The walls of Stark Industries feel too small.
For days after Obadiah's meeting, the whispers won't leave me alone. They echo through my skull, pressing harder every time he passes by. My notebook fills with words I don't remember writing. My sleep is nothing but dreams of branches clawing through galaxies.
I need air.
So I leave the labs behind one evening, badge still clipped to my shirt, and walk into the city.
New York is loud, chaotic, alive in a way the MCU never captured on screen. Horns blare, neon flickers, crowds surge down sidewalks. The noise should drown out the whispers, but it doesn't. If anything, they sharpen.
Every alley I pass, every sudden movement in the crowd makes my gut tighten. Like invisible hands are tugging at me, pulling me somewhere I don't want to go.
I try to ignore it. I turn down side streets, circle blocks, but the pull doesn't stop. It gnaws at me, insistent, until finally it drags me into a narrow alley lit by a single buzzing streetlight.
That's when I hear it.
A shout. A woman's voice. Fear.
I freeze. My heart slams against my ribs. At the far end of the alley, two men corner a woman against a wall, one of them holding a knife.
The whispers scream.
My body moves before my brain catches up. I sprint forward, footsteps echoing off brick. "Hey!"
The men whirl, eyes narrowing. One snarls and shoves the woman aside. She stumbles, bolting past me toward the street. Safe.
What the fuck.
Now it's just me and them.
Shit…
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the knife-wielder growls.
Good question. I don't have an answer. My legs shake, my throat is dry. I'm no fighter. I've never been in a real fight in my life.
But the whispers won't stop. They push, pull, guide. Step left. Keep low. Watch his arm.
The first man lunges. My body twists just before the knife flashes, the blade slicing air instead of skin. I stumble back, adrenaline flooding my veins. The second swings at me, and somehow my arm snaps up, blocking clumsily but just enough.
The whispers bark orders and I obey without thinking, ducking, weaving, surviving.
Then it happens.
He slashes again. I grab for his wrist and light flares. Golden, searing, spilling from my hand where it grips his skin. He yelps and recoils, dropping the knife like it burned him.
We all freeze.
I stare at my hand. The glow fades in a heartbeat, gone as fast as it came. But I felt it. Hot, alive, surging through me like fire and thunder.
The men curse, backing away. "Freak," one spits before they both bolt into the dark.
I stand shaking in the middle of the alley, my breath ragged, my hand still tingling.
The woman is gone, vanished into the night. Nobody saw. Nobody but me.
And the whispers whisper softer now, almost satisfied.
I lean against the wall, trying to steady myself.
It wasn't just instinct this time. It wasn't just survival.
It was power.
Real.
I sink down to the cold concrete, staring at my hand, terrified and exhilarated all at once.
The MCU has started moving. Now, so have I.
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The first time in danger…
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