Marvel: CYOA

[Max_Striker]

Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction work. All rights to Marvel characters, settings, and intellectual property except OC belong to Marvel Comics. This story is a non-commercial tribute created for entertainment purposes only.

Jay had always thought his name was a joke. "Victory" in Sanskrit - his mother's hopeful choice for a son she believed would conquer the world. Instead, at twenty-five, Jay felt like he was drowning in the fluorescent-lit hell of Metropolitan General Hospital, working as a nurse practitioner in the emergency department.

It was 11:47 PM on a Tuesday, and Jay was mechanically updating patient charts, his mind elsewhere. Another sixteen-hour shift, another day of watching people at their worst moments while he felt dead inside. The attending physicians treated him like furniture, patients screamed at him for things beyond his control, and the hospital administration squeezed every ounce of productivity from his soul while paying him barely enough to service his student loans.

This wasn't the life he'd imagined. Hell, this wasn't living at all it was just existing, going through the motions of a life someone else had planned for him. His mother called every week, her voice bright with questions about when he'd find a nice girl, when he'd buy a house, when he'd give her grandchildren. The same script, the same expectations, the same suffocating path everyone assumed he'd follow.

Jay stared at the computer screen, cursor blinking in the notes field, and wondered what it would feel like to just... disappear. Not die, exactly, but vanish from this predetermined life and start over somewhere else, as someone else. Someone free to make their own choices.

The layout felt weirdly familiar. Like a half-remembered dream or a Reddit thread he'd read during a night shift. Those "what would you do if you could start over" posts that always made him scroll faster, pretending he wasn't mentally cataloging every escape fantasy.

The trauma alert shattered his daydream. Multi-vehicle accident on I-95, multiple casualties inbound. Jay sighed and pushed back from the computer. More broken bodies to catalog, more families to give devastating news to, more evidence that life was just a series of random tragedies punctuated by brief moments of false hope.

The first ambulance brought a screaming teenager with a compound fracture. Jay went through the motions - triage assessment, vitals, prep for the trauma team. His hands worked automatically while his mind wandered to a fantasy where he was somewhere tropical, no pager, no schedules, no one expecting anything from him except what he chose to give.

The second ambulance carried an elderly man in cardiac arrest. Jay watched the trauma team work for forty-seven minutes before calling it. Another family destroyed, another reminder of how fragile and meaningless everything really was. At least the old man was free now - free from pain, free from expectations, free from disappointing anyone ever again.

"Where's the third bus?" Dr. Martinez called out. "Dispatch said they were two minutes behind."

That's when they heard it - the screech of tires, followed by the sickening crash of metal meeting metal. Through the hospital's glass doors, Jay could see the intersection outside. An ambulance, lights flashing, had been T-boned by a drunk driver who'd blown through the red light.

For a moment, Jay just stood there. He was tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired of caring about things that didn't matter, of following protocols that served the hospital more than the patients, of being a cog in a machine that ground people up and spit them out. What was the point of running out there? More casualties, more paperwork, more of the same endless cycle.

But then he thought about the EMTs in that ambulance - people probably as trapped and miserable as he was, just trying to get through another shift. Maybe they had families waiting at home, maybe they still believed their work mattered. Maybe they deserved a chance to find their own freedom, even if he'd given up on finding his.

Besides, what did he have to lose? His crushing debt? His soul-killing job? His predetermined life that felt more like a prison sentence?

Jay ran toward the crash, and for the first time in months, he felt something like clarity. This was it - his moment to break free from the script, to do something that wasn't expected or required or part of someone else's plan for his life.

He was halfway across the intersection when the ambulance's oxygen tank exploded.

Jay's last thought wasn't about heroism or sacrifice - it was about how ironic it was that dying might be the freest he'd ever felt.

When consciousness returned, Jay found himself in what looked like the afterlife's customer service department. Everything was pristine white except for a single desk with two chairs, one occupied by someone who looked remarkably like a middle manager with infinite patience.

"Well, hello there!" the figure said cheerfully. "I'm XYZ - not my real name, obviously. My actual designation is about forty-seven syllables long and includes sounds that would make your vocal cords file a restraining order. ROB - that's my boss, the Random Omnipotent Being - suggested I pick something simple. I went with XYZ because I'm always the last stop before someone's next adventure begins."

Jay blinked slowly. "I'm dead."

"Very much so! Oxygen tank explosion. Quick and painless, if that helps. You were running to help the ambulance crew, by the way - they all survived if you are worried about them." XYZ shuffled through some paperwork. "Interesting case, yours. Most people in your situation focus on the heroic aspect. You seemed more focused on... escaping?"

Jay laughed, a sound devoid of humor. "Escaping, helping - what's the difference? Either way, I'm out of that life."

"Ah, but that's exactly why you're here!" XYZ's eyes lit up. "Your case caught ROB's attention because of that desire for freedom. A young man named 'victory' who felt utterly defeated by the constraints of his predetermined life, yet still chose to break free in his final moment. ROB was quite moved."

"Moved enough to do what?"

XYZ leaned forward conspiratorially. "To offer you something extraordinarily rare: a genuine second chance. Not just at life, but at living. True freedom to choose your own path, define your own destiny, become whoever you want to be."

Despite his cynicism, Jay felt a spark of interest. "What's the catch?"

"No catch, just choices. ROB is offering you entry into a new world through what he calls a CYOA system - Choose Your Own Adventure. Think of it as cosmic character creation, where every choice is yours to make." XYZ produced an advanced tablet from thin air. "This particular system was designed by someone called Valmar, and ROB was quite impressed with their work."

The tablet's screen displayed several world options, but one glowed brighter than the others: [MCU Plus - A world of unlimited potential, where power equals freedom and heroes forge their own destinies.]

"The Marvel universe?" Jay's eyebrows rose.

"Not just any version - one where all properties coexist. A world where someone with your intelligence and... creative interpretation of rules... could carve out their own kingdom of personal freedom." XYZ slid the tablet across. "Think about it, Jay. No student loans. No soul-crushing job. No predetermined path. Just you, unlimited potential, and the power to live exactly as you choose."

Jay picked up the device, feeling its weight.

"I could really do anything?"

"Within the bounds of your choices, absolutely. Want to be a hero? Your choice. Want to be something else entirely? Also, your choice. Want to build a personal paradise and tell the world to leave you alone? Completely your choice." XYZ's smile was knowing. "The only person who gets to decide how you live this new life is you."

Jay thought about his mother, probably still planning his life from what felt like trillions of miles away, still expecting him to follow the script she'd written in her head. The thought should have made him sad, but instead, he felt... relief. She'd never have to be disappointed by his choices again.

"Will I remember this life?"

"That depends on what you choose," XYZ said gently. "Some paths preserve memory; others offer different gifts. But the core of who you are - that desire for absolute freedom, that refusal to be trapped by others' expectations - that stays with you."

Jay looked at the categories on screen: INSERTION, DRAWBACKS, PERKS, POWERS. Each one represented a choice that would be entirely his own, with no one to please but himself.

"You know what the best part is?" XYZ added. "Whatever you choose, whatever you become, you'll never have to explain yourself to anyone ever again. True freedom means never having to justify your choices to people who don't understand them."

For the first time in years, Jay smiled - really smiled. "When do I start?"

XYZ leaned back with satisfaction. "Take your time. Eternity isn't going anywhere. And remember - this is your chance to finally live completely free. Make it count."

Jay pressed 'BEGIN' without hesitation.

The interface came alive with possibilities. At the top, a message appeared:

[Welcome to your new life, Jay. In this world, victory isn't about meeting expectations - it's about exceeding your own. Your choices will determine not just your power, but your freedom. Choose selfishly. Choose boldly. Choose for yourself.

The only person you need to satisfy is you.]

As Jay began scrolling through options with genuine excitement for the first time in years, XYZ leaned back with satisfaction. This one was going to be interesting. After all, the most dangerous kind of person was someone who had nothing left to lose and everything to gain.

The game and Jay's new life were about to begin.

Jay stared at the glowing tablet, feeling something he hadn't experienced in years - genuine excitement about making choices for his own future. The interface was sleek and intuitive, with categories that expanded smoothly as he touched them. At the top right corner, a counter displayed: [Points Available: 0]

"Zero points to start?" Jay asked, looking at XYZ with confusion.

"That's right," XYZ confirmed with a smile. "ROB believes in earning your power, not getting it handed to you. You'll need to make some tough choices to gain the points necessary for abilities and advantages."

Jay nodded, understanding the game now. He tapped on [INSERTION] to start building his new existence.

The category expanded to show two options:

[Drop-In (Gain: +2 Points)] - You'll be inserted into the world without any background, history, or family.

[Insert] - You will come into awareness in the world at your chosen age. You will have family, background, and history which will, where applicable, incorporate your chosen talents.

Jay didn't hesitate. Having a family meant having people who could be used against him, obligations he didn't choose, and expectations he'd have to meet. He'd spent his entire previous life being weighed down by other people's plans for him.

"Complete freedom," he said, selecting [Drop-In]. The counter updated: [Points Available: 2]

XYZ raised an eyebrow. "Interesting choice. Most people prefer to have some kind of support network."

"Support networks come with strings attached," Jay replied, scrolling down to the next section. "I've had enough of people thinking they know what's best for me."

Jay immediately tapped [POWERS] with a note saying he can only take one power. This was what he'd been waiting for - the abilities that would define his new existence.

The list that appeared made his heart race:

[Power Thief (Cost: 10 Points)] - You can drain the powers of those you make physical contact with. Brief contact will allow you to use a weaker version of their power and leave them exhausted. Should you drain them completely you will take their power from them and gain a copy for yourself. There is a limit to how many powers your body can hold, depending on the strain of the ability and your own capabilities, but any stored power can be passed to another. Others for whom you grant power can only hold two unique powers before their bodies start giving out from the strain.

[Babylon (Cost: 4 Points)] - Can create mid-air portals around yourself that can launch volleys of melee weapons of your envisioned shape and size. The amount of force and power instilled in these weapons scales depending on the user's own overall power. These weapons will fade away minutes after launch.

[Hyper Regeneration (Cost: 6 Points)] - Your healing factor is further amplified. You'll now recover from all but the most severe injuries in mere moments, and severed limbs will slowly regenerate in a matter of days. You are effectively immortal unless you are reduced to ash or less than an arm's worth of solid biomass.

[Omni-Kinesis (Cost: 15 Points)] - In a radius of 100 meters around you, with nothing but your will alone, you are capable of shaping the physical world. Moving objects, generating and manipulating all forms of energy or matter, or even creating constructs of everything the physical world has to offer.

[Timestop (Cost: 10 Points)] - Your power has the ability to suspend the subjective sense of time of anyone within 30 feet of you. Those under its effect are frozen in place for the duration of its activation.

[Kinetic Absorption (Cost: 7 Points)] - Your body can absorb up to 95% of kinetic force to stockpile for your own attacks. Your natural durability is not enhanced, but due to the nature of your power, most attackers will struggle to harm you.

[Vibration (Cost: 5 Points)] - You can control and generate vibrational forces on objects you make contact with or in condensed and focused directional waves.

[Gravity (Cost: 8 Points)] - You can control the gravity within a space of thirty feet around you up to twenty times or even nullify its effect.

[Avatar (Cost: 12 Points)] - You can not only bend all four of the elements, but you can also Energybend. With training, you can give and take away, bending to others.

He saw Babylon, the power to summon phantom weapons from thin air - a brawler's power, flashy but limited. He saw Hyper Regeneration, a near-immortality that promised survival. Survival was for the victims. He was done being a victim. He saw Omni-Kinesis, the raw, godlike ability to reshape reality in a hundred-meter bubble around him. The fifteen-point cost was staggering, but more than that, the limited range felt like a golden cage with him needing years of mastery to even begin to do the basic stuff people in Marvel do on a casual basis. He saw Avatar, the mastery of four elements, powerful and iconic, but still a defined, limited set.

His gaze passed over Kinetic Absorption, Gravity manipulation, and Timestop. All were incredible, game-changing abilities that could make a man a king. But Jay didn't want any of them cause of their control over a single concept with no scope of broadening their applications

Jay's eyes immediately locked onto [Power Thief]. His mind raced with possibilities. "It's like All For One from My Hero Academia," he whispered, "or Rogue from X-Men, but way better because I can actually control it."

The more he thought about it, the more perfect it seemed. Why limit himself to one ability when he could eventually collect dozens? In a world with Spider-Man, Storm, Iron Man, and countless other powered individuals, this was like having access to an unlimited arsenal.

"This is it," he said with certainty. "Why be stuck with one power when I can have them all?"

Without hesitation, Jay selected [Power Thief]. The counter immediately went red: [Points Available: -8]

"Bold choice," XYZ observed. "You've gone into debt for power. Very ambitious."

Jay grinned. "Some investments are worth going into debt for. This one's going to pay dividends.

Jay cracked his knuckles and dove into the [PERKS] section like a kid in a candy store. After twenty-five years of playing by other people's rules, the idea of customizing his own superpowers felt downright intoxicating. Sure, he was already -8 points in the hole from his drawback shopping spree, but honestly? That just made it more exciting.

"Alright, let's see what toys are on the shelf," he grinned, scrolling through the options.

[Power Protection (Cost: -2)] - Your powers can no longer be nullified, shut down, or otherwise kept from you.

[Mind Shield (Cost: -2)] - Your mind is now protected from all forms of mental attacks such as telepathy, mind control, or reading. You can choose to lower this protection should you so desire.

[DNA Lock (Cost: -2)] - Any DNA you leave behind, such as skin, hair, or blood samples, will now no longer be valid. Any trace of your DNA that leaves your body ceases to be useful for anyone meaning to study it. Great for avoiding cloning issues.

[Charisma (Cost: -2)] - You'll have an innate knack for making friends and swaying people to your side. Even your enemies are likely to gain some respect towards you.

[Power Training (Cost: -3)] - You now have a wealth of knowledge and experience associated with training and utilizing your powers and abilities. Even when you first awaken your powers, you'll be familiar with them as if you've been using them for years.

[Inventive (Cost: -2)] - You are creative and inventive when it comes to crafting various little tools and gadgets to aid your endeavors. You're especially good at working up last-minute solutions when encountering problems and obstacles.

[Presentation (Cost: -3)] - What truly makes a super stand out amongst their contemporaries isn't just about what power they have or how strong they are. Presentation plays a huge part for anyone who wants to truly be Super, to be larger than life and enthrall a crowd. The world itself will seemingly work in your favor just to aid in this, with cameras catching your best angles, light reflecting perfectly for dramatic flair.

[Adaptive Power (Cost: -5)] - Your powers are now more diverse in their usage. You can adapt your powers to work in unique methods beyond their initial scope, within thematic limits. Think laser vision that can curve trajectories instead of just shooting straight.

[Heightened Potential (Cost: -2)] - Your chosen powers have twice the potential strength. They won't start twice as powerful, but you have considerably more room to grow with training and effort.

[Fortune's Favor (Cost: -2)] - You are unnaturally lucky. While misfortune can still happen, you're more likely to get last-minute rescues or stumble upon valuable opportunities.

[Comic Nerd (Cost: -5)] - Something peculiar happened with your arrival. You hijacked someone else's reincarnation, some otaku who spent their life reading comics and watching anime. Their knowledge synchronized with yours briefly. While most of what they knew is useless trivia, they knew THIS world inside and out. You now have all the lore knowledge about the Marvel setting, even obscure stuff only hardcore fans would know.

Jay rubbed his hands together like he was about to crack the world's most entertaining safe. Being in debt just made this feel more like a real gamble - the kind where you either walk away a legend or crash spectacularly.

[Comic Nerd (Cost: -5)] - No hesitation. Jay slammed that button.

"This is like having cheat codes for this reality," he laughed. "I'll know who's gonna break bad, who's secretly a god, and what random junk in some SHIELD warehouse turns into a world-ender. Half the battle's just knowing what's coming."

'This isn't just useful, it's like having the strategy guide for the most dangerous game ever made.'

[Balance: -13 Points]

[Mind Shield (Cost: -2)] - Another instant pick.

"Emma Frost could turn me into her personal puppet." With a giddy laugh, he took it, feeling like he was hanging a giant "NO BOSSES ALLOWED" sign on his brain and declaring it officially under new management: his own.

[Balance: -15 Points]

[Power Protection (Cost: -2)] - Essential insurance policy.

"Government power dampeners, Sentinels, that Leech kid who shuts down mutant abilities, half their playbook is 'turn off the superhuman and arrest them.' If they can't switch me off, they can't stop me."

[Balance: -17 Points]

[DNA Lock (Cost: -2)] - Practical paranoia.

Jay took it instantly.

"I've read enough X-Men to know what happens when guys like Mister Sinister or the Jackal get a blood sample," he thought. "Next thing you know, you're fighting your evil twin in a sewer."

No clones. No unauthorized science experiments. His DNA dies with him, or stays with him.

[Balance: -19 Points]

[Adaptive Power (Cost: -5)] - The game-changer.

"This is what separates the pros from the amateurs," Jay said, his excitement building. "Most powered people think in straight lines. Fire powers? Throw fireballs. Super strength? Punch harder. This lets me get creative, turn any ability into a whole toolkit of applications."

The example about laser vision controlling trajectory got his imagination racing. Whatever powers he'll steal, they'd evolve with him, adapting to meet any challenge.

[Balance: -24 Points]

[Heightened Potential (Cost: -2)] - Future-proofing at its finest.

"Double growth potential means high ceiling. In a world where threats range from street thugs to Omega-level threats, unlimited scaling is basically mandatory."

[Balance: -26 Points]

Jay skimmed past the perks he wanted, ones that would've made things smoother, but this build wasn't about comfort.

Charisma (-2) Useful, but redundant. His powers and presence would already draw attention. Better to be respected for results, not supernatural charm.

Power Training (-3) Too expensive. With Adaptive Power and Heightened Potential already locked in, growth would come naturally. The struggle would teach him more than shortcuts anyway.

Inventive (-2) Tempting for sure. But with the powers he had in mind, he wouldn't need gadgets, he'd be the weapon. Let Tony Stark build toys.

Presentation (-3) He actually liked this idea; style mattered in the superhero game. But forcing it felt cheap.

Fortune's Favor (-2) Actually appealing, who wouldn't want better luck? But at -26 points already, every choice had to be mission-critical. Comic Nerd gave him foresight, which beat luck anyway. Better to see problems coming than hope to stumble out of them.

"Twenty-six points in the red," Jay announced with the satisfaction of someone who'd just placed the bet of a lifetime. "But look what I built - perfect information, bulletproof defenses, and growth potential."

XYZ looked like he was watching someone juggle chainsaws. "This is quite the deficit. You're betting everything on whatever drawbacks you pick next."

"Damn right I am," Jay grinned. " I need to be free, powerful, and unstoppable. Every perk I picked serves that goal."

He leaned back, feeling that familiar rush he used to get from video games when he'd min-max a character build to perfection. Now came the difficult part, choosing the debt that would make all this debt go away.

Jay stared at his current balance -26 points, and instead of feeling worried, he felt that familiar gaming rush.

"Time to balance the books," he grinned, opening the [DRAWBACKS] section. "Here's hoping I didn't bite off more than I can survive chewing."

[Heavy Eater (Gain: +3)] - Maybe it's a side-effect of your power or something else, but you have a larger appetite than most. You will need to consume at least thrice as much as normal to feel satiated.

[Govt. Attention (Gain: +2)] - A government agency has taken a keen interest in you. They are intent on capturing and studying your power, and are not above using underhanded tactics.

[Challengers (Gain: +4)] - After your debut, there will be more and more individuals coming out to challenge you with hopes of being the one to defeat you. Most won't be a match for you, but they'll be an annoying hindrance.

[Hunted (Gain: +4)] - After your debut, a hunter from beyond the stars will take notice of you. This alien has the skill, strength and technology to pose a threat. It will hunt you for sport in remote locations, but its honor won't allow it to cheat.

[Unmasked (Gain: +4)] - At some point after your debut, your true face and identity become exposed not just to government agencies but to the public at large.

[Rivalry (Gain: +6)] - You have a group of powered individuals that have teamed up specifically to defeat you. While individually they may not pose much threat, as a team they'll be a frequent headache.

[Blank Slate (Gain: +5)] - You forget everything you know about the world setting. You can remember general terms like it being about superheroes and villains, but beyond that, nothing(Incompatible with Comic book nerd perk).

[Inhuman (Gain: +3)] - Your power has left you with a distinctively inhuman appearance. You're unnatural and inhuman looking, not just human with makeup or horns.

[Arcane (Gain: +5)] - You're born without the ability to utilize magic. No amount of study or effort will change that.

[Not-Plot Armor (Gain: +2)] - It's difficult to control your urge to monologue when you have the upper hand. The longer you delay, the more likely good fortune shines on your target.

[Montage (Gain: +2)] - When you first arrive, you only have access to a quarter of your full potential. Within five years you'll gradually gain full power, but can speed this up with training.

[No Kill Rule (Gain: +2)] - You must not kill. Regardless of how dangerous someone is, you feel adamantly opposed to murder.

[Weakness (Gain: +2)] - You possess a natural innate weakness that either harms you or leaves you vulnerable. Has to be something feasible for others to exploit.

[Extremists (Gain: +2)] - After your debut, you'll be targeted by radical extremists. Not individually powerful, but their fanatical hatred can be troublesome.

[Clone Imposter (Gain: +2)] - Sometime after your debut, some mad scientist will create a clone of you with similar powers but less control. {Incompatible with DNA Lock}

Jay's Problem Shopping Spree

Jay cracked his knuckles and dove in like he was building the most challenging boss fight ever designed.

[Heavy Eater (+3)] - "This is basically a non-issue. I've always been able to put away food anyway. Plus, with the kind of powers I'm planning? I'll probably burn through calories like the Flash after a time-travel sprint."

[Current Balance: -23 Points]

[Unmasked (+4)] - Jay hesitated for a moment. "This one's... actually kind of scary. But honestly? Tony Stark had the right idea ' I am Iron Man' on live TV. No double life, no lying to people I care about. If I'm going to do this, I'm doing it completely."

He couldn't have freedom while hiding behind a mask anyway.

[Current Balance: -19 Points]

[Challengers (+4)] - "Every wannabe villain with new powers will come gunning for me," Jay muttered, reluctantly clicking it. "It's like painting a target on my back and announcing 'free shots.' But that also means I'll have more powers to steal and increase my arsenal."

The constant interruptions would be annoying, but the reward would be worth it.

[Current Balance: -15 Points]

[Hunted (+4)] - This one made Jay pause longer. "An alien hunter tracking me across the galaxy for sport? That's... just a Yautja who's decided I'm trophy-worthy." He took a breath. "Alright I can prepare for this…. I think."

[Current Balance: -11 Points]

[Rivalry (+6)] - Jay's enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "A dedicated team whose entire existence revolves around defeating me."

He clicked it reluctantly. He needed the points, and every legend needed worthy enemies.

[Current Balance: -5 Points]

[Arcane (+5)] - "This one hurts," Jay admitted. "Magic is an entire branch of power I'm permanently cutting myself off from. In a world where Doctor Strange can reshape reality with hand gestures, I'm voluntarily handicapping myself." He stared at the option. "But magic users answer to cosmic entities, follow ancient rules, get their power from borrowing dimensional energy. Cut off from magic, I'll be completely self-made - no mystical laws to navigate."

It was a steep price for independence, but he needed the points and the freedom.

[Current Balance: 0 Points]

Strategic Restraint

Jay looked at his current balanced at 0 points, and felt a deep satisfaction. He'd managed to build exactly what he wanted without going into debt.

"Zero points," he mused with satisfaction. "Perfect balance. I've got enough challenges to keep things interesting without being completely reckless."

XYZ was staring at him like he was watching someone juggle live grenades. "You just chose some of the most challenging drawbacks available, and you're... enjoying this?"

Jay leaned back, less triumphant now, more thoughtful.
"It's not like I want any of this. Constant challengers, a team of enemies, a damn alien hunter stalking me across the stars…" He exhaled slowly.
"But I can't afford to play small. If I'm going to survive, I need pressure, something to push me to steal better powers, adapt faster, stay sharp."
He glanced at the perk sheet. "Comic Nerd gives me the map. I'll know who to avoid, who to watch, and who to target when the time's right. If I prepare, really prepare, I can tailor what I steal to counter them."
He looked up, jaw set. "If they're coming anyway… I might as well turn them into milestones."

"And cutting yourself off from magic in a world where the Sorcerer Supreme exists?"

"Magic is dependency," Jay said firmly. "Strange gets his power from external sources, serves cosmic entities, and follows ancient rules. I'll be answerable to no one. While he's bound by mystical law and mystical politics, I'll be absolutely free."

XYZ shook his head in apparent disbelief. "In twenty thousand years of doing this job, I've never seen someone choose challenges specifically to be free. It's contradicting, actually."

"That's because most people are afraid of actually living," Jay replied. "I spent twenty-five years playing it safe and being miserable. Now I get to choose my problems, and I'm choosing ones that'll make me stronger, happy, and completely free."

The foundation was set, the challenges were locked in, and the books were perfectly balanced.

If you wanna hang out, join my Discord

Support my work and get early access to advance chapters, exclusive content, and bonus material at my P@treon - Max_Striker.

 

[Lillie Jones]

Watching
Continue on
Cheers!

 

[Despacitoleo]

Wait did you cross post from spacebattles?

Hell yeah man love yo see you here from that dookie sight with the pdiddy mods

ANOTHER GOATED AUTHOR JOINS THE RANKS

 

[Max_Striker]

Wait did you cross post from spacebattles?

Hell yeah man love yo see you here from that dookie sight with the pdiddy mods

ANOTHER GOATED AUTHOR JOINS THE RANKS

Click to shrink...

Huh? Why? Am I missing something?

 

[Despacitoleo]

Huh? Why? Am I missing something?

Click to shrink...

nah its the quality and rules lawyering of spacebattles has made it gone down

I like to use my own experience as an example
Where a mod just basically said

"yeah I purposely took that joke about a minor sexually"

View: https://giphy.com/gifs/R9eHI0XPDt1QbEWkWc

Spacebattles is kinda buns these days with the mods being butt cheeks, and some people's stories just getting deleted without warning or notice who thankfuly crossposted there story here some gacha fic i think it was, happened like a few weeks ago, also QQ users usually get some extra gore or adulty bits that SB or SV users dont LOL

 

[Max_Striker]

nah its the quality and rules lawyering of spacebattles has made it gone down

I like to use my own experience as an example
Where a mod just basically said

"yeah I purposely took that joke about a minor sexually"

View: https://giphy.com/gifs/R9eHI0XPDt1QbEWkWc

Click to shrink...

You made a sexual joke about a minor??

 

[Max_Striker]

The interface pulsed once, displaying Jay's final configuration in glowing text:

[FINAL BUILD LOCKED]

• Insertion: Drop-In (+2)
• Power: Power Thief (-10)
• Perks: Comic Nerd (-5), Mind Shield (-2), Power Protection (-2), DNA Lock (-2), Adaptive Power (-5), Heightened Potential (-2)
• Drawbacks: Heavy Eater (+3), Unmasked (+4), Challengers (+4), Hunted (+4), Rivalry (+6), Arcane (+5)
• Balance: 0 Points

Jay stared at the summary, a mix of anticipation and nervous energy coursing through him. No going back now.

"Satisfied with your choices?" XYZ asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

"More than satisfied," Jay replied. "This is the first time in my life I've built something completely for myself."

XYZ gives Jay a moment after locking in his choices. The interface dims as XYZ clears his throat.

"One more thing—you won't need to worry about the TVA."

Jay raises an eyebrow. "Time Variance Authority? I figured this much interference would get their attention."

XYZ smirks. "Their tools only work within official storylines. You're being dropped outside that framework—like a gap in their system. They can't prune what they can't see."

"So I'm invisible to them?"

XYZ stood up, the pristine white room beginning to shimmer around the edges. "Yes, you are. Well then, it's time to begin your new life. You're going in completely clean—no documentation, no identity, no safety net. Just you and your choices."

The cosmic middle manager's form was already becoming translucent. "Your insertion point has been randomized within acceptable parameters. You'll arrive shortly after a pivotal moment—when everything changed publicly."

"No papers? No starting cash?" Jay asked, feeling a flutter of uncertainty.

"You chose Drop-In for a reason," XYZ's voice was fading. "True freedom means starting with nothing but what you can build yourself. Your perks will integrate over the next few hours. The Comic Nerd knowledge will hit first—brace yourself."

The room dissolved completely, reality folding like origami, and Jay fell—

---

Jay crashed into consciousness on cold asphalt, his head splitting like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his skull. The Comic Nerd perk activated like a mental supernova. Names, faces, alternate timelines, story arcs—decades of continuity slammed into his brain like shrapnel made of trivia.

He forced his eyes open and immediately wished he hadn't. The late afternoon sun felt like needles, but through the pain, he could see where he was. Tree-lined suburban streets stretched in both directions, expensive houses set back from perfectly manicured sidewalks behind wrought-iron gates. And in the distance, barely visible through the treeline, was the outline of a very familiar mansion.

Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

Jay pushed himself up from the sidewalk, his new body feeling both alien and familiar. He was definitely taller than before, lean but with wiry strength. His reflection in a nearby BMW's window showed the changes—sharp features, messy dark hair with an almost ethereal quality, and brown skin that seemed to catch the light strangely.

The knowledge dump continued its assault. He knew exactly where he was, dropped practically on the X-Men's doorstep with nothing but the clothes on his back.

His stomach chose that moment to remind him about the Heavy Eater drawback, growling so loudly that a passing jogger gave him a concerned look.

'Let's see. Supernatural appetite, no money, no ID, and I'm probably on a dozen security cameras already.'

Jay started walking, putting distance between himself and the mansion. The sidewalks here were pristine, lined with trees older than most countries. Every house whispered of old money—the kind of neighborhood where senators had weekend homes. He needed to think, to plan, but the headache was making it difficult to focus. Every step triggered new flashes of knowledge—Wolverine's healing factor, Storm's weather control, Jean Grey's telekinesis, and her darker potential.

'So much power, all within a few miles of where I'm standing.'

But he couldn't just walk up and knock on the door. The X-Men were heroes, but they were also paranoid about threats to mutantkind. He didn't need a telepath to tell him how they'd react to someone whose literal power was theft.

The suburban perfection gradually gave way to something more recognizably middle-class. Jay found himself in Bayville's small downtown area after thirty minutes of walking—a main street that looked frozen in amber since 1985. Murphy's Hardware with its "Serving Bayville Since 1953" sign. A used bookstore called "Chapter & Verse." A bank branch so small it probably knew every customer by name.

The smell from Sal's Diner hit him like a physical force. Bacon, eggs, coffee, fresh bread. His enhanced appetite made his knees nearly buckle. If this was him now, just after arrival, what would the hunger feel like tomorrow?

'I need money. I need food. I need a plan.'

Jay studied the diner through the window. Late afternoon, not too busy. A few customers scattered around red vinyl booths, a waitress who'd probably been working there since the place opened, a cook visible through the service window with the unconscious precision of decades of practice.

A darker thought whispered: 'I could just take what I need.'

Jay shook his head, pushing the thought away. His condition was not an excuse to prey on innocent people.

'Start small. Start smart. The X-Men aren't going anywhere.'

A newspaper stand caught his eye. The headlines screamed about the impossible: "IRON MAN REVEALS IDENTITY," "TONY STARK: 'I AM IRON MAN,'" "WALL STREET IN CHAOS."

May 3rd, 2010. Stock markets in chaos. Government officials calling for registration of enhanced individuals.

Jay snorted. They had no idea what was coming. The Hulk was already out there, hiding in exile. Thor would arrive in a few years. The Tesseract was sitting in a SHIELD vault, waiting to call down an alien invasion.

A local news crew was setting up outside the bank, probably getting man-on-the-street reactions. The reporter, fresh out of journalism school, checked her makeup while curious locals gathered—retirees, teenagers cutting class, business owners on smoke breaks.

"—can't believe it's real," an elderly man was saying. "First, them Fantastic lot, now Iron Man, flying around like something out of a comic book. What's next, men shooting laser beams out of their eyes?"

'If only he knew,' Jay thought. Xavier's school was less than five miles away.

As the crowd dispersed after the broadcast, Jay noticed a wallet on the ground where an elderly woman had been standing. He picked it up, checking inside. Emma Rodriguez, eighty-three, with photos of grandchildren and forty-seven dollars in cash.

For a moment, Jay was tempted. But the photos of smiling children stared up at him, and he knew he couldn't do it.

Instead, he walked to the address on the license. Emma Rodriguez lived in a small Cape Cod with a garden that spoke of decades of care. When she answered the door, her face lit up with relief.

"Oh, bless you!" she exclaimed. "I was just realizing I'd lost it."

"Near the news crew," Jay said. "Must have fallen during the excitement."

Emma looked at him more carefully—the unkept clothes and hair, the slight tremor from hunger. "You look like you could use a meal, dear. Have you eaten today?"

"I... no, actually."

"Well, that won't do at all." She stepped aside. "I was just making lunch anyway."

The simple meal—grilled cheese and tomato soup—tasted better than anything Jay could remember. His enhanced appetite made him finish three sandwiches before he realized he was being rude, but Emma just smiled and made two more.

"So, what brings you to Bayville?" she asked.

"I'm... between situations. Looking for a fresh start."

"Running from something or toward something?"

"Both, I think."

Emma nodded as if that made perfect sense. "That's usually how it works."

On the television, news anchors continued their breathless Iron Man coverage.

"Different world now," Emma said. "Change comes in waves—sometimes gentle, sometimes like tsunamis. This feels like a big wave coming."

She was right. The world had always been stranger than people wanted to admit. The only difference now was the public's awareness.

When he finally left, it was with a full stomach and something he hadn't felt in years—hope.

Jay walked through the quieter residential streets of Bayville, his mind still buzzing from the Comic knowledge download and Emma's kindness.

That's when he heard the voices.

"—can't keep pretending this isn't happening, Margaret." The man's voice was tight with frustration, carrying across a well-maintained yard. "Xavier can't even fix the mutation. All he offers is 'acceptance' and 'training.' That's not what we need."

Jay slowed his pace, instincts prickling. Through a gap in the hedge, he could see a couple standing by their garden—him in an expensive business suit despite the weekend, her in the kind of dress that said 'country club lunch.' Both looked like they hadn't slept properly in weeks.

"Keep your voice down," the woman—Margaret—whispered sharply. "Mrs. Henderson already looks at us like we're running a circus."

"If the board finds out about Tommy, our whole company is at risk," the man continued, running a hand through his greying hair. "Government contracts don't go to families with... complications. And with this Iron Man business, everyone's going to be looking closer at enhanced individuals."

"He's a child, not a liability," Margaret snapped, but there was fear underneath the anger. "He's our son."

"He's both," the man said heavily. "And we need solutions, not sentiment."

Jay felt something cold settle in his stomach. He knew exactly what kind of "complications" they were talking about. The Comic Nerd knowledge provided the context—mutant children from normal families, manifestations that couldn't be hidden or explained away, parents caught between love and terror.

He had an idea, and his stomach was already demanding more food. Besides, these people had a problem he could solve.

It was just business.

Jay stepped around the hedge, deliberately making noise with his footsteps. The couple spun toward him, the man's hand instinctively moving toward what was probably a concealed carry.

"Sorry," Jay said, raising his hands peacefully. "I couldn't help overhearing. You mentioned complications with your son?"

"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded. "If you're some kind of reporter—"

"I'm not a reporter," Jay said calmly. "And I'm not with Xavier either, before you ask. I'm someone who might be able to help with your specific problem."

Margaret stepped closer to her husband. "What do you mean, help?"

Jay took a careful breath. This was it—the moment he either committed to this path or walked away and stayed hungry. "I can permanently remove your son's mutation. He'd be completely normal."

The silence stretched between them like a taut wire. The man's eyes narrowed with suspicion while Margaret's widened with something that might have been hope.

"That's impossible," the man said finally. "Xavier told us the X-gene can't be removed."

"Xavier's wrong," Jay replied. "It can be...removed. Permanently."

'Better not show all my cards just yet,' Jay thought.

"You're talking about removing a part of our son," Margaret said, and there was something fragile in her voice.

"I'm talking about giving him a normal life," Jay corrected. "No more fear of what he might do or what others might do to him. Just a regular kid with regular problems."

The couple exchanged a look loaded with months of sleepless nights and whispered conversations.

"What would you want in return?" the man asked.

"Fifty thousand dollars. Cash."

"That's—"

"That's less than you'd spend to hide his mutation," Jay interrupted. "And this is permanent. One transaction, problem solved forever."

Another loaded silence. Jay could see them weighing options, calculating risks and benefits like the business people they clearly were.

"We'd need to see him first," the man said finally. "Make sure you're not some kind of con artist."

"Of course."

They led him through their house—tasteful furniture, family photos with a conspicuous gap in recent years, the smell of expensive coffee. The backyard was a suburban paradise: manicured lawn, flower beds, a wooden swing set that looked barely used.

The boy was there, maybe seven years old, listlessly pushing himself on one of the swings. He looked tired in a way no child should—the bone-deep exhaustion that came from a body constantly fighting itself.

"Tommy," Margaret called softly. "Come meet someone."

The boy slid off the swing and walked over with the careful, measured steps of someone much older. When he looked up at Jay, there were dark circles under his eyes that should have been bright with mischief.

"Hi," Tommy said quietly.

Jay knelt to bring himself to the boy's eye level. "Hey there. Your parents tell me you've been feeling pretty tired lately."

Tommy nodded. "The doctor says my body works too hard. Makes me sleepy all the time."

"I might be able to help with that," Jay said gently. "Would you like to not be tired anymore?"

"Yes, please."

The simple honesty in those two words hit Jay harder than he expected. This wasn't some abstract transaction anymore—this was a tired little boy who just wanted to feel normal.

"Okay," Jay said. "I need you to sit down and give me your hand. It might feel a little strange, but it won't hurt. I promise."

Tommy sat cross-legged on the grass and extended his small hand with complete trust. Jay took it carefully, noting how warm it was—too warm, like the child was running a constant fever.

Then Jay activated his power.

The sensation was unlike anything he'd experienced. It started as a gentle tugging, like a magnetic pull between their skin. Then it intensified, becoming a flowing current that seemed to move in both directions. Jay could feel the boy's mutation—a chaotic, uncontrolled healing power that was burning through Tommy's body like an engine without a throttle.

The power was beautiful and terrible. The kid was healing Jay without any intention.

A touch that mended and healed others, but drained him every time.

And now it was his.

"Easy," Jay whispered, as much to himself as to Tommy. "Just let it flow."

The transfer felt like drinking lightning. Raw energy poured into Jay, wild and untamed. His own body began to adapt and absorb it, his power thief ability working to integrate the new ability safely. But the process was draining for both of them.

Sweat beaded on Jay's forehead as he carefully drew the mutation out of Tommy's system. The boy's eyes grew heavy; Jay could feel the exact moment when the last traces of the X-gene separated from Tommy's DNA—a sensation like a door closing gently but permanently.

Tommy's hand cooled to normal temperature. His breathing deepened and became more regular. For the first time since Jay had seen him, the boy looked genuinely peaceful.

"There we go," Jay said softly, releasing Tommy's hand. "How do you feel?"

Tommy blinked slowly, then sat up straighter. "Not tired," he said with wonder. "I do feel sleepy."

Within moments, the boy was asleep on the grass from the simple, healthy tiredness of a normal child who'd had a long day.

Jay stood carefully, his own body thrumming with new power. He could feel the healing aura settling into him, already beginning to work.

"Is it done?" Margaret asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's done," Jay confirmed. "His mutation is completely gone. He'll sleep for a few hours, but when he wakes up, he'll just be a normal, healthy kid."

The man was staring at his son with something that looked like relief mixed with guilt. "And is this permanent?"

"It is." Jay flexed his fingers, feeling the new ability humming under his skin. "It's not suppression or temporary. He'll never manifest again."

Margaret knelt beside her sleeping son, tears running down her cheeks. "He looks so peaceful."

"He is peaceful," Jay said. "For the first time in a long time, his body isn't fighting itself."

The man pulled out his wallet, then stopped. "We'll need to go to the bank. Fifty thousand in cash will take some arranging."

"Tomorrow's fine," Jay said. "I'm not going anywhere, for now, just a couple hundred will do."

As Jay walked away from the house, he felt the healing power settling into his system like a missing puzzle piece. Tommy would grow up normal, healthy, free from the exhausting burden of an uncontrolled mutation. Xavier would have surrounded the boy with other mutants, preaching acceptance while Tommy suffered.

The government would have catalogued him as a threat, even experimented on him. Jay had given him actual freedom.

Yes, he'd charged for it. But he wasn't running a charity, and everyone got exactly what they wanted. The parents had their normal son, Tommy had his health, and Jay had both a new power and the means to survive another day.

As he walked through the darkening streets of Bayville, Jay felt a quiet satisfaction. This was what real freedom looked like—making choices based on results, not expectations. No heroes' code, no villains' dramatics. Just practical solutions that actually worked.

He could live with bring that kind of person.

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[Max_Striker]

Jay woke up in a motel room that reeked of cheap disinfectant and decades of bad decisions. Fifty bucks for this dump, but at least it was anonymous.


His stomach hit him like a freight train before he was even fully awake. That gnawing, hollow feeling that seemed to eat him from the inside out. He'd demolished a full dinner last night plus snacks, and somehow he was starving again. The Heavy Eater drawback was turning out to be more expensive than he'd anticipated.


The digital clock next to the bed blinked 7:23 AM. Time to collect the rest of his payment.

---

Walking back through Bayville's wealthy neighborhood felt different in the morning light. Manicured lawns sparkled with dew, and early joggers nodded politely as they passed. Jay felt like an intruder wearing clean clothes, carrying secrets that could shatter their perfect little world.


The Henderson house looked even more imposing in daylight—all those Georgian columns and expensive landscaping screaming old money.


Mrs. Henderson answered the door, her face cycling through recognition, relief, and something that might have been hope.


"You came back," she said, like she hadn't quite believed he would.


"Told you I would. How's Tommy?"


She led him inside, past oil paintings that probably cost more than most people made in a year. "See for yourself."


Tommy was in the living room, building an elaborate fort out of couch cushions. When he spotted Jay, he grinned and waved enthusiastically.


"Look! It's a spaceship!"


Jay knelt down beside the fort, watching the kid's animated explanation of his imaginary space adventure. Tommy's eyes were bright, his color was good, and he moved with the boundless energy of a healthy six-year-old. No trace of the heavy exhaustion that had been there before.


"That's pretty impressive, captain," Jay said, and meant it.


For a moment, he was back in the pediatric ward, watching a kid bounce back from illness. Those moments had been rare in his old job, but they'd kept him going through the worst shifts. This felt the same, only better—he'd been the one to fix it.


Mr. Henderson appeared in the doorway, still wearing an expensive suit even though it was barely eight in the morning. "Tommy, why don't you take your spaceship upstairs?"


As the boy ran off, Jay noticed Mrs. Henderson favoring her left foot.


"You're limping," he said.


She waved it off. "Stupid accident. Tripped over Tommy's bike in the garage yesterday. Twisted my ankle pretty bad."


"Let me take a look."


"Oh, you don't need to—"


"On the house," Jay said. "Call it customer service."


She sat on the couch and rolled up her pant leg. The ankle was swollen and decorated with an ugly purple bruise that wrapped around to her heel.


Jay crouched down and gently touched the injured area. He'd done this hundreds of times as a nurse—checking for fractures, assessing damage. But now he felt something else flowing through him, a warm current that traveled from his chest down through his arms.


"This might feel strange," he warned.


A soft green glow spread from his fingertips into her skin. The warmth traveled through the damaged tissue, coaxing it back to how it was supposed to be. Jay guided the healing carefully, watching the swelling recede and the bruise fade from purple to yellow to nothing.


Mrs. Henderson stared at her perfectly normal ankle. "How did you—"


"Sarah, it's okay," Mr. Henderson said, moving to steady her. "He helped Tommy, remember? It's not dangerous."


Jay pushed himself up from the floor, swaying slightly. The healing had taken more out of him than he'd expected—like running a sprint after donating blood.


"Sorry," he said to Mrs. Henderson, who was still staring at him like he might spontaneously combust. "Should have warned you it would look dramatic."


Mr. Henderson's expression had shifted to something calculating. "How many powers do you have?"


Jay considered the question. The truth was complicated—he had one power that could become many different things, but explaining power theft would be incredibly stupid.


"Just one," he said carefully, "but it has different applications."


"And you can heal serious injuries? Not just bruises and twisted ankles?"


"Depends on the injury. Broken bones, torn muscles, internal damage—yeah, I can handle most of it. But it's draining. The worse the injury, the more it takes out of me."


Henderson nodded slowly. "I have business associates. Wealthy people who value their privacy. People who might need medical attention but prefer to avoid hospitals."


Jay felt familiar excitement building in his chest. This was exactly what he'd been hoping for—a way to turn his abilities into serious money without getting tangled up with the superhero community.


"The price would be substantial," he said.


"How substantial are we talking?"


"Depends on what needs fixing. But we're talking about serious money. Can these people afford it?"


"They most certainly can." Henderson pulled out his phone. "I'll make some calls. But I need a way to contact you."


"Working on that. Give me your card—I'll reach out to you soon."


Henderson handed over an embossed business card that probably cost more to print than most people spent on lunch.


"Now, about yesterday's payment," Henderson said, walking over to a wall safe hidden behind a painting of hunting dogs. He spun the combination and withdrew a manila envelope.


Jay tried not to stare as Henderson counted out the cash. Crisp hundred-dollar bills, neat and perfect, stacking up like green poker chips. When Henderson finished, the bundle was surprisingly compact—fifty thousand dollars reduced to a stack barely thicker than a paperback book.


"All there," Henderson said, handing it over.


Jay flipped through it quickly, more out of habit than distrust. The bills felt real, looked real, even smelled like that particular mix of cotton and ink that said "legitimate money."


"Pleasure doing business," Jay said, slipping the envelope into his jacket.

---

Walking away from the Henderson house, Jay felt like he was seeing the world through different eyes. The money in his pocket was more than he'd ever held at once, but it wasn't just about the cash. For the first time since arriving in this reality, he had a plan that actually made sense.


The Henderson connection was just the beginning. In a world full of superheroes and villains, there had to be plenty of people who needed healing but couldn't risk going to a hospital. People with secrets, people with enemies, people with money to burn.


No more emergency rooms full of overworked staff who hated their lives. No more administrators treating healing like an assembly line. No more insurance companies deciding who deserved to get better and who didn't.


Just him, his abilities, and clients who could pay whatever he decided to charge.


He thought about his old life—twenty-five years of following someone else's script, playing by rules designed to keep him trapped in mediocrity. That version of himself would have been horrified by what he was planning. Taking advantage of the wealthy, charging exorbitant fees for healing, operating completely outside the system.


But that version of himself had been miserable.


This version was finally free.


His stomach growled again, reminding him that freedom was expensive in more ways than one. Time to find breakfast, then figure out his next moves. Maybe look into getting a phone and finding a more permanent place to stay.

---

Back in his dingy motel room, Jay pulled out the manila envelope and spread fifty thousand dollars across the scratchy bedspread. More money than he'd ever owned, just sitting there like it was the most natural thing in the world.


The motel's ancient safe looked like it hadn't been updated since the Carter administration, but it would have to do for now. Jay counted out five thousand in hundreds, tucked them into his wallet, then locked the rest away.


Downtown Bayville looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, but Marvel-universe technology had pushed even small-town retailers decades ahead of the real world. The electronics store clerk barely blinked when Jay asked for their best smartphone.


"Top of the line," the kid said, sliding a device that looked like it belonged in 2025 across the counter. "Stark Industries licensed some of their interface technology recently. Touch screen, internet, GPS, video calling—the whole package."


Jay whistled at the price. "Eight hundred for the phone. What about activation without too much paperwork?"


"Extra two hundred. After Iron Man went public, lots of people want privacy from the government."


Fair enough. Jay walked out with a new Stark smartphone and several sets of professional clothes that wouldn't scream "scam artist" to wealthy clients.


The apartment hunt led him to a converted warehouse district—a small studio with exposed brick walls, decent security, and a landlord who didn't ask too many questions.


"Six months up front, cash," Mr. Kowalski said, eyeing Jay's complete lack of documentation. "And I don't know nothing about nothing, if you catch my meaning."


"Perfect understanding." Jay peeled off twenty-four hundred-dollar bills. "And if anyone comes around asking about your tenants..."


"What tenants? I got a storage unit here, that's all."

---

In his new apartment, Jay spent the evening diving down digital rabbit holes. The world he found online was a strange mix of the obvious and the hidden.


Iron Man was a global celebrity, with SHIELD's fingerprints already visible in the political subtext surrounding Tony Stark's new government contracts. There were hints about some kind of incident with Dr. Richards and a failed space exploration mission. Captain America was still just a museum piece—a frozen historical icon and nothing more. Bruce Banner was a complete ghost, though there were whispers of a green monster haunting blurry footage from South American jungles that the military was failing to contain.


The search for information about mutants was more chilling. Jay bypassed the sanitized modern news, digging into older, declassified government archives instead. There he found it: whispers of a "magnetic anomaly" during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Buried naval reports and heavily redacted eyewitness accounts spoke of a single, incredibly powerful mutant who had nearly forced a nuclear exchange between the superpowers. The world didn't know Magneto's name yet, but the highest levels of government had been terrified of him for decades.


The others were all still dormant, their personal tragedies yet to strike. A blind lawyer working in Hell's Kitchen, a decorated Marine just home from deployment, a stunt rider who had vanished completely off the grid. Of magic and sorcery, there was nothing but fantasy forums and role-playing games—a comforting silence given his complete inability to dabble in anything arcane.


Jay cleared his browser history, the bigger picture now uncomfortably clear. The world thought it was safe, celebrating its first public superhero. But the real players were veterans of a long, secret war that most people didn't even know was happening. And the next generation of combatants was still waiting in the wings, unaware of the roles they'd soon be forced to play.


'Time to start making my own moves,' he thought, patting the envelope of cash in his jacket pocket.

---

By the next evening, Jay was down to his last few hundred dollars but had everything he needed for the immediate future. More importantly, he had a plan that was already starting to take shape.


He bought enough food to feed a small army and headed to the downtown homeless shelter. When he arrived, it was the usual depressing sight of people just trying to survive until the next day.


Jay worked through the shelter slowly, handing out sandwiches and coffee to anyone who wanted them. People were suspicious at first—everyone wanted something in a place like this—but food talked louder than words.


"Haven't seen you around before," said a grizzled man missing most of his teeth.


"Just moved to town," Jay said, handing him a turkey sandwich. "Figured I'd meet some of my neighbors."


He learned names as he moved through the crowd. Maria with her chronically bad back. Bobby, a veteran with shrapnel still working its way out of his leg. Linda, who coughed like she was drowning in her own lungs.


"Mind if I take a look at that cough?" he asked Linda.


She wiped her mouth with a tissue. "Ain't got insurance. What you gonna do, pray over me?"


"Something like that." Jay sat down beside her cot. "Just let me know if anything feels weird, okay?"


His old nursing instincts kicked in automatically. The wet, rattling sounds, shallow breathing at twenty-four breaths per minute instead of a normal sixteen—classic bronchopneumonia. Poor nutrition, untreated bacterial infection that had migrated down into her lungs. In a hospital, this would mean chest X-rays, blood cultures, IV antibiotics, the whole nine yards.


But he wasn't in a hospital anymore.


Instead of trying to heal the infection directly, Jay focused on the inflammation that was burning through her lung tissue. He thought about Klein Moretti from "Lord of the Mysteries"—how in the later sequences, Klein could shift wounds and damage from one part of the body to another. Jay tried something similar, shifting the damaged tissue and immune response from her lungs to her fingernails, where it would be completely harmless and would simply grow out over time.


His Adaptive power kicked in, making the technique work, but it cost him way more energy than he'd expected.


Linda's coughing stopped mid-hack. She took a clean, clear breath, then another, her eyes going wide with shock.


"Jesus Christ," she whispered. "I can breathe without feeling like I'm drowning."


Word spread fast through the shelter. Bobby limped over on his bad leg. "She's been hacking up her lungs for two months straight. What the hell did you do?"


"Eastern medicine," Jay said, feeling the drain on his energy. "Holistic approach to healing. Your turn—that shrapnel giving you trouble?"


Bobby sat down heavily. "Doctors said they got it all out, but something's definitely still in there. Hurts like absolute hell whenever it rains."


Through his power, Jay could feel the retained foreign object—about the size of a pencil eraser, embedded deep near Bobby's femur. Normally, removing something like that would require surgery, fluoroscopy, and very careful dissection around major blood vessels. Instead, Jay shifted the metal fragment through tissue planes until it reached Bobby's big toe, made a small incision with a sanitized pocket knife, extracted the piece of shrapnel, and healed the tiny wound.


Bobby stood up and took a few experimental steps. No pain, no limping. "I've had that thing grinding against my bone for decades, and you just... what the hell are you, man?"


More people gathered around. Jay worked through them systematically—Maria's herniated discs shifted to her earlobes where they couldn't cause pain, arthritic inflammation moved to harmless toenails, old burn scar tissue relocated to places where hair would cover it completely. Each healing drained him more and more until he was shaking and had to lean against the wall for support.


"Easy there, doc," Bobby said, pressing a cup of hot coffee into his trembling hands.


The small crowd had gone completely quiet. People were flexing fingers that hadn't worked properly in years, breathing clearly for the first time in months, walking around without the pain that had defined their daily existence.


"How?" Maria asked, touching her back where decades of pain had just vanished. "Are you some kind of angel or something?"


"Just a guy with medical training and a weird hobby," Jay managed between sips of coffee.


"That's complete bullshit," Bobby said, but not unkindly. "That was a straight-up miracle. How can we possibly thank you for this?"


"You don't need to thank me," Jay said. "Just keep your eyes and ears open for me. I'm new in town and still learning how things work around here."


"Anything you need," Bobby said immediately. "We take care of our own, and you're definitely one of us now."


Jay slipped Bobby a hundred-dollar bill and wrote his phone number on a napkin. "I need eyes and ears around the city. People with powers have been coming out of the woodwork ever since Iron Man went public. There's a mansion north of town—Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Keep an eye out for wealthy people leaving there looking angry or disappointed. And anyone who needs medical help they can't get through normal channels."


Bobby's expression sharpened with understanding. "You government?"


"Exact opposite," Jay said, letting a little bit of green light dance across his fingertips. "I help people like us stay off their radar. How else do you think everyone just got magically better?"


Bobby nodded slowly. "You got it, Doc. Consider it done."

---

Back in his apartment that night, Jay called Henderson's business number.


"Henderson speaking."


"It's Jay. I'm all set up now."


"Ah, excellent timing. I've spoken with several associates, and there's definitely interest. Some are still skeptical, but others are very intrigued by what you can offer."


"My apartment is ready for discreet house calls whenever they are. How soon could we be talking about actual appointments?"


"Sooner than you might think. I'll be in touch very soon with specifics."


"Perfect. I'll be waiting to hear from you."


Lying on his new bed that night, Jay felt a satisfaction he hadn't experienced in years. Everything was falling into place exactly as he'd hoped—secure workspace, powerful connections, a surveillance network throughout the city, wealthy clients already lining up for services that money usually couldn't buy.


His power was evolving with each use, becoming more sophisticated and versatile. But his medical knowledge gave him an edge that raw power alone couldn't match—understanding pathophysiology, targeting problems with surgical precision, working with scientific efficiency rather than just brute force.


His phone buzzed with a text message.


Rich lady left the mansion this evening. Looked real pissed off. Driver took her straight to the airport. -Bobby


Jay smiled in the darkness. The network was already working better than he'd dared to hope.


Now he just had to wait for Henderson's wealthy associates to make their move. In the meantime, he'd keep building, keep growing, positioning himself exactly where he needed to be when the real opportunities started presenting themselves.


The game was just getting started.

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Support my work and get early access to advance chapters, exclusive content, and bonus material at my P@treon - Max_Striker.

 

[Lillie Jones]

Thanks for the chapter

 

[Max_Striker]

Jay was halfway through his third breakfast sandwich when his phone buzzed, vibrating against the worn surface of his kitchen table. The caller ID flashed a familiar name: Henderson.

"Jay, we have a situation," Henderson said, his voice stretched taut with urgency. "A high-power executive is in bad shape. This is a delicate one—strictly no questions. They just need someone who can fix it, quietly."

Jay set his coffee mug down, the warmth of the ceramic instantly forgotten. He was alert now, the last vestiges of his morning haze evaporating. "What kind of emergency?"

"Internal injury. She was cagey with the details, but she's offering thirty thousand dollars. Cash. Same day."

Jay's eyebrows climbed. "Where?"

"Manhattan. Midtown corporate district. I'll text you the address."

A knot of unease tightened in Jay's gut. "What's the client's name?"

"Caldwell," Henderson replied. "That's all she'd give me. But the address... well, let's just say she can afford whatever you charge."

After the call ended, Jay stared at the black screen of his phone. Everything about this felt wrong—the frantic pace, the obsessive secrecy, the skeletal details. But thirty grand was thirty grand, and despite the Henderson payment, his savings account was a shallow pond, not the deep lake he needed it to be.

The address led him to a corporate monolith of glass and steel that seemed to punch a hole in the sky. Standing on the sidewalk, Jay craned his neck, looking up at the endless, mirrored windows reflecting a distorted version of the city below. He smoothed down his bargain-bin button-down and adjusted his discount slacks, feeling like a cheap knockoff in a gallery of priceless originals.

The lobby was an echoing cavern of polished marble and chrome, populated by security guards who looked like they were carved from granite. Jay forced himself forward, his cheap shoes squeaking softly on the immaculate floor as he approached the reception desk.

"I'm here to see Ms. Caldwell," he said, pitching his voice to project a confidence he was miles from feeling.

The receptionist, a woman who looked like she'd been airbrushed onto the cover of a business magazine, gave him a cursory glance. "Floor forty-seven," she said, her attention already back on her screen. "You're expected."

The elevator ride was a silent, unnerving ascent through layers of corporate power he could barely imagine. The air grew thinner, the pressure building in his ears with each floor number that lit up. When the doors finally slid open, they revealed a hallway that screamed money, from the museum-quality art on the walls and the plush carpet that swallowed the sound of his footsteps.

Suite 4701 was at the very end. Jay knocked once, a sharp rap against the heavy wood, and a buzzer unlocked the door instantly.

The penthouse office was larger than his entire apartment building, dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a view of Manhattan that probably cost more per month than he used to make in a year. Seated behind a desk that looked like it was carved from a single piece of obsidian was a woman in her early forties. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and her charcoal suit was tailored with surgical precision.

"Ms. Caldwell?" Jay asked.

"Just Caldwell." Her voice was clipped and professional, but it was layered over a tremor of pain she was fighting to conceal. "You're the healer Henderson mentioned."

"That's me." Jay stepped closer, his eyes cataloging the details. The rigid set of her shoulders, the way she favored her left side. "What seems to be the problem?"

"The pain started on my side about three days ago. It's been getting worse since then."

"Do we have any idea what could have caused this?"

Her jaw tightened, a barely perceptible flicker of a muscle. "The specifics are not relevant. Can you fix it or not?"

Jay studied her, seeing past the corporate armor. There were deep-set stress lines around her eyes, and her left hand, resting on the desk, had the faint tremor of someone battling constant, grinding discomfort.

"I need to examine you. And for this to work, I need you to be honest with me about the cause." He gestured toward a sleek leather couch near the windows. "Could you lie down? I need to get a sense of the damage."

Caldwell moved to the couch, each step a masterpiece of controlled movement. As she lay back, Jay saw the tell-tale signs: the shallow breaths, the careful positioning to take pressure off her left flank. He knelt beside her, placing his hands gently over her ribs. Closing his eyes, he let his senses drift inward, mapping the landscape of her injury.

It was bad. Her spleen was ruptured, not from a single, sharp impact, but from sustained, crushing pressure. A slow, steady bleed had been poisoning her from the inside for days. Without intervention, she'd be dead within the week.

"This wasn't an accident, was it?" he said quietly, opening his eyes. "This wasn't one clean blow. What really happened?"

Caldwell's eyes snapped open, and for a fleeting moment, the mask of the executive fell away, revealing the terrified person beneath. "I had a... disagreement with a colleague," she said, the words carefully chosen. "It became physical. He got me in the ribs, and something shifted. In my world," she continued, her voice low and intense, "there are unfriendly eyes everywhere. Any sign of weakness is a vulnerability to be exploited. A hospital visit means questions, reports, and a paper trail. I can't afford that kind of attention."

A chill unrelated to the office's air conditioning prickled Jay's skin. He was getting a clearer picture now, a glimpse into a corporate culture so predatory that physical assault was a negotiation tactic and seeking medical care was a career-ending mistake.

"I can fix this," he said, his voice firm. "But you need to understand, left untreated, this would have killed you."

"I'm aware of the risks."

Jay placed his hands back over the injury. A soft, green light bloomed between his palms, and he focused, letting his energy flow into her. Healing internal injuries was an intricate dance. He had to do more than just mend tissue; he had to guide the regeneration, re-weaving the delicate tapestry of blood vessels, ensuring everything reconnected perfectly, leaving no trace of the damage behind.

Caldwell watched the light without flinching, though he could feel her muscles quiver as the healing energy surged through her. The ruptured tissue began to knit itself together, the internal bleeding slowed, stopped, and then reversed as the damaged cells were purged and replaced.

When he finished, Jay sat back, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Internal jobs always took a heavier toll, and this one had been a deep drain.

"How do you feel?"

She sat up, moving with a fluid grace that had been absent before. She took a deep, full breath, and for the first time since he'd arrived, her expression seemed genuinely relaxed. "Better," she said, a hint of awe in her voice. "Much better." She rose, walked to her obsidian desk, and withdrew a thick envelope from a locked drawer. "Your fee, as agreed."

Jay took the envelope, the weight of the cash a solid, reassuring presence in his hand. He didn't bother counting it.

"One more thing," Caldwell said as he turned to leave. Her voice was back to its steely, professional tone. "No one can know you were here. I trust that won't be a problem?"

"Patient confidentiality," Jay assured her. "I was never here."

As he walked out, paranoia gnawed at him. He wiped down the doorknob, the elevator button—and any surface he might have touched. It felt like overkill, but the atmosphere in this place had his nerves screaming.

He was crossing the lobby when he saw him.

A man was standing by the security desk, speaking quietly with one of the guards. He was tall, with dark hair, wearing an expensive suit that failed to completely mask a disciplined, military posture. He held up some sort of credentials, and the guard nodded respectfully.

Jay's blood turned to ice. His inner comic nerd, the database of faces and facts he'd been trying to suppress, kicked into overdrive.

Grant Ward.

The name hit him like a physical blow. Hydra's top sleeper agent, currently embedded deep within S.H.I.E.L.D. A specialist in infiltration, interrogation, and making problems like him permanently disappear. Jay's step faltered, just for a second, and he had to brace a hand against a cold marble pillar to steady himself.

'Shit. Shit, shit, shit.'

Every instinct screamed at him to bolt, but that would be like waving a giant, glowing flag. He forced his legs to move, to maintain a normal pace, to walk toward the exit. He fought the overwhelming urge to look back, his mind a repeating loop of a single, terrifying phrase: 'You're blown. You're completely blown.'

His hands were trembling by the time he hit the street, and it had nothing to do with the healing he'd just performed.

Ward being here was no coincidence. Either he'd been called to investigate an "unauthorized medical specialist," or worse—this was a trap from the very beginning.

By the time Jay made it back to the relative safety of his apartment, his phone buzzed. A text.

New guy came asking for you. Corporate badge—Roxxon something. Big guy, looked military. Nobody told him nothing, but he was asking the right questions. Heads up. -Bobby

Jay sank into his desk chair, the pieces clicking into place with sickening finality.

Roxxon. One of the most notoriously dangerous corporations in the Marvel universe, an entity that made the Umbrella Corporation look like a non-profit. He had just healed a top executive.

Henderson couldn't have known. The man was connected, but his world was one of hostile takeovers, not covert ops and corporate assassins. He thought he was doing Jay a favor. Instead, he'd marched him directly into the crosshairs of both Roxxon and Hydra.

His mind spun, racing through contingencies. The money was good, but it wasn't "get black-bagged by a Hydra death squad" good.

The naive kid taking jobs at face value was gone. From now on, it had to be background checks, client screening, multiple exit strategies.

His phone buzzed again. Henderson.

"Everything go smoothly?" Henderson asked cheerfully.

Jay took a breath, choosing his words with care. "More or less. Though in the future, I might need a bit more information upfront."

"Of course. Anything specific?"

He considered telling Henderson everything—the assault, the cutthroat culture, Grant Ward in the lobby. But Henderson was a civilian. Involving him would just put him in danger.

"Just standard due diligence," Jay said, the lie tasting like ash. "Client backgrounds, company affiliations. The usual."

"Understood. I'll be more thorough."

After hanging up, Jay emptied the envelope onto his desk. Thirty thousand dollars in crisp hundred-dollar bills. More money than he'd seen at one time in his entire life, old or new.

But as he stared at the pile of cash, all he could see was Grant Ward's face.

Time to be more careful.

And time to start planning for when they inevitably came for him.

ooOoo

Next day, Jay woke to the sound of his heartbeat thundering in his ears, his body coiled tight with tension he couldn't explain. The morning light filtering through his apartment's blinds felt hostile, exposing rather than illuminating. He lay still for a moment, listening to the building's ambient sounds—footsteps in the hallway, muffled conversations, the distant hum of traffic—and found himself cataloging each one as a potential threat.

'When did I become this paranoid?'

But even as the thought crossed his mind, Jay was already moving. He slipped out of bed and began his new morning routine—checking locks, testing windows, running his fingers along window frames and door jambs looking for signs of tampering. A week of living with serious money had taught him that wealth came with its own vulnerabilities.

He pulled out a notebook and started writing:

Immediate Contingencies

- Multiple false identities

- Offsite secure stash location

- Multiple Burner phones

- Backup safe houses

Jay was halfway through his planning when his phone buzzed. Bobby's name flashed on the screen.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, remember that rich lady from the other day?" Bobby's tone buzzed with excitement. "She came back. But get this—she didn't go straight to the airport this time."

Jay asked. "How do you know?"

"My cousin cleans the streets up there. Says the lady in an expensive dress showed up yesterday afternoon, stayed maybe an hour, then came storming out like her hair was on fire." Bobby's voice dropped to a whisper. "She's been at Murphy's Diner for an hour now, just sitting in a booth looking miserable."

Twenty minutes later, Jay walked into Murphy's Diner. He approached the counter with practiced charm.

"I'm meeting some friends, but they're running late. Could I get a table for four and maybe start with some appetizers?"

Jay ordered enough food for a small army—the perfect cover for extended observation and his enhanced metabolism. While he waited, he spotted her in a corner booth, facing the door. A woman in her late twenties, expensively dressed but trying to look casual. Dark hair pulled back, designer jeans, and hands wrapped in white bandages.

She was sitting rigidly upright, her eyes constantly scanning the room like she was expecting an attack. Every time the door chimed, she tensed. When a waitress dropped a plate in the kitchen, she actually flinched.

'She's constantly on alert.'

He ate slowly, watching her for nearly thirty minutes. She'd ordered coffee but barely touched it. Her phone sat on the table, but she wasn't looking at it—instead, her attention kept darting to other customers, tracking their movements with obvious anxiety.

Finally, Jay made his move. He approached her table, but instead of sitting down uninvited, he stopped beside it with his coffee cup in hand.

"Hey," he said softly, offering a gentle smile. "I saw you at Xavier's earlier, didn't I? You looked pretty upset when you left."

She looked up sharply, and he could see her eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion. Panic flashed across her face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's okay," Jay said quickly, raising a hand. "I volunteer there sometimes. I'm not going to out you or anything." He gestured to the empty booth seat across from her. "Mind if I sit? You look like you could use someone to talk to who actually gets it."

She studied his face for a moment, clearly torn between the desire for company and ingrained caution. "You volunteer there?"

"Yeah. Mostly just helping with day-to-day stuff, but I've been around long enough to recognize that look." Jay sat down slowly, keeping his movements non-threatening. "The 'they just don't understand' look."

She let out a bitter laugh. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to someone who's seen it before. Let me guess—they told you to embrace your gift? Learn to live with it? Maybe suggested you'd be happier around 'your own kind'?"

Her shoulders sagged. "Something like that."

"Yeah, that's their standard pitch. Don't get me wrong, they mean well. But sometimes what people need isn't acceptance—it's solutions." Jay leaned back casually. "What's your situation, if you don't mind me asking?"

She was quiet for a long moment, her fingers absently picking at the edge of her bandages. "You ever feel like your own body is betraying you?"

"How so?"

"Like it's giving you information you don't want. Making you aware of things that would be easier to ignore." She looked out the window. "I can sense things. Emotions, stress, danger. It started small, but now..." She unwrapped her bandaged hands, revealing precise, deliberate cuts across her palms. "Sometimes the sensation gets so intense I dig my nails in just to feel something else."

Jay felt intrigued.

"That sounds exhausting."

"It never stops." Her voice cracked slightly. "I haven't had a peaceful moment in two years. Professor Xavier was very kind, but he kept talking about training and control. Learning to live with it. But my family..." She shook her head. "My father works defense contracts. My fiancé's family owns a private security company. If they knew what I was, I'd lose everything that matters to me."

Jay nodded sympathetically. "The Professor's approach works for some people. But he's pretty committed to the idea that mutations are permanent parts of who we are."

"Aren't they?"

"Not necessarily." Jay kept his voice carefully casual. "There are... alternative approaches. Less mainstream ones."

Her eyes sharpened with interest. "What kind of alternatives?"

"Well, I have a unique ability. I can permanently remove X-gene mutations from people who don't want them."

She stared at him for a long moment. "That's possible?"

"I've done it before. Helped a little boy whose mutation was making him constantly sick. His parents were desperate. Now he's just a normal, healthy kid."

"And the removal... it's permanent?"

"Completely. Once it's gone, it's gone for good."

Claire was quiet for a moment, then pulled out her phone and showed him a photo—herself smiling next to a handsome man in an expensive suit at what looked like a corporate event.

"That's my fiancé, David. We're supposed to be married in six months. He's a good man, but his family has very specific ideas about the ideal bride for him." She put the phone away. "I just want to feel normal again. To be able to sit in a room without feeling everyone else's stress and anger."

"That could be arranged," Jay said carefully. "Though this kind of procedure... it's not exactly sanctioned by Xavier's. It would need to be handled privately."

"What would that involve?"

"A consultation fee, mainly. This kind of work is... specialized, and carries certain risks."

"How much?"

Jay pretended to consider. "For something this complex? Probably around a hundred thousand. I know that sounds like a lot, but—"

"That's all?" Claire looked almost relieved. "I have access to resources. Jewelry, gold, assets that can't be easily traced. When could this happen?"

"Actually," Jay said, glancing around the diner, "it could happen right now. The process looks completely normal to anyone watching—just a handshake between two people having coffee."

"Here? Now? Is this going to hurt?"

"Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight. And no, it won't hurt" Jay extended his hand across the table. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Claire." She looked at his outstretched hand for a moment, then gripped it firmly.

The moment their skin touched, Jay felt a gentle pulling sensation, like a slow tide drawing something away from her and into him. It wasn't violent, more like watching water flow from one container to another. Claire's ability settled into him gradually, layer by layer. First came the basic awareness—a subtle sense of the emotional temperature in the room. Then deeper: the cook's irritation, the businessman's frustration, the teenage waitress's anxiety about her finals.

But it was more than emotions. He could sense potential dangers too: the wet spot near the kitchen where someone might slip, the frayed cord behind the coffee machine, the tension building between a couple three booths over that might escalate into an argument.

The sensation refined itself as his Adaptive Power Perk kicked in, organizing the input into something manageable. He could filter now, focusing on immediate concerns while pushing background noise to a gentle hum.

Claire, meanwhile, had gone completely still. Her rigid posture melted away, her shoulders dropping as years of constant tension finally released. She blinked slowly, like someone waking from a long, troubled sleep.

"Oh my god," she whispered, tears starting to form. "It's quiet. It's actually quiet."

"How do you feel?"

"Like I've been carrying a weight I didn't even realize was there, and someone just lifted it off my shoulders." She flexed her fingers, looking at her hands like she was seeing them for the first time. "I can't sense anything from you, from anyone. It's wonderful."

They spent another few minutes working out the payment logistics—Claire would gather the assets and meet him at a storage facility she rented under a different name. As she prepared to leave, she paused.

"Thank you. I know this is just business, but... you gave me my life back."

After she left, Jay finished his meal slowly, marveling at his new ability. As he walked home, the danger sense proved its worth immediately—he felt aggressive intent from someone in the alley beside the diner and took a different route. The would-be mugger was only about thirty feet away when the sensation hit, close enough that Jay could have been in real trouble without the warning.

'If they're hunting me,' he thought, 'now I'll know them coming.'

[A/N]: Your thoughts matter more than you know. Drop a comment—every bit of feedback is fuel for the next chapter

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Support my work and get early access to advance chapters, exclusive content, and bonus material at my P@treon - Max_Striker.

 

[Max_Striker]

Jay stepped off the Metro-North train at Grand Central, letting the Tuesday morning rush hour swallow him whole. The commuter crowd flowed around him—suits heading to Midtown offices, tourists clutching subway maps, students rushing toward Columbia. Perfect camouflage for someone who needed to disappear into the city's background noise.

He'd spent the ride from Bayville thinking about scale. Claire's payment had padded his accounts nicely, but he was still thinking too small. Playing it safe in the suburbs, taking one client at a time—that wasn't freedom. That was just a prettier cage.

If you want powered individuals in bulk, you go where powered people are broke. And in Marvel? That's always New York.

The city hit him like a physical force. The smell of hot dog carts mixed with exhaust and that indefinable urban musk of eight million people living on top of each other. Car horns created a symphony of barely controlled chaos while construction crews jackhammered through another "essential infrastructure project."

Jay loved it immediately.

He started in Hell's Kitchen, walking narrow streets between tenements that looked like they'd been standing since the city was founded. This was ground zero for the street-level superhero community—Daredevil's territory, though the blind lawyer was still just a blind lawyer for now.

He was walking past Josie's Bar when he saw her.

Tall woman in a leather jacket, dark hair hanging loose around her shoulders. She was walking out of Golden Dragon Chinese Takeout with a plastic bag. Her posture was casual but alert.

Jay's comic knowledge kicked in like a searchlight cutting through fog.

Jessica Jones.

He forced himself to keep walking, but his mind was already racing. Jessica Jones meant Luke Cage was somewhere in the city. It meant there was an entire underground community of powered individuals living paycheck to paycheck.

More importantly, it meant somewhere out there was Kilgrave.

Jay ducked into a newspaper stand, pretending to browse while he processed the implications. The Purple Man—the mind controller who could make anyone do anything with a few spoken words. In the comics and show, he'd controlled Jessica for months, turning her into his puppet.

I can't be mind-controlled, Jay realized, touching the mental shield perk he'd chosen. Purple Man is the perfect first real villain. And his power is too dangerous to be left alone.

It was strategic brilliance. Kilgrave was terrifying on a personal level but operated small-scale. He was psychological horror that most heroes couldn't touch. But Jay could. His mind shield made him immune, and power theft would let him turn Kilgrave's greatest strength against him.

Jay pushed the thought away. First things first—he needed to upgrade his infrastructure.

---

The forger worked out of a massage parlor in Little Odessa, Brighton Beach. Jay had gotten the contact from Bobby, who'd gotten it from someone who knew someone who'd once needed to disappear from some very unfriendly creditors.

The parlor's waiting room was decorated in aggressive tackiness—red velvet everything, gold-framed mirrors. The clientele looked like extras from a mob movie: men in expensive tracksuits, women with hair that defied gravity.

"You here for Dmitri?" The receptionist was a blonde with an accent thick enough to cut with a knife.

She led him to a back office where sat Dmitri—a man who looked like he'd been assembled from spare parts of other, larger men. Even Kingpin would look thin compared to him.

"You need papers?" Dmitri's English was precise but heavily accented.

"Yeah. I need multiple identities, high quality. Medical credentials for one, courier license for another."

"It'll be expensive."

"I figured."

Within an hour, Jay walked out with two driver's licenses, a medical assistant certification, and a courier ID that would pass anything short of federal scrutiny. He also left with three prepaid burner phones and a storage locker key for Queens.

---

The gun dealer operated out of a fishing boat moored near the South Street Seaport. Which would have been more intimidating if the boat wasn't called "Sea Ya Later" and painted in colors that made it visible from orbit.

Toby—not his real name, obviously—was a Vietnam vet who'd discovered that selling firearms to people who couldn't buy them legally was considerably more profitable than actually fishing.

"Say, do you also kiss your girlfriend upside-down in the rain, or...?" Jay asked, eyeing the boat's ridiculous paint job.

"What? You messing with me?" Toby barked.

Jay put his hands up. "Nah, man, just nervous, that's all."

"You ever actually fire one of these?" Toby asked, watching Jay examine a compact Glock 19.

"Some." Jay had spent quite a bit of time at shooting ranges during his residency. Stress relief, he'd told himself, though honestly it had just been another way to avoid going home to his empty apartment.

Toby led him to the boat's hold, converted into a surprisingly professional shooting range. The sound suppression was so good that the gun's report was barely louder than a handclap.

"Nice grouping," Toby admitted after Jay put six rounds into the center of a target at fifteen yards. "You want the suppressor?"

"Yes. And something non-lethal. Taser, maybe pepper spray."

"Planning to take down gangs?" Toby's grin suggested he was joking, but his eyes suggested he really wasn't.

"Just covering all the bases."

Jay left with the Glock, two magazines, a quality suppressor, and a tactical pen that was really a disguised taser.

---

His phone buzzed as he walked back toward the subway. Bobby's number.

"How's the city treating you?" Bobby's voice carried background noise of traffic and construction.

"Like it's trying to mug me, but in a charming way. What's the word from the network?"

"It's grown, Jay. A lot. We've got people in Queens, the Bronx, Hell's Kitchen, Harlem. Word gets around about a guy who heals people and asks for nothing but information. Folks are starting to call you 'The Doc.'"

Jay winced. "Please tell me that's not catching on."

"Little late for that."

Jay found a relatively quiet corner near a hot dog cart. "I need you to start tracking someone. Woman, tall, dark hair, leather jacket. Name's Jessica Jones." He texted Bobby a photo he'd discretely snapped. "She's been spotted in Hell's Kitchen and the Lower East Side."

"You want her found?"

"I don't care about her specifically. I care about who's watching her. There's a man who's interested in her—very interested. Goes by Kilgrave. He's... dangerous."

Bobby was quiet for a moment. "You sure you want to get tangled in this? There are stories, Jay. People who cross certain lines in this city, they don't come back the same. Some don't come back at all."

Jay watched the crowd flow around him—workers heading home, couples on dates, families navigating the subway system. Normal people living normal lives, completely unaware that there were predators who could rewrite their minds with a whisper. But Jay knew Kilgrave's weakness: his pheromones had a range of about eighty feet, and commands needed to be refreshed every twelve hours.

"Just tell whoever's tracking them to keep a distance of at least a hundred feet. And report back every twelve hours. I want to know where they go, who they talk to, what they do."

"And if this Kilgrave guy notices he's being watched?"

"Then we'll know exactly how dangerous he really is."

After hanging up, Jay stood in the growing twilight, watching the city light up around him. Somewhere out there, Jessica Jones was probably still struggling with her new hero role, trying to find her place, still full of hope. Somewhere else, Kilgrave was planning his next move, completely confident that his mind control abilities could bend anyone to his will.

But Jay had something neither of them knew about.

The mantis stalks the cicada, but the oriole stalks them both.

Time to find out which one he really was.

---

Three days later, Bobby's call came at 2 AM.

"Found them," his voice was tight with tension. "Warehouse district, near the docks. Your Jessica Jones walked right into what looks like a trap."

Jay was already moving, pulling on his coat and checking his equipment. "How long?"

"My guy lost visual about two minutes ago. Building's isolated—old textile factory. If someone was planning something private..."

"Send me the address."

Jay's cab ride through the empty streets felt like the longest ten minutes of his life. The warehouse district was a graveyard of New York's industrial past—skeletal cranes and empty buildings casting jagged shadows under sickly streetlights.

He paid the driver three blocks away and approached on foot, moving through the maze of abandoned loading docks and rusted chain-link fences. The textile factory loomed ahead, its broken windows like dead eyes staring out at the East River.

Jay circled the building twice, noting the lack of guards.

The side door was unlocked. Of course it was.

Jay slipped inside, immediately hit by the smell of dust, rust, and something else—something chemical and wrong. The factory floor stretched out before him, old machinery covered in tarps like sleeping giants. Somewhere in the darkness, he could hear voices.

He moved closer, using the machinery for cover, until he had a clear view of the center of the factory floor.

Jessica Jones stood motionless under a single working light, her body rigid as stone, but her eyes burned with the fury of a caged animal. She couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even turn her head away from the pale figure circling her like a predator savoring its prey.

Kilgrave looked exactly like the show—thin, elegant, wearing an expensive purple suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. His movements were precise, theatrical, like he was performing for an audience of one.

"You feel it, don't you?" Kilgrave's voice was silk over steel, his British accent making every word sound refined and cultured, even as he spoke of atrocities. "Your body obeying me while your mind screams in protest. It's quite beautiful, really—the way you struggle against something so inevitable."

Jessica's jaw clenched involuntarily as he commanded it to. Jay could see the rage in her eyes, the way her muscles strained against invisible bonds. She had strength enough to lift a car, could punch through marble walls, but none of that mattered when her own nervous system had been turned against her.

"I've been watching you, Jessica," Kilgrave continued, stopping in front of her. "Learning your patterns. Your precious little apartment, your pathetic attempts at being a hero. Helping people less then you" He reached out and traced a finger along her cheek. "You think you're so strong, so independent. But look at you now."

Jay had heard enough. He stepped out from behind a piece of machinery, his footsteps echoing in the vast space.

"Jesus Christ," he called out, his voice carrying a mixture of disgust and genuine bewilderment. " Mind-controlling women in abandoned warehouses. Looks like you fell too hard from the TARDIS, don't you think?"

Kilgrave whirled around, his concentration breaking just enough for Jessica to feel a flicker of hope. But the moment of distraction cost her—she could feel Kilgrave's attention snapping back to her, the invisible chains tightening.

"Who dares interrupt—" Kilgrave began.

"Oh, spare me the dramatic villain speech," Jay said, stepping into the light. He looked relaxed, almost bored, but Jessica could see the way his hand rested near his coat pocket. "I've been tracking you for days now, and I have to say, your reputation is vastly overinflated."

Kilgrave's eyes narrowed. He wasn't used to people interrupting him, let alone mocking him. "You're making a grave mistake, little man. I am Kilgrave. I make people do whatever I want."

"Yeah, I've heard the stories." Jay took another step closer. "Mind control through airborne pheromones. Impressive party trick."

The casual recitation of his abilities clearly unsettled Kilgrave. "How do you—"

"Know your powers?" Jay smiled, but there was nothing friendly in it. "I make it my business to know about predators."

Kilgrave's face twisted with rage. "Enough! Kneel before me!"

The command hit like a physical blow. Jay felt it wash over him—the overwhelming compulsion to drop, to submit, to worship this pale monster in his ridiculous purple suit. The pheromones invaded his lungs, tried to worm their way into his bloodstream.

And then they hit his mental shield and shattered like glass against steel.

Jay's knees buckled slightly, and he let himself drop to one knee, head bowed. Better to let Kilgrave think his power was working.

"That's more like it," Kilgrave purred, his confidence returning instantly. He walked over and placed his foot on Jay's head, pressing down until the man was forced to support Kilgrave's weight. "All talk, just like the rest of them. Did you really think you could challenge me?"

Jessica's flicker of hope died. Another person trying to help her, now kneeling at Kilgrave's feet. How many more people would suffer because of her?

"You know what I think?" Kilgrave said, grinding his heel against Jay's skull. The expensive leather of his shoe was surprisingly heavy. "I think you should stay right there and watch what I do to dear Jessica. Perhaps it will teach you about the natural order of things."

"You want to know what I think?" Jay said, his voice muffled but strangely calm.

"I didn't give you permission to—"

Jay's hand moved with practiced precision, producing what looked like an ordinary pen from his coat. But when he jammed the tip into Kilgrave's ankle and pressed the trigger, fifty thousand volts of electricity surged through the contact point.

Kilgrave's scream echoed off the warehouse walls as every muscle in his body contracted at once. His foot slipped off Jay's head as he convulsed, crashing to the concrete floor like a marionette with cut strings.

Jay rolled away and came up in a fighting stance, the taser pen already resetting for another shock. "Yeah, about that kneeling thing..." He grinned, and it was all predator. "Turns out mental immunity isn't just theoretical."

Kilgrave thrashed on the ground, his nervous system still misfiring from the electrical shock. "Impossible," he gasped. "No one can resist—"

Jay hit him with another jolt, this one longer and more vicious. "Resist what? Your little pheromone party trick?" He grabbed Kilgrave by the lapels and hauled him upright. "I've been immune since the moment you opened your mouth."

The words hit Kilgrave harder than the electricity. For the first time in years, maybe decades, he was facing someone who couldn't be controlled. Someone who saw him not as a master or a god, but as exactly what he was—a pathetic man in an expensive suit.

"This is for every person you've violated," Jay snarled, his calm facade cracking to reveal something cold and furious beneath. He shocked Kilgrave again, watching him convulse. "Every life you've destroyed because you're too weak to earn what you want."

But Jay wasn't finished. With Kilgrave stunned and helpless, he grabbed the man's wrist and activated his power absorption ability.

The sensation was unlike anything Jay had experienced before. Kilgrave's ability didn't flow into him like liquid—it writhed. Something alive and squirming moved beneath Kilgrave's skin, like parasites threading their way through his veins.

Each pulse brought more strength, more control. Jay could feel the pheromone-producing glands in Kilgrave's throat, the neurological pathways that let him implant commands in other minds. All of it becoming his.

Kilgrave's eyes went wide with horror as he felt his power being drained away. "No," he whispered, then louder, "NO! You can't—"

He tried to issue a command, tried to force Jay to stop, but the words came out as nothing more than desperate sounds. His voice carried no weight, no compulsion. Where his abilities used to hum with constant power was now just... emptiness.

Jay felt the last threads of Kilgrave's power settle into his own nervous system. The knowledge came with it—how to release the pheromones, how to craft commands that would bypass conscious thought, how to make people love him or fear him or forget he'd ever existed.

It was intoxicating. And terrifying.

"Feels different from this side, doesn't it?" Jay said, releasing Kilgrave's wrist. The man collapsed like a broken doll.

Jessica felt the invisible chains around her will shatter. The relief was so intense it nearly brought her to her knees, but her rage kept her upright. Months of nightmares, of waking up wondering what he'd made her do while she was under his control—all of it came rushing back.

"Please," Kilgrave gasped, looking up at Jessica with genuine fear for the first time she could remember. "I'll leave. I'll disappear. You'll never see me again, I promise—"

"You'll what?" Jessica's voice cut through his pleas like a blade. She stalked toward him, her superhuman strength making each footstep crack the concrete. "You'll promise to be good? You'll apologize for the months you stole from me?"

Jay stepped back, recognizing this moment belonged to her. There was something in Jessica's eyes—not just rage, but a need for closure that only she could provide.

Jessica reached down and grabbed Kilgrave by the throat, lifting his entire frame off the ground with one hand. He weighed maybe 150 pounds; she could have thrown him across the warehouse without breaking a sweat.

"I used to have nightmares about you," she said, her voice eerily calm. "I'd wake up screaming, wondering what you made me do that I couldn't remember. But you know what I realized?"

Kilgrave clawed weakly at her grip, his face turning purple. "Jessica, please—"

"You're not a monster." She drew back her fist, and Jay could see the years of suppressed fury burning in her eyes. "You're just a pathetic little man who never learned that 'no' means 'no.'"

The sound of Kilgrave's bones breaking was deeply satisfying. Jessica dropped him and stepped back, watching him fall to the concrete in a heap. He was breathing, but barely conscious, blood streaming from his ruined nose.

"Is he...?" Jessica started to ask.

"Unconscious, not dead," Jay said, checking Kilgrave's pulse. "Though his abilities are gone permanently. Think of it as delayed justice."

Jessica studied the stranger more carefully. He was maybe thirty, lean but strong-looking, with dark hair and intelligent eyes. There was something predatory about him, but it felt directed outward—protective rather than threatening.

"Who are you?"

Jay stood, brushing dust off his coat. He glanced down at Kilgrave's broken form and shook his head. "You know what's really messing with me right now?" he muttered, more to himself than to her. "I used to watch you on TV every Sunday night. Different character, obviously. Guy who saved the universe instead of..." He gestured at the destruction around them.

Then, focusing on Jessica, he said, "For now? Call me Doctor."

He pulled out a small white business card and handed it to her. It was plain except for a phone number and a simple message: "For emergencies. For healing. For super-troubles."

"I don't understand," Jessica said, turning the card over in her hands.

Jay's hand briefly glowed with a soft green light as he passed it over a scrape on Jessica's arm from where she'd struggled against Kilgrave's control. The pain vanished instantly, the skin knitting itself together as if it had never been broken.

"Let's just say I have unusual hobbies," he said with a slight smile. "If you ever find yourself in a situation like this again, or if you know other enhanced individuals who need help, call that number."

"Wait," Jessica called as he turned to leave. "What happens to him?"

Jay glanced back at Kilgrave's unconscious form. "That's up to you. But if you're smart, you'll make sure he never walks free again. His powers are gone, but the list of people he's hurt?" Jay's expression hardened. "It's long. Too long."

Jessica looked down at the card in her hand, then at Kilgrave.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

But when she looked up, the stranger was gone. Only the card remained.

Jessica Jones stood alone in the warehouse, finally free to make her own decisions. And her first decision was to make sure Kilgrave would never hurt anyone ever again.

She pulled out her phone and dialed 911. It was time to tell her story, and even if it revealed their powers, she'd let the justice system decide what to do with a monster who could no longer hide behind stolen minds.

The control had been shattered. She was free.

And somewhere in the shadows of New York, Jay walked away with new power coursing through his veins and the satisfaction of knowing he'd just removed one of Marvel's most dangerous predators from the board.

The mantis had stalked the cicada. But this time, the oriole had come out on top.

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[Max_Striker]

The apartment was darker than usual, which was saying something considering Jay's general aversion to overhead lighting.

He sat on the edge of his bed, still wearing the same clothes from the warehouse confrontation hours ago. His trench coat lay crumpled on the floor where he'd dramatically dropped it—because apparently even in private, he couldn't resist a bit of theater. The takeout container on his nightstand remained untouched, the Chinese food long cold and probably achieving sentience by now.

Outside, the city hummed its familiar night song. Inside his small space, there was only silence and the lingering smell of beef and broccoli.

He'd turned off his phone an hour ago, which was probably a new personal record for him..

Jay pressed his palms against his temples and sighed. The adrenaline had worn off completely, leaving behind something heavier. Not quite guilt—he wasn't ready to call it that—but definitely something in the guilt family.

He'd taken Kilgrave's power, and honestly? It felt gross. Like really, genuinely disgusting in a way that made his skin crawl. It was different from Tommy's healing warmth, which felt like drinking hot chocolate on a cold day, or Claire's protective instincts, which hummed pleasantly in the background like a well-tuned engine.

This new power felt like having food poisoning of the soul.

'You could make this so much easier,' it whispered in the back of his mind, sounding way too reasonable for something that was basically psychic roofies. 'One word, and people would just listen. No more awkward conversations. No more having to actually convince people you're right.'

"Nope," Jay said out loud to his empty apartment. "Absolutely not happening."

He needed to deal with this properly, which meant doing that weird meditation thing where he talked to his powers like they were roommates he couldn't evict.

Rising from the bed, he moved to the center of the room and sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor. The position always made him feel vaguely ridiculous—like he was cosplaying as someone spiritual—but it worked.

Closing his eyes, Jay let his breathing slow down. He reached inward, past his surface thoughts and daily concerns, diving into the space where his abilities lived. The transition was gradual, like sinking into a warm bath, until the apartment faded away entirely.

The mental plane opened around him, and honestly, it never got less weird.

It was like floating in space, if space was also somehow cozy and well-lit. No up or down, just an endless void that somehow managed to feel homey. Jay's consciousness shaped itself into his usual mental outfit—jeans and a t-shirt, because apparently even his subconscious had given up on looking professional.

And there, arranged like the world's most dysfunctional support group, were his powers.

In the center stood his core ability—the Power Thief. It looked like a clear white light that pulsed steadily, neither demanding nor needy. Just... there. It was probably the most well-adjusted part of his entire personality, which was either reassuring or deeply concerning.

To the left, Tommy's healing ability bounced around like an excited golden retriever. It was roughly child-sized and glowed soft green, radiating pure enthusiasm for fixing things. Even now, it seemed to be eyeing a small scratch on Jay's mental representation of himself, clearly itching to heal it. The kid had been so determined to help people, and in a weird way, he still was.

On the right stood Claire's danger sense, taking the form of a no-nonsense woman in dark yellow. Her arms were crossed, and she was doing that thing where she scanned for threats even though they were literally inside his own head. She was like having a very paranoid bodyguard who never took a day off.

And in the far corner, looking like it had crawled out of a particularly unpleasant nightmare...

"Oh, come on," Jay muttered, looking at Kilgrave's power. "You couldn't even try to look less horrifying?"

It was purple and writhing, made of what looked like worms and viruses having the world's worst dance party. Unlike his other abilities, which mostly minded their own business, this thing kept reaching out toward the others with slimy tentacles, like that guy at parties who didn't understand personal space.

Just looking at it made Jay want to take a shower. With bleach.

'I wanted freedom,' he thought, trying to be philosophical about the whole situation. 'But using this thing would just make me a different kind of prisoner, wouldn't it?'

The Kilgrave power pulsed, sending out another tendril toward Tommy's healing light. Jay could practically see what it wanted—to corrupt that innocent desire to help, to turn healing into control. Make people so grateful they'd do anything. It was like offering to help someone move, then stealing their couch.

"Yeah, no," Jay said firmly. "We're not doing that."

He raised his hands, and chains materialized around his fingers—rainbow-colored ones that looked like they'd been designed by someone who took both safety and fabulousness very seriously.

Working quickly, Jay wrapped the chains around the purple nightmare. The thing fought back, which felt like being slapped by a wet fish made of bad decisions.

"Here's the deal," he said, adding more chains. "You stay locked up unless it's literally life or death. And I mean literally.'"

The binding settled into place with a satisfying click, like a really good lock engaging. Suddenly the mental space felt less like a haunted house and more like his actual apartment.

Then his brain decided to dump some new information on him, because apparently this evening wasn't complicated enough.

Five powers. That was his limit.

"Five?" Jay said incredulously. "That's it? I can't even make it to a full half-dozen?"

The knowledge was annoyingly specific. His brain could handle five different abilities before things started getting messy. He currently had four, which meant one more slot before he'd have to start making tough choices about what to keep and what to let go.

Unless he could upgrade his hardware, so to speak.

Jay paused, struck by a thought. "You know what would've been convenient?" he said to the purple nightmare still writhing in its chains. "If you'd been the comics version. Mind control virus and Wolverine-level healing factor? That would've been one stone, two birds. But no, I get the discount Netflix version."

Physical enhancements came to mind—Luke Cage's unbreakable skin, Jessica Jones' enhanced strength. Maybe he could track down some of that Super Soldier Serum that seemed to pop up everywhere despite supposedly being a government secret. Seriously, for something so classified, it sure got around a lot.

'If I'm going to keep collecting abilities like they're Pokémon cards,' Jay thought, 'I need to level up my base stats first.'

The mental plane began to fade as his concentration wandered—probably something to do with the Chinese food smell wafting through his apartment and reminding him that he hadn't eaten dinner.

He found himself back on his hardwood floor, feeling like he'd just run a mental marathon. His body ached in that specific way that came from sitting in an uncomfortable position for too long, and his head felt like it was full of cotton.

Jay flopped sideways onto his bed without changing clothes, because sometimes you just had to embrace the chaos of your life choices.

As sleep tugged at him one thought drifted through his increasingly fuzzy mind

'Freedom wasn't just about breaking chains—sometimes it was about being smart enough to know which ones you shouldn't pick up in the first place.' Tonight, he'd made his choice. Tomorrow, he'd probably have to live with the consequences, but hey, at least he could live with himself now.

Jay woke to sunlight streaming through his window—unusual since he never slept past dawn. His restless mind typically wouldn't allow it, always churning with worries and half-formed plans. But today felt different somehow.

Sitting up in bed, still in yesterday's wrinkled clothes, he stared at the water stains on his ceiling. A month ago, he'd been nobody—just some guy with one stolen power and no direction. Now he was becoming something else entirely, something significant. The thought thrilled him more than it probably should have.

After a quick shower, he settled at his kitchen table with coffee and a fresh notebook. Time to organize his thoughts. Lists always made chaos feel manageable.

Standing on his new apartment's fire escape, Jay gazed out over New York and marveled at how dramatically everything had changed.

His network had exploded beyond his wildest expectations, now covering all five boroughs. What began as a handful of homeless contacts had evolved into something resembling a legitimate organization. On the streets, people called him "The Doctor"—probably because of all the healing work he'd been doing. The irony never failed to amuse him.

The financial situation had become almost ridiculous. Nearly a million dollars in cash and assets, all generated from discrete healing services. Rich clients with embarrassing wounds they couldn't explain to regular doctors. Politicians nursing inconvenient injuries that might raise uncomfortable questions. Celebrities who needed to look flawless for cameras without risking publicity.

Bobby had naturally evolved into his primary network coordinator, and the system was working better than Jay had dared hope.

His research into Isaiah Bradley had consumed weeks, but his comic book knowledge perk had finally paid off. Isaiah represented one of America's darkest secrets—one of 300 Black soldiers used as unwilling test subjects for Super Soldier experiments in the late 1940s. The government had buried his story so thoroughly that most people didn't know he existed.

But Jay knew everything. He knew Isaiah was lucky and had received a more stable version of the serum. He knew the man had served as Captain America after Steve Rogers went missing during the Korean War. Most importantly, he knew Isaiah was still alive, living quietly in Baltimore.

SHIELD probably maintained some surveillance, but Isaiah was ancient history to them now—forgotten, dismissed. Which made him approachable in a way Steve Rogers never would be.

Jay only needed a blood sample. The serum in Isaiah's system had degraded after decades, but it would provide a foundation to build something better.

Bobby was already waiting on their usual rooftop when Jay arrived after sunset. The old veteran had become punctual since Jay started paying him real money instead of just buying meals.

"You cleaned up nice," Bobby observed from his perch on the ledge.

"Thanks for the pep talk." Jay settled beside him, taking in the incredible view of Manhattan spread out like a glowing circuit board. "How's the network developing?"

"Growing faster than we can track," Bobby replied, consulting his tablet. "Queens is solid, Brooklyn's expanding steadily, and we've got people in Staten Island now. The Bronx is still problematic—too many territorial disputes with existing organizations."

Jay nodded absently. He'd called this meeting for a specific purpose.

"Bobby," he said carefully, "how would you feel about becoming more than just my eyes and ears?"

The veteran looked up from his screen. "What do you mean?"

"I mean becoming part of the backbone." Jay extended his palm. "I've got something that could help you do your job significantly better."

Bobby's eyes focused on Jay's outstretched hand. "What kind of something?"

Jay opened his palm, revealing a sphere of light perfectly divided into two equal halves. "Lie detection through scent. I found a young mutant near Canal Street who could smell deception—nervous kid, desperate enough to sell his power. One touch, and you'll know instantly when people are lying. Could save your life out there."

Bobby considered this quietly. "Will it hurt?"

"Not at all. Just a slight tingling." Jay's expression grew serious. "But once I do this, you're not just someone who helps me occasionally. You become a real partner in something much bigger."

Bobby gazed out over the city lights. "This network has already saved dozens of people. Sick kids, families who couldn't afford hospitals, people who needed help and couldn't get it anywhere else." He turned back with resolve. "If this helps us save more, then I'm in."

"Last chance to back out."

"I'm sure, kid."

The transfer took thirty seconds. Bobby tensed as the power flowed into him, his nostrils flaring as entirely new sensory information flooded his awareness. When it finished, he blinked hard, looking dazed.

"Whoa," he said softly. "That's completely different."

"You'll adapt quickly," Jay assured him. "Test it. Tell me something."

Bobby grinned. "This is pretty damn cool."

Jay chuckled. "Definitely true. You can smell it, right?"

"Yeah. Truth smells clean and fresh, like rain after a storm. But lies..." He wrinkled his nose. "Sour. Like spoiled milk."

"Perfect." Jay stood. "You're not just my eyes and ears anymore, Bobby. You're a full partner now."

Bobby nodded, still experimenting with his new ability. "I won't let you down, Doc."

As their meeting wrapped up, Jay checked his phone and found several important notifications.

The message to Reed Richards had taken days to craft properly. He'd needed to sound legitimate without revealing too much—intelligent enough to capture attention without seeming threatening. He'd written an deliberately ambiguous email about unstable molecule research, dropping just enough technical knowledge to sound credible.

The response had arrived in just six hours

Meeting scheduled in five days. Baxter Building. Come prepared to discuss your research. —R.R.

Jay stared at the reply in disbelief. He was actually going to meet one of the most brilliant minds on the planet.

Getting into Xavier's School required a different approach entirely. Jay had sent a formal inquiry claiming to be an unregistered mutant seeking evaluation—describing a strange ability that had manifested a month ago, expressing concern about control and long-term implications.

His real motivation was testing his limits. If Rogue touched him, what would happen? Could she copy his power theft ability? He wanted to test his 'Power Protection' and 'DNA Lock' perk under controlled conditions. Plus, he was curious whether he'd register as a natural mutant or artificial mutate—both had significant implications for his future plans.

The response came within two days

Appointment Tuesday, 10 PM. Professor Xavier will meet with you personally. —Jean Grey

Back at his apartment, Jay opened his laptop and pulled up a file he'd been building for weeks—a comprehensive list of future superhumans with potential. The document contained dozens of names, locations, and predicted power manifestations, all cross-referenced with his comic book knowledge and current real-world information.

He scrolled through the entries, pausing at a few key additions he'd made recently. Carl Creel caught his attention—a small-time boxer currently serving time in Ryker's Island. Soon enough, the man would become the Absorbing Man, capable of taking on the properties of anything he touched. Creel's powers would make him nearly unstoppable in the right circumstances, but his criminal tendencies and lack of vision would waste that potential.

Jay's future heroes list was ambitious but necessary. His comic book knowledge let him identify people destined for greatness or tragedy.

There was Daisy Johnson, a brilliant hacker currently causing problems for SHIELD, completely unaware of the earthquake-generating power in her DNA. Two lost teenagers in Midtown would soon become Cloak and Dagger, their abilities forged through trauma and experimental drugs. He'd also identified Amadeus Cho, a kid so intellectually gifted he was already on SHIELD's radar, and Shang-Chi, desperately trying to escape his father's shadow and the Ten Rings.

His strategy was elegantly simple, help them now, before their worlds came crashing down. Anonymous tips, financial assistance, quiet interventions—no strings attached. Then, when their lives inevitably shattered and reformed, they'd remember the mysterious person who'd been there during their darkest moments.

Strategic relationship building at its finest.

The Queens safehouse had cost a substantial portion of his savings, but he needed somewhere private to experiment with his evolving abilities.

His work on Danger Sense had been remarkably successful. He could now focus his awareness into a single direction instead of maintaining a sphere, increasing range from thirty feet in all directions to a hundred feet in one direction. The trade-off was temporary tunnel vision elsewhere, but for specific situations, it was perfect.

Power Theft experiments yielded mixed results. He'd achieved suppression—temporarily shutting down someone's abilities through constant contact and focus. But Power Fusion had been a disaster. Trying to combine Danger Sense with Healing Touch had given him hours of splitting headaches. The process probably required compatible power types.

The most interesting discovery was that his abilities were evolving independently. The more he used them for specific purposes, the more effective they became at those applications. His powers were learning what he wanted and adapting accordingly.

That evening, Jay stood alone on his warehouse rooftop, looking out over the sprawling city. The nighttime skyline was beautiful—eight million people all trying to make their way in an increasingly complex world.

He remembered something he'd read once

Don't build an empire. Build a mechanism that doesn't need you to run it.

All things considered, it had been an extremely productive day.

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[Max_Striker]

Jay tugged at his tie as he walked toward the Baxter Building. Under his arm was a manila folder with some rough notes about energy-responsive materials—mostly ideas he'd cobbled together from half-remembered comic book science. He wasn't exactly what you'd call prepared for this meeting with Reed Richards.

The whole situation felt surreal. Here he was, about to discuss theoretical physics with the same people who'd just been transformed by cosmic radiation, while pretending he had no idea what had happened to them.

Sirens wailed in the distance, getting louder. Emergency vehicles raced past him toward some incident across the city. Jay checked his watch—still twenty minutes early for his 2 PM appointment. Whatever was happening, it was nowhere near the Baxter Building.

His phone buzzed

"MASSIVE TRAFFIC INCIDENT ON BROOKLYN BRIDGE."

Jay shrugged and kept walking. Bridge accidents happen all the time in Marvel's New York.

An hour later, he realized how wrong he'd been.

Sitting in the Baxter Building lobby, Jay watched the news coverage with growing amazement. What had started as a suicide attempt on the Brooklyn Bridge had turned into something else entirely.

The cameras showed a massive orange creature—clearly not human—standing among crashed cars while people screamed and ran. But the thing was trying to help, not hurt anyone.

"Ben Grimm," Jay whispered to himself, recognizing the rocky form from countless comics.

Then the rest showed up. A man stretching like rubber to direct traffic. A woman flickering in and out of visibility as she moved injured people to safety. A guy wreathed in flames, using surgical precision to cut people from wrecked vehicles.

The Fantastic Four. In the flesh. Saving lives on live television.

When the dust settled, Reed Richards faced the cameras. Even through the TV speakers, you could hear the guilt in his voice.

"We're not here to frighten anyone. We're here to help. We're calling ourselves the Fantastic Four, and we'll use these abilities to protect people."

The camera caught Ben Grimm standing apart from the group, shoulders hunched. A woman—young, pretty, devastated—walked away from him, pulling an engagement ring off her finger. She didn't even look back.

Jay's heart sank. Poor Ben. But knowing his possible relationship with Alicia Masters gave Jay some relief.

The news kept rolling. Talking heads debated what this meant. Government officials made statements. Even Victor Von Doom appeared on some political show, trying to spin the situation for his people back in Latveria, though he looked pretty rattled.

By 6 PM, Reed Richards finally made it back to the building. The man looked like he'd aged ten years in one afternoon. His clothes were torn, his hair a mess, his eyes carrying the weight of watching his best friend's heart break on national TV.

"Mr. Jay?" Reed seemed surprised to find him still waiting. "I'm sorry—today's been a nightmare. I figured you'd left hours ago."

"Actually, I thought today might be exactly when you'd want to talk about unconventional materials science," Jay said carefully.

Reed studied him for a moment, then nodded. "You're right. Let's talk. But fair warning—our conversation might be entirely different now."

Reed's lab was organized chaos. Whiteboards covered in equations, gadgets scattered everywhere, and medical equipment Jay didn't recognize set up in one corner.

"Please, sit." Reed dropped into his chair like his bones hurt. "You saw the news, I'm guessing?"

"Kind of hard to miss."

"Ben was trying to save a man's life. People took one look at him and panicked. That's what caused most of the accidents." Reed stared at a photo on his desk—four normal people smiling at the camera. "We saved lives, but..."

"The woman with the engagement ring," Jay said quietly.

"Debbie." Reed's voice cracked. "She just looked at what Ben had become and walked away. Didn't say a word."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"Jay—can I call you Jay? I need to be straight with you." Reed picked up the folder of notes. "Your ideas about physiology-responsive materials, they're solid theoretically, even if the practical stuff isn't worked out yet. But I have to ask—why me? Why now? Your email came right after our transformation."

Jay had rehearsed this. "Honestly? I had this wild idea about molecules that could be unstable but controlled, responsive to different biological states. Your work suggested you might be the only guy who could make sense of it. Timing was just luck."

"Luck." Reed looked at him directly. "When you saw the footage today, what did you think of Ben? What he's become?"

Jay considered his answer. "You know what got me? With all those people screaming and running, he never stopped trying to help. That tells you everything about who he really is."

Reed's expression softened. "That's Ben alright. Best man I know, stuck in a body that scares people."

"And you want to change him back."

"I have to. I did this to him. To all of them. It's my job to fix it."

Jay leaned forward. "Why go public, though? Why not masks, secret identities?"

Reed's whole demeanor changed. He got this distant look, like he was talking to someone else entirely. "You want to know the real reason? I can't believe I'm telling a complete stranger, but maybe it's the adrenaline. This has to stay between us, okay?"

Jay nodded.

Reed turned to his whiteboard, shoulders sagging. "Once upon a time, there was a genius who—" He stopped, shook his head. "No. Once upon a time, there was a very bright man who—" Another pause, frustrated. "Once upon a time, there was a very arrogant man who did something very stupid."

He faced Jay directly. "Without proper preparation or shielding, he took his friends through a wave of radiation that made them all something other than human."

The guilt was written all over Reed's face. "I endangered the people I love. Changed their lives forever. They were going to be labeled as 'freaks'—or worse."

He gestured at a letter on his desk. Jay could see official government letterhead, probably demanding secrecy for "national security reasons."

"Unless he changed that fate somehow," Reed continued, his voice gaining strength. "Unless he made the world see them for what they could represent. The best and bravest people anyone could hope to meet."

Reed started pacing, getting more animated. "So he refused to let them hide in the shadows. He wanted to give them a home, a light. If that meant they needed to be known, even loved, then fine. he gave them outlandish names."

He laughed bitterly. "Mr. Fantastic. Does that sound like something anyone would want to call themselves? But that's the kind of thing that makes headlines. T-shirts. Action figures."

Jay watched, fascinated.

"He knew this would keep people from fearing them. The glamour and fame aren't about ego. They're necessities." Reed's voice got quieter, more vulnerable. "Because maybe by turning his friends into celebrities, by letting people see how truly good and beautiful they are even after the incident... he could be forgiven for taking their normal lives away."

He slumped back into his chair. "Someday."

Jay was quiet for a moment, then shook his head with a sad smile.

"Reed... you're looking at this all wrong."

Reed looked up, confused.

"You keep talking about forgiveness, making up for what you did. But I watched that footage today, and you know what I saw?" Jay's voice was gentle but certain. "I saw Ben risk everything to save a stranger, knowing how people would react. I saw Sue Storm—your teammate—putting herself in danger to help injured people. The fire guy could've flown away from all that chaos, but he stayed."

Jay leaned forward. "I don't know any of you personally, but you can't create that with fancy names and publicity. That comes from who people are inside. The radiation didn't make you heroes. It just gave you the power to show the world what you already were."

His voice got even quieter. "And you? From what I can see, you didn't 'make' them into anything. You gave them a stage where everyone could see how incredible they've always been. Ben's not a hero because you call him part of the Fantastic Four. You call him part of the Fantastic Four because he's always been a hero."

Reed stared at him, something breaking open in his expression.

"The guilt you're carrying? I bet if you tell you any of this to Ben, he'll give you a slap to the head and tell you to stop moping. Because you're sitting here thinking you ruined their lives, and what I saw today was you giving them the chance to save the world."

Jay pulled out his phone, showing Reed social media posts. "'The Thing saved my uncle from that car crash.' 'Invisible Woman got my little sister to safety.' 'I want to be like Mr. Fantastic when I grow up.'"

Reed stared at the posts, amazed.

"The fear exists," Jay continued, "but so does hope. You've given people proof that impossible things can be used to help instead of harm."

"But Ben's fiancée—"

"Left him because she couldn't see past what he looks like now. But thousands of people watched him risk everything to save a stranger. Which reaction matters more?"

Reed was quiet for a long time, looking at the social media posts, then at Jay's rough notes.

When he looked up, something had shifted in his expression—less haunted, more thoughtful.

"You know, I've had government officials, military advisors, and fellow scientists all tell me what we should do next. But you're the first person who's made me think about what we should be."

Reed stood and walked to his whiteboards covered in complex equations. "The thing is, Jay, we never set out to be heroes. We're explorers. Scientists. What we really want is to push the boundaries of human knowledge—explore space, make discoveries that could change how we understand the universe."

He turned back to Jay. "But today showed us something we can't ignore. When people are in danger, we can't just stand by. It's not in our nature. Ben didn't think twice about trying to save that man. Sue and Johnny immediately jumped in to help. We all did."

Reed ran his hand through his hair. "So we're in this weird position where we want to be scientists and explorers, but the world's going to keep needing us to be heroes. And honestly, we'll probably keep answering that call because... well, because that's who we are."

He looked directly at Jay. "Would you consider staying on as a consultant? Not just for research, but to help us balance both sides of what we're becoming. Someone who understands our real mission is discovery and exploration, but also gets that we can't turn away when people need help."

Jay raised an eyebrow. "Based on one conversation?"

"Based on the fact that in one conversation, you helped me stop seeing my friends as casualties and start seeing them as heroes again. More than that—you helped me realize being heroes doesn't mean we have to stop being scientists." Reed's voice was earnest but not desperate. "Look, I'm not asking you to commit to anything permanent. But we're going to need help figuring out how to be both things—explorers and protectors."

He paused. "Besides, someone needs to make sure I don't get so lost in trying to 'fix' everything that I forget the bigger picture of what we're really trying to accomplish."

Jay felt a thrill of success but kept his expression professional. "I'd be honored to help, Reed. Though I should warn you—the world just changed in a fundamental way today. Public superheroes are going to create ripple effects no one can predict."

"I know," Reed said grimly. "We've already had calls from government agencies wanting to 'discuss our situation.' And Victor's been less than supportive of our new public status."

"You mean Von Doom? Wasn't he on the space mission with you?"

"Victor? The King of Latveria?" Reed looked confused. "Where'd you get that idea? A monarch risk his country's stability by joining his college roommate's experimental space trip?" He shook his head. "Victor was our financial backer, but he stayed on Earth. He blames me for the mission's failure, and now that we're public, he says it makes him look weak in front of his subjects. He's offered to help with research into reversing our condition, but Victor's help usually comes with strings attached."

Jay filed that away—this world was different from the movies. "Well, for what it's worth, you have my support."

Reed stood and extended his hand. When they shook, Jay noticed Reed's grip was perfectly normal—he was consciously controlling his abilities to seem human.

"Thank you, Jay. I have a feeling we're going to need all the help we can get."

Looking out the window, Jay could see the media circus still going strong on the street below. Getting out would be as challenging as getting in.

"Back exit might be easier," Reed suggested. "Security can escort you through the service entrance."

An hour later, Jay sat in a quiet diner several blocks away, watching continued news coverage while processing everything that had happened.

The Fantastic Four were officially public. The superhero age had begun with tragedy—forcing good people to reveal themselves to help others. Reed Richards was drowning in guilt while desperately seeking redemption through carefully crafted public personas. Ben Grimm was heartbroken and isolated. And the world was trying to figure out what it meant to have people with impossible powers living among them.

Jay pulled out his phone and called Bobby.

"You see the news today?"

"Hard to miss. Though I gotta say, it's not what anyone expected."

"It's going to change everything. Government response, public reaction, other powered individuals deciding whether to come forward or hide deeper. We need to adjust our plans."

"Good thing we're adaptable. Though I'm guessing this makes your meeting more interesting."

"You could say that. I'm officially consulting for the Fantastic Four now."

Pause. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Which means we're about to have front-row seats to watch how the world changes when impossible becomes everyday reality. But this also means we're probably on government watchlists now."

Jay looked out the diner window at the city beyond.

And throughout the city, other people with hidden powers were watching the news, deciding whether the Fantastic Four represented hope or a cautionary tale.

Jay hung up the phone and stared at the half-eaten plate of fries growing cold in front of him. The diner's TV was still cycling through Fantastic Four coverage on every channel—footage of Ben lifting cars, Sue shielding paramedics, Johnny's precise flame work. His coffee had gone cold, but he kept stirring it anyway, needing something to do with his hands while processing everything.

The meeting with Reed had gone better than he'd dared hope. Getting a consulting position with the Fantastic Four meant front-row seats to watch how the world changed when the impossible became public knowledge. But sitting here now, Jay felt the weight of what that really meant.

This wasn't a comic book anymore. These were real people whose lives had been fundamentally altered, and the ripple effects were just beginning.

A group of kids at a nearby booth were getting increasingly animated, their parents trying and failing to keep them quiet.

"I'm Mr. Fantastic!" one declared, stretching his arms wide. "I can reach anything!"

"No way, I'm The Thing!" his friend countered. "I'm stronger than everyone!"

"Iron Man would beat them both!" a third kid chimed in.

Jay smiled at that. Iron Man had been making headlines for a month now, ever since Tony Stark's dramatic press conference where he'd thrown the prepared script out the window and announced "I am Iron Man" to the world. The kids had probably been playing Iron Man vs. bad guys since then, and now they were just adding the Fantastic Four to their roster of heroes.

Their mother shushed them apologetically. "They've been like this all afternoon. Can't stop talking about the 'fantastic people.'"

Hope really was infectious. These kids weren't scared—they were inspired. But that optimism felt fragile against everything Jay knew was coming. Government response, public backlash, other powered individuals deciding whether to come forward or dig deeper underground.

And underneath it all, the question that had been nagging at him: how much did his comic book knowledge actually help?

Sure, he'd recognized Ben the moment he saw that rocky orange form on TV. He'd understood Reed's guilt, the public debut strategy, even the broad strokes of how this would play out. But knowing the playbook didn't mean he knew these players. Not really.

The Reed Richards he'd just spent three hours with wasn't quite the absent-minded professor from the comics, too lost in scientific pursuits to notice the world around him. This Reed was more present, more aware of the weight of his decisions. Still brilliant, still driven by curiosity, but grounded in a way that made him seem more human.

That should have been reassuring. But Jay couldn't shake a worry that had crystallized during their conversation about guilt and redemption.

He knew there were two very different versions of Reed Richards possible. Earth-616 Reed was the idealistic explorer—sometimes distracted by science but ultimately anchored by love for his family and desire to help people. But Earth-1610 Reed, the Ultimate universe version, had started similarly enough before something broke inside him. He'd become detached, hyperlogical, morally hollow. The Maker, they'd called him eventually—a brilliant mind that decided emotion and human connection were inefficiencies to be eliminated.

The difference wasn't power or intelligence. It was how they handled the guilt and isolation of being responsible for changing the people they loved. 616 Reed learned to carry that weight while staying connected to his humanity. 1610 Reed let it transform him into something else entirely.

Today, Jay realized he hadn't just been encouraging Reed to embrace heroism—he'd been steering him away from a much darker path. The scary part was that he wasn't sure which direction this Reed would have gone without intervention.

The responsibility of that influence was almost overwhelming.

The kids had moved on from arguing about strength to debating what other powers might exist.

"Maybe there's someone who can fly without fire," one suggested.

"Or someone invisible like the lady, but all the time," another added.

"What about someone who can read minds?"

Jay nearly dropped his phone. If children could intuit that this was just the beginning, how long before everyone else did?

Which brought him to his next problem: the government. Getting a consulting position with the Fantastic Four would put him on someone's radar, probably sooner than later. SHIELD existed in this universe—they'd want to know about anyone working closely with newly public superhumans.

That thought should have worried him more than it did. But Jay had accepted that staying completely under the radar was impossible with all the healing work he'd been doing. This just accelerated the timeline.

The bigger concern was other organizations. SHIELD wasn't the only group interested in people with unusual abilities. Hydra had probably already activated sleeper cells to investigate the Fantastic Four. AIM would be scrambling to reverse-engineer their powers. Corporations like Roxxon would be looking for ways to monetize or weaponize anything they could learn.

Jay made a mental note to suggest Reed be very careful about who he trusted with biological samples or power readings. Corporate espionage would be a much bigger threat than government oversight.

The waitress refilled his coffee without being asked. "You okay, hon? You've been staring at that plate for an hour."

"Just thinking," Jay managed a smile. "It's been an interesting day."

"Tell me about it. I had three different customers ask me if I thought the government was hiding other people like them." She shook her head. "World's getting stranger by the minute."

"What did you tell them?"

She shrugged. "Same thing I tell everyone—worry about what you can control, and try to be kind to each other. Everything else is above my pay grade."

Jay nodded, struck by the simple wisdom in that.

Which brought him to his next planned step; Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. He needed to know more about his own abilities, their limits and potential vulnerabilities. More importantly, he needed to understand how they might be perceived by others with similar gifts.

And the biggest question; if Rogue touched him, would her absorption powers work normally, or would his protection nullify them?

Better to find out in a controlled environment with people experienced in unusual power interactions than discover it during some crisis.

The decision made, Jay felt some tension leave his shoulders. He had a plan: support Reed and the Fantastic Four, test his abilities at Xavier's school, and stay ahead of whatever government attention was coming. Simple in concept, even if execution would be complex.

He was reaching for his wallet when his phone rang. Unknown Manhattan number.

"Jay speaking."

"Jay? This is Reed Richards. I hope I'm not calling too late."

"Not at all. What's up?"

"I've been thinking about our conversation this afternoon. We've had several offers of assistance since going public—some more trustworthy than others. I was hoping you might help me evaluate which ones are worth pursuing."

Jay felt a flicker of unease. "What kind of offers?"

"Research partnerships, mostly. Victor's offered laboratory space and funding, which is generous but..." Reed's voice trailed off. "Let's just say I'm learning to be more careful about accepting help with strings attached."

"Smart policy. Anyone else?"

"A pharmaceutical company called Oscorp reached out about studying our cellular changes. A tech firm called Roxxon wants to discuss 'mutually beneficial arrangements.' And I've received what appears to be a very polite but very official invitation from someone calling themselves Colonel Fury."

Jay's mind instantly focused. Norman Osborn's company getting access to Fantastic Four biology? Roxxon's corporate vultures circling? Two of those were definitely bad news.

"Reed, I think you should be very careful about all of those. Can we meet tomorrow? I'd rather discuss this in person."

"Of course. Is everything alright? You sound concerned."

"I'm just naturally paranoid about large organizations offering help to people they don't know," Jay said, which was true enough. "Better to be cautious."

"Agreed. Should we meet at the Baxter Building again, or would you prefer somewhere more private?"

Jay thought about it. If SHIELD was already sniffing around, meeting at the Baxter Building might actually be safer. At least there, Reed would have home field advantage and better security.

"The Baxter Building is fine."

"Perfect. And Jay? Thank you. I'm glad we have someone looking out for potential pitfalls."

After Reed hung up, Jay sat back and tried to process this development. He'd expected government attention, but not quite this fast. And the corporate interest was troubling.

The kids were finally being herded out by their parents, still chattering excitedly about superpowers and heroes. Jay watched them go, envying their uncomplicated enthusiasm.

The waitress brought his check. "You sure you're okay? You look like someone just told you some bad news."

"Something like that," Jay admitted. "But nothing that can't be handled."

He hoped that was true.

Outside, the evening air was cool and carried distant sirens—not unusual for New York, but tonight it made him wonder if they were responding to something powered-individual-related, or just regular New York.

Walking toward the subway, Jay found himself scanning faces of people passing by. How many had unusual abilities they were keeping secret? How many had watched the Fantastic Four's debut and felt recognition, fear, or hope?

Jay pulled out his phone and started typing

"Need to move faster. Things accelerating."

Then he deleted it and typed instead

"Talk tomorrow. Need to think through next moves."

Some conversations were better had in person.

If you wanna hang out, join my Discord

Support my work and get early access to advance chapters, exclusive content, and bonus material at my P@treon - Max_Striker.

 

[Max_Striker]

The Baxter Building's living space looked like a hurricane had hit a newsroom. Empty takeout containers covered the coffee table, and three TV screens flickered with nonstop coverage.

Susan Storm stood at the windows, arms crossed, staring out at Manhattan without really seeing it. The city lights blurred around the edges where her visibility kept flickering on and off.

"Sue, you're doing that shimmer thing again," Johnny called from the couch, channel-surfing like his life depended on it. "Very dramatic, but also very obvious."

She looked down at her hands, watching the distortion ripple across her fingertips before forcing it to stop. "Sorry. I'm just—"

"Freaking out?" Johnny settled on CNN where talking heads debated whether the Fantastic Four were evolution or extinction. "Join the club. I'm thinking my action figure should have seventeen points of articulation and a flame-on sound effect."

"This isn't a joke, Johnny." Susan's voice had an edge that made him actually look up. "Government agencies are going to want to study us. Corporations will try to weaponize what we can do. People will see us as freaks or—"

"Hey." Johnny muted the TV, his tone gentler. "Remember when you got stage fright before the debate championship and froze for thirteen minutes? This is just like that, except instead of Mrs. Henderson's class, it's the entire world."

"That's completely different."

"Fine, terrible analogy. But you handled that, and you'll handle this." He grinned. "Besides, think of the merchandising. Breakfast cereals, Saturday morning cartoons. My theme song's gonna be epic— 'Johnny Storm, he's our guy, if he can't do it, we'll all fry!' "

Susan threw a pillow at his head. Johnny dodged, laughing, but the sound felt forced.

From the corner came a low rumble. Ben Grimm sat in what used to be a normal armchair but now looked like doll furniture under his massive frame. His rocky fingers curved around something small—a black velvet ring box.

"Real nice, flame brain," Ben said without looking up. "Ya got a future in comedy. Right after ya learn to land without burnin' down Brooklyn."

"This was our first time! And it was only a car." Johnny's levity dimmed. "What's in the box?"

Ben's grip tightened. "Nothin' that matters now."

The room went quiet except for muted TV coverage of their earlier rescues. Susan moved to the coffee table's edge so she could see Ben properly.

"Ben, you don't have to—"

"Don't." He held up one massive hand, voice rough. "Ain't got time for feelin's. Not when I gotta figure out how to stop bein' a walkin' boulder. I need my life back, Susie. I need me back."

The elevator chimed. Reed Richards emerged looking like he'd been through a blender—hair sticking up, shirt wrinkled, coffee stains on his jacket.

"Sorry, I'm late. I was on a call with someone, then seventeen reporter messages, and the mayor's office wants to meet, and—" He stopped, taking in the scene. "You're all here."

"Where else would we be?" Susan asked.

Reed's face crumpled. "Anywhere but dealing with my mistakes." He walked to the room's center, hands clasped behind his back. "I keep thinking about everything that's happened, and it's all my fault. The cosmic rays, the transformation, going public—all because of my calculations."

Johnny groaned. "Here we go."

"Susan, you trusted me with your career, your future, and I've destroyed it. Johnny, you should be worried about college and dating, not learning to control powers that could torch city blocks. And Ben—" Reed's voice broke, looking at the ring box. "I've taken everything from you. Your life, your career, your future."

BONK.

Reed's head snapped forward from Ben's backhand, then kept going. His neck stretched like taffy, face elongating into a cartoon caricature before snapping back with a rubber-band sound.

Everyone stared.

"Did my head just—?" Reed touched his neck.

"Stretch like Silly Putty? Yeah." Ben cracked his knuckles. "Had to get yer attention. Ya done with the guilt parade?"

Reed blinked rapidly. "That was actually fascinating from a physiological standpoint—"

"Reed," Susan said sharply.

"Right. Sorry." He focused on Ben. "You hit me."

"Damn right. And I'll do it again if ya keep talkin' like we're victims." Ben stood up, and the armchair groaned with relief. "Ya wanna know what I think? I think ya been watchin' too much news instead of listenin' to people who actually know ya."

"Ben—"

"Nah, shut up. My turn." Ben crossed his arms. "I heard yer talk with that Jay guy. Nice fella, even if he sounds like a textbook. He was right—this guilt trip's gettin' old."

Johnny leaned forward. "Oh, this is good. Ben's going full Brooklyn philosopher."

"Stuff it, hotshot." Ben kept his eyes on Reed. "What happened up there—that was our decision. All of us. Ya told us the risks, showed us the math, gave us every reason to walk away. And we didn't. Ya know why?"

Reed opened his mouth, but Ben held up a warning finger.

"'Cause we believed in ya. Still do, even if yer too busy feelin' sorry for yerself to notice. Ya think this is about cosmic rays? It ain't. It's about four people who trusted each other enough to reach for somethin' bigger. Yeah, it went sideways. But we're still here, still breathin' and now we are savin' people."

"But your fiancée—" Reed started.

"—deserves better than a guy too scared to see himself in the mirror," Ben finished. "Maybe if Mr. Fantastic lives up to his name, he'll figure out how to give her that choice. But wallowin' ain't gonna solve nothin'."

The room fell silent. Reed stared at Ben, then at Susan and Johnny, something shifting in his expression.

"Mr. Fantastic," he said finally. "You know, I still think that name's ridiculous."

"Yeah, well, ya might wanna workshop it," Ben shrugged. "But the point stands. Ya got a brain the size of Manhattan and the heart to match. Time to start usin' both."

Susan smiled—the first genuine one all day. "He's right, Reed. We're not your victims. We're your family."

"Speak for yourself," Johnny said, grinning. "I'm just here for the fame and groupies. Do superheroes get groupies? That would really help my dating situation."

"You know dating situation usually requires actually talking to people instead of making everything about yourself," Susan said with exaggerated patience.

"Hey! I talked to that reporter earlier. Very charming."

"You mean when you literally flew away mid-question?"

"Strategic retreat. Completely different."

Ben snorted. "Kid's got a point though. We gotta figure out how to handle all this attention." He looked at Reed meaningfully. "Startin' with stoppin' the guilt trips."

Reed was quiet, looking at each of them. When he finally spoke, his voice was steadier. "You're right. All of you. I've been so focused on what we lost that I forgot what we might accomplish."

"Now yer talkin'," Ben said.

"Though I still think 'Mr. Fantastic' sounds like a children's entertainer."

"Better than 'Stretchy McStretchface,'" Johnny offered.

"What about 'The Elastic Avenger'?" Susan suggested, then looked horrified. "Oh God, I can't believe I said that."

"See? Even Suzie's gettin' into it." Ben settled back into his protesting chair. "Though I vote we stick with classics. Fantastic Four's got a ring to it."

Reed laughed—actually laughed—for the first time since their transformation. It sounded rusty but genuine. "You know what? You're right. It sounds like us. Changed, but us."

"'Course I'm right. I'm from Brooklyn."

"That's not how geography works."

"Says the guy who miscalculated cosmic ray exposure."

"Hey!"

Johnny grinned, reaching for the remote. "You know what? I think we're gonna be okay. Weird, stretchy, rocky, invisible, and flammable... but okay."

He turned up the volume just in time to catch: "—unprecedented heroism has left the city asking: who are the Fantastic Four, and what does their emergence mean?"

"The Fantastic Four," Susan repeated. "I guess it's official."

"Better than 'Those Freaks Who Saved Everyone,'" Johnny pointed out.

Reed looked around at his family and felt something he hadn't in days; hope.

Reed smiled, and this time it reached his eyes.

Ben saw this and said. "Now yer gettin' it. Though next time ya start spiraling, I'm aimin' higher. Maybe see if that stretchy head can touch the ceiling."

"Please don't."

"No promises, Stretch!"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



Jay stared up at the ornate iron gates of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, trying to remember his first day in this world near this mansion itself. Guess R.O.B. itself has its own Machinations. Two weeks of phone calls, appointment scheduling, and polite persistence had finally gotten him here. The mansion beyond the gates looked exactly like something out of a postcard—elegant, sprawling, the kind of old-money architecture that screamed "definitely not hiding a secret mutant academy, why would you even think that?"

Of course, Jay's comic knowledge told him there were probably laser turrets disguised as decorative stonework and enough high-tech security to make SHIELD jealous. It was like Hogwarts, if Hogwarts had the budget of a small country and students who Die and come back as if it's Tuesday.

The gates opened smoothly—no doubt after some kind of scan he couldn't detect—and Jay walked up the long driveway, taking in the carefully maintained grounds. A few students were visible in the distance, and Jay had to consciously keep his expression neutral as he spotted a girl casually floating three feet off the ground while reading a book.

"First time visiting? Try not to be afraid of my looks."

Jay turned to find a young man with blue skin and pointed ears approaching with a friendly smile. Nightcrawler—though probably not going by that name here at school.

"Yeah, I have a meeting with Professor Xavier," Jay said, extending his hand. "I'm Jay."

"Kurt Wagner," the young man replied with a slight German accent, shaking Jay's hand firmly. "I'll walk you toward the main building, ja? Though you might want to watch the grounds. Sometimes the students get... enthusiastic with practice."

As if on cue, a burst of golden sparks erupted from near the tennis courts, followed by teenage laughter and what sounded like someone shouting "Jubilee!" in exasperation.

Kurt chuckled. "See? Enthusiastic."

As they walked, Jay caught glimpses of the student body that made his heart do weird things. A girl with green skin sat under a tree, flowers blooming in her footsteps. Two boys were having an animated conversation—one with scales covering his arms, the other with small horns protruding from his forehead. None of them were hiding. None of them were afraid.

In the outside world, visible mutations were still dangerous. People stared, whispered, sometimes worse. But here, it was just normal. Jay found himself unexpectedly emotional about it. These kids had a place where being different wasn't just tolerated—it was celebrated.

"The Professor is in meetings for another few minutes," Kurt said as they approached the main building. "Would you like to wait in the garden? It's quite peaceful."

"That sounds perfect, thanks."

Kurt left him near a beautifully maintained hedge garden, and Jay was examining what looked suspiciously like roses that glowed faintly in the shade when a voice spoke behind him.

"You must be Mr. Jay."

He turned and immediately understood why Jean Grey had been described in the comics as one of the most beautiful women in the Marvel universe. Red hair that caught the light like fire, intelligent green eyes, and a presence that was somehow both warm and commanding. She moved with the kind of natural grace that made you think of royalty.

If he didn't have his Mind Shield perk, Jay might have wondered if she was unconsciously boosting her attractiveness with psychic influence. As it was, he just tried not to stare.

"That's me," he managed, extending his hand. "You must be Jean Grey."

She shook his hand, but Jay caught the slight furrow in her brow, the way her eyes studied his face a moment too long. There was something off in her expression—confusion, maybe? Like she was trying to solve a puzzle that didn't quite fit together.

"The Professor is looking forward to meeting you," she said, her voice professionally friendly. "Shall we head to his office?"

As they walked through the gardens toward the main building, Jay heard the sounds of a basketball game in progress. Unable to resist, he glanced over at the outdoor court and nearly tripped over his own feet.

There, playing what looked like a casual pickup game, were some of the most legendary X-Men in existence. Rouge was guarding Cyclops with the kind of intensity most people reserved for life-or-death situations, while Nightcrawler—who found a ball game more interesting than me, apparently—was teleporting around the court in a way that had to be breaking at least seventeen different basketball rules.

But it was Wolverine who made Jay's brain temporarily short-circuit. That healing factor—top-tier even by Marvel standards. Like bottled immortality wrapped up in a Canadian package. For just a moment, Jay felt the urge to activate his power theft, to see if he could—

No. Absolutely not. That way led to way too many complications, and probably a very angry Wolverine.

"Some you know?" Jean asked, noticing his attention.

"Just... impressed by Kurt's powers," Jay said, which was true enough. "Shall we continue?"

Xavier's office was exactly what Jay had expected—floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, comfortable chairs arranged for conversation, and an overall atmosphere of quiet intellectual authority. Professor Charles Xavier sat behind his desk in his wheelchair, and when he looked up from his papers, Jay was struck by how genuinely kind his eyes were.

"Mr. Jay," Xavier said, rising slightly in his chair and extending his hand. "Thank you for your patience in arranging this meeting. Please, sit."

Jean settled into a chair to the side, still watching Jay with that puzzled expression.

"I appreciate you taking the time to see me, Professor," Jay said. "I know you must be busy."

"Never too busy for someone seeking to understand their gifts," Xavier replied smoothly. "From your phone conversations, I understand you have some questions about your abilities?"

Jay nodded. "I've been able to heal injuries—mine and others—for about a month now. But I'm starting to think there might be more to it than I initially realized."

"Would you be comfortable demonstrating?" Xavier asked gently.

Jay had prepared for this. He pulled out a small pocket knife and made a shallow cut across his palm, ignoring Jean's sharp intake of breath. Then he concentrated, letting his healing power flow with its green glow, and watched as the wound closed seamlessly within seconds.

Both Xavier and Jean leaned forward, fascinated.

"Remarkable," Xavier murmured. "The efficiency is extraordinary. Almost... too efficient."

Jean asked excitedly. "I was wondering if you might know whether you could help with... older injuries." She glanced meaningfully at Xavier's chair.

Xavier's expression grew thoughtful. "You're very kind to consider it."

Jay had practiced this explanation. "The stamina cost scales with the severity and age of the injury. Something like spinal damage that's been established for years..." He shook his head. "I'd need stamina reserves far beyond what my body could handle without causing permanent damage to myself. I'm sorry."

He watched disappointment flicker across both their faces, followed immediately by understanding and acceptance.

"Of course," Xavier said gently. "The thought is appreciated nonetheless."

"If you're curious about the extent of your abilities," Jean said, "we could arrange some tests. Our colleague Dr. McCoy has excellent facilities for power analysis and can confirm if you have the X-gene."

"That would be incredibly helpful," Jay replied.

Minutes later, Jay found himself in what could only be described as the most advanced laboratory he'd ever seen, even putting Reed's lab to shame. Dr. Henry McCoy—Beast, a fascinating contradiction. Brilliant, articulate, and enthusiastic, with the kind of barely controlled energy that suggested his mind was always racing ahead to the next fascinating problem.

"A healing mutation with unusual efficiency parameters," Beast mused as he prepared various instruments. "Fascinating! The cellular regeneration rates you demonstrated suggest something quite remarkable indeed. May I collect a blood sample for analysis?"

"Of course," Jay said, rolling up his sleeve. Also, to test his DNA-Lock Perk.

Beast drew the blood with practiced efficiency, immediately transferring it to various testing apparatus. Jay tried to look casually interested while internally hoping his perk would interfere with any readings that might be too revealing.

"The initial scans are quite intriguing," Beast said, studying readouts on multiple screens. "Definitely mutant physiology, but there are some unusual—"

The lab door opened, and Jay looked up to see a young woman enter. His breath caught slightly. Anna Marie D'Ancanto—Rogue—was even more striking in person than any comic had ever captured. The distinctive white streak in her brown hair, those arresting green eyes, and a natural beauty that was somehow both approachable and ethereal. But as he looked at her, an uncomfortable memory surfaced from the comics—her relationship history. The way she'd eventually cheated and then left Gambit for Magneto, breaking the heart of one of Jay's favorite characters.

She was also holding her left elbow, which showed a nasty scrape and what looked like the beginnings of a spectacular bruise.

"Hey, Hank," she said in that distinctive Southern accent that immediately transported Jay to memories of Saturday morning cartoons. "Y'all got any of those fancy bandages? Had a disagreement with the basketball court."

"Of course, my dear," Beast replied, already moving toward a medical cabinet. "Basketball can be a treacherous opponent indeed."

Jay saw his opportunity. This was his chance to test his Power Protection perk, to see if Rogue's absorption abilities would work on him.

"I might be able to help with that," Jay said casually. "I have a healing ability—might save you some bandage time."

Everyone in the room froze.

"Wait, don't—" Beast started.

"Sugar, that ain't a good idea," Rogue said quickly, backing up a step. "My skin, it ain't safe to—"

But Jay was already reaching toward her injured elbow, deliberately making contact with her bare skin.

Silence.

Rogue stared at where Jay's hand touched her arm, her eyes wide with confusion. "That's... that ain't right."

"What's wrong?" Jay asked, feigning ignorance while concentrating his healing power on her injuries.

"I ain't feelin' nothin'," she said quietly, wonder creeping into her voice. "Normally when someone touches me, I feel everythin'. Their pain, their fear, their whole life just pourin' into me. But you..." She looked up at his face. "You feel like... nuthin'. Like touchin' air."

Jean had stood up, moving closer with obvious fascination and concern. Xavier's wheelchair hummed as he approached, his expression intent.

"Rogue's abilities are quite dangerous," Beast explained to Jay, his voice careful. "She absorbs life energy, memories, and in the case of mutants, their powers through skin contact. For her to feel nothing..."

"Oh," Jay said, trying to look appropriately surprised while finishing healing Rogue's elbow. "Should I not have done that? You all seem pretty alarmed."

"No, sugar, you're fine," Rogue said, flexing her now-healed arm. "It's just... I ain't been able to touch another person safely since I was fourteen. This is..."

The lab door burst open again, and suddenly Jay was surrounded by X-Men. Wolverine stalked in first, followed closely by Cyclops, with Storm and Jubilee bringing up the rear. Apparently, the commotion was too loud.

"Heard there was some kind of situation," Wolverine growled, his eyes immediately focusing on where Jay was still touching Rogue's arm.

"No situation, Logan," Xavier said calmly. "Though we may have encountered something quite extraordinary."

Jay reluctantly released Rogue's arm and faced the assembled heroes, trying to project casual confusion rather than the excitement he was feeling. His Power Protection perk had worked exactly as hoped—Rogue's absorption abilities had been completely nullified.

"I should probably explain," Jay said. "What I showed you earlier—the healing—that's not the whole story."

Xavier's eyes sharpened with interest. "Oh?"

"There's another aspect to my abilities. Something... reactive. When I touch someone, I can suppress their powers." Jay paused, letting that sink in. "I didn't realize how significant that might be until now."

The room erupted in quiet murmurs. Cyclops and Storm exchanged glances, while Jubilee whispered something to Wolverine that made him grunt thoughtfully.

"That's quite a significant secondary mutation," Jean said carefully.

"I'd like to verify this claim," Xavier said, rolling forward slightly. "Would you mind if I attempted a light telepathic scan? Nothing invasive, just—"

"Professor," Jay interrupted, then paused as he felt Xavier's mental probe touch the edges of his consciousness and slide off like water off glass thanks to his Mind Shield perk. Xavier's eyes widened slightly in surprise.

Jay smiled internally and allowed himself to look confused and then increasingly agitated. "Did you just... try to read my mind?"

"I apologize," Xavier began. "I simply wanted to—"

"That's private!" Jay snapped, putting real heat into his voice. "I came here looking for answers about my abilities, trying to find a place among my OWN people, and your first instinct is to go poking around in my head?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Everyone was staring, some shocked, others defensive.

"Now hold on there, bub," Wolverine said, stepping forward with his hands curling into fists. "The Professor was just—"

"The Professor was just what?" Jay demanded, letting his voice rise. "Violating my mental privacy? Reading my thoughts without permission? You call yourselves educators, protectors of mutant rights, and this is how you treat someone seeking help?"

He turned back to Xavier, genuinely angry now—though not entirely for the reasons they thought. "How can anyone trust you if you go straight to MIND-RAPING everyone you meet? exactly the kind of thing that makes people afraid of mutants in the first place!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Xavier looked genuinely stricken, while several of the X-Men shifted uncomfortably.

"I... you're absolutely right," Xavier said quietly. "I apologize. That was inappropriate and a violation of your privacy."

But Jay was already moving toward the door, making a show of being too upset to listen to apologies. "I need some air," he said shortly. "This was a mistake."

As he stalked out of the lab, he made sure to 'accidentally' drop a couple of his business cards near the door—by Rogue's feet.

Behind him, he heard Rogue's voice: "Well, that went well."

Jay allowed himself a small smile as he made his way through the mansion toward the exit. Phase one complete.

By the time he reached his car, Jay could already imagine the conversations happening back in that lab. Jean would be explaining why she couldn't get any stray thoughts from him—how he'd seemed completely silent to her telepathic senses. Beast would be staring at test results that showed definite mutant markers but blood samples that degraded too quickly for thorough analysis. Xavier would be questioning his own methods while grappling with the implications of meeting someone completely immune to his telepathy.

And Rogue... Rogue would be holding his business card, thinking about what it meant to touch another person without causing them harm.

Jay started his car and pulled away from Xavier's School, feeling surprisingly satisfied with the afternoon's work. He'd established himself as a mutant (which he finally confirmed) with useful abilities, confirmed that he was immune to both telepathic intrusion and power absorption, and left them with just enough questions to ensure they'd want to contact him again.

More importantly, he'd planted the seed of a possible solution to Rogue's isolation. When they eventually reached out—and they would—he'd have the upper hand in any negotiations.

The drive back to the city gave Jay time to think about what he'd learned. His abilities worked exactly as he'd hoped against both telepathy, DNA analysis, and power absorption. The X-Men were every bit as noble and well-intentioned as their comic book counterparts, but also just as prone to the occasional lapse in judgment.

Jay smiled as he merged onto the highway. Sometimes the best way to help people was to make them think it was their idea to ask for help in the first place.

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The little café in Brooklyn was exactly the kind of place Jay had grown to love—worn wooden floors, mismatched chairs, and the perpetual smell of fresh coffee and butter. It was also the kind of place where nobody batted an eye at unusual requests, which made it perfect for his current situation.

Bobby slid into the booth across from Jay and immediately did a double-take at the spread covering their small table. "Jesus, Jay, you feeding a basketball team? Your appetite still amazes me."

Jay grinned around a mouthful of his second breakfast sandwich, gesturing at the array of plates—scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, fruit, and what appeared to be a foot-high stack of pancakes. "I burn through calories like you burn through cigars, Bobby. Powers don't run on miracles—I need the calories to keep them firing." He paused, spearing another piece of bacon. Plus, the heavy eater drawback is coming in handy, actually. Makes the whole stuffing calories thing more natural.

Bobby shook his head in amazement as he ordered just coffee from the waitress. "Most people try to hide their weird habits. You're out here treating yours like a superpower."

"Because it practically is," Jay said, already moving on to the pancakes. "Speaking of superpowers, this morning's expedition went better than expected."

"The Xavier visit?" Bobby leaned forward, lowering his voice. "How'd it go?"

Jay gave him the highlights—the demonstration, meeting the X-Men, Rogue's power not working on him, and his dramatic exit after Xavier's telepathic probe failed. Bobby listened intently, occasionally wincing at the more audacious parts.

"So you basically walked into the most powerful psychic on the planet's house and told him to get out of your head," Bobby summarized. "Then stormed out in a huff."

"I prefer to think of it as establishing boundaries," Jay said innocently. "But yes, the line is cast. Now we wait for the bite."

Bobby took a long sip of his coffee. "You know S.H.I.E.L.D. or other organizations are probably tracking you now, right? Xavier's not exactly subtle about his connections."

"That was always going to happen. These recent meetings will just accelerate the timeline," Jay said, finishing off the last of his eggs. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Besides, we're tightening security anyway. Speaking of which—how's our other project coming along?"

Bobby's expression grew more serious. "Isaiah Bradley?"

"The one and only."

"Well, we found him alright," Bobby said, pulling out a manila folder and sliding it across the table. "Lives in Baltimore now, keeps to himself mostly. Problem is, we can't get anywhere near him."

Jay raised an eyebrow as he flipped open the folder, revealing surveillance photos and notes. "Other people watching him?"

"Government types, mostly. Nothing too on the nose, but there's definitely a rotation of people keeping tabs. Guy's a living piece of history they'd rather keep buried." Bobby tapped one of the photos showing an elderly Black man walking down a suburban street. "He's in his eighties now, but according to our research, he's still in remarkable shape for his age. The serum's still working."

Jay studied the photos intently. Isaiah Bradley—the Black Captain America, one of the forgotten heroes of the Korean War. If the stories were true, his blood contained a version of the Super Soldier Serum that was potentially even more stable than Steve Rogers'.

"I just need a blood sample," Jay said quietly. "Now with Reed's help, and if we can get access to the original Dr. Erskine files, we might be able to reverse-engineer something."

"Might be easier said than done," Bobby warned. "The man's been through hell courtesy of his own government. He's not exactly trusting of strangers, especially ones asking for blood samples."

Jay nodded, closing the folder. "We'll figure something out. Maybe approach through his grandson—Elijah Bradley. Kid's got a good heart, according to the intelligence reports."

Before Bobby could respond, Jay's phone buzzed against the table. The caller ID showed only "Unknown Number."

"Jay speaking," he answered, taking another bite of pancakes.

"Hello," said a voice that was somehow immediately familiar despite Jay never having heard it before. "My name is Xabi. I heard about your powers from this morning's incident. I... I have a problem that I think you might be able to help with."

Jay's Comic Nerd Perk activated like a lightning bolt. ForgetMeNot—the mutant whose power made him essentially invisible to everyone around him. People would forget he existed the moment they weren't directly interacting with him. Family, friends, lovers—everyone just... forgot.

Jay quickly put the phone on speaker, gesturing for Bobby to stay quiet. "What kind of problem, Xabi?"

There was a pause, as if the caller was surprised Jay hadn't immediately hung up or forgotten he was there. "I heard that you might have the ability to temporarily suppress other mutants' powers."

"That's one way to put it," Jay said carefully. "Why do you ask?"

Another pause, longer this time. When Xabi spoke again, there was a tremor in his voice. "I haven't been remembered by another human being in fifteen years. My own mother forgets I exist the moment I leave the room. My sister... God, my sister doesn't even know she has a brother anymore. Not to mention the people at Xavier's School."

Bobby's eyes widened as he began to understand what they were dealing with.

His voice cracked. "I just want someone to remember my name."

Jay felt something twist in his chest. ForgetMeNot's power was simultaneously one of the most useful and most tragic abilities in the Marvel universe. The man was the ultimate spy, the perfect infiltrator, but at the cost of complete social isolation.

"Where would you like to meet?" Jay asked gently.

"You... you're willing to try?"

"Of course, I am."

There was silence on the other end, and Jay could practically hear the man crying. "Tomorrow morning? Early? I can meet you wherever you want."

"I'll text you an address," Jay said. "And Xabi? I'll remember this conversation. I promise."

After he hung up, Bobby stared at him. "That was..."

"Heartbreaking," Jay finished. "His power makes him forgettable to everyone. Completely isolated from human connection."

'Huh. Mind Shield's probably the only reason I still remember him,' Jay thought.

"And you can help him?"

Jay nodded slowly. "Temporarily, at least. But Bobby... this could be huge for us too."

Bobby frowned. "How do you mean?"

"Think about it. A man who can walk into anywhere, do anything, and nobody remembers he was there afterward? That's the ultimate stealth power." Jay trailed off, his mind racing with possibilities. If I could adapt to it, even partially...

"You're thinking about trying to take his ability?"

"I'm thinking about a lot of things," Jay said, signaling for the check. "But first, I'm thinking about helping a man reconnect with his family. Everything else is secondary."

Bobby studied his face. "You mean that."

"I do." Jay pulled out his wallet, leaving enough cash to cover both their meals and a generous tip. "Powers are useful, Bobby, but they're not worth losing your humanity over."

They walked out of the café together, Jay already mentally composing the text message he'd send to Xabi with tomorrow's meeting location. The morning sun was climbing higher, and he had a meeting with Reed at the Baxter Building to prepare for.

As they parted ways, Jay's phone buzzed with a text message. He glanced at it and smiled—it was from an unknown number, just three words: "Thank you. —Xabi"

Jay quickly typed back an address for a small park in Queens, adding: "10 AM. I'll be wearing a blue jacket. And Xabi? I meant what I said about remembering."

His phone buzzed again as he started his car. This time it was a text from an unknown number with a familiar area code—Westchester County.

"Hey, Mr. Jay. This is Rogue. Ah got yer number off that card you dropped. Just wanted t' thank ya for helpin' with mah elbow. Ain't used to folks touchin' me without consequences, so... it meant a lot. If you're ever back this way, maybe we could grab a coffee. Mah treat. Take care. —Marie"

Jay smiled, slipping the phone back into his pocket. Phase one of his Xavier plan was definitely complete. Phase two would begin whenever they worked up the courage to reach out officially.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Baxter Building rose above Manhattan, and Jay stood on the sidewalk, craning his neck to take in all thirty-five floors of it, feeling simultaneously impressed and slightly intimidated.

He'd been to Reed's lab before, but arriving as an official consultant felt different.

The elevator ride was smooth and silent, giving Jay time to review his strategy.

The doors opened directly to the top floor which had been converted into a combination laboratory, workshop, and living space, while holographic displays showed everything from weather patterns to molecular structures.

"Jay!" Reed's voice carried across the space as he emerged from behind a bank of computers, his arm stretching an extra few feet to shake hands. "Perfect timing. I was just running some calculations on our body's cosmic radiation absorption rates."

"Naturally," Jay said with a grin.

Reed laughed, "Come on, let me introduce you to everyone properly. They're in the common area—well, most of them."

"Everyone," Reed said, his voice carrying that particular tone people used for Important Announcements, "I'd like you to meet Jay officially. He's going to be working with us as a strategic consultant."

Susan stood gracefully, extending her hand. "Susan Storm. Reed's told me about you." Her grip was firm, professional, but Jay caught the way her eyes studied his face—looking for tells, measuring his trustworthiness.

"All good things, I hope," Jay replied.

"Mostly," she said with a slight smile.

Ben raised a massive hand in greeting. "Ben Grimm. Thanks for keepin' Stretch here from blowin' himself up the other day."

"Actually, it wasn't that bad." Reed started.

Johnny finally looked up from his baseball match, his expression shifting from bored to skeptical. "Wait, he's our consultant? What, did we run out of actual scientists?"

The silence that followed was the kind that made everyone mentally count to ten.

"Johnny—" Reed began.

"No, it's fine," Jay said, holding up a hand. "It's a fair question. I'm not anything impressive. What I do have are ideas in dealing with the kinds of problems you're about to face."

Johnny sat up straighter, suddenly more interested. "What kind of problems?"

Jay settled into an empty chair, noting how it had been subtly reinforced to handle Ben's weight if needed. "The kind that come from being public superheroes in a world that doesn't know how to handle you yet."

"Meaning?" Susan asked.

"Meaning you're about to get very popular, very fast, with people who want to own you, study you, or use you." Jay's tone grew more serious. "Government agencies, private corporations, foreign powers—everyone's going to want a piece of the Fantastic Four."

Reed nodded grimly. "We've talked about this yesterday… but go on."

"And it's only going to get worse," Jay said. "The good news is, you have options."

He leaned forward, warming to the subject. "First strategy is controlled engagement. Give them something that satisfies their curiosity without compromising your independence. Low-level tech applications, medical devices, energy solutions—stuff that's impressive but not game-changing."

Ben grunted approvingly. "Keep 'em happy with scraps while we keep the good stuff."

"Exactly. But if that doesn't work—and it might not—you go nuclear."

Johnny perked up. "Nuclear how?"

"You go public with everything. Full transparency. You tell your story directly to the people, make them fall in love with you before anyone can paint you as threats." Jay grinned. "Hard to dissect America's sweethearts, and yesterday was a good start. You guys helping people at the bridge."

He paused, then added more carefully, "And Ben, I know this sounds cold, but the public seeing your personal struggles... it humanizes all of you. Makes you relatable instead of just powerful."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

"Absolutely not," Susan said, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "We are not turning Ben's pain into a publicity strategy."

Ben's rocky features had gone completely still, and when he spoke, his voice was dangerously quiet. "Ya want me to parade around my broken engagement for good press? That what you're suggestin'?"

Jay realized he'd stepped in it. Hard. "No, that's not—I didn't mean exploit it. I meant that when people see you're dealing with real consequences, real loss, they'll understand the cost of what happened to you. That you're not just some invulnerable monster."

"I think ya said enough," Ben rumbled.

"You know Fame as a superhero," Johnny said slowly, and Jay could practically see the wheels turning. "I... actually kind of love that."

"Course you do," Ben muttered.

Susan was nodding thoughtfully. "It's not a bad strategy. Public support would make it much harder for anyone to move against us openly."

"Plus," Jay added, "it gives you leverage. Politicians can't ignore public opinion, and corporations can't function if everyone hates them."

They spent the next hour running through scenarios and strategies, with Reed frequently veering off into philosophical tangents until Susan steered him back on course. Growing up in the age of social media, Jay knew better than anyone how quickly public opinion could turn someone into a villain—or a viral sensation.

It was during a lull in the conversation that Jay noticed the lingering signs of their recent adventures. Susan had a barely healed cut on her wrist. Johnny's knuckles showed scrapes that were taking longer to heal than they should. Even Reed had some bruising on his arms that he kept absently rubbing.

Only Ben looked completely uninjured, though that was probably because his rock-like skin made minor injuries irrelevant.

Jay made a decision.

"Okay," he said, standing up abruptly. "There's something I've been keeping under wraps, and I think it's time to come clean."

The room went quiet. Susan set down her coffee cup. Johnny stopped spinning his ball. Even Reed's holographic display froze mid-rotation.

"I'm a mutant," Jay said simply.

The silence stretched for several seconds.

"Oh," Susan said finally. "Is that... is that all?"

Jay, acting surprised, blinked. "Is that all?"

"Well, yeah," Johnny said with a shrug. "I mean, we are also not normal. Sue can turn invisible. Reed can stretch like taffy. Ben's made of rocks. Did you really think we'd be weird about genetic mutations?"

"It's just another way of being different," Reed added gently. "And considering the current political climate around mutant rights, I understand why you'd be cautious about revealing it."

Jay, expecting this reaction, still acts surprised. "Thanks. That... means more than you know."

"What kind of mutation?" Susan asked, her scientific curiosity clearly overriding any other concerns.

Instead of answering, Jay walked over and touched her wrist where the cut was healing. His hand glowed with soft green light, and the wound closed completely, leaving unmarked skin behind.

Susan stared at her wrist in wonder. "Accelerated healing?"

"For myself and others," Jay confirmed, moving to Johnny next. The young man held out his scraped knuckles without hesitation, watching in fascination as the injuries disappeared. "Though it takes a toll. The more severe the injury, the more stamina it costs me."

He healed Reed's bruises last, noting how the scientist immediately began examining his own arms with intense curiosity.

"Remarkable," Reed murmured. "The cellular regeneration rate must be incredible. How do you direct the energy? Is it conscious control or instinctive?"

"Bit of both," Jay said, settling back into his chair. He was definitely more tired now, but not dangerously so. "It takes a bit of intuition, but my background in human biology and medical science helps a lot."

"That's amazing," Susan said softly. "How many people know?"

"Not many. I had some tests done at Xavier's School recently—that's how I confirmed the mutant thing. But given the current anti-mutant sentiment..." Jay shrugged. "Seemed safer to keep quiet."

Johnny was examining his now-perfect knuckles with obvious delight. "Dude, this is so cool. No more waiting for bruises to fade before photo shoots."

"Johnny," Susan said with fond exasperation, "there are more important applications than your non-existent modeling career."

"Hey, looking good is important too."

Ben had been unusually quiet during the healing demonstration, watching with an expression Jay couldn't quite read. Now he spoke up, his voice carefully neutral. "So, uh, how severe an injury we talkin' about? Like, could you fix a broken bone, or...?"

Jay met his eyes directly. "I can't heal anything too severe or if the injury is too old."

Which was technically true, even if it wasn't the whole truth.

"But I'm not done with the reveals," Jay added, standing up again. "There's something else I want to show you."

He walked over to where Ben sat, the massive man looking suddenly uncertain. "Ben, would you trust me for a minute?"

"Uh, sure, but what—"

Jay placed his hand on Ben's rocky forearm and concentrated. Using the newly discovered application of power theft, Power nullification. He reached out with his power, for a moment, nothing happened. Then Ben's rocky orange skin began to shimmer, like heat waves rising from summer pavement.

"What the hell—" Ben started, then stopped as his forearm began to change.

The rocky exterior softened, transforming back into human skin. Not completely—just his hand and part of his forearm—but it was unmistakably human flesh, complete with the scars and calluses Ben had accumulated over the years.

The silence was deafening.

Ben stared at his human hand like it was the most precious thing in the world. "I... how did you..."

The transformation lasted maybe thirty seconds before the rocky exterior returned, but those thirty seconds changed everything.

'Looks like suppressing physical mutations is a lot harder than I thought. Sure, I managed to block his super strength—but his transformation? That's a whole other level. I'd probably have to fully steal it to reverse that.'

"HOLY FUCK!" Johnny exploded, jumping up from the couch. "Did you just—did he just—Ben, you were human!"

"Language," Susan said automatically, but she was staring at Ben's arm with wide eyes.

Ben, meanwhile, had gone completely still. When he looked up at Jay, his eyes were bright with unshed tears. "You can... you can make me normal again?"

Jay felt the weight of that hope like a physical thing. "Partially, and only temporarily. It's exhausting, and I can only sustain it for short periods right now."

"But you did it," Ben said softly. "Even for a few seconds, you made me... me again."

"Hey now," Reed said gently, moving closer to his friend. "You're always you, Ben. Powers or no powers."

"Yeah, but..." Ben held up his rocky hand, flexing the massive fingers. "I ain't been able to feel textures properly in months. Can't touch nothin' delicate without breakin' it. And Alicia..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"The stamina cost was too much," Jay admitted, slumping back into his chair now fully drenched in sweat. "My body isn't strong enough to handle this level of suppression right now. But if I could boost my physical capabilities somehow..."

Reed's eyes lit up like Christmas morning. "Controlled enhancement! We could explore cosmic radiation exposure in a controlled environment, or perhaps a Captain America-style supersoldier treatment, or maybe even technological amplification through—"

"Reed," Susan interrupted gently. "Breathe."

"But the possibilities!" Reed continued, his enthusiasm undimmed. "If Jay's healing abilities could be enhanced or amplified, we could potentially develop treatments for all kinds of conditions. Not just Ben's transformation, but genetic disorders, degenerative diseases, traumatic injuries—"

Johnny looked like his brain was melting. "Okay, I'm lost. Are we talking about making Jay into Captain America, or turning him into some kind of super-healer, or what?"

"Both?" Reed suggested hopefully.

Ben, meanwhile, was staring at his hand again, flexing his fingers. "You really think you could do more? Make it last longer?"

"Maybe," Jay said with a deliberate frown, carefully choosing his words.. "But it would require some kind of physical enhancement. Right now, the stamina cost is beyond what my body can handle safely."

"Then we make you stronger," Ben said with that gravel-sure finality that meant the argument had already lost. He stood, all rock and resolve, and before Jay could react, crushed him into a hug that felt like being tackled by a friendly bulldozer.

"Thank you," Ben said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "I ain't been able to hope for somethin' like this in... hell, since the accident. Thank you."

Jay patted Ben's massive shoulder as best he could while being compressed. "Don't thank me yet. We don't know if enhancement is even possible."

"We'll figure it out," Reed said with absolute confidence. "If there's a way to boost your abilities safely, we'll find it."

Susan was watching the whole scene with a soft smile. "This is amazing, Jay. Not just what you can do, but that you're willing to try."

"Course he's willing," Ben said, finally releasing Jay from the crushing embrace. "Guy's got a good heart. I can tell."

Jay felt a warm flush, then guilt… then nothing. The Fantastic Four had just learned he was a mutant with potentially world-changing abilities, and their first instinct had been to offer help. Support. Trust. Exactly the reaction he was counting on. This—this was why he'd inserted himself into their lives. Because good people with power made the best shields. The lies, the half-truths, the carefully curated image—they were all worth it if it meant protecting his freedom. In a world that hunted anything different, trust was just another resource—and he intended to use it.

"I should probably go," Jay said after a moment. "This is a lot to process, and I have another appointment."

"What, you got another superhero team to consult?" Johnny asked with a grin.

"Something like that." Jay stood, still feeling the lingering effects of his demonstration. "But I'll be in touch about the enhancement research. If there's a way to make this work..."

"There will be," Reed said firmly. "I'll start the research immediately. Genetic enhancement, technological augmentation, controlled radiation exposure—we'll explore every option."

Susan, seeing Jay walk to the elevator, thoughtfully said. "Well, this was an interesting meeting."

Jay smiled as the elevator descended. Phase one was complete. He'd given them hope, revealed carefully selected secrets, and opened the door to possibilities none of them had imagined before today. More importantly, he'd positioned himself as indispensable—the key to Ben's humanity.

The guilt tried to surface again, but Jay pushed it down. This wasn't about manipulation, he told himself. This was about survival.

If they happened to benefit from the arrangement too, well, that just made it easier to sleep at night.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[Max_Striker]

The same Brooklyn café where Jay had met Bobby looked different in morning light—less like a place for secret meetings, more like where normal people grabbed coffee before work. Jay showed up fifteen minutes early and snagged a corner booth with a clear view of both doors. A habit he'd picked up from Bobby, who treated every public space like a potential battlefield.

He'd been watching the crowd for ten minutes when his eyes passed over some guy at the counter. Completely ordinary—brown hair, forgettable face, the kind of person you'd walk past without a second glance.

Jay's gaze started to move on, then snapped back hard as something in his head went ping—like his mind shield had just blocked a punch.

He blinked, and suddenly the man's name surfaced through.

Xabi.

ForgetMeNot.

The guy who lived in the spaces between memories.

Jay's comic book knowledge kicked in with all the details. Professor X had to surgically implant a mental alarm in his own brain just to remember this man existed. Even then, Xavier could only hold onto the memory for minutes before Xabi faded back into the forgotten corners of his mind.

Xabi had already paid and was heading for the exit when Jay called out.

"Xabi."

The coffee cup nearly slipped from the man's hands. He turned around slow, like he was moving through a dream, eyes wide with something between hope and terror.

"You remember my name."

It came out like the most important question in the world.

Jay waved him over. "Come sit. We should talk."

Xabi walked to the booth like he was afraid the moment might shatter if he moved too fast. Up close, the toll was obvious—dark circles under his eyes, the hollow look of someone carrying weight that no one else could see.

"You're the first," Xabi said, voice cracking. "Besides Xavier, you're the first person to say my name without someone reminding you I exist."

Jay tapped his temple. "Your power may make people forget, but my mind's built different."

"Psychic defenses!" Xabi let out a bitter laugh. "I should have figured that out myself, except I can never talk to anyone long enough to work through the problem."

The café hummed with conversations around them, but their corner felt isolated. Probably Xabi's power making their talk literally forgettable to anyone listening.

"So about what we discussed yesterday," Jay said gently.

Xabi's face crumpled. "I just want to hug my mom again and have her remember me afterward."

The raw pain in those words hit Jay like a punch to the gut.

"How long since you've been home?"

"Three years. I've tried visiting—stood right next to her in the grocery store, helped her reach stuff from high shelves. She thanked me, looked right at me, and the second I walked away..." Xabi's hands tightened around his cup. "Gone. Like I was never there."

This was different—a kind of living death where you got erased from every moment as it happened.

"I can help," Jay said.

Xabi's head shot up. "What?"

"I suppress powers. I did it yesterday for a friend—let him feel human for a few seconds —and, as you know, I unintentionally did it to Rouge too. I could do the same for you. Give you a conversation with your family where they'll actually remember you."

The hope that spread across Xabi's face was almost painful to watch. "You could really do that?"

"Temporarily. I'd need to keep touching you to maintain it, so it'll look weird. But yeah, I could give you that."

Xabi stared into his coffee for a long moment, like the answer was floating in there somewhere.

"What's it going to cost me?" he asked finally.

Smart question. Jay respected someone who understood that miracles came with price tags.

"Let's handle the reunion first," Jay said. "We'll talk about the rest after."

Xabi nodded. "There's a church. St. Mary's in the Bronx. My mom and sister go to eleven o'clock mass every Sunday. They've been going since..." He swallowed hard. "Since before I disappeared from their lives."

---

St. Mary's was one of those small neighborhood churches that had been holding communities together for decades. The Sunday service was ending when they arrived, families in their church clothes streaming out onto the steps.

Jay spotted them right away. The resemblance was subtle but unmistakable—a woman in her fifties with Xabi's eyes and a younger woman who had his nose. They were chatting with other parishioners, completely unaware their son and brother was watching from across the street.

"I've stood here before," Xabi said quietly. "Watched them leave, followed them home, sat in their living room during dinner. They never know."

"They will today," Jay promised.

He put his hand on Xabi's shoulder, concentrating. The suppression felt weird this time—less like flipping a switch, more like trying to grab smoke.

"Okay," Jay said through gritted teeth. "Let's go. But I have to keep contact, so this is going to look awkward."

They crossed the street together, Jay's hand firmly planted on Xabi's shoulder. They probably looked like someone helping a drunk friend, but it was working—people were actually seeing Xabi instead of looking right through him.

"Mama?"

The woman turned at her son's voice, and Jay watched her expression cycle through confusion, recognition, and pure joy in about two seconds.

"Xabi! Mi niño!" She threw herself at him, and Jay had to scramble to keep his grip while she wrapped her son in a crushing hug. "Where have you been? We've been so worried!"

Xabi's sister went white. "Xabi? Oh my God, Xabi!" She joined the hug, tears streaming. "We thought something happened when you stopped calling, stopped visiting. We looked for you, but I can't remember... when did we stop?"

"I'm okay," Xabi whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm right here. I'm sorry I was gone."

Jay stood there like the world's most awkward third wheel, maintaining his grip on Xabi's shoulder while trying to give the family space. Other church members were staring, some coming over to welcome back what they figured was a prodigal son.

For almost an hour, Jay held the suppression. His head felt like someone was using it for drumming practice, sweat dripping down his face, but he held on. Xabi needed this. His family needed this.

They talked about everything—Xabi's mother scolded him for not staying in touch (which created this weird loop where she forgot why he couldn't call), his sister showed him photos of her new place, and his mother started planning Sunday dinner for next week.

Finally, Jay couldn't take it anymore. "Xabi," he said quietly. "I have to let go."

The panic that flashed across Xabi's face was heartbreaking, but he nodded. He hugged his mother and sister one more time, told them he loved them, then stepped back as Jay released his shoulder.

Jay watched it happen—the exact moment Xabi faded from their awareness. His mother and sister looked around confused, like they'd forgotten why they were standing there. After a moment, they shrugged and headed for their car, talking about lunch.

Xabi stood frozen, watching them drive away without looking back.

"They'll remember pieces," Jay said gently. "For a few hours, maybe longer. It'll feel like a dream they can't quite catch, but the emotions will stick."

"It's more than I've had in three years," Xabi said, wiping his eyes. "Thank you. I don't know how to pay you back for something like this."

Jay was quiet, watching Xabi's family disappear around the corner. The calculating part of his brain had been running the whole time—cataloging possibilities, measuring what he'd just seen, weighing its value.

"Actually," Jay said, "there is something."

Xabi turned, and Jay saw the resignation in his eyes. He'd known this was coming.

"There's a man. Isaiah Bradley. Lives in Baltimore. Government watches him too closely for someone like me to get near." Jay met his gaze without flinching. "I need a blood sample."

All the color drained from Xabi's face. "Isaiah Bradley. The second Captain America. The one they experimented on."

"You know him?"

"Professor Xavier briefed us on the super soldier programs. Bradley's one of the few who survived the experiments." Xabi was quiet for a moment. "You want his blood for the serum."

Not a question.

"I want it for research," Jay said. "To understand how it works, how it might mix with other enhancements."

Xabi stared at him for a long time. Jay could see the war playing out—gratitude for what Jay had done, fighting against what he was being asked to do.

"He's an old man," Xabi said finally. "He's suffered enough."

"One vial," Jay said. "He'll never know it happened. You could be in and out without anyone remembering you were there—including him."

"And if I say no?"

Jay shrugged, keeping his face neutral. "Then you say no. I'm not threatening you, Xabi. What happened today was a gift, not a trade."

But they both knew the truth. Xabi would never find another person who could give him what Jay just had. And Jay was betting that taste of being remembered—of existing in his family's world, even briefly—would be enough.

Xabi closed his eyes, and Jay could practically hear his principles cracking.

"Send me the address," Xabi said quietly. "I'll figure out how to get what you need."

---

They split up at the subway. Jay waited until Xabi disappeared in the crowd before texting Isaiah Bradley's Baltimore address. He paused for just a second before hitting send, then saved Xabi's number in his phone.

Jay kept thinking about the look in Xabi's mother's eyes when she'd recognized her son. Pure joy, with no confusion or worry for those precious minutes. Xabi had existed completely in someone else's world.

And Jay had made it happen.

The guilt tried to surface—he'd just manipulated a desperate man into targeting an elderly war hero. Isaiah Bradley wasn't some random name—he was a symbol, a victim, someone who'd already given more than anyone should have to.

But Jay pushed the feeling down. He'd gotten good at that.

This wasn't about right and wrong. This was about building what he needed to survive in a world that saw people like him as weapons or threats. Isaiah Bradley's blood could unlock physical enhancement, and physical enhancement could make his other powers better suited for this world.

As for Xabi... Jay had given him something no one else could. Something precious. If it came with strings, well, that was just how miracles worked in the real world.

Jay pulled up his phone and started researching government surveillance systems. If this worked, Jay would have a full list of high-value targets—places with data or tech that Xabi could slip into like smoke.

After all, forgettable didn't mean powerless. In the right hands, it was a cheat code.

Jay just had to keep telling himself his were the right ones.
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