Here is the 100% original, first-person, ~1000-word, slow-paced, mad-scientist style next chapter.
Note: Everything remains entirely fictional and set inside the Marvel universe.
Nothing here is meant for real-world application—just dark storytelling with your mad-scientist character.
If you want it darker, bloodier, more insane, or even more methodical, just tell me.
Chapter 3 — The Police Station Job
If anyone had walked into my garage that morning, they would've seen a young man sitting on the concrete floor, hair sticking out in every direction, clothes stained with oil and solder, pupils just a little too dilated. A madman pretending to be calm.
And they'd be right.
I felt… different.
Not broken. Not scared.
Just free.
Rules were made for people with something to lose.
I didn't have that luxury—not anymore.
I had a drone with weapons.
A mind full of ideas.
And a world full of threats that didn't care if I played nice.
So why should I?
I needed more than gadgets built from scrap.
I needed real tools.
Real firepower.
Real leverage.
And there was only one place in this quiet coastal town that stored exactly what I needed.
The police station.
The Decision
The moment the idea hit me, it settled into my brain like a parasite, burrowing deeper every time I tried to ignore it.
I paced back and forth across the garage.
They'll track the agents I dumped…
S.H.I.E.L.D. will come back…
I need weapons…
I need control…
I need to be untouchable.
The drone hovered beside me, silent, almost observant.
"You understand, don't you?" I asked it.
It gave a soft hum in response, like a metallic heartbeat.
"Good. Then let's get to work."
The Plan
Breaking into a police station wasn't something a normal person would consider.
But I wasn't normal anymore.
I spent half the day watching the building from a distance.
A three-story structure, gray bricks, dull windows, a flag out front.
A small town meant a small station—fewer officers, fewer eyes, fewer complications.
I watched their routines.
Shift changes.
Patrol departures.
Lunch breaks.
Coffee runs—God, they took so many coffee breaks it was almost insulting.
The armory was on the second floor.
Key-card access.
Old surveillance system.
Nothing Stark-level.
Nothing beyond my capabilities.
By nightfall, the sky turned dark enough for me to move without being noticed.
My drone hovered at my shoulder like a mechanical raven.
This wasn't a heroic mission.
This wasn't justice.
This was survival.
My survival.
And I'd do anything for that.
Approach
I walked toward the station like I owned the place—grey hoodie, hands in my pockets, eyes sharp.
Most people avoid looking suspicious.
I didn't have to pretend.
My mind buzzed with calculations, angles, timing.
Madness and logic merging into one beautiful, terrifying mixture.
The front entrance was too visible.
So I circled around the building into the alleyway.
Two windows.
One locked.
One cracked.
Amateurs.
I pulled out a thin wire I'd shaped earlier.
Three seconds of twisting and muffled clicking later—and the window slid upward.
"Ladies first," I whispered, gesturing to the drone.
It zipped inside, scanning the hallway in infrared.
All clear.
Then it was my turn.
My feet landed softly on the linoleum floor.
The hallway smelled like cleaning chemicals and cheap coffee.
Perfect.
Inside the Station
I moved quietly, sticking to the shadows.
Every few steps, I paused, ears straining for footsteps.
Officers chatted in a break room down the hall.
Two desks were occupied in the main lobby.
The night-shift receptionist was half-asleep, scrolling on her phone.
Pathetic.
Even better.
The drone projected a tiny laser dot on the floor—our pre-planned signals.
Two dots = camera right ahead.
I ducked under it, hugging the wall, waiting for the patrol officer to walk past.
One dot = move.
I slid into the stairwell.
Once the door clicked shut behind us, I exhaled.
"Armory is right above this," I whispered.
The drone blinked blue twice—affirmation.
We climbed.
The Armory Door
The second floor was empty.
Dead quiet.
Almost peaceful.
The armory door sat at the end of the hallway, heavy metal, reinforced, with a digital lock.
I approached it like it was just another puzzle.
"Drone," I murmured.
It lowered to the panel, extendid its taser
And shockt the panel overerwrithing the systym
Wires spilled out like metallic veins.
I grinned.
"Let's wake you up."
I pulled a compact device from my pocket—something I'd built from parts scavenged yesterday.
A bypass pulse emitter.
Not exactly legal.
Not exactly safe.
Perfect for me.
I clipped it onto the exposed wiring and pressed the button.
A soft bwoop echoed in the hall.
The lock clicked open.
The armory was mine.
Treasure Room
I pushed the door open slowly.
Inside:
Rows of rifles.
Sidearms.
Ammunition boxes.
Tasers.
Flashbangs.
Pepper spray grenades.
Radio equipment.
Body armor.
Tool kits.
A playground for a mind like mine.
My fingers trembled—not from fear, but excitement.
I grabbed what I could carry:
• Two compact pistols
• A lightweight tactical vest
• Extra batteries
• Flashbangs
• An old SWAT toolkit
• A collapsible baton
• A police-grade taser
• A box of ammo
Not because I wanted to shoot people.
Because I needed options.
Choices.
Leverage.
And in Marvel, leverage meant survival.
The drone hovered above a shelf as if inspecting every item silently.
When it blinked red, I knew what it wanted.
"You want upgrades too?" I whispered.
Another hum.
Of course it did.
I grabbed a small attachment kit—laser sights, mounting brackets, micro-housings.
I could turn these into new weapons or structural improvements.
Everything had potential in the hands of someone who didn't care about limits.
Someone like me.
Almost Caught
As I loaded the last of the gear into my backpack, I heard footsteps in the hallway.
Slow.
Casual.
Getting closer.
A patrolling officer.
I froze, breath caught in my throat.
The drone zipped toward the ceiling, switching into silent mode.
The footsteps stopped right outside the door.
A shadow appeared under the gap.
A hand touched the knob.
I pressed myself behind the tall locker, gripping the drone's remote kill-switch—just in case.
The door rattled slightly…
Then the footsteps moved away.
The officer yawned.
Walked back down the corridor.
And disappeared.
I exhaled shakily.
"That was close…"
The drone hovered back down to me, yellow light blinking—warning acknowledged.
"Let's go," I said.
Time to disappear before luck ran out.
Escape
Going out the same window was too risky now.
So I chose the roof.
I climbed through the emergency hatch, hauling the backpack full of stolen gear.
The cold wind hit my face instantly, waking me up.
The drone hovered near the edge like a lookout.
Below, the town slept peacefully, unaware that a mad scientist was walking across their rooftops with stolen weapons.
Good.
They didn't need to know.
No one did.
I reached the far edge of the building, dropped into a soft patch of grass, and slipped into the shadows.
No alarms.
No chases.
No resistance.
Just me…
My drone…
And enough firepower to start upgrading and making nee inventions
Back Home
When I returned to the garage, I dumped everything onto the floor and smiled.
A twisted, satisfied, unhinged smile.
"Now," I whispered, "let's build something even better."