Chapter 3: Simulation: Alex Mercer, Part 2
[SYSTEM: Progression: Plasma Combat Training at 100% mastery.]
The years passed like a blur of glowing text and sharp combat. Five years into the simulation, Adam was no longer the scrawny teen who had stumbled into the alley. He was Alex Mercer, a blur of motion and energy, a ghost in the urban landscape. His hands, once clumsy, now moved with a practiced grace, and the latent energy he had discovered had been honed into a fearsome weapon.
[SYSTEM: In the fifth year, you use your energy powers and combat skills to track down a major crime syndicate. You master your Plasma Combat Training.]
Okay, Syndicate time. Let's see how well they handle a little chaos.
He stood on the rooftop of a skyscraper, a silent predator in the urban jungle. Below him, in a heavily guarded warehouse, the syndicate boss was holding a meeting. Adam grinned. He had a plan, and it involved a whole lot of mischief. He used his energy powers to create a series of small, localized EMPs, shorting out the lights in the warehouse one by one. The building plunged into a chaotic darkness, and Adam, using the confusion, slipped inside.
He found the syndicate boss surrounded by his men, yelling orders into a dead comms line. Adam crept up behind him, a mischievous smirk on his face, and used his powers to create a small, harmless energy burst that made a nearby speaker blare a ridiculous jingle from a children's cartoon. The boss froze, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and confusion.
"That's... not the sound of a tactical unit," he stammered.
"Nope," Adam said, his voice a low whisper from the shadows. "It's the sound of a vigilante who's about to ruin your day."
He was a blur of motion, a flurry of precise strikes and blinding energy bursts. The thugs went down one by one, their confused faces lit by the strobing lights of the fire alarm he had just triggered. The syndicate boss, a portly man in a three-piece suit, was left alone, trembling in the middle of the room.
"Who are you?" he whimpered.
Adam stepped into the light, a faint blue glow still dancing around his hands. "I'm the guy who thinks your taste in music is terrible."
Man, this is a lot more fun than I thought it would be.
Three years later, he found himself on a rooftop, facing a rival vigilante. The man was a brute, a hulking figure with a scowl that could curdle milk. He was all about brute force and intimidation, a stark contrast to Adam's finesse and humor.
[SYSTEM: In the eighth year, you face a rival vigilante who challenges your methods. You gain a reputation as a cunning hero.]
"You're a clown," the rival growled, cracking his knuckles. "You're making a mockery of what we do."
"A clown?" Adam said, his hands glowing with a soft blue light. "I prefer the term 'chaotic neutral.' But if the shoe fits..."
He didn't fight him head-on. He dodged, he weaved, he used his energy to short out the rival's grappling hook, sending him sprawling on a nearby air conditioning unit. He was a whirlwind of taunts and evasive maneuvers, a dance of wit and skill that left the brute frustrated and exhausted.
"You're not a hero," the rival panted, wiping sweat from his brow. "You're a nuisance."
"And you're a bully," Adam shot back. "And bullies never win in the end. It's, like, rule number one of every superhero story ever."
He left the rival on the rooftop, stewing in his own frustration. Adam felt a surge of pride. He wasn't just a vigilante; he was a legend, a folk hero who fought with a grin and a jingle.
But the real challenge was yet to come.
[SYSTEM: Objective: Uncover a secret HYDRA cell operating in the city.]
HYDRA? In this universe, too? Man, they're like cockroaches. They just won't die.
He spent the next three years working on the HYDRA case, using his energy powers to hack into their systems, and his newfound stealth skills to infiltrate their bases. He was a ghost, a whisper in the dark, and he was good at it. He was a master of his craft, a genius of espionage.
But HYDRA was a different beast. They were organized, ruthless, and they didn't appreciate his pranks. He was in an abandoned subway station, sifting through intel he had just stolen, when a team of HYDRA agents cornered him. He fought them, a frantic, desperate dance in the darkness, but they were too many. A knife found its mark, a sharp, searing pain in his side.
He fell back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had to retreat. He had to run. He had the intel, but he was no good to anyone dead.
[SYSTEM: Progress: Advanced Strategic Planning unlocked.]
A little late for that, system.
He used the last of his energy to create a massive plasma burst, a blinding flash of light that sent the agents scrambling. He used the distraction to escape, stumbling out of the subway station and into the cool night air. The wound in his side burned, a constant, throbbing reminder of his failure. He had the intel, but he had paid for it dearly.
This is a new feeling. Failure. It's... not fun.
He was no longer just the playful prankster. He was a hero, with real scars and a real mission. The stakes were higher now. And the trail of intel he had just secured from the HYDRA cell pointed to a final confrontation, a single chance to stop them for good.