Queens, New York — Evening
The streets of Queens were alive with their usual evening rhythm. Cars honked in frustration, vendors shouted last-minute deals, and the sidewalks pulsed with people in a hurry to get somewhere. It was a familiar chaos — predictable, noisy, and comfortably indifferent.
Aaron Parker moved through it like a ghost.
His steps were casual, his expression indifferent. To anyone watching, he was just another high schooler walking home after a long day. No urgency. No purpose. But beneath the surface, Aaron's mind was a storm of quiet calculations.
Something was wrong.
He couldn't explain how he knew. It wasn't sight. It wasn't sound. It was… a presence. A subtle distortion in the air, like standing in a room with a hidden speaker playing a frequency just beyond human hearing. His body registered it before his mind did — a low hum against his skin, a prickle at the nape of his neck.
He was being watched.
Aaron didn't flinch. Didn't change pace. His hands remained in his pockets as his brain processed the variables.
Drone? Satellite feed? Ground surveillance?
He analyzed reflections in shop windows as he passed. Among the chaotic blur of neon signs and pedestrians, his eyes caught the faintest flicker—a shimmer of movement overhead. Too small for a helicopter, too smooth for a bird. A shadow zipping between the rooftops, silent and precise.
His breathing remained even.
Non-commercial drone. Custom built. High maneuverability.
Line-of-sight tracking… no direct engagement. Observation phase.
They were testing him.
Aaron's mind shifted gears. He altered his walking pattern slightly—nothing obvious. He veered into a side street, narrower, flanked by old buildings with fire escapes and laundry lines crisscrossing above. A typical person might use this detour to avoid a crowd. But Aaron's purpose was clear.
If they're locked on, they'll have to adjust flight patterns to maintain visual. Precision will slip in tight spaces.
As he moved through the alley, his ears filtered out the background noise. He isolated the hum—the drone's propulsion system recalibrating. It was subtle, but not subtle enough for his brain to miss.
He smirked.
Found you.
Emerging from the alley, he passed a row of parked cars. In the curved mirror of a side-view, he caught another glimpse—a sleek, black shape, hovering momentarily before darting out of reflection range.
This wasn't random surveillance. Whoever was watching had purpose, resources, and patience.
But Aaron had something better.
He had time.
He didn't rush home. That would be admitting he noticed.
Instead, he weaved through familiar streets, blending into the pedestrian flow. He passed the bodega where May bought groceries, the laundromat beneath their apartment, and even paused briefly by a street musician whose violin drowned out the city noise.
All the while, the shadow followed.
They didn't want to lose him. But they also didn't want to be seen.
Aaron's mind mapped out possible control hubs. The drone's signal strength was too stable for remote satellite feed. This was local—somewhere within a few blocks radius. A moving van, a rooftop station, perhaps even a line-of-sight mobile operator.
Amateurs would engage. Professionals would observe. These aren't amateurs.
He made a decision.
He wouldn't confront them.
Not yet.
Knowledge was power. Whoever was watching had made a mistake—they assumed Aaron wouldn't notice. That assumption would cost them.
As he neared his apartment building, the surveillance thinned. The drone's presence faded, its distance increasing. They were pulling back, probably thinking their "asset" was secure for the day.
Aaron's lips curled into a faint smile.
Good. Let them think that.
He entered the apartment lobby, the familiar scent of old carpet and cleaning detergent greeting him. The elevator was as unreliable as ever, so he took the stairs, his pace unhurried.
When he reached their floor, he paused.
The Parker apartment door stood ahead, slightly ajar.
Aaron's senses sharpened instantly.
He knew May was home. But she always locked the door. Always.
He approached silently, his mind dissecting the scenario. There were no signs of forced entry. No noise from inside. He pushed the door gently.
It swung open without a sound.
Inside, Aunt May was humming in the kitchen, oblivious, preparing dinner. The faint clatter of dishes and the simmering pot filled the apartment with normalcy.
Aaron's tension eased.
She had simply forgotten.
Still, his gaze scanned the apartment with precision, noting the untouched surroundings, the faintest trace of disturbance—a shift in airflow near the window.
He walked over casually, glanced through the glass. Nothing.
But he knew better now.
Dinner was uneventful. Peter hadn't returned yet—probably caught up at the library or, more likely, tailing vigilante rumors across Queens. May, ever the multitasker, peppered Aaron with questions about school, his grades, and whether he had remembered to submit his scholarship forms.
He answered with his usual precision, masking his thoughts behind a calm exterior.
May didn't need to know.
Peter didn't need to know.
This was Aaron's equation to solve.
Later that night, Aaron sat at his desk, lights dimmed, his laptop open but untouched. His mind replayed every observation, every sound, every flicker of movement from earlier.
He knew surveillance when he felt it. But this wasn't random data gathering. This was a focused scan. He had no proof—yet. But instinct didn't lie.
They're not sure what I am. That's why they're watching instead of acting.
That was their mistake.
Aaron didn't need a system interface or a mission log to understand one thing clearly:
If you're being observed, you observe back. Quietly. Efficiently.
His fingers drummed against the desk, calculating next steps.
Tomorrow, he'd change his route to school.
He'd test if they adjusted.
He'd bait them into a pattern.
And when they slipped, he'd trace them back to their den.
As the night deepened, Aaron stood by the window, looking out into the city. The stars were faint, drowned by the city's glow, but his eyes weren't searching the sky.
They were watching the shadows.
And in the glass reflection, faint but undeniable, a red indicator light flickered.