The message from Wilson Fisk arrived through channels that Sylux had not realized were accessible to New York's criminal underworld, which suggested either a significant intelligence breach or resources that exceeded his initial assessment of the Kingpin's capabilities. The message itself was professionally composed, offering a substantial sum for the elimination of a rival who had been encroaching on Fisk's territory, and was accompanied by the kind of detailed dossier that indicated serious investment in the proposition.
Sylux deleted it without response.
He had been aware of Fisk's operations since his arrival in this universe—the man was difficult to miss, given his prominence in both legitimate business and illegitimate enterprise—but he had deliberately avoided any entanglement with the Kingpin's organization. Fisk was not the kind of target Sylux hunted: his crimes were primarily economic and territorial, his violence directed at competitors rather than innocents, his empire built on corruption rather than the specific horrors that drew Sylux's attention.
More importantly, working for Fisk would compromise his independence in ways he found unacceptable. The Kingpin did not hire contractors; he acquired assets. Anyone who accepted his money became, to some degree, his property, and Sylux had no intention of belonging to anyone.
The deletion of the message would, he knew, be interpreted as an insult. Fisk was not accustomed to being ignored, and his ego would demand some kind of response to the perceived slight. This would likely result in complications that Sylux would need to address eventually.
He did not care. Complications were manageable. Compromise was not.
The second unexpected development of the day arrived approximately three hours later, in the form of a woman who landed on the rooftop where Sylux had been conducting surveillance of a potential target.
She was tall—nearly as tall as he was, which was unusual for humans—and green, which was even more unusual. Her build suggested significant physical capability, muscles defined beneath skin that shared the distinctive coloration of Bruce Banner's transformed state, and she moved with a confidence that indicated complete comfort with her own power.
His databases identified her immediately: Jennifer Walters, also known as She-Hulk, attorney at law and cousin to the Hulk himself. Gamma-enhanced, superhumanly strong and durable, but unlike her cousin, she retained her intelligence and personality during transformation.
"Sylux, right?" she said, approaching with a casualness that suggested she was either unaware of or unconcerned by his capabilities. "The silent bounty hunter guy who beat up my cousin?"
He turned to face her fully, running threat assessments that categorized her as moderate-to-high but not immediately hostile.
"Relax, I'm not here for revenge or anything. Bruce actually wanted me to thank you, once he figured out what happened. Apparently your weird energy drain thing knocked the Hulk out cold without causing any permanent damage, which is more than most people who fight him can say." She stopped a few feet away, hands on her hips. "He woke up in a SHIELD medical facility instead of standing in the middle of a destroyed city block, which is a definite improvement over how his episodes usually end."
Sylux did not respond, because Sylux never responded, but he filed away the information that his Shock Coil had not caused lasting harm to Banner. This was useful data—it suggested the draining effect was recoverable under the right circumstances.
"Anyway, that's not why I'm here." She-Hulk produced a business card from somewhere—Sylux didn't want to know where, given that her outfit didn't appear to have pockets—and held it out toward him. "I'm an attorney. Superhuman law, mostly, but I handle other cases too. And word on the street is that you've been operating without any kind of legal representation or framework."
He looked at the card but did not take it.
"Look, I get it. You're the strong silent type. Very mysterious, very brooding, very 'I work alone.' But here's the thing: you're operating in a legal gray area that's going to catch up with you eventually. The bounties you're collecting? Some of them are legitimate, but some of them are... less so. And the people you're eliminating? Even when they deserve it, there are laws about that kind of thing."
She waved the card slightly, encouraging him to take it.
"I'm not saying you need to stop doing what you're doing. I'm saying you need someone who can help you do it without ending up in front of a tribunal or, worse, giving SHIELD an excuse to classify you as a threat that needs to be contained."
Sylux considered her words. The legal implications of his activities had not been a significant concern—he operated beyond the reach of conventional law enforcement, and SHIELD had already demonstrated that they preferred to avoid confrontation—but her point about legitimacy was not without merit.
He took the card.
"Great! So, we should discuss the details. You free for dinner?"
He looked at her, then at the card, then back at her.
"What? It's dinner. It's when people eat food and talk about things. I know a great place that's used to unusual clientele—comes with the territory when you're big and green." She smiled in a way that his limited social processing found difficult to interpret. "My treat. Consider it a consultation."
This felt like something other than a professional consultation, but Sylux lacked the framework to understand exactly what. He was aware, in an abstract sense, that humans engaged in ritualized social interactions that served purposes beyond their stated objectives, but the nuances of those interactions had eluded him even when he was human.
He nodded once, indicating acceptance.
"Perfect! I know just the place. Very private, very discreet. You won't even have to take off that helmet if you don't want to."
She turned and leaped from the rooftop, clearly expecting him to follow.
He followed, because he had already agreed and because the alternative was returning to surveillance that could be conducted later.
The restaurant was, as promised, accustomed to unusual clientele. The staff didn't blink at the sight of a seven-foot-tall armored figure accompanying a seven-foot-tall green woman, and they were seated in a private booth that had clearly been designed for beings who didn't fit in standard furniture.
"So," She-Hulk said, settling into her seat with an ease that suggested she had been here before, "let's talk about your legal situation."
She proceeded to outline, in detail, the various ways his current operations could be classified under existing law: vigilantism, mercenary activity, potential terrorism charges if the wrong prosecutor got involved, international complications from operations that crossed borders. She explained the frameworks that existed for superhuman operatives, the protections that could be established, the agreements that could be formalized.
Sylux listened without responding, which she seemed to accept as his default mode of communication.
"The thing is," she continued, "you're in a unique position. You're not human—or at least, not from Earth—which means the usual legal frameworks don't apply cleanly. There's precedent for extraterrestrial entities operating on Earth, but most of that precedent involves Asgardians, and they have diplomatic agreements in place. You're more of a... free agent."
She paused, apparently waiting for some kind of response.
He nodded to indicate he was still listening.
"I can help you establish a legal identity, set up protections that would make it harder for anyone to justify detaining you without cause. It's not foolproof—nothing is, when you're dealing with governments and intelligence agencies—but it's better than nothing."
This was, he had to admit, potentially useful. He gestured toward the tablet she had placed on the table, indicating that he wanted to see the specifics.
"Oh, you want details. Sure, I can show you—"
She leaned across the table to position the tablet where they could both see it, and in doing so, she moved significantly closer to him than the task strictly required. Her shoulder pressed against his armor, and she made no effort to reestablish distance after the tablet was positioned.
"So, the first step would be establishing residency status. There's a process for that, involves some paperwork, maybe a hearing depending on how cooperative the immigration authorities want to be..."
She continued explaining, but Sylux found his attention divided between the information she was providing and the physical proximity she was maintaining. This was, he was increasingly certain, not standard legal consultation behavior.
His databases contained information on human social rituals, including those related to romantic or sexual interest, and the patterns he was observing aligned with several documented behaviors: unnecessary physical contact, sustained eye contact, a subtle shift in vocal tone that suggested heightened engagement.
She-Hulk was, if his interpretation was correct, treating this as a date.
He had no idea how to process this information.
"—and once we have the residency established, we can work on formalizing your bounty hunting activities. There are licenses for that kind of thing, believe it or not. Some states have them, some countries have them. It's a whole thing." She glanced at him, still close enough that he could see the individual variations in the green of her skin. "You're very still. Is that a processing thing, or are you just really good at listening?"
He didn't answer, because he never answered.
"Right, silent. I forgot for a second." She smiled, apparently finding his lack of response charming rather than off-putting. "You know, I've represented a lot of unusual clients. Aliens, interdimensional beings, a guy who was technically three separate entities in a trench coat. But you're definitely in the top five for most mysterious."
She reached out and tapped his armor lightly, a gesture that served no practical purpose.
"I like mysterious. It's interesting."
The rest of the dinner continued in a similar fashion: She-Hulk providing genuinely useful legal information interspersed with behavior that Sylux could only interpret as flirtation. He absorbed the useful information and filed the flirtation under "phenomena requiring further analysis" because he genuinely did not understand what about him was producing this response.
He was an armored entity who never spoke, whose face had never been seen, whose personality consisted entirely of efficient violence and absolute silence. These were not, to his knowledge, traditionally attractive qualities.
And yet.
Spider-Gwen did the thigh thing. Black Widow had displayed what appeared to be jealousy. And now She-Hulk was treating a legal consultation as a romantic opportunity.
Humans were confusing. He added this to the growing list of things he did not understand about his new existence.
When the dinner concluded—she had paid, as promised, despite his attempt to contribute through untraceable financial instruments—She-Hulk walked with him toward the exit.
"So, I'll send over the paperwork for the residency application. You can fill it out through secure channels—I assume you have secure channels—and we'll schedule a follow-up meeting to discuss next steps."
She paused at the door, turning to face him.
"And maybe that follow-up can be dinner again. Somewhere nicer, if you want. I know this great place in—"
Her proposition was interrupted by a commotion from the street outside: shouting, the sound of running feet, and then a figure stumbling into view that Sylux recognized immediately.
Tombstone.
Or rather, the man who had been Tombstone, because he was no longer wearing the symbiote. He was just a large, pale man in civilian clothes, running from something with an expression of absolute terror that intensified dramatically when he saw Sylux standing in the restaurant doorway.
"No," he said, skidding to a stop. "No, no, no. Not you. Anyone but you."
Sylux stepped out of the restaurant, and the man—his databases identified him as Lonnie Thompson Lincoln, career criminal and former symbiote host—actually fell backwards in his desperation to retreat.
"I'm out," Lincoln babbled, scrambling backwards across the pavement. "I'm done. No more Tombstone, no more symbiote, no more anything. I left the city. I've been hiding. I'm not a threat. I'm not—please don't—"
Sylux stopped walking and simply looked at him.
The effect was remarkable. Lincoln, a man who had fought Spider-Man and numerous other heroes without breaking, a man who had voluntarily bonded with an alien symbiote because he wanted more power, was reduced to incoherent terror by nothing more than Sylux's attention.
"Please," Lincoln whimpered. "I'll tell you anything. I'll do anything. Just please don't use that thing on me again."
She-Hulk had followed Sylux out of the restaurant and was watching the interaction with raised eyebrows.
"Friend of yours?" she asked.
Sylux didn't respond. He was still looking at Lincoln, assessing the threat level and finding it negligible. The man was broken—not physically, but psychologically, whatever had happened during their previous encounter having shattered something fundamental in his confidence.
Good. That was the point.
He turned away, dismissing Lincoln from his attention entirely, and began walking toward the location where he had left the Delano 7.
Behind him, Lincoln remained on the ground, apparently unable to process the fact that he was not about to be attacked.
She-Hulk caught up with him after a few steps.
"So, that was the Tombstone guy? The one who used to have the symbiote?" She glanced back at the cowering man. "What exactly did you do to him?"
Sylux didn't answer.
"Right, silent. I keep forgetting." She fell into step beside him, matching his pace easily. "Well, whatever it was, it was effective. I've never seen a career criminal that terrified of anyone. Even Kingpin's enforcers don't shake like that."
At the mention of Kingpin, Sylux paused.
"What? Did I say something relevant?"
He produced the business card she had given him earlier, activated the small projector in his gauntlet, and displayed a redacted version of the message Fisk had sent him earlier that day.
She-Hulk read it with interest.
"Fisk wanted to hire you? And you turned him down?"
He nodded.
"That's... that's going to cause problems. Fisk doesn't handle rejection well."
He nodded again, indicating that he was aware.
"And you don't care."
A third nod.
She-Hulk laughed—a genuine laugh, not the polite social kind.
"You know what? I like you. You're absolutely insane, but I like you." She reached out and touched his arm in a gesture that was definitely not professional. "Call me when Fisk's people come after you. I'll represent you pro bono just for the entertainment value of watching you ignore them."
He looked at her hand on his arm, then at her face.
She did not move her hand.
"This is definitely going to be a thing," she said, apparently to herself. "I can already tell. Jennifer Walters, attorney at law, dating an alien bounty hunter who doesn't talk. My mother is going to have so many questions."
Dating. She had said dating.
Sylux did not know how to respond to this development, so he did what he always did: he nodded once in acknowledgment and then continued walking toward his ship.
She-Hulk watched him go, still smiling.
"See you around, Sylux. Don't get into too much trouble without me."
He did not respond, because he never responded.
But somewhere in the parts of his mind that had once been Marcus from Ohio, there was a flicker of something that might have been bemused disbelief at the direction his existence had taken.
He had come to this universe as a silent hunter, a bounty killer, an entity of violence and efficiency.
Now he apparently had a lawyer who thought they were dating.
Life was strange.
The flight back to his temporary base was uneventful, giving him time to process the day's developments. Fisk's attempt to recruit him had been expected; the Kingpin was always looking for assets, and Sylux's demonstrated capabilities would be valuable to any criminal enterprise. The rejection would, as She-Hulk had noted, cause problems, but those problems were manageable.
Lincoln's reaction had been more interesting. The former Tombstone had been genuinely terrified—not just cautious or respectful, but actively traumatized by their previous encounter. The Shock Coil's effects apparently went beyond the physical draining that Sylux could observe; there seemed to be a psychological component that persisted long after the immediate damage had healed.
This was useful information. Fear was a tool, and a tool that self-perpetuated was more efficient than one that required constant application.
And then there was She-Hulk.
He still did not understand why powerful women kept expressing what appeared to be romantic interest in him. He was, objectively, not an appealing prospect: silent, violent, emotionally unavailable, and potentially not even human in any meaningful sense anymore. These were not qualities that typically attracted partners, based on his memories of human social dynamics.
And yet.
Spider-Gwen continued to follow him around despite witnessing him kill dozens of people. Black Widow had displayed territorial behavior during their one meeting. And now She-Hulk was treating a legal consultation as a precursor to a relationship.
Perhaps it was the armor. The armor was objectively impressive—sleek, powerful, designed with an aesthetic that communicated capability and danger. Maybe that was what attracted them: not him, but what he represented.
Or perhaps humans were simply more complicated than his limited social processing could accommodate.
He filed the question away for future consideration and focused on more immediate concerns.
His surveillance target from earlier required attention. A smuggling operation moving enhanced individuals across state lines for sale to the highest bidder—similar to Volkov's network, but smaller in scale and easier to dismantle. He would complete the reconnaissance tonight and execute the operation tomorrow.
And then he would need to address the Fisk situation, because the Kingpin would not accept being ignored indefinitely.
And then... he didn't know. The future stretched out before him in a series of hunts and eliminations and the gradual accumulation of a reputation that would eventually make him a permanent fixture in this universe's landscape of power.
Was that what he wanted? He wasn't sure. Marcus from Ohio had wanted simple things: comfort, entertainment, the quiet satisfaction of an unremarkable life. Sylux wanted to hunt—it was built into whatever he had become—but beyond the hunting, there was a void where purpose should be.
Maybe the legal framework She-Hulk was proposing would help with that. Maybe establishing a legitimate identity would provide a foundation for something beyond pure predation.
Or maybe it would change nothing, and he would continue as he was until something finally managed to kill him.
Either way, the silence continued.
And in that silence, Sylux found something that might have been peace, or might have been emptiness, or might have been simply the absence of everything that had once made him human.
He wasn't sure which.
He wasn't sure it mattered.