Three months passed in a blur of controlled chaos.
The Atlantic Avenue property was the first major test of their expanded operations. Four stories, mixed-use, located in a Brooklyn neighborhood that was gentrifying just slowly enough that David's project wouldn't seem out of place. The building had been abandoned for years, a casualty of the 2008 financial crisis, and David had acquired it for a fraction of what it would cost in five years.
He stood on the construction site now, hard hat slightly too large for his head, watching Tyler Banks explain load distribution to a crew of seasoned contractors who were actually listening. The kid had found his element. Three months of intensive work and study had polished raw talent into genuine skill.
"The original framing won't support the additional floors," Tyler was saying, pointing at the exposed structure. "But if we reinforce here, here, and here, " he indicated specific points", we can handle the weight and maintain the architectural integrity. Mr. Chen's design accounts for this."
Jorge, the foreman, a fifty-year-old veteran of New York construction with opinions about everything, nodded approvingly. "The kid knows his stuff, David. Where'd you find him?"
"He found us," David replied. "Just needed someone to give him a chance."
The project was proceeding ahead of schedule and under budget, which should have been impossible but seemed to be the pattern with David's buildings. Part of it was good planning and competent contractors. Part of it was David's gift, subtly smoothing the construction process, materials fitting together more easily, structural issues resolving themselves, workers finding an intuitive rhythm.
And part of it was the fact that David was on-site for every critical phase, personally overseeing the work that mattered most. The foundation had been poured under his direct supervision, David's hands literally in the concrete, pouring intention into every cubic yard. The steel framework had been positioned while he watched, adjusting placements by inches that seemed insignificant but would matter when the building was tested.
Because this building would be tested. David was building it to stand firm when the world went sideways.
"Mr. Chen?" Patricia Morrison approached, tablet in hand, high-visibility vest over her practical work clothes. Three months in, she'd become indispensable, organizing supply chains, coordinating between multiple job sites, anticipating problems before they became crises. "We need to talk about the Queens project. The permits are held up in city bureaucracy again."
David suppressed a sigh. "Same inspector?"
"Same inspector. Mr. Williamson has questions about our structural specifications. Again."
"He's fishing for a bribe."
"That was my assessment as well." Patricia's tone was neutral, but her eyes were hard. "Recommendations?"
This was the test. David had been clear with all his people: they operated ethically and legally, even when it was inconvenient. But New York construction was notoriously corrupt, and playing completely straight meant dealing with inevitable friction.
"Document everything," David said. "Every delay, every spurious objection, every unreasonable request. Send it to our legal team. We'll file a formal complaint with the buildings department and request a different inspector. It'll slow us down, but we don't pay bribes. Not ever."
Patricia nodded with what might have been approval. "I'll handle it. Also, you have a meeting in Manhattan at 3 PM. The journalist from Architecture Today."
David had been dreading this. Part of James's strategy to raise David Chen Architecture's profile meant press coverage. This would be his first major interview, and he was deeply uncomfortable with the attention.
"Can't cancel?"
"You canceled twice already. She's getting suspicious that you're a hermit or a figment of everyone's imagination."
"Maybe I am."
"Then you're a very productive figment." Patricia checked her tablet. "Car's picking you up at 2:30. Gives you time to shower and change into something that doesn't have concrete dust on it. I've laid out clothes in your office trailer."
David blinked. "You picked out clothes for me?"
"Someone needed to. Your wardrobe is aggressively mediocre." Patricia's expression didn't change, but David detected the faintest hint of amusement. "Don't worry. Nothing flashy. Just professional enough that you don't look like you've been living in a construction site."
"I have been living in a construction site."
"Yes, well, the journalist doesn't need to know that."
The Architecture Today offices were in a trendy Midtown building that made David's teeth ache with its aggressive modernity. All glass and steel angles, designed to intimidate visitors and proclaim the occupants' sophisticated taste. David found it soulless, but kept that opinion to himself as he was ushered into a meeting room.
Alexandra Park was younger than he'd expected, early thirties, dressed in the kind of carefully casual outfit that probably cost more than David's monthly rent. She had the confident air of someone who knew she was good at her job.
"Mr. Chen! Finally." She shook his hand warmly. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me."
"Just very busy," David said, which was true enough. "Three major projects in active construction, two more in planning, and a day job to manage."
"That's actually what I wanted to talk about. You're becoming something of an enigma in architecture circles." Alexandra gestured for him to sit, pulling out a recording device. "Do you mind?"
"Go ahead."
"So, David Chen. You appear out of nowhere three years ago with a tiny portfolio and start doing community development work in Brooklyn. Fast forward to now, and you've completed nine projects, all of which have received remarkable community response. Your buildings are praised for being beautiful, functional, and somehow making neighborhoods feel more cohesive. How?"
David had practiced this answer with James, finding the line between honest and strategic. "I focus on human needs first. Most architecture is about making bold statements or maximizing profit per square foot. I'm interested in how spaces make people feel and how they facilitate connection. Form follows function, but function should serve humanity."
"That sounds idealistic."
"It is idealistic. But it also works. Happy communities are more stable, more productive, and more resilient. Good design creates value that goes beyond the balance sheet."
Alexandra leaned forward, interested. "You're talking about architecture as a tool for social change."
"I'm talking about architecture as a tool for human flourishing. Social change is a side effect."
"But you're deliberately choosing to work in underserved communities. The Henderson Park project, the Atlantic Avenue redevelopment, the South Bronx plans, these aren't prestigious addresses. You could be making much more money building luxury condos in Manhattan."
David met her eyes. "Could I? I'm an unknown architect with no fancy degree and no connections. The communities I work with are willing to take a chance on me because I'm willing to take a chance on them. And honestly, I find the work more meaningful."
"But now you're expanding. I've heard rumors that David Chen Architecture is pitching for major municipal projects."
News traveled fast. James had only started that process two weeks ago. "We're exploring opportunities," David confirmed carefully. "Our model works at small scale. We're interested in whether it can work larger."
"What's the dream project? If you could design anything, anywhere, what would it be?"
The question caught David off-guard. He'd been prepared for queries about his background, his philosophy, his business model. Not this.
"A city," he said before he could think better of it. "Not a single building or even a neighborhood. An entire city, designed from the ground up around principles of human flourishing, environmental sustainability, and social resilience. Not a utopian fantasy, those never work. But a practical demonstration of how urban planning could prioritize people over profit."
Alexandra's eyes lit up. "That's ambitious."
"You asked for the dream."
"And the reality? What are you actually planning?"
David smiled slightly. "To keep building, one project at a time. To prove that good architecture serves communities, and that communities are worth serving. And maybe, eventually, to scale that vision up to something larger."
The interview continued for another hour, Alexandra probing his background (carefully curated story), his influences (truth mixed with strategic omissions), his plans (vague enough to avoid committing to specifics). By the time David left, he felt wrung out from the constant calculation of what to reveal and what to conceal.
His phone buzzed as he hit the street. Sofia: How'd it go?
Exhausting. I don't know how Tony Stark does this constantly.
Tony Stark is a narcissist who thrives on attention. You're a borderline recluse who tolerates it for strategic purposes. Different psychology.
Fair point.
Heading back to Atlantic Avenue?
No. Meeting with Marcus at the Red Hook warehouse. Security brief.
Fun. Don't forget dinner with potential investors tonight at 8.
David groaned audibly, earning a strange look from a passing businessman. He'd forgotten about the dinner. James had arranged it, three wealthy individuals interested in the Foundation's work, potential major donors if handled correctly.
Can I fake a medical emergency?
No. Your acting is terrible and Patricia will kill you for wasting her planning. Wear the navy suit. The charcoal makes you look like you're attending a funeral.
I don't own a navy suit.
You do now. Check your apartment. I had Patricia handle it.
David wasn't sure whether to be grateful or disturbed that his team was managing his wardrobe. He settled for grateful, they were better at this than he was.
The Red Hook warehouse was busier than David had ever seen it. Marcus had been building out his security team, and the results were evident. Six new personnel, all veterans, all carefully vetted, were conducting training exercises in one corner of the massive space. Equipment that had definitely not been cheap was arranged on tables: communications gear, surveillance equipment, what looked suspiciously like body armor.
"Please tell me we're not starting a private military," David said as he approached Marcus.
"We're not starting a private military. We're establishing professional security infrastructure for an organization operating multiple high-value properties in urban environments." Marcus didn't look up from the tactical map he was studying. "There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yes. Private militaries conduct offensive operations. We're purely defensive, protecting our people and assets."
David studied the map, recognizing it as a detailed layout of all their properties across the boroughs. Color-coded markers indicated different levels of security priority.
"Walk me through it," David said.
Marcus pointed to red markers. "Highest priority: facilities with residential components or vulnerable populations. Community centers with children's programs, our housing developments, the medical clinic Sarah's setting up in Queens. These get 24/7 security presence, surveillance systems, and rapid response protocols."
Yellow markers. "Medium priority: commercial properties, offices, warehouses. Regular patrols, security systems, but not constant presence."
Green markers. "Low priority: construction sites, properties under renovation. Basic security, locks, alarms, occasional patrols."
"What's the total personnel requirement?"
"At full deployment? Forty-five security staff, plus support roles. We're at eighteen now, with twelve more in the hiring pipeline. Mix of overt security, uniformed guards, obvious presence, and covert monitoring."
David whistled. "That's a lot of people."
"That's what it takes to protect a distributed network of properties across five boroughs. And that's before we talk about executive protection."
"I don't need a bodyguard."
Marcus looked at him with profound skepticism. "David, you're becoming a public figure. You're managing an organization that, while doing good work, is also accumulating resources and influence. That makes you a potential target for anyone who wants to disrupt what we're building."
"Target from who? We're a community development non-profit."
"We're an organization operating below the radar of official oversight, with opaque financial structures and a charismatic leader building a loyal following. We look like a threat to anyone who thinks about it carefully."
David wanted to argue, but Marcus wasn't wrong. The bigger they got, the more attention they'd attract, wanted and unwanted.
"Not a bodyguard," David compromised. "But I'll accept... enhanced security awareness. Driver who's trained in protective operations. Security presence at public events. Surveillance detection. Reasonable precautions."
"I'll take it." Marcus made notes. "Now, the harder conversation: what happens when we encounter criminal elements?"
"What do you mean?"
"David, we're working in neighborhoods where organized crime has established presences. Protection rackets, drug operations, gang activity. Eventually, someone's going to approach us, looking for payoffs, trying to use our properties, or just asserting dominance. We need a protocol."
David had been dreading this conversation. "We don't negotiate with criminals. We report threats to police and document everything. We don't become part of the problem we're trying to solve."
"And if reporting to police is ineffective or makes things worse?"
"Then we use our community connections to isolate the criminal element. Make it clear we're not targets worth pursuing because we have too much community support. We make ourselves un-muggable by being too valuable to the neighborhood."
Marcus considered this. "That's a long-term strategy. What about short-term threats?"
"We de-escalate, document, and if necessary, relocate personnel who are being targeted. But Marcus, we can't become a vigilante organization. That's a line we don't cross."
"Agreed. But I need you to understand the risks. We're building something valuable in places where valuable things get taken. We need to be ready to defend what we've built."
"Defend, yes. Aggress, no." David met his eyes. "I know you've seen things, Marcus. I know you're capable of violence when it's necessary. I'm not asking you to be helpless. But I am asking you to remember that we're trying to build something different. Something better. And that means holding ourselves to higher standards."
Marcus nodded slowly. "I can work with that. As long as you understand that higher standards sometimes mean accepting higher risks."
"I understand."
They spent another hour going through security protocols, emergency response plans, and personnel assignments. By the time David left, his head was swimming with callsigns, response times, and threat assessments.
The civilian world he'd known in his previous life hadn't prepared him for this. Building a secret network of community infrastructure apparently required thinking like a military operation. It was exhausting and necessary in equal measure.
Dinner was at a upscale restaurant in Tribeca, the kind of place where the menu didn't list prices and the sommelier looked down his nose at anyone who couldn't pronounce "Châteauneuf-du-Pape" correctly. David felt profoundly out of place in his new navy suit (Patricia had good taste, he admitted grudgingly).
The potential investors were exactly what David had expected: wealthy liberals looking to assuage guilt through philanthropic involvement. Margaret Lawson, a tech industry veteran who'd cashed out before the dot-com bubble burst. Richard and Susan Huang, a married couple who'd made their fortune in real estate and were now interested in "giving back." All three were intelligent, well-meaning, and completely oblivious to what David was actually building.
James handled most of the conversation, which David appreciated. The pitch was carefully calibrated: David Chen Architecture as socially conscious development, the Foundation as a vehicle for sustainable community investment, both working in harmony to prove that profit and purpose weren't mutually exclusive.
"What struck me about your Henderson Park project," Margaret said over appetizers that looked like abstract art, "was how the community responded. I've seen plenty of development projects, and usually there's resistance. But your project was embraced immediately. How did you manage that?"
David set down his fork, grateful for a question he could answer honestly. "We involved the community from the beginning. Before we designed anything, we spent months just listening. What did people need? What did they want? What were the existing problems? Then we designed solutions that addressed those specific concerns."
"That sounds time-consuming," Richard observed.
"It is. But it means the final product actually serves the community instead of imposing our vision on them. People support what they help create."
Susan leaned forward, interested. "But surely there were conflicting desires? How did you arbitrate between different community needs?"
"Prioritization based on impact and feasibility. We couldn't give everyone everything they wanted, but we could ensure everyone's voice was heard and considered. That process builds trust, even when specific requests can't be accommodated."
The conversation flowed through dinner, questions about David's background (carefully edited), his philosophy (genuine), his plans (strategically vague). James periodically steered discussion toward financial specifics, painting a picture of sustainable growth and responsible investment.
By dessert, all three investors were clearly interested. Margaret committed to a six-figure donation on the spot. The Huangs wanted to discuss longer-term partnership possibilities.
"I have to ask," Margaret said as they were finishing coffee, "what's your endgame, David? Let's say everything works perfectly. Five years from now, what does success look like?"
David considered the question carefully. The real answer, a network of resilient communities prepared to survive cosmic invasion and supernatural threats, wasn't something he could share.
"Five years from now," he said slowly, "I want to have proven that human-centered development can work at scale. Not just one project or one neighborhood, but across multiple communities. I want other architects, other developers, other cities to look at what we've built and say 'that works, we should do that too.' Success isn't just what we build directly. It's changing how others build."
"You're talking about systemic change," Susan said.
"I'm talking about demonstrating an alternative. Systems change when better options become obvious."
Margaret smiled. "You know, when James first approached me, I thought this might be another feel-good project with more vision than execution. But you're the real deal, aren't you? You actually believe this can work."
"I know it can work," David corrected gently. "I've seen it work. Now it's just a matter of scale."
After dinner, as they were saying goodbyes on the street, James pulled David aside.
"That went well," James said quietly. "Margaret's donation covers our operating shortfall for the next quarter, and the Huang connection could open doors to major institutional investors."
"Good work," David said, meaning it. "I couldn't have done that without you running interference."
"That's literally my job. But David, you need to get comfortable with this. As we scale up, you're going to be doing more of these performances. Press, investors, politicians, community leaders. You're the face of what we're building."
"I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it."
"No," James agreed. "But you do have to be good at it. And you are, when you're not overthinking. Tonight you came across as genuine, competent, and visionary without being messianic. That's the sweet spot."
David's phone buzzed. Sofia: You survived! Proud of you. Also, web analytics show the Architecture Today interview is getting traction. Your website traffic is up 300%.
Is that good?
It means people are interested. James is going to be fielding a lot of inquiries.
Great, David thought, though he wasn't sure he meant it.
The car Marcus had insisted on, driven by a former Marine named Thomas who looked like he could bench-press a small building, delivered David back to Queens. The apartment felt empty after the evening's social intensity, and David found himself gravitating to his hidden workshop.
The South Bronx project model sat on his workbench, nearly complete. Twelve stories of careful planning, every floor mapped out in miniature detail. David ran his fingers over the tiny structure, feeling the potential in it.
This building would be different from the others. Bigger, more ambitious, and designed with specific threats in mind. The foundation went deeper than engineering required, anchored to bedrock. The structural framework was overbuilt to the point where inspectors would question it, but David had learned how to justify his choices with earthquake resistance and long-term settlement concerns.
The exterior would feature setbacks and architectural details that looked aesthetic but served defensive purposes, places for hardened positions if the building ever needed to be held against assault. The stairwells were oversized, capable of moving large numbers of people quickly. The ground floor had rolling security shutters that looked decorative but were reinforced steel.
And woven through it all would be David's gift. This building would be a fortress disguised as affordable housing, strong enough to shelter people when the sky split open and aliens poured through.
Not that David could explain any of this to inspectors, or even to most of his team. The building just had to look like really well-executed, conservative design. Over-engineered, maybe, but defensible as prudent planning.
His phone buzzed again. This time it was a news alert: "Mysterious Hammer Found in New Mexico Desert, Experts Baffled."
David's stomach dropped. He pulled up the full article, scanning quickly. Some unnamed object had been discovered in the New Mexico desert, described as a hammer-like artifact that no one could lift. Authorities had cordoned off the area. Speculation ranged from elaborate hoax to alien artifact.
It was Mjolnir. Which meant Thor's exile had begun. Which meant the timeline was progressing exactly as David remembered.
Within a year, maybe less, Thor and Loki's drama would spill onto Earth. The Destroyer would attack a small New Mexico town. Thor would prove himself worthy, regain his power, and return to Asgard to deal with his brother.
And then, eventually, Loki would return with an alien army.
David stared at the news article, then at his building model, then back at the article. The weight of foreknowledge pressed down on him like a physical thing. He knew what was coming. He knew people would die. He knew the world was about to discover it was very small and very vulnerable.
And all he could do was build. Build infrastructure, build networks, build capacity. Try to create something resilient enough to bend instead of breaking when the storm hit.
It felt inadequate. How could bricks and mortar and community organizing possibly matter against alien invasion?
But then he thought about the people in those buildings. The families who would have safe places to shelter. The community networks that would help people find each other after disaster. The medical clinics that could treat injuries when hospitals were overwhelmed. The food distribution centers, the emergency supplies, the trained volunteers.
The heroes would fight the aliens. David's work would help everyone else survive.
It had to be enough. It was all he could do.
David carefully packed away his model and locked the workshop. Tomorrow he had three site visits, a conference call with potential contractors, and a meeting with city officials about permits. The work continued, day after day, one project at a time.