Alex left the school library at 9 PM. Much later than he had originally planned. The sky was fully dark now. Street lights cast orange pools of illumination on the sidewalks below.
The streets of Hell's Kitchen were different at night. Darker. More dangerous. The buildings seemed to loom closer.
Shadows stretched longer. The normal daytime crowds were replaced by different kinds of people.
He had been at the library for four hours straight. Researching Oscorp's organizational structure. Trying to understand how the company functioned before Peter's field trip happened.
His mind had absorbed patent filings and corporate organizational charts. He had memorized the names of key personnel and their roles within the company.
But now he needed to get home. His apartment was twenty minutes away on foot.
Alex started walking. He kept his hands in his pockets and his head down.
The universal sign of someone who didn't want trouble and wasn't worth targeting.
He took his usual route through the neighborhood.
There was a side street that cut between two main avenues. It saved about ten minutes compared to staying on the well-lit main roads. He had walked this way dozens of times before without incident.
Halfway down the side street, Alex heard voices. Angry voices raised in confrontation.
He slowed his pace. His enhanced mind immediately started processing auditory information and spatial positioning.
Three men stood in a rough circle around a fourth man who was on the ground. The lighting was poor but Alex could make out shapes and movements. The smell of alcohol was strong. Strong enough that he could detect it from twenty feet away.
"I said give me your wallet," one of the standing men growled. His words were slightly slurred. Drunk or high or both.
The man on the ground was curled up defensively. His hands were raised trying to protect his face. "Please. I don't have anything. Please just let me go."
Alex stopped walking completely. He should turn around right now. Walk away. Take the long route on the main streets where there were lights and people and cameras.
This wasn't his problem. Getting involved would be stupid. Dangerous. Potentially fatal.
But the man on the ground looked terrified. His voice cracked when he spoke. He was older. Maybe forty or fifty. Wearing a cheap suit that suggested he worked some office job and was just trying to get home.
And one of the attackers had just pulled out a knife. The blade caught the dim street light and gleamed.
"Hey!" Alex shouted before his brain fully caught up with his mouth.
All three standing men turned to look at him. The movement was synchronized and predatory. Like wolves spotting new prey.
The one with the knife grinned. It was not a nice expression. "We got another one, boys. Christmas came early."
Alex's enhanced mind kicked into overdrive. Processing. Calculating. Running probability assessments at beyond normal speeds.
Three opponents. All male. All larger than him physically. One was armed with a knife. The others might have weapons he couldn't see yet. All of them appeared to be intoxicated which made their movements unpredictable.
His own physical condition was still poor. Better than a few weeks ago thanks to decent nutrition finally. But still weak. Still malnourished.
Still running on a body that had been neglected and abused for months.
Odds of winning a direct physical confrontation: approximately twelve percent.
Odds of successfully escaping if he turned and ran right now: approximately sixty-seven percent.
Odds of the man on the ground dying if Alex ran away: approximately eighty-nine percent.
The three men started walking toward him slowly. They spread out slightly to cut off escape routes. Basic pack tactics.
Alex didn't run.
His hands came out of his pockets. He backed up slowly but kept facing them. Maintaining visual contact. Never turning his back.
"You really want to do this?" Alex asked. His voice was steadier than he felt inside. "Rob someone in front of a witness? I've already got my phone recording everything."
He held up his cracked phone. The screen was dark. It wasn't actually recording anything. But they didn't know that. Couldn't know that in the poor lighting.
The man with the knife hesitated. His eyes flicked to the phone. "He's bluffing. No way he had time to start recording."
"Am I bluffing?" Alex kept his voice confident. "Check the street camera behind you. This whole block is monitored."
There was no street camera. Hell's Kitchen didn't have great coverage. But again, they didn't know that for certain.
The third man, the one who hadn't spoken yet, glanced backward instinctively. Looking for the camera that didn't exist.
That moment of distraction was all Alex needed.
He moved.
His body wasn't fast. Wasn't strong. But his enhanced cognition had been analyzing their positions constantly. Calculating distances and angles and reaction times.
There was a dumpster against the wall to his right. A metal trash can lid lay on the ground beside it. Alex grabbed the lid with both hands and swung it in a wide arc at the nearest attacker's face.
The lid connected with a metallic clang that echoed off the brick walls. The impact jarred Alex's arms and shoulders. The man stumbled backward with his hands coming up to his face. Blood started pouring from his nose immediately.
The knife wielder lunged forward with the blade extended. Alex's enhanced mind tracked the trajectory. He twisted his body sideways. The knife passed within inches of his ribs.
Alex kicked out hard at the man's knee. His aim was slightly off but the impact still connected with the side of the joint. Not hard enough to break anything. Not hard enough to dislocate it. But enough to make the man stumble and lose his balance.
Then Alex ran.
Not away from the scene. Toward it. Toward the victim who was still on the ground.
"Get up!" Alex shouted. He grabbed the man's arm with his free hand. "Get up now!"
The victim scrambled to his feet. His movements were clumsy and panicked. Alex pulled him along as they started running down the alley together.
Behind them, Alex could hear the attackers giving chase. Their footsteps pounded against the pavement. Angry shouts echoed.
But the attackers were drunk. Their movements were uncoordinated. And Alex had adrenaline flooding his system. Pure survival instinct pushing his weak body beyond its normal limits.
He pulled the victim around a corner to the left. Then another corner to the right. His enhanced memory had mapped these streets over weeks of walking them. He knew which alleys were dead ends. Which streets led back to the main avenues. Where the shortcuts were.
They ran for two blocks. Three blocks. The sounds of pursuit gradually faded behind them.
They emerged onto a busier road finally. Street lights. A bodega still open with its fluorescent lights visible through the windows. A few people walking past. Cars driving by. Safety through visibility.
The attackers didn't follow them onto the main street.
Alex collapsed against the brick wall of a building. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. His lungs burned. His legs felt like they were made of jelly. The trash can lid slipped from his numb fingers and clattered on the sidewalk.
The victim sat down heavily on the curb. His suit was dirty and torn. His face was pale with shock. He looked equally wrecked
.
"Thank you," the man managed between gasps for air. "Jesus Christ. Thank you so much. You saved my life."
Alex nodded. He didn't trust his voice yet. His hands were shaking violently. The adrenaline was wearing off and leaving him feeling hollow and weak.
He had just fought off three men. Barely. With improvised weapons and strategy and pure desperation driving his actions.
And he had nearly died doing it. If the knife had been a few inches to the left. If he had tripped while running. If there had been more of them.
A dozen different ways that situation could have ended with him bleeding out in an alley.
His phone buzzed.
The sound was jarring in the relative quiet of the main street.
Text from Gwen: "Study session tomorrow? You missed the last two. Getting worried about you."
Alex looked at the message on his cracked screen. Then at his hands which were still shaking. Then at the victim who was slowly recovering on the curb nearby.
He needed to get stronger. Much stronger. His enhanced mind could strategize perfectly. Could calculate odds and analyze situations and make optimal decisions. But if his body couldn't execute those plans. If his physical capability couldn't match his mental capacity. Then he would end up dead in an alley somewhere.
He texted back with trembling fingers: "I'll be there. Promise."
Then he helped the victim stand up. Made sure the man could walk. Pointed him toward the nearest subway station where there would be security and cameras and safety.
The victim thanked him again. Offered money that Alex refused. Then the man walked away still looking shaken but alive.
Alex walked home slowly through the well-lit streets. His body ached. His mind kept replaying the fight. Analyzing what he had done right. What he had done wrong. How close he had come to dying.
Hell's Kitchen at night was dangerous. The Marvel Universe was dangerous. And Alex was still just a weak teenager with a smart brain and a lot of luck.
That needed to change.
Soon.
Read 10 Chapters ahead on Patreon: marvelstark.