Life can Change: What a Marvel Part 2 (1 of 3) (Patreon)

(This bloody chapter is 36,000 words so I’m splitting it up into three segments so your phones don’t blow up when you try to open it)

(Btw these pictures are just random, though some may hint at future stuff )

The sun had just set beyond the horizon and with it left any warmth that it provided. A cold desert chill creeped up on the denizens of the northern Kabul province. Those that were outside rubbed their arms to try and maintain some warmth, but even they failed and were overwhelmed by the chill. 50 miles outside of Kabul was a compound one that's not very many people knew about this compound was a terrorist cell that used to be associated with the Taliban, but recently split away as they did not believe they were doing enough to bring the downfall of the West.

This cell called themselves الجديد. In their own words that meant the New Dawn. Their leader Farooq al Rasheed. Or as he was known by his men, Amir. He was a charming man equally skilled in diplomacy and violence, though he preferred the latter rather than the former. For his entire life, he had been fighting, his sole purpose in life was to bring the downfall of the west and to kill as many non believers as he could. In the 40 years or so, he had been alive, he managed to kill thousands, whether by himself or on his orders.

He didn't want to negotiate nor did he want to reason nor did he even want them to repent. He just wanted them to die. He wanted a world that was pure and gone with the taint of America and the capitalist Society. His charisma and charm had managed to win many people over to him, all of them just righteous in their beliefs as he is.

Zubair Wardak was the first of the men he kept close, one of the first men he discovered that was different from everyone else. Zubair had grown up in a village where boys learned to wrestle in the dust behind the mosque, he had grown up fighting and he had been good At it. Even before he was different, he was able to carry stone across his back like it weighed nothing.

When the change came to him it did not show in a flash. He woke one week and found he could lift the front of a truck to change a tire by himself and it did not feel like heavy. A steel gate bent in his hands when the hinge jammed and he laughed because he had not put his full effort into it. Zubair was a mutant and he had activated his X-gene, and it gave him super strength. Amir saw the opportunity and swooped him to recruit him; he had settled some debts with Zubair's family and since then the man had been loyal, some even went as far as to call him Amirs dog. But in the end, Zubair was a quiet man who ate more than the others and did not brag. When he gave his word he kept it, and he never let anyone insult Amir.

Samir Popalzai was the one the others that Amir had managed to recruit and arguably much more dangerous. His sweat was not water but nitroglycerin, and he was able to ignite the substance, creating explosions in his hands that he could direct and hurt people with. He once blew up an American convoy by himself, his addiction to using his power however managed to get him in a lot of trouble, which was where Amir came in to save him. While Samir was not as loyal, he shared the same goal as Amir.

These three men and many more were in the compound tonight to celebrate. They had a reason to celebrate. An unnamed sponsor had stepped in a few months ago and supplied them a large amount of money and a viable plan that aligned with their goals. The plan was simple, they would hit multiple American army bases in Iraq and steal as much of the equipment as they could that included jeeps, guns, tanks, even helicopters and planes if they were able to. They would also kill everyone they could, with the element of surprise on their hand, they couldn't lose. This was a reason enough to celebrate, a great victory was coming,  soon the world would know their name and soon the West would come to fear them.

You could tell the celebration started as meat hissed and popped on skewers over the steel drum in the yard, the smoke drifting in with every push of the door. Pots of rice steamed sat on the long table against the wall, trays of flatbread leaning beside them, and every plate was filled without hesitation.

Amir sat in the wide cushioned chair at the far end, the only real seat in the room, a low table in front of him piled with plates of meat and dishes of spiced rice. Two women knelt at either side of him, pouring tea into small glasses, their eyes lowered. Another moved behind him, fanning the smoke away whenever it drifted too close. He leaned back, watching the room as men ate and talked and laughed, his hand resting lazily on the armrest while he let the noise wash over him.

Near the food line, two men were boasting about the plan, their voices raised so others could hear.

"Three bases in one night," one said, grinning around a mouthful of bread. "They won't even know which way to run."

"They'll run west," the other replied, "and we'll have people waiting there too. They'll be like dogs chasing their tails."

A man across the table spat on the floor. "The Americans won't fight. They'll hide behind their walls and call for help. Let them. By the time they finish talking, we'll be gone with everything they own."

From the center of the room, Samir was in the middle of a demonstration, rubbing his palms until they gleamed, then snapping them together. The sharp crack made a few of the younger men jump back, which only made him smirk.

"You jump now, you'll just die later," he said with a grin. "Better get used to it. This will be louder when it's pointed at the American dogs."

"You'll set yourself on fire one day," someone called from the side.

Samir grinned without looking over. He didn't look too concerned over that happening.

Zubair was harder to draw into the conversation. He sat near the wall with a plate balanced in one hand, eating in silence until two boys from the watch came over, nervous to interrupt. "The storehouse gate's stuck again," one said.

He didn't answer. He set the plate down, walked to the door, and put both hands on the bent frame. The metal groaned and gave under his grip, shifting back into place. The boys stared like they'd seen a magic trick. Zubair looked at them flatly. "If it's stuck again, get someone to fix it, I can only break things." Then he went back to his seat without waiting for thanks.

The music had started when one of the older men brought out a drum and a young fighter fetched a battered lute from his bunk. While they would not usually listen to music tonight, they wanted to celebrate, some people would not make it through tomorrow, so they wanted to have a celebration here to send them off to heaven.

Amir rose only when the room's attention was his. The music slowed without a word. He stepped forward, the women following, one carrying his tea, another holding a plate of meat like an offering. He didn't need to raise his voice. "You've all worked for this," he said, looking from face to face. "You've trained. You've planned. And soon, you'll act. Our enemies will not see you coming, and when they know you are there, it will already be too late. Tonight is for celebrating. Tomorrow is for victory!"

There were murmurs of agreement, a few shouts of "God is great!" from the back.

Amir sat back down, a woman kneeling to place the tea in his hand. "Let them eat," he said quietly to Zubair, who had stepped closer. Zubair nodded, before heading over to a door and opening it, letting the women out to join the men.

The celebration reached its Apex and it continued to go on as people talk and laughed together, they had fun, they ate, they told stories. But all of that ended when a massive explosion shook the building from out outside. The women and children screamed, the former grabbing the latter close and holding them. The men however were used to such things and they moved into action. They dropped their drinks, food was smashed onto the floor. Weapons were grabbed as the men started to make their way outside. Zubair and Samir led them, while Amir pulled out his phone and started to call someone.

When they got outside into the courtyard of the compound, they were greeted with an eerily quiet atmosphere. They didn't know why, but every man there felt like they were being watched. Only the veterans among them managed to keep their calm, the younger ones found themselves nervous, their fingers brushing across the trigger.

"Stay calm brothers!" Zubair shouted as he looked around while moving as pistol.

Then the gate rattled. At first it was light, just a shake like the wind had caught it, but then it got heavier, clanging hard enough that the whole frame shuddered. That was all it took. One of the younger fighters panicked and opened fire on it. The noise of his shots set off two others, and before long they were chewing into the steel with bursts from their rifles. Sparks flew, bullets ricocheted back, and Zubair snapped, shouting at them to stop wasting ammunition. Samir did the same, cursing them until they finally stopped. The sound cut out and the silence came back, and now all eyes were on the gate.

That was when one of the men in the back slowly raised his pistol and aimed it at the back of another fighter's head. Nobody noticed until the shot went off. It dropped the man instantly, face-first into the dirt. For a second everyone just froze, confused at what they'd seen. The one holding the gun should have been terrified of the response, but instead he smiled. And then his face started to change.

At first it was subtle, like the lines of his jaw shifting, the skin moving, but then the whole body twisted until he looked exactly like the man he had just killed. The confusion got to all of them and have her an opportunity. She didn't hesitate. She shot one man twice in the chest at point-blank range, dropped to the ground, and snatched up his rifle. Before the others had a chance to react, she fired, cutting another across the legs and putting him down. She moved too fast, rolling across the dirt, then kicked one fighter's knee out from under him. He went face-first into the ground and she pressed the barrel to the back of his head and fired.

Another fighter came at her with a knife. She caught his wrist, twisted it, and shoved the blade into his stomach. He fell away and by the time the next man got close she had already shifted again, her skin rippling so she looked like Zubair after she slipped past him. That created even more panic. Some of the younger men turned on the real Zubair, shouting that it must be him, and in that second of hesitation she struck again.

She ducked under wild shots, sprung up, and used her legs like a trap, wrapping them around one man's neck and slamming him to the ground hard enough to break it. She snatched his weapon, clubbed another in the face with the stock, and when someone tried to flank her. She smashed the rifle butt into the man's nose, dropping him cold.

But eventually, sheer numbers forced her into a corner. The surviving fighters regrouped behind Zubair and Samir's orders. She stopped moving then, standing in the center. Her disguise dropped, her skin turning blue, her eyes glowing yellow, her red hair falling back.

Zubair shouted the order to fire, but before they could, the gates blew inward. The entire frame ripped off its hinges and crashed into the dirt. Dust and smoke rolled in, and through it came shapes moving forward. At the front was an old man floating above the ground. He had a helmet covering most of his head. The fighters opened fire instantly. Bullets filled the air but stopped short of him, hanging in place like they had slammed into a wall. Then, one by one, they twisted back and flew into the men who had fired them. The screams filled the courtyard as bullets tore through throats, shoulders, and chests.

Only two were left untouched. Zubair and Samir.

The old man lowered his hands. "Come now, brothers. We have much to speak on, and you have much to learn of your people."

He hovered closer.

"You're home now."

_____________________________________

(Two months later)

"Ohhhh!!!!" Natalie moaned as she bounced up and down on Mark's thick shaft; the hard appendage plunging deep inside her every time she moved. Mark through his hips every time her ass dropped down on him making it ripple and clap. "Mark!!!" She hissed as she scratched his chest. "H-how a-are you doing this to me?" She moaned, as he once again brought her close to climax. Mark meanwhile palmed her large breasts, while she continued to bounce on him, he flicked her nipples with his fingers and pinched them making her scream all the louder. "Fuck!!!" She shouted again. Mark could feel her tightening up around his dick, she even started to move faster. Riding him with proficiency that he hadn't ever never seen from anyone he'd been with.

"Shit Natalie," Mark groaned as he felt his balls start to bubble; ready to release his cum straight into her womb. He released her breasts, grabbed her hips and started thrusting upwards faster and faster.

"Yes! Yes! Do it! I'm so—" she said before her eyes glazed over. "AAAAAAHHHH!!!" She screamed as her whole body tensed on him, her pussy started to leak down his shaft and squeeze him tightly as a wave of pleasure overcame her and she turned into a puddle on his chest. Mark wasn't that far behind her, and after a few more pumps erupted inside her, his cum filling her entirely and leaking out.

She lay down on his chest, her red hair splayed out across it and hummed in content. This was the fourth time they had gone tonight and Mark could tell that it was the last time for Natalie. His dick softened up and slipped out of her, he went to move her onto the bed next to him but she held on tightly. "No no no... comfy," she whined as she rubbed her face into his chest.

Mark chuckled but allowed her to stay there while he traced circles along her back. It had been a crazy few months for Mark ever since the fight with the Hulk and the abomination as everyone called him. Harlem was basically destroyed in the process and a lot of people were hurt. Mark to remind himself that he did all he could back down, but even then it didn't really convince him. Mark always thought of himself as neutral he didn't think he was a hero or a villain, but he was starting to think maybe that was just because of where he grew up. Gotham was full of degenerates and criminals. Anyone who was truly good, those who were nice without expecting anything in return were like diamonds in the rough.

Thie city was different though. While it definitely has its dark moments. There were so many people who worked to try and help others and he saw that a lot in Harlem they had a very close community. Luke had been the one to introduce him to that when he had offered to help with the clear up. There was so many good people here Who didn't deserve what happened and even if he tried to reassure himself that there was nothing could've done.

He knew that there was.

He looked down at Natalie who had started to softly snore and carefully shifted her onto the bed next to him. That wasn't unexpected development. He wasn't really looking for a relationship at the time and was just doing things casually but Natalie had somehow managed to worm her way in. It started after he bought the apartment that she showed him after that they decided to see more of each other until eventually it just sort of happened. She was nice and she was fun to be around. Though he still hasn't told her that he was a half-alien hybrid or about his abilities.

Mark got out from bed and moved to the window. He looked out across the New York skyline. There had been one hiccup in his stay here one that had caused him. A big headache.

*Flashback*

"Nick Fury," he said. "Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. And you shouldn't be here."

Mark stiffened. "You people don't believe in knocking?"

Fury ignored the jab, his single eye fixed on him. "You're not from here."

Mark rubbed his cheek. "If you mean not from New York you'd be right."

"Don't play games with me Mr Grayson; You're stronger, faster, tougher than anything we've seen walk this planet. You fly. You heal. You're not one of us, and that makes a lot of people nervous. When someone like you shows up with no leash, no oversight, it doesn't matter what you call yourself. To the men sitting in rooms with their fingers on buttons, you're a damn near god walking around as a free agent. And that scares the hell out of them."

Mark folded his arms. "I haven't done anything."

Fury nodded. "I know. In fact, you've done a lot of good since you landed here. Harlem. That mess at the Expo. People walked out alive because you stepped in. That's why we're having this conversation instead of something less polite."

Mark didn't like how much they knew. He didn't like the word "alien" hanging unspoken in the air, especially since he was technically human too. "So what do you want?"

Fury moved around the room like he was inspecting it. "What I want is simple. Work with us. Work for S.H.I.E.L.D. You've got power, you want to help people, that's fine. With us, you could do more good than you ever will alone. And while you're doing that, you stop making the leaders of the world sweat bullets every time your name comes up in a briefing."

Mark narrowed his eyes. "If I did that, what exactly would I be asked to do?"

Fury didn't hesitate, but he didn't give a straight answer either. "Terrorist cells. Rogue states. Individuals who think they can tip the balance of the world by force. We've got enemies everywhere, and they don't stop at borders. You'd be helping stop those threats before they reach the people you claim you care about."

Mark's jaw tightened. "So Fighting whoever you point me at."

Fury leaned in slightly. "You want to save people, fine. That's noble. But let me be clear: the world isn't built on noble. It's built on power. And when someone like you shows up, every other bastard with power wants to know where you stand. You keep freelancing, you'll find out the hard way how small the world really is. With us, you'll have structure. Resources. Backing."

The room went quiet. Mark didn't look away, and Fury didn't either. Eventually, Mark said, "I need to think about it."

Fury reached into his coat and pulled out a small phone. He set it down on the counter between them. "When you make up your mind, call that. Try not to make any big splashes until then. The less nervous people get, the better for everyone."

Then he turned and left, the door shutting behind him without a sound.

*Flashback End*

After that Mark had spent weeks thinking about it, thinking about whether Fury was right. Heroes weren't really a thing in this world, of course you had Iron Man, but Tony Stark wasn't really someone who put on the suit and went on patrol trying to find people to save. He was more reactionary and only ever with threats more than the police could handle.

Mark wanted something different. After Harlem, he couldn't just stand by. He'd seen too many people crushed under rubble, too many kids orphaned, and it stuck with him. He wanted to save people. Deep down, in a way he hadn't admitted to anyone, he wanted to be a hero. But was that what this world even needed? Or was that just him clinging to something old-fashioned, something out of place?

He sighed. His mother would have known what to say. She always did. He wished she was here now.

"What's wrong?" a soft voice asked behind him.

Mark turned. Natalie had gotten out of bed, her hair messy, her eyes half-lidded with sleep, and she came up to him without hesitation. She pressed her body against him and wrapped her arms around his back, squeezing him tight. Mark felt himself stir as he felt her large breasts pressing into him, though he calmed himself as he doubted she could go another round.

"Nothing," Mark said, pulling her into the hug and kissing her forehead. "Just thinking."

"Just thinking?" Natalie teased, tilting her head up with a grin. "Uh oh. Want me to call you a doctor?"

Mark laughed under his breath and shook his head. "I'll show you who needs a doctor." He scooped her up off the floor before she had a chance to react. Natalie squealed, her legs kicking, as he spun her around in the middle of the room.

"Okay, okay, I give, I give!" she laughed, holding onto his shoulders.

Mark slowed and stopped with her still in his arms, their faces just inches apart. He brushed a lock of her red hair out of her face and held her there, looking at her.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hi," Mark replied, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

"How about you stop brooding and come back to bed?" she said. "I need someone to spoon me, and you're gonna need someone to rub this monster against in the morning." She grabbed his shaft and stroked it.

Mark rolled his eyes, but he couldn't fight the smile. He leaned in and kissed her deeply, holding her close, and then carried her back to bed. They sank under the sheets, and as she curled against him he wrapped his arms around her. The thoughts about Fury, about Harlem, about what he should be, they all quieted for the night.

...

The next morning Mark woke up to an empty bed. For a second he thought maybe Natalie had just gone to the bathroom, but when he rolled over the covers were already cold. On the bedside cabinet was a folded note with her handwriting across it 'Had to run to work. I'll see you later.' She'd drawn a little heart at the bottom, which made him snort despite himself.

He sat up, stretched his arms, and rubbed his eyes. His body didn't get sore the way it used to, but the habit of stretching stayed. It was routine, and routines helped keep him sane. He dragged himself into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, showered long enough for the steam to fog the mirror, and pulled on jeans and a hoodie. For a guy who could break sound barriers, he still moved like he had all the time in the world when it came to mornings.

He was lacing his sneakers when his phone buzzed across the counter. The caller ID said Luke. Mark picked up.

"Hey man, you still coming?" Luke asked. Through the phone speaker.

"Yeah, I'm leaving now," Mark said.

"Good. We're shifting the cleanup down to Fifth Avenue today. It's still clogged to hell. Food bank trucks can't get through, garbage collection's backed up, and there's one building leaning so bad city construction gotta take it apart piece by piece. Sweet Christmas, it's a mess."

Mark nodded. "Alright. I'm on my way."

"Bring your A game, brother," Luke said before hanging up.

Mark walked over to the window, slid it open, and pulled his hood tight. He glanced down once at the street, then pushed off with a grin. The ground vanished under him, wind roaring in his ears. "Wooooooo!" he yelled as he climbed higher, cutting through the air. Flying never got old. It was such an innate part of him that it felt unnatural to be doing anything else.  It was a short flight across the city. He came down in an alley near Fifth Avenue, boots crunching against gravel as he touched down. He adjusted his hood and stepped out onto the street.

"Shit," he muttered. The place was still wrecked. Rubble everywhere, broken glass glittering in the sunlight, utility lines sagging low. But what struck him wasn't the destruction—it was the people. Dozens of them. Men, women, kids. Some wore reflective vests, some just came in their own clothes, but they were all working. That was Harlem. They didn't wait for someone else to come fix things. They showed up. They put in the work.

Mark walked toward the crowd and immediately people started greeting him. A few dapped him up, clapping him on the back. Others nodded, calling out to him.

"Glad you came through, brother!"

"Good to see you out here!"

"Mark you owe me five dollars!"

He spotted Luke near a half-collapsed building, sleeves rolled up, directing people as they shifted chunks of concrete into a truck bed. When Luke saw him they clasped hands, pulled in for a hug, and patted each other's backs.

"Glad you made it," Luke said, sounding genuinely pleased to see him.

"Of course," Mark replied.

"Sweet Christmas, we got a lot of work to do," Luke said with a loud breath. "I'm glad you came today, we got a lot of buildings we need to clear and mark for inspection, the community centres aren't doing well either the overflow of families there."

"Then let's get to work," Mark said as he took off his hoodie and rolled up his sleeves.

Before they got started Three older Black women with auntie energy hollered at them. They had a pop-up buffet going on two folding tables, aluminum trays of mac and cheese, pans of greens, chicken, cornbread wrapped in foil, and a cooler full of drinks. They were constantly fussing over the workers and made sure that everyone had food and that people were keeping hydrated.

"Boy, you too skinny to be moving all that concrete," one of them said, tongs already dropping chicken on a paper plate he hadn't agreed to have.

"I'm not skinny," he said, taking it anyway.

"You will be if you don't eat," another said. "You want a soda or water?"

"Water," he replied.

"Good answer," she said, handing him the bottle.

Luke gave him a grin. "Don't fight them," he said. "That's a battle you won't win."

Mark snorted. "I think I know that by now, I don't eat breakfast anymore before coming here nowadays."

Luke chuckled and pat him on the back. "Eat up then let's get to work."

The hours blurred together. They hauled twisted rebar, cleared piles of bricks, shoveled debris and glass. They mostly tried to make this place liveable again. There were a lot of families stuck in the community centre because of this and so the quicker they worked the better it would be for everyone.  There were quiet moments too. Helping a woman sift through what was left of her apartment for a photo album. Helping an older man get his stuff out of an apartment, helping a family get their possessions, it was gruelling work but Mark liked it.

All the while, Luke was the same as ever. He never complained, never slowed. He cracked jokes to keep people's spirits up, lifted the kind of weight most men couldn't though people just put that down to him being built well, and most importantly he treated everyone like they mattered. As they were moving rubble Mark thought about how they even got here in the first place.

A few days after Harlem, Luke had knocked on his door. He'd already figured it out that it was Mark who had been there. There'd been footage of Mark in the fight—blurry, grainy, but enough to recognise the outfit Mark wore. Luke had seen him right before it all went down, and there was no point denying it. When Mark finally told him the truth, he braced himself for the expected reaction: fear, judgment, maybe even betrayal. Instead, Luke had just listened. Then he'd told his own story, his past, his mistakes, and his powers. In hindsight, Mark was glad he didn't lie. Luke had become his closest friend, someone he trusted without question. He was genuine. A good man. Whenever Mark needed advice, Luke was there, to offer it. Without him, Mark wasn't sure how he'd have handled half of this.

They wrapped at sunset. Crews packed tools. The food table went from "buffet" to "take some for the road." They had made a lot of progress today, especially when Mark and Luke had gone off on their own and used their abilities to clear the rubble faster. Afterwards he and Luke did their daily ritual. They took the cooler and the fold-up chairs up to the roof of an abandoned building with a good view west. They'd kick it back and relax with a few beers and watch the sun setting while talking about whatever was on their mind.

Luke cracked two beers and handed one over. "You did good today."

"Everybody did good today," Mark said, taking a pull. The beer was cold and cheap but it tasted perfect.

They sat with it for a while, letting the wind move and the sun fall a notch.

"You good?" Luke asked without turning.

For a while Mark didn't answer. "I've been thinking," Mark said.

"Always dangerous," Luke said with a grin.

"Not the first person to say that today," Mark commented with a chuckle.

"Maybe that should give you a hint," Luke quipped back before taking a sip from his beer.

Mark shook his head, a grin on his face before he took a sip from his own. He then went over what happened with Nick Fury and shield. He had kept it from his friend at first because he didn't want to panic him or drag him into a situation where the cops could end up finding out who he was and arresting him again. But in the end he just couldn't make a decision like this without hearing someone else's perspective.

Luke rubbed his jaw. "You saved a lot of people that night in Harlem, who knows how many would've died if you hadn't of kept the abomination distracted. I can't believe he'd come into your room and say those kinds of things."

"He wasn't wrong about the nerves," Mark said. "I scare people."

"You scare the wrong people," Luke said. "And the wrong people know how to make their fear everyone else's problem."

"You think anyone in this community would be scared of you after what you've done for them?" He asked rhetorically. "They're scared because someone has come along that can't be hurt and could be easily take all the power that they've accumulated away."

Mark knew that of course, but it didn't make the situation any easier. Having a bunch of people in power who hated his very existence because of how easily he could take it away from them wouldn't end up well.  Mark took another drink, then looked at the phone in his pocket like it could burn through fabric. "He wants me 'with them.' Says it'll be better for everyone. More good done. Less panic for everyone who thinks I'm a ticking time bomb."

"And what do you want?" Luke asked.

Mark shrugged. "I don't know," he said unconvincingly. "I've been thinking about it a lot and maybe this would be for the best."

Luke raised a brow. "For the best?" He asked.

Mark nodded. "If I take their offer and ask for an outrageous sum then I could pump it into the community here, and it'll go a long way in making shield think I'm just another greedy human. Maybe with that kind of reassurance they'll think they can control me."

"Now why in Santa's reindeer would you go and do that?" Luke asked as he set his bottle of beer down.

"What's the alternative Luke?" Mark asked. "If I refuse they'll likely increase their surveillance of me and maybe even target people I'm close to. I don't have many friends, but I don't want anything happening to you or Natalie."

Luke chuckled but he pat his friend on the shoulder. "I appreciate that man, but you don't have to worry about me, I can handle myself."

"They might look into you," Mark commented. "They could dig into your past and find out about—"

"So what?" Luke interrupted him.

Mark looked at him incredulously. "What do you mean so what, you'd get sent back to jail, for a crime you didn't commit!" He almost shouted.

Luke chuckled. "You're my friend Mark, and I'd rather go back and do a few years upstate than watch you be miserable."

Mark went to speak again but Luke held up a hand. "Mark you have the ability to do real good, make a real change in people's lives. But that change can't come from a place of misery or hate. You see everyone who showed up today? They did that because they felt hope, hope that they could get through today and make a slightly better tomorrow."

"So I'll ask again, Mark what do you want?" Luke asked.

Mark went to dispute Luke, but found that he couldn't, not a single thing he'd said was wrong. In the end the only thing he could do was answer the question. There was a lot of things he wanted, but deep down there was only one thing that he wanted; something that had been bred from a lifetime of living in Gotham.

"I want to show the world that things like kindness and hope aren't luxuries, I want to show them that this world can be a better place..." it sounded a bit cheesy, but living in a hopeless place like Gotham, Mark could only watch as things never changed because people never believed they could.

Luke smiled. "Now that's a dream worth going to jail for," he said offering clinging his bottle against Marks.

Mark snorted. "I don't even know where I'd start."

Luke thought about it for a moment before he pointed to the building over in the distance. "You see that building?" He asked. 

Mark nodded.

"That's the Baxter building, now I know you make money selling your gizmos and stuff, maybe you could put your big brain to work over there."

Marks brow creased. "What's over there?" He asked.

"Baxter Foundation," Luke replied.

"I can't say I've heard of it," Mark said, taking another sip from his beer.

"They are a science institute, one that used to be funded by the government."

"Used to be?"

Luke nodded. "Recently too, but apparently the government tried to make them focus on technology with more military applications. The founder Franklin Storm declined and the government pulled funding. They're not doing too hot right now, but at least they're staying true to their mission of making things that'll help humanity."

"How do you know all this?" Mark asked.

Luke chuckled. Pops and Franklin used to know each other apparently, the old man wouldn't shut up about it last week since the foundation was in the news."

"I doubt I could do anything, it sounds like they're a bunch of super geniuses," Mark commented.

Luke shrugged. "It was just a suggestion, there are lots of things someone like you could do to help. Just do what feels right."

Mark nodded. He looked back at the sunset feeling a little better about the situation he was in. 'It's nice having friends.' He thought to himself with a smile.

_____________________________________

Natasha Romanoff stood looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. Though when she looked at it she didn't see Natasha Romanoff, SHIELD Agent, former assassin. No she saw Natalie Roma, an estate agent and current girlfriend of shields number 1 person of interest, Mark Grayson. She'd just arrived at base and still had her hair and makeup on from her disguise, she leaned down and turned the tap on before she started to wash it off.

She rubbed hard, a lot harder than she needed to, by the time she had gotten it all off her skin was red and her hands were trembling slightly. She took a deep breath before she undid the ponytail her hair had been in and let the wavy red hair run past her shoulders. She looked back into the mirror, this was Natasha Romanoff, this was who she was. "Pull yourself together..." she whispered to herself before she pushed off the sink and left the bathroom. She still had to get changed out of her outfit but that didn't take too long and in less than a minute she was headed towards the briefing room.

Natasha didn't bother slowing down as she made her way toward the briefing room. The skin on her face still felt raw from scrubbing off the makeup, her scalp was tight from pulling out the ponytail, and the remnants of Natalie Roma still clung to her like a second skin she hadn't finished peeling off. She could've taken a minute to breathe, but she didn't. She just kept walking. As long as she kept moving forward he wouldn't have to keep thinking about things.

Agents nodded to her as she passed—respectful, professional, the way they always were—but it felt thin this morning, or maybe it was just her; she didn't feel like herself lately. She walked into the room without hesitation and saw the usual crowd already there; Maria Hill, seated on Fury's right; Coulson on the left, arms folded as he scanned the files in front of him; Clint, sitting two chairs down; a scattering of analysts, intel officers, and field leads, all here for one reason.

Mark Grayson.

Natasha took a seat near the middle, keeping her back straight as she folded her hands on the table, and did her best to ignore the knot forming in her stomach. She already knew what this meeting was going to be. Another update. Another round of speculation. Mark was likely being put up a threat level which was why they are bringing in all these other people.

Once everyone was in Director Fury didn't waste time. He stood at the front of the room, tapped the tablet in his hand, and brought the screen to life with a series of photos, surveillance footage, timestamps, and data sets. "Subject is Grayson, Mark," Fury said in his usual stern voice. "Physical capabilities remain largely unquantified, but we're working off benchmarks from the Harlem incident. Strength: comparable to Banner when fully triggered. Durability: not on Banners level, but still too high for conventional force to matter. He takes hits from Hulk and the Abomination and is relatively uninjured. Small arms don't do a thing. Heavy ordinance has yet to be confirmed. Flight is confirmed—unassisted, no tech detected. Speed is off the charts. Reaction time's something else. Needless to say he's a dangerous person."

He swiped the screen again. A new slide appeared. "We got lucky. During Romanoff's field work, we obtained biological samples. Lab results confirm Grayson is not human. DNA shows no match to any known Earth-based genome, including mutant variants. This puts us in uncharted territory. Whatever he is, he isn't from here."

The room was silent for a moment.

"If more of his species come down," Fury continued, "and if they share his abilities, we've got a global problem. We have no idea if there are more of them or if he was sent here as a Scout, or if he plans to rule over us."

He let that hang for a beat before shifting tone.

"Until he accepts our offer, Grayson remains our top person of interest. He's not hostile as of the moment, but his freedom of movement and power set put every strategic model in the red. The longer he stays independent, the more nervous the people get."

Clint leaned over, lowering his voice just enough for her to hear. "You alright?"

Natasha didn't turn her head. "I'm fine," she said quietly. "Just a little sick."

"Yeah," Clint muttered, "you don't look fine."

Before she could respond, Fury glanced toward her.

"Agent Romanoff."

She stood and walked to the front of the room without breaking pace. As she reached the front she turned to face the room, this room full of people dissecting the life of someone they didn't know.

"Agent Romanoff has been embedded with Grayson for the last couple months," Fury said, giving the room a nod. "She'll brief you on her findings."

Natasha drew a breath and started.

"Mark Grayson presents as a civilian. No past criminal activity, no suspicious affiliations. His cover is airtight, but it's false.. He passes as a regular man because he doesn't want to appear different from his friends. Beneath it, he's... advanced. Beyond anything I've encountered. He learns fast. Extremely fast. Not just skills or habits, but systems. He teaches himself complex engineering and adapts to new information with barely any delay. I believe his cognitive capacity—particularly in technical and mechanical domains—far exceeds human standard. Possibly beyond enhanced or mutant thresholds."

She removed a hard drive from her pocket, slotted it into the console, and brought up a photo of Mark's workspace. The image showed a cluttered table with wires, fans, a repurposed motherboard, a jury-rigged cooling system that looked crude but efficient.

"This was one of his builds. A gaming PC, supposedly, for a client. I analyzed it while he was out. Using scavenged parts, standard tools, and modified firmware, he produced something that outperforms most secure military-grade systems. I valued this unit conservatively at fifty thousand dollars. He charged five hundred dollars."

She paused, then smiled slightly without meaning to.

*Life is tough. People should find happiness wherever they can find it. I don't want to charge too much for that.*

Her throat caught slightly. She looked down, blinked, then raised her eyes again after composing herself.

"Since the Harlem incident, he's kept a narrow pattern. Cleanup work. Community assistance. He's involved with Luke Cage, an owner of a bar in the area; real name Carl Earl Lucas, current escapee from upstate, though it seemed his conviction was more than a little framed. Apart from that his remaining time is split between electronics work, his friends, and mostly me."

Maria raised her voice from across the table. "Have you identified any weaknesses?"

Natasha shook her head. "No. I've tested what I can without breaching cover. He maintains excellent physical conditioning, fast recovery, high resistance to injury. No apparent genetic instability. His psychological profile is stable, though lately he has been distracted."

Coulson leaned forward. "Likelihood of him turning on humanity?"

"Low," she answered. "Very low. From what I can tell, he doesn't see himself as alien. He identifies as human—or at least believes that's what he is. He may suspect he's different, but if he does, he hasn't expressed any belief that he belongs to a different race, species, or culture. If anything, I think he believes he's a mutant who developed powers late, or some kind of anomaly."

Fury nodded slightly and turned back to the room.

"Appreciate your work, Agent. Stay on him. Keep his trust. We'll do the rest."

He stepped back toward the center and let his eye scan across the table.

"Everyone in his orbit is now on our list. Friends, coworkers, neighbors, casual acquaintances. We'll build full profiles, watch for patterns, and flag potential triggers. If he ever turns, it won't be random—it'll be because something happened to someone close to him. That's the risk we're managing for now."

He folded his arms.

"In the meantime, we'll be developing failsafe measures, nonlethal deterrents, containment solutions, and, if necessary, targeted countermeasures. No one's talking about assassination. Yet. But if things go sideways, I'm not waiting until we're behind the eight-ball."

He gave one final look around the table.

"That's all. Dismissed."

As the rest of the room began gathering their files and whispering amongst themselves, Natasha turned and left without a word. She didn't speak to Clint. She didn't look at Maria. She walked as fast as she could, not because she wanted to be gone, but because if she didn't leave now, she'd start thinking about the look on Mark's face if he ever found out that she'd betrayed him. She moved quickly through the hall, not quite storming but not inviting conversation either, aiming to get to her room before anyone else tried to pull her back into another conversation about Mark or about anything else. She was nearly at the corner when she heard her name.

"Nat!"

She didn't stop, but she did slow down. Just a little.

"Hey," Clint said, catching up to her with an easy stride. "You gonna tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she replied, keeping her tone flat as she kept walking.

Clint let out a short breath. "Yeah, pull the other one. Come on, Nat—I know you better than that. You're not acting like yourself. You haven't been for a while."

She stopped, finally, and turned to face him. He wasn't wrong. That's what made it worse. "I'm fine," she said, forcing eye contact. "I just haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately."

He gave her a worried expression for a moment, before it disappeared and he gave her a small smile. "Well," he said, "if you change your mind, I'm here. You can talk to me. Any time."

She gave him a small smile. "I appreciate it."

"You want to get lunch?" he offered. "I was gonna hit the mess. Thought maybe you could use something."

That got a real smile out of her, if only for a second. "I've got to get back. Already made plans with Mark."

"Alright, be careful," he said. "See you soon."

"Yeah," she said, watching him turn and head down the hallway. "See you."

She stood there for a moment, then kept walking until she reached her room. Once inside, she shut the door behind her and locked it. The walls felt closer than usual, like the room was trying to suffocate her. She crossed to her desk, sat down, and powered up the terminal. There was still work to do. She hadn't uploaded the latest footage from the micro-bug she'd stitched into Mark's hoodie a few days back. The data was sitting in her drive, timestamped and catalogued. All she had to do was decrypt and push it to the secure server. A simple task.

She plugged in the drive. The video loaded automatically.

The footage opened with Mark's voice. He was talking to Luke Cage, at least that's the voice it sounded like.

*I want to show the world that things like kindness and hope aren't luxuries, I want to show them that this world can be a better place...*

She sat back, arms crossed tight over her chest as the footage kept playing. He didn't sound rehearsed. He didn't sound like someone trying to look good. He sounded like someone who believed it. And that made her stomach twist. She let it run for another few seconds, then reached for the keyboard.

She hovered over the upload prompt.

Her fingers didn't move.

The footage wasn't incriminating. There was nothing tactical in it. Nothing about power levels or secret weaknesses. But it was intimate in a way. This was his dream, his hope, she couldn't devalue it like this, she tried to force herself but she couldn't.

She backed away from the keyboard and deleted the file.

She stared at the confirmation message for a long time, then whispered under her breath, "What am I doing?"

Her chair scraped softly against the floor as she stood. She walked into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and looked at herself in the mirror again. This time she held her own gaze for more than a second.

She saw her face but the longer she stared, the more it looked unfamiliar. The more she felt like she was looking at one of her various characters or disguises.

She opened the drawer beneath the sink, pulled out the compact, and started applying the makeup Natalie Roma would wear. Lighter on the eyes, smoother foundation, lip color just shy of too red. She tied her hair up in the familiar half-knot and then let it fall just the way Natalie liked. One more pass in the mirror and it was done. Natalie Roma, cheerful girlfriend, pleasant, curious, a little scattered but always happy. She looked back at her with a soft smile.

It had all become so natural lately. Too natural.

Natasha Romanoff was starting to feel like the mask now.

...

Natalie made her way through the city with a lightness in her step that had been missing for the entire day, the train rumble and traffic noise barely registering as she clutched the basket tighter to her side and smiled. The closer she got to Harlem, the harder it was to keep from bouncing on her toes. She'd missed him—more than she wanted to admit—and the idea of seeing him again, of hearing his voice, lit up something in her chest she hadn't let herself feel since the last time they kissed.

'Pull yourself together.'

Something  snapped inside her, but she brushed it off and continued almost skipping down the street, nothing could dampen her mood now.

Fifth Avenue was still rough. The wreckage had been pushed back but not cleared out entirely. Twisted metal framed the edges of crumbling storefronts, and construction barriers cut off whole blocks. But there were people, moving through the mess, working together, sweating under the sun as they brought the street back piece by piece. She walked past a couple older women setting up a water station. One of them turned, did a double take, and broke into a grin.

"Natalie! Girl, we haven't seen you in weeks. You finally come to drag your man home?"

Natalie laughed and walked up, giving a quick hug. "Something like that. You've seen Mark?"

"He's just over by the clinic. Talking about bricks and beams and city nonsense."

"Thank you," she said, already moving, her smile widening as her pace picked up.

She saw him before he saw her.

Mark was standing near what remained of the old clinic, his arms folded and brow furrowed, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to the elbows. He was talking to Luke and another man she didn't recognize, he was tall, salt-and-pepper beard, tanned skin, dusty clothes.

"I'm telling you, if we reinforce the east wall and redistribute the load using the steel supports from the collapsed diner, the building won't have to come down," Mark said.

Luke was nodding, arms crossed as he listened, and the other man was already sketching something in a notepad, humming in agreement. "If we want to do it like that," Anton said, "we can. It's unconventional, but it's sound." They were explaining it to a group of city contractors when they all stopped mid-conversation, hearing the sudden rhythm of footsteps approaching fast.

Mark turned.

"Natalie?"

She was already running.

She didn't stop, didn't slow down. She jumped into his arms like she'd been waiting for this moment for weeks. Mark caught her easily, laughing as he spun her in a quick circle before hugging her tightly against him.

"I missed you," she said into his shoulder.

"I missed you too," he said softly. He set her down but didn't let her go. "Wait, what are you doing here? I thought you had work."

"I took off early," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Wanted to come see you."

Luke let out a warm chuckle behind them. "Well, sounds like a good time for a break. Let's call it lunch."

"Yeah," Mark said, nodding. "Good idea."

Natalie wasted no time dragging him away from the crowd. She led him behind a still-standing wall and down a narrow side path to a quiet corner of what used to be a backyard, overgrown now but shaded and tucked away. She set the basket down carefully, then turned, climbed onto his lap, and wrapped her arms around his neck before hugging him again, much tighter this time. Her lips met his, soft at first, then firmer as her fingers threaded through his hair.

When she pulled back, she stayed close, her forehead resting against his.

"You okay?" Mark asked, tilting his head. "You're a little more clingy than usual."

Natalie let out a breath and laughed, but it sounded too much like a release. "It just feels like a long time since I saw you."

He didn't push. He just smiled and let her shift off his lap and sit beside him as she opened the basket and started pulling out food.

"I brought sandwiches, water, fruit... the fancy kind too."

Mark leaned back and smiled. "You're spoiling me."

"You've earned it," she said, unwrapping one of the sandwiches and handing it to him. "Now... tell me about your day."

"I want to hear about yours first," he said, nudging her knee with his.

She waved him off. "Mine was boring. Paperwork and fake smiles and husbands looking at my ass for way too long. Come on, tell me about this place."

Mark took a bite, chewed, and nodded as he looked out toward the work crews. "Cleanup's going faster than I thought. That whole block over there's gonna be cleared by next week. If the clinic plan works, people can start moving back in by next month."

"That's incredible," Natalie said as she looked up at him with her dazzling green eyes.

They ate together quietly for a few minutes, the shade keeping them cool while the rest of the street laughed and joked around, enjoying their lunches. Natalie kept glancing at him, she had been trained to detect even the most minute twitched in someone's face; yet even a child could recognise when something was bothering Mark. It's one of the things that she loved about him.

She set her sandwich down. "What's wrong?"

Mark looked at her for a second, then smiled, but it was a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I've got to tell you something," he said. "I've been holding off, but I don't want to anymore. I'm happy with you, Natalie. Really happy. And if this is going to be something real, I can't keep pretending there's nothing I'm hiding."

Her heart started racing. She blinked and felt her breath catch. She knew what he was going to say he was going to tell her about his powers. She tried to keep herself under control but she was struggling. He was choosing to tell her. Something he had only told to his closest friend, and that was only after he had no choice. But right now he was choosing to tell her he was choosing her.

Mark's eyes narrowed. "You okay? You look flushed."

"I'm fine," she said quickly, brushing hair from her face. "What do you want to tell me?"she said after quickly composing herself. It was embarrassing that agent such as herself lost composure like that.

He opened his mouth.

Then the ground shook.

A deep, booming shockwave rolled over the neighborhood, followed by a shattering crack of sound. The air ripped open with noise and dust as an explosion erupted several blocks away.

Mark shot to his feet.

Natalie's eyes were wide, her mouth open, the rest of the sentence stuck in her throat. People were already screaming in the distance. Sirens started almost immediately. Mark's body shifted, scanning the skyline; he looked different from how he usually did, much more serious.

"Natalie, can you go help gather the children, the busses should still be here, so you need to get them on them and get them out of here," Mark said with an uncharacteristically calm expression.

She nodded as he spoke, lips pressed tight, already turning to move. But something inside her ached. She'd wanted to hear what Mark had to say so badly, but now wasn't the time. "What are you going to do?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Mark's eyes flicked back to her, and for just a moment the serious expression faltered. "That blast wasn't far. I'm going to find out what happened. See if anyone needs help." Then he was gone, taking off at a speed that left nothing but kicked-up dust in his place, no more time for goodbyes or explanations.

Natalie stood there for half a second, her chest feeling tight, she then pushed that down and snapped back into motion. She reached into her bag and pulled out a thin black device no bigger than a car key. Her thumb flicked open a hidden switch. "Agent Romanoff," she said into the comm. "Do we have anything on the explosion in Harlem just now?"

There was a pause.

"Hold on," came the reply from a voice she recognized as one of the operators at the New York field hub. "We're pulling feeds now. Standby..."

Natalie clenched her jaw. Her eyes flicked around the street. People were scattering. Others were frozen. Emergency workers were already shouting, trying to get control.

"Agent Romanoff," the voice came back. "Confirmed detonation. Likely VBIED. Source appears to be the Marriott. Current working theory is a terror attack."

"Shit," she muttered, already pulling off her blazer with one hand. "How bad?"

"Pretty bad," the operator answered. "Blast radius took out the front third of the building. Secondary fires reported. Civilians trapped in multiple locations."

"The Marriott?" she asked again, confused, even as she kicked off her heels and dropped them beside the basket.

"That's the intel. No group has claimed it yet. But there was a scientific convention scheduled there today—some defense contractors, biotech firms, academic people. We don't know if that's connected."

Natalie hissed through her teeth. "Can you get people down here?"

"We've got a QRF mobilizing now," the operator said, voice tighter than before. "But they're at least twenty minutes out. You're first on site. We'll keep you updated as we get more."

"Copy that," she said. "I'm going in."

She ended the communication, tucked the device back into her pocket, and pulled her hair back into a tight, low tie. Not today. She rolled her sleeves, crouched to remove the last of her civilian disguise, and stood barefoot in the dirt before grabbing one of the rubberized bags she kept hidden beneath the false bottom of the basket.

Inside was a small pistol, a blade, and a pair of reinforced gloves.

Natalie Roma was now gone.

The Black Widow was back on duty.

...

Mark rushed on the main street, his feet cracking pavement as he accidentally went a bit too fast. He didn't stop moving, he went straight to where the largest cluster of people had gathered near the water station, where Luke was already trying to keep order. Sirens were now echoing from multiple directions, and dust drifted through the air in thick clouds.

"Luke!" Mark called out, jogging toward him. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know, man," Luke said, turning with a tense expression. "Explosion went off a few blocks south—down near the Marriott."

Mark's eyes narrowed. "Faulty gas line?"

Luke shook his head immediately. "Nah. Didn't look like that from what I saw."

Mark stared at him for a beat. "What makes you so sure?"

"If it were gas, it would've blown up from underground," Luke explained. "This one went sideways. Like a pressure wave." He pointed in the distance. "Glass blew out across the street. Whole front half of the building's gone."

Mark clenched his jaw. "Shit."

Before either of them could speak again, another explosion rang out. More people started to scream and run away. "Shit!" Mark cursed. He then  looked to Luke. "Can you keep everyone here safe?"

Luke nodded without hesitation. "You know I got this."

"You might wanna cover your face," Luke added, gesturing loosely. "Unless you want people figuring out who their new favorite superhero is."

Mark smirked, but there was no humor in it. "I'll figure something out."

"Be careful," Luke said.

Mark nodded back. "You too."

Then he turned, ducked into the nearest alley, and the moment he cleared the line of sight from the street, he shot straight into the sky. He rocketed over the rooftops, cutting through the wind like a missile, heading straight for the smoke rising from the hotel district. But as he passed over 106th, he spotted something. Party City. The front windows were shattered, the sidewalk outside scattered with cheap plastic props and costumes from the display rack.

Mark slowed, dropped down through the broken doorway, and landed just inside. The place had been abandoned in the panic. Shelves were overturned, racks knocked down. Decorations fluttered from ceiling hooks.

He looked around for anything that could serve as a disguise. But the only thing in his size was a ridiculous blue unitard with a white cape and a cheap plastic domino mask, tagged as Ultraman.

He stared at it.

"...Shit," he muttered.

...

Outside the Marriott, it looked like hell.

The entire front of the building had been blown apart. Chunks of concrete littered the street. A crater had formed at the base of the steps where the main entrance used to be. Cars were flipped, windows were shattered, fires were burning at intervals as small explosions from fuel tanks sparked here and there. Smoke poured out in thick black waves, and the sound of screaming hadn't stopped. People were running, some trying to help, others just trying to get away. Emergency crews hadn't made it through the gridlock yet. There were too many people and not enough hands.

In the heart of the destruction, one woman lay trapped beside an overturned taxi, the vehicle pinning her leg beneath its crumpled frame. Blood streaked down her calf and pooled beneath her, staining the pavement dark as her fingers trembled against the ground. She tried to move but couldn't. Every shift of her body only brought more pain.

"Help," she cried out desperately. "Somebody help me, please." She kept screaming, again and again, her voice rising in pitch until it broke entirely, but the chaos around her swallowed every sound. The air was filled with smoke and shouting and the endless blare of car alarms. No one came. No one even looked.

Her eyes were fesrful now, filled with tears and disbelief, and as she lifted one arm in the direction of a crowd that never stopped moving away, she began to sob. She was going to die here, she would die and she'd never see her daughter again.

But then the air shifted.

*whoooooosh*

It started with a gust of wind that cut through the smoke like a knife. Not a breeze or a drifting current but a pressure change so sudden it pushed the haze back from the street. The world stilled for a heartbeat.

Then something came down from above.

There was a blur at the edge of the skyline, a flash of movement so fast it split the smoke, and a figure appeared in the sky, the sun was at his back so she couldn't see what they looked like, only the billowing cloak that flowed behind him. He floated down, the rays of light following him as if he were descending from the sky itself. When he landed on the ground the dust and smoke blew away revealing the figure who had just descended.

It was a man.

The figure stood tall, he had a broad chest, dressed in what looked like a child's costume; a bright blue bodysuit stretched tight across his shoulders, a white cape lifting slightly in the breeze, and a cheap plastic domino mask that barely clung to his face. It should have looked absurd... It should have looked ridiculous. The blue suit. The cape. That cheap mask. But none of it mattered.

Because the moment she saw him, something in her changed.

Her breath slowed and her heart stopped pounding in her chest. The panic that had been clawing at her chest started to fall away. Her hands stopped shaking, and for the first time since the explosion, she wasn't afraid.

She didn't know who he was, and she didn't care. She just knew, without logic or proof or reason, that everything was going to be alright now.

She looked up at him, tears blurring her vision, her body trembling from the pain and the fear and the sound still ringing in her ears. For a moment she didn't move, didn't speak, didn't even breathe. She just stared at the stranger standing in front of her in a cheap costume and a plastic mask.

She found herself reaching out for him.

She lifted one shaking hand toward him, her fingers curling in midair like she wasn't sure if he was real, like she expected him to vanish the second she touched him.

But he didn't vanish.

He took her hand.

"It's going to be okay," he said with a warm smile. His fingers closed gently around hers. She let out a sob that collapsed into a full, helpless cry, not because of the pain in her leg or the weight of the car still pressing against her, but because she knew she had been saved.

Mark turned to the wreckage without a word. He slid one hand beneath the crushed frame of the taxi, braced his body, and with a single, clean motion, lifted it just enough to shift the pressure off her leg. The metal groaned in protest, but he held it without flinching. Then, as if she weighed nothing at all, he slipped his other arm beneath her back and lifted her up into his arms. She pressed her face into his shoulder and sobbed against him, her arms wrapping around his neck with everything she had left. "Thank you," she whispered through her sobs. "Thank you, thank you, oh my God, thank you."

Mark didn't say anything at first. He looked down at her, his mask crooked on his face, dust clinging to his makeshift costume, blood on his hands from where he'd touched the pavement. And still, somehow, he managed to smile. "You're more than welcome," he said softly. Then he shot back into the sky, carrying her toward the nearest ambulance that had just arrived.

As Mark landed beside the ambulance, the medics rushed forward to meet him, wide-eyed and visibly stunned by what they were seeing, but still professional as they were none of them questioned it, they instead focused on the woman. One of them reached out to take the woman from his arms, and she held on for a second longer than she needed to, still sobbing softly against his shoulder until Mark gently loosened her grip and placed her onto the stretcher.

She didn't want to let go.

"Thank you," she whispered again as they wheeled her away, but Mark was already looking back toward the smoke.

Back toward the wreckage.

He turned without a word and flew into the fire. Dozens of people were wounded, some frozen with fear, all of them staring at the impossible figure in blue and white as he stepped over flaming debris and broken glass without slowing down.

He moved through the carnage like a blur, pulling people from overturned vehicles, ripping twisted doors from their hinges, lifting fallen signs and collapsed scaffolding with the same ease most men lifted their shirts in summer heat. People tried to stop him and talk to him, a reporter said especially wanted to, but he wasn't anywhere long enough for them to ask. "Sir can you tell us who you—". He was already dragging three people from the remnants of a city bus before the question even finished leaving the man's lips.

Every life he saved felt like a miracle.

People started calling out to him.

"Who is that?"

"Is he with Iron man?"

"Where did he come from?"

Someone shouted that he was an angel.

A little kid said he was Ultraman.

The crowd had gathered at the edges now, just beyond the smoke, just far enough from the destruction to see him clearly but close enough to feel in danger.

That's when they got their first good look at him.

He floated there in the center of the street, framed by smoke and flame, and yet nothing in the way he stood betrayed exhaustion or fear. There was no doubt in his stance, no hesitation in the way he looked back at the people he had just saved, no sign that the magnitude of the devastation pressing in from every direction had touched him at all. He didn't cower, he didn't falter, he didn't shrink. He simply stood there with a kind smile on his face. As they all looked at him something settled into their chests, a slight warmth, a slight spark of something they couldn't name. But it made them smile, whether it was in the way he floated there or the smile on his face, it was as if they all received the same message.

You are not alone.

"You're safe now," Mark said, his voice carrying across the wreckage, cutting through the fear like sunlight breaking through a storm.

"Because I am here."

The crowd didn't cheer at first. They just stood there, frozen in place, their voices caught somewhere between disbelief and awe, watching a man who had fallen from the sky and walked straight into fire without hesitation, a man who had torn through wreckage with his bare hands to save a people and asked for nothing in return.

No one moved. No one spoke. They simply watched, eyes wide, breath held, because something deep inside rhey were so overwhelmed.

Then a single clap broke through the silence.

Then another.

And then the sound gathered strength, spreading from person to person, growing until it became a wave that rolled across the block, echoing off shattered buildings and smoke-blackened walls, rising into the sky like a signal that the worst might finally be over.

And as the cheering built around him, he didn't stop, didn't turn to acknowledge it, didn't bask in the attention or raise a hand in triumph. He simply floated towards the Marriott and into the building to look for anyone else who needed help.

No one knew his name.

But they did know one thing.

It was going to be okay now.