too distracted.
Their destination: the AMC cinema complex in Times Square.
Or rather, Ben's cinema complex, since Primus Technologies had acquired the property during New York's post-war reconstruction.
In fact, Primus now owned so much of the city that Ben had essentially become the Marvel Universe equivalent of Bruce Wayne. Every dollar spent in Manhattan seemed to eventually flow back to his companies through one channel or another.
"Did you book out the theater?" Mary Jane asked as they approached the entrance.
"Better." Ben gestured at the entire building. "I own it. We can do whatever we want."
The cinema manager—a nervous young man who clearly recognized his boss—practically materialized beside them.
"Mr. Parker! We've prepared Theater Seven as requested. Premium seating, full concessions, complete privacy—"
"Perfect. Thank you." Ben handed him a credit chip. "Take the rest of the day off. Give everyone a bonus."
The manager's eyes widened. "Sir, that's—that's incredibly generous—"
"Consider it hazard pay for putting up with me as an employer."
As the manager scurried off, Felicia laughed. "You know you're making it very hard for other businesses to compete when you just throw money at people."
"Good," Ben replied. "Competition is overrated. I prefer monopolies."
They were passing through the lobby when Felicia suddenly stopped, pointing at a movie poster plastered across the far wall.
"Look! It's you!"
Ben followed her finger to a larger-than-life image of Superman—the classic red and blue suit, the billowing cape, the heroic pose against a stylized Metropolis skyline.
MAN OF STEEL: REBORN the poster declared in bold letters.
"As expected," Ben murmured. "They rebooted him."
"You should buy DC and Warner Bros," Mary Jane suggested, only half-joking. "Then you could stop them from constantly rebooting their franchises."
But Enara, who'd been examining a candy display, perked up at this.
"Why waste money on an acquisition?" she asked, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Ben, you've already recruited the actual Kryptonians to your organization. Just take them to court and sue DC for copyright infringement. You'll get the movie rights and damages."
Ouyana stared at her companion in horror. "Are you a demon, Enara?"
"What? It's just good business sense—"
"It's extortion!"
"It's creative legal strategy—"
"You want to weaponize Superman against movie studios!"
"I was joking," Enara protested, though her grin suggested otherwise. "Mostly. Besides, given our actual experience and life span, how could we possibly care about something as trivial as film copyrights?"
She glanced around at the group, her expression shifting to something more calculating, then grabbed Ouyana's arm and pulled her aside to a quiet corner near the popcorn machine.
"Ouyana," she whispered urgently, "tell me—which girl do you think Ben likes the most?"
Ouyana blinked. "That's... why are you asking me this?"
"Because I'm curious! And you know he'll just say he likes them all equally if we ask directly. Total non-answer."
"Because it's probably true," Ouyana pointed out gently.
"So we can't ask directly," Enara continued, undeterred. "How about we organize a competition? Use our abilities to test them? I love watching romantic drama unfold."
"That seems unnecessarily cruel—"
"Oh! We should invite Gwen and that other spider-girl too. Make it a proper tournament."
"Enara, that wouldn't tell us who Ben likes most. It would just tell us who wins the competition."
"Isn't it enough that it's entertaining?" Enara's grin widened. "Come on, Ouyana. When was the last time we got to enjoy a good romantic conflict? Watching mortals navigate their feelings is hilarious."
"You're terrible," Ouyana said, but there was affection in her voice.
"I prefer 'chaotic good.'"
"You're not good!"
"Chaotic neutral?"
While the two cosmic entities debated the ethics of manipulating Ben's love life for their amusement, the actual subjects of their discussion were completely oblivious.
Meanwhile, on a completely different Earth, in a completely different timeline, in the middle of the Mongolian desert...
A flash of blue-white light split the air.
Loki stumbled through the dimensional tear, clutching the Tesseract to his chest, his mouth still bound with enchanted restraints from his brief captivity.
"Yesss!" He tore off the gag with his free hand, gasping for breath. "Escape successful!"
His face—still bearing the youthful features he'd possessed during the Battle of New York—split into a triumphant grin.
The plan had been perfect. Well, the plan had failed, actually. The Chitauri invasion had been repelled, his army destroyed, and he'd been captured by those insufferable Avengers. He was supposed to be dragged back to Asgard in chains, locked in the dungeons for the rest of his exceptionally long life.
But then they'd appeared. Those travelers from another timeline, causing chaos with their bumbling attempts to retrieve their own Infinity Stones. The resulting confusion had given Loki exactly the opening he needed.
One stolen Tesseract later, and he was free.
"Although I lost the Mind Stone," Loki murmured, examining the glowing cube in his hands, "I still have this. That's worth something. Of course, Thanos will definitely come after me now..."
His expression darkened. The Mad Titan did not tolerate failure, and losing the scepter after failing to conquer Earth was a significant failure.
"I'll need another plan. Another world to conquer, perhaps? Somewhere Thanos won't think to look. Or maybe I should—"
CLANG!
Something very large and very heavy struck the back of Loki's skull with the force of a small meteor.
The God of Mischief's eyes rolled back. His knees buckled. He collapsed face-first into the sand, unconscious before he hit the ground.
The Tesseract tumbled from his nerveless fingers, rolling to a stop a few meters away.
Three figures emerged from a shimmering temporal rift.
"You went way too far," Loki protested. "You could have killed him!"
"Nonsense," Thor replied cheerfully "I barely tapped him. Just a gentle wake-up call for my dear baby brother."
"It feels amazing to beat up my little brother!"