Leander touched down in a narrow, trash-strewn alleyway in Queens, the familiar scent of urban smog and street food filling his lungs. It was a stark contrast to the sterile, high-frequency hum of Wakanda.
He adjusted the Mark II glasses perched on his nose. Tony had really outdone himself this time. The previous version felt like a clunky prototype, but these felt like a premium accessory—lightweight, sleek, and perfectly balanced. With a mental command, the glasses activated the simulation layer. A shimmering field of light projected over his face, altering his features into those of a generic, slightly older teenager with a sharper jawline and deeper-set eyes.
He caught his reflection in a cracked window. The projection was flawless; as he blinked or frowned, the simulation mimicked the micro-expressions of his skin beneath. It was eerie, but effective. With a quick tap on the frame, the image dissolved, revealing his true face.
The scanning capability was even more impressive. As he walked toward the familiar storefront of what used to be a simple fast-food joint, the glasses highlighted the men standing guard.
Target 1: Male, 34. Pulse: 72 bpm. Carrying 9mm sidearm (concealed). Identity: Ex-Private Military Contractor. Target 2: Male, 29. Pulse: 85 bpm (elevated). Carrying tactical knife.
Leander didn't even need to speak; he just tracked the cursor with his eyes, and the data flowed into his peripheral vision. This wasn't just a phone anymore; it was a tactical HUD that rivaled the Mark VI's internal systems. He folded the glasses and tucked them into his pocket as he approached the entrance.
Zost was already moving before Leander reached the door. The golden signature was unmistakable to him. He practically burst through the entrance, his usual stoic expression cracking into one of genuine relief and intense respect.
The eight bodyguards stationed around the perimeter froze. They had seen Zost break men's ribs without blinking, but here he was, acting like a disciplined soldier reporting to a general.
"Who's the kid?" one guard whispered, his hand hovering near his holster. "Why is the boss acting like he just saw the Pope?"
"I don't know," another replied, his eyes wide. "He looks like a middle-schooler, but the way Zost is looking at him... it's like he's terrified and worshipful at the same time. Captain, you got a read on this?"
"Shut your mouths," the Captain hissed, his voice trembling slightly. "You see that kid, you look at the floor. Don't ask questions if you want to keep your tongues."
Inside the back office, the transformation was even more apparent. The greasy tile and plastic booths were gone, replaced by the sleek, minimalist aesthetics of the "Black Shark Security Group."
"Zost, give me the rundown," Leander said, taking a seat in a leather chair that felt far too large for his frame.
"Black Prison currently stands at over 1,300 active members," Zost reported, standing at attention. "We've consolidated the local gangs and implemented a strict code of conduct. No drugs near schools, no senseless violence, and we've started 'cleaning' the streets. The traditional syndicates are screaming, but we've neutralized their leadership. Queens is... quiet, Boss."
"Black Prison," Leander repeated, testing the name. "Tony mentioned it. I assume you four came up with that?"
"It felt appropriate," Zost said. "A place where the lawless are kept in check. If it's too dark for your taste, we can rebrand as something more... corporate."
"No, it fits. You guys are the ones on the ground. As long as you keep the peace and stay under the radar, run it how you see fit."
Leander's gaze drifted to Dick, who was leaning heavily on a crutch nearby.
"Dick, come here. Your leg is still a mess."
"It's fine, Boss," Dick grunted, though his face was pale. "Took a few rounds to the femur during the takeover. The doctors did what they could, but the bone shattered into too many pieces. I'll be back on my feet in a month or two."
"You won't," Leander said, standing up.
He placed a hand on Dick's chest. A brilliant, warm gold light erupted from Leander's palm, flooding the room. The intensity was so great that Zost had to shield his eyes. Dick's body went limp, drifting into a deep, forced sleep as Leander lifted him off the floor with a localized magnetic field.
Leander's eyes glowed with the Delusion-Breaking light. He could see the jagged, poorly knit bone fragments in Dick's thigh. With a sharp thought, he used his golden energy to fracture the improper healing, realigning the shards with sub-millimeter precision. The gold light acted as a celestial solder, fusing the bone back together and reinforcing the marrow.
He lowered Dick onto a nearby sofa. The man was still breathing deeply, unaware that his leg was now stronger than steel.
Leander turned back to the desk and scrawled a number on a notepad. "That's my direct line. Only use it for emergencies. You're doing a good job, Zost. Keep Black Shark looking legitimate. I don't want the police or S.H.I.E.L.D. sniffing around because of a sloppy paper trail."
"Understood, Boss. Also, there's twenty-six million in the primary account. We've set aside your share in—"
"Keep it," Leander interrupted, heading for the door. "Use it to expand. Buy better equipment, hire better people. I don't need the cash; I need an army that doesn't break."
As he walked out, Zost followed him to the door, his voice booming for the benefit of the guards. "This is the Big Boss. He is the beginning and the end of Black Prison. If you see him, you treat him with more respect than you give your own mothers. If a word of his identity leaves this building, I won't just fire you—I'll erase you."
The guards nodded frantically, sweat pouring down their faces. They had just watched a child heal a shattered man with a touch. They weren't going to say a damn word.
The homecoming at the Hayes residence was a different kind of intensity.
Aunt Jenny had clearly been waiting by the window for hours. The moment Leander walked through the door, he was engulfed in a hug that nearly rivaled his own physical strength.
She didn't ask a single question about Washington. It was as if she knew the "exchange program" story was a fragile glass sculpture and she didn't want to be the one to shatter it. Instead, she focused on the tangible: his face, his height, and his appetite.
"You've grown, Leander," she said, her eyes glistening. "And you look so... tired. Or maybe just older. Come, sit. I made the dishes you liked from that Chinese place Tony Stark kept raving about."
The dinner was a labor of love. She had spent hours sourcing authentic ingredients for Kung Pao Chicken and Stir-fried Tomatoes with Eggs. They weren't perfect—the chicken was a bit too spicy and the eggs were slightly overcooked—but to Leander, it was the best meal he had eaten in four months.
"Tony was surprisingly helpful while you were away," Uncle George said, poking at a piece of chicken. "He kept us updated on your 'progress.' Though he did mention that the Chinese food in New York doesn't compare to the real thing in the East."
"He talked a lot about the different regions," Jenny added, smiling. "Szechuan, Guangdong... he made it sound like a different world."
"It is," Leander said softly, feeling the warmth of the home settle into his bones.
At the end of the meal, George leaned back and slapped the table with a look of sudden determination. "You know what? Next summer, no exchange programs. No camps. We're taking a family trip. We're going to China. I want to see these mountains and eat this food at the source."
"I'd love that," Jenny said, her eyes bright with excitement. "What do you think, Leander?"
Leander nodded, a lump forming in his throat. "I'd like that more than anything."
But beneath the table, his fists clenched. He thought about the Chitauri. He thought about Loki and the impending storm. He thought about the cosmic threats that would soon turn the sky over New York into a battlefield.
'Not them,' he thought. 'I won't let a single alien footstep touch this neighborhood. I'll burn the stars out of the sky before I let them hurt this family.'
Five days later, the "vacation" was over. Leander used the excuse of a summer science workshop to head back out.
Guided by the Mark II glasses, he took the most direct route back toward Africa. However, he decided to make a detour. His sensors had picked up a very specific gamma signature he had been tracking for months.
He landed in a dusty, sun-bleached border town in India. The air was thick with the smell of spices and woodsmoke. He walked through the crowded streets, his golden aura suppressed to the point of invisibility, until he reached a small, dilapidated shack on the outskirts of the village.
He knocked gently on the wooden door.
Inside, a man sat in the shadows, eyes closed in deep, meditative silence. Dr. Bruce Banner felt the shift in the air before he heard the knock. On his wrist, a modified heart-rate monitor began to beep a frantic warning as his pulse spiked from 60 to 110 in a heartbeat.
The Other Guy was stirring.