The monitors in Ethan's hotel room cast a soft glow on his skin, shadows pooling beneath his eyes. His fingers hovered above the keyboard, another frame of grainy surveillance footage frozen in place. Delilah moved through the grainy night vision—fluid, brutal, enigmatic.
But even after hours of watching her patterns and Rose's movements, Ethan's brow furrowed in growing frustration.
This wasn't productive anymore.
He leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest.
Watching them wouldn't bring him closer to his goal. There was nothing more to gleam from the footage. Not now.
He wasn't going to learn Delilah's real name or origin by staring at her walking in and out of side doors. Not when her identity was unknown; she hid her past, her reasons, her loyalties. None of which were broadcast on a street camera.
Besides, the moment he truly needed was still at the very least a week or two away—when she would be bleeding out in a hospital bed, weakened and alone. That was when he'd make his move. Not before.
With a breath, he shut down the surveillance feeds and pushed away from the desk.
There were other tasks—more urgent ones.
First: Amy.
Her powers were surfacing at an unstable pace. She was scared, uncertain—and open to influence. Ethan didn't plan to push her. He planned to support her. Better to cultivate an ally that he could use later.
And the best way to do that was to put someone in her life who understood what it meant to bear power and responsibility. Someone like Peter Parker.
If he could arrange for Peter to mentor Amy, he'd accomplish several things at once: strengthen Amy's trust, deepen Peter's investment, and frame himself as the architect of their stability.
That kind of goodwill couldn't be faked. It had to be earned.
Second: Rachel.
Last he heard from Paige, she was unraveling. The psychological damage from the demon realm, from Nisanti's whispers and possession, was spiraling toward collapse. Her last panic attack was bad enough that she had been hospitalized.
Ethan hadn't seen her since, not that he really cared too. But Paige cared. And Paige had made him promise he'd go with her next time.
So he would.
Tomorrow, after school, he'd accompany Paige to the hospital. Rachel needed a check-in. He needed data. And keeping his word to Paige kept her steady in his orbit.
He sat back down at the desk and opened his schedule.
Morning: call The Daily Bugle, and try to arrange a meeting with Peter to introduce Amy.
Midday: school—routine, minimal engagement. Read two or three advanced books on psychology.
Evening: visit Rachel. If necessary, use psychological knowledge to stabilize her temporarily. Assess her condition and make a possible treatment plan.
Night: finalize preparations for Felicia Harper's laundromat.
But first, one more task: the aliases.
He had already completed the first three, but hadn't touched the plans for the last three:
Samuel Rourke (Status: 80% Complete)
Purpose: Institutional interfacing—property acquisition, legal dealings, and educational fronts.
Background: A fabricated identity built around a now-defunct technical institute, with falsified transcripts and employment history in IT and logistics. Used as Ethan's primary face for real-world documents and transactions. Future plans to use this identity to build a tech empire which on the surface will lead medical advancements.
Special Notes: This alias is registered as the owner for the print shop and property sponsor for Felicia Harper's identity.
Gavin Rowe (Status: 60% Complete)
Purpose: Financial funneling and passive income handling.
Background: A low-profile freelance graphic designer with minimalist portfolios and IRS-recorded self-employment earnings. Backend IP logs route through randomized servers.
Special Notes: This alias will be used to discreetly route small, periodic deposits from shell corporations to create low-risk liquidity.
Diego Fuentes (Status: 60% Complete)
Purpose: Escape and long-term disappearance identity.
Background: Framed as a reclusive Cuban-American painter who vanished from the Miami art scene five years ago. Built using seeded online articles, auction logs, and gallery posts.
Special Notes: Used only if I need to disappear without a trace. Has a functional fake passport and out-of-state license.
Mason Terrell (Status: Not yet started)
Purpose: Digital underworld and dark web infiltration.
Background: Planned to be a constructed legend of a "gray hat" cybersecurity expert known in dark forums as "GhostPatch." His forum presence will consist of years of backdated code drops and patch notes.
Special Notes: This alias will be used to communicate with hackers, obtain illegal software, and buy data breaches. Planned use is to rob technology from Tony Stark, Reed Richards, Roxxon, Life Foundation, and many more.
Isaac Maddox (Status: Not yet started)
Purpose: Public outreach identity for interacting with superheroes, NGOs, or political organizations.
Background: Political science student at Columbia with ties to humanitarian causes. Includes staged photos, recommendation letters, and NGO volunteer logs seeded into minor online records.
Special Notes: A clean, professional identity for interactions requiring legitimacy and moral standing. The planned intended purpose is to use it when interfacing with groups like S.W.O.R.D., S.H.E.I.L.D., or Wakanda.
Luc Moreau (Status: In Progress)
Purpose: European operational base—eventual international expansion. Black market persona.
Background: A self-styled weapons supplier and logistics planner from France, slated as a former public contractor turned urban planner. I have seeded obituaries, side project data, and forum posts over the past month. Currently, the national ID hook was still under construction, requiring a slow-drip phishing attack on an outdated Parisian public works system. Built to engage with criminal middlemen, arms dealers, or information brokers without linking back to any of my other identities.
Special Notes: No social media, no visible paper trail. Moreau exists only to be a ghost when dealing with criminals.
Working throughout the night he managed to completely finish up the first three and set up the barebones for the last three. That way by the week's end he could finish up those last three.
He saved each one as a fully fleshed profile, backed up into separate encrypted partitions. He planned for each identity to have its own credentials, browser signature, IP reroute protocols, and even a distinctive writing tone.
As the final alias locked into place, Ethan looked at the six names on his screen—six masks, he'd need more in the future but for now these would be good enough.
He exhaled slowly.
His mind drifted briefly to Felicia Harper. He pulled up the secure account ledger and scanned the balances. The laundromat deal would likely close tomorrow, and the funds were properly distributed through four layers of shell companies.
He reviewed the blueprint for the laundromat safehouse again. The main floor was still wrecked and useless, but that wasn't the point it would be easy enough to rebuild it. The basement had promise: thick concrete, fully disconnected from city utilities, a private alley gate with no working surveillance nearby. A natural dead zone.
Once the attorney emailed him the seller's acceptance, the final funds would be wired.
Then came the print shop.
Ethan opened the blueprints. He had drawn them himself after studying all he could about architectural and drawing skills—meticulously scanned city building codes, reinforced walls, modular interior zones.
The upstairs would be a functioning front: a small media space, recording equipment, and a clean office. Just enough for someone like Peter to use as a "journalist headquarters."
The downstairs? That one was tricky. It needed to be soundproofed, shielded, with two secured exits. Custom lab layout, server racks, a micro-vault for symbiote study, and three expansion-ready rooms.
It was a base.
Not flashy.
Just smart.
Just… prepared.
But the tricky part was how to go about outfitting the base without drawing attention. He might have to actually set it all up himself. This means he'd need to learn multiple forms of engineering soon. That or he'd need to create his own personal construction company, created just to outfit his safe house, but that was also dangerous as the question beckoned; was the place really safe if others knew about it?
By the time he closed the last window, the room outside had begun to glow with early morning light.
He looked at the digital clock. 5:47 AM.
He stretched, stood, and made his way to the bathroom. The hot water helped his eyes stop stinging. Steam curled around the mirror as he scrubbed his face, then dressed in quiet, deliberate motions.
He ate a quick breakfast—toast, eggs, and cold coffee—and returned to the desk to send the prepared message to the real-estate attorney under Felicia Harper's alias.
Then he picked up the phone.
The first number wasn't the Bugle. It was the Xavier School for the Gifted.
A polite male voice answered after two rings. "Xavier Institute. Scott Summers speaking."
Ethan straightened instinctively. "Good morning, Mr. Summers. I have a student interested in attending your school and was hoping to schedule a tour in the near future. I've heard the school has an excellent curriculum for advanced students."
There was a short pause, the sound of paper shifting. "I'm afraid tours and admissions are on hold until the upcoming summer."
"Is that normal?" Ethan asked, careful to keep his tone curious but casual. "Most schools don't freeze admissions mid-semester."
"Normally it isn't," Scott said. "We had an… incident. Some remodeling and security upgrades are being done. Everything should resume by June."
"I see." Ethan let out a practiced sigh. "That's unfortunate. I was hoping to enroll the student sooner."
"Sorry," Scott said, his voice polite but firm. "You can call back around late May. We'll have a clearer timeline then."
Ethan could almost hear the man studying the number, trying to place him. "And who should I say was calling?"
"Rourke," Ethan said smoothly. "Samuel Rourke. I'll call again at a later date. Thank you for your time."
He hung up and exhaled through his nose. The call left a faint echo of irritation that caffeine couldn't fix.
'This is just perfect. Goddamit!'
The curse stayed silent in his mind: the one school that mattered was off-limits for now. He'd hoped to meet Forge in person and copy his power early, but if the Institute was locked down, there'd be no way inside until summer.
It also explained why Paige Guthrie—Husk—was still at Midtown High. She'd likely transfer once the 'renovations' were done.
Ethan rubbed his temples, annoyance flickering behind his calm mask. "So much for early access," he muttered.
He scrolled to the next contact on his list.
Time to call The Daily Bugle.