[David POV]
Domani Architecture. The name hovered at the top of the holographic file, just beneath the parent company tag.
Rand Enterprises.
"Who's he talking to?" I asked.
I hadn't expected that. Rand was not just another faceless corporation. The moment I saw the name, questions began forming faster than I could sort through them.
Was this tied to the Hand somehow? That would make a certain kind of sense. They always preferred to work through legitimate channels—corporate arms that could hide the rot underneath. Was Harold Meachum involved in this? Or was it someone else entirely, someone I had not uncovered yet?
Before I could chase that spiral any further, Gideon responded to the question I had asked moments earlier.
"He's speaking to someone from the company's internal security division," she said calmly.
My thoughts paused for a moment.
"Security?" I echoed.
"Yes. They're covering their tracks."
"Can you identify the caller?"
"I'll need a little more time," she replied.
I gave a small nod. That was all she needed to proceed.
The towel from my cooldown stretch still hung across my shoulder. I tossed it aside and exhaled slowly, letting my muscles fully settle.
"And while we're at it, keep an eye on the Iron Serpent clubs. All of them. I want full surveillance coverage, twenty-four-seven. If S.H.I.E.L.D. starts sniffing around, I want to know the second it happens."
"They're already under partial watch," she said. "I'll escalate to full coverage."
"Good." I nodded slightly. "I want to be more prepared this time. I'm going in with something that will set the Iron Serpents on fire."
I let the weight of those words settle, then added, "Also, keep monitoring Miles Lydon. I want to know the moment he breaches a S.H.I.E.L.D. database."
There was a pause as I turned slightly, my eyes scanning the open space of the warehouse around me.
"I need a new place," I said, mostly to myself "Something permanent. A brownstone, maybe. Or a mansion, if it's isolated enough. That kind of privacy is rare in New York city, but see if you can find both options."
"Yes," she responded. "I've already begun filtering properties based on square footage, zoning history, and neighborhood surveillance risk. You'll have a shortlist by morning."
"And about this place," I added, motioning toward the warehouse. "I asked earlier what's the status?"
"It's possible," she said. "The current ownership belongs to an overseas holding firm. No complications. The zoning is already flagged for flexible redevelopment. If we offer above market value through one of our front companies, they'll sell."
"Make the offer."
"Understood," she replied. "But I suggest we bring in a real estate attorney for the purchase. It will help avoid scrutiny."
I gave another small nod.
I started thinking about my future now, with the memories of my past life weighing heavily on my mind.
Yesterday's news had left a deeper mark than I cared to admit. A mutant group had attacked a secluded military base, small, strategic, buried beneath layers of classified clearance and barbed wire.
The official coverage was, as always, muted and rehearsed. They called it "an isolated incident." Government spokespeople promised containment, insisted the situation was under control, and claimed that the attackers were a mutant terrorist named Magneto and his group.
They were scared.
But the attack had triggered something far more dangerous than retaliation.
It had sparked fear in the hearts of people already teetering on the edge. In cities across the country, protests had erupted overnight. Some were calling for mutant registration. Others were demanding expulsion. A few banners called for peace, coexistence, dialogue—but they were drowned out by louder voices, angrier ones.
Anti-mutant sentiments were rising like a slow wave ready to crash.
There were rallies now, organized by fringe groups that were no longer hiding behind masks or acronyms. "Protect Humanity," one banner read. "Keep Earth Safe," said another. Simple phrases that tried to disguise the venom underneath. They blamed mutants for the attack.
And it would not stop there.
Fear makes people dangerous.
And desperate people follow monsters.
But even this was just one layer of the storm. Mutants were only one piece of a much larger threat map that was growing more volatile by the day.
Inhumans. Demons. Reality warpers. Ultron and then there was Thanos—fondly known as the purple potato. One wanted the idea of wiping out humanity, and the other preached and was dead set on restoring balance to the entire cosmos by committing genocide.
Galactus, Doctor Doom, the Beyonder, Molecule Man, Gorr the God Butcher, the Sentry (Void), the Mad Celestials, Onslaught, Knull, Mephisto.
Fuck, just thinking about them gave me chills.
Should I just run away to an unknown corner of the universe?
Even to run, I would need power and resources.
Then there were still the local threats: Kingpin, Green Goblin, Doctor Octopus, Red Skull, Bullseye, Taskmaster, Baron Zemo, The Hood, Crossbones, Killmonger, Mister Negative—the list just went on and on.
And there were the what-if scenarios... zombies, Watcher crises, Ultron winning...
Ah… Should I really run away?
Then came my personal issues—my transmigration, the system. I needed answers.
I had no illusions of control. But I also had no intention of becoming collateral.
As I was diving deeper into this rabbit hole of thoughts and paranoia—
"David, are you alright?" I heard Gideon's voice, snapping me out of it.
I was sweating profusely, and I could hear my heart pounding in my chest.
Shit. I am scared.
I took a moment to calm myself.
Then I spoke. "Yeah, I'm okay."
"David, Miss Elena has texted you, asking about the date plans," Gideon added, catching my attention.
Realization dawned on me, and I facepalmed for forgetting.
So much for a memory skill.
I quickly picked up my phone and looked down at her message glowing on the screen.
Elena:Hey, are we still on for Sunday? I'm finally free this weekend!
A soft breath left my lips, something between relief and anticipation. I could feel the edges of a smile tug at the corner of my mouth—small, but real. I sat up straighter on the cot, wiping away the last bit of sweat from my neck and shoulders before reaching for the phone again.
Me:Absolutely. I've been looking forward to it. Sunday's all yours.
I paused, thumb hovering over the screen. This was new territory. For all the things I had done, all the places I had been, this was uncharted ground. My first date in either life.
And it mattered.
Me:I was thinking Central Park? Maybe something easy. Walk, talk. You can make fun of how I try to feed squirrels.
I hit send before I could overthink it. A simple start. No lavish dinners, no rooftop views, or overplanned spectacles. Just something real. I wanted to hear her laugh in person. Watch the way her eyes lit up when she smiled—not just through texts or calls. There was something grounding about her presence—like a soft tether holding me to this version of the world, this version of myself.
Her reply came within seconds.
Elena:Central Park? In the afternoon? No rooftop view or late dinner with moody lighting and wine? That's… unexpected. Not that I'm complaining—just surprised.
I stared at the message for a moment, unsure of how to respond. I had imagined a dozen ways this conversation could go, but not this.
Then another message popped up.
Elena:Be honest. Have you ever even been on a date before?
A soft breath escaped me—more of a quiet laugh this time. I sat up, typing slowly.
Me:This would be my first. Ever. So yeah... I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.
I hesitated. Should I backtrack? Offer something more romantic? Play it cool?
I didn't.
Me:But if you'd prefer a dinner date—mood lighting, wine, the whole thing—I'm up for it. I just wanted to start simple, real. Something easy. But I'll take you wherever you want to go.
Her reply came not long after.
Elena:Surprise me.
Two simple words, but they hit different.
I exhaled. My heart wasn't racing, but there was something warm growing quietly in my chest. It was the first time in a long time I didn't feel like I had to measure every word, every step. With Elena, I could just... be.
Alright then.
To Be Continued...