Marvel : Endless Power

Rody tapped the controls on his wrist-mounted interface, and a small holographic projection flickered to life before him.

Vibration and sound waves pulsed through the ventilation system like a high-tech sonar, mapping out the Osborne Building's entire air duct network. The digital model expanded outward, branching like a fractal pattern, revealing a structure more intricate than even the Batcave's hidden tunnels beneath Wayne Manor.

"This is insane. Even if someone could crawl through here, they'd be hopelessly lost," Rody muttered, grateful he hadn't relied on this as his primary infiltration method.

As the mapping neared completion, Rody identified three distinct locations where the ventilation system abruptly terminated. These areas were either sealed off completely or had their own dedicated airflow—an indicator of highly classified zones.

One of them had to be Norman Osborn's private laboratory, where the infamous Goblin Formula had been developed—a place as dangerous as Lex Luthor's genetic research facilities in Metropolis.

Osborn wouldn't risk biohazards spreading throughout his empire. If he went to these lengths to isolate certain areas, they had to be vital. And if the recently retrieved comic book fragments had any real significance, then Osborn would keep them somewhere heavily secured.

Of course, this was all just speculation. But in a world where Captain America had once been enhanced by a serum and Spider-Man had gained powers from a genetically modified arachnid, stranger things had happened.

Saving the data, Rody carefully exited the ventilation system. He had been inside for nearly half an hour, and lingering any longer would arouse suspicion.

Outside the Osborne Building, Rody debated heading back to Stark's estate. But as he crossed the street, a sudden pulse of thought hit his telepathic senses like a hammer on vibranium:

"Target acquired. Wait until he reaches an isolated area before engaging."

Rody discreetly scanned his surroundings and locked onto a bearded man in a dark blue trench coat. Though the man's gaze never lingered on him, Rody noticed how he used the reflection from his oddly sophisticated wristwatch to keep track of his movements.

Clever. If I didn't have telepathy, I never would've noticed.

His heartbeat quickened. They're still hunting me.

It had only been two hours since he'd left Stark's estate, yet they had already tracked him down again. How? Did they plant a tracer on him? Were they using satellite surveillance like S.H.I.E.L.D. or ARGUS?

No. This is something else.

But today, Rody wasn't going to be a helpless target. This time, he was the hunter.

He led his pursuer toward a deserted alleyway—a perfect kill-box scenario, reminiscent of how Batman would lure a criminal into a controlled engagement zone.

The bearded man followed without hesitation, unaware he was walking into a trap.

As soon as Rody turned a corner, he launched his grappling hook, propelling himself straight up onto a fire escape. By the time the assassin arrived at the alley's dead end, Rody was nowhere to be seen.

Confused, the bearded man hesitated—just long enough for Rody to strike.

A high-tension cable shot out, hitting the assassin in the arm. A second later, 50,000 volts of Stark Tech electricity surged through his body, sending him collapsing onto the pavement like a marionette with its strings cut.

Rody slowly descended from the fire escape, his expression unreadable. This was almost too easy.

If I had to fight him a week ago, I would've lost.

With this gear, I feel like a pay-to-win player dominating a noob lobby.

But this was only the beginning. He wasn't going to be satisfied with wrist-mounted weapons forever. He wanted a full suit—an Iron Man armor of his own.

For now, though, he needed information.

Rodi stepped closer, preparing to interrogate his downed attacker.

Then he saw it—a gun barrel rising, trembling, struggling to aim at him.

He's not fully paralyzed.

Rody's mind went into overdrive. Time slowed as his enhanced reflexes kicked in, and his right wrist flicked upward.

Shing!

A carbonadium blade extended from his bracer, forged from one of the most durable and flexible alloys—second only to vibranium and adamantium.

The gun fired. The bullet ricocheted off the blade's edge, grazing Rody's cheek.

The assassin's eyes widened. Impossible.

Deflecting bullets with a knife? What is this, a movie?!

Panic set in, and the assassin made a desperate move—he bit down on something hidden in his molars.

An agonizing ripple of transformation overtook him. His body distorted, flesh writhing like a symbiote rejecting its host.

A second later—he vanished.

Not teleported. Not phased through matter like Kitty Pryde.

Stealthed.

Like an advanced version of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Ghost-Tech camouflage or the Chameleon's adaptive suit.

Rody cursed. If this guy gets the drop on me, I'm dead.

Instinctively, he let loose a burst of psionic energy, sending out waves like Daredevil's echolocation.

The mental ping revealed a red silhouette moving clumsily behind him.

He's struggling.

He didn't expect to turn invisible.

Rody didn't hesitate. He compressed his telepathic energy into a psychic lance and struck.

The assassin collapsed mid-step. His body flickered back into visibility, blood seeping from his ears, nose, and eyes.

He wasn't breathing.

Rody exhaled sharply. His limbs trembled from the mental exertion.

I overdid it.

Staggering forward, he checked the body. Nothing—no ID, no phone, no insignias. Whoever these people were, they erased all traces of themselves.

But there was one thing they couldn't erase.

Blood.

Rody didn't notice it at first, but as he cleaned his weapon, a single drop of blood seeped into the cracks beneath his fingernails.

A drop that, unbeknownst to him, was mutating.