Marvelous Meditations

Nathan wiped his mouth with a napkin, folding it neatly before setting it aside. He was just about to stand when the sound of the restaurant's door opening caught his attention. He paused, his gaze shifting casually toward the entrance.

Rick sauntered in, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, his expression a mix of fatigue and curiosity. Nathan leaned back into his chair, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as Rick spotted him and made his way over.

Sliding into the seat opposite him, Rick leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Well?" he asked, his tone laced with mock seriousness. "How did it go? Did they toss you into some black site, waterboard you, and ask you to name names?"

Nathan's expression didn't shift as he replied dryly, "Yeah, then they gave me a lollipop and sent me on my merry way." He shook his head with faint amusement. "They took me to an actual police station, Rick. And if you can believe it, they sent Captain America himself to have a little chat with me."

Rick blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Steve Rogers?" His tone was incredulous, his eyebrows shooting up. "That's... quite the celebrity interrogation. How'd that go?"

Nathan shrugged nonchalantly, picking up his glass of water and taking a slow sip. "He's sharp. Not easy to rattle. Tried the whole 'reasonable man' approach—asking questions, letting me steer the conversation just enough to keep me talking. Honestly? Could've gone a lot worse."

Rick gave him a lopsided grin, leaning back in his chair. "Sounds like you had a hell of a day."

Nathan tilted his head slightly, studying Rick. "And you? Did you follow up with Bellucci like I asked?"

Rick's smirk faded slightly, and he nodded. "Yeah, I paid him a visit to see if he's been running his mouth about you. Turns out, he did."

Nathan's gaze sharpened, but his tone remained calm as he asked, "And?"

Rick shrugged, his expression somewhere between amused and unimpressed. "Mariah Hill was the one asking questions. She posed as a Homeland Security agent, poked around, tried to get inside his head. From what I could gather, they were working on some kind of psych profile for you."

Nathan snorted, shaking his head with a faint smirk. "A psych profile? I didn't realize I was so fascinating. Maybe they're writing my unauthorized biography next."

Rick chuckled, the tension in the air easing slightly. "Yeah, right. I doubt Hill has time to ghostwrite your memoir." He leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the table. "But here's the kicker—Bellucci actually did you a solid, even if he did run his mouth."

Nathan raised an eyebrow, his curiosity sharpening as he asked, "How so?"

Rick leaned back in his chair, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Mariah Hill tried to play him," he began, clearly enjoying the story. "Offered him early release, promised him anything he said couldn't be used against him—or you, for that matter. Figured she'd dangle freedom like a carrot and get him to spill his guts."

Rick shook his head with a chuckle, then let out a sigh. "Thing is, Bellucci might be a lowlife thug, but he's not stupid. Or disloyal, for that matter. He ripped up the release papers right in front of Hill after telling everything she wanted to hear. But here's the kicker—he recorded the whole conversation. Including the part where a so-called Homeland Security agent basically promised him immunity for both of you in exchange for snitching..."

Nathan's lips curled into a faint smirk as he let out a low hum. "So, unless Fury's willing to toss Mariah Hill under the bus, they've got no move to make against me, even if they dig up evidence I killed that piece of shit Malone." He paused, leaning back and chuckling softly. "Good old Bellucci. I regret a lot of things, but working with him all those years ago? That's not one of them."

Rick nodded, a hint of reluctant agreement in his expression. "Yeah, as far as street thugs go, I suppose he's alright. Man's got his code, I'll give him that."

Nathan's smirk deepened as he glanced at Rick. "Loyalty's a rare currency when it comes to mobsters; no such thing as honor amongst thieves. Bellucii is more than alright...."

Rick leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Yeah I'm sure the guy's a saint... so, what's the plan now?"

Nathan shrugged, his demeanor calm and calculating. "I've already set Captain America on HYDRA's tail. With the coordinates I gave him, it's only a matter of time before he tracks down Bucky Barnes. Once he does, Rogers will come back to me for more intel. That gives me an angle to work SHIELD, cozy up to them until I'm ready to set the hounds on Ross."

Rick nodded along but noticed the shift in Nathan's tone as he continued. "The problem," Nathan added with a faint sigh, "is the X-Men."

Rick tilted his head, a puzzled frown crossing his face. "The X-Men? What about them? It seemed like they were already in the bag?"

Nathan leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "They're unpredictable. Too many variables. They don't operate like SHIELD or HYDRA—they're not bound by bureaucracy or chains of command. They act on instinct, on principle, and they've got the firepower to back it up. As far as they're concerned, I'm a wild card, and wild cards make them nervous."

Rick considered this for a moment, his brow furrowed. "So... what's the move there? Keep reaching out? Maintain distance?"

Nathan slowly stood up. "There's nothing to do but wait. They'll come looking for me soon enough." He adjusted his coat and began heading toward the door. "In the meantime... I still have to get used to the toys your old man made for me, so I'll be laying low for a while..."

...

Nathan stood on the edge of the six-story apartment building, the wind tugging at his coat as he stared down at the bustling city below. The cacophony of New York at night—the hum of traffic, distant sirens, and the occasional shout—was muffled at this height. He took a slow, measured breath, steadying himself. The drop wasn't intimidating; it was liberating.

Without hesitation, he tipped forward, letting gravity take him.

The rush of air roared in his ears as he plummeted, face-first, toward the ground. At the last possible moment, he spread his arms wide, and his coat stiffened with an audible whirr. The advanced polymers woven into the fabric locked into place, transforming it into a functional glider.

He angled his body just right, catching the air currents as he arched upward.

With a quick tap of his heels, the thrusters in his magnetic boots roared to life, propelling him forward. The sudden burst of speed pulled him higher, and he tilted his back to gain altitude. Nathan smirked to himself, feeling the familiar tug of adrenaline in his chest.

The nearest building loomed ahead—a glass-and-steel monolith reflecting the city lights. Nathan angled toward it, aiming for the sheer face of the skyscraper. As he approached, he deactivated the glider, letting his coat soften and billow behind him. Landing feet-first against the building, his magnetic boots clung to the surface with a soft clink.

Running up the side of the building felt almost natural now. Each step was precise, his boots maintaining perfect traction. As he neared the top, he bent his knees and launched himself off the wall with a powerful jump.

The floater emerged from his sleeve, morphing seamlessly into a flat, translucent platform beneath him.

He landed lightly on it, crouched, and then pushed off again. The floater dissipated back into its dormant state, retreating into his sleeve.

Activating the thrusters once more, Nathan arched into a glide, his arms spread wide to steady himself. The city stretched out before him, glittering like a sea of stars. For a brief moment, he let himself enjoy the view. But the thrusters began to falter—he could feel the subtle vibrations signaling that the charge was nearing its limit.

Nathan flicked his wrist, and a grappling line shot out from the device concealed under his coat sleeve. The line latched onto a metal pipe jutting out from the side of a nearby building—a fire escape support. He gave a sharp tug to ensure it was secure before retracting the line, swinging himself gracefully toward another rooftop.

He landed in a roll, immediately springing back to his feet. Without pausing, he repeated the process: glide, boost, grapple, swing. The rhythm was second nature now. After a month of intense training, he'd mastered the intricate dance required to move this way.

Every piece of equipment had its limitations, and Nathan had memorized them all: the thrusters could sustain maximum output for twelve seconds before requiring a minute cool off, the floater responded faster to mental commands when he focused, and the grappling line had a reach of exactly twenty meters.

He came to a halt on a rooftop, breathing steadily as he surveyed the city below. The floater slipped from his sleeve again, hovering in front of him. He let it shift between forms—a sphere, a blade-like edge, a flat shield—testing its responsiveness. Each shift was precise, a testament to how far he'd come in mastering its capabilities.

The grappling hook and glider weren't the cutting-edge creations of Phineas Mason, but they were reliable. Rick had sourced the components through one of Maximus Security's subsidiary companies—a weapons development firm with just enough expertise to cobble together something functional.

It wasn't Tinkerer-level genius, but it worked.

Nathan smiled faintly, glancing at the floater before it dissolved back into his sleeve. "For the first time in my life... I really feel like I'm in a superhero world..." he muttered to himself, stepping toward the edge of the rooftop again. "Another hour of this, and I'll be able to move like this in a combat situation..."

...

The rooftop was a blur of chaos. Daredevil ducked under a wild swing of Typhoid Mary's blade, his billy club spinning in his hand as he parried her follow-up strike. The hum of her telekinesis buzzed in the air, making the small gravel on the rooftop vibrate and scatter as if alive. She let out a manic laugh, her Typhoid persona fully in control, her movements unpredictable and dangerous.

"You're too slow, Devil!" she taunted, her voice a singsong mockery. Her blade gleamed in the dim light of Hell's Kitchen as she slashed at him again. Daredevil dodged to the side, the blade whistling past his ribs.

Mary didn't give him time to recover. She extended her hand, and with a flick of her wrist, a gust of telekinetic force slammed into Daredevil, sending him skidding across the rooftop. He grunted, rolling to his feet just in time to avoid a gunshot. The bullet pinged off the metal ventilation shaft behind him.

"Keep dancing, pal!" Mary said, twirling the sword in one hand while leveling the pistol at him with the other. "Let's see if your fancy footwork can save you when you're spread across the pavement!"

Daredevil's senses were in overdrive. He could feel the faint vibrations of her muscles twitching before each attack, hear the erratic rhythm of her breath as the Typhoid persona fed on chaos. But her telekinesis complicated things, making her a whirlwind of unpredictability.

"Mary, you don't have to do this," he said, his tone calm but firm. "You're better than this—better than her."

For a fleeting second, her pistol hand trembled. A crack in the mask. But then her grin widened, the madness flooding back. "Better? Sweetheart, I am her."

She lunged again, sword slashing, and Daredevil met her head-on, deflecting the blade with his club. He twisted, aiming a strike at her wrist to disarm her, but a telekinetic blast sent him stumbling back.

Suddenly, she paused, her head tilting as if struck by inspiration.

Her gaze snapped to a rusted water tank on the rooftop's edge. Her grin turned wicked.

"Let's raise the stakes, shall we?" she purred.

Daredevil's stomach dropped as she extended her hand. The tank groaned, its rusted supports buckling as her telekinesis took hold. With a loud snap, the bolts gave way, and the massive tank lifted into the air, wobbling precariously.

Mary laughed, eyes alight with sadistic glee. "Catch this, hero!"

The tank hurtled toward him. Daredevil's instincts screamed to dodge, but his radar sense told him the tank's trajectory would carry it into a nearby apartment building. Families. Lives. He froze, weighing his options in a split second.

Before he could act, a sharp whirring sound cut through the night, followed by the roar of thrusters. A shadow streaked across the rooftop, and a figure slammed into the side of the falling tank.

Nathaniel Cross.

Flying through the air, Nathan grabbed onto the tank with both arms, his coat stiffened into its glider form to help steady him. The weight was staggering. The neural links along his spine flared with white-hot pain, almost going overdrive trying to provide enough telekinetic force needed for the endeavor.

His vision blurred, but he gritted his teeth, forcing the tank's momentum to veer off course.

"Could've used a smaller target!" Nathan grunted through clenched teeth, his voice strained but laced with sarcasm.

Mary's grin faltered, and she took a step back, her confidence visibly shaken. "Who the hell are you?"

Nathan didn't answer. With a final, agonizing push, he redirected the tank, sending it crashing into a parking lot behind the building with a deafening BOOM. The asphalt cracked under the impact, but no lives were lost.

Nathan landed hard on the rooftop, breathing heavily as the floater retreated into his sleeve. His hands trembled from the strain, but he straightened, his dark coat billowing behind him.

"You've got a flair for drama, lady," Nathan said, his expression blank. "But throwing water tanks? That's just lazy."

Mary's eyes darted between him and Daredevil, her bravado faltering. "This isn't your fight, whoever-you-are."

Daredevil stepped forward, his breathing steady despite the chaos. "Thanks for the save."

Nathan glanced at him, giving a small nod. "Don't mention it."

Mary let out a growl, her telekinesis flaring as she prepared to attack again. "Two against one? That's hardly fair."

Nathan tilted his head, crossing his arms. "Then maybe you should've brought backup."

Mary screamed in frustration, launching a telekinetic wave at both men. Nathan ducked low, the floater snapping out to form a shield in front of him, while Daredevil leapt to the side, rolling to avoid the blast.

The rooftop fight wasn't over, but with Nathan in the mix, the odds had shifted. Typhoid Mary's chaos met its match in Nathan's cold precision and Daredevil's relentless determination. And in the heart of Hell's Kitchen, the battle raged on.

...

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