Dante's eyes snapped open to a sprawling city blanketed in a layer of snow. Some surfaces glistened faintly as the pale winter sun rose. Plumes of steam rose steadily from rooftop vents and heating systems. Down on the streets, the avenues remained quiet. Early delivery trucks and crowds made their way through freshly plowed roads.
Sitting on the edge of a forty-floor commercial building, Dante clearly felt the biting wind and the terrifying drop beneath his feet. A certain death for anyone normal.
Death had begun his new life in her own twisted fashion. Still, he felt no rush of panic. No spike of adrenaline. No urge to scramble back. Witnessing Death's memories had changed something.
He brushed the snow off his jeans and gave the city another look. "Lady Death certainly has a taste. This view is phenomenal."
Her chuckle echoed in his mind. "I knew my companion would appreciate my small gift."
He blankly stared at, well, nothing in particular. He was being sarcastic, but she seemed genuine in her intentions with the "gift."
"I always wanted to visit New York someday," he muttered. "Never thought it'd happen under these circumstances... Anyway, why did you bring me here? Is it to deliver a certain amount of deaths to you, or kill someone?"
Touring a strange realm in the company of a beautiful yet dangerous cosmic being was as great a vacation as any. His intentions might not have been completely pure, but he was truly serious about becoming her companion if only to repay her good grace. Being friends or something more with a neutral cosmic being would never be a bad thing in the Marvel Universe.
But she denied him the chance to spend any time with her.
"There is no goal," Death said after a moment of silence. "Now is your time to enjoy mortal life. After all, you're still very young. Live a fulfilling life before joining my seat at the edge of time."
He snorted. "The youngest to embrace Death in history. It was a nice feeling though."
"...It was an accident."
He couldn't help but smirk at her tiny voice. "Surely an accident."
"..."
"Well, do you mind telling me what year it is?"
"Death is not your personal assistant."
Dante rubbed the back of his head. He may have ticked Death off with a little tease. He got up and stretched his limbs, which were sore from staying still for way too long. As he was getting the soreness out of his system, a massive billboard across the street caught his eye.
Smiling nurses and laughing children were shown in the ad, their faces illuminated in clean hospital corridors. Below the images, bold text read, "OSCORP COMMUNITY WELLNESS CENTERS NOW OPEN" and "A HEALTHIER TOMORROW FOR EVERYONE."
He blinked in stupor. "Oscorp? Norman Osborn?"
Another glance-over led him to the infamous Oscorp Tower in the distance.
'I'll be damned.'
Norman's presence shed light on two things—he wasn't in the original MCU and this city wasn't safe for him. Fortunately, he had a clear path to grow strong. First and foremost, he had to strengthen his body and achieve more Resonance Links by learning more about the Null Repository. He'd keep the Death Resonance Link as a last resort.
'Is the charity work real, or just a facade to fulfill his schemes?'
Death's surprised voice sounded in his ears, "Is Companion acquainted with Norman Osborn from your universe?"
"A little bit." He lied with a straight face, hoping that Death couldn't discern it. Before he could think more, his stomach growled, as if he hadn't eaten for days. What's worse, he had no wallet or cash on him, only a key to some place. "This might be bothersome…"
Death laughed in the face of his troubles. "Don't worry, Companion. I inserted you in this person's place. Everything that belongs to him is now yours."
"That includes his troubles as well, right?"
"As my Companion, it's your responsibility to entertain me every now and then," she said in a teasing voice. "His identity is a bit special, giving you many chances to indulge me and yourself in some pleasure."
He could only assume the worst kind of pleasure when coming from Death herself. "What was he even doing up here?"
"He wasn't here to take a breather or appreciate the view."
Dante could only shake his head at her explanation. "Probably too many bad days in a row... Does he have a place to live?"
"Yes. Allow me to guide you there."
He pulled his coat tighter and walked down the stairs. "Let's see what kind of mess you got me into."
***
"Lady Death," Dante muttered. "What did I do to piss you off?"
"What do you mean, Companion?" Death's voice arrived with a hint of innocence. "I have no animosity for you. Why would I wish ill for my only companion?"
"This." He stared up at a modest brick apartment building that looked like it had given up on life sometime in the early 2000s. Windows were covered with mismatched curtains or foil and a faded "For Rent" sign that had probably been there since the dawn of mankind.
The address Death had planted in his mind led Dante to Chelsea, specifically 315 West 22nd Street.
"Could you please clarify the meaning of 'this'?"
He couldn't help but sigh. She was getting a kick out of his suffering, so he put on a stoic face and stepped inside. The lobby smelled like cigarette smoke and something vaguely chemical. A notice on the wall warned residents that the elevator was "temporarily out of service." The date on the notice was from eight months ago.
"Stairs it is."
Dante took the stairs to reach the 5th floor. He wasn't out of breath at all. Death's created vessel wasn't high-specced, but it was still better than his previous body.
He stopped at unit 5C. The door was dented near the bottom but still surprisingly sturdy for a place like this. Just standing there he could hear the next door couple screaming at each other and the right neighbour vibing to a pleasant classic score.
He pulled out the key he'd found in his jacket pocket and unlocked the door. The apartment did nothing to brighten his stoic expression. The front door opened directly into a narrow living area where an old couch faced a coffee table covered with takeout containers, mugs, and a dirty ashtray. A small kitchenette occupied the left wall. A single window overlooked an air shaft, letting in a sliver of gray daylight that only added a more depressing feeling to the space.
He took the doorway to the left and found a cramped room barely large enough for a twin bed and a dresser. The mattress sagged in the middle; sheets were tangled and messy. A closet with a broken door revealed a sparse collection of clothes. But what really caught his attention was the wall. A large corkboard covered nearly the entire surface, crammed with papers, photographs, maps, and colored strings connecting various points. It looked like something out of a crime thriller, a detective's board when hunting serial killers.
He scanned the contents. Printed photos of gang members, some with names and some with aliases. Maps of Queens and Manhattan certain blocks circled or marked with symbols. A few newspaper clippings about crimes, thefts, and territory wars. Lastly, a separate section featuring well-dressed men and women at galas, corporate events, or enjoying life in expensive cars.
He pulled a folded piece of paper from the board's edge. Inside was a handwritten price list: surveillance work, bodyguard gigs, "retrieval" services, and information brokering. The rates were nothing mind-blowing for the risk involved. There was a business card attached with 'RedEye' alias, a phone number, and email address.
"An information specialist…"
"A rather thorough one," Death said. "He gathered intelligence and connected people who needed things with those who could provide them. Not very skilled in combat, however."
"Nothing a gun can't make up for. Still, I see nothing special about his identity."
"You'll understand it later."
He tucked back the paper and continued searching, finally finding what he needed in the messy bedsheets—a wallet. Inside was a New York driver's license with his new face staring back at him. He flipped through the rest of the wallet. A debit card, forty-three dollars in cash, and a faded photo of a brunette woman and old man with slick white hair, their faces too blurred to make out clearly. Those people were probably part of the original Dante's life.
"Found anything interesting, Companion?"
"No, but here's the thing," Dante said, putting the wallet in his pocket. "I don't have his memories. I don't know these people… So I'm washing my hands of it—"
Before Dante could finish, the phone in the living room rang. It was an old touchscreen phone, and the caller ID read "Unknown Number."
He hesitated, then swiped to answer. "Hello?"
"Is this Mr. RedEye?" The voice on the other end was pleasant with a soft accent he couldn't quite place. Eastern European, perhaps.
"Yes. Who am I speaking to?"
Dante nearly responded with the whimsy 'Depends on who's asking', but it'd only waste both of their time.
"I'm Silver Sable." She revealed a familiar name from the comics. "I was told you specialize in intelligence regarding these areas of New York. Are you available for a contract?"
Dante's brain went into overdrive. Silver Sable. Mercenary, national hero, war criminal hunter, private military contractor. A hero in some stories, morally gray in others, and sometimes on the opposite side of heroes. She operated on a completely different level than street thugs and small-time mercs.
And she wanted to hire him.
Death's delighted laughter rang in his mind. "Not even a day passed before trouble found you."
"Mr. RedEye, are you still there?"
"Yeah, sorry. Just woke up after a long night." He rubbed his face, buying time to think. "What are the terms?"
"Simple to a fault. You must provide intelligence on neighborhoods and individuals in Queens and Manhattan, and assist with logistical planning. Compensation is very good compared to the standard."
Getting involved with her meant stepping into the trouble that attracted heroes and supervillains. However, two things pushed him toward acceptance.
First, he needed money. Desperately. He had maybe a few hundred dollars to his name, maximum, if he was being generous about his estimation. There wasn't enough to pay for his rent, much less buy food.
Second, he needed information. Something was always happening in New York in the comics. He'd rather be proactive and know what was coming than get blindsided and killed by some megalomaniac's master plan. Death wouldn't break her creed to revive him again. He was on his own.
Being with Silver Sable would also give him experience in real combat, something he couldn't obtain in his comfort zone.
"I'm interested," Dante said. "Let's meet first."
There was a brief pause on her end. "Acceptable. I'm currently in Midtown. Where would you suggest?"
His gaze darted toward the map pinned to the wall. "How about Smokie's in Midtown?"
"I will find it. When?"
"In an hour."
"Noted. Do not be late, Mr. RedEye."
As the beep sounded, he lowered the phone. "That escalated quickly."
"You accepted," Death said, her tone still amused. "Despite your concerns."
He patted his clothes and fixed his hair. "Wait, how am I getting there?"
No vehicle keys were found in the apartment or on his person—the old Dante lacked any means of transportation.
"Start from the bottom with nothing and climb all the way up. The struggle makes the eventual power and riches that much sweeter."
"...Are those your honest thoughts?"
"My honest thoughts?" Death replied softly. "The Null Repository… it will grant you immense power—power that could easily corrupt you. You might turn into a supervillain drunk on strength. I thought starting from nothing with nothing will keep you from such a fate."
He paused, surprised by her straightforward concern. "And if I still end up corrupted?"
"You won't," she answered with certainty. "As long as I keep you company, you'll never change. But if it does happen, it shall be my fault for not properly guiding you."
"That's touching," Dante muttered with a smile before checking his phone. Today was January 2, 2008, which surprised him since his phone looked as modern as a 2020 device. He could only attribute it to geniuses like Tony Stark pushing technology standards on their own. "Let's see the distance—shit, two miles... Should've asked to meet somewhere closer."
Death giggled. "Try not to die on the way. It would be embarrassing for my companion to starve to death."