Albedo stood at the window of his new penthouse apartment, quietly marveling at how far he had come. The endless sea of New York City lights unfurled beneath him in every direction, a glittering tapestry of promise. It wasn't the topmost floor of a sleek new skyscraper—he hadn't wanted quite that much attention—but it was more luxurious than anything he'd ever dreamed of inhabiting. Polished hardwood floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, and stylish modern furnishings had replaced the cramped, bare-bones spaces he once occupied.
In those first days after receiving his initial patent check from the Fantastic Four's Future Foundation, he'd grappled with a kind of disbelief. The Healing Chamber had been an astounding success, generating global interest among hospitals, research institutions, and philanthropic organizations. Though Albedo had insisted on keeping the device's final retail cost as affordable as possible, mass adoption meant enormous volume—and that meant revenue. Over a million units were slated for production worldwide in the coming year, with licensing deals reaching across continents. Twenty percent of a flood of orders was still a lot of money, especially after the contract hammered out expansions for derivative technology.
For someone who used to bus tables at a diner and volunteer at a youth center, opening a bank statement to see a seven-figure deposit had been surreal. Even more startling was the second deposit that arrived weeks later—evidence that the device's success wasn't a one-time fluke but the beginning of sustained wealth. Albedo had spent many days pondering whether to move at all, or if upgrading his living situation might attract scrutiny. In the end, he settled on a measured approach: a well-appointed but not ostentatious penthouse in a newer building near Midtown. He had no desire to live among the city's socialite elite. Instead, he wanted privacy, comfort, and enough space to set up a personal lab.
Now, having just finished the final stage of moving in, he ran his fingertips along the smooth stone countertop in his sleek, open-concept kitchen. Stacks of boxes remained here and there, filled with new lab equipment, design prototypes, or items from his old apartment. A single box marked "Sentimental" contained small tokens of his past few months in this dimension: a diner apron, a volunteer badge from the youth center, and a half-crumpled script Rowan had given him as a memento of his stage rehearsals. He'd keep them tucked away, reminders of the life he'd built before this windfall changed it all.
He exhaled slowly, turning to the array of windows. The Ultimatrix—still concealed beneath a sleek black wristband—tingled faintly, as though attuned to his restless energy. In truth, he hadn't used any transformations for months. The only reason he'd kept the watch at all was the knowledge that his redemption path might someday require something beyond science. And sure enough, that day seemed to be drawing closer.
At first, Albedo had believed that focusing on medical technologies was enough "hero work" for one lifetime. He was saving lives daily without any need for capes or webs or cosmic threats. But as the city changed around him, he kept seeing news headlines about robberies, supervillains on the rampage, or alien incusions. A part of him, previously content to remain a behind-the-scenes genius, began to itch for direct action. If Ben Tennyson in his own dimension could balance intellect and heroism (albeit in a brash, Tennyson-like way), then surely Albedo could do so with more precision.
That realization had driven him to an unusual decision: to create a vigilante identity. He'd spent weeks quietly researching local crime statistics, perusing footage of heroes like Spider-Man, Daredevil, and even the Avengers, seeing how they operated. Most local street-level heroes had a costume, a set of gear, and a "theme," so to speak. Albedo found it mildly ridiculous—but also recognized the value in concealing his face and building a recognizable persona. If he was going to fight crime, he needed to ensure no one connected him with the well-off inventor Albedo, who had no public record of superpowers.
He'd delved back into his old dimension's knowledge for inspiration, recalling the Plumbers' uniforms from the Ben 10 universe—functional, sleek, capable of attaching gear. And then there was the Marvel Universe's prized invention: unstable molecules, used frequently by the Fantastic Four to make costumes that adapted to powers. Through a discreet channel (and with some help from Reed Richards), Albedo managed to acquire enough unstable molecular fabric to experiment. His final design married the two concepts: the familiar black-and-white color scheme of a Plumber's uniform, fused with the adaptability of unstable molecules to handle transformations or specialized equipment.
Equipping himself became the next challenge. Albedo remembered Rook Blonko's distinctive Proto-Tool from his home dimension—a versatile device that could morph into various weapons. He set to replicating something similar, albeit re-engineered with technology available here. Over the last month, working late nights in his new home lab, he'd succeeded in crafting a "Proto-Tool Mark II," able to shift between a blaster, grappling hook, energy baton, and more. It wasn't quite as advanced as the original—certain aspects of Galvan engineering were tricky to replicate without direct access to Azmuth's labs—but it came close. Albedo also integrated small stealth features, like a projection that could scramble basic security cameras for a few moments.
Now, with his vigilante ensemble ready, he intended to test it in earnest. He'd already politely resigned from the diner (though Doris and Frank were thrilled at his success and parted with him on warm terms), and even scaled back his volunteer hours at the youth center so Ms. Bailey could recruit new helpers. He remained in close contact with his friends—like Rowan, who was both astonished and delighted at Albedo's sudden prosperity—but he needed more time to continue his scientific pursuits, plus this… new calling.
He tore his gaze from the window and strode across the spacious living area to a door that led to what he privately called his "workshop." Inside, recessed lighting illuminated a carefully arranged space with a large central table, advanced monitoring screens along one wall, and cabinets filled with materials. On a mannequin-like stand at the center hung his new vigilante suit: primarily black, with white accents reminiscent of a Plumber's uniform, but cut and sewn from sleek unstable-molecule fabric. A stylized emblem—an abstract shape that combined a small "A" with a plumber badge motif—rested on the left chest. The shoulders had faint ridges for attaching gear.
Positioned next to the suit was the new Proto-Tool Mark II, a gauntlet-sized device that extended along the forearm and could shift into multiple forms with the flick of a switch. And of course, the Ultimatrix on his wrist was the final piece. He'd tested it the other night in the privacy of his new home, ensuring transformations still functioned smoothly. It felt odd—like stepping into an old skin he thought he'd shed. But it reminded him that he was no mere human inventor, not when push came to shove.
"Time to start," he murmured. He hadn't set foot in the vigilante world yet, not publicly. But crime in New York was rampant, and many heroes were busy with bigger threats or stuck dealing with everyday emergencies. Spider-Man, especially, seemed to be spread thin, facing a rotating cast of villains. Albedo had done enough idle research to see how often Spider-Man's name cropped up in crime reports, always dealing with new crisis after new crisis. Perhaps there was space in the city for a new hero—a quiet yet effective one.
That was the plan, at least. And if fate willed it, perhaps he would cross paths with Spider-Man. Albedo admitted to himself that the idea excited him. He'd long wanted to speak directly with the web-slinger, gleaning more insight into what it meant to be a street-level hero. Teaming up with him—or even assisting him from the shadows—might be the next step in Albedo's redemption.
But first, he needed to test his gear on something smaller than a supervillain.
He donned the suit with deliberate care, letting the fabric cling neatly to his lean form. He pulled up the white face covering—an angular mask that concealed the upper half of his face, leaving his mouth visible but shading the area around his eyes. Then he attached the Proto-Tool Mark II to his left forearm, calibrating the modular settings. Lastly, he peeled back the black wristband to reveal the Ultimatrix. The watch glowed faintly, as if greeting him. He slid a finger along the dial, checking the transformation menu. Everything was operational.
Finally, he pulled a short hood—stitched seamlessly into the suit—over his head, completing the look. With a glance at a nearby mirror, he saw an entirely different figure from the mild scientist he presented to the world. The black-and-white attire, the advanced gauntlet, the confident posture… yes, he could pass as a capable vigilante. A small thrill of satisfaction warmed his chest, tempered by a whisper of caution: this wasn't a game. If he used the Ultimatrix in public, the cosmic powers that once judged him might take notice. Still, he had come a long way from the destructive self he used to be.
Pausing to gather his composure, Albedo tapped a button on the gauntlet. The suit's stealth mode shimmered, adjusting its reflectivity to help him blend better in dim light. Then he made his way to the private elevator that opened directly into his unit. His building's staff had no idea he possessed such gear; he'd arranged the schedules so that the doorman and concierge wouldn't see him leave tonight. The private elevator descended swiftly to an underground parking garage, which was nearly empty this late.
Stepping out into the fluorescent-lit expanse, Albedo felt his heart pound. A row of cars stretched into the distance, but he ignored them, heading instead for a discrete exit leading to an alley. The Ultimatrix beeped softly, scanning the environment. Albedo smirked. He cracked open the door and slipped into the night, pulling it shut behind him.
Out on the street, Manhattan glimmered with neon signs, headlights, and the ever-present bustle of people. But no one spared more than a passing glance for a figure in black and white slipping between alleys. The city had grown jaded to costumed figures, thanks to its high population of mutants, metahumans, and flamboyant personalities. Albedo took advantage of that. He moved from rooftop to rooftop, using the Proto-Tool's grappling hook function to ascend swiftly. Once on the roofs, he tested the suit's agility. It moved with him effortlessly, the unstable molecules stretching or compressing as needed.
A crisp autumn wind blew across his masked face. He paused atop a mid-rise building, scanning the streets below for trouble. Police sirens wailed in the distance, but that might have been just another traffic accident or routine disturbance. He'd done enough research to know that petty criminals lurked in many corners of the city—muggers, drug pushers, petty thieves. Stopping them would be a far cry from building a medical device that saved tens of thousands of lives, but the directness of it appealed to him. Sometimes, saving the world started with saving one person from a mugging.
He jumped to the next building, the suit's fabric making minimal noise, and peered down an alley. A trio of men loitered by a dumpster, speaking in hushed tones. Albedo's enhanced hearing—courtesy of the Ultimatrix's partial override—let him catch snippets of their conversation. Something about "the package," "meeting at two," and "need the lab to get it done." That piqued his curiosity, but it might not be immediate violent crime. He weighed whether to investigate further or move on.
Then he spotted a more blatant scenario down the street: two figures in ski masks prying at the door of a small jewelry store. Albedo felt a jolt of purpose. That was clearly a crime in progress. He leapt silently to an adjacent rooftop, then slid down a fire escape to land behind a parked car. From there, he could see the would-be burglars more clearly, fumbling with crowbars on the locked door. They looked low-level—no advanced gear, no hint of superpowers. Perfect for a first test run as a vigilante.
Albedo stepped out from behind the car. One of the burglars nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of a costumed figure.
"What the—?!" the man gasped.
Albedo kept his voice firm but measured. "Step away from the door."
The other burglar, a wiry fellow, brandished a small handgun. "Back off, freak, or I'll put a bullet in your face."
Albedo's mind raced with possibilities. He could dodge bullets in certain alien transformations, or even outmaneuver them with the right form—XLR8, perhaps—but that might cause too big a spectacle. Instead, he tapped the Proto-Tool Mark II, shifting it into a short-range energy baton. The baton crackled with purple-white electricity. The burglars hesitated, startled by the futuristic look of it.
"Last warning," Albedo said calmly.
The wiry burglar sneered, raising his gun. "You asked for it!" He squeezed the trigger.
Before the bullet could connect, Albedo's reflexes—slightly enhanced by the Ultimatrix's baseline adjustments—kicked in. He sidestepped, the bullet pinging off the metal door behind him. In a fluid motion, he flicked the baton forward, releasing a short-range burst of energy. The gunman yelped as the blast struck his hand, forcing him to drop the weapon. The crowbar-wielding accomplice swore and lunged. Albedo sidestepped again, then jabbed him with the baton's handle. Electricity arced, knocking the man to the ground.
Both burglars sprawled on the sidewalk, dazed. Albedo bent, swiping the gun away. He popped the magazine out, tucking it in a pocket to ensure it wouldn't be used again. Then he summoned the city's police line on his gauntlet's built-in communicator. "There's a break-in attempt at Davis & Sons Jewelry on 47th," he said succinctly. He'd studied basic police codes and scanner usage but decided to keep this call simple.
The operator's voice crackled. "Repeat that location?"
Albedo gave it again, then ended the call. He watched the burglars, who were too stunned to move. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing nearer. Satisfied, Albedo turned on his heel and sprinted down the alley, leaping up a fire escape to regain the rooftops. He didn't need to stick around for the police to show. That would only invite awkward questions. This was how street heroes typically operated: intervene, subdue criminals, vanish.
Adrenaline thrummed in Albedo's veins as he reached the rooftop and paused to catch his breath. The entire engagement had lasted under a minute, but it confirmed that his suit, gear, and reflexes were up to par. He smiled beneath the mask. Perhaps this vigilante business would be simpler than he expected.
Over the next few days, he repeated the process: patrolling various neighborhoods at night, stepping in to stop small-scale crimes or help cornered citizens. He rarely spoke more than a few words, preferring to maintain an air of mystery. Word slowly filtered out on social media about a new black-and-white-suited hero lurking in Midtown. Observers weren't sure if he was friend or foe, but his interventions were undeniably beneficial. Albedo found it almost… fun. There was something liberating about acting decisively, physically, rather than always working in labs. It also scratched an itch he hadn't fully acknowledged—a vestige of the old Albedo who used to crave excitement and recognition. Except this time, he was channeling that craving into protecting people.
All the while, he maintained his normal daily routines. He continued corresponding with Reed Richards about his next invention—a specialized multi-environment purifier that could remove toxins from both water and air, intended for disaster zones and underdeveloped regions. Albedo had gleaned the concept from combining Earth filtration tech with certain Galvan-based processes. He'd already built a working prototype in his home lab. Reed, intrigued, had begun scheduling a demonstration at the Baxter Building. Albedo's hope was that this purifier would be just as impactful as the Healing Chamber, albeit in the environmental domain.
He also kept in touch with Rowan, who teased him about his new apartment and demanded a housewarming party. Albedo demurred, not wanting throngs of people snooping around his home. Instead, he invited a handful of close friends—Rowan, Ms. Delgado, a coworker from the diner—for a quiet dinner, catered by an upscale local chef Albedo had hired. The evening was intimate and warm, with his guests marveling at the penthouse. Rowan made jokes about how Albedo had to put a plaque on the wall reading "Genius at Work." Albedo endured the ribbing with a good-natured smirk, never letting on about his vigilante escapades.
During that dinner, Rowan pulled him aside at one point, voice soft with concern. "Hey, man, I'm really happy for you, but… is everything okay? You seem a bit… antsy these days. Almost like you're not sleeping."
Albedo hesitated. In truth, juggling late-night patrols with daily responsibilities had left him fatigued. But he couldn't reveal the full story. "I'm busy with new projects, that's all," he said. "My mind doesn't always let me sleep. Too many ideas swirling around."
Rowan gave a friendly shrug, seemingly accepting that explanation. "Just don't forget to breathe, okay? You're allowed to enjoy your success."
"I will," Albedo promised, forcing a smile.
But he didn't slow down. Instead, he pressed forward, night after night, forging a small reputation on the streets. He thwarted burglaries, prevented a gang from roughing up a corner store owner, and even rescued a cat stuck on a perilous ledge (earning amused gratitude from bystanders). He used his baton, grappling hook, and occasionally tested minor Ultimatrix transformations—like Grey Matter for infiltration or Big Chill's intangibility to slip through walls quietly. Each time, he took care not to draw too much attention or reveal the watch's transformative powers to any watchers.
Yet amid these minor victories, he yearned for a bigger challenge. He knew the city housed rogues beyond small fry. The likes of Rhino, Shocker, Scorpion, Vulture, Doctor Octopus—villains who typically tangled with Spider-Man—were rumored to be around. Some were in and out of prison. At times, Albedo scanned police channels, hoping for a lead. He wanted to be sure he was truly ready before tangling with heavy hitters.
Then one crisp autumn evening, while perched atop a building near Times Square, Albedo's vigilante phone beeped with an alert he'd set up: multiple police calls referencing a group of "costumed criminals" wreaking havoc in Manhattan Square. A shiver of excitement ran through him; Manhattan Square was a broad plaza that resembled a miniature Times Square, with big screens, shops, and a central fountain. If costumed criminals were making a scene, that might be a true test of his abilities.
Without hesitation, he engaged the grappling hook, swinging off the rooftop. He soared above the streets in smooth arcs, the city lights blurring below. At one point, he glimpsed another shape flitting across the skyline—red and blue, moving with agile grace. His heart skipped a beat. Was that Spider-Man?
Intrigued and emboldened, Albedo pushed forward. As he neared Manhattan Square, he heard distant booms and saw flashes of light reflecting off the surrounding buildings. Crowds screamed, fleeing in panic. Sirens wailed. This was more than a petty crime spree—some major incident was unfolding.
He landed atop a tall department store that faced the square. The scene below took his breath away: chaos reigned as a half-dozen supervillains rampaged around the plaza, blasting storefronts and tangling with local law enforcement. Even from this vantage, Albedo recognized some of them from news reports. The Sinister Six. A staple team of Spider-Man's greatest enemies.
There was Doctor Octopus, mechanical arms swirling, smashing police cars aside. Nearby, the Vulture swooped through the air, clawed harness slicing precariously close to terrified citizens. Mysterio stood by a shattered fountain, illusions drifting in puffs of green smoke, while a newly re-suited Electro crackled with lightning, occasionally striking at barricades. Kraven the Hunter prowled among them, brandishing a spear, and, perched high on a decorative sculpture, was the reptilian Lizard, roaring ferociously. This was a formidable group.
Albedo's confidence faltered momentarily. The Sinister Six was a legendary assembly of foes. Could he possibly handle them alone? Then movement caught his eye: a familiar figure in red and blue diving into the fray, webbing up some of the robotic arms of Doctor Octopus. Spider-Man had arrived, flipping acrobatically around Kraven's spear thrusts. The sight simultaneously thrilled Albedo and reminded him that, if the web-slinger was here, this was indeed a serious brawl.
He hesitated. Should he even intervene? The scale of this fight was enormous. But then he saw a cluster of civilians pinned against a wrecked barricade by Electro's lightning arcs. The police were unable to get close. Albedo's sense of responsibility flared. This was a moment to prove what he could do.
He leapt from the building, aiming his grappling hook. In midair, he swiveled, selecting an alien form from the Ultimatrix—something that would let him land safely. He considered Big Chill, but decided on something simpler: Spidermonkey. A swirling red glow enveloped him as he shifted into that nimble, four-armed primate form (Albedo's version, with a distinctive white mane).
The transformation completed just before he hit the ground. He landed with ease on all fours, tail flicking. Onlookers gasped at the sight of this new creature. Electro spun around, the glare of electricity lighting up his mask. "Who's this clown?" he snarled, tossing a bolt of lightning at Albedo.
Albedo dodged sideways with Simian agility, letting the bolt scorch the pavement. Then he sprang forward, arms extended, unleashing web-like fluid from Spidermonkey's built-in glands. The sticky substance coated Electro's forearm, forcing him off balance. Another arc of lightning fired wildly into the sky, and Albedo seized the chance to yank him forward. He smashed Electro into the ground, though the shock of electricity made Albedo's fur stand on end.
"Ow," Albedo muttered under his breath, ignoring the tingling in his limbs. He had to disable Electro quickly. The villain still crackled with stored charge, thrashing around and ripping free from the webbing. Albedo prepared for another move—maybe a second volley of webs. But out of nowhere, a red-and-blue figure swung down, delivering a swift kick that sent Electro slamming into a toppled police cruiser.
"Nice catch," said Spider-Man, landing lightly on the destroyed barricade, eyes focusing on Albedo's four-armed simian form. "Don't think I've seen you around before."
Albedo took a moment to marvel at the hero up close. Spider-Man's suit was torn in places, revealing bruises, but he stood tall, stance ready for more action. "I'm new," Albedo said awkwardly, the simian voice oddly pitched. "You can call me… er…" He hadn't prepared a hero name for his alien forms. He scrambled for something on the spot. "Nova Simian."
"Uh-huh," Spider-Man quipped. "Well, Nova Simian, appreciate the assist. We've got a real party here. The Sinister Six are out in full force, so watch your tail."
Albedo nodded—an ironic gesture for a Spidermonkey. "I'm on it."
They were interrupted by a screech from overhead. The Vulture swooped down, razor-like wings extended. Spider-Man leapt to meet him midair, webbing the wings. Meanwhile, Albedo spotted Mysterio conjuring illusions near the fountain, disorienting fleeing civilians. He bounded across the plaza, weaving through falling debris, determined to disrupt Mysterio's illusions.
Green smoke billowed, revealing monstrous apparitions that snarled and lunged. Albedo knew these illusions could still cause real damage if Mysterio's tech was weaponized. Caught in the middle were frightened citizens crouching behind the fountain's shattered lip. Albedo swiftly vaulted over a snarling phantom dog. It looked solid, but his instincts told him it was mostly holographic. Indeed, his forearm passed through it without harm—yet the illusions exploded in shrieks that rattled his senses.
Mysterio laughed, swirling his cape. "New hero, huh? The spider's got a pet monkey now?"
Albedo ignored the taunt, pivoting to the side. He launched a web from his left lower arm, aiming to snag Mysterio's fishbowl helmet. Mysterio dodged with surprising agility, then released another cloud of gas. Albedo coughed, eyes burning. He tried to fan the air with one of his arms, but a wave of dizziness struck. Mysterio's illusions blurred and twisted, making it hard to see.
Summoning his focus, Albedo recalled the Ultimatrix's advantage. Even while in alien form, he could revert or switch. But in the swirl of illusions, it might be safer to revert to normal and rely on the suit's built-in filtration (the unstable molecules had limited protective features). So he slapped the Ultimatrix dial. A flash of crimson energy enveloped him, reverting him to his black-and-white vigilante suit. The built-in filters kicked in, clearing the gas from his immediate breathing space.
"Neat trick," Mysterio muttered, swirling more illusions to hide behind. Faint apparitions of monstrous clowns and serpents slithered around. Albedo steadied himself, then tapped the Proto-Tool's baton mode. The baton crackled with an electromagnetic pulse. He hurled it through the illusions, hoping to scramble the projected fields. The pulse arced in midair, and Mysterio's illusions flickered. Albedo glimpsed Mysterio's real form behind the smoke.
"That's enough," Albedo growled. He leapt forward, using the baton's second charge to jam Mysterio's projector. Sparks exploded from the gauntlet on Mysterio's arm, and the illusions dissolved in a swirling haze.
"Hey, that's expensive tech!" Mysterio complained, staggering back. But Albedo shoved him, sending him toppling into the shallow fountain. Water splashed as Mysterio flailed.
Satisfied that the illusions were gone, Albedo turned to the terrified civilians. "Go. The area's not safe."
They scrambled away, tears of relief in their eyes. Albedo helped one older woman climb over rubble, then turned back to see Mysterio struggling to regain composure. He decided not to linger. The police were closing in from another side of the plaza, and Albedo guessed they could handle the disarmed illusionist.
Raising his gaze, he caught sight of a chaotic tangle in the plaza's center: Doctor Octopus was grappling with Spider-Man, mechanical arms smashing the ground. Kraven and the Lizard prowled nearby, forcing Spider-Man to dodge multiple threats at once. This looked dire. Albedo sprinted across the plaza, vaulting fallen signs and debris. Vulture was currently pinned by some webbing on a lamppost, so at least he was out of the immediate fray.
He glimpsed Kraven, leaping at Spider-Man with a ferocious snarl. Spider-Man blocked the spear with one forearm and fired a web, but the Lizard pounced from behind, forcing Spider-Man into a precarious position. Albedo flicked the Proto-Tool to blaster mode, aiming a concussive shot at the Lizard. The energy beam slammed into the reptilian foe's side, staggering him. That gave Spider-Man enough breathing room to spin, land a punch on Kraven's jaw, and flip away from Doc Ock's lunging tentacles.
Spider-Man spotted Albedo as he landed near them. "Good timing, Monkey Guy—actually, wait, you're not a monkey anymore. Mystery Man, let's say. If you can keep Ock's arms busy, I'll handle Kraven and the Lizard."
Albedo nodded sharply. He fired again at Doc Ock, who blocked the blast with a metal tentacle. Sparks showered the plaza as metal clashed with energy. Doc Ock glowered at him through tinted goggles. "Another masked vigilante? This city is crawling with them. You'll regret meddling, boy!"
"In your dreams," Albedo shot back. He toggled the Ultimatrix, scanning for a form that could handle the mechanical limbs. Diamondhead, perhaps. But he recalled that might be too conspicuous, and he also worried about the widespread destruction Diamondhead could cause. Instead, he selected a classic: Humungousaur. The watch beeped, swirling with red energy. In seconds, Albedo's figure expanded into a towering, muscled dinosaur-like alien with thick plating.
Doc Ock's eyes widened. "What in the—?"
Humungousaur-Albedo roared, then swung a massive tail, smashing two of the tentacles aside. Ock cursed, trying to shift to a more defensive posture, but Albedo pressed forward, each heavy footstep cracking the pavement. With both hands, he seized a flailing tentacle and yanked, forcing Ock off balance. The mechanical arms flailed.
At the same time, across the plaza, Spider-Man was weaving between Kraven's spear jabs, quipping about the hunter's outdated fashion sense. The Lizard snarled, swiping viciously, but Spider-Man's acrobatics kept him one step ahead. Occasionally, webs splattered across the ground, further tangling Kraven's approach.
Albedo heard a shrill beep in his Ultimatrix. The meltdown protocol from his last dimension still occasionally reminded him if a form was overexerted or in a high-stress environment. He ignored it. Doc Ock raised another tentacle, aiming some sort of plasma emitter at Humungousaur's face. Albedo ducked, then rammed his shoulder forward, sending Doc Ock flying backward. Metal arms clanged, and Ock groaned, colliding with a shattered kiosk.
"That should do," Albedo murmured, reverting to normal form with a red flash. Humungousaur, while effective, was too large to remain in a crowded area. Instead, he left Doc Ock sprawled among the wreckage, tentacles twitching.
Then he spun to see Spider-Man, mid-leap, delivering a finishing blow that knocked Kraven unconscious. The Lizard roared, lunging forward. Spider-Man managed to get a web around the Lizard's muzzle, momentarily binding his jaw shut. Albedo aimed the Proto-Tool and fired a concussive shot at the reptilian villain's legs, causing him to topple. The Lizard snarled, writhing in the webs.
Before the Lizard could free himself, the area flooded with flashing lights—NYPD cruisers and SWAT vans arriving en masse. Albedo froze, uncertain if he should stay or flee. Typically, vigilantes scattered to avoid legal complications, but part of him wanted to stay near Spider-Man. This was a golden moment to forge a deeper alliance.
Spider-Man, panting, waved at him. "Nice job, shape-shifty guy. That the first time you've taken on the Sinister Six?"
Albedo nodded. "Yes, but hopefully the last."
"Fat chance," Spider-Man said, a note of exasperation. "They tend to come back like bad colds. But you handled yourself well. You have a name, or do I just call you 'the four-armed dinosaur monkey baton dude'?"
Albedo almost chuckled, removing a chunk of broken steel from his path. "I'm still working on the official moniker. Let's say… call me Grey Hero. For now." The name was random, but better than nothing.
Spider-Man tilted his head. "Grey Hero, huh? But your suit's black and white."
Albedo shrugged. "I like paradoxes." A half-truth.
Despite the tension, Spider-Man let out a tired laugh. "Fair enough. Listen, maybe we can chat again without giant lizards or mechanical arms flailing around. New York's always happy to have one more hero, especially someone who can do the shapeshifter thing. You should see about hooking up with the Avengers or something."
Albedo frowned, the suggestion hitting closer to home than Spider-Man realized. "Maybe eventually. For now, I'm just… testing the waters."
A cluster of cops approached, guns raised, unsure how to handle multiple costumed figures. Spider-Man raised his hands. "Easy, officers, the bad guys are over there." He gestured at the battered Sinister Six members sprawled around the plaza.
One of the officers recognized Spider-Man's voice. "Alright, Web-Head, we'll take it from here. Who's your friend?"
Spider-Man glanced at Albedo. "He's on our side. That's all you need to know." Then he looked back to Albedo, lowering his voice. "You should go before they start asking for too many details. I'll keep them off your back. Hit me up if you want to do the hero team-up thing again."
Albedo felt a surge of gratitude. "Thank you." He paused, wanting to say more, but the police were closing in. With a final nod, he activated the grappling hook and vaulted onto a nearby rooftop. From there, he glanced back, seeing Spider-Man wave before turning to face the officers, presumably explaining the situation.
As adrenaline bled away, Albedo's limbs trembled slightly. He'd just helped defeat the Sinister Six. That was beyond any minor crime-busting he'd done before. Part of him wanted to exult, remembering the old thrill he'd felt from powerful victories—but another part recognized that this was no place for gloating. Innocent lives had been at stake. The real victory was ensuring they were safe.
He dashed across rooftops, eventually slowing his pace once he was a few blocks away. Sirens and helicopter lights receded into the distance. Slipping down a secluded alley, he pressed the Ultimatrix dial to revert his suit from "vigilante mode" to a more inconspicuous setting. With a few rapid adjustments, the black-and-white ensemble morphed into a plain black jacket and jeans—a small trick he'd built in with the unstable molecule's color-shift function. Now he looked like any other young man walking the streets.
The entire encounter replayed in his mind, focusing on the pivotal moment when he and Spider-Man stood side by side. The web-slinger had accepted him without question, trusting in a mutual goal of stopping villains. It was a stark difference from how Albedo once viewed Ben Tennyson, a hero from his old dimension. He felt an odd camaraderie with Spider-Man after just one meeting, probably because this was a world where heroism was more collaborative, less overshadowed by personal grudges.
He reached his building's underground garage unnoticed, returning to his penthouse via the private elevator. Once inside, he removed his gear and placed it carefully on the workshop stand, next to the reorganized suit display. His mind raced. The Sinister Six had been formidable, yet he'd managed to hold his own. More importantly, he'd made a connection with Spider-Man. That boded well if he intended to expand his vigilante presence in the city.
Flopping onto the couch in his living room, Albedo felt exhaustion crash over him. Hero work was draining, even more so than he'd imagined. He stared at the ceiling, heart still pounding. A swirl of conflicting emotions passed through him: satisfaction at saving lives, relief that no one seemed to suspect his origins, and a peculiar pride in standing alongside a famous hero. He thought back to his old dimension, to the meltdown that had ended his villainous path. This was a new beginning, indeed—one where he might finally prove himself worthy of the second chance he'd been given.
Despite the late hour, Albedo's phone buzzed. A text from Rowan: Dude, turn on the news—major supervillain fight at Manhattan Square. Are you seeing this? Spider-Man teamed with some new shapeshifter hero. Holy cow.
Albedo allowed himself a wry grin. He typed back: Watching it now. Crazy stuff. Glad we have heroes like that. Then he turned off the phone, deciding he'd deal with more questions tomorrow.
He drifted to sleep on the couch, still wearing half of his vigilante underlayer, feeling strangely content.
The next morning, Albedo woke to sunlight streaming through the window and a faint stiffness in his muscles. The news channels and social media were ablaze with coverage of the Sinister Six's defeat. While most headlines focused on Spider-Man's heroics, a few mentioned a mysterious shapeshifter or black-and-white-suited vigilante who had helped. Speculation ran wild—some fans guessed it might be a mutant, others suggested it was an Inhuman, and a handful referenced glimpses of him morphing into an ape-like creature. The nickname "Monkey Morph" popped up here and there, which made Albedo cringe. He resolved to refine his official alias soon.
He also noticed that the corporate news wanted statements from the Avengers, the Fantastic Four, or any other major hero groups. Thus far, no one had stepped forward to identify him. That suited Albedo perfectly. He wanted a degree of separation from his everyday life.
By midmorning, he'd showered, changed into civilian clothes, and was sipping coffee at the large kitchen island. He spotted an email from Reed Richards in his inbox, referencing the final details for the new purifier prototype demonstration. He also had a message from Ms. Bailey at the youth center, praising him for sending a donation that covered new after-school programs—a small philanthropic act he'd done with his newfound wealth.
As he scanned the morning headlines on a tablet, images of the Sinister Six fight scrolled by. Police had taken the villains into custody, though experts predicted they wouldn't stay locked up forever. The new vigilante was the talk of the town, overshadowed only by Spider-Man's consistent star power. Albedo tried not to let it inflate his ego. He had a second invention to finalize—heroic antics wouldn't pay the bills if the royalty checks ever dried up (though realistically, that was unlikely soon).
He spent the next few hours in his workshop, putting finishing touches on the purifier's user interface. The device looked like a large cylindrical unit, about waist-high, with multiple intake vents and an internal filtration system. It could be installed in a disaster zone to clean contaminated water or air rapidly. The heart of the device was a specialized nano-matrix that removed toxins and pathogens at the molecular level—a smaller-scale adaptation of the Healing Chamber's lattice concept. Albedo believed it could be a game-changer for public health in impoverished regions or post-disaster scenarios.
He lost track of time until his phone rang. The caller ID flashed "Unknown." Albedo hesitated, then answered cautiously. "Hello?"
A muffled yet familiar voice responded: "It's me, Spider-Man. Sorry about the clandestine call, I got your number from a, uh, friend in law enforcement. Hope that's not too creepy."
Albedo's heart leapt. He cleared his throat, feigning calm. "Not at all. I wondered how long it'd be until you tracked me down."
Spider-Man let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah, well, it seemed better to talk than try to find you swinging around at night. Look, I just wanted to say thanks for stepping up yesterday. The Sinister Six was really out for blood. A lot of people might have died if you hadn't helped out. I owe you one."
Albedo smiled faintly. "We both did our part. You're the one who's fought them countless times, right?"
"More times than I'd like to count," Spider-Man admitted. "Anyway, I was thinking—if you're serious about this hero thing, we should talk in person. Compare notes, set up some ground rules for working in the city. I know it sounds weird, but the last thing I want is confusion if we end up in each other's territory."
Albedo nodded to himself. "That makes sense. Where and when?"
"How about tonight, near the old warehouse district by the river? Less chance of tourists seeing us. Midnight, if that's cool."
"Alright," Albedo said. "I'll be there."
They agreed on a specific address. Then Spider-Man hung up, leaving Albedo with a sudden jolt of excitement. An official meeting with the city's iconic hero. Rowan would have a field day if he knew. But Albedo decided not to share that news. For now, he had enough to handle finalizing the purifier for Reed. Still, the anticipation of meeting Spider-Man again loomed in the back of his mind all day.
That evening, after completing a thorough checklist of the purifier's readiness and sending an email to Reed, Albedo suited up in his vigilante attire. He tested each function of the Proto-Tool Mark II, verifying that the stun baton, blaster mode, grappling hook, and stealth features were all in working order. The Ultimatrix was fully charged. At half-past eleven, he slipped out of his building via the private elevator and took to the rooftops.
The journey to the old warehouse district along the East River was peaceful compared to the chaos of Manhattan Square. He used the grappling hook to cross from building to building, savoring the crisp nighttime air. The city lights reflected off the water, shimmering in the darkness. A few barges drifted along, and a smattering of industrial cranes loomed over abandoned lots.
He arrived at the designated spot—a deserted loading dock behind a row of dilapidated warehouses. The area was quiet, except for the faint lapping of waves against the concrete piers. He perched on a stack of crates, scanning the shadows. At 11:58, he heard a faint thwip sound, followed by a flutter of movement overhead. Spider-Man landed gracefully atop a half-collapsed awning, arms folded.
"You made it," Spider-Man said, voice echoing slightly.
"Punctuality is a virtue," Albedo quipped.
Spider-Man hopped down, closing the distance. "So, you're… is it Grey Hero, or are you going to pick a better name?"
Albedo shook his head. "I'm still deciding. That was off the cuff."
Spider-Man chuckled. "Fair enough. Look, I'm not the type to grill newcomers, but I figure it's good to know who's who. You're obviously not a typical vigilante. The shape-shifting? That's big. Are you a mutant, an alien, or something else?"
The question was inevitable, but Albedo had prepared. "Let's just say I'm… different. Not a mutant in the X-gene sense, not an alien in the Skrull sense, but I do have some advanced tech at my disposal." A half-truth, but hopefully enough.
Spider-Man rubbed the back of his head. "Right. And what's your endgame? You want to be a full-time superhero, or is this just a hobby? I don't want to sound gatekeeper-y, but the city's got a lot of folks in masks. Some are great, some are… less stable."
Albedo considered the question. "I want to help. I'm not looking for fame or glory. I've done some big things behind the scenes—helping people in other ways. But after seeing how many threats plague the city, I decided that using my abilities more directly might be worthwhile."
Spider-Man's lenses narrowed thoughtfully. "That's a good enough reason, I guess. I just like to know people's motivations, so I don't end up teaming with a guy who's secretly an arms dealer or something." He paused, then extended a hand. "Anyway, thanks again for helping with the Six. They're a pain, and they rarely cooperate with each other that well. Must've had some big plan."
Albedo shook the offered hand. "No problem. You've been stopping them for years. I just tagged along."
A moment of awkward silence followed as they stood by the water, the city's glow painting the horizon. Eventually, Spider-Man gestured toward a row of warehouses. "Want to do a quick patrol together? Rumor has it there's a stolen tech ring operating out of one of these buildings. If you're up for it, we can see if they're home."
Albedo nodded. "Lead the way."
They moved in tandem, creeping along the edges of the warehouses. Spider-Man occasionally shot a web to swing up to a high vantage, while Albedo used the Proto-Tool's hook or simply jumped. They exchanged quiet observations about suspicious crates, broken locks, or signs of forced entry. Albedo marveled at how seamlessly they worked together, despite having just met.
Eventually, they found a half-open loading dock door that led into a sprawling, dimly lit interior. Rows of crates were stacked high, some bearing logos from reputable tech companies. Others were unmarked. Spider-Man crouched behind a pallet, motioning for Albedo to join him.
Two guards in cheap tactical gear patrolled the aisle, rifles slung over their shoulders. They talked in hushed tones about "the next shipment," referencing high-end circuit boards. Spider-Man whispered, "Looks like we found their stash of stolen electronics. Let's see who else is here before we spring an ambush."
They slunk deeper among the crates, eventually spotting more armed thugs near a forklift loaded with boxes. An older man in a suit barked orders—evidently the ringleader. Albedo counted at least eight men total. Not overwhelming, but enough to require caution.
Spider-Man tapped Albedo's shoulder. "We can divide and conquer. I'll take the forklift side, you handle the loading dock. Try to keep them quiet if possible—some of these guys might panic-shoot."
Albedo nodded, toggling the Proto-Tool to its stealth setting, which created a brief static field muffling his footsteps. He skirted along a series of crates, observing the patrolling guards. The first one nearly walked into him. Albedo seized the man's rifle, yanked it free, and delivered a swift strike with the baton function. The guard went down in a silent heap.
In the distance, Albedo heard faint thwip-s and muffled grunts, presumably Spider-Man webbing people up. Another guard passed by, phone in hand. Albedo ducked behind crates until he was at the man's flank, then jabbed him with the baton's stun setting. He collapsed in a twitching sprawl.
Gunshots rang out from near the forklift—someone had spotted Spider-Man. Albedo abandoned stealth, sprinting toward the commotion. He rounded a corner to see two thugs firing wildly at a high shelf where Spider-Man clung, flipping out of the line of fire. Another thug approached from behind, raising a rifle. Without hesitation, Albedo tackled that thug, driving him to the concrete floor. The rifle clattered away.
"What the—?!" the startled man gasped.
Albedo pinned him, pressing the baton to his chest. "Stay down," he hissed. Then he fired a short stun burst, knocking the thug unconscious.
Meanwhile, Spider-Man dropped onto the forklift, yanked the driver out, and webbed him to the chassis. The older man in the suit tried to flee with a briefcase of microchips, but Spider-Man snagged his ankles with a web line, sending him sprawling. Albedo sprinted over, grabbing the briefcase before it could clatter open.
The man coughed, face contorted in rage. "You don't know who you're messing with, spider freak! My contacts—"
"Save it for the cops," Spider-Man quipped, shooting a web to seal the man's mouth. "I'm sure they'll love hearing about your contacts."
With that, the pair systematically checked the rest of the warehouse. No more hostiles emerged. A few subdued thugs groaned on the floor, waiting for the police. "Nice team-up," Spider-Man said, rejoining Albedo near the forklift.
Albedo nodded, adrenaline still pumping. "We got them all."
Spider-Man whipped out his phone to dial the authorities, providing a tip about the warehouse location. Then he noticed Albedo's baton. "That's some slick tech. Stun, grappling, all in one. You build it yourself?"
"Yes," Albedo confirmed softly. "I dabble in engineering."
"You dabble quite well," Spider-Man observed. "Anyway, the cops will be here soon. We should scram."
They found an exit on the far side, stepping out into the cool night air. The sirens in the distance indicated a swift response. Albedo felt a flood of relief. No one seriously hurt, stolen tech recovered, criminals apprehended. A good night's work.
As they walked alongside the deserted riverbank, Spider-Man stretched his arms, clearly tired. "Thanks, man. That was smooth. You're a natural."
"Likewise," Albedo said, glancing at him. "Are you always this… easygoing with new heroes?"
Spider-Man shrugged, the lenses of his mask shifting. "Eh, not always. But I can usually tell who's genuine. You jumped in with the Sinister Six, risked your neck. That's a pretty big statement of good intentions. Unless you're a supervillain playing 4D chess."
Albedo gave a quiet laugh. "That's not my style."
"Glad to hear it," Spider-Man said, then paused. "Look, if you ever need backup, or if something big goes down, you can call me. I'll figure out a way for you to reach me directly." He handed over a small, spider-shaped device—a communicator of sorts, no bigger than a coin. "Stick this on your gear. It'll ping me if you press the center for three seconds."
Albedo accepted it carefully. "Thank you."
"No prob." Spider-Man stared out at the water, a thoughtful silence stretching between them. Finally, he added, "So many new threats keep popping up. It's nice to have someone else I can trust. We can't all rely on the Avengers, or even the Fantastic Four, for every little crime spree—especially with cosmic stuff distracting them half the time. Street-level stuff matters too."
Albedo nodded, recalling Reed's words about the quieter forms of heroism. "I agree."
They shared a companionable stillness, listening to the distant hum of the city. Then Spider-Man sighed. "Alright, I better get going. I've got… well, morning responsibilities. If you're around tomorrow night, maybe we can do another sweep, or at least keep an eye on this area. Seems like stolen tech is a big business."
"Sure," Albedo said. "I'll keep a lookout."
With a final wave, Spider-Man shot a web line and swung off into the night. Albedo watched him go, heart feeling lighter. He'd just forged a genuine rapport with one of the city's most beloved heroes, and it had gone smoothly. Perhaps he truly was integrating into this world's hero community—on his own terms.
He stepped away from the riverbank, taking the long route back to his penthouse. The new purifier was nearly ready to be demonstrated, his vigilante persona was established, and he had a direct line to Spider-Man. It was astonishing to realize just how fully he'd transformed his life in the span of months. Gone was the bitter, isolated Albedo of old. In his place stood someone who not only invented life-saving technology, but also donned a suit to stop criminals at street level.
He thought of the White Hot Room, the cosmic beings who had offered him redemption. He wondered if they were watching, satisfied with his progress. A small part of him hoped so. He still remembered Lady Death's warning that a second chance could be revoked if misused. But he felt more certain than ever that this was the path he wanted: building, protecting, forging alliances rather than tearing them down.
By the time he reached his penthouse, the sky was streaked with the faintest hints of dawn. He removed his suit in the workshop, setting each piece in its designated place, then made himself a strong cup of coffee. He settled by the living room window, gazing at the glowing city. A sense of peace washed over him. He had a new invention to finalize and present to the Fantastic Four soon—no doubt that would be another milestone. And at night, he could refine his vigilante tactics with Spider-Man, handling whatever threats emerged from the city's underbelly or beyond.
As he sipped the coffee, Albedo let his thoughts drift. Beneath the quiet hum of the city, he felt a resolute satisfaction: he was, at last, a hero in his own right, forging a new identity that balanced intelligence, compassion, and the power of the Ultimatrix. This was no longer Ben Tennyson's story or Vilgax's vendetta—this was Albedo's path, and he was determined to walk it honorably.
He smiled to himself, watching the sunrise. Tomorrow, and all the days after that, he would keep building and defending. He had found his place in this new world—something he'd never fully had in his old one. And for once, he felt entirely at peace with the life he'd chosen to create.