James floated in the air, gazing at the frozen base below. With his current power, a single breath could reduce it to dust.
But an idea struck him. He descended to the main control room and accessed the "Serum Project" database.
Scrolling through the files, he learned he'd been chosen randomly. After the car accident, HYDRA had found his body, which inexplicably showed signs of life, and took him as an experimental subject.
"So… just bad luck? An accident threw me into the Marvel Universe?" James muttered, puzzled.
[Ding! Host query detected. Clarification: Your selection was not random. An anomaly in this universe's spacetime structure was detected. Your death coincided with a quantum fluctuation…]
James rolled his eyes. "In plain English, please."
[Basically, you died, but the universe glitched.]
James burst out laughing. "So, I'm a glitch now?"
He closed the database and flew off again. The sun warmed his skin, his blue experimental uniform flapping in the wind.
He realized he now had the power to change the world.
"Since I've been given a second chance…" His gaze settled on New York in the distance.
"Superman?"
He shook his head. "Nah. I do what I want!"
Before leaving, he fired a heat vision blast that reduced the base to ashes.
He broke the sound barrier, leaving a white shockwave in his wake, and vanished toward the horizon.
---
New York, Queens
James landed on the roof of an abandoned factory. The cold wind tugged at his HYDRA uniform. He massaged his temples, his super-hearing extending like radar, picking up the city's sounds.
"…The gold arrives tonight at the port…"
"…This shipment's 92% pure, usual meeting spot…"
"…Black Mask gang's deal tonight…"
Criminal conversations filtered through his ears. In three minutes, he pinpointed a prime target: a strip club in Brooklyn, the Red Snapper, where the basement housed the illegal profits of an Irish gang.
He checked the time on a watch stolen from a passerby: 12:17 a.m., New York time. Perfect timing.
A mischievous grin lit up his face. He vanished in a gust of wind.
In an alley behind the club, two guards were smoking.
"Heard the boss, Devin, got his hands on a Stark Industries weapon prototype."
"Shh, shut up! It's in the vault…"
Before they could finish, a gust of wind passed. The first guard collapsed, unconscious. The second didn't have time to grab his gun. James stood before him, eyes glowing red.
"Stay quiet if you want to live," he said, his voice resonating with power.
The guard nodded, terrified. James delivered a light tap, sending him to join his buddy in dreamland.
Using his super-speed, he bypassed the security systems like a ghost, disabling cameras without a trace. At the vault door, his X-ray vision analyzed the 30cm-thick alloy structure. A precise beam of heat vision sliced through the twelve locks without triggering the alarm.
Inside, stacks of cash were piled high, and in a corner, three crates bore the Stark Industries logo. James opened one, revealing a weapon prototype. He snapped a photo with a phone stolen from the guard, then stored everything in his system space.
He ditched the top of his experimental uniform, keeping only the pants.
"With my powers, I don't need to worry about being tracked, but trouble? No thanks," he muttered. "Kill everyone? Too much hassle. I'm not the Grim Reaper."
As he prepared to leave, his super-hearing caught an electronic voice upstairs. Through the walls, he saw Black Widow interrogating the club's boss in a VIP room.
"Where's your smuggling pipeline?" Natasha asked icily.
"I swear to God, I don't know anything! We just do standard human trafficking."
James shrugged, deciding not to get involved. He left the scene silently, like a shadow.
---
5 a.m., Manhattan
A sleepy real estate agent opened the door to a luxury apartment. A young Asian man in a sharp suit stood there, a stack of cash in hand.
"I want to rent this apartment. Now," James said, handing over six months' rent—$96,000.
The agent blinked, suddenly wide awake. "Don't you want to see the place first?"
"No need," James replied with a smile, his eyes seeming to shimmer with a bluish glow.
Two hours later, he lounged in a jacuzzi, three brand-new laptops floating in front of him. His super-brain absorbed information about this universe at a staggering speed.
"Tony Stark just announced he's Iron Man… Captain America's still frozen… Spider-Man saved someone, again…" he murmured, his fingers typing at inhuman speed.
In ten minutes, he crafted a perfect identity: James Holden, Asian-American, orphan, former MIT student, freelance programmer.
In this universe, creating a credible identity was easier than in China.
With his powers, he had three options:
1. Put on tights and force the president to grow potatoes.
Too boring.
2. Fly to the sun, sunbathe for a decade, and slap Thanos into next week.
Not ready to miss out on the good life yet.
3. Play the good Superman and collect medals for good behavior.
Not my style. I'm not Clark Kent.
No, he had only one option: do whatever he wanted.
James stood and approached the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking New York. The sun illuminated his face, revealing fathomless eyes.
"First, explore this world," he murmured. "Then…"
His super-vision pierced dozens of city blocks. At the Daily Bugle, a redheaded journalist typed an article about Iron Man. In a secret base, a one-eyed man studied energy readings. Atop Osborn Tower, Norman Osborn reviewed a sinister project.
James smiled. In this danger-filled Marvel Universe, he didn't want to be a hero or a villain. But one thing was certain: when he was ready, the world would know a god walked among them.
For now? A cup of coffee and more intel on this universe.
And maybe a few interesting encounters… After all, with his charm and powers, opportunities would be plentiful.