In Marvel with the Force?

Only one chapter because after this things will start to get real.

Also I wanted to thank you guys for all the suuport, and I consider engament with the communitìy more important than views so starting from now I will make a question of the Day hopng that you answer:

Wich power would you want in real life? (Im choosing Technokinesis)

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The sound of wind rushing past his ears drowned out the noise of the city below. Oliver Strands—known to the streets as "Impulse," though the criminals seemed to prefer calling him "Yellow"—soared through the night sky, his body propelled by a grappling hook mechanism strapped to his wrist.

The system wasn't perfect.

The line tightened as he swung toward the next rooftop, but his timing was slightly off. He hit the ledge hard, his ribs slamming into the concrete edge. Pain flared instantly, and he rolled onto the rooftop, gasping for air.

"Dammit," he muttered, clutching his side as he staggered to his feet.

The sharp ache in his ribs was already fading, replaced by a strange warmth that spread through his torso. His body was learning, adapting. Every fall, every crash, every broken bone taught him something new.

"Experience really is the best teacher," he said dryly, flexing his fingers as he pulled himself upright.

The grappler had been a gift—or more accurately, a loan—from Argos. Oliver didn't have Tyr's technical expertise to create gear like this himself. The suit he wore—a modified version of Tyr's iconic black-and-purple armor—was another reminder of that.

Yellow dominated the color scheme now, a bold statement that felt less like his own choice and more like something thrust upon him. The mask was sleeker, the lines sharper, but he still felt like he was wearing someone else's skin.

Because he was.

It had been two months since Violet—Tyr—disappeared. Two long, grueling months.

At first, the criminals had stayed cautious, wary of the vigilante who had once ruled the night. But as the days stretched on with no sign of Violet, the city's underworld began to reemerge.

Petty thieves, smugglers, even the remnants of the old gangs—New York's streets became a breeding ground for crime once more.

Argos had been relentless, analyzing the situation and searching for a solution. When the resurgence became too much for its automated deterrence systems, it had reached out to Oliver.

"You are the only viable candidate," Argos had said in its cool, even tone.

At first, Oliver had refused. He wasn't Tyr. He didn't have the skills, the training, or the experience. But Argos had pressed him, and in the end, he couldn't say no.

Not because he wanted to be a hero. Not because he thought he could replace Tyr.

But because he had to.

Now, standing on the rooftop and staring out at the sprawling city, Oliver couldn't help but feel the weight of the mantle he'd taken on.

"Violet made this look so easy," he muttered, adjusting the grip on his grappler.

But it wasn't easy. It didn't matter how many criminals he caught, how many times he turned them over to the police. They just kept coming back, emboldened by his lack of presence, his lack of fear.

Even the public seemed divided about him.

Some were grateful for his efforts, calling him a hero for stepping in where Violet had left off. But others...

Oliver grimaced, recalling the headlines.

"Where is Violet Wolf? Has the Protector of New York Abandoned Us?"

"Yellow Impulse: Hero or Half-Measure?"

The criticisms stung more than he cared to admit. He didn't have Tyr's charisma, his ability to strike fear into the hearts of criminals.

He wasn't a wolf.

He was just... trying.

The soft chime of Argos's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"Oliver," the AI said, its tone calm but firm. "You are deviating from your patrol route. Adjust your trajectory to cover the waterfront district."

"Yeah, yeah," Oliver said, firing his grappler toward the next building. He swung across the gap, his body twisting in midair. "Any sign of activity?"

"Reports indicate an illegal weapons exchange at Pier 32," Argos replied. "Your presence is advised."

Oliver landed on the next rooftop with a roll, coming up smoothly. "Got it. On my way."

As he made his way toward the pier, Oliver couldn't help but think about Argos. The AI seemed almost... human sometimes, especially when it talked about Tyr.

"Do you really think he's alive?" Oliver had asked it once, weeks ago.

"I do," Argos had replied without hesitation. "It is statistically improbable that Tyr Sinclair has perished. Until proven otherwise, I will operate under the assumption that he is alive."

Oliver had been stunned. He didn't know if it was Argos's programming or something deeper, but the AI's confidence had lit a small spark of hope in him.

If Argos believed Tyr was alive, then so could he.

The waterfront district was quiet as Oliver approached, the air thick with the smell of salt and decay. He crouched on a shipping container, scanning the area below.

A group of men stood near a docked cargo ship, their voices low as they exchanged crates of weapons. The moonlight glinted off their guns, casting long shadows across the pier.

Oliver took a deep breath, steadying himself. He adjusted his mask and fired the grappler, swinging silently toward the dock.

"Alright," he whispered to himself. "Let's do this."

The first thug didn't even see him coming.

Oliver landed behind him, grabbing the man's arm and twisting it sharply. The thug yelped in pain as Oliver redirected the energy from the grapple into his fist, slamming it into the man's chest. The force sent the thug flying into a stack of crates, unconscious.

The others turned, their shouts of surprise quickly turning into curses as they raised their weapons.

Oliver dodged the first shot, rolling to the side as he fired the grappler again. The hook caught one of the men's legs, yanking him off balance. Oliver used the momentum to swing toward another thug, landing a powerful kick to his jaw.

The fight was chaotic, messy. Oliver wasn't as precise as Tyr, his movements less polished, but his powers made up for it. He absorbed the impact of every blow, redirecting the energy to boost his strength or speed.

Within minutes, the thugs were incapacitated, groaning on the ground.

As Oliver stood amidst the wreckage, his chest heaving, he couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration.

It wasn't enough. No matter how hard he tried, the fear that Violet had instilled in the criminal underworld was gone.

"Oliver," Argos's voice broke through his thoughts. "Your performance has improved by 18% since last week."

Oliver snorted. "Yeah, tell that to the public."

"Public sentiment is secondary to results," Argos replied. "Your efforts are commendable."

Oliver smiled faintly, though the weight on his shoulders didn't lighten. "Thanks, Argos."

He turned and fired the grappler, swinging away into the night.

As he flew from building to building, the pain in his ribs long gone and his body alive with redirected energy, Oliver thought of Tyr.

"Wherever you are," he murmured, "I hope you're okay."

Because no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many criminals he took down, Oliver couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't enough.

But he would keep trying.