The night air carries the scent of salt and rust as I perch atop a shipping container, watching the Maggia's operation unfold below.
As XLR8, my enhanced vision catches every detail - armed guards, hidden snipers, the careful orchestration of a well-planned smuggling operation.
"Quite a setup they've got," I mutter to myself, counting twenty-three armed men. Three weeks ago, I was a normal person who'd never thrown a punch. Now I'm about to take down a major criminal organization.
The absurdity of my situation hits me - doesn't matter that I already have taken on bigger and worse - and I have to suppress a nervous laugh.
The Ultimatrix pulses quietly on my chest, its built-in combat instincts my only real preparation for what I'm about to do.
Below, a large container is being moved with suspicious care. One of the guards checks his watch - the same model I've seen on Fisk's legitimate security teams. The Maggia may have a mole in his organization.
That'll be useful information for later - if and its a big if, Fisk isn't already aware of it and simply making use of it.
Whatever. Right now, I have a show to put on.
"Alright," I whisper, activating my transformation sequence. "Time to make some waves."
The change to Humungousaur feels natural now, my body expanding as cameras from nearby buildings - conveniently placed by Fisk's people - start rolling.
Time for New York's newest hero to earn his reputation.
"Evening, gentlemen!" My voice booms across the docks as I drop from the container, landing with enough force to make the ground shake. "I hear this is a restricted area."
The reaction is immediate. Guards scatter, weapons raise, and someone shouts "It's that Shift guy!"
The first burst of gunfire bounces off my armored hide.
The Ultimatrix's combat instincts kick in, but they feel different from the Harlem fight - less desperate, more controlled. I'm learning to work with them rather than just react.
"Really?" I grab a shipping container and lift it effortlessly. "We're doing this the hard way?"
A sniper's bullet pings off my shoulder. I locate him instantly and flick a smaller container his way - not to hurt, just to make him abandon his position.
The Ultimatrix guides my strength, helping me find that sweet spot between intimidating and lethal.
"Boss, we need backup!" one thug shouts into his radio. "He's too strong-"
I interrupt him by picking up his car - with him still in it - and placing it carefully atop a stack of containers. "Stay put. The police will get you down... eventually."
More gunfire. More shouts. I move through their defensive positions like a force of nature, carefully measuring each action.
Disable weapons, contain threats, protect lives - even criminal ones. This isn't just about stopping the Maggia; it's about establishing who Shift is as a hero.
In the distance, police sirens wail. Right on schedule.
A guard rushes me with what looks like a modified taser. The weapon sparks against my scales, causing a twinge of discomfort.
High-end tech.
"Not bad," I grunt, remembering that these aren't street thugs but part of one of the most sophisticated criminal organizations in New York. Of course they'd have advanced weaponry.
I sweep my tail in a controlled arc, taking out three guards while being careful not to hit them too hard.
The Ultimatrix's instincts now suggest lethal moves - sensing possible danger - but I override them, focusing on incapacitation.
"Boss, he's heading for the primary cargo!" someone shouts.
The 'primary cargo' - a reinforced container that practically screams 'secret weapons' - is being hastily loaded onto a truck. Two guards climb in the cab, engine roaring to life.
"Oh no you don't." I reach for the truck, but more guards open fire with their weapons. The impacts actually sting through my armored hide - these guys aren't messing around.
Time to switch tactics.
I slap the Ultimatrix symbol, transforming into XLR8. The world slows around me as I dash between the guards, disarming them with precise strikes. Their weapons clatter to the ground in what must look like a blur to them.
The truck is already moving, but to me, it might as well be standing still. I race alongside it, open the door, and pull both guards out before they can blink, depositing them safely - if unceremoniously - on a stack of empty containers.
"Thanks for the lift," I quip, before jumping into the cab and stopping the vehicle.
Police sirens grow closer as I secure the last of the guards. Most are zip-tied to various containers, a few are groaning on the ground, but none are seriously injured.
The Maggia's advanced weapons are carefully piled up - evidence that will definitely interest law enforcement.
I transform back to Humungousaur just as the police arrive, giving them a clear view of the hero who handled the situation.
Camera drones hover at a safe distance - some belonging to news outlets, others undoubtedly to Fisk.
"Area's secure," I announce to the approaching officers. "Twenty-three suspects, multiple illegal weapons, and-" I tear open the suspicious container with calculated force, "-what appears to be military-grade hardware."
The officers approach cautiously, weapons lowered but ready. They're still getting used to my presence, which is fair.
Three weeks ago, their biggest concern was regular criminals. Now they're dealing with transforming heroes and gamma monsters.
"Good work," one officer says, actually sounding like he means it. "We'll take it from here."
I nod, playing my role. "Just doing my part to keep the city safe." The line sounds rehearsed even to me, but hey, that's what people expect from heroes, right?
As if on cue, reporters begin shouting questions from behind the police line. Time for the second part of tonight's performance.
"Shift! Over here!"
"Can you comment on the weapons?"
"Was this connected to the Harlem incident?"
I turn to face the press, making sure they get good angles of Humungousaur's impressive silhouette against the dock lights. Time to put all those PR lessons from Fisk to use.
"The Maggia's operation has been shut down," I project my voice with authority. "Their weapons are now in police custody, where they belong."
"Are you working with the police department?" someone shouts.
"I work with anyone who wants to protect this city," I respond, the practiced line flowing naturally now. "Tonight's operation shows what we can accomplish when-"
Movement catches my eye. One of the guards, apparently not as unconscious as he seemed, has grabbed a fallen weapon and is aiming at the police line.
Without thinking, I move. The Ultimatrix's combat instincts merge with my own protective impulse as I dive forward, shielding officers and reporters alike.
The modified weapon's blast strikes my armored back, actually drawing a grunt of pain.
I spin around, tail sweeping the guard's legs while simultaneously plucking the weapon from his hands. He hits the ground hard as police swarm in.
"Is everyone alright?" I ask, genuinely concerned despite knowing this will play perfectly for the cameras.
The reporters are practically salivating at the dramatic turn of events. Their cameras captured everything - the threat, my reaction, the protection of civilians. Fisk couldn't have scripted it better if he tried.
Speaking of which...
"I think that's enough excitement for one night," I announce, noting how the reporters hang on every word. "The police can handle things from here."
Right on cue, my earpiece - hidden beneath Humungousaur's scales - crackles with Fisk's voice: "Well played. Our shipment is secure. Time to make your exit."
I give the gathered crowd one final nod before leaping onto a container, then up to a nearby rooftop. The movement is smooth, practiced - a far cry from my clumsy first transformations just weeks ago.
Once out of sight, I switch back to XLR8 and race across the city. The adrenaline is still pumping, but now mixed with something else - satisfaction? Pride? It's strange how natural this is starting to feel.
Minutes later, I arrive at Fisk Tower through a discrete entrance, transforming back to human form. My "father" stands by his window, multiple screens displaying news coverage of the bust.
"The modified weapons were an unexpected variable," he notes without turning.
"The Maggia's better equipped than we thought," I reply, though deep down find it not as unexpected as it may seem, possibly because I'm already thinking it normal because of the comics?
I loosen my suit's tie as I continue, "Though it made for better television."
"Indeed." He gestures to one screen showing my protection of the civilians. "The public loves a hero who prioritizes safety over force. The polls are already responding."
I sink into a chair, the night's events catching up with me. "Any word on our other operation?"
"Completed without incident." Now he turns, studying me with that calculating gaze. "You're adapting well to your role."
"Had to happen eventually," I shrug, though we both know it's more complicated than that. "Though I have to ask - was that last guard's attempt planned?"
A slight smile crosses his face. "Would I arrange such a dangerous situation?"
"Yes," I answer immediately. "But this time, I don't think you did. His fear was too genuine."
"You're learning to read people," Fisk observes, pouring two drinks. "A useful skill in our line of work."
"Lines of work," I correct, accepting the glass. "Hero and... whatever this is." I gesture between us, still not entirely comfortable with our father-son dynamic.
"Speaking of which," Fisk activates another screen, showing footage from across the city.
"Your intervention at the docks drew attention away from three other operations tonight. The Maggia lost face, resources, and territory."
"While your businesses coincidentally position themselves to fill the void," I add, understanding the bigger picture.
"Legal enterprises expanding into a market suddenly lacking criminal competition."
"Precisely." He studies me over his glass. "Though I noticed you pulled your punches more than necessary. The Maggia understands only one language - force."
"I'm not here to break bones," I counter. "The more brutal I am, the more scrutiny I attract. Besides," I set my untouched drink down, "someone who was experimented on shouldn't be too eager to inflict pain on others. It fits the narrative better."
Fisk's expression shifts slightly - approval mixed with wariness. Three weeks ago, I wouldn't have noticed such subtle changes. But like he said, I'm learning.
"Tomorrow's papers will paint you as a hero," he says finally. "But Stark's watching. The military's watching. One mistake-"
"Could ruin everything," I finish. "I know. But that's not what's really bothering you, is it?"
"No," Fisk admits after a long pause. "What concerns me is how quickly you're adapting. Not just to the hero role, but to this world of power plays and consequences. It's almost as if..."
"As if I know too much?" I lean forward. "Look, I get your suspicion. Three weeks ago, I was nobody.
Now I'm your son, a public hero, and privy to some of your organization's secrets. But let's be honest - you've had me watched every second. You already know me. If I was going to betray you, I'd have done it already."
"Perhaps." He moves to his desk, pulling up more footage. "Or perhaps you're playing a longer game. One even I don't see yet."
I can't help but laugh at that. "Trust me, I'm making this up as I go. The only reason I'm adapting so fast is because I have to.
Between the Ultimatrix's combat instincts and your crash course in being a public figure, I'm barely keeping my head above water."
Something in my tone must convince him, because I catch a glimpse of genuine surprise on his face. It's probably the most honest I've been since our arrangement began.
"The facility tour is still on for tomorrow," he says finally. "Assuming you're not too tired from tonight's activities."
"Wouldn't miss it." I stand, stretching. "Though I should probably get some rest. Being a hero is surprisingly exhausting."
As I head for the door, his voice stops me. "Samael."
I turn.
"You did well tonight."
The praise catches me off guard. Not because it's from Fisk - I'm starting to understand how he operates - but because part of me actually feels proud to hear it.
Three weeks of playing father and son, and somehow the lines are already blurring.
"Thanks... father." The word still feels strange on my tongue. I have parents of my own possibly waiting for me - I hope at least, I don't know the time difference. Maybe centuries already passed there - I don't think about it. I don't want to.
I make my way to my new penthouse suite - another part of this surreal new life. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a view of the city I now protect, or at least pretend to protect.
The line between hero and pawn grows more complex each day.
Dropping onto my absurdly expensive couch, I activate the Ultimatrix's holographic display. "Show me available forms."
The familiar alien silhouettes appear before me. Each one represents power, possibility, and responsibility.
The combat instincts they provide are helpful, but they're just guidelines. The choices, the consequences - those are all mine.
My phone buzzes with a news alert: "SHIFT STRIKES AGAIN: Hero Thwarts Major Weapons Operation."
Below it, a message from an unknown number: "Nice work tonight. Lab offer still stands. - TS"
I smile, remembering Tony's scrutiny at the gala. He's right to be suspicious, but not for the reasons he thinks. This isn't about Fisk's schemes or hidden agendas. This is about survival in a universe I never thought I'd be part of.
"One day at a time," I mutter to myself, watching the city lights flicker like stars. "One transformation at a time."
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!
Do tell me how you found the chapter?
Nothing too grandiose yet, but that's to be expected. Besides, since this is a slice of life fanfic as well, we'll actually have hero work.
So yeah, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)