I woke up from my own groan, drenched in cold sweat. Fragments of a nightmare still flashed before my eyes—a dream where I walked through the park and suddenly Hulk appeared, smashing everything around him, and I ran from him, but no matter how fast I ran, I couldn't escape. The faster I ran, the closer his roar came. My heart pounded like a wild drum, but strangely—there was no panic, no animal terror. It was just a fact: a bad dream had happened. Yesterday's encounter had clearly pressured my psyche.
I sat up on the mattress and rubbed my face with my palms. My body ached, especially my legs—the same ones that had nearly given out on me during yesterday's chaos. Every muscle reminded me of the extreme strain. But something was different.
I listened to myself. Yes, the pain was there. But it was… distant. Like loud music from the neighbors through the wall: you know it's there, but it doesn't bother you. There was none of that usual desire to whine, to pity myself, to stay in bed. Instead, a clear and precise thought formed in my mind:
"Muscles are damaged from excessive strain. They need nutrients and moderate activity to recover. Lying down will worsen blood flow and increase healing time."
I stood up. Not with force, not overcoming myself, but simply because it was the logical and correct step. Damn. So that's what synergy means. "Iron Discipline" didn't let me stay in bed. "Nerve Rope" dulled the pain and the residual fear from yesterday and the nightmare. And "Structural Thinking" helped me immediately analyze the situation and find the optimal explanation and action plan. Individually, they were small useful perks. Together? A very powerful cocktail. The world didn't seem as hostile and chaotic anymore. It was full of dangers, yes, but those dangers could be analyzed, systematized, and… perhaps even used.
And as I drank my tea, the warmth of the liquid washing away the last remnants of sleep, my brain was already working at full capacity.
Yesterday had clearly shown me the reality of my situation and just how dangerous and real this world was. Training was good. The System even encouraged it. But it was a long and expensive road. And here and now, a piece of wall could fall on me or a car could fly my way. I needed something more effective. I needed strength—and I needed it fast, as much as possible under my circumstances.
The first thought was the most obvious and the most cowardly: leave New York for somewhere far away. A quiet town in the middle of nowhere or, even better, return to my homeland where there are no superheroes or supervillains. But I immediately dismissed the idea. Running away was an illusion. This was the Marvel universe—here, you couldn't just hide because danger would be everywhere. Even if I left, Thanos' snap would reach me on another planet. No, there was no escaping it. Here, in New York, at least I knew what to expect. In a way.
I sat down at the laptop and took another sip of tea. It was time to test an important hypothesis. I started searching. Not just news, but historical summaries, archives, and various forums.
Chitauri? They existed. The New York attack? It happened. Thor, Hulk, Captain America? They existed—photos of them appeared in the press, though some were blurry, as usual in such cases. The events of Iron Man 3 hadn't happened yet—Stark was still living in his mansion, and according to my memories, he was working on an entire army of suits and hadn't yet encountered the fake Mandarin. Hmm. So the timeline hadn't advanced far. I had a little time to prepare for the arrival of the big purple guy.
I also looked into mutants and discovered a boarding school for gifted teenagers run by Professor Charles Xavier, along with other information about them. I came across news of skirmishes between the so-called "Brotherhood of Mutants" and government forces several times. It turned out that in this world, there weren't just MCU heroes, but also X-Men mutants.
Then I reviewed information about other countries. Yes, there were heroes there too. England, Japan, Russia—hints of heroes, mutants, and conspiracy theories swirled everywhere.
Unfortunately, running away wasn't an option. This world was dangerous everywhere; the danger just took different forms in different places. So I couldn't run—I had to find opportunities. And that's where the Development System was my main ace, but unfortunately, it didn't grant instant strength. So I needed to find something else. Something I could get right now.
I opened a notebook on the computer and unplugged the laptop from the network. Just in case. Then I started writing everything I remembered about the Marvel universe. All the ways to gain power.
Super Soldier Serum? All its versions were either lost or had horrific side effects. I wasn't Erskine—no way I could refine it, not even close. So if I somehow got my hands on an ampoule of serum, I'd more likely turn into someone like the Red Skull or some other freak than Captain America. And the Spider-bite that turned Peter Parker into Spider-Man? I put that in the same category as the Super Soldier Serum—an unpredictable result, at least for me.
Hulk's blood? Ha. Find Bruce Banner? First, I'd have to find him, which already raised the difficulty level pretty high. And if I did find him, taking his blood was one thing, but not pissing off the Big Green was another. The scenario of "Hulk smears you against the wall" seemed the most likely for me. And besides, the story of the guy who transfused Banner's blood and turned into the Abomination was quite telling. So it was just as much of a gamble as the serum.
Magic? The residence of the Ancient One in Tibet or Nepal? I think there was even a branch in New York, but how would I find it? Spend months, or even years, searching? And then learn magic. What if I didn't have the talent for it? Too long and unreliable a path. Although there was the option of learning magic online, but I felt more like a monkey with a grenade—you never know when or where it'll explode.
Martial arts? Now that was an interesting option, and it fit well with my Development System. But where would I find a real teacher, not a charlatan? And one who would take on an adult, poor street kid with a ton of problems? I had no clear answer for that. The only suitable candidate I remembered was Daredevil, but I had a hunch that such a person wouldn't take me on as a student.
Going to the X-Men? As far as I understood the System's specifics, it wasn't related to the X-gene; it was closer to magic, which works with souls. So this option was about the same level as trying to become Daredevil's apprentice.
Alien artifacts, like Mandarin's rings, cutting-edge technology, Eternals, gods, Asgard, other planets… All of that was out of reach for a guy who wasn't a genius, lived in a slum, and counted every dollar for food.
I leaned back in the chair, which creaked pitifully. I had the knowledge, but no opportunities. I was like a hungry man staring at a display case full of food, with the glass between us. Everything boiled down to my insignificance and lack of resources. I was a grain of sand in the desert.
For two days, I spent my time buried in the internet and scribbling in my notebook, analyzing and creating diagrams. "Structural Thinking" helped me organize the information, find connections, but it couldn't materialize a solution out of thin air. I went through dozens of options, but every time I hit the same wall: I lacked education, connections, money, and sheer luck.
And then, on the third day, over another cup of tea, I finally managed to cobble together a flimsy, unreliable plan that was at least something in my situation.
In this world, there was a real hero through and through. Captain America. Steve Rogers. The kind of person who would help simply because it was right. He had his principles, he believed in justice and honor. He was part of the Avengers team, and he had access to S.H.I.E.L.D. resources.
And I also knew something. I remembered his friend, Bucky. That Bucky was alive, but brainwashed, and was currently somewhere in Russia, in Hydra's hands. This information had to be valuable to Cap. And maybe I could trade it for help. Not millions of dollars, of course, but the bare essentials: safety, decent food, a roof over my head, safe physical development supplements, access to a gym and maybe a trainer. Everything I needed to quickly get into shape and start earning Will Points through hellish training. The Development System didn't grant sudden leaps in power, so all my progress would look natural. No one would suspect I had something like a game system in my head.
And then the question arose: how do I reach him? That was the tricky part. I didn't know where he lived. Avengers headquarters? I wouldn't even be able to get past the door. While searching for options, I remembered the post-credits scene from the movie where they all ate shawarma after the Chitauri battle. But I didn't remember where the place was, and waiting for a random encounter seemed idiotic to me.
So I had to dig into the internet. Rummage through archives, forums, and official documents. It took ages, and by the end of the day, my eyes ached from constant strain. But I finally found Tony Stark's address. His estate, where he spent most of his time.
The plan was simple: get there and try to reach Stark. I needed to present it in a way that he would tell Cap about me. Tony himself wasn't particularly interesting to me. Yes, he was a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, but that didn't change the fact that he was unreliable. He could just brush me off with a couple thousand dollars and toss me out on the street. Or ignore me.
No, I needed Captain America. So I'd tell Stark I had information directly for Rogers. To hook Stark, I could hint at something only I knew. For example, hint at his obsession with suits that was about to spiral out of control. Or… that his beloved Pepper was in danger because of his own mania. That should be enough to at least get me listened to instead of tossed out. And from there, Stark might casually mention me in a conversation with Cap, and then Rogers' curiosity and sense of responsibility would do the rest.
It was risky. Very. But I saw no other way out. Sitting around and waiting for a brick to fall on my head from another superhero brawl wasn't an option either. But if this didn't work, well, I'd go looking for Daredevil and beg him to take me on as a student, or I'd start studying magic online.
For the next few days, I didn't push myself to the limit. Instead, I did light training to heal my bruises and stop limping. Every day, I did a few push-ups, squats, and stretches. The pain, which was slowly fading, was still there, but "Nerve Rope" made it bearable, and "Iron Discipline" made me do exactly the right amount—no more, no less.
At the same time, I dove into freelancing like a man possessed. My skills combined with the "Structural Thinking" feature worked wonders—the code seemed to write itself, and I found logical errors at a speed that would have been incredible for my past self. I took everything I could get, working 12-hour days, taking small breaks from the laptop. And money slowly accumulated in my e-wallet. I needed to save up for decent clothes—what I was wearing wasn't appropriate for showing up at Stark's place—and for a taxi there and back.
Finally, the bruises on my face faded completely, leaving only a faint yellowish tint. The money in my account allowed me to buy the simplest, but clean and unwrinkled jeans and a dark long-sleeved shirt from a thrift store. I looked… decent. Like a poor but tidy student.
And so, the day arrived. Prepared and presentable, I called a taxi through the app on my cheap new smartphone.
The ride took about an hour.
The taxi driver, a sullen guy in a cap, shot me a disapproving glance when I asked him to wait. Apparently, he'd already decided I was some kind of psychopath who had come to gawk at a billionaire's house. I stepped out of the car, and the fresh, salty ocean breeze hit my face. The air here smelled nothing like my neighborhood—there was no stench of the city. Here, it smelled of freedom and… the ocean.
The gates were enormous, modern, made of polished metal and glass. Behind them, I could make out a perfectly manicured lawn and a long driveway leading to a futuristic building on the very edge of a cliff. It really did look like a spaceship ready to plunge into the ocean, just like in the movies.
I found the call panel and pressed the button. A chime echoed somewhere inside. I waited. One minute. Two.
"It won't work. No one's going to answer. I'll have to go back, and the money spent on the taxi will be my last," a panicked voice whined inside me, but "Iron Discipline" immediately crushed it.
I stood there, looking at the ocean. It was endless, gray-blue, menacing and beautiful. And unexpectedly, I realized a simple fact: living in a city by the ocean, I had never truly swum in it. There was never time. A constant race, work, problems… And now, looking at those waves, I felt a wild, almost childlike pity for myself and for the guy who had never managed to do it.
At that moment, a polite, completely impersonal voice with a perfect British accent came through the speaker.
— Good afternoon. How may I assist you?
I recognized it instantly. JARVIS.
— Hello, — I tried to make my voice as confident as possible, but it still trembled slightly with nerves. — I need to see Mr. Stark. It is of utmost importance.
— Mr. Stark is currently unavailable. I can take a message, — JARVIS replied without a hint of doubt or interest.
Thank God, I had considered this possibility too.
— A message won't be enough. Please tell him I have information of the highest priority. It directly concerns the life of your creator, Mr. Tony Stark, — I paused to take a breath and continued. — And his… private project, the army of suits he is secretly building. And Miss Potts. It is critically important.
The silence that followed told me JARVIS was processing the new information or perhaps relaying it to Stark. I was almost certain JARVIS had already run my data.
And after about ten seconds of waiting, the connection seemed to shift. Distorted sounds came through the speaker—shouts, gunshots, muffled explosions. Then a different voice: sharp, tense, with Stark's characteristic intonations.
— Alright, you've got my attention. Where did you get this info? And if you're after money, just say so—I don't like these word games.
Tony Stark. In person. And he was clearly in the middle of some mess.
— Money isn't what I need, Mr. Stark. Well, it is, but what I really need is a favor. One that's within your capabilities and won't be a burden. And the information… comes from a very reliable source. Verified.
There was a second of silence on the other end, interrupted only by the sounds of the fight.
— A favor? — Stark smirked. — Interesting. Fine. Come in. JARVIS will keep an eye on you. Just watch… no stupid tricks. I've got surprises for the curious in this house.
The call ended. The gates began to slide open with an almost inaudible hiss. I turned to the taxi driver, who had clearly wanted to say something, but I quickly approached the car and slipped cash through the window.
— That's it. Thanks.
Without a word, he peeled out of there, leaving me alone in front of the open gates to the estate of one of the most powerful people on the planet—and, coincidentally, a superhero.
— Welcome, Mr. Vetrov, — the same calm voice of JARVIS came from the speaker by the door as I finally approached the house. — Please, come in. The door is open.
The massive glass door slid silently aside, letting me inside. And I froze on the threshold. Inside, it was even more like a spaceship. Expensive decor, open space with several levels, floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows with a view of the ocean, a bar with spirits, and the most advanced technology.
— Mr. Stark has arranged for your comfort, — JARVIS continued. — May I offer you a drink? The bar has a wide selection.
— Thank you, but I don't drink. If possible, I wouldn't mind some tea… black, if you have it, — I managed to respond. Alcohol was the last thing I wanted right now.
— Of course. A couple of minutes, and the tea will be ready. Please, have a seat.
I sank onto the couch, which turned out to be surprisingly firm and springy, but quite comfortable. A couple of minutes later, a hidden niche in the wall opened, and a small platform silently rolled out with a steaming cup of tea. I took it in my hands, and a rich, aromatic scent filled my nose at once.
"Well, this isn't my bagged tea, that's for sure," a bitter thought flashed through my mind.
— Would you like to watch TV while you wait? — JARVIS asked.
— Yes, thank you. — And as soon as I answered, one of the huge panels on the wall smoothly lit up, showing a news channel.
The screen showed the aftermath of a skirmish somewhere in the Middle East. Footage of smoldering ruins, running people, and… a red-and-gold suit that confidently blasted some drones with repulsors. So that's where he was.
I tore my gaze away from the screen and took a sip of tea. It was scalding hot, strong, and without a hint of sourness or bitterness. Perfect tea.
— JARVIS, do you… I mean, your home management systems? — I asked, more to break the tension.
— My functions are limited to security protocols and Mr. Stark's instructions, — came the polite, completely uninformative response. — I ensure comfort and safety within the estate.
— Understood, — I nodded.
Subsequent attempts to engage the artificial intelligence failed. It was polite but extremely uninformative, giving only general answers. So I decided to just watch TV.
About two hours passed. I had drunk five cups of tea, made several trips to the bathroom—which, by the way, was smart and high-tech—and I was starting to think Stark had simply forgotten about me when a growing roar echoed outside. Through the panoramic window, I saw Tony Stark in his high-tech suit landing smoothly on what looked like a special platform by the house. He looked battered; there was even a deep scratch on one of his pauldrons.
The suit opened, and Tony Stark stepped out with a brisk stride. He immediately said something over his shoulder to his suit, which then closed and flew away toward the cliff. Probably, there was a workshop in the cliff where Stark would repair the suit later.
And then his gaze fell on me. It was quick and assessing. He silently walked through the entire living room, went to the bar, and poured himself a glass of amber liquid. He took a sip, winced, and only then spoke.
— So, how long are you going to stay silent, Alexey Vetrov? Lately, there's been a lot of Russians around me. Fine. You claim to know some of my secrets. Explain. Fast, clear, and no waffling. My patience only lasts… about five minutes, — he spoke quickly, confidently, and abruptly, pressing down on me with his charisma and intonation.
Here it was—the moment of truth.