Five months until the invasion.
The woman in the hospital bed looked like she'd been hollowed out from the inside. Sarah Alen—no relation, despite the shared name—had maybe three weeks left. The cancer was aggressive. The telekinesis that had manifested under stress was worse.
"Every time I use it, my head feels like it's splitting," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "The doctors can't give me enough morphine to stop the migraines without killing me. I heard... I heard you can take it away."
Justin sat beside her bed, seeing himself reflected in her desperation. Different circumstances. Same fundamental truth: power always demanded payment.
"I can," he said. "But you'll never get it back. And you'll still have the cancer."
"I know. I just want to die without my own brain trying to escape my skull." Sarah managed a weak smile. "At least then someone gets use out of it. You'll use it for something good, right?"
"I will."
"Then take it. Please."
The extraction was gentler than combat acquisitions. Justin held her hand, feeling the telekinetic energy that saturated her neural pathways. It fought removal—powers always did—but Sarah didn't resist. She wanted relief more than she wanted ability.
When the telekinesis settled into Justin's vault's fifth pedestal, Sarah slumped back against her pillows, tears streaming down her face.
"It's gone," she whispered. "Oh god, it's finally gone."
Justin arranged for her hospice care. Full funding. Private room. Every comfort medicine could provide for her remaining weeks.
She died seventeen days later, peacefully, without the migraines that had turned dying into torture.
David Rodriguez was more pragmatic about his donation.
"The electrical generation interferes with my treatment equipment," he explained, lying in his hospital bed with the calm of someone who'd accepted death months ago. "Every time my body generates charge, the monitors fritz out. The doctors can't track my vitals properly. It's... inconvenient."
"That's one word for it," Justin said.
"I'm dying anyway. Might as well die without being a technical headache." David held out his hand. "You'll use it well?"
"Yes."
"Then we're good. Take it."
The electrical generation power was volatile—energy that crackled through David's cells, disrupting everything electronic within range. Justin extracted it carefully, feeling it settle into his vault's sixth pedestal alongside the others.
David died three weeks later, surrounded by monitoring equipment that finally worked properly, giving doctors clear data on his final moments.
Justin attended both funerals. Stood in the back. Didn't introduce himself. Just bore witness to lives that had ended peacefully because he'd taken away abilities that caused suffering.
It still felt like profiting from tragedy. But it was honest profiting. Consensual. The kind where everyone understood the transaction.
The terrorist was different.
Viktor Kuznetsov used sonic manipulation to collapse buildings. Twelve dead in his last attack. Thirty injured. ARES Division had been tracking him for weeks through Ghost Network intelligence.
When they finally cornered him in an abandoned factory, he fought like an animal.
Frank Castle led the assault, moving with the supernatural strength Justin had granted him. Enhanced durability meant Viktor's sonic blasts barely staggered him. But when Viktor turned his power on civilians cowering in a nearby building, threatening to bring the structure down—
Frank shot him. Center mass. Precise. Necessary.
Justin arrived as Viktor was bleeding out, sonic power flickering erratically around his dying body.
"Go ahead," Viktor spat, blood on his teeth. "Take it. Use it to become a monster like me."
"I'll use it to prevent more people like you from hurting innocents," Justin said coldly.
The sonic manipulation extraction was violent. The power resisted, lashing out, causing the walls to crack and shudder. But Justin pulled harder, feeling his vault's hunger, and the ability tore free in a rush that left Viktor gasping.
"Monster," Viktor whispered as he died. "You're just... another monster."
Justin stared at the corpse for a long moment, sonic manipulation settling into his vault's seventh pedestal, and wondered if the dying terrorist was right.
The seizure hit during a board meeting.
Justin was mid-sentence, explaining quarterly projections, when the void corruption spiked. Geometric patterns on his arms blazed with light visible even through his suit. Pain shot through every nerve. His vision went white.
Then black.
He came to on his office floor, Maya's terrified face hovering above him. His body felt like it had been wrung out and beaten. The void marks had spread visibly—past his shoulders now, creeping toward his neck.
"Hospital," Maya said. "Now."
"No. Dr. Palmer. Private. Use—" Justin's voice cracked. "Use the false identity."
Maya made the call.
Dr. Christine Palmer looked like she'd aged years since their last meeting.
"Mr. Smith," she said, not bothering with the pretense anymore. "Your cellular structure is destabilizing. The energy signatures I detected before? They're consuming you. At this rate—" She pulled up test results that made no sense according to any medical textbook. "—you have maybe a year. Possibly less."
"I know."
"Then stop. Whatever experimental treatment caused this, stop immediately."
"Can't." Justin's voice was rough. "Not yet. Few more months. Then I'll find a solution."
"There is no solution!" Christine's professional mask cracked. "You're dying. Accelerating toward death with every—whatever it is you're doing. I can't help you if you won't stop killing yourself."
Justin met her eyes. Saw genuine concern there. Caring from a doctor who'd seen too many patients refuse help. "Dr. Palmer, in approximately five months, Manhattan will be attacked by forces that make conventional terrorism look quaint. Thousands will die. Maybe tens of thousands. I'm one of the few people preparing to minimize that death toll. So yes, I'm dying. But I'm dying in a way that saves others. That has to be enough."
Christine stared at him. "You're insane."
"Probably. But I'm not wrong." Justin pulled himself to sitting, his regeneration factor already healing the damage from the seizure. "Thank you for the care. For the concern. But I have work to do."
"Work that's killing you."
"All work worth doing costs something."
Christine was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Fine. But I'm monitoring you weekly. And when you collapse again—not if, when—I want to be the first call. Not the last resort."
"Deal."
Natasha found Justin in his penthouse that night, staring at his arms.
The void marks glowed faintly in the darkness, geometric patterns that looked almost alive. They'd spread past his shoulders, creeping toward his collarbones. In another month, they'd reach his neck. In six months—
He didn't know what happened at six months. Didn't want to think about it.
"Maya called me," Natasha said quietly. "Said you had a seizure. That the corruption is accelerating."
"It is."
"Will you stop?"
"No."
Natasha sat beside him, taking his marked hand in hers. "I know. I wouldn't ask you to. But Justin—" Her voice broke slightly. "I need you to understand that watching you die slowly is the hardest thing I've ever done. Harder than Red Room. Harder than any mission. Because I can't fix this. Can't stop it. Can only watch and hope you survive whatever's coming."
Justin pulled her close. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. Just survive. Whatever alien army is coming, whatever portal opens, whatever happens—survive it. Come back to me. Promise."
"I can't promise that."
"Then lie. Tell me you'll survive. Even if it's not true."
Justin held her tighter. "I'll survive. I'll fight through whatever comes and I'll come back to you."
"Liar."
"Yeah."
They sat together in the darkness, void marks pulsing, corruption spreading, and time running out. Seven powers in his vault now. Eight pedestals still empty. Five months until the invasion. Maybe less.
Outside, New York lived its oblivious life. Inside, Justin held the woman he loved and tried not to think about all the ways this could end badly.
Failed spectacularly at not thinking about it.
But held her anyway.
Because sometimes that was all you could do.
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