In Marvel with the Force?

The first days in New York had been brutal. Tyr quickly learned that the city was unforgiving to those without money, connections, or a place to call home. The bright lights and crowded streets that had overwhelmed him upon arrival had lost their initial awe, replaced by the stark reality of survival.

Tyr explored the less glamorous parts of the city: alleys littered with trash, abandoned lots hidden behind rusted fences, and forgotten corners where no one cared to look. These places became his refuge. They were grim and filthy, but they offered anonymity and an unspoken understanding: here, no one would bother you if you didn't bother them.

He scavenged food from dumpsters behind restaurants, grimacing as he sifted through spoiled leftovers for anything edible. Once, he found half a sandwich wrapped in plastic, still fresh enough to eat. Another time, a pizza box with only a few bites taken out of a slice.

His scavenging didn't just yield food. He found small treasures: a handful of discarded coins, a ratty but functional blanket, and a broken watch he hoped to repair when he had the tools. Each item was a tiny victory, a reminder that even in a place as ruthless as New York, survival was possible with enough determination.

---

As the days passed, Tyr found moments to practice his abilities in secret. While resting in the shadows of an abandoned lot, he focused on the small, flickering ember of power he had felt before.

His experiments were clumsy at first. He started small, picking up a pebble with his telekinesis. It wobbled in the air, trembling under his shaky control before dropping to the ground with a dull thud.

"Come on," he muttered, narrowing his violet eyes in concentration.

He tried again, this time lifting a discarded soda can. The effort made his forehead bead with sweat, and the can barely rose an inch before his focus slipped.

Tyr groaned in frustration, collapsing against the brick wall behind him. "This is pathetic," he muttered. "I stopped a bear with this power, and now I can't even lift a stupid can."

He clenched his fists, anger bubbling beneath the surface. The memory of the bear was vivid, the moment he'd tapped into something immense and powerful. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't recreate it. The power only seemed to respond when he was in the throes of life-or-death desperation.

"Maybe it's tied to adrenaline," he mused, brushing the dirt off his pants as he stood. "Or maybe I just suck at this."

---

The city's underbelly revealed itself to him in other ways. While searching for shelter one night, Tyr wandered into a dimly lit alley. He kept his head down, his senses alert, but the commotion ahead drew his attention.

Two burly men were shaking down a trembling shopkeeper, their voices low but menacing. Tyr edged closer, staying in the shadows as he listened.

"You're late on your payment, old man," one of the thugs growled, his hand slamming onto the counter. "You think we let you run this place for free?"

"Please," the shopkeeper stammered, his voice laced with desperation. "Business has been slow. I just need a little more time."

The second thug sneered, pulling out a crowbar and tapping it against the counter. "Time's up. Pay now, or we'll make an example out of your little shop."

Tyr's fists clenched. His first instinct was to walk away. This wasn't his problem, and getting involved would only make things worse for him.

But as he watched the shopkeeper plead, his voice breaking, something inside Tyr refused to let him leave.

'This isn't right,' he thought. 'I can't just stand by and let this happen.'

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of the shadows.

---

"Hey," Tyr called, his voice steady despite the nervous energy coursing through him. "Why don't you leave the guy alone?"

The two thugs turned, their eyes narrowing as they sized him up.

"Who the hell are you?" the one with the crowbar asked, his tone more irritated than intimidated.

"Does it matter?" Tyr replied, stepping closer. "You've got your answer. Now leave."

The thug laughed, slapping his companion on the shoulder. "You believe this kid? Thinks he's a hero or something."

"I'm not a hero," Tyr said coolly, his violet eyes meeting the thug's. "But I've had a rough couple of days, and I could use a good fight."

The thug's grin faded. He raised the crowbar, pointing it at Tyr. "Alright, tough guy. You asked for it."

The fight was fast and brutal.

The thug with the crowbar swung first, the heavy metal weapon whistling through the air. Tyr ducked, his training kicking in as he stepped into the man's guard and delivered a sharp uppercut to his jaw. The thug staggered back, cursing as blood dripped from his split lip.

The second thug charged, aiming a wild punch at Tyr's head. Tyr sidestepped, grabbing the man's arm and twisting it behind his back in one fluid motion. The thug yelped in pain, but Tyr didn't let up. He drove his knee into the man's stomach, sending him crumpling to the ground.

The first thug recovered, swinging the crowbar again. Tyr blocked it with his forearm, grimacing as the metal bit into his flesh. Ignoring the pain, he retaliated with a spinning kick that sent the weapon clattering to the ground.

The thug stumbled, and Tyr followed up with a series of punches, each one landing with precision. By the time he stepped back, the man was unconscious, slumping to the pavement.

Tyr looked down at the two men, his chest heaving. They were alive, but they wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.

The shopkeeper stared at him, his eyes wide with shock and gratitude. "Thank you," he said, his voice trembling.

Tyr nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Just... be careful," he said. "This city isn't kind to people who can't protect themselves."

He turned to leave, but the shopkeeper called after him. "Wait!"

Tyr stopped, glancing over his shoulder.

"You look like you could use a place to rest," the shopkeeper said, his voice soft. "I have a small room in the back. It's not much, but... it's better than the streets."

For a moment, Tyr hesitated. The offer was unexpected, and his instincts screamed at him not to trust anyone. But the man's expression was earnest, his gratitude genuine.

"Are you sure?" Tyr asked cautiously.

The shopkeeper nodded. "After what you did for me? It's the least I can do."

Tyr's shoulders sagged as the tension drained from his body. "Thank you," he said quietly.

The shopkeeper led him inside, through the narrow aisles of the store and into a cramped but clean storage room in the back. There was a cot pushed against the wall and a small table with a flickering lamp.

"It's not much," the shopkeeper said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"It's perfect," Tyr replied, his voice filled with relief.