September 17, 2007 — Evening, New York
The evening rush hour in New York had a way of crushing patience into nothing.
I tightened my grip around the thick stack of cash in my hand as I stepped out of the Daily Bugle building, forcing my way through the dense crowd flowing toward the subway station.
My expression remained cold, almost emotionless, as I blended into the sea of exhausted commuters.
It wasn’t that anything had gone wrong today.
On the contrary—
Everything had gone perfectly.
The chaotic system inside the Daily Bugle, which had been rotting for nearly five years, was nothing more than a tangled mess of outdated code.
Several experienced programmers had tried to fix it and failed, but for me?
It took two hours.
Sitting casually in their breakroom with that ancient laptop, I cleaned up their entire system, reorganized their data flow, and even patched more than a dozen hidden vulnerabilities that could have easily been exploited by hackers.
By the time I finished, the editor-in-chief was practically glowing with excitement.
He handed me the agreed payment in cash without hesitation and even tried to recruit me on the spot as full-time technical support.
Of course, I refused.
I made up an excuse about still being a student and slipped away before the conversation could go any further.
It wasn’t about the money.
It was about where I was standing.
The Daily Bugle.
A place that, in the near future, would become infamous as the loudest voice against Spider-Man.
And I had no intention of leaving even the slightest trace of myself here.
Because if my name ever got connected to that place—
Even indirectly—
It would only bring trouble later.
What actually ruined my mood today was something far more… immediate.
Lunch.
Or rather, the disaster that passed for it.
Because I had been busy working, I didn’t have time to find proper food.
So I grabbed a turkey sandwich from the convenience store downstairs.
Worst mistake of the day.
The bread was dry and stiff like cardboard.
The lettuce tasted like it had been sitting there for days.
The turkey slices were rubbery and lifeless.
And that overly sweet mayonnaise?
It completely destroyed whatever appetite I had left.
I took two bites.
Then threw it away.
Even now, the strange sour aftertaste lingered in my mouth, making my stomach feel hollow and uncomfortable.
And in my mind—
Only one thought remained.
I want real food.
Hot, freshly cooked, properly seasoned food.
Chinese food.
In just four days, I had already grown tired of what passed as daily meals here.
Sandwiches, burgers, salads—it was the same cycle over and over again.
It wasn’t food.
It was survival.
Thankfully, making money wasn’t a problem.
Not anymore.
For someone like me—someone with complete control over electronic systems—fixing software issues for small businesses was easier than breathing.
I charged only half the market price.
But I worked ten times faster.
Word spread quickly.
Clients came to me every day.
And I accepted only one type of payment—
Cash.
Always cash.
Because in this world, attracting attention from financial authorities was just as dangerous as attracting attention from shadow organizations.
The IRS could track numbers.
But organizations like S.H.I.E.L.D.
or HYDRA?
They could track people.
And I had no intention of appearing on either radar.
To keep a steady flow of clients, I even developed a small “strategy.”
Occasionally, I would introduce minor, harmless bugs into systems I had already repaired.
Nothing serious.
Just small annoyances—lag spikes, temporary file issues, printers refusing to connect.
Things that were frustrating, but not damaging.
When those companies couldn’t fix the problems themselves…
They would come back to me.
Again and again.
A perfectly controlled loop.
A sustainable source of income.
By the end of today, I had earned nearly two hundred dollars.
Enough for a proper meal.
The only real problem?
This body.
Long white hair that reached my waist.
Subtle blue highlights that couldn’t be hidden.
Clear, striking blue eyes.
And a face that looked far too young and delicate for my actual age.
No matter where I went—
People stared.
At the Daily Bugle, the male programmers couldn’t take their eyes off me.
One of them even tried to start a conversation, asking if I was a high school intern.
I kept my face cold and my answers minimal.
Only speaking when necessary.
Only discussing work.
Eventually, they backed off.
But it made one thing very clear—
I stood out too much.
So I pulled up my hood, lowered my head, and entered the subway station.
After boarding, I positioned myself in the farthest corner, keeping my gaze down.
At the same time, my mind instinctively connected to the surrounding surveillance network.
And erased every trace of myself.
Every camera.
Every angle.
Every frame that captured me—
Gone.
This process had become automatic.
I didn’t even need to think about it anymore.
Like a background program running continuously.
The subway ride lasted nearly forty minutes.
When the train finally stopped, I stepped out into a completely different world.
Chinatown.
The moment I exited the station, a wave of familiarity washed over me.
Chinese characters on signboards.
Street vendors calling out in accented Mandarin and Cantonese.
The rich aroma of soy sauce, chili oil, and stir-fried dishes filling the air.
For the first time all day—
I relaxed.
I walked down a narrow alley and entered a small Cantonese restaurant.
It wasn’t large—just a few wooden tables, slightly worn with age.
An old television hung on the wall, playing evening news in Chinese.
The owner, a middle-aged woman, greeted me warmly.
“Back again, little girl?
The usual?”
I nodded immediately.
“Yeah.
One fish-flavored shredded pork with rice.
And an iced cola.”
A perfect order.
I chose a seat in the corner, with my back against the wall.
A position where I could see everything.
And no one could approach from behind.
Within minutes, the sound of a wok igniting filled the kitchen.
The smell—
Rich, smoky, alive.
When the food arrived, I didn’t hesitate.
I picked up my chopsticks and took a bite.
And instantly—
Everything changed.
The perfect balance of sweet, sour, salty, and savory flavors exploded across my taste buds.
Warm rice.
Freshly stir-fried meat.
Real food.
I almost cried.
For four days, I had been eating like a machine.
Now—
I finally felt human again.
I ate quickly, thoroughly, leaving nothing behind.
By the time I finished, even the sauce had been mixed into the rice and cleaned completely.
I took a long drink of cola, letting the cold carbonation wash everything down.
Satisfied.
Relaxed.
At peace.
For a brief moment, I leaned back in my chair and stared at the old television.
And strangely—
It reminded me of my old life.
Late nights in my dorm.
Gaming.
Ordering food.
Drinking cola.
A simple, ordinary existence.
But that illusion didn’t last long.
The TV broadcast suddenly switched.
The screen changed.
And reality returned.
On the screen—
A familiar face appeared.
Tony Stark.
Standing in the desert.
Surrounded by military personnel.
Behind him—
A massive missile system.
The Jericho.
He smiled confidently at the camera, raising a glass as if the entire world was his stage.
Moments later—
The missile launched.
A blinding explosion filled the screen.
The news anchor’s voice followed:
“Stark Industries successfully conducted a live weapons test in Afghanistan today—”
My hand froze.
The cola can paused mid-air.
I knew this moment.
This wasn’t just news.
This was the beginning.
In less than half a year—
Tony Stark would be captured.
Taken into a cave.
And there—
He would build the first Iron Man armor.
The starting point of everything.
Heroes.
Villains.
Invasions.
Extinction-level events.
And I was here.
In New York.
At the center of it all.
My eyes instinctively scanned the entire restaurant.
Then—
They stopped.
Two men in black suits had just entered.
My heartbeat spiked.
S.H.I.E.L.D.?
HYDRA?
But the next moment, they spoke in fluent Chinese, greeting the owner casually.
Tourists.
Nothing more.
I exhaled slowly.
Leaning back in my chair, I let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh.
I was getting paranoid.
But in this world—
Paranoia wasn’t a flaw.
It was survival.
Just then—
The TV flickered.
Static filled the screen.
Noise buzzed loudly.
I frowned slightly.
And without thinking—
I thought:
Stop lagging.
The effect was immediate.
The screen stabilized instantly.
Clear.
Perfect.
Silent.
I didn’t pay it much attention.
For me, fixing a signal like that was trivial.
Just another small function of my ability.
What I didn’t realize—
Was that I hadn’t actually done anything.
No command.
No connection.
No deliberate control.
Just a thought.
And reality adjusted itself accordingly.
After paying, I stepped out into the night.
Chinatown was alive with warm light.
Red lanterns glowed.
Shops buzzed with activity.
Voices echoed through the streets.
For the first time that day—
I felt calm.
Money in my pocket.
Food in my stomach.
No mistakes.
No traces.
A perfect day.
I looked up at the sky.
No stars.
Only the glow of the city.
In the distance—
Manhattan shined brightly.
And among those lights—
A familiar tower stood tall.
Stark Tower.
But it didn’t matter.
Not yet.
I still had time.
Half a year.
Enough to prepare.
Enough to leave.
As long as I stayed hidden—
As long as I didn’t interfere—
No one would find me.
I pulled my hood up.
Blended into the crowd.
And walked toward the subway station.
Behind me—
Every surveillance camera on that street flickered.
And every trace of my existence was erased.
Completely.
Silently.
As if—
I had never been there at all