A Marvel System

Drew leaned back in his chair, staring at the floating system interface. He had successfully pulled off his first heist, made a quick thousand dollars, and secured some black-market tech.

But this was just the beginning.

His actions had already put him on the radar of New York's underworld. Fisk's men would be looking for the ones responsible for the stolen shipment. And if there was one thing Drew knew, it was that Wilson Fisk didn't tolerate thieves.

---

### **[System Interface]**

**Stats Updated:**

- Strength: 12 (+2)

- Agility: 14 (+2)

- Intelligence: 17 (+2)

- Endurance: 12 (+1)

- Charisma: 9 (+1)

**New Ability Acquired:**

- **Night Prowler** – Enhanced vision and reflexes in low-light environments.

Drew's smirk widened. The system was rewarding his actions, growing stronger with every mission. If he played this right, he could build himself into something… unstoppable.

But first, he needed an identity.

In a world where names held power—Iron Man, Spider-Man, The Kingpin—he couldn't afford to be just "some guy."

He needed a reputation.

---

**The Underground's New Player**

Two nights later, Drew found himself in another seedy dive bar, this time in Harlem. He had been following the movements of some of Fisk's mid-tier enforcers, waiting for the right moment.

Tonight was it.

The bar was dimly lit, filled with the scent of whiskey and cigar smoke. Conversations were hushed, the air thick with tension. Drew spotted his targets—three men at the far end, nursing drinks and talking in low voices.

He approached with calm confidence, sliding into the empty seat beside them.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked smoothly.

The men looked up, their expressions shifting from suspicion to mild irritation.

"Who the hell are you?" one of them grunted.

Drew smirked. "Someone who just stole a shipment meant for Fisk. And someone who's offering a deal."

Silence fell over the table. The three men tensed, hands instinctively moving toward their weapons.

"You're either the dumbest bastard in New York," the leader of the trio muttered, "or the bravest."

Drew leaned in. "Neither. I'm the one who's going to make you rich."

The men exchanged glances.

"Keep talking."

Drew took a slow sip of the drink in front of him before continuing.

"I know how Fisk operates. He rules with fear. But fear can be manipulated. If I take out just the right people, at just the right time, I can weaken his hold without him even realizing it."

One of the men scoffed. "And why the hell would we help you?"

Drew grinned. "Because I pay better than Fisk. And I don't ask for loyalty—just results."

The leader of the trio studied him carefully. "You're asking us to betray the most powerful crime lord in New York. That's a suicide mission."

Drew's grin widened. "Not if I'm the one pulling the strings."

A moment of silence passed. Then—

The leader chuckled. "You got balls, kid. I'll give you that."

He extended a hand.

"The name's Martinez. You just bought yourself a crew."

Drew shook his hand, his mind already calculating the next steps.

This was how it started.

---

**The First Move**

Three nights later, Drew stood on the rooftop of a warehouse in Brooklyn, overlooking a shipment of weapons being unloaded.

Martinez and his crew had provided the intel—this shipment belonged to one of Fisk's top lieutenants, a man named Dominic Russo.

If Drew wanted to make a statement, this was the way to do it.

He activated **Night Prowler**, his vision sharpening in the dark. There were eight men, all armed, but their patrol patterns were sloppy.

Drew moved like a shadow, slipping through the gaps. With his new agility stat, it was almost too easy.

He reached the crates and placed several small explosives—ones he had purchased through the **Shop** function. Nothing lethal, just enough to destroy the shipment.

Then, he climbed to the rooftop and detonated them.

**BOOM!**

Flames erupted from below as the crates exploded, sending debris flying. The guards shouted in panic, scrambling to contain the damage.

Drew watched with satisfaction. He hadn't just cost Fisk money—he had sent a message.

And he wasn't done yet.

---

**Fisk Takes Notice**

Wilson Fisk sat in his penthouse, watching the footage from the warehouse attack.

His expression remained unreadable as the screen showed the explosion, the panic, and the loss of thousands of dollars' worth of weaponry.

Behind him, one of his enforcers shifted nervously. "Sir, this… this wasn't a random hit. Someone's targeting us."

Fisk steepled his fingers, his mind working.

"This isn't the work of Daredevil," he murmured. "Nor the Spider."

He leaned back. "Find out who did this. And bring them to me."

The enforcer swallowed hard. "And if they resist?"

Fisk smiled coldly. "Then you make an example out of them."

---

**The Rising Storm**

Drew knew he had just kicked the hornet's nest.

But that was exactly what he wanted.

He wasn't here to play nice. He wasn't here to be a hero.

He was here to **change the game**.

And Fisk?

Fisk was just the beginning.

Drew sat on the edge of a rooftop, watching the flames from his attack consume Fisk's shipment. The chaos below was intoxicating. Men were scrambling, shouting orders, trying to salvage what little remained.

He had just made himself a problem for Wilson Fisk.

Good.

The system chimed in his head.

**[Mission Complete: Making a Statement]**

**Rewards: $3,000 + 15 System Points + Reputation Increase]**

A new notification appeared.

**[Warning: You have gained the attention of Wilson Fisk's organization. Prepare accordingly.]**

Drew smirked. He wasn't stupid enough to believe Fisk would ignore this. But that was part of the plan.

He had just made himself a player in the underworld.

---

### **The Aftermath**

Drew made his way back to his apartment, taking a different route to ensure he wasn't being followed. The adrenaline still pulsed through his veins, but he forced himself to think rationally.

His small apartment was barely furnished—just a bed, a table, and an old laptop he had "borrowed" from a pawn shop. He pulled up his system interface.

---

### **[System Interface]**

**Name:** Drew Harper

**Age:** 18

**Stats:**

- Strength: 13 (+1)

- Agility: 16 (+2)

- Intelligence: 18 (+1)

- Endurance: 13 (+1)

- Charisma: 10 (+1)

**Abilities Unlocked:**

- **Night Prowler** – Enhanced vision and reflexes in low-light environments.

- **Silent Stride** – Footsteps produce no sound when walking or running.

**Available System Points: 25**

---

Drew scrolled through the **Shop** tab, looking for his next upgrade. He had earned enough to make some real investments.

**Shop Purchase:**

- **Tactical Combat Training – Level 1** (-10 System Points)

- **Enhanced Reflexes – Level 1** (-10 System Points)

**Remaining Points: 5**

As the upgrades processed, a wave of information and muscle memory flooded his body. It was as if he had spent years in training, mastering the basics of hand-to-hand combat and sharpening his reaction time.

His fists clenched, testing his newfound reflexes.

"This is insane," he whispered, exhilarated.

With every mission, every risk, he was becoming something **more**.

---

### **Fisk's Response**

Meanwhile, in Fisk Tower, Wilson Fisk stood by the window, gazing down at the city. The destruction of his shipment had not gone unnoticed, and he did not tolerate disorder.

He turned to the enforcer standing behind him—a towering man in a tailored suit, his face unreadable.

"Find him," Fisk said calmly. "And make an example of him."

The enforcer, a ruthless assassin known as **Dante Cross**, gave a slight nod.

"As you wish."

With that, the hunt began.

---

### **Hunted**

Three nights later, Drew sat in a different bar, Martinez and his crew gathered around him.

"Fisk's looking for you," Martinez muttered, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. "Word is, he sent one of his personal enforcers after you."

Drew leaned back. "Good. That means he sees me as a real threat."

Martinez gave him a skeptical look. "You don't get it. Fisk doesn't just send nobodies. This guy—Dante Cross? He's ex-military, former black ops. He's taken down entire crews by himself."

Drew's grin didn't waver.

"I'll handle it."

Martinez shook his head. "You're crazy."

Drew just chuckled. "I prefer ambitious."

---

### **The Assassin Strikes**

That night, Drew was walking down a dimly lit alley when his instincts screamed at him.

**[Danger Detected.]**

He spun around just as a knife came flying toward his throat.

He barely dodged, the blade slicing through the air inches from his face.

A man stepped from the shadows, his movements precise, calculated. Dante Cross.

"You've been causing problems," Dante said in a cold, even tone. "Fisk doesn't like problems."

Drew smirked. "Then maybe he should stop pissing me off."

Dante didn't respond—he simply attacked.

He was fast. **Too fast.**

Drew barely had time to react as a fist came at him. He blocked, but the force sent him staggering. His new **Enhanced Reflexes** helped, but Dante was on a whole different level.

Drew ducked under a punch, aiming a counterstrike at Dante's ribs. The assassin twisted, dodging effortlessly before slamming an elbow into Drew's gut.

Pain exploded through him, but he forced himself to stay on his feet.

This wasn't a fight he could win by brute force.

He needed to think.

Dante lunged again, and this time Drew activated **Silent Stride**, maneuvering swiftly to the side. He grabbed a discarded metal pipe from the ground and swung—

**CRACK!**

The impact caught Dante off guard, striking his shoulder.

Drew didn't stop. He **couldn't**. He pressed the attack, using his new combat instincts to keep Dante off balance.

Then—

**BANG!**

A gunshot rang out, forcing Drew to dive for cover. The bullet grazed his shoulder, searing pain ripping through him.

Dante was already reloading.

**Shit.**

Drew activated **Night Prowler**, using the darkness to his advantage. He moved quickly, silently, closing the gap.

Before Dante could react, Drew was behind him.

He grabbed the assassin's arm, twisting it violently. The gun clattered to the ground.

Drew didn't hesitate—he slammed his knee into Dante's face. The assassin staggered, momentarily dazed.

Drew took his chance.

He grabbed the fallen gun and aimed it at Dante's head.

The assassin's eyes met his—cold, calculating. "Do it."

Drew hesitated.

**Killing him would send a clear message to Fisk. But was he ready to cross that line?**

His finger hovered over the trigger.

Then—

Sirens in the distance.

**Time's up.**

Drew scowled and lowered the gun. "Tell Fisk I'm just getting started."

Dante wiped the blood from his mouth, smirking. "You just made the biggest mistake of your life."

Drew stepped back into the shadows, disappearing into the night.

---

### **War is Coming**

Drew sat in his apartment, wrapping his wounded shoulder. His hands trembled slightly, but not from fear.

From **excitement**.

He had gone toe-to-toe with one of Fisk's best and walked away.

This was only the beginning.

His system blinked.

**[Mission Complete: Survive the Assassin]**

**Rewards: $5,000 + 20 System Points + Reputation Boost]**

Another notification appeared.

**[Warning: Wilson Fisk has marked you as a high-priority target.]**

Drew chuckled.

"Good."

The Kingpin had just declared war.

And Drew?

He was more than ready.