In Marvel with the Force?

Tyr sat at his workbench, staring intently at his laptop. The screen displayed a blank project template, waiting to be filled with code. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, his mind racing with possibilities. 

After hours of brainstorming, he had finally settled on the game he wanted to recreate: Terraria. 

The choice had been obvious once he'd thought it through. The game was iconic in Theon's world, loved for its simplicity and depth. Its sandbox mechanics, exploration, and creativity were timeless, and its potential to captivate players was unmatched. Most importantly, it was something he could realistically build with his current knowledge and resources. 

"I can start small," Tyr muttered to himself, his eyes flicking across the notes he'd jotted down. "Focus on the core mechanics first—mining, crafting, building. I'll add the bosses and biomes later." 

He cracked his knuckles and began typing, the rhythmic sound of keystrokes filling the workshop. 

---

Hours passed in a blur as Tyr poured himself into the project. His enhanced mental acuity made coding feel almost second nature. He worked through the foundational systems with a speed and precision that would have taken most developers weeks to achieve. 

The screen began to come alive with the barebones elements of the game—a rudimentary player character, basic terrain generation, and the start of a crafting system. It was crude, but it worked. 

Tyr leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. He glanced at the clock and realized he'd been working for nearly eight hours straight. 

"Progress," he said with a faint smile. 

But as much as the project excited him, Tyr couldn't ignore the other thought that had been nagging at the back of his mind. 

Swordsmanship.

He glanced across the room at a stack of martial arts manuals and training gear he'd been neglecting lately. The Force—if that's truly what he wielded—was synonymous with lightsabers. He might not have one yet, but that didn't mean he couldn't prepare. 

"Can't call myself a Force user without at least knowing how to wield a sword," Tyr muttered. 

He stood and grabbed a wooden training sword from the corner of the room. The weight felt awkward in his hand, unfamiliar. Despite his extensive combat training from Theon's memories, swordsmanship was something neither of them had experience with. 

Tyr swung the training sword experimentally, the motion clumsy and inefficient. 

"This is going to take time," he admitted, setting his stance. "But I'll get there." 

He spent the next hour practicing basic strikes and footwork, his movements slow and deliberate. It wasn't much, but it was a start. 

---

Switch POV: Silvermane 

Silvio Manfredi, known to the underworld as Silvermane, sat in his private office, his cold, cybernetic fingers tapping rhythmically against the polished steel of his desk. His mechanical frame hummed faintly, the sound blending with the low buzz of monitors lining the walls. 

Each screen displayed reports of chaos: shipments disrupted, operations dismantled, and loyal men left broken in alleys. All of it courtesy of one name—*the Black Wolf*. 

A name he was growing to hate. 

"Again," Silvermane growled, his voice distorted by the vocal modulators embedded in his throat. "Another shipment gone. And this time, two of my best assets dead." 

The man standing before him, a nervous lieutenant named Carlo, shifted uncomfortably under his cyborg boss's piercing gaze. "We... we didn't anticipate his strength, boss. He's—" 

"He's a nuisance," Silvermane snapped, rising from his chair. His movements were unnervingly smooth, his enhanced body exuding power and precision. "A wolf that's gotten too bold. And you know what we do with bold wolves?" 

"We... we put them down," Carlo stammered. 

Silvermane's glowing red eyes narrowed. "Exactly." 

He paced slowly, his metallic footsteps echoing in the dimly lit room. "I've wasted enough time on incompetents and freelancers. This Black Wolf has made my operations a joke, and I will not tolerate it any longer." 

Carlo swallowed hard. "What's the plan, boss?" 

Silvermane stopped, his gaze fixed on a monitor displaying a blurry image of the Black Wolf in action. "The plan," he said, his voice cold and deliberate, "is that I take care of this personally." 

Carlo's eyes widened. "You're going after him yourself?" 

 Do you doubt me, Carlo?" Silvermane asked, his tone sharp. 

"N-no, of course not!" Carlo said quickly. "It's just... he's unpredictable. And dangerous." 

Silvermane let out a harsh laugh, the sound metallic and grating. "Dangerous? To you, maybe. But I'm not like you, Carlo. I am the future. Flesh and blood may fear him, but metal doesn't. He can't break what he can't kill." 

He turned back to the monitors, his mechanical hands clenching into fists. "Prepare the men. I want every informant, every spy, every street rat looking for him. When we find him, I'll finish this myself." 

"Yes, boss," Carlo said, hurrying out of the room. 

As the door closed behind him, Silvermane stared at the monitor, his glowing eyes narrowing further. 

"You've been a thorn in my side for too long, Black Wolf," he muttered. "Let's see how you fare against someone who doesn't bleed."