"Alohomora!"
With a precise flick of his wand, the locked door of the store yielded instantly to the mysterious energies of the Unlocking Charm. The mechanism clicked softly, and the door swung open a fraction of an inch.
Jerry couldn't help but appreciate the irony, in an ordinary world, this single spell would be enough to establish him as the preeminent thief, living a life of effortless luxury.
Unfortunately, this was the Marvel universe. For all its utility, the Unlocking Charm wouldn't save him from the likes of Thanos and his Reality Stone.
Slipping silently into the darkened store, Jerry moved purposefully through the shadowy aisles. After a brief search, he located what he sought, a collection of magical costumes along the back wall. Minutes later, he stood before the cash register, transformed.
A wide-brimmed black wizard's hat cast deep shadows across his face. Below it, a black mask concealed all but his eyes, which glinted with intelligence in the dim light. The finishing touch was a flowing wizard's robe, midnight black and loose enough to hide his slight frame, lending him an air of mysterious gravitas that belied his eleven years.
He withdrew two crisp hundred-dollar bills from his pocket, placed them deliberately on the counter, and departed without a backwards glance.
This clandestine method of payment wasn't born of dishonesty but caution. A traceable purchase record might someday connect the costume to him through transaction data. Though a wizard, Jerry had not been raised in the insular magical community with its dismissive attitude toward Muggle technology. He fully respected, and feared, the technological capabilities of this world.
Particularly in the Marvel universe, where certain technologies transcended even the most advanced contemporary systems, such precautions weren't paranoia but prudence.
His Hogwarts uniform would have made an ideal disguise, but he'd left it behind during the kidnapping, fearing the robbers might discover something unusual. He'd brought only his wand, the one tool he couldn't afford to leave.
After securing the shop door behind him, Jerry adjusted his new attire and melted into the darkness. Wrapped in the wizard's robe, he moved purposefully toward the neighbourhoods known for their higher crime rates.
His father in this world, Sheriff Haas Witt, commanded the Queens Police Department, which was responsible for maintaining order throughout the borough. As the sheriff's son, Jerry absorbed considerable knowledge about local crime patterns simply through proximity and careful listening.
Queens generally enjoyed relatively good public safety, with major incidents like today's bank robbery being rare exceptions. Jerry recalled overhearing his father discussing policing challenges across New York City with colleagues.
According to those conversations, the highest crime concentration centered on a Manhattan slum called Hell's Kitchen. Despite comprising only eight streets, this notorious district generated more criminal activity daily than the rest of New York City combined.
For now, Jerry had no intention of venturing to Hell's Kitchen in search of Little Red Stars.
The practical obstacles were significant; Manhattan lay at an inconvenient distance, especially without reliable transportation for his midnight excursions. More importantly, his magical education remained in its early stages. The spells he had mastered were primarily supportive rather than offensive. While his superhuman state offered enhanced capabilities, its side effects and limitations made it a resource to be used judiciously.
Risking himself in Hell's Kitchen's treacherous environment would be foolhardy at his current level. Better to build his skills methodically before tackling such dangerous territory.
"Well, this is a promising start."
Jerry had barely travelled two blocks from Lina's Magic Cabin when he noticed unusual activity in a 24-hour convenience store. Through the brightly lit windows, a scene of criminal intent unfolded.
The establishment barely qualified as a supermarket; "corner store" would be more accurate. Inside, a young Black man dressed in oversized hip-hop attire brandished a pistol at the elderly Chinese proprietress, who appeared to be in her sixties.
"Come on, you yellow-skinned ghost!" the young man snarled, his voice carrying through the thin glass.
The elderly woman's face reflected fury, but she complied with the gunman's demands, emptying the cash register's contents into a small bag, which she then placed on the counter with trembling hands.
The robber's brazen approach, not even bothering with a mask, suggested this wasn't his first crime. He clearly operated with the calculated awareness that robbery victims who weren't white often hesitated to report crimes, fearing complications with authorities or reprisals. Additionally, the relatively small amounts he stole each time meant that even if reported, such crimes received minimal police attention.
A certain type of predator functioned this way, too intimidated to challenge those with power, they instead victimised the equally vulnerable, justifying their actions through twisted logic.
As the young man scooped up the bag containing thousands of dollars in small bills and prepared to exit, a diminutive figure appeared in the doorway, blocking his escape.
"Move aside, you little freak, or I'll kick your ass inside out!" the robber threatened, confronted by what appeared to be a child in an elaborate costume.
To his surprise, the black-robed figure showed no fear. Instead, a calm, measured voice replied from behind the mask:
"Please put down the bag in your hand."
"You must have a death wish!" the robber snarled.
While he might hesitate to commit murder, teaching this interfering kid a painful lesson seemed entirely justified.
Tucking the money bag securely under his arm, he thrust his free hand forward, intending to shove the small figure aside before following up with a few well-placed kicks—a practical education in minding one's own business.
"Don't hurt the child!" the shopkeeper cried out in alarm.
A slight smile formed beneath Jerry's mask. As the robber's hand shot toward him, he made no attempt to dodge. Instead, born of magical enhancement, he captured the attacker's middle finger between his own and twisted sharply.
A howl of pain tore from the young man's throat. Instinctively, he raised the pistol clutched in his right hand, preparing to fire at this unexpectedly dangerous child
"Mollesco!" Jerry intoned swiftly, his wand already in motion. The Softening Charm struck its target instantly.
"What the hell?" The robber stared in disbelief at what had been a deadly weapon moments before, now transformed into something resembling soft clay in his grip.
Without activating his superhuman state, which is unnecessary for such a minor confrontation, Jerry exploited his opponent's confusion. "This is going to hurt," he noted clinically, before driving his knee upward.
The young man had no time to process the transformation of his weapon before overwhelming pain sent him collapsing to his knees, both hands instinctively clutching his groin.
Freeing the bag from the incapacitated robber's grip, Jerry delivered a precise knife-hand strike to the side of the man's neck, rendering him unconscious.
The superhuman state consumed precious Little Red Stars and left unpleasant aftereffects. For routine threats like this, Jerry preferred to rely on skill and magical assistance rather than raw power.
"Hey there!" the elderly woman exclaimed in Mandarin, astonishment evident in her voice as she watched this child dispatch her attacker with practised ease.
"Grandma, this is your money," Jerry replied fluently, tossing the money bag onto the counter. He then methodically searched the unconscious robber's pockets, extracting several crumpled bills.
"These are my reward," he continued in Mandarin. "Grandmother, you should call the police now to take this criminal away."
"Yes... yes, of course. Thank you, child!" the woman responded, her initial shock giving way to profound gratitude.
As Jerry turned to leave, the shopkeeper was struck by something; the strange boy in wizard's robes had addressed her in perfect, accent-free Mandarin Chinese.
Could this mysterious young defender possibly be Chinese like herself? The question lingered in her mind as she reached for the telephone.