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.

8. Chapter 7: What Makes Us Dangerous

A/N: Hey guys! SteinMon here!

Just shy of 6 months later, and... *sigh*. Currently looking for a new job despite no sign of anything easing up. Doctor's visits are getting ridiculously expensive and I've had to put off buying some of the medications they want to put me on, because it's more than I can afford regularly. This is just not my decade.

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:

- ArashiTyphoonus: Thanks for the review! That's about as high of praise as I can get, and I'm glad you felt it was worth the effort to tell me. It means a lot.

- P34644563: Not sure yet. Doctors don't know what it is, and they're confused by it as well. I've been told it could be anything from a massive chronic allergic reaction to something related to auto-immune to rheumatoid arthritis. Thankfully, my tests and labs have come back negative for indicators for the worst-case scenario, but none of the meds they have me on have been effective for more than a week or two for the lesser-cases. So we're all lost together at this rate.

The year is 2007 in story. I'm assuming your talking about his intro song (which is "Enter Sandman" by Metallica, 1991). Or maybe you're talking about just his general music choices so far (which are more in line with his original time-line)? Either way, its partially because I'm a little (read: very) out of touch with the 2000's music, and I didn't really get into music until about 2010 when I was in high school and my classmates tastes rubbed off on me, and partially because he lost about 15 years of ever-evolving music. I may have (most likely) also given Marcus my music flaw in that I'm partial to specific songs, which doesn't necessarily translate to the bands themselves. If enough of a band or artist's songs catch my attention, then it warrants a deeper look. Linkin Park is a good one, and "Bring Me to Life" was something I enjoyed regularly. Might have a segment revolving around the radio later on since you brought it up, but for now, he's just using the 'Music' feature that comes with his 'System'.

- Freelook: Thanks, and I'm doing my best.

- Giltlawyer9000: Glad your enthusiastic about it! Literally my thoughts exactly! XD

- truck-kun1999: Yeah, me too.

- Camsonius: I'm glad you enjoyed it :)

Honestly, when it came to the name 'the Sandman'... I'm almost ashamed to admit that I didn't even think about Flint Marko. Completely slipped my mind. I was so focused on the mythological version and Marcus's intro song that I didn't even think about it. Whoops.

Had to look up "Wildcat"... and now I feel kinda cheap for the angle I wanted to write. While it wasn't my intention, some of the ideas were similar. Still gonna write it, and hope it's still as enjoyable. I'll just chalk it up to 'Great minds think alike' or something.

- LoudOpinions: It would be interesting. Guess we'll find out. But no one said there was ever just one path.

- Lazymanjones96: Here's more!

- Mr. "Fanfic won't let me repost your name for some reason": Will do my best.

- "Painless": Sorry to hear about that man, but glad you're doing better. Wish I could put out more chapters too, but it is a time consuming endeavor, and I'm only one guy. "Shadow Clone Jutsu" hasn't been invented yet unfortunately, and it would help, if only to use myself as a sounding board.

- "Guest" 1: I got ya. There's always that part of the curve that you either have to throw a near invincible god at someone, weaken (read: poison) them in some way, just outright nerf them, or just have them operate on casual mode the rest of the ride.

- h2ohunter: Yeah, that was always my pet peeve when it comes to any Transmigration story. Everything is set up for them in the beginning, like they were always apart of the world (most of the time that is). I tried to apply that here, but with some starting boosts from the System to balance out his apparent lack of... well, anything in the MCU.

- Hiquake: Thanks!

- "Hank Jones": Ok. Honey and hatchet; gotcha. The reason I waited so long to provide a description for Marcus was to avoid a first-person descriptor where Marcus is looking in the mirror or something, and then a description is given. When that happens, it always seems so tacky, and the description is usually this self-gratifying ego boost. So I waited until another character could get close enough to make a more unbiased description. Problem being, Matt Murdock is blind. So I waited until Foggy came in before making that description.

Ouch. Keeping in mind that he's building himself up to take part in battles he could very well just say 'NOPE' to, he's taking that responsibility on his shoulders despite being a regular guy, but with the mindset of someone who has considered the effects of his tampering. Why do you think he might be a massive worry-wart? Not to mention the rules of time-divergence. Will he make things better? Or will they get worse? It's a lot to contemplate. As far as winning his boxing match is concerned; he did something he's never done before, something amazing by all accounts, and he doesn't know why he should be excited. Any clues why that might be, or what it might say about him?

I'm not trying to divert the question, just trying to challenge you to think deeper. I like to show, not tell. It's very rarely going to be cut and dry, or "what you read is what you get". If that's not your thing, then I'll have to settle with not being able to please everyone. That being read, I wrote this with idea of avoiding most of the Gamer tropes in mind, because I wanted something different. It's not going to be everyone's cup of coffee, if they even like coffee, and I'm coming to terms with that.

I read you on the review responses. I've tried alternative methods before on other stories, and they didn't work very well. That's why I generally keep my responses short or restricted unless they need a more in-depth response (like this one), because I don't want to over-inflate the word-count on my stories. I can look into it, but keep in mind, your the only person I can recall who's pointed this particular issue out so far. I might be wrong, but just saying. My responses, disclaimers and extras "generally" take between 1000 and 1500 words. If it's an issue for most people, they can leave a review like you did, or PM me with the issue so it doesn't inflate my Review count. If it becomes a larger issue, then I'll see about making that transfer and see how it holds. I do appreciate the input though.

- Nerd King 180: Marcus is still a work in progress, but I think that's most of us anyway.

- Claymoneky99: Got me a one-man cheering section right here. Appreciated though.

- Johnmau: Fair enough.

- Brentwist: Thanks. Can't wait to share it.

- KamiNoDoujutsu: I wanted the System to feel like another character in play, and not just a blank wall to stare at. An indifferent morality, with a mild bias towards the User.

- Shadowofwolves: I get that. The Universe is already a big place, and as such, already has its fill of ways to grow; especially in a Universe like Marvel.

- Slitherx679: The beginning wasn't to draw sympathy to his family. There's not a lot to go on. It's to designate his attachments to his old world, and maybe, show that he had something resembling a life outside of what he's currently experiencing. That he's not just a "blank-slate" character. He had someone to teach him right and wrong, had at least a few meaningful connections, and had hopes for the future where he was. He has essentially lost all of that after being "kidnapped" from his own world. Not to mention, he doesn't know what became of "him" in his old world. No closure whatsoever. Who wouldn't be devastated by that?

Keeping things as "realistic as possible" after just losing everything and everyone you knew is... "naive", "stupid", and "silly"? Not to mention, he had no idea where he was going, or what he was getting into. Not to mention, having the introspection and consideration to keep things resembling a "normal" world so he doesn't end up feeling alone. Imagine, for one second, ending up in a world where you play life like a video game. What does that make the people around you? NPC's. And I've seen enough game walkthrough's to see just how players treat and react to NPC's, especially if they have something the player wants. Not to mention being the only person in the Universe aware of this discrepancy between PC, and NPC, and no way to exit to the "real world". It would get unfathomably lonely with that mentality, and lead to mental breaks caused by isolation, despite having all those "people" around him. In keeping with "normality", it doesn't make him weaker or the world overtly difficult. It's just more of the same, but with a different world, and different opportunities. It's a world of people he can connect with, and not just some lingering idea of pre-programmed response.

The idea behind his searches is to establish a timeline. No work can get done without understanding what you have to work with, and when you have to work with it. Especially if your knowledge is more in-passing, and not full on fanatic. He had an "idea" of when he was based on the date, but with nothing concrete, it's all guesswork, especially if he only knows his Marvel timeline in passing. Even with the potential for SHIELD breathing down his neck, better informed than half-cocked.

All computers, even back then, had an IP address. All posts and searches leave a fingerprint with this IP address on it. Enough correlations with the same alert prompts (the thing that would have initially alerted Jarvis) from the same IP address, would literally create a corrolation point back to the computer it was searched on, and where that computer was hooked up to the internet from. And Jarvis, from my understanding of that point in time, is advanced enough to at the very least, compartmentalize the needed data to create such a trace. Particularly since the servers of said computer are public.

Agreeing with you on 'Investigation' and 'Inspect' being redundant. Was still establishing parts of the system, and now that it's more stable, I read your point.

As far as the 'Title' goes... it's actually not that broken. Money-wise? Maybe. But with EXP being so hard to obtain in the first place and no way to consistently farm large amounts of it outside of general and low-level Quests, he's not leveling up that fast.

If a System is remotely sentient, then they are seemingly, strictly bound to the User they are designated to. Meaning they have little say or interaction outside of who they are stuck with. A little commentary is the least of anyone's problems.

Considering I haven't seen any stories or manga with a functioning 'Party' system - at least, none I can recall off the top of my head - I don't know what the fuss is about.

As far as Marcus's interactions with Murdock, in case it wasn't clear, [Gamer's Mind] is keeping him physiologically calm enough, that his heartbeat sounds "robotic" or "mechanical" to Matt. And if everything he said was grounded honestly, then interacting with a "human lie-detector" is like talking to any other person. Not to mention his conversation wasn't "reactive" at all. It was genuine interest mixed with mundane conversation and some deep thought. Testing the potential for another layer of friendship by sharing their views.

As far as Ripples are concerned, that would depend on the person's level of influence and the people they influence. It's unfeasible and unrealistic for Marcus to have any impact outside of Earth, much less the city he's in, at the moment unless he does something extreme. Everything outside where he can influence is technically still flowing along as if he hadn't affected the timeline. And even minor interactions can be dismissed, completely unaffecting any timestream. So him getting Thanos to Earth early would require him to be in a place of power and influence that could impact the timeline on a galactic level at least, or interact with someone with said influence in such a way that it alters their course, assuming it would intersect that course with Thanos at all, much less draw his attention to Earth outside of the Infinity Stones. Believe it or not, individual people have next to no impact on how a large-scale scenario plays out, unless their impact is something significant or extreme.

I know it was a long string of answers, but hopefully that answers enough of your questions. Until next time.

- 7day: The first unspoken rule of any game is to test the limits of the game. What can you do? What can you not do? I've seen enough playthroughs of Bethesda games to know that the first thing some people do, is test to see if the children are killable. Same principal. But if the "rules" are the same - or at the least, mostly similar - as his old world, then there's no need to "test" these limits. It's not about power, it's about establishing rules without having to test those things. Because, lets be real, nobody treats NPC's well.

I enjoyed the Gamer manhwa, and I think I read where you're trying to come from. However, even in the manhwa, the Gamer ability impacted it's surroundings in such a way that everything began to develop game-like qualities (example: the ogres dimension at his friend's clan that suddenly spawned bosses, monsters dropping items/money, or being able to help others "level-up" through a party system). So it's wasn't just data being translated, it's altering everything around the User to "fit" the concept of him playing a videogame, and these changes are permanent as far as I know.

I admittedly altered [Gamer's Mind] a bit, because realistically, it wouldn't have such a drastic affect. While it can mute and muddle intense emotions, no one can fully mute their reactions to certain stimuli without being completely dead inside, even in videogames. The TV screen creates a sort of barrier that allows our brains to reboot from any stimuli in a "Oh! It's not real, it's just a video game", kind of way. But certain entities, emotional reactions, and even some 'Skills' (I believe it was [Adrenaline Rush]) countering [Gamer's Mind] on a physiological level is based on some of my own video game experience. It dulls reactable stimuli, but doesn't erase it.

I can't tell if your comment on '50,000 words' is a good one, or a bad one. Not sure how to read it tone-wise.

Notice that he spends vast amounts of time leveling up in the only small ways he can. If this is a regular person with "Gamer-like" abilities, then their psychological wellbeing is just as important as any EXP he might gain. And I think making him an EXP machine takes away from his personality. One must be apart of their world if they want to make any impact on it. And that means interacting with people.

Not to mention, if you saw your favorite super-heroes in real-life, wouldn't you want to meet them? Just to see if they are as really real as you imagined they were? If a person sees the impossible made possible, and isn't in awe of it, what does that say about the person?

*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 7: What Makes Us Dangerous

"In the blue corner, running his second fight of the season, we have Marcus Kendrick. I gotta say Aaron, if there's anyone to look out for, it's him."

"Right you are, John. A complete rookie here in Hell's Kitchen, and he took his opponent out in a single punch, only a few seconds into the first round. Let me tell you, absolutely phenomenal opener to the season!"

"Judges even demanded a retest to make sure he wasn't doped up. I'm telling you, clean as a whistle. His first day in the ring, and the following fights that evening didn't quite have the same feel to them after that."

"That's what happens when the shock and awe doesn't wear off. He came in strong, and left us wanting for more. The question tonight is, was it just a one-time fluke, or is he going to once again show us exactly how it's done."

"I guess we'll see. Tonight, his opponent in the red corner is fellow rookie from Clinton, Jeffrey Massad. He took his previous opponent down in the sixth round by the countdown. Absolutely ferocious on the shovel hooks. After how he took down Pérez, it's painful just to think about it. This is quite the matchup, Aaron. I don't know if I've ever been this excited to see two rookies go at it."

"Indeed, indeed. We have the intros. Kendrick, nervously strolling to the ring, trying to keep loose. You think it's all just show, or are those nerves for real?"

"You can't fake that. That's as real as it gets. It's perfectly natural for the rookies to get nervous, especially for their first few times in the spotlight, but if he doesn't shape that up soon, it's gonna affect his fighting. It's all about mindset, and if he lets his fear get the better of him, it's gonna hamper his ability to take home the 'W' no matter how vicious he is in the ring."

"Meanwhile, in the red corner, Massad is rocketing to the ring, a show of full-on aggression coming off. He's big, he's bold, and he's confident. Already hyping up the crowd. He's pumped and he's here to win."

"He's the crowd favorite tonight. But I think we can expect some resistance from Kendrick. Take a look at his corner, nervous as can be, but you can practically feel the steel from here. Looks like his manager, old "Gatling" George McKinnon himself, is grounding him with a pep talk. He may not be pitchin' ball anymore, but he's back in the sport coaching, and that might make all the difference for Kendrick there."

"If his last fight is anything to go off of, one good punch 'll take Massad down, and there'll be no blocking it. We saw how fast it was. But Massad's no push over. He's aggressive, and he'll rain the body blows until Kendrick caves, and since his fight ended so quickly, we don't actually know just how durable Kendrick really is."

"That's fair. He could be a glass cannon; all power, and no defense. But we do know Massad has the endurance and fortitude to keep up the pressure, and can take some hits. Right now its anyone's game."

"Yep. And here they go. Ref laying down the law. They bump gloves. Backing up and there's the bell! HOLEY MOLEY! Kendrick darts in with a rapid left hook feint! Before absolutely grinding in a vicious right shovel to Massad's stomach!"

"Oh! Oh my! If that's the start of the first round, I dunno if I want it to last the full twelve. Kendrick backs away as Massad bends over the mat. I can see him gasping for breath from here. Oh. Oh, that does not bode well. Ref, is starting the count."

"Oh, and Massad is pushing himself back up! Kendrick, looking worried in his corner."

"It was the same as his first fight. Completely concussed out his opponent, and absolutely worried about them. That takes a different kind of mental fortitude right there. Being able to inflict harm on your opponent and being mentally effected how much damage you actually inflict. That can mess with any fighter's headspace. Makes it too easy to hold back and pull your punches."

"Massad, standing ready, though a little off-beat. Ref is giving them the go-ahead. Massad! Leading the charge this time, and Kendrick! Backstepping a solid haymaker! And… there it is again!"

"OH! An absolutely brutal right uppercut from Kendrick! Same as last time, that speed! You could barely even see it land! Massad is teetering! And Kendrick, mindful of throwing another blow like that, has his guard up as he approaches."

"Despite the worry on his face, he's not letting that stop him. He's being aggressive and putting on the pressure. He's making calculated hits the moment he sees an opening. That's what scores you points in boxing, and he's only letting his concern weigh him back so far. But he's pushing past that."

"Massad is disoriented, but he's smart. He's grown cautious now. A little late, but he's holding his guard and OH! Oh God!"

"Kendrick glances under some testing jabs from Massad and delivers another! Absolutely devastating shovel to round it off! Oh! And I'm almost positive that was the exact same spot he hit earlier!"

"Massad is down again. Oh. And I don't think he's getting back up. Count is already winding down, and Massad, is desperately trying to find his footing again. And that is it! Marcus Kendrick, winning his second fight with devastating efficiency!"

…

…

…

"Kendrick is on the offensive. Maze, keeping his guard up, but you can see the devastation Kendrick is unleashing!"

"That's right. Just watching Maze defending, you can see his arms tremoring with every rapid blow Kendrick his raining down, and OHP! There he goes! Kendrick breaks through his guard and absolutely annihilates Maze! Maze is down!"

…

…

…

"Packer leads with a hard hook, nailing Kendrick in the head! Kendrick is leaning on the ropes and Packer isn't giving him any room to breathe!"

"I don't know how Kendrick's getting out of this one. He's had a strong start to the season, but it seems he's finally met his– OH!"

"Kendrick comes back! Absolutely slamming Packer in the gut, and knocking the wind out of him! They're backing off. Both fighters look absolutely exhausted."

DING!

"And both fighters intruded on by the bell. I gotta say, I think this is the first fight that has pushed Kendrick into multiple rounds. For Packer, this is his longest anyone's stood up against his onslaught. Packer is not letting himself go down like Kendrick's previous opponents, and Kendrick his working his defense-game with sheer tenacity."

"And you can just tell they're both having the time of their lives. Both are smiling and you can just feel the exhilaration coming off of them. Kendrick meeting a foe that can tank multiple of his devastating hits, and Packer meeting someone who will and can dish it back in return!"

"And the crowd is absolutely loving it. It's so rare to see this kind of fight, John, where you can't help but cheer both fighters on."

…

…

…

"If you look in the crowd tonight, you'll see the fans have made signs and– What's that they're cheering?"

"It sounds like they're… yes! They're calling Marcus Kendrick 'The Sandman'!"

"While his defense isn't the best, he has the speed and agility to time excellent dodges and counters, and an all-natural offense that many in the circuit, and in the League, would kill for. And I gotta say, I can't really blame them. Those hits of his are devastating. Among his fellow rookies, it's one-hit and lights out."

"A bit poetic, wouldn't you say, Aaron? You think his intro song might have something to do with it too."

"Wouldn't surprise me if it did, John."

…

…

…

"Kendrick has been on his back leg for most of the fight. Jameson, putting on the pressure, but when Kendrick has landed a blow, it's been a real bell-ringer for Jameson."

"It's an endurance game at this rate: how long Jameson can keep up the pressure versus how long can Kendrick withstand the pressure. Jameson has taken several of Kendrick's brutal blows, and Kendrick has been barely holding back the onslaught Jameson rained down on him."

"Jameson, laying into Kendrick! Kendrick is barely keeping his guard up, and– OH! Kendrick! Risking a hit to land one of his own! Returning the favor with another devastating punch! The Sandman strikes again! Jameson is down and out five rounds in!"

…

…

…

"Kendrick, helping his opponent to his corner. He seems to be looking him over, keeping him focused while the EMT's are taking a look at him."

"It's a wonder, John. Kendrick has no problem flattening his opponents, but his first priority on the bell is to make sure they're in the clear."

"That can't be an easy thing to do. Blood is pumping, pressure's high, nerves alight. It's amazing to think he has the mental fortitude to make that leap between beating his opponents into submission, and helping them out of the ring."

…

…

…

"Kendrick gets his hand slapped away, trying to help his fellow boxer up."

"Oh, the crowd did not like that. The 'booing' is echoing all the way up here to the booth. Kendrick is keeping a respectful distance as Hanson hobbles to his corner."

"Despite his opponent's protests, he's still ready to step in if he's needed, hovering a short distance away."

"While there's no shame in accepting a helping hand, sometimes your opponent making to the corner by themselves is their way of preserving their dignity."

…

…

…

"And there he goes, making sure his opponent still has the season in them."

"Sinclaire was the kid in this fight. Kendrick not only outweighs, but has a rep that clearly outclasses him, and hasn't held back once against an opponent."

"It's just some fighters way of showing respect. He's treating everyone as though they are tougher competition than him, and it takes so many of them by surprise."

"Oh. Kendrick and Sinclaire are bumping fists. It looks like he'll be okay."

…

…

…

"I gotta say, the higher up on the ladder Kendrick works, the longer his matches have been going. There are fewer and fewer guys that are going down in the first round."

"Well considering most of these guys have been in the sport at least a year, they have more experience, they have more training, and they have instinct ingrained into their muscle memory. And even then, we've seen some of these guys take one hit from Kendrick, and that's the game. Either they're completely knocked out, or concussed into submission. We've seen some previously steel jaws get hit by this kid, and absolutely bend under him."

"Whatever Kendrick has driving him right now, it's propelling him upward. And he's not slouching it. He's clearly putting in the time and effort. Every match, we see him come back, his form is firmer, he's stronger and faster. Key there, since that seems to be what makes his punch so devastating. Just a blur of movement and POW!"

"Not just that his opponents can't see him attacking, but that it somehow puts all his momentum behind it. Have we heard anything about that?"

"I'm just as baffled as you are, John. We've had some biomechanical engineers and specialists of the sport take a look at the footage, and they are confused just how Kendrick puts that much force behind his blows with no noticeable repercussions to his body. It's scary is what it is. And Kendrick has had multiple tests to ensure that he's legit, and every time, he's clean."

"And he's back every. Single. Weekend. Sometimes twice a weekend! He's building up his rapport, and he refuses to slack it."

"Kendrick's record is nothing to scoff at either. While not as prominent as some boxers, a win-loss-tie ratio of 12-0-0 is impressive in even fewer weeks. His career thus far, has been flawless. Quite an accomplishment for a rookie."

"Whatever the secret to his success, be it training or technique, all it takes is one guy to figure it out, and then, it's over."

---

{…New York City, New York… June 18th, 2007…}

Marcus was on the rise. In the last two months, he'd gained 4 levels. Granted, from completing Sub-Quests, because Quests of any kind granted more EXP than individual fights. The EXP from his job and training added up too. But what's more, his once meager savings had near tripled just from boxing. Pending rent and some expenses. This included his second quest in the [Paths of Power: the Old Fashion Way].

[Lvl 8 = 12]

[Currency: $15601.75 = $40396.36]

.

[!Congratulations! You completed the Quest: Paths of Power – The Old Fashion Way: The Rookie!]

You finally made it to level 10!

Rewards:

- 1800 EXP (+450 EXP)

- $1080 (+$270)

- 5 Stat Points

.

[!New Quest: Paths of Power – The Old Fashion Way: The Beginner!]

Sometimes, the only way to gain power is by doing what has been done before: working hard, exercising, and reaching your limit by your own hands. Whether that's by intense training, mob grinding, study, or self-reflection. Straight forward. No short-cuts.

And with every goal reached, we're raising the bar.

Requirements:

- Reach lvl 15

Reward:

- 3200 EXP

- $1920

- 5 Stat Points

Failure: Quest can be 'Quit' at any time. (You're still in the where most average people are leveled, so don't just drop this quest. You're practically already at lvl 15; and we both know you ain't stupid).

.

He ate food now. Actual food! He'd almost (read: actually had) forgotten what spaghetti and meatballs tasted like. Chili had never tasted so amazing! A double-bacon burger was pure bliss! If he could help it, he was never eating PB&J or ramen ever again!

But he'd heard himself say that before.

And he had cutlery now! Fucking cutlery! Pots! Pans! A spatula! A whisk he'd probably never use! He hadn't been this excited to have a soup spoon since he'd moved into his first apartment back in his old world. All he needed now was a crockpot, and he'd be golden.

That wasn't to mention the attributes he'd been grinding since then. And it was taking significantly more time and effort to grind them. At this rate, he might actually need to start allotting some of his 'SKL Points'. But as it was, he had a decent start; it was just too bad that 'LUC' seemed to be the one to fall behind.

[STR 23 (+5) = 25 (+5)]

[VIT 20 (+5) = 21 (+5)]

[DEX 31 (+5) = 33 (+5)]

[INT 23 = 24]

[WIS 28 = 29]

.

And with his base STR reaching 25, he got a new Trait for it.

[Brawler's Strength (Uncommon)

The user has hit the first Skill Ceiling for STR, granting them a brawler's might.

Passive:

+100% (x2) to all base STR attributes affected in 'Skills'

+15% Melee damage.

+15% to grapple strength.]

.

That wasn't even to mention all the leveling his Skills were getting, just from being in constant use. Between taking hits, avoiding hits, and slipping hits… when he put it like that, it made it seem like he was a sucker for getting swung at.

[Impact Diffusion lvl 6 (42.8%)

The user has developed a resistance to 'Blunt Damage' and impacts after getting hit repeatedly in boxing. At least this resistance came about naturally.

Passive:

-6% to 'Shatter' -based Inflictions.

2% Blunt Resistance.]

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[Block Guard lvl 4 (2.5%)

The user mitigates damage by blocking. If the users guard is broken, the user is 'Stunned'. Guard can be broken by draining 'SP' or exceeding mitigation threshold.

Active:

+4% Damage Mitigation while Blocking.

-4% Subtle Damage received while Blocking.

'x' SP/strike, where 'x' is equal to the damage dealt. Other Resistances are applied.]

.

[Counter Strike lvl 2 (34.9%)

The user strikes back in quick succession after blocking or deflecting a melee blow.

Passive:

+2% Damage to Counterattacks.

+2% to Status Infliction when Countering.]

.

It was nice to see some new Skills, even if attempting to grind the old Skills was still a pain in the butt.

As it was, if he actually took the time to pay attention to how his Stats were climbing, he might actually stop to think how high the actual heroes Stats must be. He'd probably be flattened if he tried to challenge any of them, and that wasn't to mention the gods, aliens, and superhumans out there. Like... how would the System calculation those bolstered by Cosmic Power. When did the numbers get too big for his human brain to comprehend the gaps in power.

Still, while he was happy with his progress, he knew this was all in terms of base humans, regardless of his influx of "questing" EXP. There was no telling where the hard caps were for humans, or what those same caps would look like to other species in the Universe. Then again, Sys had made it clear that because of his Gamer status, he had no limit. Small mercies.

In this case, the world, and by extension, the Universe, was very much how he enjoyed running a D&D campaign: "There's a lot going on in the world. And not all of it is your level." Same concept... just on a much bigger scale.

And here he was, just a low-level adventurer, trying to build himself up, but without the crutch of a quest board at the Adventurer's Guild or grindable mobs to speed things along. It kind of made sense that most civilians weren't much higher than lvl 10, especially if all their basic chores scored them very little EXP, assuming of course the same game logic that applied to him applied to them.

Experts or savants in any given field might break lvl 20. He'd had the pleasure of seeing a few of them... when 'Observe' and 'Inspect' weren't just showing him big ol' '?'.

[continued Playing "White Noise" by Good Weather Forecast and Manafest.]

Groaning, he rubbed his forehead. 'Stop thinking so big. You're only gonna give yourself a headache and irritate your anxiety.'

Taking a rare quiet moment on break to sit back and read a book. He steadily returning to a more familiar "normal". And as such, some things never changed, even in a new world.

The grind was real.

The hustle was real.

When he wasn't working, he was training. When he wasn't training, he was competing. When he wasn't competing… well, he didn't have much outside of that. And now, he was practically forcing himself to memorize an English-to-Russian, Russian-to-English Dictionary. Mostly for local reasons, partially for curiosity, and a miniscule part of it... for fun of course.

'Not to mention I've renewed this book from the library several times already,' he sighed, feeling his eye twitch as he tried to string together a simple sentence in his head.

All work and no play made Mark a tired boi.

Unfortunately, that left a strange, almost warm weight settled in his back and in his head. Maybe 0.2 degrees warmer? Maybe a few grams heavier? It was impossible to pinpoint, and he knew it was all in his head. But he could feel it. This unsettling feeling like he should be doing something… more? Even though near every spare moment was appointed a task to keep his time filled.

Like he couldn't settle between boredom or restlessness.

"K chertu eto der'mo," he sighed, muttering his Russian in a very American accent. Worthy note when learning other languages: cuss words are the easiest words to learn. Mostly 'cause they're taboo… and fun in their own way. And if a teacher tells you otherwise… well, then do they really appreciate the finer nuances of language barriers?

Languages were just really hard to make into Skills, if they even could be made into skills. Unfortunately, it seemed they took after the Charisma stat and just weren't a thing; based solely off his own effort. Where was Dora the Explorer for Russian. Now there was a thought. Didn't Bruce Banner do something similar with... ah! Some South American language... what was it? What ever it was, Marcus needed something like that! But where was he gonna get translated American kids TV shows?

Unable to focus on the swimming words any longer, he bookmarked his page before looking toward the bar. To her credit, Josie seemed to take the lull in stride. There was nothing he could really fix or clean, despite the twitch in his hands to actively do something. His body was at rest, but he couldn't bring his mind to heel.

Maybe he needed a new skill. Not a 'Skill' skill, but an actual hobby skill... that might end up as a 'Skill'. Something he could do with his hands that could help him channel all his anxious energy into action. Maybe he should get one of those cheap puzzle books. As it was now, his potential for discipline was outweighed by his lack of motivation.

"Bored?" she asked, looking almost amused by his discomfort.

"God, yes!" he answered with a slump. "Got anything for me to do?"

She just snorted at him, shaking her head in disbelief. "For the fourth time, no. You've done it all. Tables are wiped down, bathrooms clean, dishes washed, floors swept and mopped. Doesn't happen often, but we get days like this from time to time. Best to enjoy it while it lasts."

And the worst torture for a constantly stimulated mind was calm. Peace. Stillness. Especially for Marcus. He had lived in a day and age when the internet was a proverbial and literal monster compared to what it was now. He had had a near endless stream of Youtube constantly droning in his ears, and he had no shortage of things to look up or read about, because their were websites for virtually everything. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to sit down with a book, and the crisp feeling of turning a paper page.

Now? Well, he wasn't carrying all the information in the world in the palm of his hand. They still had home computers for that mostly, with cables and routers that made the funny little noises and everything. While some of the technology was advancing into it's more portable phases, Marcus couldn't justify purchasing any of them to himself. Not for another few years anyway. Just as well, but that didn't mean he hadn't been having some withdrawals. Working and training had been his distractions. And now he was forced to confront it.

Ding.

Or the front bell could ring, and he could cram it into the back closet of his mind for him to sort through it later. Preferably, when he could mitigate the worst of it. Being bored or restless, on top of being alone with his thoughts, was a terrible, terrible thing, [Gamer's Mind] or no. It brought up simpler times, times that sat in the corner of his mind, always there, but usually ignored. Until moments like this, when he had nothing else to occupy the space.

From the whoops and hollers that entered the little bar, Marcus was half-expecting a bunch of plaid farm shirts, wife-beaters, and camouflage billed hats in trucks that were jacked up way too high to be realistically utilitarian for anything other than mudding. And even then... eehhh. A bunch of rural dumb, fresh out of highschool, redneck wannabees that could talk shop about their trucks, muddin', drinkin', and just making a bunch of racket. Trying to live and act a tough life despite the fact they had never known proper discipline their entire lives.

But this was New York, not Idaho.

That young, hotblooded, more-jizz-than-sense kind of folk might've even been attributed to some of the biker gangs, though those that entered Josie's were usually older, wiser, and in smaller groups. Respectable even, just trying to wind down with a cold one after the day was done.

These clowns obviously hadn't a lick of sense to seek such wisdom, and they struck Marcus as being in their early twenties. And unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) for Marcus, he'd never had the privilege to be that dumb.

'One, two, three, four, five… six,' he summed up.

Marcus gave a confused look to his boss as they walked past him, noisily sitting down at the bar counter, wanting to know what she wanted him to do. He didn't need [Danger Sense] to smell trouble. He looked outside, noticing their bikes were more sleek than the choppers that customers usually rode. More bend over the front than sit back against a seat. He didn't know jack shit about bikes, but they looked expensive.

Expensive, and severely underappreciated by their trust fund babies, given how dinged up they looked; like they were the neighborhood kid's bike roughly tossed on the lawn when they stopped by.

'I don't know if that makes me old, or old-fashioned,' Marcus briefly pondered. Being misplaced in time and Universes does that to a guy.

"Hey you!" one ordered, snapping his fingers in Marcus's direction. "Get us a beer!"

Again, he looked at Josie, who again, rolled her eyes at him. "If you boys want something to drink, you'll have to cough up your own cash yourselves," she stated, unaffected by their presence.

'Josie… you're the devil most of the time,' Marcus thought calmly, 'but right now, you're a right proper angel, and that is a more terrifying thought.'

Whatever jovial celebration they were experiencing ceased as one of them abruptly stood up. His attempt to open his mouth was cut off by Marcus pushing him back down into his seat, keeping a solid grip on his shoulder. "Now, now. We'll all calm down," he stated mostly to the others as they tensed in their seats, prepared to jump from their own seats.

"Oh-ho! Big man are you?" another of them demanded, that sly confident smirk on his face causing a twitch in Mark's eye. God, he'd think it was high school all over again.

"Nope," Marcus answered with the same dispassion before glancing over to Josie, keeping his main focus on this guy. "What's the policy on potential threats of bodily harm? I didn't read that clause of the employee disclaimer."

"But you signed off on it," Josie stated, parts disbelief and annoyance.

"I needed a job," he protested back, before weakly adding, "and it's not like I'd remember after this long anyway."

Sighing, she answered, "As long as he behaves himself, he's fine."

Humming in acknowledgement, Marcus removed his hand. "You heard her," he stated gesturing the guy onward. "Order what you want, and don't cause trouble."

That same guy just smiled, almost like he was amused. "Beers. For me and my friends. And keep them coming. We're feeling… celebratory."

"Any particulars?" Josie asked in her usual unamused tone.

"Whatever's available," he responded back with an unbothered tone.

Josie was impassive as she began pulling up cold bottles of what Marcus took to be the slightly pricier, but piss-poor swill. Methodically with a practiced ease, and almost bored expression, began popping off the tabs before passing them each their own individual bottles. "Enjoy."

Mister smiles took a swig of his beer, still looking as amused as usual while the other five slowly followed suit.

"Wait a second," one of the others exclaimed, beer half poised as he eyed Marcus critically. "Ain't you 'the Sandman'?"

Marcus was briefly caught unprepared. "Huh?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you're 'the Sandman'." The joy of recognition in his eyes rapidly faded as he stood up, beer in hand. "You know, we lost a lot of money to you in that fight with Jameson?"

Marcus looked as confused as he felt, slightly cocking his head. "How is it my fault? You guys placed the bets."

He thought back on the fight fondly enough. Triple J – as he'd come to call a familiar name in John Jameson the Third – had been a tough fight. He was just as – if not more – motivated than Marcus, with an intense focus that had made him unnerving. He was calm and calculated. His quick uptake in adapting his strategies had forced Marcus to think on his feet, which was a challenge in and of itself for him. If regen hadn't been a thing for him, Marcus had no doubt he'd still be sporting the bruises he'd taken from that fight.

Five rounds later, and Marcus had felt it was more luck (or 'LUC') than skill, landing that final blow that had kept Jameson down. It had taken everything in his beating chest not to collapse from relief at the time. It gave him the same feeling of exhilaration he'd gotten from Packer. They brought a challenge to the otherwise mundane.

Given he hadn't seen any alerts or pop-ups about changing Jameson's storyline, he didn't worry about it too much. Come to think of it, he hadn't heard or read anything about him in the MCU. Unless that was something that popped up later? So if things went according to norm, he'd probably still be an astronaut.

'Well, as long as I didn't make enough impact to fudge with his timeline,' he thought nervously. It was just best not to overthink it this soon.

"Jameson is a good guy and helluva fighter. Let me guess, it wasn't that I won the fight? Mommy and daddy probably didn't appreciate you throwing their money away," he simplified. "Did they cut you off?"

He flinched as beer was suddenly splashed in his face, his teeth gritting in frustration before another was poured over his head, its wielder shaking it to make sure those last few drops made themselves known. "Not so tough now that you're out in the real world, huh? Can't just swing those fists willy-nilly whenever you like."

Sighing, he slowly… wrung out his shirt, soft splatters of beer hitting the floor. He already needed to mop after the spillage, so what was a few splashes more? What was a few… splashes… more?

Still, being drenched in the smell was an experience. But he was still more upset at his dirtied floor. And somehow almost grateful for something to do. Ugh! He needed to get his priorities straight!

"I think it's time that you and your friends go celebrate somewhere else," Josie stated, a spine-chilling scowl on her face.

Smiles was still smirking as he quietly downed the last of his beer. "I suppose it is." He tried stepping away, only to nearly bowl into Marcus as he stepped in the way.

"I believe… you haven't paid for you drinks," Marcus stated with an exasperated sigh, beer still dripping from the fringes of his hair. "That's a little rude. Don't you think?"

Somehow, Henry Cavill made this look easy. Then again, he was six-one and Superman. Marcus was barely pushing five-ten and had an unhealthy dependency on coffee. Marcus could only hope he looked even a little bit intimidating, more annoyed than anything.

"Move," Smiles smiled, trying to push past. Only… Marcus wasn't that lenient.

In almost Matrix-like fashion, his hand shot up to grip Smile's shoulder, pushing him back to the front so he could keep an eye on him. It was intuitive. Instinct. Never let your opponent get behind you. George McKinnon would be proud.

Smiles wasn't smiling anymore. "Just because you can throw a few in a ring, don'' mean you can take six of us."

Marcus's eyes narrowed as he felt his Skills sharpen in preparation. "You're policy boss. Vinegar pulls up blood just fine, right?"

"You break it, you buy it," she stated with a stern frown. "And yes, vinegar washes out the blood just fine."

Excellent. Marcus always kept a couple gallons of vinegar in stock. For cleaning purposes of course. Mom hated the smell, but it didn't stop Marcus from using it when needed.

Ding.

Before any fists could start swinging, the door opened, another customer entering.

"What fucking now?" Marcus gritted out, not daring to turn around and expose the back of his head to the current "threat". Again, George would be proud.

"It seems I've walked in on something." Marcus was struck by the familiarity of that self-assured voice, tickling something at the back of his mind.

Smile's tried to walk away again with the interruption, and Marcus wasn't having it, gripping his shoulder a little tighter this time until the kid shifted uncomfortably. "We're not done until you pay for your drinks." His fingers dug in, causing Smiles to wince and grab at his hand to remove it. Suffice to say, an additional 15% to Grapple from [Brawler's Strength] was no small thing.

"I think I can help with that," the stranger stated, otherwise blatantly ignoring the scene, stepping past them as he set a folded bundle of cold hard cash on the counter that Marcus knew was much, much more than these brats owed. The most he could see though was the well-groomed hair and the expensive-looking suit.

Marcus had to bite back a groan at the little perk up and gleam in Josie's eyes. He'd forgotten this was Hell's Kitchen. "Josie–"

"Let 'em go," she stated with a firm, but contemplative look on her face. "They ain't coming back. Ever."

Having to resist the anger he felt, Marcus had to exude an effort to pry his own fingers away from Smile's shoulder. "This ain't over," Smiles stated, brushing his shoulder like he was shaking off some dirt.

"If you know what's good and holy, then yes, it is," Marcus stated firmly, reluctantly stepping to the side. God, he sounded like his mother. It wasn't about the money. It was about respect and paying dues. You worked and you earned. His parents had schooled these things into him. Were they tough? yes. Was it worth it? Absolutely. Especially when he saw other people who hadn't had the same disciplined upbringing.

Then again, these little shits were probably used to getting bailed out. He'd take getting spanked any day than turn out like those kids.

One by one, they walked past, glaring at Marcus with a vengeance he knew would probably come up in the near future. One even had the balls to whisper, "Be seeing you… bitch." Very John Wick.

As soon as the doorbell dinged behind them, Josie pulled a rag from behind the counter and tossed it to Marcus, who caught it without looking, wasted no time wiping the beer away from his face.

He wanted something to do. Whelp! Now he had it.

"So what can I get for ya today?" Josie asked.

"I was wondering if I could borrow Mister Kendrick here for the remainder of the day," the stranger commented.

'That voice.' Marcus's brows furrowed as he rung out strands of his hair. Why was it familiar?

"And what business of his is yours?" Josie asked, some of that warmer, but gruffer, mother bear peaking through. Greedy lady or not, it at least seemed like she had his back. Made it easier to forgive her faults.

The stranger turned back to look at Marcus. "There's a discussion my employer would like to have with Mister Kendrick regarding his upcoming fight."

It was a subtle shift as Marcus took in his face, the hair on his arm prickled and erected in slowly dawning realization.

[Activating 'Gamer's Mind'.]

The man was all business as he held out his hand. "Apologies. I haven't introduced myself. My name is James Wesley."

Marcus hesitated as he looked down at his formerly beer-sopped hand before shrugging and returning the greeting. "Marcus Kendrick. Though, I guess you already knew that." 'Just like I now remember you.'

"Wasn't aware you had any meetings today," Josie commented pointedly at Marcus.

"I didn't know I had any," Marcus stated back, looking at the man firmly. Because he didn't. And he knew very well that this probably wasn't going to go well.

"I'm afraid that's our fault," Wesley stated, though Marcus wasn't sure if there was anything apologetic in it. "A… slight miscalculation on our part."

Josie looked back and forth between them, trying to decipher what was going on, but a pointed, very clearly pleading look from Marcus begged her to play along. He didn't know what was being played at, but he didn't want Josie caught up in it. He didn't even know what "it" was, but "it" couldn't be good.

"Alright, you can go," she waved off. "And don't worry about the mess. I'll take care of it."

The man, Wesley, smiled emptily. "Much appreciated." Before turning to Marcus. "Shall we?"

"One moment," Marcus returned, carefully concealing his reluctance. "Just need to grab my stuff."

Wesley nodded in understanding. "I'll be waiting." He walked back out the door, prompting a silence to fall on the bar.

"Who the Hell is that?" Josie asked before glaring at Marcus. "You didn't get caught up with some unsavory types, did you?"

"I have an idea," Marcus answered vaguely. "And the only unsavory types I get caught up with are you, and people like those gentlemen from earlier, pissed off that they lost some money due to their own reckless decisions."

Josie's eyes both hardened and softened at the same time. "Do you need to make a getaway?"

Marcus honestly considered it. If this led up to where he thought it would, he didn't want to. But it would look more suspicious if he ran before hearing them out. And at that point, Josie would get caught in the immediate crossfire. "No. I'll play along for now. Keep it business as usual." Meanwhile, he was going to take a deep breath and make sure he didn't do – or say – something exceptionally stupid.

She nodded, even as Marcus went to the back to grab his stuff. Walking out front and pulling on his jacket, he was greeted by a rather expensive looking limousine, the driver waiting patiently for him to get in.

'First time for everything.' Trying to hide his hesitancy, he gently slid in, finding himself opposite of Mister Wesley just as the door closed behind him.

"I'm sure you have questions," Wesley stated, eyes glued forward as they began driving.

"Not as many as you might think," Marcus answered. "But I'd appreciate it if you didn't bullshit me. I'm not an idiot. You're not with the circuit."

Wesley spared him a brief glance. "And what makes you think that?"

Marcus just quirked an eyebrow at him, but didn't bother answering. Foreknowledge was a helluva drug. He knew the truth, and he was even more intimidated for it.

[Reminder: Say the word, and I'm right here.]

There was that at least. He might not have much. But he did have Sys. And if worse came to worse, he always had that pistol he'd gotten a while ago and his bayonet knife. He wasn't alone or unarmed; that only made him feel a little better.

He closed his eyes, crossing his ankles while he put his hands firmly on his knees, taking controlled breaths. Almost subconsciously, [Harmonic Meditation] began reverberating a gentle tune in his chest. He wasn't even sure what song it was. Just a few note variations, but they were an anchor to his mind for what he was possibly walking into.

'Just breathe. You're not even sure what it's about yet. Just breathe.'

[You have entered 'Chelsea' Territory of Manhattan.]

Dismissing the prompt, he didn't have to wait much longer as the limo pulled up to a large building.

'Sys, log GPS on Maps,' he ordered.

[You are at the 'Yves Building' in Chelsea.]

'Neat,' he commented as the driver came around to open the door for him. Absently, he flicked his fingers, summoning a $50 and placing the crisp bill in the driver's jacket before he could protest, already walking forward. 'Can you give me Specs on the building?'

[Gonna try jumping out a window, Mister Mission Impossible?]

'You own the internet. Just some basics.'

[Say the magic words.]

Rolling his eyes, he obliged. '[Inspect]'

[Yves Condominium

166 W 18th Street, Manhattan

While construction is done, the interiors and touch-ups won't officially be done until 2008. They're technically not even supposed to be renting out yet, but money talks.

Average Price: approx. $2350 per sq. ft.

Average Cost: approx. $5.8 million per apartment.]

.

'Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,' Marcus internalized as he looked up the crystalline building. Keyword was "average", and it was probably purchase over renting, but still. That was millions talking. At least he hoped so. He couldn't imagine spending millions a month.

Wesley hopped out behind Marcus, noting the boxer absently following the building to the skyline. "Impressive, isn't it?"

"I believe the word is "expensive"," Marcus corrected lightly before nodding. "But yeah. I suppose it would impress some people. The apartments here are no joke."

Wesley withheld quirking an eyebrow at that, but didn't comment further as he walked onward, Marcus following behind him.

By the time they passed through the main lobby and made it to the elevator, Marcus was feeling vastly underdressed in his beer-dry, blank olive green t-shirt, brown leather jacket, jeans, and hiking boots. He felt the definition of "small-town-boy in the big-city", even though he smelled like an alcoholic.

Marcus swallowed thickly as Wesley pushed the 'Penthouse' button, the elevator doors closed, and they began ascending. If the idea of running had been present, it was a little late for it now. Now? Now it was just him, Wesley, and bad elevator music.

Though to be fair, most elevators he'd been in didn't even have music. That's how fancy this place was.

Ding.

The elevator opened up and Marcus followed after his chaperone, mindful to keep a respectful distance as they approached the only door on the penthouse floor.

Wesley knocked gently, waiting a moment before entering with Marcus following behind.

The space was a relatively open apartment, with wide floor-to-ceiling windows that illuminated the place with afternoon light. The furniture was sparce for the moment, as though it was still being moved into. Or its occupant was still mulling over their tastes.

All Marcus noted was a medium-sized table near the windows that was… better suited as an office desk really, if not for the couple of chairs around it and the dining aesthetic.

What really drew his attention was the absolute bull of a man on the other side of the table that seemed almost lost in thought gazing out the window and over the city, hands folded neatly and firmly behind his back. He was dressed impeccably a black full-sleeved dress shirt and slacks, just enough casual, but as though every moment was business; even in his own home. The fact he was bald was just details at that point.

"I brought Mister Kendrick for you," his chaperone announced.

"Thank you, Wesley," was the response, and like that Wesley stepped back, leaving Marcus the lead of their little entourage.

Marcus just stood there, half-hoping that he could just fade to the background. Completely silent and unseen, like a chameleon. But that defeated the purpose of coming: to keep from seeming overly suspicious, and thereby anyone associated with him out of any crosshairs.

Not exactly how he'd hope this new life of his would turn out in the grand scheme of things. But, here he was.

He didn't even need his Skills to know who he was dealing with. Or that he was vastly outmatched.

With an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach, he stepped forward, quiet-like until he too could see out over a portion of the city. In this case, the portion that denoted Hell's Kitchen.

"A lovely sight… isn't it?" he heard from his left.

Marcus tried to find something "lovely" about it, but in a bout of honest puzzlement, answered, "I suppose?"

"You suppose?"

"City-life never really set well with me," he answered, doing his best to tamp down his nervousness. Even with Sys covering him. "Still, it must be quite something at night. No buildings or streets; just thousands of points of light."

A soft hum of thought reached him, but he didn't dare oppose it further.

[You interacted with 'Wilson Fisk' a.k.a. the eventual 'Kingpin'.]

['Wilson Fisk' has been noted in 'Making a Cameo' Trait.]

.

'Really?' he deadpanned to his System.

[I don't make the rules. The Trait applies to notable 'Heroes' and 'Villains'.

You never know which side of the spectrum a 'User' is going to end up on, so both are applicable.

Unless of course, you finesse your way in and get both sides to work together.]

.

He had to hold back a snort at that. 'That'd be like Joker and Batman working together.' His thoughts once more stalled as he considered that. 'Is that a thing? I feel like that's a thing.'

[Don't ask me. I don't read comics.]

.

'And yet, you're my System for this 'Verse.'

[Movies. Not Comics. There's a difference.

And even then, following your sorry ass is a full-time job. I have little to no downtime. Always on call.]

.

'Cheeky,' he sassed back.

"May I offer you anything?" Fisk asked, as though suddenly remembering that Marcus was there and present. Just as well, since Marcus had almost forgotten he was there too. "I realize I may have inconvenienced you."

Marcus did his best to smile, no matter how weak. Despite the amicable nature he was received in, Marcus had to remind himself who he was speaking with; and how quickly things could flip on their head if the wrong things were said. He didn't fancy dying by blunt force trauma with a table edge. But he couldn't afford to be passive little daffodil either, fit only to get randomly trampled on.

"Unfortunately no. Looming business has never settled well on my stomach. If it's all the same, I'd rather get down to it."

Fisk nodded friendly enough before gesturing to the table. "Very well. Please… sit." As Marcus began sitting down, he continued. "I was surprised to find that a man of your martial talents, busing tables. The disparity between the two seems so… vast. From the glory of the ring… to cleaning restrooms."

"I do what I can?" Marcus answered, unsure if he was simply engaging in small talk, or if the future Kingpin was trying to make a point.

"I'd like to make you an offer," Fisk stated, though Marcus got the distinct feeling he wouldn't like it. "You have a fight this weekend, correct?"

"Yeah." It wasn't that hard to remember that he was fighting the one person in this 'Verse so far that actively worked in opposition to him. "Rouise Domingo." The one person in this 'Verse who seemed to hate him just to provide some sense of antagonism.

He didn't like that. He didn't like that one bit. There might have been some source of justification on Rouise's end, but as far as Marcus knew, he couldn't fathom what it was at this rate.

His tone must have said so, because Fisk answered. "You know him?"

Marcus couldn't help the snort that escaped his nose. "Hardly. Refused to fight him once, before I even started the circuit. He's been glaring at me ever since. Wouldn't be so bad if I knew the reason for it."

"A rivalry?" Fisk inquired with some interest, though how authentic it was, was up for debate.

"One-sided," Marcus stated, as though it were more of an annoyance. Because it was.

"In that case, I'm willing to offer you 15 grand to lose that fight," Fisk drew out, his tone as though he were making a deal. Which, he kinda was.

The next moment, Marcus wasn't even surprised.

[!New Quest: Taking the L!]

Wilson Fisk (a.k.a. the future Kingpin), is offering you money in exchange for you taking a lose on 'Sub-Quest: Defeat Target: "Rouise Domingo"'.

Requirements:

- Lose 'Sub-Quest: Defeat Target: "Rouise Domingo"'

Reward:

- $15000 (+$3750)

- Some quests may be given by 'Wilson Fisk' in the future.

- Additional factors may play out depending on the whether the lose was purposeful or not.

Failure: Retain your self-respect. Run the risk of retaliation under Fisk's orders.

.

For the life of him, Marcus couldn't even bring himself to bat an eye. Was it a lot? Yes. Especially to someone who pre-calculated his expenses, shopped cheap, and took deals at the supermarket when they popped up; though he wasn't quite to the point of saving coupons. Even with money burning a hole in his pocket now that he was working in the entertainment industry, he still treated most things like he couldn't afford them. And it didn't hurt that he had Sys to keep him on track and honest.

But even more so… that was an awfully big dragon to go with that mound of gold.

"Interesting," Marcus hummed thoughtfully. Nothing was free. Nothing.

Fisk looked mildly intrigued as he pressed on. "Interesting?"

Marcus kept his mouth shut for a moment, articulating his response even as his mind raced a million miles an hour. "What's in it for you?" he half-blurted out. Before Fisk could answer, Marcus added, "You're the business type, so something about this, nets you profit. And I'm not necessarily talking about money."

"Sometimes, it's as simple as money," Fisk stated.

"Sometimes," Marcus admitted, with shrug and a smile that was less and less believing by the second. "But let's look at this from my end, if I might?" Fisk gestured for him to continue.

"A strange man – one who hasn't even bothered to tell me his name, and has been snooping into my personal life at that – just offered me 15k to fix a fight (which is illegal, by the way) against someone who is openly antagonistic against me," Marcus pointed out, then smiled slightly. "The cost for that 15k is pretty straight-forward: Rouise Domingo becomes an even bigger pain in my ass with his smug gloating, the respect I have for myself plummets, and if it doesn't tell you the kind of person I am, I don't know what will. Not to mention that 15k is a very temporary balm for the guilt I would carry for an indefinite period of time after letting myself, and others, down.

"On the other hand, I'm out some money, but I get the satisfaction of having actually won against said pain in the ass. No loss of self-respect, no guilt. And whatever silent consequence you designate it would seem. Assuming I win of course. Sometimes, it's just. That. Simple."

"So I have to wonder, Mister… whoever you are… what do you think the cost of my integrity is worth? And why is it worth it?" Marcus finally asked, not actually looking for a number, but curious what one of the most terrifying "normal" villains actually thought. "So again, what's in it for you? Because if 15k is what you stand to lose, then you clearly stand to gain something of greater value. Is it about winning a bet? Or about making a point?"

"You've put some surprising thought into this," Fisk commented, frowning a little. "I can't say it's not a little troublesome." Was that a threat? Or was that a compliment? Honestly, with his tone, it could go either way. "But there is another, small matter."

Marcus didn't like that pause. He didn't like that pause at all. "You are correct… I did have some in my employ do their research on you," Fisk stated, without a shred of gloating or regret. Not that Marcus was expecting any. "No birth certificate, no license, no visa, no insurance, no school records. For all that money you seem to be bringing in, you have no bank account, and your employer seems to be paying you under the table, and you pay your rent in straight up cash. Not so much as a single paper trail.

"You're not in witness protection. You'd have laid low, and a full history doctored up. It's as though, until a few months ago, you simply didn't exist." Fisk seemed almost bigger, broader even, as he leaned back in his seat. "I'm curious… what would Immigration say about that?"

'My God….'

[What?! What's wrong?! Well… besides the obvious?]

.

'…I'm an illegal immigrant in my own country!'

[*Deadpan stare*]

.

"Every man has a price," Fisk stated with an almost open-ended finality. Like one wrong move toward either side could tighten the proverbial noose that had just been strung around his neck. Like any choice would still be a compromise of his values and integrity.

Marcus had been had. He knew he'd been had. He'd just questioned his actions bold-faced, to his face, and Wilson Fisk didn't just have the dirt to bury him to any local authority, he had the mixer truck ready to pour the concrete.

How did most Isekai protagonists deal with this again?

'They usually spawn in worlds where ID is a foreign concept, subjected to optional introduction,' he griped. You never appreciate how much a part of the world you are, until you suddenly aren't. Especially in a world that's basically a distorted mirror of what was once so familiar.

For all intents and purposes, Marcus Ezekiel Kendrick didn't exist. Not here. He was an alien to the very 'Verse he was now apart of. Extra-multiversal? Instead of extraterrestrial.

Still, he could save the deep thoughts for later. He needed to focus on the present. And the present (and near future) seemed to be in the hands of Wilson Fisk.

"Think on it," Fisk dismissed, seemingly very aware of the baser thoughts running through Marcus's head. "I'll have your answer soon enough."

Fisk stood up and turned away, clearly done with the conversation. There was a confidence, a security in his movements that irked Marcus. But he couldn't blame him. Under any other circumstance, with any other person, and he might have been right.

[Fortifying 'Gamer's Mind'.]

.

"I have a question, if you don't mind," Marcus stated, slowly standing up himself, clamping down on every iota of stability his Skill was giving him. And every ounce of foreknowledge he could recall. How much of it was grasping at strings and how much of it was his shining intellect of 24 INT, was anyone's guess. And whatever he had that resembled charisma.

[!A 'Divergence Point' is Taking Place!

Your words and actions here can change the very narrative of 'Wilson Fisk's' story. These changes can be near imperceivable, can radically disrupt the original story, or anything in-between. Both Good and Bad, what influence you provide is up to you.]

.

Fisk's eyes narrowed sternly as he turned back, taking the sight of a man who was less than cowed. It was annoying. Like a pesky fly that kept buzzing in his ear. He was intriguing, no doubt; but that intrigue would only take him so far before it would turn to disgust.

"Since you took the time out of your busy schedule to scope me personally, it's only fair I'm as candid as possible," Marcus continued, holding his nerve. "I'll admit, you and I share some similarities."

"Is that so?" Fisk asked gruffly, almost amused by the attempt. While the interaction seemed pointless, he let it go on. If nothing else, it would be of small humor. Kendrick hadn't yet exhausted that intrigue he felt.

"We're both recluses; we interact only when necessary. Or when something catches our interests," Marcus stated with a nervous, but soul-piercing stare. "Time is a precious resource to men like us, and there is nothing more infuriating than when that time is wasted. Especially when the plans we make don't go to plan. Every interaction is measured. Every toll calculated. We surround ourselves only with people who are worth the time spent. Anything trivial is just… annoying as Hell."

"Is there a point to this?" Fisk demanded, and Marcus smiled slightly, knowing he had just proved his point.

"Do you know what makes men like us terrifying when we have a goal?" Marcus asked rhetorically but intensely. "It's not cunning, intelligence, tenacity. Not even sheer will or immovable focus. While powerful things, they aren't the core of who we are. They hold little sway over us.

"No. Because we value our time above all things, what makes us dangerous is quite simple." Marcus paused for half-a-moment as he looked Fisk in the eye, walking the edge of a knife that might just cut him in half, even if he balanced properly.

"And what would that be?" Fisk inquired, his interest slowly rekindling. Marcus Kendrick wasn't just stating half-measured guesses, or attempting to create sympathy with his plea. There was a… weight… behind his words; that presence that reinforced itself when someone held experience in those matters.

"Patience," Marcus stated simply, almost sympathetically. "We will weather whatever adversity, play whatever games with a smile, watch as that precious time ticks us by. Ensuring every step is achieved. Every base is covered. Just to see our goals reached and our visions realized. But more importantly, maintained.

"We will see through years in the making, suffer the passage of that precious time if it means we stand at the finish line. Some might call it opportunistic, or methodical, but it's just how we manage that resource.

"But that doesn't apply to just anything," Marcus stated resolutely. "If we're spending all that time, it blooms a sort of… intensity toward that goal. A passion and hope for the end result." His brows flexed in a thoughtful manner. "Some might even call it an 'obsession'."

His stare turned back toward the man who – just a moment ago – had threatened him. A nasty feeling bubbled inside him, seeing – and even verbalizing – the similarities between them. Like he was somehow dirty, or tainted by that connection. While the shared vastly different goals, and used massively different means to achieve them, that brief similarity both emboldened him.

And revolted him.

The worst part – Marcus noted bitterly – was that he had needed to get Isekai'd to finally get that kick in the ass. To find that drive. And to that, it felt like he had wasted so much of his life. So much time. Just to find something to give him purpose. He had to become lost to his whole Universe, just to awaken something he had never been sure whether or not had been there.

And he could never get it back.

"So my question is this," he stated, bringing it full-circle while ignoring the Pit those thoughts would send him spiraling into. "If someone made you the exact same offer that you just made me… would you take it?"

Wesley blinked from his place near the door as he fully registered Marcus's words. Having been half-poised for any sign of disrespect to his employer, he was fully prepared to have Mister Kendrick meet a little 'accident' after they got what they needed out of his fight that weekend; should such an occasion be needed. As Wilson Fisk's aide and as close to a confident as one could have in their line of business, he was curious to find his employer was actively listening in Kendrick, and even contemplative of his question.

When the answer was a long time in coming, and showed no sign of appearing from Fisk's mouth, Marcus sighed. "Have a good evening, Mister… sir," he easily corrected, having to remind himself that he shouldn't know Fisk's name. He quietly turned to leave.

"No."

When he looked back, Fisk was looking at him with a firm, towering confidence. "To answer your question, no, I wouldn't accept the deal." Almost regretfully, he looked Marcus in the eye. "Men like us… live and die by our passions and dreams. To cast them aside… would be to kill a part of ourselves."

"And once you do, it's very hard to find yourself again," Marcus smiled sadly in understanding. "Much less resurrect a dead dream."

['Divergence Point' has ended.

The consequences of your actions will become more apparent as time goes on.]

Again, ominous.

Wilson Fisk approached once again, this time, an almost sad look in his eyes. "And you know what that means." Statement. Not question. "Men like you are hard to come by, Mister Kendrick. I wouldn't be opposed to bringing someone of your… forthright and reflective nature… into my employ."

"That means a lot," Marcus admitted, almost surprised that it was an authentic feeling. He held out his hand, keeping firm, but respectful eye contact. "But I wouldn't be that man if I accepted." He shrugged gently. "A not-so-small catch-22."

Fisk hummed in agreement, almost eclipsing Marcus's hand with his own as they shook. "The very reason I appreciate your candidness, would cease to be if you accepted." He understood. "And I couldn't convince you otherwise?"

Marcus shook his head, almost too calm. "I also understand that you can't have a guy like me running around."

Fisk nodded, almost regretfully. "Then I wish you well… after your fight this weekend."

"A glorious ending. Is that it?" Marcus humored almost bitterly. "One last hurrah?"

"Consider it a courtesy," Fisk stated with a nod. "You could run. But we both know you won't."

Taking the dismissal, Marcus began to walk toward the door, noting how Wesley was eyeing him.

"If I might be so bold… where are you from?" Fisk asked as they began leaving. An impulse. A mystery that needed solving.

"Idaho, originally. American as the day I was born," Marcus stated, before growing very serious. "But you're right: I don't exist."

He didn't wait to hear a response, continuing on his way, and already clicking for the elevator when he felt Wesley step up next to him.

"I think that was the first time I've seen him light up like that," he stated firmly as they waited. Almost like he was just filling the silence. "You have my thanks. It's rare to see him so engaged, even in everyday business. It's a hard balance to strike."

"It won't stop what you have in store. Will it," Marcus stated right back.

"You're perceptive. Unagreeable. And you refused his offer. Naturally, consequences follow," Wesley confirmed.

"If I'm being honest, I'm half-expecting for you to pull a gun out the moment we enter the car," Marcus commented easily.

Wesley's mouth quirked slightly in amusement. What a casual statement to say. "Having you killed would be a waste. Normally, I wouldn't hesitate to do so. But you not only caught, you maintained my employers attention, and I have an eye for talent. You're a rare one, Mister Kendrick. Having you arrested is more agreeable. Despite your lack of physical citizenship, deportation would only end in wasted potential, but there must be some consequence. Respectful though you were, no one crosses my employer. That you did so to his face was either very courageous. Or very stupid. The fact your alive is testament to his appreciation." He gave an only half-amused smile. "We'll see about keeping you someplace that leaves you… more available. Even limited pull will get us that. Until then, I recommend enjoying the time you have left."

As they hit the ground floor, Marcus did a quick calculation.

'Sys, it might be pre-mature as usual, but we're going to 'Plan B'. I need a look at the statistical data we mentioned,' he asked. 'Don't know about you, but sitting in jail and waiting to get shipped off or until time runs out doesn't sound like a great plan.' He had to keep his face passive as the driver opened the door, and Wesley got in.

A blue pop-up screen took up a part of his vision. Statistical data that - while helpful in organizing his thoughts - was mostly speculation, and no way to make it concrete. A combination of response timing, how much of a threat he would become versus how much help he could provide, approximate time it might take to fight Rouise Domingo, and several side-notes of what he remembered of the MCU from his old world.

Also noted were a worryingly short list of persons that he knew he could trust, as well as the terrifyingly short list of the few he knew he couldn't; everyone else was in the grey, and therefore presumed untrustworthy. And that was an uncalculatably large list, especially when it could cover any stranger he met. All as a consequence of this massive gamble; and it had nothing to do with boxing.

[You made a plan and drew up the blueprints for it. I'll offer any data I can, and act as a sounding board.

Regardless of the outcome, I'm here until you clock out.]

Marcus mentally nodded. 'I'll take it.'

He looked over several overlapping sets, trying to keep a straight face with present company in mind as he searched for an opportune point of time. Once he pushed the first domino, he had very limited control over which direction it fell. So he had to double-check and cross his fingers that it was the right one in the right way. Hopefully without choking up.

'Sys, could you rearrange the data into a time-graph?' he asked.

It altered, lining up more like an hourly schedule as varies data points were stretched out over it to account for the varying time inputs as individually colored lines representing each point.

'Remove any that interfere with the fight, or could likely prevent it.' Several sets of lines disappeared. Eyes narrowed in focus, he continued to look for ways to optimize his choices. 'Lower the layer on any that could land me in police custody for any significant period of time.' While he didn't think Fisk would want him harmed, as long as he was entrapped, it left him open and vulnerable to any number of "accidents". Best not give the Kingpin anything more to hold over his head. He only had them minimized though, incase worst came to worst. 'Best way to reduce suspicion is reducing risk to exposure via listening ears in enclosed spaces. Remove any around the time I'll be in the boxing stadium.' That left just a few opportune moments that gave him the best chance and least amount of risk.

[One point appears to be ideal. Directly after your match.]

He nodded mentally, looking over the allotted time he'd have to leave the building and make the call before he assumed he'd be apprehended. He doubted it would directly be about his lack of identification. According to Matt and Foggy, local law enforcement agencies weren't allowed to make civil immigration arrests, and at best, could only ticket him for a lack of identification. Immigration could become a factor though, once he was apprehended. He'd have to initially be framed for something, or taken in as a "suspect". According to New York law, he had about 24 hours between arrest and arraignment before he could get locked away wherever Fisk designated, and he could only cross his fingers. Either way, Marcus suspected some officers, and maybe a judge or two, would probably be on Fisk's payroll to make it all happen.

'Thank God I have two lawyers-in-training for friends.'

He held back a sigh, still keeping his presence of mind in the limo. He had hoped to hold off on 'Plan B' for a little while longer, and a little more naturally. It was always part of the plan, it was just a matter of when he enacted it. It would appear "sooner or later" was happening sooner than he'd like, but it put a necessary fire under his ass to get moving. It irritated him that he had to deviate and adapt so suddenly, but he should be able to handle the process quickly and efficiently. Hopefully. It was a necessity, because as it stood, he had to remind himself that trying to go toe-to-toe with Wilson Fisk was… unfeasible at his current level and Lvl, much less going against his still budding enterprise and all the ring-leaders that either were - or would become - apart of it.

He'd just spelled it out moments ago; theirs developed a kind of... obsession... when they became invested. And while Marcus didn't think he had developed one of his own, he could be sure that Fisk's was years in the making.

Because he wasn't wrong. What made Wilson Fisk terrifying was his patience. It might be today, it might be tomorrow, it might be half a decade down the line, but eventually, he'd make his move.

After he saved his work and minimized the 'Tabs', the remainder of the ride was silent, which wasn't very long in the first place, ending with them pulling up to a familiar bar.

"This is your stop," Wesley ordered.

Without another word, Marcus exited the car, gently closing it behind him before it took off once more. As he opened the bar's front door, he was glad to see that there were at least a few customers about to keep things busy. Josie was still standing behind the counter, looking up briefly when the bell rang. Unlike usual though, her gaze lingered worriedly, brushing over him to make sure he was intact.

As he approached the bar counter, he sat in a stool, letting himself feel the relief of being out of that whole situation. It was like letting a spring unwind after almost snapping it. He felt his spine almost collapse on itself, and the appeal of splaying out on the counter was tempting.

But he'd cleaned it enough times to know he preferred his cheek far away from the surface.

"I was gonna ask how it went, but you kinda just answered," Josie commented worriedly. Some cross between reflex and understanding, she quietly poured him a finger of whiskey before passing him the glass. "Anymore, and you'll hafta pay for it."

Snorting, Marcus accepted the drink, almost swallowing it in one go. His face scrunched at the burning in his sinuses and throat, but it provided a much needed temporary distraction. He went quiet though as he finished it, hands encompassing the glass, a thumb rubbing the rim as he stared thoughtfully through the wall.

"Do I wanna know?" she asked.

Marcus paused a moment from his musings, internally debating how much he should tell her. Or if he should at all.

"Someone wants a guaranteed bet, and I told them no," he stated carefully, noting how quickly she stilled at that. "I'll have to play my next card carefully, but I'll still be alive, I think." He looked at her sadly. Almost regretfully. "It wasn't how I wanted to go, but… it looks like I'll be moving onward after this."

She searched his face for something. What that something was, he wasn't sure. But she seemed to have found it right quick, because she poured them both another drink. Without bringing up the cost. "Gonna be hard to find someone else just as desperate as you, to keep this place clean, Kendrick. I suppose it was good while it lasted."

"Thanks?" he stated semi-confidently. "I think?"

"Maybe next time, you'll keep your nose clean," she smirked as though she were telling a joke, raising her glass.

"Unlikely." It was a nice thought though.

With a sharp clink of their drinks, they both downed them.

Now, he only hoped he could move things along; set the right conditions in the right timing to make something ultimately better. Trying to keep the whole timeline manageable was a feat beyond him; something too vast, too large, and too weighty for him to keep under any semblance of control. It was an entire Universe afterall.

What was the saying? "The beat of a butterfly's wing"? Or something like that. Each choice and interaction a spider web of cascading potential differences and changes. A fractal of individual choices based on probabilities and impact that would affect the next action. The choice of one person could affect ten more, then a hundred, then a thousand, and so on.

Or it could affect no one.

That was how dynamic and vast the power of choice was, and even trying to wrap his own understanding around it made Marcus's head hurt. Nevermind how "fixed" points worked. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but without the capability to process all that on a quantum-meta-physical level, it was just guesswork and "What-Ifs".

He'd just have to roll with what came. Hope for the best; prepare for the worst.

But first, one more for the show. He'd gotten the first steps laid out, and now it was up to him to follow through with it.

So how was he gonna tell his friends about this?

---

Name: Marcus Ezekiel Kendrick

Race: Human (standard)

Occupation: Server, Rookie Boxer

Level: 12 (6636/7800)

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

HP: 860

– HP regen: 3.6% (30.96 HP/hour)

MP: 840

– MP regen: 7.6% (65.52 MP/minute) (1.09 MP/second)

– Magic/Mental resist: 5.8%

SP: 900

– SP regen: 9.6% (86.4 SP/minute) (1.44 SP/second)

STR: 25 (+5) = 30

VIT: 21 (+5) = 26

DEX: 33 (+5) = 38

INT: 24 (+0) = 24

WIS: 29 (+0) = 29

LUC: 18 (+0) = 18

SKL: 86 | EVO: 10

Currency: $41696.36

– Rate/hour: $13.50 (+25%) = $16.875

– Rate/fight: $2000 (+25%) = $2500

Hunger: 82/260

– Standing Drain: 4/hour (96/day)

Thirst: 107/260

– Standing Drain: 6/hour (144/day)

.

.

!New Trait!:

Brawler's Strength (Uncommon)

.

Passive Skills:

[Gamer's Mind lvl Max]

[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 Processing lvl 13]

[Cartography lvl 21]

[Empathic Reception lvl 10 = 14]

[Inconspicuous lvl 10 = 11]

[Danger Sense lvl 3 = 7]

[Critical Hit lvl 3 = 4]

[Unarmed Mastery lvl 7 = 9]

[Pugilism Style lvl 10 = 14]

[Knife Wielding lvl 3]

[Blade Guard lvl 6 = 8]

[Fire Retardant lvl 4 = 5]

[Pain Mitigation lvl 3 = 7]

[Impact Diffusion lvl 6]

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Active Skills:

[Blade Sharpening lvl 12]

[The Zone lvl 2 = 4]

[Adrenaline Rush lvl 1 = 3]

[Power Strike lvl 6 = 9]

[Charge Attack lvl 3 = 5]

[Block Guard lvl 4]

[Counter Strike lvl 2]

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Passive & Active Skills:

[Pushing Limits lvl Max]

[Climbing lvl 4 = 6]

[Sprint lvl 15 = 17]

[Inspect lvl 16 = 20]

[Observe lvl 17 = 21]

[Harmonic Meditation lvl 4 = 8]

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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 helpful.

Until next time.