Chapter 9: The First Investment (and a Minor Prank)
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: FINANCIAL ACCUMULATION PROGRESSING. IDENTIFYING RELIABLE CHANNELS FOR ASSET LIQUIDATION. CAUTION: BLACK MARKET OPERATIONS CARRY INHERENT RISKS.]
"Risks? System, my entire existence is a risk assessment gone horribly wrong," I quipped, stepping into what could only be described as a very dimly lit, very smoky backroom in a part of Brooklyn that probably hadn't seen direct sunlight since the 70s. The air hung thick with stale cigarette smoke and the vague scent of desperation. This was where the black market thrived, a subterranean ecosystem of illicit dealings.
My first major haul of Chitauri tech was carefully packaged in a battered duffel bag, looking deceptively mundane. Inside, however, were several highly sought-after Chitauri energy cells and a few smaller, perfectly intact weapon components. My "Basic Scavenging Instinct" had served me well, leading me to the good stuff.
Finding a buyer hadn't been as hard as I'd thought. My "Advanced Tactical Awareness," when combined with my knowledge of the MCU's underworld, allowed me to discreetly suss out the right contacts. Turns out, during an alien invasion, everyone was looking for an edge. And alien tech was the ultimate edge.
The contact's name was "Silas." He was a beefy guy with a perpetually suspicious scowl and enough gold chains to sink a small rowboat. He looked exactly like the kind of guy who would operate a black market for alien weaponry out of a defunct auto repair shop. Stereotypes, sometimes, were surprisingly accurate.
"So, you're the one with the 'special merchandise,' huh?" Silas grunted, his eyes narrowing as he took in my decidedly un-intimidating appearance. I probably looked more like a lost tourist than a purveyor of cosmic contraband. Which was exactly what I wanted.
"That's me," I said, trying to sound confident but not arrogant. "And yes, it's very special. Top-shelf alien goodies. Fresh from the battlefield, still humming with cosmic potential. Or, you know, just really good for powering your toaster."
Silas snorted, then gestured to a scarred table. "Let's see it."
I carefully placed the duffel bag on the table and unzipped it, revealing the glowing energy cells. Silas's eyes widened, a flicker of genuine greed in their depths. His two hulking bodyguards, who had been lazily leaning against a wall, straightened up, their hands subtly moving towards concealed weapons. Standard procedure.
"Oh, classic. The 'intimidate the new guy' routine. Gentlemen, I've died to a god, a giant space worm, and a very grumpy green rage monster. You really think a few scowls and some poorly concealed firearms are going to faze me? Cute."*
"These are genuine," Silas said, picking up one of the energy cells, his fingers tracing its smooth, alien surface. "And they're intact. Not a scratch. Where'd you get 'em?"
"Let's just say I have a knack for being in the right place at the wrong time," I replied, shrugging casually. "Or the wrong place at the right time. Depends on your perspective. And whether you like getting rained on by alien guts."
He gave me another suspicious look. "And you got more?"
"Enough to make you very, very rich, Silas," I said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "And enough to make me very, very rich. We're talking long-term partnership here. I'm your exclusive supplier for all things Chitauri. Think of me as your intergalactic junkman. Except the junk is worth a fortune."
Silas seemed to consider this, his eyes still fixed on the glowing cells. He was clearly tempted. But he was also a man who dealt in power and intimidation. And I was just a scrawny guy with a duffel bag.
Suddenly, one of the bodyguards moved, attempting to grab the duffel bag. Not to steal it, not yet, but to assert dominance. To show me who was boss. My "Advanced Tactical Awareness" saw it coming a mile away.
"Oh, no you don't, beefcake. This is my bag. And these are my profits. And besides, I have a new skill that's just itching for a workout."*
As his hand reached for the bag, I quickly activated my "Basic Illusion Casting." A subtle, nearly imperceptible shimmer around Silas's face. His mouth twisted, and when he spoke, his voice came out not as a gruff growl, but as a high-pitched, squeaky cartoon voice.
"I THINK WE CAN DISCUSS TERMS, LITTLE FELLOW!" Silas squeaked, his eyes widening in horror as his own voice betrayed him. The bodyguard froze, his hand hovering over the bag, a look of utter confusion on his face. The other bodyguard actually snorted, trying to stifle a laugh.
Silas's face flushed crimson. "WHAT WAS THAT?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!" he shrieked, his voice still ridiculously high.
I fought to keep a straight face. "Oh, that? Must be the residual alien energy from the cells," I said innocently, tapping one of the glowing objects. "Sometimes they... resonate. You know, cosmic frequencies and all that. Might make your voice sound a little like a chipmunk for a bit. Nothing a good gargle with alien mouthwash can't fix."
Silas stared at me, then at his still-squeaking hands as he tried to speak again. The illusion would only last a few seconds, but it was enough. The moment of intimidation had been shattered. He was furious, but also clearly unnerved. And that was the point.
"We... we can talk price," Silas said, his voice slowly returning to normal, though still a little hoarse with indignation. He glared at his bodyguards, who were now pointedly looking away, trying not to laugh.
"And that, my friends, is how you assert dominance in the black market. Not with a gun, but with a well-timed, embarrassing vocal modulation. Take notes, future crime lords. This is prime material."*
The negotiation proceeded. I ended up getting a very good price for my first batch of tech. Not $50 million, not yet, but a significant chunk. Enough to make me realize that this was a viable path to ludicrous wealth. I sold off a portion of the cells and components, keeping some back for future dealings.
As I walked out of the auto repair shop, the night air surprisingly cool against my face, a triumphant grin spread across my face. My first big score. And a successful prank under my belt.
"One step closer to that upgrade, System," I whispered. "And one step closer to becoming the universe's most irritating billionaire. Yelena Belova won't know what hit her."