Aarav learned three important things within the next ten minutes.
First—walking normally while seeing everything was harder than it sounded.
Second—the world was far more fragile than people liked to believe.
Third—he really, really needed to stop staring into space, because a woman had already asked him twice if he was having a medical emergency.
"I'm fine," Aarav said for the third time, forcing his eyes to refocus on her face. "Just… processing."
She nodded slowly, the universal nod of this guy is definitely not fine, and guided her child past him.
Aarav exhaled and leaned against a streetlight that had no business still standing.
The city was alive with motion—rescue crews, civilians, military vehicles, flying figures streaking across the sky. To anyone else, it was chaos.
To Aarav, it was a web.
Threads—thin, translucent, almost conceptual—extended from people, objects, and events. They overlapped, split, merged, and faded. Each carried faint impressions rather than words.
If this person keeps walking → collision in twelve seconds.
If that drone adjusts altitude → no secondary collapse.
If I stand here for forty-three more seconds → unwanted conversation.
"…Unacceptable," Aarav muttered, pushing off the streetlight and moving exactly thirty-eight seconds later.
The conversation was avoided.
The screen flickered into clearer focus.
Observer Range Expanded (Minor)
Cognitive Load: Within Acceptable Limits
"Good to know my brain won't melt," Aarav said dryly.
He didn't remember agreeing to range expansion either, but the system seemed to treat silence as consent. Noted.
He turned a corner—and froze.
A building ahead of him was standing on borrowed time.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
In his perception, the structure was outlined in fault lines, stress fractures glowing faintly red. Several support columns had already crossed the threshold of structural failure.
Time estimate: ninety seconds.
People were still inside.
Aarav felt… nothing.
That disturbed him.
Not because he didn't care—but because the panic everyone else would feel simply wasn't there. Instead, his mind calmly presented options.
Option A: Shout warning → probability of stampede 63%, casualties likely.
Option B: Enter building, guide evacuation → success rate 71%.
Option C: Do nothing → collapse inevitable.
Aarav frowned.
"So this is what they mean by 'personality influence'," he murmured.
He didn't feel heroic. He felt… inconvenienced.
With a sigh, he walked toward the building.
Inside, dust and smoke clouded the air. People were shouting. Crying. A man was arguing with a rescue worker about going back for his phone.
Aarav raised his voice—not loud, but precise.
"Left staircase is unstable," he said. "Right corridor, second turn. Follow the green exit sign. Move steadily. No running."
Several people stared at him.
"Who are you?" someone demanded.
Aarav didn't stop walking. "Someone who doesn't want to die today."
He placed a hand on a cracked wall panel and applied pressure exactly where his perception told him to.
The structure held.
Eyes widened.
A woman grabbed her child and followed his directions. Others hesitated, then followed when nothing collapsed.
Thread by thread, probabilities shifted.
The screen updated.
Minor Outcome Correction Achieved
Observer Authority Reinforced
"Please don't phrase it like that," Aarav muttered.
As the last civilian exited, the building gave a low, ominous groan.
Aarav stepped out calmly.
Three seconds later, the structure collapsed inward, exactly as predicted.
Dust billowed.
Silence followed.
Then shouting.
Cheers.
A rescue worker stared at Aarav like he'd just grown a second head. "How did you—?"
Aarav was already walking away.
He didn't need praise.
He didn't even feel satisfaction.
That worried him more than the floating screen.
Miles above, a satellite adjusted its angle.
In a reinforced underground facility, a holographic display updated.
Tony Stark frowned.
"That's the third statistical anomaly in this sector," he said. "And they all center around the same civilian."
Natasha leaned over his shoulder. "Civilian?"
Tony zoomed in.
A blurry image resolved—Aarav, mid-stride, face partially obscured by dust and shadow.
"No enhanced signature," Tony muttered. "No energy spikes. No tech."
"So what's the problem?" Steve asked.
Tony's jaw tightened. "Because the probability models say he shouldn't exist in that state."
Aarav felt it again.
That pressure.
This time sharper. Focused.
Someone is looking for me.
Not physically.
Analyzing.
Predicting.
"Right," Aarav said softly. "So this is the part where I disappear."
He didn't sprint. Didn't duck into alleys dramatically.
He simply let his perception choose for him.
Left turn. Pause. Cross the street now. Board a transport vehicle that wasn't scheduled to leave yet—but did.
The driver blinked as Aarav boarded.
"Thought you were full," Aarav said casually.
The man hesitated, then shrugged. "Guess not."
Probability nudged.
The vehicle pulled away moments later.
The screen pulsed faintly.
Observer Role Prioritizes Clarity Over Emotion
"So I become less human," Aarav said.
You become more consistent
He snorted. "That's one way to sell it."
The transport rumbled along, passing through streets that grew progressively less damaged.
Aarav opened his eyes—and flinched.
For just a second, the threads around people weren't just showing what could happen.
They showed what would happen.
A man dropping his phone.
A woman tripping on uneven pavement.
A child laughing three seconds before doing something stupid.
Too much.
"Dial it back," Aarav said sharply.
The screen flickered.
Observer Sensitivity Reduced
Apologies: Automatic Expansion Triggered by Stress Response
Aarav stared at the word apologies.
"…You can apologize."
Acknowledged
That was new.
He leaned back in his seat, rubbing his temples.
"Okay," he said quietly. "New rules."
The screen waited.
"I don't want constant maximum input."
Understood.
"I want control."
Processing…
A brief pause.
Control Access Granted (Limited)
A small icon appeared—something like a dimmer switch.
Aarav adjusted it mentally.
The world softened.
Still sharper than before—but manageable.
"Good," he said. "We can work with that."
The transport slowed.
Aarav glanced outside—and stiffened.
Ahead, a containment perimeter.
Black vehicles. Armed personnel. SHIELD insignia.
And standing at the center—
A woman with red hair and eyes that missed nothing.
Natasha Romanoff.
Probability threads around her were… different.
Dense. Reinforced. Resistant.
She wasn't easy to predict.
Interesting.
The vehicle stopped.
Natasha's gaze flicked briefly toward it.
For a split second, their eyes met.
Aarav felt something rare ripple through his otherwise calm mind.
Caution.
The screen pulsed urgently.
High-Interest Entity Detected
Aarav smiled faintly.
"So that's what that feels like."
He stood as the doors opened—then sat back down.
Not yet.
The threads shifted.
Natasha looked away.
The moment passed.
The transport continued.
Aarav watched the perimeter fade into the distance.
He didn't know who was watching him.
He didn't know what they wanted.
But one thing was clear now.
This power wasn't about force.
It was about positioning.
And if he wasn't careful—
He wouldn't become a hero.
He wouldn't become a villain.
He would become something far worse.
A constant.
The screen dimmed, settling quietly at the edge of his perception.
End of Initial Observation Phase
Aarav closed his eyes.
The city moved on.
And somewhere, calculations began adjusting themselves around a single, unnoticed variable.