The morning sun broke over Manhattan, painting Albedo's modest third-floor apartment in a pale gold light. He stirred from the thin futon that served as his bed, blinking blearily at the patch of sun creeping across the worn wooden floor. Outside, the symphony of honking cabs, chattering pedestrians, and distant rumbling construction had already begun. It was, by most measures, an ordinary start to the day—yet for Albedo, each sunrise in this universe still carried a faint edge of wonder, if only because he was still here, alive and decidedly not in cosmic purgatory.
He stretched with a low groan, feeling that slight ache in his spine from too many nights on a barely adequate mattress. Perhaps it was time to upgrade. He'd saved enough money over the last few months to afford a better bed—or at least a decent pad for his futon—thanks to the steady income from his diner job and the occasional side gigs. Then there was this latest triumph: the Healing Chamber. Even the thought of it brought a surge of both pride and anxiety.
Today was the day he would present the Healing Chamber—a device of his own design, built quietly and carefully over many weeks—to the Fantastic Four. Once upon a time, Albedo would have scoffed at the idea of forging a legitimate partnership with a "heroic" team, let alone seeking a patent. He was not the type to stand in line, fill out forms, and politely ask for permission. Yet here he was, living this new life, forging a respectable identity in a new universe, and—dare he admit it—beginning to appreciate humanity's better qualities.
He rose and walked to his bathroom, a tiny alcove with chipped white tiles. The mirror above the sink showed him his reflection, which had changed subtly since his arrival. He still possessed the pale complexion and white hair (echoes of his Galvan/human hybrid form), but he'd filled out a bit from eating more consistently and doing manual work at the diner. The Ultimatrix was still on his wrist, concealed beneath a snug black wristband that passed as a fitness accessory to casual observers. But he rarely used it these days—he had no need to transform into monstrous aliens when he was busy taking an honest approach to life.
After a quick, lukewarm shower, he dressed in what he hoped passed for semi-professional attire: clean black slacks, a decent button-down shirt, and a pair of shoes that weren't caked in diner grease. It wasn't the typical lab-coat ensemble that might be expected of a scientist, but Albedo had concluded that wearing a crisp suit would feel too conspicuous. He didn't want to draw unnecessary suspicion. Reed Richards, from all accounts, was an intellectual man who valued substance over style, so perhaps that would work in Albedo's favor.
Speaking of substance, he ran his fingers over the slim flash drive in his shirt pocket—the one containing all his technical documents, schematics, and preliminary test results for the Healing Chamber. This device was, in simplest terms, a chamber that could restore dead or severely damaged cells to viability—a limited but groundbreaking form of near-regeneration technology. It was not the same as a cosmic healing factor or something like Deadpool's mutant abilities, but it could transform emergency medicine by saving thousands of patients who had catastrophic organ damage or necrotic tissue that normal procedures couldn't fix. It would especially help in cases of extensive burns, advanced stage necrosis, or even certain spinal injuries. The device did have limitations, but those limits were overshadowed by what it could accomplish.
He'd spent months developing the technology in clandestine corners of the city—first in libraries, researching any local equivalents to ensure he wasn't duplicating existing Marvel technology, then in a small rented workshop he'd managed to secure under an assumed business name. Ironically, he had his kindly neighbor, Mrs. Delgado, to thank for the final refinements. She wasn't a scientist, but she was a retired high school biology teacher who, upon hearing Albedo's half-truth explanation about wanting to improve medical science, proved eager to help with clarifying references and cross-checking basic cellular biology in this dimension's textbooks.
He also owed a great deal to Rowan, the neighbor who lived across the hall—an outspoken but warm-hearted aspiring stage actor who had helped Albedo hone his "presentation skills." Rowan's background in theater lent him an uncanny ability to sense how best to capture a room's attention. Over the last few weeks, Rowan had spent many evenings role-playing as a "big-deal scientist" while Albedo practiced explaining the Healing Chamber's features clearly and concisely. At first, Albedo balked at the notion of practicing so formally, but Rowan insisted that clarity and confidence would be key if he wanted to impress a group like the Fantastic Four. After all, this wasn't a shady black-market deal; this was legitimate, above-board business.
That notion still jarred Albedo. Legitimate business was new territory. But if there was anyone in the superhero community known for bridging the gap between everyday life and extraordinary science, it was Reed Richards of the Fantastic Four. Reed's intellect was legendary—some said he was the smartest man on Earth. For Albedo, a being who prided himself on his own brilliance, meeting a mind of that caliber was both thrilling and slightly intimidating.
He grabbed his small messenger bag from the chair by the door, double-checking for the physical backup of his notes and a printout of the slideshow Rowan had helped him refine. Then he gave the apartment a quick once-over. It was modest but comfortable enough: a living area with a battered couch, a simple desk where he'd done most of his design work, a cramped kitchenette that smelled faintly of old coffee. He paused to water the lone potted plant on the windowsill—a resilient succulent that seemed to thrive in spite of minimal care. The routine tasks of everyday life anchored him, reminding him that he was no longer scrounging in alleys or washing dishes for pennies. He had stepped up and was about to pitch a major scientific breakthrough to the Fantastic Four.
By the time he slipped out of his apartment, it was nearing nine in the morning. The city outside had fully awakened, the sidewalk bustling with suits rushing to offices, mothers pushing strollers, and tourists gawking at every tall building. Albedo sidestepped a group of them as he headed for the subway. His destination: the Baxter Building, that iconic skyscraper owned by the Fantastic Four. Indeed, it was more than just an office; it was a research center, a lab, and even a de facto home for the family. Getting an audience there required a lot of polite back-and-forth with their front desk staff, then an official invitation after he'd submitted an abstract of his invention. He'd been stunned when an assistant called to confirm the appointment, but apparently the concept of a healing chamber was enough to intrigue Dr. Richards.
The subway ride was relatively uneventful. Albedo read the digital notes on his phone, mentally rehearsing. He was determined to remain calm, professional, and unthreatening. He reminded himself that, unlike in his old dimension, these people had no reason to suspect him of villainy. As long as he kept his story consistent—an inventive newcomer named Albedo, well-versed in advanced healing science—he would be fine. Yes, there might be eventual scrutiny if they dug too deep, but he'd prepared as best he could. He possessed no official Earth academic credentials in this universe, which could raise eyebrows, but he'd decided to claim that he was self-taught and had developed the machine with unorthodox research methods. If that meant some mild suspicion, so be it.
At last, he emerged onto the street near a towering structure that glimmered in the late-morning sun: the Baxter Building. One couldn't help but be impressed by its sleek design and the large "4" logo that discreetly adorned part of the facade. A mild throng of onlookers lingered by the entrance, snapping pictures or hoping for a glimpse of one of the Fantastic Four members. The building's public foyer was open enough for tours on certain floors, but the higher levels—where the labs and living quarters were—remained restricted. Albedo approached the security desk, heart thumping despite his outward composure.
He cleared his throat. "I have an appointment under the name Albedo. Here to see Dr. Reed Richards."
The guard, a stern-looking man in a tailored uniform, typed into his computer. "Identification, please?"
Albedo presented the ID card he'd painstakingly arranged—a valid enough document for typical city business. The guard inspected it, cross-referenced something on his monitor, then handed it back. "All right, the system shows you have an appointment. You'll get a temporary visitor badge. Please wear it at all times. The elevator on the left will take you to level 24, then the staff up there will escort you to your meeting."
Relief washed over Albedo. He clipped the flimsy plastic badge to his shirt. "Thank you."
He strolled toward the bank of elevators, ignoring the curious glances of a few tourists who noticed he was heading to a restricted area. The sleek elevator whisked him upward so smoothly he barely felt movement. Soft instrumental music played overhead, doing little to calm his nerves. He glanced down at his wrist, ensuring the Ultimatrix was covered. He didn't anticipate needing it, but the knowledge of its presence lent him a certain security. After all, if this went disastrously wrong, he still had a last-resort means of defense—though in a building full of advanced security and potential superpowers, that might not mean much.
A quiet chime announced his arrival. The doors slid open to reveal an airy reception area lined with white flooring and crisp, modern furniture. A large window took up most of the far wall, offering a sweeping view of the city skyline. He stepped out, scanning for someone to greet him.
A woman in a smart blouse and pencil skirt approached, smiling politely. "Mr. Albedo?"
"Yes," he said, dipping his head in acknowledgment.
"I'm Carey, Dr. Richards's administrative coordinator. Welcome to the Baxter Building. We've got a small conference room ready for your presentation. If you'll follow me?"
He nodded, letting her lead him down a hallway adorned with photographs: the Fantastic Four in various heroic poses, receiving awards, unveiling scientific achievements. Another wall featured concept art of some advanced spacecraft. The place hummed with a sense of brilliance and optimism that he found faintly disorienting. In his old dimension, advanced labs often had an air of secrecy or malevolence about them. Here, there was a subtle warmth and transparency, as though the building itself were proud to show off wonders that benefited humanity.
They arrived at a glass-walled conference room with a polished table, comfortable chairs, and a large holographic display at the front. A coffee station sat in one corner, offering an array of beverages and pastries. Carey gestured for him to set up, then helped him plug his flash drive into the display system. Albedo saw that his neatly organized slides appeared as crisp bullet points and diagrams, the result of Rowan's insistence on using a visually engaging format.
"Please make yourself comfortable," Carey said. "Dr. Richards will be in shortly. You'll also have a few minutes with Ms. Susan Storm and Mr. Johnny Storm, if their schedule allows. They were interested in hearing about your device."
Albedo nodded, trying not to let his anxiety show. The idea of having more than one member of the team in the room made him uneasy; he'd expected only Reed. But he reminded himself that bigger audience meant bigger impact if this went well. He took a seat at the head of the table, inhaled slowly, and reminded himself of the key points: The Healing Chamber's underlying science, its safety measures, its cost-effectiveness for mass deployment, and how it could be scaled with minimal overhead.
After a few minutes, the door swished open. Reed Richards entered, tall and lean, with streaks of gray at his temples despite his relatively youthful face. His posture was relaxed, yet there was an unmistakable intensity in his gaze, as though his brilliant mind was always racing. Behind him came Susan Storm—Sue—whose blonde hair and poised confidence marked her as the Invisible Woman. She offered Albedo a courteous smile. Her brother, Johnny Storm, trailed behind, wearing a casual jacket over a T-shirt, looking far more laid back than the others. Albedo sensed the unmistakable aura of "Human Torch" about him: that brash energy, that subtle swagger.
"Good morning," Reed said, extending a hand. "I'm Reed Richards. This is my wife, Susan, and my brother-in-law, Johnny. I understand you have something quite interesting to show us."
Albedo rose, giving Reed's hand a firm but measured shake, careful not to betray any unnatural strength from his Galvan DNA. He then shook Susan's hand as well; she greeted him politely, her voice soft but assured. Johnny gave him a quick nod in lieu of a handshake, grinning as if sizing Albedo up.
"Yes," Albedo said, scanning their faces. "I'm grateful for the opportunity. My name is Albedo, and I've been working on a device I call the Healing Chamber. It's essentially a specialized containment unit that uses advanced forms of tissue restoration to repair necrotic or severely damaged cells. The aim is to provide a low-cost, widely available means of saving lives in emergency rooms around the globe."
"Low cost, huh?" Johnny said, arching an eyebrow. "Sounds too good to be true. You sure you're not peddling snake oil?"
Sue gave her brother a mild nudge. "Johnny."
Reed rested his chin on his steepled fingers. "I'm sure Mr. Albedo has data to back up his claims, correct?"
Albedo suppressed a flicker of irritation at Johnny's skepticism—though he understood it was probably normal for a meeting like this. "Absolutely. May I begin the presentation?"
Reed nodded, so Albedo stood and tapped the table console, bringing up the first slide. A diagram of the chamber materialized in midair, rotating slowly so that each layer was visible: the main containment cylinder, the nutrient bath, the plasma lattice stimulators that Albedo had adapted from certain alien designs (though he omitted that fact), and the neural override sensor that prevented runaway cellular growth.
"For starters," he began, "the Healing Chamber is not a magical panacea—it has limitations. It primarily works by halting necrosis and jump-starting the regeneration of cells that aren't fully dead but are on the brink of irreversible damage. In some cases, it can restore function to cells previously considered lost due to severe trauma. However, it doesn't rewrite DNA or fix every underlying disease. It's effectively a short-term, high-intensity restoration method that can save patients from life-threatening injuries—like large-scale burns, near-fatal organ failure, or tissues starved of oxygen for too long."
He clicked to the next slide, showing early prototypes and a series of test results, including organ culture experiments. "These are some preliminary trials on porcine liver cells and human cardiac cells grown in a regulated environment. In each case, the chamber reversed necrotic progression in a significant fraction of tissues, allowing for near-complete recovery over a 48-hour cycle. We're still working on refining the time window, but the results are compelling."
Reed leaned forward, eyes narrowing with keen interest. "You mentioned a plasma lattice. Could you expand on how that interacts with the cells at the microscopic level?"
Albedo launched into an explanation, grateful that Rowan had made him practice for precisely this kind of question. He described how the chamber's lattice provided a controlled electrical field that guided specialized peptides through damaged membranes, effectively patching them before necrosis became permanent. He likened it to bridging the holes in a sinking ship: the peptides found the leaks, sealed them, and provided enough structural stability for the cells to resume normal function—given a properly oxygenated, nutrient-rich environment in the chamber.
As Albedo spoke, Reed's expression shifted from mere curiosity to something resembling genuine excitement. Sue took occasional notes on a tablet, while Johnny seemed mildly bored but still paying some attention. Albedo pressed on, highlighting the machine's practicality: "The cost of manufacturing the chamber, based on the materials I've selected, is relatively modest. Bulk production could drastically reduce the cost further. My aim is to have these in major hospitals worldwide. Potentially, in the future, we could adapt it for field use by paramedics or in war zones."
Sue raised a hand. "You mentioned nutrient solutions. Are those easily sourced? Or do they require some kind of exotic ingredient?"
"Easily sourced, for the most part," Albedo answered. "It's a specialized blend of amino acids, growth factors, and synthetic molecules, but nothing that's impossible to produce using standard biotech. Once the formula is locked in, large biotech firms could manufacture it at scale. My design isn't reliant on, say, Vibranium or any extremely rare element."
"Good," Reed murmured. "That's promising. We see enough exotic tech around here. Something that can be scaled with normal industrial capabilities is exactly what the medical world needs."
The conversation continued, growing more technical. Reed asked about controlling cell differentiation, preventing cancerous growth, and ensuring that tissue immune responses wouldn't sabotage the newly restored cells. Albedo fielded each query with calm thoroughness, referencing slides that displayed both successes and potential hazards. He was honest about the risk of hyper-regeneration if the machine was used incorrectly, explaining how he'd built in automated fail-safes to shut the process down at the first sign of unregulated cell proliferation.
Johnny, at one point, chimed in with a remark. "So if someone like me got a nasty burn—which, ironically, is the last thing you'd expect from the Human Torch—the chamber could fix it?"
"In theory, yes," Albedo replied. "As long as your physiology isn't drastically altered from typical human tissue. I'm aware you generate flames, but presumably your baseline biology is mostly human, correct?"
Johnny grinned. "Yeah, basically. I don't spontaneously combust on the inside, fortunately."
Sue gave him a wry look, then refocused on Albedo. "This could be a real game-changer for people who suffer from catastrophic injuries."
Reed shifted in his seat, then looked at Albedo. "I have to say, this is beyond intriguing. You said you'd come to us in hopes of patenting and distributing the device?"
"That's correct," Albedo said, advancing to his last slide. "I don't have the capital or the logistical network to mass-produce and distribute such technology worldwide. Nor do I have the resources to refine it for each medical environment. My proposal is a partnership: I sell the design outright to you—or rather, to a designated Fantastic Four initiative—retain a modest royalty, and you handle the large-scale manufacturing and licensing. We get these devices into hospitals everywhere. People's lives are saved."
Reed nodded slowly, exchanging a glance with Sue and then Johnny. "We do have a robust licensing arm, in cooperation with a few philanthropic organizations. We'd want to run a round of independent testing, obviously. But if these results hold up, I see no reason not to move forward."
Johnny whistled. "Look at you, revolutionizing medicine on a Monday."
Albedo exhaled, relief and excitement swirling in his chest. This was going better than he'd dared hope. "I've included a proposed royalty of twenty percent to me. We can negotiate if needed, but I'm not trying to be greedy. I want this to be affordable for hospitals. The real benefit for me is ensuring it's widely adopted."
Reed eyed him with an appraising look. "Twenty percent is a high figure in typical commercial terms, but your invention is unique. We'll discuss it with our legal team. I think we can find a sweet spot that keeps it profitable for you and accessible for the world."
Albedo offered a faint smile, recalling the hours he'd spent with Rowan practicing how to respond to negotiating questions. "I'm open to that. My main priority is to see it used. Beyond that, I simply want compensation that reflects its impact."
Sue closed her tablet. "Well, consider us intrigued. We'll set up some formal testing in our labs, get a few subject-matter experts to assess the data, and if everything checks out, we'll move quickly to file the patent. Our team can expedite things."
Albedo nodded, feeling an almost giddy sense of accomplishment. He'd half expected to be grilled more thoroughly, or even dismissed outright as a nobody. Instead, they seemed genuinely receptive, and he knew the next steps—testing, legal reviews—were normal. If all went smoothly, he could soon see his device saving lives. That realization gave him an odd sensation of warmth in his chest. Was this pride in doing something altruistic, or just satisfaction at being recognized for his intellect? Perhaps it was both.
Reed extended a long arm across the table for a handshake. Albedo returned it. "Thank you for bringing this to us. How about you come back in a week or two? We'll have some initial lab validations done by then. We might ask you to help interpret the results."
"Of course," Albedo said. "I'll be available."
Sue and Johnny offered their hands as well. Johnny's grin was friendlier now; perhaps he respected that Albedo had passed muster. Sue's smile was warm. "We're always excited to see new innovations with genuine potential for good," she said.
They stood, and Reed began to gather up the files. Carey stepped in to collect Albedo's flash drive for duplication and promised she'd return it after they made a copy. Albedo, feeling a bit buoyant, was about to head out when Reed lifted a hand. "Actually, Albedo—would you like to come see the main lab? I have a few minutes free, and I'm curious to talk more about your research background. You've clearly spent a lot of time and effort on advanced cellular regeneration."
Albedo's pulse quickened. This was unexpected, but not unwelcome. "I'd love to," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
Sue excused herself to handle some other business, and Johnny claimed he had an interview with some local media outlet. That left Albedo walking side by side with Reed Richards down a corridor lined with reinforced glass windows peering into various labs. Albedo caught glimpses of high-tech equipment, robotic arms, containment fields—reminders that this was far from any typical corporate environment. He was especially drawn to a lab where something akin to zero-gravity experiments were happening, with test tubes floating in carefully modulated vacuums.
After swiping a keycard, Reed led him into a spacious laboratory where banks of monitors flashed data from multiple ongoing experiments. The ceiling soared overhead, rigged with tracks for movable scaffolding. Albedo wondered if Reed had personally designed half this equipment. Likely so.
"Make yourself at home," Reed said, sweeping an arm around. "Though I do ask that you don't poke at anything labeled with a red caution sign."
Albedo managed a small chuckle. "I'll restrain myself."
Reed guided him to a sleek workstation near the back, where a row of canisters rested, each containing some sort of tissue sample floating in a translucent medium. "We do a lot of cross-disciplinary work here—biology, astrophysics, quantum mechanics. You name it. The Fantastic Four originated from cosmic rays that changed our physiologies, as I'm sure you know. Ever since, we've been bridging cosmic phenomena with Earth-based science. We like to keep our minds open."
Albedo nodded, slipping into the comfortable mode of intellectual discussion. "That's an admirable approach. Too often, scientists bury themselves in specialized silos, missing the bigger picture."
Reed's eyes flickered with approval. "Precisely. Now, about your technology… I noticed you were somewhat vague about certain underlying equations. Don't worry, I'm not accusing you of anything. I merely suspect you've done some unorthodox research to come up with that plasma lattice. May I ask how you arrived at it?"
Albedo's thoughts churned. He'd known this question was inevitable. "I combined standard electromagnetic field theories with some… alternative approaches from reading about advanced extraterrestrial biology. There have been glimpses of that in the public domain—like the Kree or the Skrulls—but I went deeper into fringe papers, picking up bits of data that others dismissed as impossible. From there, I synthesized my own approach."
Reed nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. We do have scattered data on alien physiology, but it's rarely cohesive. It's quite an accomplishment to glean a functional technology from it."
Albedo shrugged, trying not to seem too proud. "I had a lot of spare time and strong motivation to succeed."
Reed led him around another bank of instruments. "You know, I'd love to share some resources with you at some point—some of my own notes on cosmic radiation's effects on cellular regeneration. Obviously, not everything is public, but if you become a partner in this project, maybe we can exchange more data than the standard NDAs allow."
That was exactly the kind of synergy Albedo had hoped for. "I would welcome that, Dr. Richards."
"Reed, please," he said with a slight smile. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to ask something more personal. You mentioned a desire for compensation but also that your priority is to see this technology saving lives. That's somewhat unusual in the current patent-driven climate. It suggests a deeper impetus."
Albedo paused, conscious that his entire backstory was a fabrication. But he could at least speak truthfully about his changed perspective. "I… had a rough background," he said, measuring his words. "I saw first-hand how many people suffer injuries or conditions that modern medicine can't handle. It made me realize that if I had the ability to fix that gap, I should. I was always scientifically inclined, but until recently, I… let that potential go to waste on less constructive pursuits."
Reed studied him for a moment, a flicker of empathy in his expression. "I can appreciate that. Everyone's path is different. The important part is using your gifts now for the betterment of humanity. That's what real hero work is about. In a sense, the technology you create can save as many lives as any hero who fights on the front lines."
Albedo's stomach did a small flip at the mention of "hero work." That topic hit close to the internal conflict he'd carried since arriving in this universe. "Funny you phrase it that way," he said, eyes flicking around the lab. "I've been… well, curious about the definition of hero work. People here seem to equate you, the Fantastic Four, with both science and heroism. But how do you balance that? Is heroism purely about saving people physically, or is it a broader idea?"
Reed nodded, taking a seat on a nearby stool, his elongated arms resting easily on his knees. "That's a nuanced question. For us—for me—hero work is about responsibility and service. The Fantastic Four gained powers, sure, but I don't think that automatically makes us heroes. It's what we choose to do with them. And that also extends beyond physical confrontations. We handle everything from saving the planet from cosmic threats to philanthropic endeavors like building advanced shelters for natural disasters, or, as in your case, facilitating breakthroughs in medicine."
Albedo leaned against a stainless-steel counter, crossing his arms thoughtfully. "So you view hero work as an extension of using one's talents to serve the greater good. Not necessarily punching criminals in the face." A wry smile curled the corner of his lips.
Reed chuckled. "Exactly. Punching a criminal might stop them temporarily, but building a world where fewer criminals arise in the first place is another layer of heroism—improving society, uplifting people. I sometimes think those quieter forms of heroism are just as vital as the dramatic battles we end up fighting."
Albedo processed this, recalling how he'd once mocked the idea of heroism in his original dimension, seeing it as naive righteousness. But here, hearing it from Reed—an undeniably brilliant mind—made it sound measured, logical, almost appealing. "So from your perspective," Albedo said, "someone who never once dons a costume or fights a villain, but invents a life-saving technology, could be as much a hero as Spider-Man or the Avengers?"
"Without question," Reed replied. "Heroism, in my view, is the willingness to go out of your way to protect life and improve the world, especially when there's personal risk or sacrifice involved. Doesn't matter if you do it with super-stretch powers or a patent for an advanced medical device. If you're saving lives, you're part of the solution."
Albedo felt a tightness in his chest he could only describe as guilt mixed with relief. He'd spent so long trying to overshadow others or indulge his resentments, never considering that maybe real esteem came from building something beneficial. He cleared his throat. "That's… enlightening."
Reed studied him curiously. "I take it you've been pondering this sort of thing for a while?"
"Something like that," Albedo admitted, avoiding direct eye contact. "Sometimes, I think about the difference between using intelligence to destroy and using it to create. The latter obviously yields a better outcome, but it's not always the easiest path."
Reed nodded in agreement. "True. Creating requires patience, cooperation, humility. Destruction is often easier—knock something down, prove your power, and move on. But over the years, I've realized that building bridges leads to more lasting fulfillment than burning them."
Albedo inhaled slowly, letting those words sink in. A swirl of memory: that meltdown with Vilgax, the White Hot Room, and all the second chances he'd been given. He decided to steer away from the emotional territory and back into science before Reed pried too deeply. "I appreciate your perspective," he said. "If this partnership works out, I hope I can keep contributing meaningful improvements."
"You'll be in good company," Reed replied. "We collaborate with a variety of labs, philanthropic organizations, and even some of our fellow heroes. Stark Industries, for instance, invests in medical tech, though Tony tends to focus on prosthetics and advanced exosuits. You might find synergy there, too."
Albedo raised a brow. "I've heard of Tony Stark. He's quite the figure."
"Indeed," Reed said with a half-smile. "If this test run goes well, we can set up introductions. Technology like yours might also pair well with some of Dr. Banner's regenerative research—though that's a tricky area."
Albedo's mind spun at the possibilities. Working with Tony Stark or Bruce Banner? The level of synergy or knowledge exchange could be vast. The old Albedo would have tried to manipulate these geniuses to gain power; the new Albedo wasn't sure what he wanted, beyond ensuring that he remained on this path of legitimate innovation. If he was being honest, he also craved the intellectual stimulation. Interfacing with minds like Reed's was exhilarating.
He wanted to ask more about cosmic-level science, about dimensional travel, but he held back. That might be too prying. Instead, he said, "I'm open to discussing expansions once this invention proves itself. Thank you for the opportunity."
Reed smiled in that polite, genuine way. "Of course. You seem sincere in your goals, and your invention is promising. We'll keep in touch, Albedo."
With that, Reed offered a final handshake, which Albedo returned. Then Reed escorted him back toward the reception area. A part of Albedo almost dreaded returning to his normal life after tasting the environment of advanced research. Yet he also knew that playing the long game—remaining patient and building trust—was the best strategy. Rushing into the deep end could only lead to questions he wasn't ready to answer.
Back at the glass-walled conference room, Carey returned Albedo's flash drive, explaining they'd archived the data. She handed him a stack of preliminary legal documents to look over, mostly disclaimers regarding non-disclosure on anything he saw in the building today. He skimmed and signed, aware that the Fantastic Four were well within their rights to protect themselves. Finally, he handed over the pen and took his visitor's badge off.
"I'll walk you out," Carey said, smiling. As they rode the elevator down, she remarked, "I have a feeling you'll be back soon. Dr. Richards seemed really impressed."
Albedo mustered a grateful nod. "I hope so."
Upon reaching the lobby, Albedo returned his badge to the security desk. He stepped outside into the midday sun, feeling as though the entire meeting had been some surreal dream. Yet the memory of that conversation with Reed—about heroism, about creation versus destruction—echoed in his mind. It was an oddly comforting echo.
He let out a breath, hailing a cab rather than taking the subway back—he felt a desire for quiet reflection rather than the bustle of the train. The ride home cost more than he liked, but it allowed him to sit in relative silence, gazing out at the passing skyscrapers. The city was as dynamic as ever—somewhere out there, Spider-Man might be swinging between buildings, the Avengers might be training in their tower, and X-Men might be off dealing with mutant crises. Albedo, once an embittered copy of Ben Tennyson, was now forging a path that felt, in its own way, heroic: an inventor quietly working to help people.
By the time the taxi pulled up near his apartment building, Albedo had mentally replayed the entire meeting half a dozen times. He paid the driver, stepping onto the curb and greeting the doorman—an affable older gentleman named Julian, who had once teased Albedo for his unusual hair but now treated him fondly. Albedo walked up the stairs and found Rowan loitering near Albedo's door, arms crossed. Rowan's face lit up when he saw Albedo.
"Well?" Rowan demanded, practically bouncing on his toes. "How'd it go? Did you nail it?"
Albedo hadn't realized how much he'd come to enjoy Rowan's genuine enthusiasm. He gave a nod. "It went well. They're going to do some validations, but they're interested. I spoke to Reed Richards personally. He was quite receptive."
Rowan whooped, pumping a fist in the air. "I knew it! My star pupil nailed his big audition!"
Albedo chuckled, unlocking his apartment door. "I'm not sure it was an 'audition,' but you did help me refine my pitch. Thank you."
Rowan followed him inside. Albedo offered him a seat at the small round table, the only table in the apartment. "Coffee?" Albedo asked, heading for the kitchenette.
"Absolutely," Rowan replied, leaning back in the chair. "I want to hear every detail. Did you do the 'pause for effect' after showing them the pictures of necrotic cells?"
"Yes, and it seemed to work," Albedo said, biting back a grin as he filled the coffeemaker with water. "Johnny Storm was there, being his usual quippy self, but it was fine."
Rowan feigned swooning. "Oh, the Human Torch. I hear he's quite easy on the eyes—though a bit cocky."
Albedo snorted softly. "He lived up to that reputation. But he warmed up once I explained the device. Sue Storm was also there, taking notes."
"She's the Invisible Woman, right?" Rowan asked, eyebrows rising. "Man, you basically met superhero royalty. You gotta write that down in your diary or something."
Albedo rolled his eyes but smiled. "I'll consider it." He started the coffeemaker, rummaging for mugs. "Anyway, they're going to test the device, do legal stuff, and if it all goes well, I should have a formal contract in a couple of weeks."
Rowan clapped his hands once. "That's huge, Albedo. You'll have money, a real name in the scientific community—heck, maybe you'll be on talk shows. Then I can say I knew you before you were famous."
That idea unsettled Albedo more than he wanted to admit. Fame could invite scrutiny, the sort he desperately wanted to avoid. Still, the improved finances and recognition were necessary if he was to grow the Healing Chamber's reach. He mustered a wry half-smile. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
The coffeemaker sputtered, finishing its cycle. Albedo poured them each a cup, handing one to Rowan. They sipped in companionable silence for a moment. The adrenaline from the day was still coursing through Albedo's system, and his mind roiled with possibilities: expansions of the Healing Chamber, forging alliances with Reed, maybe gleaning advanced knowledge from the Fantastic Four's data banks.
Rowan broke the silence. "So, next steps? You just sit tight, wait for them to finalize everything?"
"More or less," Albedo said. "They'll contact me. Meanwhile, I'll keep up with my life. The diner, the volunteer work, the small-scale improvements I've been making on the device. I need to refine the user interface to be more intuitive—less risk of operator error."
"Hey, at least you don't have to do the nerve-wracking pitch to them anymore." Rowan gave him a sideways grin. "Good job, buddy. I'm proud of you."
Albedo opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. Pride. He'd rarely heard that word spoken genuinely toward him, except in manipulative contexts back in his old dimension. The sincerity in Rowan's voice felt oddly comforting. "Thanks," he managed. "I… appreciate your help, truly."
Rowan glanced at his watch. "Shoot, I gotta head out soon for a rehearsal. The drama club's putting on a staged reading of an off-off-Broadway show, and they roped me in. But let me know if you need more help practicing anything."
"I will," Albedo said. He followed Rowan to the door. "And break a leg at rehearsal."
Rowan winked. "I'll try not to. Later, Albedo."
Left alone, Albedo wandered into his living room, slumping onto his couch. He stared at the battered coffee table where he'd spent countless hours drafting schematics. A swirl of emotions washed over him—gratitude for Rowan's friendship, relief that the pitch had gone well, and the faint stirring of something akin to belonging. He was forging a respectable life in this dimension, building on genuine relationships. A far cry from the destructive path he had once walked.
Yet he couldn't entirely escape his past. Now and then, old resentments flared in him like embers—memories of how he'd been overshadowed by Ben Tennyson, or how Vilgax had tormented him. He channeled that lingering bitterness into the drive to succeed as an inventor. Perhaps that was a healthier use of it.
The day drifted by in a haze of normal chores and mundane errands. He paid his utility bill, stopped at the grocery store, even dropped by the youth center for an hour to check on new volunteer schedules. Ms. Bailey greeted him with a wave, telling him about an upcoming charity event that might or might not draw Spider-Man. Albedo nodded absently, his mind still buzzing with thoughts of the Healing Chamber's future. A surprising realization struck him: he was so wrapped up in legitimate scientific pursuits that he hadn't obsessively followed Spider-Man's sightings in weeks. Part of him still intended to meet the hero face to face, perhaps glean more about this dimension's brand of vigilante altruism, but he no longer felt the same urgency. He was carving a different niche.
That evening, after a solitary dinner of reheated leftovers, Albedo found himself re-checking the healing chamber data. He had a habit of over-preparing for sabotage or betrayal, but he reminded himself that Reed Richards was known for integrity. The Fantastic Four typically didn't swindle inventors. Even so, old paranoia died hard, and Albedo maintained multiple backups of his data in hidden corners of cyberspace. Just in case.
Eventually, he closed his laptop and turned in for the night. As he drifted into uneasy sleep, he heard Reed's words echo in his mind: "Building bridges leads to more lasting fulfillment than burning them." In the darkness, Albedo let a small smile cross his lips. Perhaps, in this new world, building bridges was exactly what he was meant to do.
—
The week that followed was a peculiar blend of anticipation and normalcy. Albedo resumed his usual patterns: part-time shifts at the diner (he'd cut back hours now that he had more savings), volunteer sessions at the youth center, and quiet evenings refining side projects. He also fielded a few calls from Carey, Reed's administrative coordinator, requesting clarifications on the Healing Chamber's technical details. Each conversation reinforced the sense that the Fantastic Four were taking his invention seriously. They'd asked for additional data on the nutrient solutions, specifically about the synthetic peptides. Albedo provided what they needed, while carefully omitting any references to the Ultimatrix or alien knowledge. He played the role of a brilliant but somewhat reclusive genius who had studied off the grid.
He also got a friendly call from Susan Storm one afternoon, inquiring if he had time to come to the Baxter Building to observe the initial lab test. He eagerly agreed, and two days later, found himself back on the high floor, wearing the same visitor badge. Sue greeted him in a lab coat, her hair pulled back. Reed was absent, apparently stuck in a separate emergency research project, but Sue led Albedo to a smaller laboratory room where a single pig heart—removed post-mortem from a recent animal donation—was set up in a partial organ bath. The heart tissue had been deliberately induced into necrosis in several areas, simulating severe myocardial damage.
Albedo watched, heart pounding with excitement, as the lab tech carefully placed the organ inside the scaled-down version of the Healing Chamber. They activated the system, the nutrient bath swirling with pale luminescence as the plasma lattice came online. Over the next two hours, they monitored the organ's necrotic zones. Albedo felt a surge of relief when the readouts showed the cells stabilizing, the necrosis halting, and then the edges of the tissue slowly beginning to recover. The lab techs exchanged excited glances.
Sue smiled, turning to Albedo. "It's working just like your data suggested. This is remarkable."
Albedo exhaled, letting the tension drain away. "I'm glad. That's always the risk—data might not replicate. But it seems consistent so far."
One of the techs, a bespectacled woman named Dr. Trask, nodded. "We'll keep the organ in for a full cycle, but preliminary results are very positive. I'd say this is real."
Sue gave Albedo a nudge. "Congratulations. You just convinced some of the most skeptical lab techs here."
He grinned in response, a rare, genuine smile. It felt liberating to see his invention validated by neutral professionals. The success buoyed him further, and he spent the rest of the day working with the techs, discussing potential improvements. Sue occasionally chimed in with suggestions gleaned from her own knowledge of physiology, which was deeper than many realized. By day's end, Albedo left the building feeling a renewed sense of accomplishment.
The next few days saw more tests, more successful recoveries of severely damaged tissue, and the start of discussions on safety protocols for living patients. Albedo was constantly on call to answer questions. Each time he visited the Baxter Building, he glimpsed new wonders—like an alien crystalline structure in the advanced materials lab, or a half-finished spacecraft in a hangar-like area. He even bumped into Ben Grimm, a.k.a. The Thing, once in the hallway. The imposing figure gave Albedo a polite nod, though his rocky brow furrowed as if he were still trying to place Albedo's face. No real conversation ensued, but it was a reminder of how deeply Albedo was treading in superhero territory.
At the end of that second week, Reed Richards himself called Albedo with news: the tests had proven conclusive enough that they were ready to move forward with drafting a licensing agreement. Albedo's presence was requested for a formal sit-down with the Four's legal advisors. The meeting was scheduled for the following Tuesday morning, giving him just enough time to rummage up a nicer outfit and continue refining the device's user manuals.
On Tuesday, Albedo arrived early, once again checking in at the security desk and taking the elevator up. His pulse raced the entire ride. If all went well, by the end of today he'd have a contract, a guaranteed partnership with the Fantastic Four, and the beginning of a royalty stream that would fund expansions, upgrades… maybe even give him enough capital to buy a real lab of his own.
He stepped into a conference room to find Reed, Sue, a serious-looking woman in a charcoal suit who introduced herself as the lead counsel, and Johnny Storm leaning back in a chair with his feet on the table—until Sue swatted his ankles off. The counsel slid several documents across the table toward Albedo, explaining the basics: The Fantastic Four (officially through Future Foundation, one of their philanthropic branches) would buy the primary patents to the Healing Chamber. Albedo would retain intellectual credit and a baseline 20% royalty from all sales, plus a small share of additional licensing fees if other institutions wished to develop derivative devices.
"As we discussed, we'd like to keep the pricing accessible for hospitals," Reed said, "so part of the arrangement is a controlled pricing model. That might reduce your short-term profits, but it ensures broader adoption."
Albedo skimmed the contract. "That's acceptable. I'm not in this for maximum profit."
The counsel nodded. "In that spirit, we also have a philanthropic clause: a percentage of the device's proceeds will funnel directly into a fund for distributing the technology in underserved regions. The result might be less direct revenue for you, but we feel it aligns with your stated goals."
Albedo glanced at the clause and found he agreed wholeheartedly. It was not something the old him would have done, but the new him recognized the philanthropic value. "Yes," he said softly. "I'm satisfied with that."
They also explained that the initial production would occur in a secure manufacturing facility partly funded by Stark Industries. That momentarily startled Albedo—Tony Stark would be at least tangentially involved. Still, that could open doors, so he didn't complain. The rest of the contract spelled out the legal minutiae: confidentiality regarding the device's advanced science, disclaimers about potential misuse, warranties, and the usual disclaimers for medical devices that needed FDA approval.
Albedo signed all the necessary pages, initialing where indicated. Reed and Sue witnessed, along with the counsel's notary stamp. Then, in an oddly ceremonial moment, they shook hands again—an official agreement. Johnny let out a whistle.
"Congrats," Johnny said, grinning. "You're in the big leagues now. Just don't forget us when you're raking in the dough."
Albedo managed a smirk. "Likewise, don't forget me if you need an occasional bit of new tech."
Reed's posture radiated satisfaction. "We'll have to do a press release eventually, but we'll coordinate with you on that. For now, the next step is setting up a pilot test in a functioning medical environment—maybe a local hospital that we have partnerships with. Once we see the device in real-world use, we'll push for mass production."
Albedo felt a surge of excitement. "I look forward to it."
The counsel gathered the documents, promising to send digital copies to Albedo's email. Then she departed, leaving him in the room with the Fantastic Four. Sue excused herself shortly afterward to handle some pressing matter. That left Reed, Johnny, and Albedo. Johnny glanced at them. "Well, I should probably scram too. That talk show interview from last week asked for a follow-up. Fun, fun." He stood and clapped Albedo on the shoulder. "Nice work, Mr. Healer. Or Dr. Healer, or whatever you want to call yourself."
"I'm not exactly a doctor," Albedo said, amused despite himself.
"Eh, your invention says otherwise." Johnny gave a casual wave. "Catch you guys later."
After Johnny left, Reed turned to Albedo with a thoughtful smile. "Now that the official business is settled, how about a short conversation about science again? If you have a moment. I can show you the advanced materials lab. We have a new alloy you might find interesting, especially if you want to reinforce future versions of your Healing Chamber."
"I have time," Albedo said quickly, aware that his heart gave a little leap at the chance to talk more with Reed.
They walked through a warren of corridors until they reached a sealed laboratory door with coded access. Reed input his credentials, and the door slid open. The space inside was dominated by various fabricators, some reminiscent of 3D printers but on a much larger and more sophisticated scale. Heaps of metallic shards, ceramic tubes, and glowing crystals lay sorted in large bins. Albedo recognized advanced setups for forging experimental alloys.
Reed gestured to a chunk of shimmering silver-blue metal resting on a pedestal under a glass cover. "This is a new composite we're calling Plasiometal-X for now. Horrible name, I know, but it's a placeholder. It's derived from a rare mineral found in the Negative Zone. We're trying to see if it can be harnessed for medical applications—perhaps to create lightweight, durable frames for exoskeletons or advanced prosthetics. Potentially, it could reinforce a device like yours without adding too much weight."
Albedo peered at the metal. "Fascinating. And the Negative Zone… that's another dimension, correct?"
Reed nodded. "Yes, a sort of anti-matter universe. We've had some… complicated adventures there. Extraction of minerals is not without risk. We'd only import small amounts, but even a tiny piece can yield interesting properties."
Albedo cocked his head. "I'd need to see how it interacts with the plasma lattice I use, but it might indeed provide superior shielding or structural integrity. Could be useful in a field unit. Perhaps someday paramedics could use a portable version. They'd need something tough enough to withstand rough conditions."
"Exactly," Reed said, stepping over to a console that displayed data about the metal's conductivity and tensile strength. "I'll send you the specs. If you see a synergy, we can discuss obtaining some for you. It's not exactly cheap to produce, but if the final device is more robust, it may be worth it."
Albedo nodded, scanning the data. A wave of excitement tingled through him. Here he was, collaborating with one of the brightest minds in the Marvel Universe, discussing advanced composites as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He felt a pang of pride—but also a whisper of caution. Pride, left unchecked, had been his downfall before. He forced himself to keep perspective.
They talked shop for a while longer, drifting from one piece of lab equipment to another. Albedo asked about some leftover cosmic ray data he'd spotted, and Reed explained how these rays affected living tissue. The conversation meandered into topics like dimensional portals, quantum entanglement, and even theoretical wormholes that might allow for faster-than-light travel. Every new revelation hinted at a deeper tapestry of knowledge in this universe, and Albedo found himself absorbing it eagerly.
Eventually, though, their conversation circled back to hero work. Reed, in passing, mentioned that they had a mission in a couple of days—something about investigating an anomaly near the Moon that might indicate a cosmic threat. Albedo hesitated, curiosity flaring. "Do you… run into cosmic threats often? It seems the Fantastic Four are constantly balancing scientific research with saving the world."
Reed chuckled ruefully. "We do. Sometimes more than we'd like. But that's part of the responsibility. We can't ignore threats just because we're busy with lab work. The universe doesn't wait. I used to think we could just focus on science, but once we got these powers, we realized that when danger calls, we can't stand by."
Albedo's gaze dropped to the Ultimatrix beneath his wristband. He, too, had power. In fact, it was a power that, in his old dimension, had the potential to shape cosmic events. Yet here, he'd used it only sparingly—mainly to help with basic tasks. The question prodded at him: Should he be doing more? Was it hypocritical to stand idly by while others protected the planet?
He carefully probed, "Have you ever encountered someone with a device that grants multiple alien transformations? I ask out of curiosity for how it might be integrated with your research on powers."
Reed gave him a quizzical look. "A device for alien transformations? Not that I recall. Something like that would be… well, quite advanced. Possibly Universe-threatening if misused. But no, I can't say I've seen it. That sort of shape-shifting is typically innate to certain alien species, like the Skrulls. Why do you ask?"
Albedo feigned a nonchalant shrug. "Just idle speculation. A hypothetical scenario. In some stories I've read, such a device existed, and it created a hero or sometimes a villain, depending on the user."
"That's a compelling concept," Reed mused. "If it existed, I'd hope the user would appreciate the responsibility. With great power, as they say, comes great… well, you know." He smiled, referencing the phrase famously tied to Spider-Man.
Albedo masked his reaction. He was aware that line was credited to Spider-Man's moral code (and, historically, to Uncle Ben). Indeed, that theme of responsibility kept cropping up everywhere in this dimension. "Yes," Albedo said quietly, "responsibility is key."
Reed nodded, then steered the conversation back to more immediate matters, explaining a few administrative details about the pilot test for the Healing Chamber. Albedo followed along, storing the details in his razor-sharp memory. But in the back of his mind, he remained fixated on that sense of moral obligation. If he was truly walking a path of redemption, was inventing life-saving technology enough? Or would a day come when he'd need to step forward as a hero, even if that meant risking exposure of his past?
Eventually, they concluded their walk-through of the advanced materials lab. Reed saw him to the corridor that led back to the elevator. "I think that covers everything for today," Reed said, offering his hand one more time. "It's been a pleasure, Albedo. We'll let you know how the pilot test goes. If all is well, we'll push for a major roll-out soon."
Albedo shook his hand. "Thank you for this opportunity, Reed. And for the conversation. It's… enlightening."
Reed's warm expression conveyed genuine respect. "Likewise. Stay in touch."
Albedo stepped into the elevator, the doors closing on Reed's parting wave. The ride down felt like a quiet interlude in a symphony. He emerged into the bustling lobby, returning his visitor badge, and stepped out into the swirl of city life. He paused on the sidewalk, craning his neck to gaze up at the Baxter Building's gleaming facade. In that moment, he felt an odd mixture of pride, relief, and a small pang of uncertainty. He'd sold his invention—secured a future for the Healing Chamber. He'd even begun forging a real rapport with the Fantastic Four. It was a success on all fronts.
But the deeper question lingered: what if you could do more? The Marvel Universe was rife with threats. Powers like the Ultimatrix could save countless lives, not just through medicine but in direct heroics. Yet he'd refrained from using that power in the open, partly out of fear of exposing himself. The cosmic tribunal had told him to find redemption, and thus far, he'd done so by playing the part of a benign scientist. Maybe that was enough… or maybe not.
He took a deep breath, letting the city's hustle wash over him. Step by step, he told himself. He wasn't about to leap into spandex and declare himself a champion of Earth. That was a recipe for drawing massive scrutiny. But maybe, just maybe, there would come a time when he'd need to harness the Ultimatrix for a greater good—when purely intellectual heroism wasn't sufficient.
For now, though, he'd relish his achievements. The Healing Chamber was on track to revolutionize emergency care. He'd soon have the funds to secure a nicer apartment, a proper lab space, perhaps a real bed that didn't leave him with a stiff neck. And he'd nurtured a growing circle of friends—Rowan, Mrs. Delgado, Ms. Bailey at the youth center, and even these budding professional ties with the Fantastic Four. All of it was a far cry from the bitter, vengeful creature he'd been back in his home dimension. A transformation indeed, even without the watch's power.
As he turned to head back to the subway, he caught a glimpse of the sky—blue and open, dotted with a few white clouds. Somewhere beyond that sky, cosmic forces might be stirring. Reed and his family were always prepared to confront them. Albedo closed his eyes briefly, letting the sun warm his face. He decided that for now, he'd remain on this path of building and healing. If the day came when the world needed more than that, he'd face that choice then.
He started walking, weaving through pedestrians, the hum of Manhattan life a backdrop to his thoughts. He would return to his apartment, update Rowan on the successful contract signing, perhaps treat him to dinner in gratitude. Then, in the weeks to come, he'd likely collaborate further with the Fantastic Four, finalizing the Healing Chamber's release. The sense of forward momentum felt good—no, it felt right.
As he disappeared into the crowd, Albedo allowed himself a faint, private smile. He was doing real hero work—or at least a form of it—by employing his intellect to save lives. Whether or not he ever donned a costume or battled cosmic villains, he was using his talents in a way that could genuinely improve the world. And for the first time in a long, long while, he felt at peace with that.