Hunter of Marvel - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Mark

The walk back to the apartment felt significantly longer than the walk to the park.

Veer’s newly enhanced Perception was a double-edged sword. On one hand, the world was painted in vibrant, high-definition detail. He could hear the low hum of electricity buzzing in the streetlamps and see the microscopic stress fractures in the concrete beneath his worn sneakers. On the other hand, his sense of smell was dialed to an agonizing extreme, and his body, having just metabolized a massive amount of energy to fuel his system upgrades, was screaming for calories.

Every passing bakery, every greasy street vendor, every faint whiff of cooking oil from an open apartment window felt like a physical blow to his empty stomach. By the time he reached his building, he was practically vibrating with a hollow, gnawing hunger.

He trudged up the three flights of stairs, his muscles feeling entirely refreshed but his core feeling completely hollowed out. He fumbled his key into the battered brass lock of their apartment door, turned it, and pushed it open.

The immediate wave of stale air, ozone from overheated electronics, and the lingering scent of old instant ramen hit him like a wall.

“Dude! What the hell?!”

Veer barely had time to pull the key from the lock before a chaotic blur of motion intercepted him in the narrow entryway.

It was Mark.

His roommate was the quintessential high school outcast. He was painfully thin, with a mop of unruly brown hair that looked as though it had never been formally introduced to a comb. He wore a faded, oversized t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of a five-year-old MMORPG, and his eyes were wide, bloodshot, and completely frantic behind the smudged lenses of his glasses.

Mark practically vibrated with nervous energy, his hands flying up into the air as he cornered Veer against the doorframe.

“I saw her!” Mark hissed, his voice cracking loudly on the final syllable. He pointed a trembling finger toward the general direction of Veer’s closed bedroom door, then jabbed it toward the hallway. “I saw her leave! I was coming out to get a soda, and she just… she just walked out! Out of your room! Out of our front door!”

Veer blinked, slowly taking in the sheer panic radiating from the boy. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, buying himself a second to adjust to the ambush.

“Morning, Mark,” Veer said smoothly, his voice surprisingly calm despite the raging hunger in his stomach.

“Do not ‘Morning, Mark’ me!” Mark half-shrieked, pacing a tight, erratic circle on the frayed carpet of the living room. “That was Felicia Hardy! ‘The’ Felicia Hardy! The girl who doesn’t even breathe the same oxygen as us at school! What is happening? Did you drug her? Are you insane? Her boyfriend is going to kill you, Veer! He’s going to literally fold you into a lawn chair and throw you into the Hudson!”

Veer leaned his back against the closed door, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched Mark’s meltdown with a quiet, detached amusement.

In the ruthless, unspoken hierarchy of their high school, he and Mark existed at the absolute bottom. They occupied the ‘Nerd Table’ in the cafeteria, a safe haven for the socially invisible. They played video games, avoided eye contact with the athletes, and navigated the hallways like mice avoiding hawks.

According to Veer’s inherited memories, Mark dedicated almost fifty percent of his meager allowance to buying imported video games and incredibly questionable adult entertainment. He lived in a fantasy world because the real world terrified him.

Felicia Hardy, conversely, was royalty. She was untouchable, gorgeous, and ran with a crowd that viewed kids like Mark and Veer as minor obstacles in the hallway, if they viewed them at all.

To Mark, seeing Felicia walking out of their cheap, shared apartment in yesterday’s clothes was the equivalent of seeing an alien spaceship land on their balcony. It completely shattered his understanding of the universe.

“Relax, Mark,” Veer said, allowing a slow, arrogant smirk to touch the corners of his mouth. He channeled the brash, slightly reckless energy of his eighteen-year-old self, blending it seamlessly with the calm confidence of the thirty-six-year-old. “Nobody drugged anybody. It was just a one-night stand.”

Mark froze mid-step. His jaw unhinged, hanging loosely. He stared at Veer as if his roommate had just spoken fluent Aramaic.

“A… a what?” Mark stammered, the color draining from his face.

“A one-night stand,” Veer repeated, enunciating the words slowly. He pushed off the door and walked past the paralyzed teenager, heading straight for the kitchen.

It was as if Mark’s brain completely fried. The internal processing unit overheated and shut down. He stood rooted to the spot, his mouth opening and closing silently like a fish out of water.

Veer opened the refrigerator, his eyes scanning the bleak, barren shelves. A half-empty carton of milk, a jar of questionable mayonnaise, and a single, sad-looking carrot stared back at him. He sighed, grabbing a large plastic bottle of water and unscrewing the cap.

He leaned against the cheap laminate counter, chugging the water, and watched Mark slowly reboot.

He loved this. He genuinely loved it.

After waking up in a different universe, dealing with the trauma of a merged soul, the grief of a dead mother, and the sheer existential weight of a magical power system, this moment was incredibly grounding. The absolute, unadulterated absurdity of teenage life—where a girl staying over was treated with the same gravity as a national security crisis—was hilarious. It was simple. It was driven by pure hormones and high school politics.

“How?” Mark finally managed to squeak out, spinning around to face the kitchen. The terror in his eyes had been instantly replaced by a burning, ravenous curiosity. “How did that happen? Tell me everything. Do not skip a single detail. I need a chronological, second-by-second breakdown of how the ghost of our lunch table ended up in your bed.”

Veer lowered the water bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His stomach let out a loud, echoing growl that cut through the silence of the apartment.

He looked at Mark, his eyes narrowing slightly in a predatory, calculating gaze.

“I’ll tell you everything,” Veer said, his tone deadpan. “But you have to buy me a pizza first. A large one. Meat-lovers. Extra cheese. And I’m not splitting the bill.”

Mark didn’t even hesitate. The extortion was entirely acceptable. He practically dove across the living room, unearthing his battered smartphone from beneath a pile of comic books on the coffee table.

“Done. Ordered. It’s on the way,” Mark babbled, his thumbs flying across the cracked screen at superhuman speed. He didn’t even look up as he navigated the delivery app. “Thirty minutes. Now talk.”

“I’m going to wash my face,” Veer said, pushing off the counter and walking toward the bathroom. “Let it digest, Mark. The story isn’t going anywhere.”

He ignored Mark’s groaned protests, stepping into the bathroom and splashing cold water on his face to wash away the lingering sweat of his park workout. When he emerged ten minutes later, feeling slightly more human but infinitely more hungry, Mark was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the television, staring at the front door as if trying to summon the delivery guy with his mind.

They waited in an agonizing, tense silence. Veer sat on the worn fabric of their secondhand couch, closing his eyes and letting his enhanced Perception map the sounds of the building. He could hear the heavy footsteps of their upstairs neighbor, the distant wail of a siren, and finally, the faint, approaching hum of a scooter engine pulling up to the curb below.

“He’s here,” Veer said softly, opening his eyes.

“How do you know?”

Before Mark could finish the sentence, a loud knock rattled the front door. Mark scrambled to his feet, grabbed his wallet, and yanked the door open. He practically shoved a crumpled twenty-dollar bill at the confused delivery driver, snatched the flat, grease-stained cardboard box, and slammed the door shut in one fluid motion.

The heavy, intoxicating aroma of baked dough, melted mozzarella, and cured meats instantly filled the apartment. Veer’s mouth watered so violently it almost hurt.

Mark slammed the box down onto the cluttered coffee table, sweeping a stack of gaming magazines onto the floor to make room. He flipped the lid open, revealing the steaming, perfectly blistered pizza.

“Eat,” Mark commanded, his eyes wide and unblinking. “Eat and talk.”

Veer leaned forward, hooking a large, heavy slice with his fingers. The cheese stretched into long, hot strings. He took a massive bite, closing his eyes as the pure, unadulterated calories hit his system. His body practically sighed in relief, the fuel immediately going to work on his depleted reserves.

He chewed quickly, swallowed, and looked at his roommate, who was leaning forward, hanging on his every breath, completely ignoring the food in front of him.

“It wasn’t some grand, romantic movie scene, Mark,” Veer started, his voice steady as he pulled the memories forward. They flowed easily, a perfect, seamless playback in his mind’s eye. “It was just… right place, right time.”

“Define ‘right place’,” Mark pressed, his leg bouncing nervously against the side of the table.

“I was coming back late from my shift at the convenience store,” Veer explained, taking another large bite of pizza. “It was around eleven, maybe a bit later. Cold. The streets were mostly empty. I took the shortcut down 4th street, the one past that old diner.”

Mark nodded rapidly, visualizing the map of their neighborhood.

“As I was passing the alley near the dumpsters, I heard shouting,” Veer continued, his tone shifting into something a bit more serious. “Not just loud talking, but a real argument. I stopped. I didn’t want to walk into the middle of a mugging, so I just stayed in the shadows by the brick wall and listened.”

Veer paused, taking a sip from his water bottle to wash down the heavy crust. He could see the memory perfectly. The flickering orange glow of a broken streetlamp. The cold fog of breath in the air.

“It was Felicia. And her boyfriend,” Veer said.

Mark sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes going even wider. “The college guy? The one with the Audi?”

“Yeah. That guy,” Veer confirmed, though his memory of the boyfriend’s face was slightly blurred in the dark. It didn’t matter. “He was yelling at her. Saying she was acting like a child, that she embarrassed him at some party. Real condescending garbage. Felicia wasn’t backing down, though. She was screaming right back at him. Telling him he was a controlling piece of trash.”

Mark leaned closer, completely captivated. He picked up a slice of pizza but forgot to bring it to his mouth, holding it suspended in the air.

“Then what?”

“He grabbed her arm,” Veer said, his voice dropping slightly. “Not like a gentle hold. He yanked her hard, trying to pull her back toward the street. He told her to get in the car.”

“Did you jump in? Did you fight him?” Mark asked, his voice breathless with secondhand adrenaline.

Veer laughed, a short, humorless sound. “I didn’t have to. Before I could even step out of the shadows, Felicia swung her free hand, grabbed his jacket, and kneed him directly in the nuts.”

Mark flinched violently, instinctively crossing his legs as a phantom pain shot through his own groin. “Oh, damn.”

“Yeah,” Veer nodded, finishing his first slice and immediately grabbing a second. “He dropped like a sack of bricks. Just folded in half, gasping on the pavement. Felicia didn’t even look back. She just turned around and started walking fast down the alley, away from the street.”

“She went down the alley?” Mark frowned, the pizza slice still hovering near his chin. “That’s stupid. That alley leads right into the narrows.”

“Exactly,” Veer said, pointing the tip of his pizza slice at Mark. “She wasn’t thinking. She was just angry and trying to get away. I watched her walk past me, and I realized she was crying. Like, really crying. And heading straight into the worst part of the neighborhood at midnight.”

“So you followed her.”

“I followed her,” Veer agreed. “I kept my distance. Just walking a block behind. I figured I’d just make sure she got to the main avenue, and then I’d go home.”

Veer took a slow, deliberate bite, letting the tension build in the messy living room. Mark was practically vibrating out of his skin, completely absorbed in the narrative.

“About three blocks down, the streetlights were out,” Veer continued, setting the crust down. “A group of guys—three of them, looked a few years older than us, definitely shady—stepped out from the front of a closed bodega. They blocked the sidewalk. They started boxing her in. Whistling. Saying the kind of things you say when you want to terrify someone.”

“Oh, God,” Mark whispered, his face paling.

“She tried to back up, but one of them stepped behind her,” Veer said, the memory of the panic rising in his own chest, an echo of the original Veer’s fear. “She was trapped. They were closing in. She looked terrified.”

“So you fought them?” Mark asked, his eyes shining with awe. “You took on three guys?”

“I am not a superhero, Mark,” Veer said dryly, bringing the thirty-six-year-old pragmatism to the forefront. “I’m a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet. If I tried to fight three street thugs, I’d be drinking my meals through a straw today.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I ran,” Veer stated simply. “I sprinted out of the dark, right at them. I didn’t slow down, I didn’t say a word. I just barreled through the gap between two of them, grabbed Felicia’s wrist as hard as I could, and kept running. The sudden momentum pulled her right out of the circle.”

Mark blinked. “You just… ran away?”

“Yes,” Veer said, completely unashamed. “I dragged her behind me. They were too surprised to react immediately, and by the time they started shouting and chasing us, we were already cutting through a chain-link fence into an empty construction lot. We ran for about ten minutes, weaving through alleys, until my lungs were bleeding and I knew we lost them.”

Veer leaned back into the couch, the memory shifting from high adrenaline to a heavy, awkward quiet.

“We finally stopped under an overpass near the edge of our block,” Veer said, his voice quiet. “We just sat down on the curb. She was shaking. Her makeup was completely ruined, just black streaks running down her face. She was gasping for air, hugging her knees to her chest.”

“Did she say thank you?” Mark asked softly, finally taking a bite of his cold pizza.

“She didn’t say anything for a long time,” Veer shook his head. “She just sat there, crying. Not the loud kind of crying. Just silent, heavy tears. I didn’t know what to do, so I just sat next to her and waited. I offered her my jacket, but she didn’t take it.”

Veer paused, looking at his roommate. Mark was staring at him, completely absorbed, the nerdy, hyperactive exterior stripped away, replaced by genuine empathy.

“And then?” Mark prompted.

“And then,” Veer sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, “she stopped crying. Just like that. She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve, turned to look at me, and her eyes were completely dead. Cold. She looked at me and said, point-blank, ‘I want to have sex with you.'”

Mark choked.

He coughed violently, a piece of pepperoni lodging in his throat. He pounded on his own chest, his face turning a blotchy shade of red, until he managed to clear his airway. He grabbed his own soda, chugging it desperately.

“She said ‘what’?!” Mark wheezed, his voice jumping an octave.

“She asked to have sex,” Veer repeated, his face completely devoid of emotion. “She didn’t ask if I wanted to. She didn’t flirt. She just demanded it. We walked to the apartment in total silence. We came inside, she locked the door, and that was it.”

Silence descended heavily upon the cluttered living room.

The hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen suddenly sounded incredibly loud. Mark stared at the half-eaten pizza on the table, his brain working furiously to process the psychological weight of the story. The initial excitement, the thrill of the gossip, rapidly drained out of his expression, replaced by a profound, agonizingly clear realization.

“Dude,” Mark whispered, his voice thick with a mixture of awe and pity. “That wasn’t a hookup.”

“No,” Veer agreed softly, taking another slice of pizza.

“That was…” Mark swallowed hard, looking up at Veer. “That was revenge sex. Pure, concentrated, self-destructive revenge sex. She wanted to do the worst possible thing she could think of to get back at her boyfriend for treating her like garbage. She wanted to sleep with a complete nobody.”

“A complete nobody,” Veer confirmed, offering Mark a slight, acknowledging nod. “I was just a convenient tool. A warm body that lived nearby, who was pathetic enough not to ask any questions or turn her down.”

Mark’s face was a complicated map of emotions. He looked at Veer, understanding the slightly pathetic reality of the situation. He recognized the sheer, unapologetic toxicity of Felicia’s actions. He knew that Veer had been used, entirely commodified in a rich girl’s temper tantrum.

And yet, despite understanding all of that…

Mark slumped backward, letting his head hit the edge of the sofa. He stared up at the water-stained ceiling of the apartment, his face contorting into an expression of absolute, soul-crushing envy.

“God,” Mark groaned, his voice cracking with pure despair. “Why couldn’t she have used me? I would be an excellent tool for self-destruction. I have zero self-respect. I would have been perfect for revenge.”

Veer let out a genuine, booming laugh. It bubbled up from his chest, echoing loudly in the small room. The sheer honesty of Mark’s teenage desperation was incredibly refreshing.

He leaned forward, grabbing another slice of the greasy, heavily topped pizza, bringing it to his mouth.

“Eat your pizza, Mark,” Veer said, a wide grin breaking across his face. “Lightning never strikes the same spot again.”

Mark let out another long, dramatic groan, finally picking up his discarded slice, and the two of them settled into a comfortable, messy silence, chatting between bites of cheap mozzarella and pepperoni.