Lower Manhattan, New York
The night air was chilly, and the tail of his black overcoat drifted in the sweeping winter wind, his figure shrouded under the moonless night. Something was familiar about this warehouse. It wasn't Jeremy York's memories but his own.
He perceived the inside of the warehouses through the lenses and speakers of the Boas. He had thermally counted over a dozen men, most carrying some form of a weapon; conversations between the men had alerted him to a missed opportunity; he had missed a made-man.
He hesitated as he looked south. He could mobilize the terrain Boas, but they were more stealthy than the fliers. He would pull one from his fleet of submersibles and have it track the man since his destination was one of the piers.
He better message Angelica to be sure she could spare one; she was adamant about fielding more drones to better be prepared, and he loved her for it. Having competent subordinates made the Marvel world go around.
The made-man was a grand-nephew of one of the dons. He shook his head and focused back beneath his feet. The man was here because of a snitch, a man that was still being tenderized by other mafiosos hanging upside down over a hole.
He summoned his gear, not wanting to pull stuff out of thin air because that made Red Hood dangerous. He wanted the two Personas to be separated, and their actions needed to be the polar opposites. Thus, he couldn't kill in this guise. He also activated his Boas drones to survey the warehouse chain.
Cole dropped from the rafters, landing in a crouch. His bio-eye turned on, empowering his already extraordinary vision. He swept over the enclosure, his eyes piercing all the walls and containers. He smiled. If this one was a bust, he would get some money.
One of his biggest questions was, had the families fallen to The Hand? He was sure Hydra had subverted much of that made up the banished immortals' forces, but what of the Fingers? He would need to question this Damon Dran, a man with a hate boner for him.
Bullseye had told him that a hit was out on him, but outside of the first attack by him, he hadn't been accosted by another member. The intel the man that doesn't miss relinquished had excited him. Twin werewolves? He doubts it. Most likely, they were mutants.
Marvel had its assortment of criminals, but they had them in abundance. Cole had been following up on a smuggling operation, and he found himself in a warehouse chain that belonged to the four families.
The last time he was in a warehouse, he had met three people he dearly wanted to see again. The Gorgon, El Uno, and Daredevil mentioning the devil made heat radiate around him, but he snuffed it out. He grabbed a man in a suit and slammed his head against a steel beam, rendering him unconscious. He checked the man's ID and confirmed this was, in fact, the mafia stash house.
The Punisher had been sticking it to the mafia, but the man was one against thousands. He was sure the vicious soldier would emerge victorious; his any-means-necessary approach was right along with Coles.
He dropped another mafioso. The man had managed a half-shot before he was taken out, and he could hear more of the mafiosos coming near him. He dropped the man against the cold cement of the warehouse.
'What is up with criminals and cricket warehouses in dilapidated neighborhoods.'
"Get that motherfucker." Roared another idiot who lost the element of surprise, even though he had heard their approach.
He turned, his Penguin Umbrella unfurling wide, wider than a standard umbrella, as a hail of bullets peppered against the Teflon-level protection of the Umbrella. He didn't care about the pesky 9mm bullets he had grown beyond that long ago. He quickly dispatched the guards as his hands touched the crates, each vanishing into his hammerspace.
He looked at his persona meter and sighed loudly. It had yet to move from its original spot. Was he missing something here? Or was it the challenge? These goons weren't enough to push him over the last hurdle.
The Abbot was the name the Priest Persona was given. It was an unexpected occurrence; he had gone out one night under the guise of the Catholic Priest and managed to stumble across some crimes in progress.
The whole debacle made him laugh when he thought about it. A priest who used an electrifying crowbar and a tricked-out umbrella. Daniel Kilgore was the priest's name, a troubled soul, a man that hosted the spirit of his deceased brother, the two souls combining, making them into a super-powered entity. Cole hadn't transformed, though; he had no reason to.
The snitch had expired. Cole squatted down and captured the man's facial features. Alfred will piece together the story and hand him a detailed report. He did not discover anything damming or useful besides the stolen artwork, which he sold to the system.
Siren could be heard in the distance, and he grew curious. Cole found himself standing before a gathering crowd. He turned; the local news stations had arrived. He activated his heads-up display, wanting more information on the burning highrise. The fire started, and many people were still trapped inside.
He tapped into his mutation, feeling out the fire; it had been started with a potent accelerant; the fire was agitated and was burning hot. The fire had been arson. He had no idea why it was started but had to help the families trapped. He was jostled. He closed his display and let himself be pushed back by the first responders.
"I can't believe that family are trapped." Cried a lady.
"Firefighters had to retreat, and the fire grew out of control. It's a miracle we didn't lose one of the first responders." Another added.
"Are they going to get her out?" Another asked.
"They can't. The fire is raging. It will mean more people will die trying. It's unfortunate." Cole added, his head tilted up as he stared at the family huddled in the tub, water overflowing and the only reason they still lived, but that two would stop soon. The smoke would consume them first.
He stood amongst the neighborhood spectators and changed again. He wasn't a hero; that's what he told himself. An uncontrollable inferno was what he needed to learn more about his mutation.
The lower floors were cleared, but the upper floor had a family, a mother, and two kids inside the corner unit on the twentieth floor. Making himself light with his Ectokinesis, he leaped into the air and practically flew toward a smashed window. The Firefighters had used the side of the building as a means to enter, but the fire had pushed them out.
The heat inside was intense. The accelerant was definitely unnatural. His enhanced senses and Investigation had shown him a possible reason. The apartment room in question was sealed shut. But it did little to him as he subconsciously absorbed the heat in the vicinity. He hadn't pushed his powers.
Cole hurried to the door, the fire pulling away from him as he moved forward. He had tried to control the flames, but it was too much for him; it was odd that he couldn't contain the fire but could expand it.
He switched polarities and dropped the temperature in the vicinity; ice and fire pushed at each other, neither wanting to lose out. He placed his hand on the door, feeling the heat inside.
"Got my accelerant. This was a hit." He said over the roaring fire. The door iced over, and he pushed it in, cracking it as the fire roared out, no longer trapped behind the sturdy, resistant door. He didn't flinch as the fire washed over him, burning his clothes away.
He repaired his suit as ice spread around him as he pushed against the raging inferno. This would have been the perfect place to test his Thermokinesis, but he had a job.
Cole blasted into the bathroom, causing the mother to scream in the small tub, holding her wheezing children. She stared at him, wreathed in steam as the heat and the cold warred.
He gestured for her toward him. Cole stood in the doorway, his back shielding the inferno from entering the bathroom as he chilled the air. She sobbed and shook her head.
"You have to get up and run!" He yelled at her.
She sobbed. "I can't! I'm trapped in here. They placed bombs on us. Save my kids, please." Cole cursed and moved toward the family. What kinda of hit was this? Overkill was a thing, right?
The sudden chimes had been ignored as he focused on the task, thankful for the prompt not appearing before his eyes.
She pushed her minor children from the tub. Cole observed the collars; his wealth of knowledge afforded to him by the system and personas had come in handy. He smiled, placing his hand on the two bracelets, and both vanished into his hammerspace.
He placed breathing apparatus on the children. He heard a beep. Her bracelets had begun a countdown. He swore. Whoever did this was brilliant. If the kids were saved, then the mother would die. He couldn't vanish her because of system rules.
"Leave. Please." She begged.
"No. You must want to live; otherwise, your kids will grow up without parents." He growled. He looked at her timer and back at the kids. He cursed loudly.
She smiled and slumped in the tub, her hand brushing the heads of the boys.
"Go." She said, settling into her fate. I stood and bolted from the room, the time playing on my heads-up display. I can save them all, but first, I must get the kids out of here because what I had in mind may not work.
Cole barreled for the nearest window; in his anger, he had pulled the fire around him; unbelievably, the children were unmolested as he huddled against him protectively as he shattered the window of the twentieth floor.