I knew that strength wasn't everything. But in a world where beings like the Hulk, Thor, and Captain America existed, raw power wasn't just an asset—it was a necessity.
I practiced relentlessly, punching the air with fists cloaked in water. By the end of an hour, my progress was undeniable. The water around my fists no longer splashed with every strike but clung to my hands like a second skin, steady and controlled. It looked as though the water had become an extension of my body, no longer just an element I wielded but a part of me.
The noise of my training echoed through the hollow warehouse, the reverberations bouncing off the rusted walls. The empty expanse amplified every strike, every step, until the sound became almost oppressive. Then I heard something that wasn't my own: footsteps.
I froze, listening intently. The number and rhythm of the steps suggested two people, their shadows stretching across the warehouse floor. They hadn't entered yet, but their presence was a threat nonetheless. Quickly, I darted behind one of the large, rusting machines scattered around the space.
The footsteps grew louder, their shadows shrinking as the intruders neared. Soon, I caught sight of them: one man dressed in a sharp black suit, his expression hard and calculating; the other in a leather jacket, the handle of a pistol conspicuously visible at his waist. Their accents, coupled with their easy familiarity, revealed them as Americans.
"You sure this is the place?" the man in the suit asked, his voice low and skeptical.
"Of course," the leather-clad man replied with a casual chuckle. "You uptight types are always so jittery. Nobody in this city dares mess with my boss." He lit a cigarette, the glow momentarily illuminating his face.
I instinctively covered my face, ensuring my identity would remain concealed even if they caught sight of me. No matter what powers I possessed, I wasn't confident I could outrun a bullet, let alone deflect one. As their conversation unfolded, I began to reflect on my vulnerability.
In my previous life, I had guns, tactical equipment, and a support system. Now, I had powers I barely understood and no real experience fighting seasoned criminals. Relying on these abilities was starting to feel reckless.
The sound of a car screeching to a halt outside broke my thoughts. Both men turned toward the noise, the tension between them momentarily forgotten. A sleek car pulled into the warehouse, its tires skidding slightly as it stopped.
Three men in tailored black suits stepped out, one of them holding a silver briefcase. Something about them felt eerily familiar—an echo of the two men I had seen outside Ryan's house. These guys were also asian and their suits were also the same. I was sure that these guys belonged to the same organization.
"Is that it?" the American in the suit asked, his eyes narrowing at the briefcase.
The man carrying it nodded and placed the case on the car's hood, opening it to reveal a collection of documents. Though I couldn't make out the details, I spotted diagrams and complex formulas.
"The only thing he had was a key to a safe deposit box," the Asian man said, his voice calm but firm. "These documents were inside."
The American reached for the briefcase, but the Asian man stopped him with a hand on the handle. "We lost two men retrieving this information. The price just went up."
"That wasn't the deal," the American snapped, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at his companion.
The leather-jacketed man chuckled darkly, pulling out his pistol. "This is New York. Deals don't mean shit down here. You're in the underworld now."
The two Asians behind their leader responded by drawing knives. The leather-jacketed man smirked. "A knife to a gunfight? Let's see how that works out for you."
Before the American could react, the second Asian flung a black kunai. It struck the leather-jacketed man square in the shoulder. The smirk that he had on his face was instantly wiped away.
"Aaagh!" he screamed, dropping the gun as he staggered back.
The Asian leader seized the opportunity, yanking the briefcase toward himself and delivering a swift kick to the American in the suit, sending him sprawling.
"I told you this was a mistake," the suited man growled, glaring at his injured companion. "We should've brought backup." as he got back up ready for a fight.
"Don't blame me!" the leather-jacketed man snapped, wincing as he yanked the kunai from his shoulder.
Suddenly, a sound came from the car's roof—a faint shuffle that immediately drew everyone's attention. Before anyone could react, a figure rose from the shadows atop the vehicle and leapt onto the hood with cat-like grace.
The new arrival was a man in a dark outfit, his face partially obscured by a mask that covered his upper features. In his hand, he held a cane—sleek but sturdy, its purpose unmistakable.
I recognized him instantly. Matt Murdock. Daredevil. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.
One of the Asians aimed a gun at him, but Daredevil moved with blinding speed, swinging his cane with precision and knocking the weapon out of the man's hand. The gun skidded across the floor, disappearing into the dim recesses of the warehouse.
"Dammit," the Asian muttered, drawing a knife instead. But Daredevil was relentless, dodging and parrying with a fluidity that bordered on superhuman.
The American in the suit growled in frustration, pulling brass knuckles from his pocket as he advanced on Daredevil. My fists clenched instinctively. If that blow landed, even Daredevil might falter.
Although I was fairly confident that the Daredevil could handle all these guys but he would have to pay an equivalent prize for it. A few broken bones, knife wounds and what not for starters. This was the perfect time for me to go out there and help him. He was one of the guys I had on my list for the potential members of my organization but he I didn't think of approching him anytime soon since he was someone who worked independently and not the type that can take orders from others. But this was a golden chance to get aquanted with him. I can't just jump in the end and act like i am saving his life as it would seem too obvious to him. The only way was to jump in now and fight him on equal footing.
I stepped from the shadows, my water-coated fists shimmering faintly in the dim light. Moving swiftly, I targeted the leather-jacketed man, who was still clutching his injured shoulder. With a sharp kick to the back of his knee, I sent him sprawling to the ground.
Without hesitation, I swung my water-reinforced fist into the side of his head. The impact was more powerful than I'd intended. His head struck the concrete with a sickening thud, leaving a small crack in the floor and blood spreading on the concrete floor.
The sound echoed, drawing everyone's attention.
"Who the hell are you? Did you just kill him?" the American in the suit barked, his voice edged with panic while looking at his dead colleague.
'This idiot was just boasting about how his boss is untouchable here and that I have nothing to fear since he is here with me and now he is dead. We were already finding it hard enough to handle one guy with a cane and now whose this bizarre one that appeared with water? I need to get out of here...but....the documents are 10 feet away from me. I can't just let them slip from my hands.' the American in the suit thought as he was caught within the dilemma whether to stay here and fight or simply flee from here turning his back from something that was clearly important enough for him to come here in this dump in person.
"What the… How is the water sticking to his hands?" one of the Asians muttered, his voice tinged with awe.
The other shrugged, too stunned to respond.
I took a step forward, one hand a solid, water-clad fist and the other trailing liquid like a serpentine whip.
"Let's find out," I said, my voice steady, masking the adrenaline coursing through me.
**
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