Chapter 3: THE UNDERGROUND
Day three. Marcus stood outside a pawn shop in Hell's Kitchen, a VCR tucked under his arm.
He'd found it in a dumpster that morning—old but working. The kind of thing someone threw away when upgrading. The pawn shop gave him twelve dollars without questions.
Twelve dollars. Enough for food for two days if he was careful.
Marcus walked. He'd spent the last week learning the city's rhythms. Mutants existed in the gaps—places humans avoided or didn't see. The question was finding them without announcing himself.
The newspaper clipping from day one was creased in his pocket. He'd read it twenty times. "Local Shelter Closes After Mutant Incident." The address led to an abandoned building in the Bronx. Boarded windows. Graffiti. A rusted chain-link fence.
Marcus had walked past it twice. Watched. Waiting for signs of life.
None came.
But he'd noticed something else. Late at night, certain people moved through the area who didn't belong. A woman with skin that shimmered iridescent under streetlights. A man whose breath formed ice crystals in March air. They came and went like ghosts.
Following them led to the Rusty Nail.
The bar sat on a corner where the streetlights always seemed to flicker. Not broken—Marcus had watched them—just consistently uncertain. Like the building itself wanted to remain unclear.
He'd observed for three nights before entering. Learned the patterns. Most patrons arrived after midnight. Stayed until dawn. Left in ones and twos, never groups. The kind of caution that came from being hunted.
Night four, Marcus pushed through the door.
The bar smelled like cigarettes and spilled beer. Two pool tables. A jukebox playing something from the seventies. Maybe fifteen people scattered across the space—all facing the door as it opened.
All looking at him.
Marcus let the door close behind him. He walked to the bar, claimed a stool, and waited. Around him, conversations resumed. Guarded. Watching.
The bartender was a woman—sixties maybe, grey hair in a braid, eyes too sharp. She looked at Marcus for a long moment.
"What do you want?"
"Beer. Whatever's cheap."
She pulled a bottle from the cooler. Popped the cap. Set it down with more force than necessary.
"Three dollars."
Marcus laid down exact change. The bartender took it and walked away without another word.
He sipped the beer—tasted like dishwater—and observed. The people here carried themselves differently than regular bar patrons. Tense. Ready. Like they expected trouble to walk through the door any second.
Two men at the pool table. One had skin covered in what looked like scales. The other's eyes glowed faintly amber in the dim light. A woman at a corner table nursed whiskey, her hands sparking with barely-contained electricity.
These were mutants. The ones who couldn't hide. The ones who needed places like this just to exist.
Marcus felt their eyes on him. Human-looking. No obvious powers. Outsider.
He didn't blame their suspicion.
An hour passed. Marcus ordered a second beer he didn't want. The bartender gave him the same treatment—minimal words, maximum judgment.
"You lost?"
Marcus turned. The speaker was a man—mid-forties, leather jacket, close-cropped hair. His eyes were solid black. No whites, no pupils. Just black.
"No."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"Drinking."
"Cute." The man leaned against the bar. "This is a mutant bar. You're human. We don't usually get tourists."
"I'm not a tourist."
"Then what?"
Marcus took a drink. Considered his words carefully. This was the moment. Say the wrong thing and he'd be thrown out. Say nothing and he'd remain an outsider.
"I'm looking for people who want something better than hiding."
The man laughed. Bitter. "Better. Sure. Got a mansion in Westchester? Maybe a school where we can learn to use our powers for the greater good?"
Xavier. The man was referencing Xavier without naming him.
"No mansion. No school. Something else."
"Like what?"
"A place of our own. Territory. Population. Resources. A community so established that leaving it alone costs less than attacking it."
The man's black eyes narrowed. "You're talking about a mutant nation."
"I'm talking about not spending the rest of our lives apologizing for existing."
Silence. Around them, the bar had gone quiet. Everyone listening now.
"Pretty words," the bartender said from down the bar. "I've heard pretty words before. Usually from people who want something."
"Everyone wants something," Marcus said. "I want to build. What do you want?"
"To be left alone."
"Then we have the same goal. I just think being left alone works better when you have walls."
The man with black eyes studied him. "Who are you?"
"Marcus Cole."
"You got a power, Marcus Cole?"
Careful. Can't reveal the System. But can't lie either.
"I have a plan."
The man snorted. "A plan. That's your power. A fucking plan."
"Plans work. Or they don't. But doing nothing definitely doesn't work."
The woman with electric hands spoke from her corner. "He's got a point. What we're doing now—hiding, running, surviving day to day—that's not living. That's dying slow."
"So what?" The scaled man by the pool table turned. "We follow some human with a plan? How's that different from the ones already hunting us?"
Marcus set down his beer. "It's different because I'm asking. Not ordering. Not forcing. I'm saying if anyone wants to build something instead of hide from something, I'm starting."
"Starting where?" the bartender asked. "With what? You got money? Land? An army?"
"No. I've got twelve dollars and a plan. But I've also got commitment. This isn't a side project. It's my purpose."
The man with black eyes laughed again. "You're insane."
"Maybe. Hasn't stopped me yet."
Several people smiled at that. Small victories.
The bartender leaned forward. "What's your plan specifically? Not the vision—the actual steps."
Marcus had been thinking about this for a week. "First, find a location. Somewhere defensible, out of the way, but with access to resources. Second, establish presence—build basic infrastructure. Third, recruit people who need sanctuary. Fourth, grow until we're too costly to ignore."
"And when they come to shut you down?"
"We make that expensive too."
The woman with electric hands stood. Walked over. Up close, Marcus could see the scars on her arms—burn marks from her own power.
"You really believe this?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Because a System in my head told me to. Because I died and woke up here with a mission. Because I have meta-knowledge of a future that might still happen.
"Because I've seen what happens when people with power have nowhere to go," Marcus said carefully. "They get desperate. Desperate people make bad choices. Bad choices hurt everyone. I'd rather build before the desperation."
She nodded slowly. "I'm Sofia. My power kills plants."
Specific. Tactical. Admitting vulnerability. Marcus recognized the test.
"Marcus. My power is I'm stubborn as hell."
Sofia smiled. "That might be enough."
They talked until the bar closed at four AM. Not just Marcus and Sofia—others joined. The man with black eyes was named Kyle. The scaled man was Danny Chen. The bartender was Magda, and she'd run this place for eight years.
No one committed. But they listened. Asked questions. Challenged assumptions. Marcus took it all. This was reconnaissance on both sides.
When he left, Magda called after him. "Cole."
He turned.
"You come back tomorrow night. Same time. We'll talk more."
"I'll be here."
Outside, the March air bit cold. Marcus walked six blocks before stopping in an alley to check the System.
[QUEST PROGRESS: FIND YOUR FIRST CITIZEN]
[POTENTIAL CITIZENS IDENTIFIED: 4]
[RECRUITMENT ATTEMPTS: 0]
[RECOMMENDATION: BUILD TRUST BEFORE FORMAL RECRUITMENT]
Marcus leaned against the brick wall. His feet ached. His cheap beer sat heavy in his stomach. But something had shifted. People were listening. Not agreeing, not yet. But listening.
One week in this world. Forty-eight hours of binding pain. Five days of observation. One conversation.
And tomorrow I do it again.
The System pulsed acknowledgment.
Marcus pushed off the wall. He had seven dollars left. Needed to find more salvage to pawn. Needed to eat. Sleep. Come back tomorrow night and keep building.
This was how it started. Not with grand declarations or dramatic reveals. Just consistent presence. Showing up. Proving reliability.
Sofia's scarred hands kept flashing through his memory. How many years had she lived in fear of her own power? How many others were out there, hurting themselves to protect others?
They needed options. Marcus would give them one.
He walked through empty streets as dawn approached. The city waking up. People heading to real jobs, real homes, real lives. Marcus had none of those things. Just a System, a plan, and twelve dollars that was now seven.
Twelve dollars. That's what I started with after the binding. Seven now.
In six months, I'll have territory. In a year, I'll have citizens. In five years, I'll have a nation.
The System didn't respond. It didn't need to. Marcus could feel it there, patient and certain, waiting for him to build what it knew he could.
He reached the shelter as they opened the doors for the day. Got his breakfast. Ate mechanically. Went to the library. Read more newspapers. Learned more about this world's fear.
That night, he returned to the Rusty Nail.
Magda was behind the bar again. She nodded when he entered. "Back again."
"Said I would be."
"So you did."
Sofia was there. Kyle. Danny. And three others Marcus hadn't met. Word was spreading. The human with a plan.
They talked again. Marcus outlined specifics. Asked about their needs. Their fears. Their dreams if they had any left.
No one committed. But they kept listening.
Day eight. Day nine. Day ten.
Marcus returned every night. Answered questions. Didn't push. Just remained consistent. Reliable. Present.
On day twelve, Sofia approached him outside the bar.
"This place you want to build. You'd really let someone like me in? Someone whose power hurts things?"
"Especially someone like you. Every power has use. We just need to find it."
She looked at him for a long moment. "I'll think about it."
Progress. Slow, careful, hard-won progress.
Marcus walked back to the shelter that night with three dollars in his pocket and a System quest still incomplete. But Sofia had said she'd think about it.
That was enough. For now, that was enough.
The System pulsed agreement.
[QUEST PROGRESS: FIND YOUR FIRST CITIZEN]
[POTENTIAL CITIZENS IDENTIFIED: 7]
[ESTIMATED TIME TO FIRST RECRUITMENT: 10-14 DAYS]
[CONTINUE CURRENT APPROACH]
Marcus lay on his cot that night, staring at the ceiling. Around him, men snored and coughed. Tomorrow he'd pawn something else. Find more money. Go back to the Rusty Nail.
Keep building trust.
Keep showing up.
This is how nations are built. One conversation at a time. One relationship at a time. One choice to show up when it would be easier to walk away.
Outside, New York City hummed with millions of lives. None of them knew Marcus Cole existed. None of them knew what he was building in the dark corners of the Bronx.
That would change. Eventually, inevitably, it would change.
But not tonight. Tonight he slept. Tomorrow he'd build again.
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