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"I've got this!" Peter told the little girl, bracing for another kick.
The bathroom window didn't budge. Heat pressed against his back. Time was running out.
---
City Park
"Bathroom run shouldn't take this long," Uncle Ben said, glancing down the path.
Sylas felt it too that itch under the skin when something's wrong. Rescues don't take forever.
"I'll go check on him," Sylas said, already moving. He cut across the grass at a jog.
Halfway down the path, he clocked a blind corner and a street cam. Perfect. In the shadow of the wall, he swapped in a breath: the Shadow Ninja, same height, wearing Sylas's clothes, peeled out of his silhouette and jogged into camera view toward the public restrooms.
Sylas vaulted the wall the other way, vanishing into the tight alleys behind the block.
Find the fire, find Peter. He bounded up a drainpipe, hit a rooftop, and spotted the black column of smoke a few blocks over.
"There," he breathed, sprinting low across the gravel, a panther on the hunt.
He reached the site and closed his eyes, tuning out sirens and panic. Beneath the roar of the blaze—
"Come on, break!"
Peter's voice, ragged and close.
Sylas swung around to the outside of the window Peter was battering. Debris from a partial collapse had fused into a jam; for someone still new to his powers, brute force alone wouldn't cut it.
"On it." From Sylas's shadow, half a dozen Shadow Khan footmen rose like smoke and began hauling the junk aside with silent, inhuman precision.
Inside, Peter felt the frame give. "Loosening… okay!"
He web-yanked the faucet free; water sheeted across the threshold, buying seconds. He pulled the girl tight against his chest.
"Eyes closed!" he warned. "We're going out!"
He sprinted, planted kicked with everything he had.
CRACK—
They burst through the window. The shockwave hit the workers outside like a hammer, kicking one Shadow Ninja into black vapor.
On the alley wall, Sylas twitched a smile under the mask.
"You're welcome." He slipped away before anyone could connect faces or timelines.
Sylas stumbled a fraction at the number. Two hundred and one? So the story-linked people, the ones fate keeps circling, were worth more. Good to know. Not a thought for now.
He recalled the decoy; the "Sylas" in street clothes jogged out of the restroom and back toward the park, right where the cameras could see him.
At the rendezvous corner, the ninja slid back into his shadow, and Sylas smoothed his shirt, heartbeat steady.
He walked up to Ben and May.
"Where's Peter?" Ben asked.
Sylas lifted a shoulder. "Checked the front bathroom no sign."
May stood, worry creasing her face. "We should—"
"Hey!" Peter jogged up, flushed, breathing hard. "What'd I miss?"
"Where did you go?" Ben asked, brow raised.
"Bathroom," Peter said, like it was obvious.
Sylas played his part. "We looked. You weren't at the front one."
"Crowded," Peter said without missing a beat. "Tried another."
May exhaled, half-laugh, half-sob. "You scared me to death."
Peter looked stricken. "Sorry, Aunt May."
Ben's eyes flicked to a singed edge on Peter's hem and the sweat on his neck. He said nothing.
They returned to the park and made the most of the day. Rides, dumb games, cotton candy that stained tongues blue. Peter took a pile of goofy shots and convinced a bystander to snap a family photo at dusk.
"Good day?" Ben asked, as neon flickered awake.
"The best," Peter said, then grinned. "But next time road trip."
"Seconded," Sylas said, lifting a hand.
Ben chuckled. "Guess I'd better start thinking about another set of wheels."
The boys fell quiet at the same time.
How do I explain the money?
Both of them knew exactly how fast Ben would shred a bad cover story.
Back home, May and Ben turned in early. Hall lights dimmed.
"See you tomorrow," Sylas said.
"See ya," Peter answered. Doors clicked shut.
---
In his room, Sylas tipped back in the chair, boots on the desk, hands behind his head.
"Two hundred and one for one run," he murmured. "Story people are multiplier bait. Save them or stop them big points either way."
On the wall calendar, he'd sketched a rough MCU timeline. Iron Man 1 was barely in the rearview. Ahead lay a highway of disasters and opportunities.
"Talismans," he said aloud, the word tasting like a key in a lock. The Dog for immortality. The Horse for healing. With those, he could tank almost anything. Even the Endgame-level stuff.
He froze, a thought slamming through like thunder.
"The snap."
What if he wore the Gauntlet? What if, with Dog and Horse in his pocket, he survived it?
Save half the universe mountains of Justice Or… take half away oceans of Sin Either path power.
The idea detonated in his chest, waves rippling out. Dangerous. Irresistible.
"First things first," he told himself.
"Talismans. Then the board changes."
---
Oscorp — Three Days Out
"Three days," Norman Osborn said, dropping the deadline like a judge's gavel. He didn't wait for an answer.
Connors nodded politely, but his pulse jumped. He cared less about Norman's soldier serum than he did about his own limb regeneration. He could feel it he was close.
What Connors didn't know: a second lab lay beneath Oscorp, a quiet mirror to his own. Norman didn't trust anyone completely. Every "failed" batch from Connors's team went downstairs for iteration under a different hand.
"Three days," Connors repeated to himself, fingers brushing the empty sleeve at his side like it was already filled. "I won't need three."
He looked like a man already reaching for the doorknob of a room he'd dreamed about for years. He didn't notice the other door opening across town, the one Tony was building with cameras and questions, or the one Sylas was prying at with shadows and fate.
But all three would slam together soon enough.
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