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Joint Base Lewis-McChord
Missile Command Center
Inside the military base nearest to the destroyed crystal site, Colonel Harrison stood before his subordinates with glazed, unnaturally focused eyes.
"Launch the missile immediately," he ordered.
His second-in-command, Major Torres, hesitated. "Sir, I need to confirm—you're ordering a missile strike on U.S. soil? We could face court-martial for this!"
"Yes. That's an order."
Torres studied his commander's firm expression, unaware of the mind control influencing him. With deep reluctance, he turned to the launch technicians. "You heard the Colonel. Initiate launch sequence."
The silo doors groaned open. A massive AGM-86 cruise missile erupted skyward, its tail flame painting the night orange as it arced toward the mysterious crystal's location.
The Crystal Site
Marcus's Position - 500 Meters Away
Marcus watched through binoculars as the missile descended from the clouds like the hammer of an angry god. It struck the crater where the crystal fragments lay scattered, and the world went white.
The explosion was devastating. Even from his distance, the shockwave rattled his bones. A mushroom cloud rose into the night sky—not nuclear, but large enough that every satellite, every monitoring station, every military base in the Pacific Northwest would see it.
When the flames finally died, the crater had tripled in size. Everything within was carbonized, turned to glass and ash. Whatever remained of the crystal was now dispersed at the atomic level.
And the connection—that disturbing telepathic link Marcus had felt since gaining his powers—dimmed to almost nothing. Almost.
It was still there, like the faintest whisper at the edge of consciousness. He had to focus intensely to even detect it, but it existed.
"Damn," Marcus muttered, his enhanced mind already analyzing the implications. If destroying the crystal hadn't severed the connection completely, then...
"Sir, is there anything else?"
Marcus turned to Colonel Harrison, who stood awaiting further orders, his mind still under Marcus's influence.
"No. Return to base. When you arrive, you'll forget everything about today. You were running a scheduled drill that went wrong. Equipment malfunction. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
As the military personnel departed in their vehicles, Marcus knew their controlled actions would soon be discovered. Within hours, maybe less, the unauthorized missile launch would trigger investigations at the highest levels. The Pentagon would be in chaos. Homeland Security would mobilize.
But by then, the mind control would have worn off. Harrison and his men would have only fragments of memory, confused recollections that wouldn't make sense. They'd be court-martialed, probably, or at least subjected to extensive psychological evaluation. But they wouldn't be able to explain what really happened.
Marcus stood alone in the forest, considering his options. The connection to whatever entity had inhabited that crystal was still there, weakened but not eliminated. Like a parasite that had already laid eggs, destruction of the host hadn't killed what had already spread.
He opened his system interface:
[ Movie Plundering System ]
Host: Marcus Reed
Age: 20
Items: 500x NZT-49, clothing
Abilities: Telekinesis (10-ton capacity)
Source Points: 15
The interface had changed. He'd gained 10 Source Points for altering the Chronicle timeline—preventing three teenagers from gaining powers, changing their fates. Combined with his remaining 5 points, he had enough for what he needed.
Marcus had known since binding with the system that it could be upgraded. Minimum cost: 10 Source Points. He'd been saving for this possibility.
"System," Marcus thought, "what functions become available with an upgrade?"
"Upgrade parameters depend on host's needs and Source Point investment."
After considering his options, Marcus made his decision. That lingering connection, that alien presence—he needed it gone.
"System, upgrade medical functions. Specifically, detection and removal of foreign influences."
"Acknowledged. Upgrading medical function... Complete. Cost: 10 Source Points."
"Host can now spend Source Points for medical treatment and foreign contamination removal."
"Scan me immediately. Full diagnostic."
Marcus felt a tingling sensation, like being X-rayed from the inside out. Every cell, every neuron, every quantum state of his being was analyzed.
"Scan complete. Foreign spiritual contamination detected in host's consciousness. Alien origin. Parasitic in nature. Removal cost: 1 Source Point."
Marcus's blood ran cold. He'd been right. The crystal hadn't just given him power—it had infected him with something. A fragment of consciousness, a seed of something alien, hiding in his mind.
"Remove it. Now."
The sensation was indescribable. Like ice water flooding through his brain, washing away something that had been clinging to his neural pathways. For a moment, Marcus felt an echo of emotion that wasn't his own—desperation, loss, a scream of denial as the alien presence was torn away and dissolved.
Then it was gone.
Marcus used his telekinesis to scan himself, probing his own consciousness for any remaining trace. Nothing. The connection was severed, the contamination eliminated.
He checked his Source Points: down to 4, but it was worth it. He was clean. Whatever that crystal entity had planned—possession, gradual takeover, using him as an anchor to this reality—it had failed.
"System, initiate return to Marvel Universe."
"Confirmed. Returning to origin point..."
The Chronicle world dissolved around him.
Marvel Universe
Manhattan, New York
Marcus's Villa
Marcus materialized on his bed, exactly where he'd left from. The room was unchanged—curtains still drawn, electronics still disabled. His precautions had worked; no one had entered while he was gone.
He checked his phone: 3 hours and 17 minutes had passed. The time ratio had held perfectly. He'd spent forty-five days in another universe, gaining powers and eliminating threats, and to the watchers outside, he'd just been taking an afternoon nap.
Marcus changed his clothes—the ones he'd worn in Chronicle would raise questions—and headed downstairs. He was hungry, and after forty-five days of hotel food and takeout, he wanted something decent.
As he left the villa, he could sense the surveillance teams taking notice. The van down the street, the "jogger" who'd been stretching for the last twenty minutes, the apartment window across the way with blinds that never quite closed.
They all saw him emerge, noted the time, probably photographed him. Just Marcus Reed, Tony Stark's friend, the lucky nobody who'd somehow gotten a suit of armor. Going out for dinner after spending the afternoon in his room.
They had no idea what had changed. In their eyes, he was still just an ordinary person who'd gotten lucky enough to receive armor from Tony.
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