[Parker Residence – Kitchen]
Queens, New York
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 7:12 a.m.
The soft clinking of a spoon echoed in the small kitchen as Peter stirred his cereal half-heartedly, eyes still heavy with sleep. Morning sunlight streamed through the blinds, cutting across the counter like golden stripes. Aunt May stood by the sink, coffee in one hand, flipping through a pile of mail with the other.
May:(teasing gently)
"You keep staring like that and the cereal might start judging you."
Peter:(grinning sleepily)
"Just giving it a minute to apologize for being flavorless."
May:(laughing, taking a seat)
"Hey, that flavorless cereal is the only thing fueling your brain cells today."
Peter finally took a few spoonfuls, leaning into the slow comfort of the morning. His bag was slung over the back of his chair, half-zipped.
Peter:
"I've got that biology project with Riley. Ned's coming too, but mostly for emotional support."
May:(raising an eyebrow)
"Riley, huh? Is she smart, cute, or both?"
Peter:(blushing, trying to play it cool)
"May!"
May:(mock-innocent)
"What? I'm allowed to ask. You've been bringing her up a lot lately."
Peter shook his head, grabbed his backpack, and tried to make a smooth exit.
Peter:
"She's just a friend. We do science stuff. That's it."
May:(grinning)
"Mhm. Tell her Aunt May said hi."
[Midtown High School – Hallway by the Lockers]
Queens, New York
June 1,(2015)
Monday, 8:15 a.m.
The school hall buzzed quietly with weekend activity — a few students hanging around for extra credit, clubs, or unfinished labs. Peter arrived, slinging his backpack off as he reached his locker. He caught sight of Riley approaching from down the hall, earbuds in, brown hair tucked behind one ear.
Ned trailed behind Peter, nudging him lightly.
Ned:(whispering)
"Dude. She's walking in slow-mo right now. I swear."
Peter rolled his eyes but couldn't help smiling as Riley got closer.
Riley:(removing an earbud, voice shy)
"Hey... you guys didn't wait long, did you?"
Peter:(gently)
"Nah, just got here. You ready for bio bootcamp?"
Riley:(smiling nervously, clutching her notebook)
"As ready as I'll ever be. I stayed up looking at those frog dissection videos, and now I never want to eat again."
Ned:(grinning)
"Awesome. I brought snacks."
Peter and Riley both laughed.
Peter:(looking at her, teasing lightly)
"Don't worry. If I pass out during the lab, just use me as the frog."
Riley:(awkwardly brushing a hair strand away)
"I'm not that good with scalpels."
Ned:(to Peter, low voice)
"Ask her out already."
Peter gave him a glare.
Peter:(quickly changing subject)
"Let's just survive the project first, okay?"
Riley:(softly, half to herself)
"Survive with style."
Peter looked over, surprised by the quiet comment. Riley met his eyes for half a second, then dropped her gaze again, cheeks slightly flushed.
[Midtown High School – Biology Lab, Room 3B]
Queens, New York
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 10:42 a.m.
The hum of overhead lights blended with the faint gurgle of water from the lab sinks. Glass jars lined the counters, filled with strange preserved things from another curriculum, watching in silence. A large whiteboard at the front displayed:
"Lab Day: Frog Anatomy & Muscle Structure – Group Work"
Peter, Riley, and Ned stood around their assigned black lab table, gloves snapped on, worksheets clipped to the side, and one unfortunate frog laid neatly in the center.
Ned: (grimacing)
"Rest in peace, Sir Ribbit. You deserved better."
Peter: (cracking a small smile)
"He died a hero."
Riley: (softly, focused but amused)
"I swear if you two make one more joke, I'm handing the scalpel to the frog."
Ned: (mock offense)
"Wow. First victim's already chosen."
Peter glanced sideways at Riley, who was tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, biting her lip as she read over the procedure. Her eyes were sharp—focused—but her hand shook a little when she reached for the scalpel.
Peter: (gently, noticing)
"You okay?"
Riley: (nodding quickly)
"Yeah. Just... haven't done this in real life before."
Peter: (offering a calming smile)
"Teamwork makes the frog work."
Ned: (deadpan)
"You're banned from puns."
Riley let out a quiet laugh, her hand finally steadying as Peter lightly guided her wrist.
Peter: (encouragingly)
"Right here. Just go in shallow. We're not trying to start a zombie apocalypse."
She laughed again, more relaxed now, and cut carefully through the skin as Peter held the frog in place. Ned jotted down notes between winces.
Riley: (smiling, glancing at Peter)
"You're pretty good at this... Ever thought of being a surgeon?"
Peter: (grinning)
"Only if I get to wear a cool superhero mask in the OR."
Ned: (pointing his pen)
"Speaking of superheroes—did you see Stark's press conference yesterday? Dude's launching some kind of youth tech initiative or whatever."
Peter: (perking up)
"Yeah! His new arm module is crazy. It auto-adapts to weight shifts. I've been rewatching the footage like, non-stop."
Riley: (softly, eyes lighting up)
"I've been sketching some ideas... thinking of building something small like his nanocore. Just for fun."
Peter blinked.
Peter: (genuinely impressed)
"Wait. You're into Stark tech too?"
Riley: (nervously brushing it off)
"I mean… yeah. A little. His design logic's insane."
Peter: (grinning wide)
"Okay, you have to show me sometime."
Ned: (smirking)
"Well, if the frog wasn't dead before, the tech talk definitely knocked him out."
They all laughed. The bell rang suddenly, cutting through the comfortable moment. As students began packing up, Peter and Riley lingered.
Peter: (awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck)
"Hey... if you ever want to come over and work on that project more—like, the Stark sketches—I mean, totally science stuff—I wouldn't mind."
Riley: (smiling, voice soft)
"Yeah... I'd like that."
Peter's heart jumped. Ned peeked around from the door with raised brows and a thumbs up behind Riley's back.
---
[Midtown High – Room 2A, History Lecture Hall]
Queens, New York
May June 1, (2015)
Monday, 12:18 a.m.
The dusty projector whirred faintly as sunlight streamed in through half-shut blinds. The clack of keys and occasional cough echoed in the quiet hum of students preparing for the next lecture. Mrs. Berkley, notorious for long lectures and short patience, tapped the board with her pen.
Mrs. Berkley: (dryly)
"Settle in. Pages 134 to 151. No whispering. And yes, this will be on Monday's quiz."
Ned had slipped out early with a family emergency—something about his Lola—and Betty was out sick. That left just Peter and Riley at the back table by the window. Side by side. Alone.
Peter glanced at the empty seats, then back at Riley.
Peter: (half-whispering)
"Guess it's just you and me now..."
Riley: (fiddling with her pen, cheeks slightly pink)
"Y-Yeah... Looks like it."
They both awkwardly opened their textbooks at the same time, flipping pages too fast and then pretending to read.
Peter: (glancing at her, softly)
"You okay with sitting here? I can move if—"
Riley: (quickly, cutting in)
"No! I mean—no, it's fine. I like sitting here... with you."
Peter blinked. His heart skipped.
Peter: (smiling, warm)
"Cool. Cool... yeah. Same here."
A moment of silence hung before Riley leaned in a little, eyes tracing the map in the book.
Riley: (quietly, curious)
"Hey… so, if you could go anywhere in the world, just vanish for a day, where would you go?"
Peter: (thinking, smiling)
"Maybe Sokovia—before the whole Ultron thing, I mean. I'd love to see how people lived. Real stories, real places… Not just the chaos on TV."
Riley: (softly)
"That's deep. I think I'd pick… Malibu. Where Stark used to live. Just… sit there and imagine I could be someone who builds stuff that changes the world."
Peter turned his head toward her, a soft awe in his eyes.
Peter: (genuine)
"You already do, y'know."
Riley: (blushing, looking down)
"Thanks... That means a lot. Especially coming from you."
The warmth between them sat like a fragile thread, pulled tight by every glance. The world outside the window blurred into light and color, but neither of them noticed.
Mrs. Berkley: (sharply)
"Mr. Parker. Miss Green. If your conversation is more riveting than the fall of the Roman Empire, do share."
Peter: (flustered)
"Uh—no, sorry, ma'am."
Riley: (quickly flipping pages)
"Totally focused."
Peter leaned slightly closer as the teacher turned away again.
Peter: (whispering, grinning)
"Maybe history's not the only thing falling."
Riley turned slowly, eyes wide, cheeks flushing hard.
Riley: (soft, flustered smile)
"Peter…"
He gave a soft, lopsided smile and turned back to the book—both of them pretending to study again, their hearts beating way too fast for any quiz.
---
[Midtown High – Hallway]
Brooklyn, New York City
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 12:26 p.m.
(The bell rings. Students flood the halls as Peter and Riley walk out together, side by side.)
Peter (shrugging, trying to sound casual):
"Hey, want to get some lunch? I'm starving. I think I skipped breakfast… again."
Riley (looking down, twirling a strand of hair nervously):
(softly) "Yeah, I guess. I'm kinda hungry too."
Peter (grinning):
"So, uh… biology. You totally crushed that last question. I was just trying to not look like a total dork."
Riley (laughing quietly):
"I'm always nervous when I talk to you. Like, my brain just decides to freeze."
Peter (playful):
"No way, I'm the one who freezes. Like that time I tried to answer Mr. Connors' question and ended up talking about, uh… I don't even remember."
Riley (smiling shyly):
"You're not as smooth as you think you are."
Peter (grinning, mock offended):
"Hey! I'm smooth in my own way."
(He trips slightly over a backpack but catches himself quickly.)
Peter (laughing nervously):
"Okay, maybe not that smooth."
Riley (laughing softly):
"You're easy to talk to, though. Even when you're a mess."
Peter (smiling warmly):
"I like that. You're easy to talk to too."
(They walk past groups of students, the noise fading a little around them.)
Peter (looking around):
"So, what do you like to do when you're not being a biology genius?"
Riley (shrugs, shy):
"Uh, I guess I'm into tech stuff. Like, Tony Stark inspires me a lot."
Peter (eyes lighting up):
"No way! Me too! Iron Man's my hero. I'm obsessed with his suits and all that crazy tech."
Riley (smiling, more confident):
"I want to build stuff like that someday. Maybe help make the world a better place."
Peter (nodding):
"Yeah, me too. I'm still figuring it out, but it's gotta be something big."
(They reach the cafeteria doors and pause.)
Peter (grinning):
"Ready to face the mystery meat?"
Riley (laughing):
"As ready as I'll ever be."
(They push the doors open together and step inside.)
---
[Midtown High – Cafeteria, Back Corner Table]
Brooklyn, New York City
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 12:40 p.m.
The cafeteria buzzed with chatter and the clatter of lunch trays, but in the far corner, everything felt slower—quieter. The sunlight spilled through the tall windows, soft and golden, casting a warm glow over the table where Peter and Riley sat together, their trays barely touched.
Peter leaned back slightly, glancing at her with a half-smile.
Peter (casually): "Wanna eat something together? I mean… I know it's not shawarma, but I hear their mystery meat's better this week."
Riley blinked, her lips twitching into a shy smile as she tucked her hair behind her ear.
Riley (softly): "Yeah… sure. That sounds… nice."
They walked side-by-side toward the far table, Peter holding his tray with one hand and stuffing his other hand in his hoodie pocket. Riley walked close, hugging her sketchbook like a shield. They sat. A small pause passed.
She hesitated, fingers tightening around the edges of the notebook, then slowly set it down.
Riley (nervous): "Okay, so… don't laugh. These are just early concepts. It's something I've been working on for a while."
Peter raised his brows, interested.
Peter (curious): "Really? Is this like, another school project thing?"
Riley (gaining confidence): "Not really. I call it A.R.I.S… Autonomous Robotic Intelligence System. Inspired by Stark's A.I. frameworks—but smaller, less destructive."
She flipped open the notebook, revealing sketches of robotic limbs, sensors, and interface diagrams. Her notes filled the pages in tiny, frantic handwriting, complete with arrows and side comments like "Needs lighter alloy" and "J.A.R.V.I.S. core reference."
Peter leaned in, eyes scanning the pages with genuine wonder.
Peter (impressed): "Whoa. This is… actually insane. Like, seriously cool. I didn't even know you were into stuff like this."
Riley glanced at him, her cheeks flushed.
Riley (quietly): "Well… I don't really talk about it. Not everyone gets it."
Peter (smiling, warm): "I get it. I mean, maybe not all of it… but I get the drive. The wanting to build something that matters."
As she turned another page, Peter caught a flicker of something different—softer. A hand-drawn sketch near the edge of the next diagram. It looked like… two people. A boy and a girl. Smiling.
He looked up at her briefly, then back at the page. The sketch disappeared just as quickly, hidden by a quick flick of her fingers as she turned the notebook to another schematic.
Riley's eyes stayed down, but her voice betrayed her nerves.
Riley (hurriedly): "Anyway… it's still just a dream, you know? Maybe one day I'll actually build it. Or maybe not."
Peter didn't say anything at first. He just nodded, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Peter (gently): "I think you will."
Their eyes met. For a moment, everything else faded—the tables, the noise, the whole cafeteria. Just them. And the shy hope quietly blooming between two teenage hearts.
Got it! Here's the updated cinematic cafeteria scene where Peter and Riley are eating shawarmas, with Peter geeking out over the Mark 45,
---
[Midtown High – Cafeteria, Back Corner Table]
Brooklyn, New York City
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 12:45 p.m.
The bell had barely stopped echoing when Peter and Riley stepped into the cafeteria. The lines were long, but the aroma of toasted bread, grilled chicken, and garlic sauce was worth it. They emerged minutes later—two shawarmas wrapped in foil, with drinks and chips stacked on a red tray.
They sat across from each other at a quiet corner table near the windows, sun spilling across the table in patches.
Peter unwrapped his shawarma with practiced speed, already talking through a mouthful.
Peter (eagerly): "So—I was watching the Sokovia footage again last night, right? The Mark 45? Insane. Sleekest suit Stark's made so far. The plating practically flows like it's part of him. Way more refined than the Mark 43."
Riley took a careful bite of her shawarma, trying not to smile too hard at how animated he was.
Riley (curious): "What's the difference between those? I thought they all looked kinda… shiny and red."
Peter (mock offended): "Okay, okay. That's like saying all paintings just have colors! The Mark 45's got integrated nano-conductive circuitry—he streamlined the armor plating, removed the shoulder bolsters, and added reinforced repulsor fields along the forearms. Way less lag in aerial response. Plus—new HUD. Full holographic interface."
Riley: "You notice all that from the footage?"
Peter (grinning): "I may have slowed it down frame by frame…"
He took another bite, then leaned back slightly, still hyped.
Peter: "And the new core? He ditched the older arc reactor for something lighter. More stable output. It's like the suit thinks faster."
Riley (teasing): "Sounds like you're in love with it."
Peter (shrugging, smirking): "I mean… who isn't?"
She giggled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. He noticed the corner of a notebook poking out of her bag. Pages peeking. Sketches. Words. One page slipped out a little more than the rest—and just for a second, Peter caught the glimpse of a pencil drawing.
It was him. And her. Stylized but unmistakable.
She quickly stuffed it back in, face warming.
Peter (playfully, letting it go): "So… ARIS, huh? You gonna tell me more?"
Riley (nervously, but trying to act cool): "Eventually."
Their eyes met for a moment. Honest. Curious. Then they both looked down at their shawarmas like they were suddenly the most interesting food on the planet.
Peter (softly): "This is the best shawarma I've had all week."
Riley (smiling): "It's the only shawarma you've had all week."
Peter (laughing): "Touché."
Time slowed for a bit. Just two teens in a city too big, talking superheroes and dreams over warm food. Somewhere far away, the world was getting ready to change—but for now, they were just Peter and Riley.
---
Sure! Here's them walking out of school:
---
[Midtown High – Front Entrance]
Brooklyn, New York City
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 3:15 p.m.
Peter and Riley step out of the school doors, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the courtyard. The bustle of students spilling onto the streets fills the air with chatter and laughter.
Peter adjusts his backpack, glancing over at Riley, who walks just a bit slower, her sketchbook clutched close.
Peter:
"Long day, huh?"
Riley: (smiling softly)
"Yeah, but a good one."
They walk down the steps together, heading toward the bus stop. The city hums around them, a mix of honking cars and distant sirens.
Peter:
"So… same time tomorrow?"
Riley: (nods, a shy grin)
"Definitely."
Peter:
"Wanna take the subway? It'll be cool. Plus, my house is in Forest Hills—what about you?"
Riley: (a little shy, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear)
"Williamsburg... so yeah, kinda far but not too bad."
Peter: (grinning)
"Cool, we can ride together. I know a couple of spots to grab shawarma on the way too."
Riley: (smiling, more relaxed now)
"That sounds… nice."
They start walking toward the nearest subway station, their steps syncing as the city buzzes all around.
---
[New York City Subway – Platform]
Brooklyn, New York City
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 3:45 p.m.
The screeching sound of the arriving subway fills the platform as Peter and Riley wait side by side. The crowds ebb and flow, commuters rushing past with backpacks and briefcases.
Peter adjusts his backpack strap and glances over at Riley, who nervously tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear while clutching her sketchbook.
Peter:
"So, you live in Williamsburg, right? I'm over in Forest Hills. Kinda far, but the subway makes it way easier."
Riley: (smiling shyly)
"Yeah, Williamsburg's cool. I like the vibe. Lots of art stuff happening there."
Peter grins, nudging her playfully.
Peter:
"Sounds perfect for your sketches. Speaking of, you gonna show me some of those ideas soon?"
Riley blushes but nods, holding her sketchbook a little tighter.
Riley:
"Maybe… if you promise not to laugh."
The subway doors slide open with a hiss, and they step inside among the sea of passengers.
[New York City Subway – Inside Train Car]
Brooklyn, New York City
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 3:47 p.m.
Peter and Riley find a spot near the door, holding onto the rails as the train jolts forward.
The car buzzes with chatter, music from headphones, and the rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks.
Peter:
"Honestly, I love the subway. Feels like the city's heartbeat, you know?"
Riley nods, watching the passing tunnel flicker with shadows.
Riley:
"It's like everyone has their own story. I think that's why I want to create something — something that connects all of that."
Peter looks at her thoughtfully.
Peter:
"You mean like your A.R.I.S project?"
Riley's eyes light up, and she carefully pulls out a page from her sketchbook — a rough drawing of a sleek, futuristic device.
Riley:
"Yeah! It's still just ideas, but it could change how people interact with the world — like making tech that's smarter, more connected, almost alive."
Peter studies the drawing, impressed.
Peter:
"That's really cool. You've got some serious talent."
Riley smiles, then glances away shyly.
The train slows, approaching a busy station where people shuffle on and off.
Peter:
"Hey, maybe one day you'll build something that even Stark would want."
Riley laughs softly, the nervous edge fading from her voice.
Riley:
"That would be something."
As the train carries them deeper into the city, the afternoon light dims, casting a golden glow through the windows.
They ride on, two friends on the edge of something bigger, the city sprawling endlessly around them.
---
[Brooklyn Subway – Inside Train Car]
Brooklyn, New York City
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 3:45 p.m.
The train rumbles softly as it moves through the underground tunnels. Peter and Riley sit side by side, the steady clatter of wheels on rails filling the quiet space between them. Riley pulls out her sketchbook again, flipping carefully through pages filled with neat drawings and scribbled ideas.
Peter:
"You really spend a lot of time on this stuff, huh?"
Riley: (shyly)
"Yeah… it's just something I really want to build one day. Maybe it'll actually do some good."
Peter smiles, impressed.
Peter:
"That's pretty awesome. You've got big plans."
Riley looks down, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
The train slows as it nears the next stop.
Peter:
"So, this is where you get off?"
Riley: (nodding)
"Yeah, Williamsburg. Thanks for walking me here."
Peter stands as the doors slide open and a few students hustle past.
Peter:
"Anytime. See you tomorrow?"
Riley offers a small, shy smile.
Riley:
"Definitely."
She steps off the train, glancing back briefly as Peter waves. The doors close, and the train begins moving again toward Forest Hills.
Peter leans back in his seat, watching the dark tunnels slip past the windows.
---
[Forest Hills Subway Station – Platform]
Queens, New York City
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 3:55 p.m.
Peter steps off the train, adjusting his backpack as the cool air of the station hits him. The platform is quieter now, with only a few people waiting for their rides.
He glances down the tracks, then looks around, pulling out his phone briefly. A soft smile tugs at his lips, still thinking about Riley's sketches and the quiet moments they shared.
Peter: (to himself, softly)
"Guess things are starting to get interesting."
He starts walking up the stairs toward the street level, the sounds of the city growing louder with each step.
Outside, the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, casting warm orange hues over the quiet residential streets of Forest Hills. Peter's pace slows, the familiar streets welcoming him back.
He reaches his front door and pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath.
Peter: (quietly)
"Home."
He unlocks the door and steps inside, the day's worries melting away for a moment.
---
[Parker Residence – Living Room]
Forest Hills, Queens
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 4:03 p.m.
The door unlocks with a familiar clack as Peter steps in, dropping his bag with a tired sigh. Afternoon sunlight spills through the living room windows, painting golden stripes across the floor.
Peter: (calling out)
"May! I'm back!"
May: (from the kitchen)
"About time! I was starting to think you ran off with your science club!"
Peter chuckles and slips off his shoes, his eyes scanning the counter for food.
Peter: (grinning)
"Nah, just... took the subway home with a friend."
May walks in with a dish towel over her shoulder, eyebrow raised.
May:
"Friend? What's her name?"
Peter: (pulling a soda from the fridge, trying to play it cool)
"Riley. She's in my biology class. Same group for the project."
May: (arms crossed, teasing)
"Oh, Riley from bio. That explains the goofy grin."
Peter: (defensive, blushing)
"It's not a goofy grin, May—it's a regular face. A science face."
May: (laughs, ruffling his hair as he dodges)
"Whatever you say, Einstein."
She settles onto the couch with a warm smile as Peter drops beside her with his soda.
May:
"You remember when we went to the Stark Expo? You were what, eight? All tiny and obsessed with robots."
Peter: (eyes lighting up)
"I begged you to take me. That arc reactor exhibit was insane."
(grins)
"You almost had to drag me away from it."
May:
"And you wouldn't stop talking about Tony Stark for weeks."
Peter: (smiling quietly)
"Still kinda haven't."
He stares at the ceiling for a moment.
Peter: (softly)
"Y'know… Riley's into tech too. She's got this idea, something she calls A.R.I.S. Her own system—like a learning AI."
May: (interested)
"That's big stuff for high school. Sounds like she's your kind of genius."
Peter: (blushing, then sips soda)
"Yeah… yeah, she kinda is."
They sit in silence for a moment, the soft hum of the city just outside the window.
May: (teasing again)
"Should I set an extra plate at dinner, or are we still pretending she's just your lab partner?"
Peter:(throws a pillow at her, laughing)
"May!"
May: (grinning)
"Hey, I'm just trying to stay ahead of the romance plot, mister superhero-in-training."
Peter leans back on the couch, heart full but quiet, a soft smile playing on his lips.
Peter: (whispers)
"She's… cool, May. Really cool."
May just smiles and pats his shoulder.
May:
"So are you, kiddo. She'll see it."
---
[Parker Residence – Living Room]
Forest Hills, Queens
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 4:06 p.m.
Peter lounges back on the couch, soda in hand. May settles beside him with her tea, the warm clink of the spoon against the mug fading into a moment of quiet.
Peter: (eyes distant, thoughtful)
"Do you remember that crazy moment at the Stark Expo? When the Hammer drones went rogue?"
May: (sipping tea, her brow furrowing slightly)
"How could I forget? I nearly lost my mind trying to find you in that crowd."
Peter leans forward, resting his arms on his knees.
Peter:(softly)
"I wasn't even scared. Just... frozen. One of the drones landed right near me. Its eyes locked on—like it knew I was there."
May: (quietly)
"You were so little, Pete..."
Peter: (small smile, voice filled with awe)
"And then he dropped out of the sky. Like fire and thunder. Just blasted it out of the air. Boom."
[FLASHBACK – STARK EXPO – APRIL 2010]
Flushing Meadows, Queens
Nighttime – Chaos All Around
Young Peter, barely eight, cowers behind a cracked barrier. A Hammer drone turns toward him, red optics flaring. People scream in the distance. The whir of repulsors roars—
SHOOM!
Iron Man crashes down, lands in front of Peter, his armor reflecting the chaos around them. He lifts a hand—
PEW! The drone explodes mid-charge.
Iron Man: (glancing back briefly)
"Nice hiding spot, kid. Stay put!"
He blasts off again into the night sky, chasing more drones.
[BACK TO PRESENT]
Peter: (smiling quietly)
"That was the moment. Right there. That's when I knew I wanted to be like him."
May watches him with softened eyes.
May:
"You always saw the good in him—even when the rest of the world just saw the flash and fame."
Peter: (grinning)
"And now… I dunno. I just wanna build something that matters, y'know? Make someone feel safe. Like he made me feel that night."
May gently places her hand over his.
May:
"You already do, Peter. More than you know."
He nods, swallowing down a lump in his throat.
Peter: (softly)
"Maybe one day I'll get to thank him for real."
[Green Residence – Living Room]
Williamsburg, Brooklyn
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 3:52 p.m.
The front door creaks open with a soft click.
Riley: (quietly)
"I'm home..."
She steps inside, dropping her bag by the coat rack. The apartment smells faintly of lavender and fresh laundry. Light filters through the half-closed blinds, casting golden patterns on the hardwood floor.
From the kitchen, Emily pokes her head out, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
Emily:
"Hey baby! You're home early today."
(she walks over and kisses Riley's temple)
Riley: (small smile)
"Yeah, the last class wrapped up faster than usual."
Emily: (raising an eyebrow with a playful grin)
"Or maybe someone walked you to the train again?"
Riley rolls her eyes, cheeks turning slightly pink.
Riley: me
"Mooom—"
Emily: (laughs)
"I didn't say who. Just guessing. You've been glowing lately."
Riley shrugs, unable to hide the grin tugging at her lips. She grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and flops onto the couch, flipping her sketchbook open lazily.
A few pages in, she pauses.
There it is—
A sketch of her and Peter side by side. His hair a little messy. Her eyes drawn slightly bigger than real life. They're laughing in the sketch, some invisible joke captured in graphite.
Emily: (watching from the kitchen)
"You drawing again?"
Riley:
"Mhm... just stuff."
She flips the page before her mom can get a full look and continues doodling random ARIS diagrams beside it. But her eyes keep drifting back.
She exhales quietly, her fingers brushing the corner of the sketch.
Riley:
(softly, to herself)
"I really love you... I don't know why, but... I just can't say it yet."
The edges of her lashes droop. The apartment is quiet now. The hum of a distant train passing below their building. The slow creak of the fan.
She curls into the couch, sketchbook still open on her lap. Her lips barely move as she gets more comfy on the couch.
Riley:
(murmured)
"See you tomorrow, Peter..."
Fade to black.
---
[Green Residence – Dining Room]
Brooklyn, New York City
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 7:30 p.m.
The table is set simply, plates of pasta, steamed vegetables, and fresh bread spread out. The soft hum of a ceiling fan fills the quiet room. Emily moves around the kitchen softly, pouring water into glasses as Riley and Evelyn sit waiting. The evening light filters through the curtains, casting a gentle glow.
Emily places a plate in front of Evelyn, who bounces in her chair with excitement. Riley sits a little more reserved, fingers tracing the edge of her sketchbook, which rests beside her plate.
Evelyn:
"Riley, tell me again about your project! What's A.R.I.S. exactly?"
Riley's eyes brighten just a little, and she flips open the notebook to a page filled with detailed sketches and handwritten notes.
Riley:
"Well… it's kind of like a robot assistant. It can go into dangerous places like fires or accidents, give real-time info to the firefighters or cops, and help save people. I want to make it smart, with sensors and cameras."
Emily leans forward, smiling softly.
Emily:
"That's very impressive, sweetheart. You really think big."
Riley shrugs shyly but smiles faintly. Her gaze flickers to the empty chair at the table.
Riley:
"Dad would like it. He always said I should follow my ideas no matter what."
Evelyn's smile fades as she looks toward the door, as if expecting their father to walk in.
Evelyn:
"Mom, when is Daddy coming home? We haven't seen him all day."
Emily sets her fork down and sighs, rubbing the back of her neck.
Emily:
"Max's been working late on a really important project. You know he wants to finish it soon."
Riley's smile tightens, and she twists her hands nervously.
Riley:
"I miss him. It's like he's here but not really, you know?"
Emily nods, reaching over to squeeze Riley's hand gently.
Emily:
"I know, honey. It's hard on all of us. But Max is doing what he thinks is best for the family."
Evelyn leans forward, eyes wide.
Evelyn:
"But does he even remember to eat? He looks so tired sometimes."
Emily chuckles softly, trying to lighten the mood.
Emily:
"I make sure to pack him a lunch. But you're right, he's been pushing himself."
Riley looks down at her plate, stirring her food absentmindedly.
Riley:
"I wish he'd talk to us more. Sometimes I feel like he's hiding something."
Emily's expression grows serious, but she keeps her voice calm.
Emily:
"There are things adults have to keep private sometimes, but I promise you he loves you both very much."
Evelyn suddenly perks up, breaking the tension.
Evelyn:
"When he comes home, can I show him my drawing? It's of our family."
Emily smiles warmly.
Emily:
"Of course, sweetheart. I'm sure he'll love it."
Riley glances again at her sketchbook, then looks up with a soft sigh.
Riley:
"I hope so."
The three share a quiet moment, the sounds of cutlery on plates mixing with the distant city noise outside. The empty chair across the table remains a silent reminder of Max's absence, but the family's bond stays strong, holding them together through the uncertainty.
---
[Green Residence – Living Room]
Brooklyn, New York City
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 9:47 p.m.
The TV plays quietly in the background—some old black-and-white sci-fi movie Evelyn insisted on watching. She's fast asleep now, curled up with a blanket on the couch, her little hand still clutching a crayon drawing of the family: Mom, Dad, Riley, and her, all smiling. Emily sits nearby, half-focused on the screen, flipping through a book but checking the time every few minutes.
The front door unlocks with a quiet click.
Emily looks up immediately.
Max Green steps inside, his face tired, tie loose around his neck, and a folder tucked under his arm. His coat smells faintly of dust and engine oil. He shuts the door gently behind him, careful not to wake Evelyn.
Emily: (softly)
"Hey."
Max offers a weary smile.
Max:
"Hey."
His eyes land on Evelyn, then Riley—both asleep, Riley stretched across the other couch, her sketchbook still open on her chest. He pauses, watching them for a long moment.
Max:
"They asleep?"
Emily nods.
Emily:
"Hours ago. You missed dinner."
Max: (sighs)
"I know. I tried. Got… caught up. Phin had a breakthrough."
Emily stands and walks over slowly, folding her arms.
Emily:
"Max, this isn't a startup in Midtown anymore. This place you're working with—who even are these people? You barely talk about them. You barely talk at all."
Max lowers his folder onto the table and runs a hand through his hair.
Max:
"It's complicated, Em. I'm doing this for us. For them. If this works… it changes everything. All the years Stark wasted—"
Emily: (cutting in)
"This isn't about Stark anymore."
She looks at him, tired but firm.
Emily:
"It's about your daughters missing their father at dinner."
Max's expression softens with guilt. He turns toward Riley, gently lifting the sketchbook from her chest. His eyes scan the pages—notes, schematics, doodles… and in one page, a sketch of her and Peter Parker laughing under a tree.
He smiles faintly.
Max:
"She's brilliant."
Emily:
"She needs her dad more than validation from a stranger. She's working so hard, Max. Trying to make something of her own. Don't let her feel invisible."
He nods slowly, placing the sketchbook gently on the coffee table and brushing Riley's hair back from her face.
Max:
"I'll try harder."
Emily:
"Good. Just… come home more. You're still part of this family."
Max leans down and kisses Evelyn's forehead, then walks to the hallway. Emily stays behind, quietly watching him disappear toward the bedroom, wondering how much of him is still here—and how much is already lost in that dark warehouse in Staten island.
---
[Green Residence – Upstairs Hallway]
Brooklyn, NewYorkCity
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 9:57 p.m.
The house is calm. The buzz of the city outside is muffled by thick windows. Inside, only soft footsteps echo on hardwood floors.
Max gently adjusts Riley in his arms—her schoolbag slung loosely over his shoulder. Her sketchbook is tucked between her side and his chest, held protectively even in sleep.
Emily follows just behind, Evelyn curled against her shoulder, sound asleep—her small fingers tangled in Emily's hair.
Emily (softly):
"Max… they need you."
Max nods, jaw clenched, as he carefully pushes Riley's bedroom door open with his foot. The warm yellow light from the hallway spills in.
He steps to the bed and lowers Riley gently onto the mattress. She murmurs something incoherent, eyes fluttering.
Max (whispers):
"Riley… Dad loves you. You did a great job today."
Her sleepy voice barely forms the word:
"Dadd…?"
He leans down, brushing her hair back from her face, and kisses her forehead.
Max:
"I love you, baby girl."
Emily stands silently in the doorway, watching. Her expression is tender—but there's a weight in her eyes.
Emily:
"Be there for them, Max… even if you can't be for me. Please."
Max's eyes meet hers. Something flickers there—conflict, regret, guilt. But he nods.
He pulls the blanket over Riley's sleeping form, tucks her sketchbook beside her on the nightstand, and turns off the light.
[Green Residence – Living Room]
Brooklyn, New York City
10:15 p.m.
The house is dim now, lit only by a lamp in the corner. Emily returns from putting Evelyn to bed, settling onto the couch beside Max. He's hunched forward, elbows on his knees, Riley's sketchbook now in his hands.
He flips it open, landing on a fresh concept page.
The drawing is technical—almost blueprinted. It's AR.I.S.: a small humanoid assistant robot, standing no taller than a soda bottle. Its round eyes are expressive, its limbs modular. Notes encircle it:
"Voice-sync core."
"Emotion-reactive sensors."
"Retractable utility limbs."
"Optional hover assist (TBD)."
But it's the sketch beside it that stills Max's breath.
Two figures—no faces, just lightly outlined silhouettes—stand beside AR.I.S. One labeled Parker, the other Green. Between them, the robot stands with arms extended like a tiny bridge.
Beneath them, a handwritten line:
"For what comes next."
Max:
"She drew… them together."
Emily (sitting back, arms folded):
"That's Peter Parker. Her classmate."
Max (careful):
"Why is his name here?"
Emily:
"Because he actually listens to her. He cares about what she says. Gets excited about her ideas. Unlike her own father, lately."
Max says nothing. His hand lingers on the sketch. There's no romance in it—just a bond. A connection deeper than Riley had ever spoken out loud.
Emily:
"She talks about him. A lot. I don't know much about the kid, but when she does, it's like she lights up."
Max leans back slowly, eyes still on the page. His chest tightens. His little girl—once so attached to him—was growing into someone he barely recognized. And Parker… Parker was stepping into the space Max was leaving empty.
Then—like venom—Adrian Toomes' words echo in his head:
"We're the same, buddy. Family men with burdens. This world took from us. Stark took from us. We take back."
He closes the sketchbook quietly and sets it aside.
Emily watches him, softer now.
Emily (quietly):
"You're drifting from her, Max. But it's not too late."
She leans in, places her head on his shoulder. He doesn't pull away. Just exhales.
Emily:
"They need you. I need you. I love you."
She lingers there a while, eyes closing. Max stays still—torn between vengeance and the fragile, beautiful reality sitting beside him.
He stares ahead, jaw tight, heart aching. Torn.
And upstairs, Riley sleeps—dreaming of robots and hope.
---
[Parker Residence – Living Room]
Forest Hills, Queens, New York City
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 9:46 p.m.
The TV flickers with muted light, casting soft blues and whites against the living room walls. Outside, the city hums gently—distant car horns, a barking dog, the occasional clatter of the subway far off. Inside, everything is still.
Peter lies sideways on the old, comfortable couch, legs curled up slightly. His head rests on Aunt May's lap, his hair tousled, eyes almost shut. May's hand moves slowly through his hair, rhythmic and calming.
She sits quietly, watching him with the kind of gaze only someone who's raised you can carry—half love, half worry, all warmth.
May (softly, voice nearly a whisper):
"You know… I still remember the night they left."
Peter's eyes open just a little. He doesn't move, but his breath catches for a moment. He doesn't stop her.
May:
"Your dad got that call… something about a project overseas. He said it would only take a week. Your mom packed two suitcases and made sure to fold your dinosaur pajamas at the top in case you needed them while they were gone."
She chuckles under her breath, the sound small but real.
May (gently):
"They kissed you goodnight. You were so sleepy, clinging to your little Spider-Man plush. You didn't even wake up when they left for the airport."
Peter blinks slowly, the flicker of the TV reflecting off his lashes.
May (a little quieter now):
"But the flight… they never made it to where they were going."
Her voice is steady, but Peter feels the pain behind it—the one she never talks about, the one she kept buried so he didn't have to carry it.
Peter (barely audible):
"You always made it feel like they were still around."
May (fingers pausing, then resuming):
"I had to. You were so little. I didn't want you to grow up feeling abandoned. And then... when Ben…"
Her voice falters slightly, but she steadies it.
"I didn't want you to feel alone."
Peter swallows hard.
Peter:
"I don't. I mean… not really. You've always been here."
May smiles, eyes misty. She leans down and presses a soft kiss to his forehead.
May (quietly):
"I've tried. You're the best thing that ever happened to this family, Peter. And you still have a whole life ahead of you."
She brushes a loose curl off his forehead.
May:
"Whatever's out there—science, the Avengers, Midtown, girls—"
She grins teasingly.
"—you're gonna do something amazing. Just promise me… stay grounded. Stay good."
Peter gives a slow, sleepy nod.
Peter (murmuring):
"I promise."
May leans back on the couch cushion, still gently combing her fingers through his hair.
May (softly):
"It's just you and me now, Pete."
Peter exhales through his nose, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Peter (whispering):
"Yeah. You and me."
She kisses his forehead again, a little firmer this time, her hand over his heart.
May (barely audible):
"Love you."
Peter (half-asleep, faint grin):
"Love you too, May."
The flickering TV continues playing into the quiet, but in that little room in Forest Hills, time seems to pause—just a boy and the only mother he's ever really had.
---
[Parker Residence – Living Room, Couch]
Forest Hills, Queens, New York City
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 10:14 p.m.
The room is hushed, lit only by the soft glow of the corner lamp. Outside, the city's evening buzz fades into the background. On the couch, Peter sleeps soundly, head resting in May's lap, his hoodie bunched under his cheek, breath slow and even.
May sits still, one hand resting on Peter's back, the other gently brushing through his hair. Her eyes are tired, but not from the day—this kind of tired sits deeper. In the soul.
She looks down at him, her expression tender—fragile even—as if she's holding a piece of the past and future all at once.
May (softly, almost whispering):
"You never even got to say goodbye."
She pauses, brushing a thumb across his temple like she used to when he was little.
May:
"They were on a flight to Istanbul. Your dad thought he could help with some research—your mom, she never let him go anywhere without her. She believed in his work. But something happened. The plane went down. And… that was it."
Her voice trembles, but she steadies herself, glancing at the boy sleeping in her lap.
May:
"I was just supposed to babysit for the weekend."
She gives a quiet, broken laugh—no humor in it, just the weight of time.
May:
"But you... you were so small. So quiet. And then Ben—he didn't even hesitate. He said, 'He's our boy now.' Just like that."
She wipes a tear away quickly, not wanting it to drop on him.
May (gentle):
"You've grown up into something they'd never believe. You're kind. You're smart. You care too much, just like your mom… and you're stubborn like your dad."
She sighs.
May:
"I wish I could give you everything they would've. But… it's just me."
She looks down again, her hand still brushing his curls.
May (whispering):
"It's just you and me, kid."
She leans down, kisses his forehead softly.
May (low, smiling through tears):
"Love you."
Peter shifts slightly in his sleep, but doesn't wake. His hand twitches near hers, as if somehow, even in dreams, he heard her.
May leans back into the couch cushion, wrapping her other arm around him protectively. The city hums on outside, but inside, time feels still. Two broken hearts making one whole home.
---
[Green Residence – Master Bedroom]
Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York City
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 11:28 p.m.
The bedroom is quiet, bathed in the soft amber glow of a bedside lamp. The sound of the city outside is muffled, distant—almost like it knows to stay out of this room tonight.
Emily sits up against the headboard, knees hugged loosely to her chest, wearing one of Max's old MIT hoodies. Her eyes are wide but tired, fixed on the far wall—thinking, worrying, waiting.
Max walks in slowly, removing his jacket, undoing his collar. His shirt's wrinkled. His expression unreadable, distant as always. He doesn't speak as he moves toward the closet, methodically placing his work bag down.
Emily (quietly):
"You didn't say goodnight to Evelyn."
Max pauses.
Max (flat):
"She was asleep."
Emily (soft but firm):
"She wanted you to say it anyway."
A silence stretches. Max doesn't answer. He sits at the edge of the bed, back toward her, elbows on his knees. Emily watches him, expression flickering between frustration and hurt.
Emily:
"You missed dinner. Again."
Max (coldly):
"I had work."
Emily:
"You always have work."
Max (low):
"I'm building something that matters."
Emily (shaky):
"And your family doesn't?"
He finally looks over his shoulder. There's a flash of guilt in his eyes—but it disappears, buried under the weight of whatever war he's been carrying.
Emily leans forward, voice fragile now, but honest.
Emily:
"Max… she drew you in her sketch. She still believes in you, even when you don't show up. Riley thinks the world of you, and Evelyn—she lights up just hearing the door open, hoping it's you."
Max:
"I didn't ask for this life."
Emily (quietly):
"But you got it. And it's slipping through your fingers."
Max finally turns, climbs into bed slowly beside her. He doesn't reach for her—but he doesn't turn away either.
Emily (leaning on his shoulder):
"I'm scared."
Max:
"Of what?"
Emily (soft):
"Of losing you. Not to death. To everything else. To hate. To secrets. To... Stark."
Max flinches slightly at the name but says nothing. Just stares ahead.
Emily (tearful):
"You used to smile. You used to play with Riley on the floor and get paint on your nose. You used to hold me like I was your whole world."
Max (barely audible):
"You still are."
Emily lets her fingers find his hand under the covers. She holds it—tight. Possessive. Afraid.
Emily:
"Then prove it. Be here. With me. With them. Don't become something you'll regret."
He doesn't respond. But his fingers slowly curl around hers. Not tightly. But enough.
Emily sighs. Crawls closer, wrapping her arms around his chest, resting her head on his shoulder.
Emily (softly):
"Please don't go too far, Max. I love you… I just want you back."
Max closes his eyes. Swallows hard. The weight inside him remains—but so does her presence.
Max (low):
"I'm still here."
Emily doesn't believe it fully. But for tonight… she holds on to it anyway.
They lie back slowly, her arm draped over him, her breath steadying against his chest. And as the city sleeps, so do they—caught in that thin space between love and distance, hope and danger.
---
[Vulture's Hideout – Engineering Floor, Sub-Level B3]
Long Island, New York City
June 1, (2015)
Monday, 11:36 p.m.
The walls groan with the hum of stolen alien tech. Arc welders buzz in the distance. Scavenged Chitauri armor hangs like trophies. The base is buried under an abandoned salvage yard—an iron jungle cloaking a criminal empire in shadows.
Max Green steps into the lab, jaw tight, hair a little messy from the wind outside. He's changed out of his civilian clothes—now in his midnight-blue work jacket. No lab coat. No badge. This isn't Stark Industries.
This is the underground.
Phineas Mason (The Tinkerer) is already there, hunched over a messy table of exposed wires, a cracked Ultron faceplate, and blinking devices that shouldn't be blinking. He glances up.
Tinkerer (dry):
"Well look who finally showed. I was starting to think the family man bailed."
Max doesn't even flinch.
Max:
"I had things to take care of."
Tinkerer:
"Yeah? You know what I took care of? This."
(He holds up a humming core reactor the size of a football, wired with alien circuitry.)
"A power source Stark never had the balls to use."
Max (approaching):
"Where's Toomes?"
Tinkerer:
"Upstairs. Talking about suits and flight harnesses. You know him—always dreaming big."
Max walks past him, reaching a concealed table—he pulls a tarp off a sleek console labeled:
> S.C.D. – Neural Sync Core Incomplete
Prototype: ARIUS
The machine looks… alive. Semi-organic metal and sleek Stark-style architecture. At the center, the glowing compartment meant to house something or someone.
Max stares at it, jaw clenched.
Tinkerer joins him, tilting his head.
Tinkerer:
"You're this close. Just say the word, and we push the sequence."
Max (cold):
"Not yet. The Neural Sync still fractures under memory load. I'm not cloning a corpse with scrambled thoughts."
Tinkerer (muttering):
"Always the perfectionist. Stark would be proud."
Max glares at him.
Tinkerer:
"Easy. I'm just saying… I get it. You wanna beat him. Outthink him. Prove he was wrong to toss you."
Max (gritted):
"He didn't toss me. He buried me. My name. My work. My family."
From the shadows, Adrian Toomes descends the grated steps, dark jacket on, mechanical flight harness partially assembled on a table behind him.
Toomes (calmly):
"And we're gonna unbury it. Together."
He walks to Max, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Toomes:
"We all lost something to Stark. But we're still here. They made their kingdom in the sky. Now it's our turn to rise."
Max nods, but his eyes drift—back to the S.C.D., back to ARIUS… and back to a folded drawing Riley left on his work table:
A cute sketch of a smiling robot between "Parker & Green." Still no faces drawn.
Toomes notices.
Toomes (smirks):
"Kid stuff?"
Max (quiet):
"Maybe."
Toomes:
"Keep your head in the game, Max. We're not just building tech. We're rewriting the rules."
Max folds the paper slowly, tucks it into his jacket.
Max (low):
"Just make sure the rules don't cost me my family."
The light flickers as the neural core pulses again—alive and waiting.
---
[Vulture's Hideout – Deep-Tech Lab, Sub-Level B4]
Long Island, New York City
June 1, (2015)
Tuesday, 12:27 a.m.
The basement lab is colder. Quieter. Like a forbidden vault beneath the chaos of salvaged Chitauri wreckage and Stark tech above. The air hums low, static and heavy.
In the center of the room stands the S.C.D. — Superior Cloning Device — a towering vertical machine wrapped in black steel and neon-blue conduits. A cylindrical pod is embedded at the core, flanked by processors grafted from both human and alien tech. Stark's signature arc circuitry glows faintly beneath the outer plating, illegally modified beyond recognition.
Phineas Mason wipes sweat from his forehead, crouched by the machine's foundation. He's rerouting a regulator node, the label reading: "Power Redistribution – Core Stability v2.9".
Phineas:
"She's drinkin' more power than a Quinjet at liftoff. If you push the sequence too early—"
Max (cutting in, focused):
"Then the memory lattice will shatter. I know."
He's perched at the console, fingers dancing across the interface. Holograms swirl around him: genetic maps, neural patterning models, cortex scans… and Subject-01—a DNA shell, near complete. No face. No full identity. Just blank data with one tag glowing above:
[STATUS: Awaiting Consciousness Imprint]
Phineas:
"You realize what happens if this thing remembers everything, right? It's not just a clone. It's him. Down to the grudge."
Max (quietly):
"That's the point."
He looks up at the display. His own face, from years ago—Stark Expo 2011. Standing in the crowd with Emily. Watching Iron Man soar over them.
He blinks it away.
Max (bitterly):
"Tony built a world and decided who got to live in it. Who got to be a genius. Who got to be remembered. Me? I got erased."
He inserts a small capsule into the neural interface — a data drive marked "Project: A.R.I.U.S."
A surge. The pod lights up. The chamber fills with vapor and static.
Phineas (stepping back):
"We're crossing lines now. Real ones."
Max (coldly):
"We already did when Stark shut down my lab and buried my daughter's name with it."
He presses a sequence on the interface. The S.C.D. begins to breathe—the pod pulses with rhythmic light. Slowly, a silhouette begins to shape within: bones forming, organs knitting, tissues knitting along the scaffold. A humanoid outline. Face still hidden.
Phineas (murmurs):
"Sheesh…"
Suddenly, the display glitches—brief red text flashing:
[MEMORY IMPRINT COLLISION DETECTED]
[Warning: Subject Consciousness Conflict — Identity Split]
Max (tight-jawed):
"No, no—override. Sequence lock at 73%. Contain memory loop."
He slams commands in. The lights flicker. A spark from the right side bursts. Then, stabilization. The error fades.
Phineas (freaked):
"What the hell was that?!"
Max (calm):
"Conflict between original identity and the neural copy. It means... it's working."
He walks to the pod. Sees the form inside—still faceless. Still incomplete. But alive. Growing.
Then he notices something taped to the side of his tablet. A crumpled doodle. Riley's sketch. Three stick figures. "Parker & Green" on either side. A small robot in the middle labeled "Arius" with a goofy smiley face. The warmth of it slices through the tension like a blade.
Max stares. Silent.
Phineas (softly):
"She drew that for you?"
Max (muttering):
"She drew it for what I used to be."
Phineas (half-grin):
"She's still waiting for him."
Max says nothing.
In the background, the S.C.D. pulses again. Alive. Watching.
Cut to black.
---
# # # # #
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Hey, it's the writer here, how's comment this chapter , drop your ideas and thoughts about it, thanks will help alot.