Through the non-stop coverage across every channel, Maya had pieced together the full picture: Frank's absurd, inexplicable death had set off a shockwave across New York — and really, across the whole country. A decade later, if someone had filmed it and posted it online, it would have cleared ten million views before sunset.
Privately, Maya didn't feel much satisfaction. The whole thing had run on coincidence. Not Frank's death — that had been deliberate. But how it happened — bumping into Frank on her walk home, having only just learned Shadow Imitation Jutsu, a traffic officer's motorcycle drifting into a Rolls-Royce at exactly the right moment — all coincidence.
Without those converging accidents, she would have had to wait until midnight. Based on what Frank had told Jimmy over the phone, she'd concluded he'd land around 2 AM.
She never could have predicted that Frank would be this paranoid — lying even to his own right-hand man about his travel plans.
And as it turned out, that paranoia had been entirely justified. He'd outsmarted everyone, including Maya. The reason he died the way he did came down to coincidence and abilities that had no business existing in a rational world.
If Frank had reached his building by 7 PM, those five-plus hours would have been more than enough time for him to review the list of Lillian's affair partners and pass down the order. By the time Maya arrived, the execution order for Tom might already have been transmitted to Ryker's Island.
Every successful person earns it. Even a crime boss. If Frank Gardes had been born into an ordinary world — no Marvel, no superhumans, no system cheats — he would have become at least a Corleone-tier figure.
Not one decision he'd made was wrong. He'd worked hard, flying overseas himself to develop new supply routes. He'd kept his temper when Lillian humiliated him repeatedly, unwilling to spend even a fraction of his operational strength on personal grudges. He'd planted insiders in the NYPD. He'd trafficked people to curry favor with those in power, securing protection from influential figures. He'd kept his movements invisible and thrown off Maya's read on his schedule entirely. He'd hidden his real capabilities, ready to make life very difficult for anyone Wilson sent to interfere.
He simply had no superpowers. And he met someone who did.
Maya hadn't exactly been brilliant this time either — she'd gotten lucky. If those coincidences hadn't aligned, Tom's fate would have been genuinely uncertain.
Plans A, B, C, and D had all been rendered irrelevant. What she'd actually done was improvise a new plan entirely on the spot.
Frank might have been volatile and ruthless, but a public street surrounded by pedestrians was a hard constraint. No matter how furious he was, a cunning operator like him would never draw a weapon and shoot a uniformed officer out in the open.
Or so the logic went.
What she'd actually done: sensory perception had picked up the Beretta 92 at his hip. She'd activated Shadow Imitation Jutsu and taken control of his hand long enough to make him pull the trigger twice. The reason neither shot connected at under six feet — that was precision sensory-control, deliberately misaligning the shots. The bald bystander who caught the ricochet wasn't an accident either. Maya had calculated that Frank actually injuring someone would make his death far more legally and morally clean.
As for why she'd then guided George Stacy's hands as he raised Frank's own gun — she'd wanted to ensure the officer faced no legal consequences afterward. Both shots were fatal by design: one through the back of the skull, one through the throat.
Using Shadow Imitation Jutsu on a real person for the first time had exposed a serious problem, though. Even against an ordinary human like Frank, she'd barely maintained control — he'd nearly broken free. The technique needed serious work.
Meanwhile, Jennifer and Jack were in the living room laughing about what an idiot Frank had been.
Maya sat quietly and thought about whether she'd gone too far. There's an old saying: killing someone is enough — no need to humiliate them afterward. She'd eliminated the man, which was one thing. But the way it had played out, Frank was practically guaranteed to go down in history. The most embarrassing exit a mob boss had ever made.
She muttered a quiet "sorry" twice under her breath, then shelved Frank Gardes as a closed matter and turned her attention back to practicing Shadow Imitation Jutsu.
She locked her bedroom door. Set baby James on the bed.
Then she started dancing.
James, propelled by an invisible force, rose to his feet and began to mirror her — every step, every movement. The baby wobbled on the mattress, big eyes blinking in bewildered curiosity, unable to understand how he was suddenly standing upright. He wasn't scared in the slightest. After a moment, he started giggling uncontrollably.
Maya watched her little brother execute a flawless moonwalk across the mattress and nearly lost her composure entirely.
That settled it. She was getting a camcorder this summer, even if she had to work for it. A baby doing Michael Jackson moves was too precious to go unrecorded.
She trained for about thirty minutes until James started looking bored and restless. Then she released the technique, still laughing, and wrapped up for the night.
She handed James back to Jennifer and pulled up her Influence Point breakdown.
"System, show me the detailed Influence Point gain from 5 PM through now."
Hum. A panel materialized:
Influence Points: 30,200
Gained during period: 2,530
Breakdown:
Bald man in suit: 10
George Stacy: 200
Bystander A: 5
Bystander B: 7
Reporter A: 12
Reporter B: 4
Jennifer Thompson: 7
Jack Thompson: 9
James Thompson: 1
Tony Stark: 120
Howard Stark: 31
Maya stared at the list.
Jennifer and Jack contributing a few points wasn't surprising — they'd done so occasionally in the past. Even Tom, far away in prison, threw in a point or two from time to time.
What actually caught her off guard was James. The baby — not yet one year old — had contributed a single Influence Point. He'd clearly had a great time dancing. She made a mental note: keep the practice sessions going.
The Stark family showing up on the list for over 150 combined points was also welcome news. Powerful people really did generate disproportionate returns.
And this wasn't even the final tally. As the Frank Gardes story continued to spread, the passive accumulation would keep rolling in.
The real insight here, though, was something larger. She didn't need to be present at every event. She didn't need to be recognized. As long as she was the primary cause of something, the points came back to her regardless. The contributor didn't need to know her name.
The moment that landed, a whole architecture of possibilities opened up in her mind. Writing books. Making films. Building games. Scaling the operation without ever needing to show her face.
She wouldn't have to keep grinding in-person attention one encounter at a time.
Maya ate a few extra bowls at dinner.
At 1:30 AM, she pulled on her hoodie and black ninja shoes. A note on the shoes: she didn't just wear them to avoid stepping in things. Her feet were quite pale, and in the pitch-dark streets they'd stand out like a spotlight. The full coverage was deliberate — face, elbows, neck, everything — the same principle as old-school night infiltration gear.