Resonance - A SteinMon Sample Story

by SteinMon1920518

Getting Isekai'd without dying, getting Gamer powers, accidently setting his new world's difficulty to 'Survival' and 'Hardcore' Mode, and being subject to the oddest "System" he's ever read about. Oh, and now he's entering one of his favorite franchises with only the hope that he can make a difference. Marcus is just a regular guy about to put [Gamer's Mind] through it's paces.

11. Chapter 10: Frisson

A/N: Hey guys! SteinMon here!

Merry Christmas! Happy Tidings and Good Day!

Just gonna post this real quick, because I keep nit-picking at it, procrastinating and distracting myself so I don't finish it up, so here we go. Hoping it lives up to the hype I managed.

Slowly but surely getting back on my feet, but the doctors haven't been able to help any, so there's that. But, I'm hoping to at least have new job opportunities this upcoming year. Hopefully without suffering any burnout, especially since it's been so long since I've been working.

Sorta getting e-mails again! Whoo! They show up as "Updates" instead of as part of my e-mail proper, but I'll take it! On that note, Fanfic isn't giving any data as far as readers. It's marked everything "0" across the board. Yay. More glitch/possibly-intentional stuff.

I'm thinking about opening up my Spotify Playlist for Resonance to the public. Mostly it'll just consist of whatever songs I add to the story, songs that playing has helped me focus on the story at hand, and songs that may appear in future chapters. If I can figure out how to setup a... what is it called? ...A 'Poll'... I think? If I can figure out how to do one of those, I'll do it. It's a big deal to me, if only because it's a peak into my head and my process.

We're nearing the tail end of this first part of Resonance. Another two chapters after this I think. I'll be going on a short hiatus after that to do some editing, fixing, and just general maintenances on the story. I'll probably also touch up on some of the earlier 'Gamer' features to make it more streamline. Some of you guys were kind enough to point out some issues or inconsistencies, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it, especially since it's a lot of stuff to keep track of, and my skills and 'Skills' with Microsoft Office is pretty standard. It's too easy to move on to the next thing and completely forget about all the stuff I've built up before that.

So again, thank you for you diligence, your patience, your support, and especially your words of encouragement. That, and lots of sandwiches keep me going.

That being read, I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. I'm not here to please everybody, but I am here to learn. There is a method to my madness, even if I don't always fully understand it. 90% of what I write, I don't write baselessly. If there is something not canon or changed from canon, there is generally a reason. If something doesn't make sense, feel free to let me know (constructively), and as long as it doesn't creep into SPOILER! territory, I'll do my best to explain it.

If you don't like it, DON'T CONTINUE READING IT!

Review Responses:

- LocomotiveClown: They're fun to write. They suck to read.

- FieldTested: Yes, yes I did. Yeah. Matt, Foggy, and Mark's interactions are a lot of fun to right. And 'Plan B' should be up shortly.

As far as a "Second Wind" skill... kinda? Maybe? It may be similar in some aspects, but I don't know how I'd feel about adding an 'insta-recover' skill.

- ordnassela6: Thanks!

- "Guest" 1: Haha! That made me laugh! Thanks for that. I needed it.

- "Guest" 2: Thanks. And that'll be just ahead.

- DredgenVayn: Best kind of tease I hope.

- "Guest": I'll take that as a compliment. I enjoyed Real Steel, if only because my little sister loved 'Atom'. Plus... you know... fighting robots.

- nagiten: Since the backpack operates in a similar capacity to his inventory, he was asking if he could put a filled backpack in his inventory. Kind of like a Shulker box from Minecraft.

For Matt, I think I forgot to replace his level with question marks when I was writing. For Josie, the [Observe] skill is both active and passive, each adding 5 level observation for a total of 10 levels above Marcus's own; Josie would have been right in that margin. [Making a Cameo] is both a tangible proof he's interacted with other denizens of the MCU, and requires him to "team up" with them in order to make use of the bonuses; in essence, it's a social-based skill. 'Divergence Points' are largely implemented based on the 'User' intentionally or otherwise, redirecting someone's story. If it hasn't affect his overarching story, then it's still largely the same.

That would be... one way of looking at it. Good catch on the knife; I'll need to look at that.

The protection he was talking about was his "out" he had thought of. His "Plan B" as it's called in later chapters.

Another good catch with the perspiration.

It might just be how it's worded, but the question from your Chapter 8 review was super confusing.

He left out anything that would be too confusing or cause too many questions. Just the basics.

"ECL" is "Effective Character Level". It basically means that someone's base level has been enhanced by an 'Effect' or 'Template' that makes them stronger, or Effectively 'X' amount of levels stronger than their base level. So Domingo's base is LVL 18, but has an incredibly powerful affect that treats him as +8 levels higher than his base, which makes his 'Effective Character Level' LVL 26 in terms of the rewards for defeating him.

- ARYA GREENGRASS: You can't see it, but your comment has me preening like a parakeet right now.

- UoDuh: It's a big Universe, so I would hope so.

- "Painless": Thank you.

- nealrm: No problem. Thanks for reading.

- "Lamont": It's more of an acknowledgement of the MCU on larger scale, and individualized scale. That just because I touch on one facit of it, doesn't mean the rest of it ceases to exist. And "SPOILERS!"

- The Jolley Pirate: Here's that chapter.

- cjali2222: Oops.

- Tingiliya: I made you pace? I made you pace! Whoo! Tell me about it. Chronic shit sucks. Hope you're feeling better by the time you read this. Take care.

- Doxxie: No worries. You have been.

- plebston323: Glad to read it.

- Carlmike94: One can only hope.

- vtorx: Thanks.

- QuirkySavage: Ha! And who's gonna stop me?

- gauravan13: Thank you, and I'll do my best.

- "Guest" 4: I humbly accept your compliment. And raise you a chapter!

Thank you. I have a lot I'd like to impart in response, but I think it would just come across as convoluted and confusing. I get having trouble articulating stuff, so thanks for taking the time to do so.

- Alex TF: Oh yes! A cliffhangar!

- BlackBookmark: And here's more!

- baron sanmdi: Well, thanks for coming. Chapter... is served.

- Machiavellius: He takes after his writer unfortunately.

- DEMETER10: Appreciate it. Here's more.

- branphillips001: Ooh! Which one?

*End of Responses

Disclaimer: I don't own the Gamer, or the Avengers, or any of their subsidiaries. Those rights belong exclusively to whoever owns them, and anyone else who had a hand in their creation. I just get to have fun with it all.

I would also like to point out that I don't own any other media or content that may be mentioned as further enrichment to the story.

If the story isn't to your liking, I can respect that. But I'm not concerned with writing a surface level story with a surface level character and surface level plot that makes things easy to explain or understand. I want to read a story with depth, about a character with depth, so I'm going to write depth. I'm gonna write stories I would want to read. And if other people like what I share, then I've already done more than I set out to do.

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

---

Chapter 10: Frisson

[Do you wish to continue?]

The only clear thing in his vision was the little blue box in his face. Bordering the realm of unconsciousness, it felt more like a hallucination. Or a dream. As if everything he'd gone through so far had just been the result of a very vivid construct of his imagination. So real, it felt like a memory.

[Do you wish to continue?]

The box blinked, repeating its message clearly and intently.

Everything else was swimming, not even proper shapes; just a backlit blur. The pop-up was the only thing in-focus, consuming the majority of his field of vision. Marcus wasn't even sure how fast or slow he was moving at, only that time seemed… irrelevant. Immaterial.

He couldn't even comprehend the measure between breaths. Nor the flicker between thoughts. Nor the firing between synapses. Only that they were present; each pulsing their own unique rhythm that contradicted, and yet seemed to maintain some semblance of cohesion.

[Marcus. Ezekiel. Kendrick.

Do you wish to continue?]

'My full name. Great.' Only his mom used his full name. And only when he was in trouble, or teasing him.

Marcus was half-prepared to close his eyes. Just let it be done. Let it be finished. He'd given his all.

Except he hadn't. Not if he was being offered the chance to continue. That meant there was something more. Something still waiting. Something just beyond the tips of his fingers if he was willing to suffer through it.

A level of perseverance he hadn't achieved since he was twelve years old; alone, bundled in his bed, in the dark. Slipping further and further as he felt himself shutdown piece by agonizing piece.

BMM-BMM!

Staring up at the lights, he could feel something. His mind conjuring familiar notes with such clarity, he felt the buzz of [Harmonic Meditation] as the 'Skill' asserted itself. He hadn't even verbally or mentally activated 'Music'. But there it played; something settling on the precipice of his understanding. And where personal thoughts couldn't actually change in volume, no matter how intense or angry; the sounds did, increasing gradually until seemed to resound within his mind.

"GET UP MARK!"

Matt's voice. Clear against the crowd. Distinct. A lighthouse in the mist. A beacon in the haze. A direction to reach for.

'Yes,' he whispered into the fading recesses. The corners of his eyes prickled, feeling the black abyssal pull of mental torrents, as though he was attempting to swim against the stormy oceans of unconsciousness and rest. To flounder once more into sweet nothingness. Dreamlessness had been a pipe dream since he'd landed here.

Despite this, he struggled; for air, for light. All his intent, all his being, the last of his faded thoughts, directed at the System. 'Yes.'

[Then up and at 'em.]

BMM-BMM!

Over the din of muddled silence, there was no sudden empowerment that arched through him. No manifest destiny to guide him to his feet. No demon on his shoulder to whisper sweet aberration into his ears. No inner monster to rend him asunder as it awakened. No sense that he was being strengthened or awakened by anything outside his own will. It was just him, knowing that only he could desperately bring himself back as he swam for sweet air once again.

Marcus suddenly took a sharp, gasping breath, as though he had just woken from a nightmare, his eyes wide and alert as clarity began pouring back in, only blurred by the recesses of unfallen tears as light splayed through the formerly darkening din. His breaths were short and panting as his body autonomously attempted to provide clarity.

A wave passing through his body, nerve to nerve, alerting him to every sensation, every pain; the roots of every hair erecting in response as he felt the warmth of arms wrap around him from behind, just… there… despite his back being to the mat, so tangible, like it was the most real thing he'd ever felt. A familiar and alien comfort. One only he knew the meaning of.

There was warmth. But deeper. Like a hum vibrating through every cell. A light piercing through dark recesses, pulsing through every twisted bind, making flesh out of dust.

Again.

A reminder of what he had endured once, and could endure once again.

That this wasn't even close to his lowest. That this wasn't even the turn-off for the highway through Hell.

That despite being in a different world, cut off from everything and everyone he'd ever known, there was still a single flicker of hope to guide his being.

"FIVE!" the countdown called with such clarity, it startled him back into focus.

BMM-BMM!

[You are attempting to remember a 'Skill' from your old world…

…Accepted!

Attempting to download…

…Success!

Effects integrating…

…ERROR…

'Gamer's Mind' has negated Effect.]

.

[?]

.

[Reinitializing…

…

…ERROR…

'Gamer's Mind has negated Effect.]

.

[!?]

.

[Analysis…

…'Skill' conflict with 'Gamer's Mind'…

Consolidating…

…ERROR…

Incompatible.]

.

[X(]

.

[Electing 'Skill' synergizing…

…Granted.

Initializing…

…ERROR…

Effect Conflict.]

.

[͙̆͐͘͝Ŗ̶̨̨͔̭͔̞̻̠̤̯̪͇̮̀̉̾̓̊̿̕ͅê̵͇͖͇̓̿̉̈͛͋̈́̒̂̓͘q̷̡̡̛̟̻̘̿͊͗̓̋́̑͝ư̵͙̐̔̆͗̄͘͜ȩ̷̦͍͙̱̻̗̗̣͈̰́̋͊͗̎́̈́̂ṣ̶̖͙͒̄̊̀̎̊̄͆͊̀̕͝͝ţ̷̡̲̟̮̠̱̬̮̻̝͓͌̃̓͑̑̚͜i̴̡̼̖̳̩̯̖͙̣̰̯̩̖̥͔͑͆́̇͒̍̀̀́̓́̍́̕̚n̶̡͔̖̹̮͓̤͕̖̦̻̘͍͖̍̏̉̐̄̚g̴̨̨̻̠̻͈̯͓̥̹͌̈́́̀́̿ ͕̠̪̝̤̝͚̻̃̎͑̒̃̂̋̾̾͗̃̇̊̄͆~̵̬̰̟̖̗̥̭̼̯̫̪̗̹͚͋̍̓̈͛͆̾͂͜'̷̡͎̱̰͍̰͇͈̱͗̀̑ͅO̷̳͉̤͊̈́̃̀̀̿̍̌̄͠V̴̮̖͚̓͛̈́̾̾̐̔̓̽͆͆̌͠͝E̷̖̗͖̜͍̳̙̗̞̰̯̖̝̙̊͑͆͛̈́̓̓̈́̈́̄͌͌̚͘͠͝Ŕ̻͍̫̫̹̋̐̅͆͑͒̌̔͊̃̇̽͘͝͝ID̷̤̻͓͓̳̥̙͕̳͕̞͉̀̿̅͗͒̎͊̉͊͐̃̕ͅE̶̡͓̩̠̯͍̪̗̯̥͈̲͉̗͙͚͑̒͑̑̍͛͘͠ͅ'̷͚͌̍̒̎͂̃͒̕͝]̵̡̣͓̟̜̰̥͖̹̦̘̉̀̽͆͒̃͑͑͌̅̌̔͗͘

.

[̷̨̛͕͍͇͖̹͙͇̞̦̞̻̤̱͇͎͔̒̏̄̎̈́̌̒Cư̵̡̖͇̣̦̬̣̺̥͆̑͒̎́̍͗̚ŗ̳í̴̧͈̮͈̜͇͔̫͇̜̹͙̓̒̎͐̊̈́̍̑̃̀̀̄̇̐̕o̵̧̢̡̪̬̯͓̖̝͔̜̬̘̳̊͋͐̾̇̉͜ͅs͇̫̘͜į̴̡̥̳͍̙̜̐̑̓ț̨̢͓̪̬͎̖̳̣̗̀̋́̇̿̿y̵̜̯̪̖͍͑̓͌́͑̈̄͂̂̽́̆̑͗̄͝͠?̵̨̨̤̥͍̗̣̲̙͍͙́̽͑̈̿͂̑̍̓̐̈́̚͘

̴̢̹͚̰͕̲̦͍͑̐́Ū̶̱̝̗̘̰̤̠̟̻̠̋̊ś̖̱̉̀̅͂́̄̔̄̉̔̕͜͠͝e̷̼̲͎͚̙̙̹̗̲͆̍͜͝r̶̡͓̦̲͇̳̮̪̫͕̝̼̞̩͎̱̆̏͋̎̽ͅ?̷̧̦̼̯̠͆̂̿̽̅̐̅͝͝ͅ

Į̵̡̡̛̘̜͈̤͖̺̮̼̦̼̀͊͋͜͝n̴̨̛̪̰̭̲̖̳̱̮͊̾̄̒͜t̷͓̤͓̰̂̆͐̀̾͗̽͐̍̀͆̈̿͒̿e̶̱̝͐͘r̴̛̤̪̣̤̞̬͇̰̘͚̲̺͈͕̒͜ë̷̱̱̝̥͕̐̐̌̓̒̑s̷̡̘̙̠̙͇̟̽͆̀̒͑͋̄͆̑͗̄͗̚̕͝t.̶̧̠̫̔

̴̢̢̡̛͕̗̘̱̩̻̥̮̠͕͔̖̮͎͌̐̒̒̎̅̽̈́Ģ̛̲͙̱͕̪̥̥̋̄̌r̷̨̫͖̗͈͐̅̾̉́̽̊̚͝͝ả͔̫͇̗̟͗̿͂́̌̾͐́̂͘͘͝n̴̢͓̹̠͉̞̠̥̯̳͇͖͙̭̝̓̒ͅt̶̲̞̺͕̤̊̐̈̌̾́͗̄͛̓̓͋͊̐̓͘e̶̻̱̝̺̺͇͎̞̙̓͊̎̎͐d̶̡̛̛̥̳̝̪̤̱̪͎̙̥̪͐͊̍̊̅̿̄͊̍́̆̿ͅ.̴̦͕̻̰̰̭̂̾͌̂̀̌͊̅̏̌͑̊̄̚͠]

.

[Electing 'Skill' prioritization…

…Granted.

Prioritizing…

…ACCEPTED!

Overwrite 'Gamer's Mind' Skill.

Recalibrating…

…ERROR…

…Unknown Source…]

.

[Universal Data Updating…

…Custom User Template…

…Acknowledged…

…'Skill' Integration Selected…

…Initializing…

…Success!

'Gamer's Mind' has been removed.

Replacing…]

.

[You have remembered a 'Skill' from your old world.]

.

With a groan, he pushed himself over onto his side, coughing at the sensation of his aching nerves seeming to branch out from his chest, too full for him to contain.

---

"What's this?!"

"I don't believe it! I don't! Be-lieve! It! Kendrick is trying to get up!"

"There's no way he wasn't out like a light just a moment ago! Kendrick is not only awake! He is pushing himself up!"

---

Fisk stood a little straighter as he watched a forgone match suddenly hang in the balance. His steelish blue eyes sparking with wonderous awe. All thoughts of business suddenly became null. Money… seemed so trivial at the moment. So material compared to the stimulus of excitement that buzzed through his greater mass. It caught at his breath and tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Again and again. Marcus Kendrick continued to surprise him. Continued to deny him any form of disappointment. Continued to slap victory from his grasp. He was but a man.

A man who refused to be owned. A man who refused to be tamed. A man who refused to bow. A man who defied and defied again. What sheep sought to be a wolf? What oxen sought to be a tiger? What human sought to be a monster?

Wilson was well aware there were some things money could never buy; loyalty among them. But this… thrill. This… indulgence. This… sense of….

A truer smile broke out on his face – a self-gratuitous smirk – when he finally had the word for it. The defiance for liberty. The struggle for victory. The clawing for survival.

Marcus Kendrick had pointed out their similarities, and that was enough to wet the appetite. But Wilson Fisk knew what Mister Kendrick was. A single word. So rich, and vibrant. Complex and encompassing. With all its intricacies and faults. Dirty and reviled. Beautiful and graceful.

Poetry in motion. A feast for the eyes. A balm for the soul.

"Do not disappoint me," he whispered, drawn in even further as the countdown struck 'Seven'.

---

"Come on Mark! Come on!" Foggy shouted, his voice leading the crowds as it echoed around the ringside, a buzz of hopeful adrenaline practically causing him to vibrate. "Just a little more! Come on Mark!"

"SANDMAN! SANDMAN! SANDMAN! SANDMAN!"

Through all the waves and echoes washing over him, Matt gritted his teeth in barely restrained excitement, every remaining sense awake and alive with relief. "C'mon. C'mon," he breathed out encouragingly.

Every iota he could spare was on Mark. He couldn't explain it. Despite his relief, he was acutely aware that every hair on Mark's arms were erect and quivering, as though the air had been charged with something; as if the chill of a storm front had blown into the arena.

It was similar to what he deduced when someone had goosebumps. And yet… it was different. Far removed from the cold or fear that usually triggered such a sympathetic response.

Matt couldn't point out what it was, but for the first time since they had met, Mark's heartbeat sounded… natural. And yet it stood out, even surrounded by a canopy of heartbeats. Almost… aware?

"EIGHT!"

---

Marcus felt light. Lighter than he should have. He was already on his knees, making to push to his feet. Cheer upon cheer vibrated through him, the ring becoming the center of a single consensus from the surrounding stadeum: that he get to his feet. The first attempt to stand almost sent him on his ass again, wobbling and swaying before he caught himself on the backfoot.

"NINE!"

He turned his head, popping his neck with a wince as he stood firm. Firm enough for the referee to call off the count, the crowd swelling with cheers. Beyond the desperate gasps for air, Domingo looked conflicted; but still pissed.

It was only then he noticed the taste of iron in his mouth. His tongue brushed over his gums, wincing slightly at the prominent sting and the copperish taste that lingered on his tongue. He was bleeding. Not as bad as a knife grazing his side, but still not pleasant.

"Wish I had a one-liner for this," he muttered, panting to keep his feet as the ref and physician gave him a quick check.

As their work continued, he closed his eyes, breathing softly, clinging desperately to consciousness. Even awake, it felt as though the simplest gap in fortitude would send him back into sweet, dreamy unrest. 'Sys?'

[I'm here.]

'I played the sport fair and square up 'til now,' he stated firmly.

[Yeah you did. What's the plan then?]

''Skill Points' to all 'Stats'. All of them to the next nearest divisible of 5,' he stated, his thoughts a combination of fervent and jumbled as he steadied himself.

[Roger!]

.

[STR: 25 = 30 (+5)

VIT: 23 = 25 (+5)

DEX: 33 = 35 (+5)

INT: 24 = 25 (+0)

WIS: 29 = 30 (+0)

LUC: 18 = 20 (+0)

SKL PTS: 69 = 56]

.

With a sigh of resignation, he tentatively let his hesitation slip from his fingers. He'd have preferred to save his 'Skill Points' for when he actually needed them. When life and death was more pronounced. When he actually knew how he wanted to build himself.

Now however… well, he was up against someone who hadn't just crossed the line of what was "fair play", but had blitzed over it like it was the ten-yard line on an open dash. The game was rigged against him, and defeat….

…Defeat wasn't an option. Not now. Not in a couple years.

Not when half the Universe was at stake.

He'd done what was honorable. He'd done what was right. He'd played fair, by the rules. He'd fought only with the skill and 'Skill' he'd gained solely through his own efforts. He'd fought as he was. Persevered as he was. And he was proud of that.

But playing fair wasn't going to save lives in this world. Playing fair wasn't going to come up where he was going. One more time, he had wanted to be the type of man he'd always been before. And now, a little bit of who he had been was shaved away.

This wasn't some friendly spar. This was a trial. His first. And if he had to kill a little of who he had been… then that was that.

A sacrifice to this Universe.

And it would be naïve to think it would be the last time.

"He's clear," the physician stated, patting him on the shoulder.

Marcus glanced at his 'HP', fully aware that he was running on 'Lethal', even with the small boost provided by upping his VIT. By all accounts, he shouldn't have been able to get back up. He wasn't sure what would happen now. The only thing he knew was if that little bar went back down, there were no revives. No waking up in bed. No previous saves. No restarts. No bargaining with fate.

And probably no bargaining with Death either. He wasn't anywhere near interesting enough to even start that conversation. He was just a guy this Universe had remembered where his own had forgotten him.

For now though, he'd use what he had.

In the middle of a fight, his 'Log' kept everything minimized for now, but he could feel it. That subtle change as the first softcap for 'VIT' and 'INT' was hit. His body felt clearer. His mind, more complex. But with such complexities came something foreign. Affixed with something new at the edge of his perceptions. Just beyond the touch of his skin. And under it as well. A push and pull that ebbed and flowed outside his comprehension.

It lacked direction. Intent.

[HP: 514/900]

There was more though. So much more. Some momentum of bursting from within. The sensation of light chasing away darkness. And that feeling. That faint flicker that roared into warmth enshrouding. That feeling of something attempting to pool within him, flaring to life with every breath.

~[Playing "Creative Mind" by Nathan Wagner]~

['Harmonic Meditation' activated.

Synergizing with 'Chakra Meditation'.]

He walked back to the center of the ring. Still start of the 4th Round. Neither he, nor Domingo were in good shape, but Marcus felt… not whole… what was the word? He was still in pain, but there was this profound sense of… lightness?

"Fighters ready?!" the ref asked. The affirming huff from Domingo, and a slow, almost lethargic nod from Marcus confirmed it. "Back to your corners! You can continue at the bell!"

He closed his eyes as he backed away, shelving all his thoughts.

And Mark slowly opened his eyes. His mind became a funnel, his pupils shrinking in focus toward his opponent, enhanced by the stadium lights overhead.

He was vaguely aware of the referee backing away. The feeling of speeding up scratching through his brain, making everything feel like it moved in slow motion. Was [Adrenaline Rush] active? He didn't think so; he felt so calm, despite every movement sending twinges of pain signaling through the rest of him. But he couldn't deny the pulse of… something… beating through his body. Something different. Not his heart, that felt normal. But it was still something gathering, pumping, spreading, exiting, and coalescing once again throughout his being.

He'd forgotten this feeling, like the ghost of an old friend. The echo of a memory.

DING!

Bogged by his heavy breathing, Domingo still strolled intently forward, Marcus following after. The moment they came within range, Domingo swung. Marcus leaned away dispassionately, one jab to the face, two jabs, before dropping under a swing and rebutting with all his might to Domingo's chest.

[Marcus SP: 300/900]

[Rouise HP: 601 = 517/900]

The swelling of the crowd swelled something else in him, that same beating feeling.

Without the apparent affects of [Adrenaline Rush] activating, a portion of his damage felt lackluster by comparison, but the sensation that everything was just… right… persisted. For every note that drew from [Harmonic Meditation], he moved as though his body was synching.

Body and mind. Like he was both puppet and puppet master.

The one being controlled, and the one doing the controlling.

As Domingo came back for retaliation, Marcus raised his guard, glancing and sliding the blow off his gloves before rolling his left shoulder, sending on overhand into Domingo's cheek.

He zig-zagged backwards, straffing as Domingo pursued, focused namely on avoidance and dodging. He wasn't moving any faster than beforehand. If anything, he was moving slower, and yet everything felt right. Every step in-time, and every strike on beat. Like he was dancing to his opponent's tune…

…Or was his opponent dancing to his?

.

"Kendrick is back with a vengeance! I dunno what happened in those few seconds he was out, but it's like he's possessed!"

"It's a bit sudden John. I don't want to raise any doubts, but with the way this whole fight has stunk of foul play, it seems too good to be true."

"Not an unreasonable deduction, Aaron. But there's been an audience with their eyes on him, and they, are, cheering!"

"That just leaves the question then: What's going through Marcus Kendrick's head right now?"

---

"YEAH! GET 'IM MARK!" Foggy urged, but one in the canopy of cheers that seemed to flood from everywhere at Mark's comeback. He couldn't help it, but his arms were vibrating as he clutched at the railing, his eyes wide and eager to soak up the moment. Almost as though compelled. "Matt! Matt! He's winning!"

Foggy turned toward his best friend, pausing his cheering as worry became prevalent. Matt stood there, his mouth parted in what could only be surprise. Behind his sunglasses, it was clear that his eyes were still vacant, unseeing.

And yet, Matt was "seeing" everything that Foggy couldn't. Every scent. Every taste. Every sound. Every sensation. Four senses heightened to inhuman levels to experience the world in a way that few – if any – others could.

But this… this was something new.

The moment Mark had started getting back up, his senses had suddenly sharpened. Ignoring the lingering taste of minty gum in his mouth. All of them focused around Mark, as though they he heightened to some form of danger. It was amazing just how much there was to experience. How a heartbeat rendered an ultrasound of someone's basic and vague shape. Blood vessels traveling, pulsing waves of warmth radiating from within the contracting core in orange and golden bursts; the cycle of breathing a strange coalition of blues and greens. How scent seemed to breeze and blow, like steam; from the bitter-greens of bacterial odors, to the salty yellows of sweat, to the varying hues of natural musks and artificial perspirants.

Even the boxing mat held a sharp white odor of disinfectant or bleach. His own breath a minty blue that fogged with every exhale as he observed.

An impressionistic painting of the world he knew, at its most detailed. Synesthesia at its most intense should he wish to overwhelm himself.

In its simplest form, "A World on Fire" was the only apt way to describe it. A way to limit the interaction he experienced with how intense each individual sense could become on its own. Together, Matt would never have known sleep again otherwise, perpetually hounded by migraines and who knows what else.

Yet in that moment, with the extent of his senses brought to a point, to Matt, Mark became something else entirely as he'd pushed to his feet.

A flicker of earthy green had rippled from Mark's pulse, cascading over and consuming all other sensory overlap in the senses. Barely discernible, but impossible not to note otherwise. The steamed appearance of his scent suddenly began moving against the air flow, the warmth that had pulsed and radiated outward now consolidating within him. Hearing his muscles contract and expand was like listening to tree roots in the park grow. Mark seemed stronger.

Strangely, brighter even.

It was something familiar, and yet Matt could swear he was sensing something completely new, as though his brain had been able to sense beyond the basic five, and he'd only just become aware of some sixth or even seventh sense.

Right now, with all Matt's limited knowledge and understanding, the very presence of Mark seemed to have grown. To his "eyes", Mark had become a giant. Not just a giant, but splaying tendrils of coalescing light and sound and scent.

And to the blind, it was breath-taking.

---

Marcus deflected another blow, both somehow simultaneously glad and apathetic that the signs of Domingo slowing down were much more noticeable. Blow after blow to his chest, not to mention all the 'Power Attacks' his opponent had carelessly unleashed, his 'SP' was finally showing it's drain; and that wasn't even mentioning the 'Over-heat Status' that was whittling at him. With virtually no way to recover, his struggling was coming to a head.

As though some sense had been sharpened, looking at Domingo made Marcus feel… wrong. Like something unnatural was at work. And while Marcus didn't know what Rouise had taken to boost his 'Stats' so much, he could fathom a guess to whom had made the offer; and maybe the intersection of what associates had played a part.

Still, he moved in-time. Almost guided through every step, he didn't know what exactly it was, only that as [Harmonic Meditation] played, so too did his movements persist. A kind of trance that drew him and his opponent into a rhythm beyond their understanding.

A particularly slow swing let Marcus step in, and he continued his counter. He struck on beat, aiming for his face, now altering targets. He wasn't sure what the long-term affects were for the 'Chest Contusion – Infliciton', but the last thing he wanted was to damage his heart and lungs beyond recovery.

To inflict degradation and death – especially now when he felt so full of warmth and life – was counterintuitive; both to who he was, and to his ultimate goal.

Jab, jab, roll, shovel, back-step, left straight; it felt as intricate as a dance, and Marcus was just along for the ride, playing to the tune of his own 'Skills'. Again, as though he was both driver and passenger.

And in videogame terms, as though he was experiencing first-person and third-person. As the avatar and as the player. And yet, he still couldn't put a finger on what that feeling was.

[Rouise HP: 517 = 416/900]

He continued. Jab, roll, lean, overhand, left-swing.

[Rouise HP: 416 = 290/900]

Block, jab, right-jab, jab, slide, lean, shovel.

[Marcus SP: 188 = 27/950]

[Rouise HP: 290 = 192/900]

'C'mon! C'mon!' Marcus unconsciously urged.

Block, slide, jab, lean. And there. An opening as Domingo's slowing attacks devolved into something like flailing in his desperation to get another hit off and put Marcus down again.

[Marcus SP: 27 = 0/950]

['Pushing Limits' Activated.]

[Marcus MP: 700 = 446/850]

[Rouise HP: 290 = 192/900]

And uppercut!

[Rouise HP: 192 = 136/900]

Domingo was knocked back, slipping from his feet as his chin was thrown skyward. He fumbled to catch himself upright, but he was unable to maintain his footing as his foot caught against his ankle. He fell hard, not even able to cushion his fall with his arms as he landed straight on his back. He seemed to grasp weakly for a moment, attempting to get up, but the heat had finally run its course as his attempts petered out.

Domingo was down.

Marcus moved away by reflex as the referee stepped in, feeling as both the fight, and [Harmonic Meditation], began to wind down in a slow, almost rhythmic cadence to his breathing. He stumbled as he back into the corner of the ring, limbs suddenly shaky and flopping to his sides, shivering now that the puppet show was at an end, and his strings were taunt. It was all he could do to keep himself upright.

[song end]

His eyes turned bleary from behind his lids, the sound of his own breathing echoing in his ears. He was vaguely aware of the crowd cheering, but it felt so distant and far away. Not paying attention, the count-down started.

[Due to some creative 'Skill' combinations from forced 'Skill' usage,

you have over-exceeded your natural limits.]

[You have gained multiple Status 'Inflictions'.]

[Status Infliction – Over-Exertion: 147 hours, 50 minutes, 22 seconds

+Over-Exertion – Reduce STR and DEX by 30%. Uncontrollable shaking. Muscle Pain.

Status Infliction – Excessive Fatigue II: ===

+Excessive Fatigue II – All regeneration is reduced by 60%. Movement Speed is reduced by 50%. Will be reduced level by level only through proper rest.]

.

'Well that sucks,' he breathed out. He clenched his fists to reduce the shaking, only for it to transfer to other parts of his body, taking up residence in a trembling jaw, shaky shoulders, and knocking knees. Looked like it was gonna be a couple of day's worth on those ailments. Probably more.

He had too much to do though, starting now that the fight was practically finished. 'Keep it short and sweet, Sys.'

['Harmonic Meditation' has gained a level. x2]

['Unarmed Mastery' has gained a level.]

['Pugilism Style' has gained a level. x2]

['Power Strike' has gained a level.]

['Charge Attack' has gained a level.]

['Block Guard' has gained a level.]

['Counter Strike' has gained a level. x2]

[!You have obtained several NEW SKILLS!]

.

Marcus nodded at the 'Skills' as they listed by. There was certainly more to update, but the fight wasn't over until it was–

Ding!

Oh yay. It was over.

Marcus leaned his entire weight into the corner, fighting the desire to flop down right then and there on the mat. And maybe take a nap for an hour or two. Could he be disqualified for that? Meh; who knew.

He didn't get a chance though when George was suddenly there, hand on his back. "Not yet kid. Need a hand getting out of there?"

"'M fine," he rasped out, somewhat annoyed that he couldn't speak properly passed his panting. At least his thoughts were coherent, even if dragging them out was like trying to thread a needle. "But I can…huff… really taste my…huuuff… lungs right now." He let out an exhausted groan. "While you… huff… get that, I'm gonna… huff… do my thing."

George just snorted in response as Marcus pushed away from his crutch.

.

"Winner by a knockout in the 4th round! Marcus Kendrick has come back from the brink of defeat swinging! And the crowd is loving it!"

"That must've been one helluva adrenaline rush. Even from the booth, he looks dead on his feet. He's so out of it, he's not even… oh! No. It looks like he's still going to approach his opponent."

"Domingo isn't getting up. The ref called for a physician, and the doc is gesturing for the stretcher. It seems like Domingo has burnt out this fight."

"Kendrick's exchanging words with the physician. And… the physician's patting him on the shoulder. I'm not sure what was exchanged, but Kendrick seems to be hobbling back to his corner."

.

"The winner: Marcus "the Sandman" KENDRICK!"

Marcus groaned as the sounds of the stadium soared, cheers practically vibrating in his bones. His ears were already starting to hurt. He didn't bother to stand up straight, or look tall and imposing; he was too tired for that. So instead, he lifted a hand waving to the crowd, half-slumped with a relieved smile on his face.

[!Congratulations! You completed the Sub-Quest: Defeat Target: "Rouise Domingo"!]

I… I got nothing. The fact you even won is a small miracle.

Total Rewards:

- 1958 EXP

- $3918.12

- 16 Evolution Points

.

'Oh, that's nice,' Marcus thought, or… at least tried to past the reduced blood in his brain.

[!Congratulations! You completed the Quest: Enter the Ring!]

Since this is officially your last fight, all other fights continuing from this are moot.

Score Pending… 13-0-0

!PERFECT STREAK!

Total Rewards:

- 5000 EXP

- $3000

- 1 Evolution Point

- 5 Skill Points

Streak Bonus (Platinum):

'Local Legend (Manhattan)' is added to the 'Influence' Tab in the 'Relationship' Menu

'Local Legend (Hell's Kitchen)' is added to the 'Influence' Tab in the 'Relationship' Menu

- Unlocked Title: 'the Sandman (UNCOMMON/UNIQUE)'

.

[!You Gained a Level!]

.

'Why did I read that 'Perfect Streak' like the Wii Bowling Announcer?' he chuckled a little loopily to himself. At least Sys was keeping him distracted from his aching body. As much as he wanted to look over all the new and interesting stuff popping up, he'd have to save that for when he had a spare moment and a clearer head. Maybe while he was sitting in police custody? At least he wouldn't be bored.

In the meantime….

"C'mon kid," George stated, clapping him on the shoulder. "Let's get you out of here."

Marcus winced at the lighter impact, very aware that he was going to be out of sorts for a while. He pulled himself out of the ring, stopping an extra moment to wave at the crowd. The cheers renewed in intensity, causing him to shiver as the overwhelming tidal wave of noise washed over him. He couldn't retreat into the locker room fast enough.

The moment the doors shut behind him, he exhaled a sigh of relief as the noise muted into muffled thunder.

"Alright kid, you get changed," George ordered quickly. "Can ya make a break for it well enough?"

Marcus just chuckled. "I got a plan," he admitted, before wincing weakly. "Though I might be slowed down a little." He tried to sit on a bench, only to feel what little strength he had try to leave him. Instead, he shot back to his feet, ignoring the wave of exhaustion that tried taking him down again. "Or a lot."

Taking a short breath, George held out his hand. "You ever wanna stick around for real, you know where ta find me."

Marcus clasped it back, ignoring the twinge of pain he experienced. These remaining moments with his trainer were as they should be: Direct, to the point, and respectful. That was as good as it came, and more amicable than he could ever recall. "If I can catch a break in the long-term, that would be nice."

Grunting in acknowledgement, they separated. "Ya best get movin' then."

A strange sense of sadness crept into Marcus's mind. Strange, mostly because it hadn't happened before. Not since he'd been dumped in the MCU. A kind of grief that came with change.

For every new thing gained, there was something to be lost and left behind. But he could grieve later. Despite the back-log he was starting to collect on the things he had yet to properly grieve over.

Dismissing the odd feeling, he took a breath to steady himself. That came easy enough.

For now though, it was time for Plan B.

---

Wilson Fisk had sat back in his seat at the conclusion of the fight, leaning back with his eyes closed. A kind of… contentment. As one was after a satisfying meal. While there was no doubting his aggravation, it was secondary compared to the sense of fulfillment. The kind of pleasant rush that only something truly wonderous could achieve.

"What are our losses?" he asked, an unprecedented sense of calm in the room. Despite the very circumstances saying he should, he felt not even a shred of tension. No anger. Just a strange sort of calm. Perhaps that was the worst-case, all that calm.

The same could not be said for his aide, if him pushing up his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose was any indication. "$200,000 for the wager alone. The odds were 17-to-1 in Mister Kendrick's favor. The net loss was upwards of $3.6 million. Although, I don't believe anyone thought it would be this close of a fight."

"Mmm. Very well," he conceded. While the gain would have been a substantial boon and padding to current enterprises, it was hardly the only business they were vesting in. While lucrative in the short-term, there were plenty of long-term advantages elsewhere. Still. It was a loss.

"Would you still like to schedule a trip?" Wesley asked.

"A gift should remain a gift, regardless of the outcomes," Fisk stated firmly. "Just as well, we can present her with our own observations. I find myself somewhat curious what her reactions will be."

"Is it wise to prod at her?"

"Surprise… is a curious emotion. Anger is easy to cover up. But surprise… is not," Fisk answered.

"And I suppose few things might surprise her anymore?" Wesley added, for clarities sake.

"True." He took a moment to maintain his rest before taking a deep breath, pushing to his feet. "Everything is in order?"

"Awaiting your word," Wesley confirmed.

He nodded in acknowledgement. "Carry on. And do see to it that Mister Kendrick is treated well. Costly though he has been, he's still an investment."

With slightly deeper nod, Wesley left the booth to ensure that his command was carried out.

Fisk – no… Wilson – inhaled deeply again. He wanted to see more. To feast more. But… all things in moderation. There would be time later. And perhaps, more yet in coming.

Marcus Kendrick had beaten the odds. Had rose and rose again. A deer among lions he may have been, but even a deer could fight back if it had antlers, and the will to use them. But it was time to prevent any further measures. While Wilson was intrigued, and even craved to see what Kendrick had left up his sleeve, it wouldn't do to risk it any further.

Because Wilson… had just seen life in motion. Unfiltered and picturesque.

And it wouldn't do to let that slip through his fingers.

---

Changing hadn't taken more than a few seconds, given he could just trade out gear by 'equipping' it to his 'Inventory'. He was glad he'd prepped his stuff beforehand, easily switching into more civilian attire of jeans, t-shirt, a hoodie that he left the hood down on, and hiking boots. In addition, he'd donned a pair of half-rimmed glasses and a Brooklyn Net's baseball cap, to minimize his features. He'd quickly snuck out of the locker room and quickly ran into the nearest public bathroom before any paparazzi (i.e. "camera-sluts") could group up and block him off with their insistent questions and blinding camera flashes. He was intent on slipping out with the crowds without picking up any unnecessary attention.

It paid to be late coming out of his previous fights while "cooling off", if only to throw them off now. Just in case.

The moment he heard a cascade of chattering people branching out into the halls, most probably taking a bathroom and snack breaks before the next fight, he gently pushed his way out, the [Inconspicuous] 'Skill' activating as he slipped in with the rest of them. But just because he had a plan, didn't mean he wasn't nervous.

'Sys, activate [Gamer's Mind]. Please and thank you,' he thought, the hair on the back of his neck erecting with so many people practically engulfing him. With people pushing past and around him, he felt the hair on his neck prickle unpleasantly.

While the majority of his nerves around people could be easily curbed, in a crowded space, pressed in from virtually every side, he was doing his best not to hyperventilate or clench up.

[Reminder: 'Gamer's Mind' skill has been removed.]

.

'Oh… shit biscuits.' He'd been momentarily stunned, pausing in the middle of the crowd for a moment. A random jostle sending a twinge of pain up his arm, rebooted his brain. 'Right! Panic later.'

He quickly made his way towards side doors that would lead him outside the venue. Finding his way quickly, he walked passed the snack bars, purchase booths, and security, finally gasping a breath of relief as he made it out into the late afternoon. He winced as the wind breezed over him, cooling over his body, but more importantly, as the sun's warmth saturated into him.

['Danger Sense' active.]

He tried to move as his body intended, only to wince as his 'Inflictions' reminded him just how low his 'Stats' were right now. A hand clapped on his shoulder, causing him to bear his teeth.

"Well look who we bumped into fellas. If it isn't Mister Bus-boy himself."

---

Foggy guided Matt gently out of the stadium, more than a little worried at how… faraway he seemed. Which was a hard thing to clock when Matt's eyes were already cloudy; a side-effect of whatever chemical had seared and leeched into his corneas.

It was both a reflective and pondering look, yet he was so wrapped up in his own thoughts, Foggy wasn't even sure he was paying attention to where he was being dragged to. On a spatial level that is. Blind people evidently developed some wicked spatial awareness; case-in-point, that one time Foggy had rearranged the furniture for laughs. Mark had chuckled when he was told, before explaining the reasoning behind developing said spatial awareness. It hadn't been as funny after that, even if Matt had taken it like a champ.

"Was the noise too much?" Foggy asked worriedly. "It got pretty loud there."

Matt inhaled sharply, his head tilting in several directions as he attempted to catch his surroundings via noise. It reminded Foggy of someone looking around to get their bearings. With their... ears?

"It was a lot," Matt admitted, now present and accounted for. "But no. That wasn't it."

Foggy didn't pry, but it was clear that it bothered Matt. He didn't understand, and he didn't know how to begin asking those kinds of questions. Mark was good at that stuff. He somehow combined tact, humor, and an incredible encyclopedia of – in his words – "random trivia" he'd picked up. Probably had something to do with all those long-pauses he did when he was trying to say something; it left him with a lot of time to think about what he was going to say. Shaking his head, Foggy focused on what he could handle. "I swear. Between you and Mark, my hair is gonna go thin."

Matt frowned curiously. "Not gray?"

"Leave the color for the seeing, Murdock," Foggy snorted. "Figured you'd understand texture better."

"Maybe I'm the one who should be worrying," Matt retorted. "Between you and Mark, the 'blind' jokes have been endless. You two meet up in private to bounce jokes off each other?"

"He is a good teacher," Foggy admitted; not to mention that his ribbing was always good-natured. They paused amidst the bustle of people, Foggy gently guiding Matt to the side, near some of the concession stands. "I'm gonna try and catch him before he disappears. So we can say goodbye. Can you hold here for a bit?"

Matt smiled gently, his thoughts still somewhat preoccupied. "I'll try not to get lost," he stated with a small smile.

"Okay," Foggy stated, exhaling in relief before making sure Matt was near a wall. Something he could use for stability, and so he didn't end up getting pushed around by the scores of people making snack orders for large salted pretzels (with extra nacho cheese) and popcorn. "Just… wait here. I'll be back."

Matt smile faded rather quickly as Foggy went to find Mark. The surface scents of food were rather salivating, but he could bring himself to even appear tempted.

The encounter was… so strange. And he lacked the words necessary to describe what it had been that he'd sensed in the ring, much less experienced. But he remembered the after-effect. A strange lightness flickering in his body, some of which persisted even now. A kind of lightness that seemed to reflect the nature of who Mark was.

What he had "seen"– No… what he had witnessed, was… in a word, impossible. And if Matt was honest, he never expected to experience anything to the degree of "impossible", even if the entire scope of his abilities might also fall under that same banner. And yet the Catholic in him kept desperately attempting to label it as a "miracle".

That he experienced the impossible within the impossible scope of his abilities. What else could he call that experience, and still do it justice? Much less describe what he'd experienced, when he himself was still reeling from it?

His priest would probably say, "Do not neglect hospitality and charity, for in so doing, some have unwittingly entertained angels." That was a verse somewhere, in the Bible. He had his doubts about it though.

Mark certainly didn't sound like an angel for one. He'd heard enough curses cross his lips to know otherwise. Plus he was denominational. Did angels have denominations? He wouldn't think so. But it still didn't explain how Mark had become a consolidate of heat and scent and sound. Even though Matt understood how he'd sensed it, it didn't mean he understood what he had sensed.

Trying to explain this to his priest would probably make him sound crazy, never mind expose his abilities, even if it was strictly under Confession. He wasn't sure if he knew how to trust someone that much.

Boxing and shelving up his confusion to sort through later, he lifted his chin and inhaled in short, sharp bursts, narrowing down the initial direction to search by scent alone. Sifting aside the weaker scents, Matt was left with the stronger scents. He was quick to sort through those too, the scent of saturated and stagnant sweat differing greatly from active and expanded pores. Among the cleaner scents, Mark's natural musk easy to differentiate.

The moment he caught Mark's trail, he switched gears, tilting his head in that direction.

The moment he did, his brows narrowed, and he stepped away from his wall, moving so intently, he forgot to keep up appearances by tapping his cane on the ground.

---

Marcus snorted softly as he recognized the voice. Barely. "Smiles! How ya doin'?" Looks like it was him and his buddies again.

"Smiles?" he responded, and Marcus was slightly proud of the confusion he wrought.

"Finally take some money management classes?" He stiffened up at something poking into his side. "Now either that's a knife under my ribs, or you're just happy to see me." And he was hating it; courtesy of that getting his side sliced. The tip dug in a little, drawing a wince. The barest of additional pressure would probably draw some blood.

"Let's take this elsewhere, yeah? Little more private."

Marcus gently mouthed the calculations running through his head, barely keeping the innuendo off his tongue, only to get a little jab from the hilt in the side for his unintended stalling. As it stood – reduced 'Stats' and movement speed aside – with his muted 'regen' and still recovering 'HP' (both 'subtle' and 'lethal'), he wasn't exactly in a position to resist. It was even harder to decide if he should make the issue public, or let them drag him somewhere more secluded.

'Shit,' he muttered. He didn't have time for this, so which was faster? The half moment he pondered it, his eyes spotted something out of place. A singular person, seemingly inconspicuous, save for the lack of discernable features; especially considering how Mark was very much in between a rock and a hard place, and they were paying rough attention.

With a silent prompt, he let that paranoia click, his attention briefly fell to the newly emerged opaque of his 'Mini-Map'. The markers were clear cut, with his observer being marked in red, much like Smiles and his gang. The mark of an enemy. Or at least, his enemy.

Someone was following him. And if he had to guess who would put a tail on him – especially since he hadn't actively made any enemies yet – he'd point to the future Kingpin in a heartbeat. Him and Wesley seemed to have taken an unhealthy interest in him, and Marcus wasn't sure how to feel about it. Flattered, maybe?

''Inspect' and 'Ob–'

He flinched from finishing that thought as Smiles made his impatience known.

"Okay, okay," he mumbled, shivering as the blade point traced up his side. He let them guide him along, all six practically surrounding him, waiting for a moment where he'd have the leverage to get that sharpened steel out of his side. "So, I gotta ask, was it fate? Or were you guys looking for me? The chances of running into you guys seems rather low."

"Does it matter?" Smiles asked.

"Suppose not," he admitted. Though he was fairly confident in [Inconspicuous] as 'Skill', it was rather vague in how many people it took to hide himself. And he wasn't sure if his sudden stopping mid-crowd had temporarily cancelled it or not, since such a sudden action would cause him to stand out.

They pulled him into an alley, just far enough in to break line of sight with whoever was following him. It seemed particularly bold, given it wasn't quite evening, the sun was still out, and any random passerby could phone '911'. Maybe it was a Marvel thing, and thugs, bad guys, and goons were just naturally larger in numbers compared to his Universe? Because they were certainly more open about potential assault and battery.

He hissed as he was shoved into a wall, rolling his eyes as they frisked him, patting along his pockets. "Where's your wallet?"

"Don't carry one." Of course, it was in his 'Inventory'. Not that the wallet itself carried any money in it.

"You don't carry a wallet?" Thing Two(?¿?) asked in confusion.

Marcus vaguely waved his hand to the lot of them in a 'case-and-point' gesture. Again, either it was a big city thing, or street thugs were just more numerous in the Marvel Universes. Then again, these geese weren't typical thugs, seeing as they were not-so trust fund babies. Even if they weren't "Thugs" per say, but just really spoiled shitheads. Still, he answered with a, "It's New York. Figured if I don't have anything to rob, worst I'll deal with is a swollen cheek. And petty daylight robbery you guys? Really?"

"Shit," one of them cursed.

"Do you know how much money you cost us?" Smiles growled, not so smiley this time.

"Again?" Marcus asked incredulously. "I thought you guys would have learned your lesson the first time around. Gambling is a bad habit, especially with so much money on the– Right! Right. Knife in the side." Smiles hadn't liked his tirade, at least, judging by the thin line of blood that new trickled down his side.

Still, if it wasn't the consequences of their own actions.

"So how much did mummy and daddy have to pay out this time?" Fuck it. He couldn't help it. If it was purely nosey curiosity or sarcastic taunting was anyone's guess at this point. Though if he had to make a guess, it was strictly nervousness on being on the receiving end of the very pointy knife at the most physically weak he'd ever been, from an overall standpoint.

Thump!

Marcus coughed as his head was whipped to the side, blood drawing from his nose from where the fist had impacted. While it did minimal damage – probably because he was a higher level than these punks – it smarted, building the beginnings of an [Adrenaline Rush] for him to tap into as all those little neuro-chemicals began dumping into his brain for flight, fight, or freeze. But not yet though. He didn't want to activate it just yet, lest him speeding up interfered with gathering what he wanted to know.

Thing Three(?¿?) shuffled nervously. "We borrowed money. Since we're cut off."

'Oh. You dumb man-children, you didn't,' he sighed to himself. "Don't tell me it was a shark?"

He talked, so que getting punched again.

"We saw how that fight went," Thing Four(?¿?) stated. "Rouise Domingo had you beaten down pretty solid. Do you think you can take us all on now?"

''Status',' he asked.

[STR: 21 (+5)

DEX: 24 (+5)]

.

Not great, but not hopeless.

"I mean… maybe?" he wondered aloud, only to get hit again, this time in the stomach. Unfortunately, as a theory, his already limited 'regen' was prioritizing the 'Lethal' damage he'd taken, and therefore hadn't taken any initiative to recover any of his 'Subtle' damage. And as a double-whammy, his 'regen' was shot thanks to the 'Inflictions'. Luckily, he'd processed his water from the fight, otherwise he'd probably have spit it up. 'Or maybe not.'

Clack!

The sharp sound of something striking the concrete distinguished itself from the rest of the city background noise, the alley making a nice little sound funnel.

"Do you mind if I tag in?"

The new voice startled his assaulters, but Marcus just froze, his eyes whipping towards the alley entrance. There, backlit by refracted sunlight, was Matt Murdock himself. And it appeared like he was alone. In a slow, drawn-out motion, he began to unclip and fold up his cane.

The barest refraction of light hitting his sunglasses made them seem to shimmer red, giving him a fleeting otherworldly gaze. Far be it from Marcus condone a cartoon trope, but it didn't stop him from swallowing nervously. The dead cold of Matt's tone didn't help matters either. "Oh shit."

Despite the clear worry for his friend, Marcus felt his pulse quicken in… huh? His pulse… quickened?

"So what's one guy gonna do?" Thing Two(?¿?) taunted.

"And he looks like he's blind," Thing Five(?¿?) stated, approaching Matt confidently.

Only allowing a brief moment to make a sharp clicking sound with his tongue, Matt's head tilted, moving his ear in their direction as he seemed to be scoping all of their positions and the dimensions of the alley from that one sound alone.

Marcus acted before Thing Five(?¿?) could approach Matt any further, striking up with his knee to divert the weapon in his side before quickly inter-locking his fingers behind Smiles head before yanking it forward. A sharp crack bounced off the alley walls as Marcus headbutted Smiles, breaking his nose. A sore forehead and a headache was a small price to pay.

The rest of his friends turned to him at the yowl that escaped his mouth.

Thwack!

Matt had tossed his folded cane, nailing the next nearest guy to Marcus in the head, all while distracting the others. He rushed the guy that had been approaching, jumping up and kicking off the alley wall before pivoting his body into spinning fly-kick that dropped him like a sack of potatoes.

Marcus twisted his grip on Smiles, flipping him around before grabbing his shoulders and kicking him in the back of the knee, sending him down before grabbing him by the scruff of his collar; a perfect position to be executed in. While he wasn't sure what Matt's tolerance was as far as getting hit was concerned, they were up against six people, Marcus was vastly underpowered right now, and he was on a time crunch.

His mind half making itself up without his consent, he acted instinctively.

Without thinking or hesitating, his hand disappeared into the ether, quickly pulling out the Glock-19 he'd been letting rust in his 'Inventory', and pressed it firmly into Smiles arm.

While assault with a deadly weapon wasn't on his to-do list, he had already wasted too much time. And technically… it was self-defense. Now that he was thinking about it, he probably should have read up on New York's gun laws.

"Alright! That's enough!" Marcus shouted, causing everyone to look – or tilt, in Matt's case – to him. Most froze at the sight of the weapon. Matt… his eyes furrowed like he was trying to find a particularly uncooperative puzzle piece. "Now. I haven't practiced with this thing yet, but even I'm pretty sure I can't miss at point-blank range. So here's what's gonna happen: we're all gonna calm down, you guys are gonna go home, tell your parents you love them, and hopefully make better choices.

"Grow up, meet cute girls, have kids that look at least somewhat like you," he chattered on. Maybe that headbutt had addled some of his thinking too.

"I honestly don't want to shoot anyone," he stated firmly before pressing it harder into Smiles arm, causing him to whimper through his busted nose. "But desperation can make anyone do things they wouldn't normally do.

"Now… get." He flicked with his head, prompting the others to gather their one fallen dude, one to hobble along clutching his temple where he'd been hit with the cane, and together, they ran away to lick their wounds. It was almost anti-climactic, but Marcus didn't want a grand showdown. Not now.

"Now, I'm going to let you go," he stated down to Smiles. "Okay?"

"O-Okay," he shivered, practically quaking.

Marcus let go of him and stepped back in one motion, lowering the gun. While he hadn't put his finger near the trigger or flicked off the safety; he'd known how to handle a gun since he was old enough to have a BB gun. Proper gun-handling was in-grained, and his dad wouldn't have accepted anything less, lest he get a sore backside. Handling a weapon was a responsibility, so always treat your weapon like it's not just loaded, but primed to fire.

Smiles scrambled, tripping over his feet as he ran away, not even looking back to make sure Marcus wasn't going to do anything else.

"And behave yourself!" Marcus shouted out once more, causing Smiles to almost trip over his own feet before he disappeared from the alley mouth. With a relieved sigh, Marcus put the gun back in his 'Inventory'.

If he wasn't so dead-set on getting shit done today, he'd have… no, nevermind. The alley was disgusting. No sitting down for him. He just wanted to sit down and rest. Was that so much to ask?

"Mark… where'd you pull that gun from?" Matt asked. That… had been an odd sensation. Like the air was both pulling in on itself, and yet expelling itself at the same time. It had set the hair of his arm practically ripping out of their roots. One second, the distinct metallic hum and sheen, the shift of locked and click of rested mechanisms, and scent of oil and gunpowder was present. Out of nowhere. And then, just as quickly, it was gone. And Matt could sense when someone had a gun hidden on them. Mark… had pulled it from nowhere.

He could sense Mark's wince, the kind of face someone made when they goofed up.

Marcus hesitated a moment, bending down to pick up the discarded cane, knowing full-well that Matt would sense it, but he didn't know how to articulate his words in the way he'd like. He finally gave up, and just… did it.

"You're…," he sighed in resignation before just toss the cane at Matt. True to form, Murdock caught it as easily as if he'd known it was coming. Which he did. "You're not the only one who's Special." With a capitol 'S' and everything.

It took Matt a moment as he palmed his cane to realize that… he knew. Knew about him. About what he could do; at least to some extent. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to figure out what he was feeling. Confusion? Plenty of that. Curiosity? Some to spare. And yes, even a little anger it seemed. He knew.

And not just because he'd thrown his cane, or fought back. If he had just figured it out, Mark would have questions of his own right now. He'd know far longer than just now.

How? When? Matt was sure he was careful. It was second-nature at this point, just as he'd been trained.

"When did you find out?" he asked.

Another big sigh from Mister Kendrick. "Matt, I've known what you could do since before we met," he stated, not sure how else to put it. He also knew that he was probably keeping a very careful ear on his heart rate right then. His weirdly, now-normal heartbeat. "Where's Foggy?"

"Currently looking for you," Matt answered shortly. He was angry. It was clear he was angry. "How does that work? And while we're at it, why is your heartbeat normal now?" Like he said.

Marcus sighed, wincing as he began walking towards the alley entrance. "Walk and talk, Murdock. I don't have a lot of time, and the window for my card is slipping. Plus…."

"You have someone tailing you," Matt cut off, seeing no point in playing coy about it.

"Yeah." They both exited together, Mark offering his arm for Matt to grab. They kept in step as they rejoined the afternoon crowds and traffic, the two of them fading into a sea of faces. While it wasn't necessary, and Matt considered snubbing it for a moment, it wasn't going to help him get answers by being hostile.

"Not completely sure about the heartbeat thing," Mark answered quietly as they walked, both vaguely aware of the tail, all the while knowing that Matt was keeping an… ear?… on him. Without much prompting on his part, 'Maps' presented a GPS line from where he'd set up a marker beforehand. "And I'm not sure exactly how to say it without sounding like I'm crazy."

"Define crazy," Matt pushed.

"Crazier than a guy who can navigate and fight like a ninja with only his remaining four senses," Marcus stated.

Matt… didn't have a response to that. Instead he opted to wait patiently, despite questions burning a hole in his tongue.

"But," Marcus continued, "it's the same way I know you can tell if I'm lying or not, and same way that I know you can fight blind. Same way I know to "Be careful of them Murdock boys. They got the Devil in 'em"."

Matt's almost dragged them back as his footsteps stalled for a beat right as they were crossing a street, but he quickly matched the pace again. "That– Wha– How?"

For once in his life, Matt Murdock was wholly and truly, bamboozled. Into silence. Brows raised, mouth slightly parted, and had he the necessity to blink, he would have been doing so. Repeatedly.

"Matt, I want you to know first and foremost that I am your friend," Marcus stated seriously. "I don't want there to be any doubt about that. And I have always done my best to tell the truth; or at least, not lie. But I also don't know how to tell you in a way that you'll be equipped to handle."

It was quiet for a several paces before Matt spoke up. "Then dumb it down for me. Because I'm having a... really... hard time wrapping my head around how you know about my… me." His brows furrowed behind his sunglasses in a soft, but desperate kind of confusion. "Any of it. Just… tell me something."

Marcus sorted through how to quantify what he was in a way that this already impossible Universe could understand. And really… he was just glad he had been such a fan of superheroes.

"Limited precognition, multiversal theory, multi- multi-versal theory, transmigration, Mandela Effect, exposure to inter-dimensional energy? Becoming some higher power's fucking joke? All of the above? Take your pick," Marcus stated with shrug. He wasn't… wrong though.

"Not really clearing things up," Matt pointed out.

"I know things," Marcus stated. "Things that have happened, things that might happen. Certain events yet to come. Seemingly trivial details about very specific people. Things I shouldn't know."

Matt nodded along slowly. "So I'm not the only one?"

Marcus shook his head softly, gingerly keeping half an eye on his 'Mini-map', and exactly where that tail was in proportion to them. "You were the first that I personally encountered. And quite the happy accident at that."

"So… you see people?" he asked, trying to narrow down and clarify.

"And places, and events," Marcus stated with a so-so nod of his head. It wasn't… perfect… but it beat trying to explain that the Universe they were in was someone else's 'Netflix and Chill'.

Matt's chin dropped as his brows furrowed. "He's slowing down… to call someone."

Marcus nodded, taking his word at face value. No questions.

Within another few steps, Matt continued. "And what about the gun?"

"That's…." Marcus paused. Mostly so he didn't say the first bullshit thing that came to mind. And mostly because he didn't want to lie. "…That's even harder to explain. Suffice to say, "Special"."

"Is that how you beat your opponents?" Matt asked, "Because you're special?" He almost tripped when Mark stopped suddenly.

"I fought fair and square. Everything I accomplished was because I worked my ass off for it, or my own innate strengths at play," Mark stated firmly, before some of the fight went out of him. "Though I still need to take a moment to figure out how I exactly bridged the gap on that last one. I haven't taken the time to introspect that yet."

That… made Matt frown. "You don't know what happened?"

"I… have an idea," Mark admitted. "But it was vague. More of a passing feeling that I have to explore to understand."

Matt nodded, not sure how much to share himself. How much he'd seen and witnessed and experienced.

Marcus realized they were close to his end destination, and he quickly turned, practically startling Matt. "I… I don't have any more time to explain, and I… don't really have all the answers either. I want to explain. I really do. But there's too much to cover and no way for me to condense it down into bite-sized bits, much less without the emotional baggage that comes with it. But I need to ask you… do you trust me?"

Matt was wondering what he was talking about, only to feel as Marcus firmly planted his hands on his shoulders; feel him looking him dead in the eyes. He was confused. So very confused. And it almost seemed like Mark wasn't going to be coming back, even after all his promises they'd discussed. He could feel the grim determination radiating off of him.

Thinking about it, despite the secrets, Mark hadn't lied. Not once. He'd skirted some facts, made concessions with the truth that were "easier" to comprehend; and Mark himself admitted to that. But he hadn't sensed a single lie.

"I…I can try… to have a little faith," Matt admitted, not completely sure what else to say. Mark nodded, seeming to take some comfort in that, even if it wasn't what he'd been asking for.

"One of these days – I don't know when, and I can't spare the details, but – something's gonna wake you from your sleep," Marcus stated, so matter-of-factly that Matt was a little intimidated by it. "Very clearly. Very promptly. And it's going to boil your blood. Okay?"

Matt nodded along, though it was still very confusing, like Mark was trying to decern what details mattered, and which were best left for Matt himself to find out.

"You're gonna to do the right thing: you're going to call the police and tell them what happened. They're gonna come, they're gonna do their jobs, but nothing will come of it, 'cause there's no evidence. And you're gonna hear it again. And again. And again.

"Until finally something inside you can't take it anymore. You're gonna find the cause, and you're gonna deal with it in a very Murdock-way. When you do, I want you to remember something. From me."

It was enrapturing, how intently, and intensely Mark spoke, as if this was something that was going to happen. No doubts. Just a firm, solid anger that was struggling to make itself known; to the point that a level of detachment seemed to take root. Something that made even Mark angry just talking about it, even in such vague terms.

"When you finally put an end to it, remember to break his hand," Mark stated fiercely, almost surprising Matt with the sheer intensity radiating off of him; like it was something that Mark had to build up in his thoughts before they began to leak out. It was hot, burning, and it felt like the reigns of it were barely sufficient. Something he'd never felt from Mark before.

Mark was the type to weather the storm. Even with Domingo, he didn't seem angry, so much as… disappointed… and resigned.

Anger… the kind of anger that Mark himself had warned about… was such a foreign association to him, that to see it now prickled at Matt's neck. Like someone was wrapping their fingers around his throat. And it honestly scared him. Nevermind if Mark was "Special" like him.

'Beware the wrath of a tempered man.' Or was it a 'patient man'? Either one seemed an appropriate response.

"Mind your anger, always," Mark instructed, seeming to realize he was losing control of himself before he rapidly cooled back down. "But break. His. Fucking. Hand. Both hands if you need to."

Mark let out a soft huff, as though trying to release the building anger he was feeling, but Matt was just so… overwhelmed. There was too much happening, and now this. On top of Mark already knowing about his… abilities. The fact that Mark was telling the truth about being his friend was as solid an anchor as any in the moment, even if it seemed so little compared to the vast majority of things.

"If we can make the time to have a proper sit down about this at a later date, then we will," Marcus stated. "But right now, Foggy needs you, okay?"

"And what about you?" Matt asked, realizing that Mark was… he was alone again. Because if there was one thing he didn't doubt, it was the few times his chest had lurched in pain.

"To be determined," Marcus responded, giving him a small smile.

Matt didn't know how else to respond but to nod along.

A soft exhale of relief came from Mark, even as he quickly wrapped his arms around Matt, hugging him fiercely. "You are a good man, Matt Murdock. And don't you ever forget it."

Matt held him back, pinching his eyes closed. Even if he couldn't see, salt water could still sting.

"I think we lost him," Matt commented absently as people pushed around where they stood.

Mark just pat him on the back before disengaging. "Thank you, for hearing me out. And good luck."

"And you too."

And he was gone. Matt could hear his footsteps walking briskly away, but he didn't follow. He simply stood there, cane in hand, as he listened to even that fade, overlapped by sounds of the people and city around them.

His sigh came out with a shudder, but he quickly tapped it down, taking a deep breath to reorient himself. Without much choice in the matter, he began tapping his way down the street, making his way back to the venue where Foggy had left him at.

They'd meet again. Hopefully. One day.

---

Marcus ignored both the weighty ache in his chest, and the spasmic ache of his body, as he opened the phone booth he had marked on his 'Map', settling inside and closing the door behind him. With a heavy gasp, he rested his head on the door, clenching his eyes shut as he reigned in the turbulence he was feeling. It was so unlike when 'Gamer's Mind' was present or active. And yet, now with it gone, his frame of mind felt far too exposed.

His sadness and grief didn't just feel like a momentary painful lurch anymore, but like a maelstrom, attempting to pull his chest under.

Letting out a rough growl, he smashed his head against the payphone window, using the pain to sharpen his focus and force himself to focus on the matter at hand. Closing his eyes, he imagined a box, put his current feelings inside, and shelved it for another day.

The effect was almost immediate – probably courtesy of the System – and he quickly summoned several quarters and a slip of paper from his 'Inventory', brushing a hand across his eyes as he attempted to clear them up. He needed to be at his absolute best in a few seconds, and it wouldn't do to be a teary, croaking mess.

Taking a few more deep breaths, he pulled off the receiver, put in some change, and began inputting the number on the paper. Worst-case, he could try the big yellow book sitting off to the side. He was just lucky that there was contact information available online.

The receiver began to ring, and Marcus was looking around outside the booth. He wasn't sure when Fisk was going to make his move, but he wanted this over as soon as possible. He may have lost his tail, but he'd be walking right back into Fisk's sights in a moment. Best make the most of it.

"Hi, this is Sandra Withers of the Central Intelligence Agency, how can I direct your call?"

"Hi Sandra," he breathed out in relief, using his best "inquiring customer" voice. "I need to know real quick if these calls are recorded?"

"Um… I'm not sure how to answer that. Is this another bomb threat?"

Marcus winced before frowning. 'Another?'

"No! No bomb threat, just…." There really wasn't a better way to put this. "…Just… just me about to break National Security with as many trigger words as possible, and making sure there's a trail to be found for a much higher up Alphabet Agency. They aren't exactly listed in the yellow pages, and I'm on a time crunch."

"I…." Oh shit, maybe he broke her.

"If not, could you at least type what I'm about to say in your database? That should alert someone," he stated.

"Is this a crank call?" she asked skeptically.

"Only one way to find out, ma'am. Are you ready?" he asked, not waiting any longer. He could hear some scrambling over the other end, and he could have sworn he heard her calling for someone else. Either as a witness or to confirm, didn't matter to him any. Even if they were treating him lightly, he was about to bust their systems open.

Hopefully they'd forgive him. Eventually? Maybe?

"R-Ready," she stated nervously.

He took a deep breath, pulling up the paper once again to read off of it. Point of no return.

"Carter, Peggy. Serum. Rogers, Steven, Grant. Designation: Captain America. Schmidt, Johann. Designation: Red Skull. Doctor Erskine. Formula. Stark, Howard."

He paused a moment, very clearly hearing something going on, on the other end. It sounded like panicking, including a loud 'click' sound that he assumed was another receiver being connected in. Good. That's the attention he needed. "Still there?" he asked.

"S-Still here," the receptionist muttered weakly. He almost felt bad for the next bit.

"Danvers, Carol. Designation: Captain Marvel. Skrull. Invasion." Now for the big boys. "Tesseract. Cube. Pegasus."

Oh shit, now he could hear alarms over the phone.

"Young man, what did you say your name was again?" That was most definitely not the secretary. A gentleman, a little older than himself maybe, and far too stern for Marcus's taste. If he wasn't so serious about what was taking place, he might've made a joke about them being so nosy.

"I didn't," he stated firmly. "But to clarify, my name is Marcus Kendrick. I'm in New York City. And from what I understand, I'm about enter into police custody. I'm requesting a meet with one Agent Phillip Coulson to make an exchange. This is for the safety of National Security. And, no bullshit, guys. I'll know his face when I see him.

"Again, Marcus Kendrick. New York City. Police custody. Agent Phillip Coulson."

"Now just a–"

And he hung up. No sense in arguing, and best thing he could do was come at it from a place of power, even if he was gambling big. High risk, high reward. He left what change he had on the receiver; hopefully it would help someone who needed it. Sighing, he quietly stepped out of the booth, making sure to take a few breaths.

The sirens that permeated occasionally on the New York City streets sounded closer than usual. Maybe it was just the idea of his impending arrest. Or maybe it was relief that he'd done what he needed before time ran out.

"I think that went rather well," he commented brightly. Groaning as the day caught up with him, he moved towards the wall of the nearest building, grunting as he leaned against it, before slowly sliding down until his butt hit the concrete. Several passerbys gave him odd looks that made his neck prickle, but he just shrugged it off.

For a city that never slept, was it really so odd to be the one person to slow down?

He suddenly got the hankering for a cigarette to calm down. An odd and infrequent craving, considering he never smoked. Anything. Not in this world, nor his old one. He knew plenty about addictions, particularly how the behaviors passed down. But it was diminutive by comparison to the caffeine headaches he could get, so he let the feeling ride out.

While it wasn't the rest he wanted, it would have to do for now.

He gently reached into his pocket to activate 'Inventory', pulling out a water bottle and a couple granola bars he'd stashed specifically for after his fight. He needed the energy boost after the day he'd had. And it was only…

[4:32 P.M.]

That. In the afternoon. He began peeling the wrapper from his snack, immediately biting off a chunk. His eyes fluttered as he took a deep breath, only now finding the energy – or lack thereof – to begin truly relaxing.

[Hey Mark?]

''Sup, Sys?' he asked.

[Do you want to view your 'Log' now?

Yes/No]

'In a bit. Probably when they put me in an interrogation room,' he dismissed. 'Need something productive to do while I'm stewing.' He took another bite before washing it down with some water.

[Playing "No Plan B" by Manafest.]

While Marcus hadn't okayed the sound filling his brain, he let it slide. Sys was just looking out for him. And if he was honest, it was a nice feeling. His constant companion in this new world. Whether the System was the instigator of his transmigration, or merely an office-working grunt occasionally typing away prompts for him to view, Sys would be there.

Closing his eyes, Marcus hadn't even made a hum before [Harmonic Meditation] made itself known. And once again, the feeling of his being one with his body, and yet a ghost of it, hummed and buzzed throughout and around him.

It was still strange, and alien to him, but he smiled at the feeling. As he, and something greater than himself, resonated.

---

[You are preserved by the ghost of a memory from your old world.

What has faded from you, can never truly be taken away. Or forgotten.]

['Child of Dust' skill has been remembered.]

---

Name: Marcus Ezekiel Kendrick

Race: Human (standard)

Occupation: Recently Unemployed

Level: 13 (3544/9100)

Title: Masochistic Gamer (+5 STR, VIT, DEX; +25% Cash and EXP)

HP: 950

– HP regen: 8% (76 HP/hour) (1.26 HP/minute)

– Inflicted HP regen (-60%): 3.2% (30.4 HP/hour)

MP: 900

– MP regen: 8% (72 MP/minute) (1.2 MP/second)

– Inflicted MP regen (-60%): 3.2% (28.8 MP/second)

– Magic/Mental resist: 5.8%

SP: 1000

– SP regen: 10% (100 SP/minute) (1.66 SP/second)

– Inflicted SP regen (-60%): 4% (40 SP/minute)

STR: 30 (-9) (+5) = 26

VIT: 25 (+5) = 30

DEX: 35 (-11) (+5) = 29

INT: 25 (+0) = 25

WIS: 30 (+0) = 30

LUC: 20 (+0) = 20

SKL: 61 | EVO: 27

Currency: $47264.48

– Rate/hour: $13.50 (+25%) = $16.875

– Rate/fight: $2000 (+25%) = $2500

Hunger: 82/280

– Standing Drain: 4/hour (96/day)

Thirst: 71/280

– Standing Drain: 4/hour (96/day)

.

.

Perk Skills:

[Blink and You'll Miss Him lvl Max]

[Making a Cameo lvl 1]

[Runner's Dexterity lvl Max]

[Ponderer's Wisdom lvl Max]

[Brawler's Strength lvl Max]

['One More Light' lvl Max] '?'

['?' lvl Max]

['?' lvl Max]

.

Passive Skills:

[Gamer's Body lvl Max]

[Vehicle Mastery, novice lvl 8]

[Mechanics, basic lvl 5]

[Firearm Mastery, novice lvl 4]

[Fishing Mastery, novice lvl 11]

[Information Gathering lvl 12]

[Cartography lvl 17]

[Inconspicuous lvl 11]

[Danger Sense lvl 7]

[Critical Hit lvl 4]

[Unarmed Mastery lvl 10]

[Pugilism Style lvl 15]

[Knife Guard lvl 8]

[Fire Retardant lvl 5]

[Pain Mitigation lvl 7]

[Impact Diffusion lvl 6]

['?' lvl 0]

['?' lvl 0]

.

Active Skills:

[Blade Sharpening lvl 12]

[The Zone lvl 4]

[Adrenaline Rush lvl 3]

[Power Strike lvl 9]

[Charge Attack lvl 5]

[Block Guard lvl 4]

[Counter Strike lvl 2]

.

Passive & Active Skills:

[Pushing Limits lvl Max]

[Sprint lvl 18]

[Inspect lvl 20]

[Observe lvl 21]

[Harmonic Meditation lvl 10]

['?' lvl 1]

.

---

Author's Note: Don't forget to READ and REVIEW!

Let me know what you guys think. Keep it constructive. And any help balancing or reinventing certain skills would be most help.

Yes, I usurped the [Gamer's Mind] skill. I had tried my best to work around keeping it, but I couldn't see Marcus retaining it with the direction I wanted to take the story, especially since it would ultimately conflict with what I was aiming for. Both short-term, and long-term. From the writing standpoint, I got some... harsh flak over reducing it's effectiveness, instead of making it a God-tier skill. From a story standpoint, a lot of the reasonings will be in the next chapter. I may consider removing it completely in the edited take, but I think it fits better to have it ultimately removed in-story. It's more poetic and fitting story-wise to have it replaced. Just my personal opinion though. I'm sure some people will tell me what they think about it.

Until next time.