Chapter 10: The Upgrade Countdown (and a Familiar Face)
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: FINANCIAL THRESHOLD APPROACHING. UNIQUE DEATH COUNT CRITICAL FOR UPGRADE INITIATION. RECOMMEND: FINAL PUSH.]
"Oh, I'm pushing, System. I'm pushing so hard I think I might be constipated with anticipation," I grumbled, sifting through another pile of less-than-glamorous alien debris in a forgotten corner of Queens. The invasion clean-up was winding down, and so were the opportunities for unique alien deaths. I was at 13 unique deaths. I needed seven more. And fast.
My black market dealings were going exceptionally well. Silas, despite the temporary chipmunk voice, had become a regular client. My "Basic Scavenging Instinct" was practically a sixth sense for lucrative alien junk, and my "Basic Illusion Casting" and "Tactical Awareness" made me an incredibly effective, if unconventional, scavenger. The money was flowing in. I was rapidly approaching that $50 million mark.
But the deaths. That was the sticking point. The high-value Avengers were exhausted. The unique Chitauri were rare. I needed to find new, unsuspecting victims. And by "victims," I meant "people who would accidentally or intentionally kill me in a way that granted me a new, unique skill."
"Okay, Adam, time to get creative. Who else is out there? Criminals, obviously. Gangs. Maybe even some overzealous security guards. The less glamorous, but equally lethal, side of New York. This is going to be my 'murder by a thousand papercuts' phase, but with less paper and more bullets."*
I decided to target the various criminal elements that were now, in the aftermath of the invasion, trying to reclaim their territory. They were desperate, dangerous, and often heavily armed. Perfect.
My first target was a small-time gang trying to loot an electronics store. My "Tactical Awareness" easily picked up their movements. I approached, playing the role of a terrified, clumsy civilian. As one of them, a burly guy with a baseball bat, swung wildly at me, I deliberately stumbled, letting the bat connect with enough force to knock me out. Brief, efficient.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: DEATH DETECTED. KILLER: UNIDENTIFIED GANG MEMBER (IDENTIFICATION: 'BRUISER' FRANK). SKILL ACQUIRED: BASIC INTIMIDATION (MILD EFFECT).]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: IMMORTAL SYSTEM ACTIVATED. YOU HAVE 1 LIFE REMAINING AGAINST 'BRUISER' FRANK.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: 14 UNIQUE DEATHS RECORDED. CURRENT PROGRESS TO UPGRADE 1: 14/20.]
I woke up with a groan, a strange feeling of presence about me. Basic Intimidation (Mild Effect)? So now I could probably make a stray dog whimper. Progress, I guess. Though I was hoping for something a little more... financially useful. Like "Advanced Accounting" or "Ability to Spot Counterfeit Currency from a Mile Away."
I quickly got back to work. I continued my deliberate provocations. I got shot by a disgruntled drug dealer, gaining Basic Reflexes (Minor Improvement) (Death 15). I got run over by a fleeing getaway car, gaining Basic Driving Proficiency (Death 16). I even managed to get shoved off a rooftop by an angry mugger, gaining Basic Parkour (Death 17). It was a painful, relentless process, but I was pushing through.
My money pile was also growing exponentially. The market for Chitauri tech was booming, and I was cornering it. I could see the $50 million mark looming, a beacon of future power and wealth.
"Almost there, Adam. Just a few more deaths. A few more dramatic reenactments of my own demise. And then, the system upgrade. And then, the world. And then, Yelena."*
I needed three more unique deaths. And the city was getting safer. The opportunities were drying up. I had to find something or someone truly unique.
My "Tactical Awareness" suddenly pinged on something unusual. Not a criminal. Not a civilian. A professional. A shadowy figure, moving with a fluid grace that spoke of intense training. They were investigating one of my old Chitauri salvage sites, a place I thought I'd cleared out.
"Intriguing. Who's this? SHIELD? Another black market competitor? Or something else entirely?"*
I decided to observe first. The figure was clad in dark, practical clothing. They moved with a predatory stillness, their eyes scanning the wreckage with a sharp, intelligent gaze. They were clearly looking for something specific. Something I might have missed.
I followed discreetly, using my "Wall-Crawling" to stay out of sight, clinging to shadows and crumbling walls. My "Basic Illusion Casting" kept me masked from their keen senses. This person was good. Very good.
They found something. A small, almost invisible data chip, embedded deep within a piece of Chitauri armor I had overlooked. They pocketed it with a practiced motion. Their movements were economical, deadly. This was no ordinary looter.
I knew who it was. I had a strong, unsettling feeling. My future knowledge was screaming at me, confirming my suspicion. This was a Black Widow. But not Natasha. This was... newer. Younger. More intense.
"No. Freaking. Way. It's too early, isn't it? Is this... is this her? The one, the only, Yelena Belova? My future wife who tries to kill me on a regular basis? Oh, this is perfect. Or perfectly terrible. Probably both."*
A mischievous grin spread across my face. This wasn't just a unique death. This was a pre-emptive death. And a chance to make a memorable first impression. This was too good to pass up. My first interaction with my future love interest. And it would involve me dying. Again.
I chose my moment carefully. As she turned to leave the salvage site, her back briefly exposed, I leaped from my hiding spot, making myself as obvious and annoying as possible. I didn't attack. I just... bounced. Like a particularly hyperactive, suicidal spring.
"Hey there, gorgeous!" I yelled, waving frantically. "Looking for some alien souvenirs? I know a guy! Best prices in town! And I come with a free, inconveniently immortal sales pitch!"
Yelena Belova spun, her movements fluid and deadly. Her eyes, sharp and intelligent, widened for a fraction of a second as she registered my sudden, inexplicable appearance. She didn't hesitate. Her hand darted to her belt, and a small, razor-sharp throwing knife was in her grasp in an instant.
She threw it. With lethal precision. My "Advanced Tactical Awareness" screamed at me to dodge, to move. But I didn't. This was the one. The prime target.
The knife buried itself deep in my chest. Pain, sharp and intense, flared through me. My vision blurred. Darkness began to creep in. But through it all, a triumphant grin remained on my face.
"Gotcha, Yelena. This is just the beginning. You're going to love me. Eventually. Probably after you try to kill me a few dozen more times."*
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: DEATH DETECTED. KILLER: YELENA BELOVA (IDENTIFICATION: BLACK WIDOW OPERATIVE). SKILL ACQUIRED: BASIC ESPIONAGE MASTERY (LIMITED).]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: IMMORTAL SYSTEM ACTIVATED. YOU HAVE 1 LIFE REMAINING AGAINST YELENA BELOVA.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: 18 UNIQUE DEATHS RECORDED. CURRENT PROGRESS TO UPGRADE 1: 18/20.]
I gasped back to life, body convulsing, the phantom sensation of a knife still in my chest. Basic Espionage Mastery (Limited)? Oh, that was good. Now I could probably blend into a crowd slightly better. And maybe pick a lock or two. Or, more likely, spectacularly fail at picking a lock, but at least do it with style.
Yelena Belova was staring at my revived form, her face a mask of shock and disbelief. Her throwing knife, still lodged in my phantom chest, seemed to shimmer out of existence. Her eyes darted from my perfectly healthy self to the spot where the knife had impacted. She was utterly baffled.
"What... what are you?" she asked, her voice low, dangerous, and laced with genuine confusion.
I pushed myself up, brushing off imaginary dust. "Oh, me? Just your friendly neighborhood immortal weirdo, ma'am," I said, grinning. "And let me tell you, that was a lovely throw. Really. Excellent form. Though, next time, maybe aim for a less vital organ? Just a suggestion. I'm trying to cut down on the number of times I have to explain why I'm not actually dead."
She just stared, her eyes narrowing. The confusion was rapidly giving way to suspicion. And something else. A flicker of... intrigue? Probably not. Probably just the look of a highly trained assassin trying to figure out if she'd just hallucinated or if I was some kind of elaborate, self-resurrecting target.
"Anyway," I continued, undeterred, "I think we're going to be seeing a lot more of each other, Yelena. You have no idea."
I winked. Then, before she could process what I'd said, or recover from her shock, I activated my "Basic Illusion Casting" to create a brief, blinding flash of light, followed by an immediate activation of my "Wall-Crawling" to rapidly ascend the nearest building, disappearing into the shadows.
"Alright, Adam. Eighteen down. Two more. And I just met my future wife. This is going to be a wild ride. And probably involve a lot more knives. Good thing I'm getting used to it."*
My money counter in the system flashed. $48,230,000. Almost there. Just a little more scavenging, a few more quick sales. And two more deaths. Time to finish this arc with a bang. Or a whimper. Whichever gives me a skill.