The night was cool, the city sky stretched long and clear.
Russell stirred awake, feeling better than he had in days. Every muscle in his body hummed with ease. He rose, stretched, and looked around.
The consulting room was empty. Dr. Yao had already left. On her desk sat a single folded note.
He picked it up.
A treatment schedule: every Saturday at three in the afternoon.
Beneath it, a message in elegant handwriting:
If you need to adjust the time, feel free to mark the change here. I can accommodate your schedule.
— Dr. Yao
Russell replaced the note untouched. No changes.
Leaving the office, he slid into his car. The engine roared to life, tires screeching as he shot out into the Manhattan night and toward his little nest in Queens.
---
New York at night was dazzling, but the sidewalks were almost empty. Beautiful young women walking alone were rarer still.
Which made it all the more striking when he saw one.
A blonde girl, maybe eighteen, tall, slender—and being tailed by a vampire.
Russell pulled over, rolled down the window. "Hey, miss. Looks like you've got trouble. Need a hand?"
The girl turned. Blue eyes met his, wary and wordless, as though she wanted to speak but couldn't.
While she hesitated, Russell sized her up. Short golden hair, refined features, school-age, probably around five-foot-five. By all appearances, a girl from a good family—so why was she wandering the streets of Queens at night, alone?
"Bang!"
A rough voice cut in.
"Hey, buddy. Mind your own damn business."
The vampire caught up, slamming a palm against the car roof.
Russell sighed. "I hate vampires."
He reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a UV flashlight, and clicked it on.
The thug barely had time to shriek before dissolving into gray ash.
Vampires—at least the Blade-verse kind—were allergic to everything: silver, garlic, sunlight. Weakness stacked on weakness, yet they strutted around like apex predators. And worst of all? Killing them didn't even grant him attribute points.
Total waste.
The girl pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head with a rueful smile. "I was planning to use him. Track him back to the girls he'd taken."
Russell gave an awkward laugh. "Sorry. Didn't mean to ruin your plan."
Normal people didn't take a vampire turning to ash in stride. Which meant she wasn't normal.
"Forget it. You were only trying to help."
She tugged up a hood, flicked her wrist, and a strand of web shot out.
"Anyway, I've got his scent. I'll find them."
She swung into the night, her voice trailing behind her.
"Spider-Woman?!" Russell called after her.
"Ghost-Spider," came the reply, distant but clear.
And then she was gone.
---
What was happening to his life?
Morning: therapy session with a doctor who might actually be the Ancient One.
Evening: rescue a blonde girl… who turned out to be Ghost-Spider.
Which meant she had to be Gwen Stacy, right?
Except Captain Stacy was only in his thirties at this point.
So—another Gwen? From a parallel universe?
Russell returned to his hideout with more questions than answers.
---
The building was seven stories. He lived on the top floor; the six below were a bookstore.
Not his design. He'd only bought the place a few days ago from a young woman named Hong Fei. She'd sold it below market price, on one condition: the bookstore remained open.
It had been her late parents' pride and joy. Their life's work.
Russell had agreed. The price was too good, and he could use a front job to pass the time.
Back in his apartment, he flicked on the TV, looking for distraction.
An emergency broadcast cut in:
Unidentified flying objects sighted over New York. Both parties are armed and engaged in combat. Citizens are advised to seek shelter and avoid travel.
The screen showed chaos. Cars overturned, people scattering.
And in the center, a silver-gray monstrosity of a mech towering over the road, massive mechanical arms raised. In its grip—red and gold, battered but defiant—was another armored figure.
Russell knew that scene.
Iron Monger versus Iron Man.
The final showdown of Iron Man, playing out in real life.
He leaned back, untroubled. He had no intention of intervening.
Sure, befriending Tony Stark would be valuable. He even planned on it—later. But not now.
Not while he was still mid-upgrade, still vulnerable.
Yes, his stats made him bulletproof, lightning-fast, armed with psychic strikes. But he couldn't fly. He wasn't invincible. One missile and it'd be game over.
Maybe, if he played it right, he had a ninety percent chance of taking down Obadiah Stane with a psychic assault. But ninety wasn't enough. Not when the price of failure was his life.
No, until his system finished upgrading, he needed to stay invisible. A law-abiding citizen. A "good boy."
Later, once he was stronger, he'd have his moment. He'd look the world in the eye and deliver that one, unforgettable line:
"I don't eat beef."
As for butterfly effects—whether Iron Man might lose or die? Russell wasn't worried.
The butterfly effect had already begun.
Because in the corner of the broadcast, he spotted a hooded figure in black and white spandex, swinging straight toward the battlefield.
Ghost-Spider had entered the fray.
Iron Monger was tough, sure—but Ghost-Spider was a seasoned hero. Together, she and Tony Stark would win.
Russell checked his phone. October 24th, 2010. 10:24 p.m.
Still early. Remembering Dr. Yao's advice, he sat down and drafted a notice for the bookstore.
---
Now Hiring: Reading Room Assistants
Responsibilities: To be discussed.
Requirements: To be discussed.
Salary: To be discussed.
Hours: 10 a.m. – 4 p.m., with two-hour lunch break.
---
Russell looked at the sloppy announcement and nodded, satisfied.
Of course, it wasn't a real job posting. He wasn't looking for "proper" employees.
It was just something to amuse himself. Something to pass the time until his system finished upgrading.
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