Respawned in Marvel: The Ultimate Hunter System - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Cross-Species Genetics and Indian Parents

The apartment smelled exactly the way a teenager’s depression and a landlord’s neglect should smell: a potent combination of stale air, dust mites, and faint lemon-scented floor cleaner that did nothing to actually clean the floor.

Veer unlocked the deadbolt, the metal clicking sharply in the quiet hallway, and pushed the door open. He dropped his keys onto the small, wobbly entryway table and let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

“Home sweet… mildly depressing shoebox,” he announced to the empty room.

His stomach growled, a deep, rumbling sound that felt entirely foreign in this new, biologically perfected body. In his previous life as a middle-aged construction worker, hunger was a constant, dull ache that he usually ignored with a cheap cup of chai and a stale biscuit. But now, with a Vitality stat sitting pretty at 11, his metabolism was apparently running like a high-performance sports car, and it demanded premium fuel.

“Right. Let’s see what the kid left me,” Veer muttered, making his way to the tiny kitchenette.

He opened the pantry. It was a tragic sight. Two boxes of generic mac and cheese, a half-empty bag of heavily processed white bread, and three cans of baked beans. He opened the miniature refrigerator. Half a carton of milk, a wilting head of lettuce, and a few stray eggs.

“Ah, the classic ‘International Student on a Budget’ diet,” Veer chuckled darkly. “It’s a miracle the bullies didn’t kill him first, because scurvy was definitely next in line. I mean, seriously, this much processed sodium is practically a cry for help on its own.”

He grabbed the eggs, the bread, and a few spices he found shoved in the back of a cabinet. He was going to have to go grocery shopping soon, but for now, a heavy, spiced omelet would have to do. As he cracked the eggs into a bowl—he reached over and flicked on the small, boxy television sitting on the counter.

The screen buzzed to life, static giving way to a local New York news channel. Veer chopped a solitary, slightly sad-looking onion with blinding speed, his Agility making the knife look like a blur of stainless steel, all while keeping one eye on the screen.

“…and in local business news,” the polished, overly-tanned anchorwoman enunciated, “shares of OsCorp Industries took a slight dip this afternoon following an internal press release. The company’s highly controversial cross-species genetics division has reportedly reached a critical deadlock.”

Veer stopped chopping. The knife hovered a fraction of an inch above the cutting board.

“Leading scientists at OsCorp have been attempting to synthesize animal genetic traits with human DNA to cure terminal illnesses, but insider sources claim the animal genetic combination serum is failing to stabilize in mammalian test subjects. Norman Osborn, CEO of OsCorp, declined to comment this morning as he entered…”

Veer slowly set the knife down. He turned his head to fully face the television.

“OsCorp?” he whispered, the syllables feeling heavy and dangerous on his tongue. “Norman Osborn? Cross-species genetics?”

This wasn’t just 2008. This wasn’t just a trip back in time.

His brain, running on the enhanced cognitive processing of his System, violently ripped through the memories of the teenager he had assimilated. He bypassed the trauma, the homesickness, and the studying, zeroing in directly on the mundane details of the kid’s school life.

‘School name: Mid-Town High School.’
‘Locker neighbor and occasional lab partner: A nerdy, stuttering kid with glasses named Peter Parker.’
‘Class President and chief overachiever: A blonde girl named Gwen Stacy.’
‘The captain of the football team, the guy who shoved his head into a toilet and bruised his ribs yesterday: Eugene ‘Flash’ Thompson.’

Veer gripped the edge of the cheap laminate kitchen counter. The plastic cracked slightly under his fingers before he realized what he was doing and forced himself to let go.

“I am in the Amazing Spider-Man universe,” Veer said, the realization washing over him like a bucket of ice water. “Or at least, some comic-book amalgamation of it.”

A sudden wave of panic constricted his chest. This wasn’t a normal world where the biggest threat was the stock market crashing or a bad flu season. This was a world where purple aliens wiped out half of all life, where robots dropped cities from the sky, and where green guys on gliders threw pumpkin bombs at civilians just for a laugh.

He took a sharp breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was just a guy. Well, a guy with a System, but still. The mortality rate for civilians in New York City in the Marvel Universe had to be statistically absurd.

But then, as quickly as the panic had risen, the hardened, cynical laborer inside him slapped it down.

Veer threw his head back and laughed. It was a genuine, booming laugh that echoed in the tiny apartment.

“What am I hyperventilating for?” he asked the ceiling, a massive grin spreading across his face. “I already died once! I died hauling bricks for three dollars a day. If I die here, at least it’ll be because an alien laser vaporized me or a guy in a rhino suit threw a taxi at my head. That’s a massive upgrade in terms of an obituary!”

He turned back to his chopped onions, sweeping them into the hot pan with a sizzle.

“Besides,” he reasoned with himself, flipping the omelet effortlessly. “I have the Ultimate Hunter System. I’m already sitting at Captain America’s baseline without even trying. By the time Thanos rolls around looking for his shiny rocks, I’ll probably be able to punch him back to Titan with my bare hands. Panic is for people who don’t have cheat codes.”

—

Veer ate his dinner on the small, lumpy sofa, finding that despite his dark humor regarding the situation, the food tasted incredibly good. His enhanced senses made the cheap spices pop, turning a depressing meal into a culinary experience.

He was just finishing the last bite when his cell phone—a chunky, early-model flip phone—started vibrating violently on the coffee table.

He glanced at the caller ID.

Maa & Papa (Home)

A strange, heavy knot formed in Veer’s throat. The older man inside him, the one who had buried his parents decades ago and lived a life of crushing solitude, felt a sudden, desperate yearning. The teenager whose memories he shared felt a deep, overwhelming guilt for almost throwing his life away just yesterday.

Veer picked up the phone, flipped it open, and pressed it to his ear.

“Hello?” he said, his voice coming out a bit huskier than usual.

‘”Veer? Beta, is that you?”‘

The voice on the other end was frantic, thick with a heavy Indian accent and tight with unshed tears.

“Yeah, Maa. It’s me,” Veer replied softly, a genuine, warm smile breaking through his usually cynical facade.

“Oh, thank the gods,” she exhaled, the sound of a woman who had been holding her breath for twenty-four hours. “We were so worried! You didn’t call yesterday at your usual time. Your father couldn’t sleep the whole night. I told him to call the school, to call the police…”

“Maa, calm down, please,” Veer interrupted gently, making sure his tone was perfectly balanced between apologetic and reassuring. “I’m so sorry. I know I missed the call. The truth is… I was studying in the library for a massive biology project, and I completely lost track of time. By the time I got back to the apartment, I crashed on the bed and slept through my alarm. It was entirely my fault. I’m really sorry for making you worry.”

It was a smooth, flawless lie. He wasn’t about to tell this sweet woman that her son had swallowed a fistful of sleeping pills because Flash Thompson had used him as a literal punching bag. Some truths were just unnecessary cruelty.

“He was studying, Sunita, I told you he was studying,” a deeper, slightly gruff voice echoed in the background. A second later, the phone rustled as his father took the receiver. “Veer? You are alright? You are eating properly? Not just that bread and jam?”

“I’m perfectly fine, Papa,” Veer laughed, feeling a stinging sensation behind his eyes. He missed this. He missed the nagging, the worry, the unconditional love. “I just made a huge masala omelet. I’m eating well. The air here is good, the school is fine.”

“That is good, that is good,” his father said, his voice softening. There was a brief, hesitant pause on the line. “Listen, beta… I know it is difficult there. Everything is so expensive in America. I was looking at the accounts today. If you need some extra pocket money, you just tell me, okay? I can ask Sharma ji for a small advance on my salary. It is not a problem.”

Veer’s heart sank. He knew exactly what the “accounts” looked like. His father was already drowning in the exorbitant interest rates from the private loan he took to send Veer to the US. Asking for an advance would mean working triple shifts just to cover the grocery bills back home.

“Papa, absolutely not,” Veer said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Do not ask anyone for an advance. Actually, I have some great news.”

“News? What news?”

“I spoke to the school administration yesterday,” Veer lied effortlessly, his brain spinning a plausible narrative on the fly. “Because my grades have been so good, they approved a special work permit for international students. I got a part-time job.”

“A job? Veer, no…” his mother’s voice filtered through the background, sounding distressed again.

“It’s a very easy job, Maa!” Veer raised his voice slightly so she could hear. “I’m just helping out at a local library organizing books for a few hours after school. It pays really well in dollars. My daily expenses, my food, everything is completely covered now. You don’t have to send me a single rupee for pocket money anymore. Just focus on paying the main loan.”

His father let out a long, heavy sigh. “Veer… you are there to study, not to work. Money is not important. Your mother and I, we will manage the money. What is important is for you to concentrate on your studies and make a big name for yourself. You shouldn’t have to worry about these things.”

Veer nodded, even though they couldn’t see him. He felt a profound sense of respect for the man on the other end of the line.

“I know, Papa,” Veer said softly. “But organizing books actually helps me study. It’s quiet, and I get to read for free. Please, let me do this. I want to help.”

There was another long pause, followed by a reluctant, proud sigh. “Alright, beta. If it gets too much, you stop immediately, understand? We are always here.”

“I understand. I love you both. I’ll call you tomorrow at the normal time, I promise.”

“We love you too, beta. Be safe.”

The line went dead. Veer closed the flip phone and stared at the blank screen for a long time. The dark, cynical humor was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, calculating resolve.

“Right,” Veer muttered, tossing the phone onto the cushion next to him. “So, I need money. A lot of it. And fast.”

He leaned back, staring at the popcorn ceiling. He couldn’t actually get a legal job. He was a minor on a restricted student visa; any legitimate establishment would ask for a Social Security Number he didn’t have. Plus, working minimum wage at a diner flipping burgers would take him a hundred years to pay off his father’s debt.

He needed high-risk, high-reward income.

“I’m in a comic book universe,” Veer mused, tapping his chin. “Where there are superheroes, there are super-criminals. Where there are super-criminals, there is an massive underground economy. Illegal gambling rings, underground fight clubs, mutant fighting arenas…”

He snapped his fingers, a wide grin returning to his face.

In the original Spider-Man movies, Peter Parker used his powers to win a wrestling match against a guy named Bonesaw to buy a car. If a scrawny, awkward Peter Parker could do it, a guy with a System who possessed the baseline stats of Captain America could absolutely dominate an underground fighting arena. It was the perfect solution. He could earn massive amounts of cash, test his new physical limits against actual opponents, and stay entirely off the grid.

“Underground cage fighting it is,” Veer decided, feeling a surge of adrenaline at the thought. “But first, I need to make sure my body doesn’t gas out after throwing two punches.”

With his financial plan tentatively set, the mental exhaustion of the day finally caught up with him. The colliding memories, the panic of the universe revelation, and the emotional phone call had drained him. Veer kicked off his shoes, lay back on the lumpy sofa, and let the darkness take him.

—

Veer woke up the next morning at 5:00 AM sharp. He didn’t need an alarm. His Vitality stat ensured his circadian rhythm was perfectly optimized, waking him up feeling completely refreshed and buzzing with excess energy.

He rolled off the sofa, stretching his arms above his head. His spine popped in a deeply satisfying cascade.

“System,” Veer called out mentally. “Let’s test this custom quest feature.”

He visualized the blue screen in his mind, focusing on his intention.

[Generating Custom Quest…]
[Quest: The Foundation of Strength]
[Objective: Complete 1000 perfect-form pushups.]
[Reward: Hidden until completion.]

Veer smiled. The System accepted it.

He moved to the center of the small living room, kicking the cheap coffee table out of the way. He dropped to the floor, placing his hands shoulder-width apart, keeping his back perfectly straight, his core engaged.

He started.

‘One. Two. Three. Four…’

The first fifty pushups felt like an absolute joke. It was as if gravity had simply decided to stop affecting him. He was pushing his body weight up, but his muscles weren’t straining; they were just gliding through the motion smoothly.

‘…Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred.’

Veer paused in the plank position and checked his status panel.

[Fatigue: 1%]

He let out a bark of laughter. “Are you kidding me? A hundred perfect pushups, and I’ve only accumulated one percent fatigue? That means I could mathematically do ten thousand of these before my muscles even think about failing. This is completely broken.”

He didn’t stop to celebrate. He resumed the exercise, finding a hypnotic rhythm. He didn’t speed up to finish faster; he controlled the descent, hovering an inch above the carpet, and exploded upward, maximizing the muscle engagement.

‘…Four hundred. Five hundred…’

By the time he hit six hundred, a very light, cooling sweat had broken out on his forehead. It wasn’t the gross, sticky sweat of exhaustion; it was the efficient thermoregulation of a perfected biological machine. His breathing remained deep, steady, and entirely through his nose.

‘…Nine hundred and ninety-eight. Nine hundred and ninety-nine. One thousand.’

Veer pushed himself up one last time and easily hopped to his feet. He barely felt out of breath. His chest and triceps felt slightly pumped, a warm, satisfying tightness spreading across his upper body, but he wasn’t tired.

‘Ding!’

[Quest Completed: The Foundation of Strength]
[Evaluating Danger, Experience, and Effort…]
[Danger: None. Experience: Basic. Effort: Moderate.]
[Reward: +10 EXP]

Veer grinned. The System was stingy, considering he had just done a thousand pushups, but it was enough.

‘Ding!’

[Level Up!]

The familiar, rushing waterfall of cool energy washed over him, instantly clearing the 10% fatigue he had accumulated and resetting his muscles to peak condition.

He pulled up his panel. He was now Level 4, which meant he had 5 more Free Stat points to distribute.

“Alright, let’s diversify,” Veer muttered, pacing the small room.

He was already incredibly durable with his Vitality at 11, and his Strength at 1 was more than enough to handle normal humans. He needed better control over his body in motion, and he needed to be hyper-aware of his surroundings, especially if he was going to step into an underground fighting ring soon.

“System. Put three points into Agility, and two points into Perception.”

‘Ding!’

[Stat Points Distributed. Commencing neural and sensory optimization.]

This time, the upgrade didn’t feel like a rush of heat or a deep warmth. It felt like a sudden, sharp electric shock snapping up his spinal cord and exploding directly behind his eyes.

Veer gasped, staggering backward and clutching his head.

The world suddenly expanded.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t help. He could hear ‘everything’. He could hear the hum of the electricity running through the walls of the apartment. He could hear the heavy, rhythmic thudding of the man in the apartment above him walking across the floorboards. He could hear the distant, high-pitched whine of a police siren that had to be at least ten blocks away.

He took a breath, and the smells hit him. He could smell the stale coffee grounds in his neighbor’s trash can through the walls. He could smell the ozone from the television set. He could smell the faint, metallic scent of his own blood pumping through his veins.

“Okay. Okay, that’s a lot,” Veer gritted his teeth, forcing his mind to focus.

His Level 1 Intelligence stat kicked in, the cognitive processing power acting as a filter. Slowly, the overwhelming barrage of sensory input began to dial back, sorting itself into background noise. He opened his eyes.

The visual clarity was staggering. He could see the microscopic dust motes dancing in the morning light. He could see the individual threads woven into the fabric of his cheap sofa. The colors of the world seemed infinitely richer, deeply saturated.

He looked down at his hands and moved his fingers. The connection between his brain and his muscles was instantaneous. He felt incredibly light, as if his body had shed twenty pounds of invisible weight. His joints felt loose, fluid, and perfectly lubricated.

He threw a quick, experimental jab at the air.

‘FWOOSH!’

His arm moved so fast it literally vanished from his own line of sight, the sudden displacement of air creating a sharp, whistling crack in the living room.

Veer lowered his arm, deeply impressed.

He checked his updated panel.

—

Hunter: Lv4 (1/15)
Affinity: Enhancement
…
HP: 50/50 [Recovers 0.1% per minute]
AP: 4000/4000
Fatigue: 0%
…
STR: 1
AGI: 4
VIT: 11
INT: 1
PER: 3
…
Skill: None
…
[Quest]
[Library]

—

“Beautiful,” Veer whispered. “Agility 4 and Perception 3. I am officially a nightmare for anyone trying to sneak up on me.”

He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 7:00 AM.

Time to face the music.

Veer took a quick, cold shower, marveling at how his enhanced senses made even the cheap bar soap smell like a high-end botanical garden. He threw on a pair of slightly faded jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and his grey hoodie, making sure to grab his backpack.

He stepped out of the apartment, locking the door behind him, and made his way down to the street.

The morning commute in Queens was chaotic, but with his Perception, it felt like he was walking in slow motion. He effortlessly side-stepped a guy rushing with a coffee, dodged a bicyclist riding on the sidewalk, and navigated the crowds with the fluid grace of a dancer.

A ten-minute walk brought him to a large, imposing brick building.

Students were swarming the front steps, laughing, shouting, and pushing each other. Yellow school buses were lined up along the curb, exhaling clouds of diesel exhaust.

Above the main entrance, large metallic letters spelled out: MID-TOWN HIGH SCHOOL.

Veer stood on the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets, staring up at the building. A dark, amused smirk played on his lips.

Inside those brick walls walked the future of New York. In a few years, some of these stressed-out, acne-ridden teenagers were going to be swinging from skyscrapers, building advanced weaponry, or trying to conquer the city. It was an incubator for heroes, anti-heroes, and psychotic villains.

And the best part? None of these kids had any clue. They were entirely oblivious to the absolute chaos their lives were about to become.

“Well,” Veer murmured to himself, his enhanced hearing picking up the obnoxious, booming laugh of Flash Thompson near the front doors. “Let’s go see what the Spider-Man origin story looks like from the front row. And maybe… let’s see if Flash wants to try shoving my head in a locker again today. I could use a good laugh.”

He adjusted his backpack and walked up the steps, disappearing into the chaotic, super-powered cradle of Mid-Town High.