Two Weeks Later
Foundation Headquarters, Brooklyn
David was having dreams again.
Not the invasion nightmares—those had finally faded. These were different. Architectural dreams, but wrong. In them, he'd reach out to touch a building and suddenly he was inside its molecular structure. Not just feeling the concrete and steel, but seeing the individual particles that made them up. Calcium silicate hydrates in the cement. Iron crystal lattices in the rebar. The spaces between atoms where mostly nothing existed.
And in the dreams, he could change them.
He'd wake up sweating, Sarah's monitors beeping frantically, feeling like something massive and terrifying was coiled inside his skull waiting to be released.
"Another one?" Marcus asked from the chair beside his bed. It was three in the morning. Marcus had been pulling night watch rotation with Sofia and Tyler for the past week.
"Yeah." David sat up carefully. His body had healed remarkably fast—enhanced regeneration, Banner had explained, probably a secondary aspect of his gift. Two weeks post-invasion and he was already mobile, walking, functioning almost normally. "It's getting stronger."
"Your power?"
"Something. I don't know what yet." David flexed his hands, feeling that familiar tingle of his gift awakening. Except it wasn't familiar anymore. It felt different. Bigger. Like a river that had been a stream before, now swollen with floodwaters and barely contained by its banks.
"Sarah wants to run tests tomorrow. Banner's coming too. They want to see if your gift changed during the trauma recovery."
David nodded. He suspected it had. More than changed—transformed. During the invasion, he'd pushed his power past every conceivable limit. Held twenty-eight buildings through impossible physics. Directed catastrophic failures with surgical precision while his brain was literally dying.
And somehow, in burning out completely, his gift had... evolved? Expanded? He didn't have words for what he felt coiled inside him now.
"Try to sleep," Marcus said. "Big day tomorrow."
David lay back down but didn't sleep. Instead, he carefully, cautiously, reached out with his gift. Just a tiny tendril of awareness, testing the boundaries.
The entire building responded.
Not just responded—sang. David felt every molecule of concrete, every atom of steel, every microscopic space between particles. The building wasn't just a structure anymore. It was a collection of matter held together by electromagnetic forces, and those forces... he could feel them. Could potentially manipulate them.
He pulled back immediately, heart racing. That was new. That was very new.
And potentially very dangerous.
The Next Morning
Foundation Testing Facility
Banner had converted one of the Foundation's warehouses into a makeshift laboratory. SHIELD's collapse meant enhanced research was happening in ad hoc facilities now, and Banner was coordinating with several other scientists to study individuals whose powers had manifested or changed during the invasion.
David stood in the center of an empty concrete room, surrounded by sensors and monitoring equipment. Sarah watched medical readouts. Sofia tracked digital data feeds. Banner and Tony Stark—because of course Tony had shown up uninvited—observed from behind reinforced glass.
"Okay," Banner said over the intercom. "Let's start simple. David, try to manipulate that concrete block in front of you. Just move it. Nothing fancy."
A three-foot cube of solid concrete sat ten feet away. David reached out with his gift.
The concrete exploded.
Not violently—it didn't shatter or fragment. It simply came apart at the molecular level, separating into its component materials. Aggregate, cement paste, calcium compounds. They hovered in the air for a moment, suspended by David's will, then slowly reformed into a perfect sphere.
"What the hell," Tony said over the intercom. "He just disassembled concrete at the molecular level. That shouldn't be possible."
"David," Banner's voice was carefully controlled. "Did you mean to do that?"
"No. I just tried to move it. Like I used to." David stared at the concrete sphere. "It felt... different. I could feel everything. All the individual components. The chemical bonds holding them together. And I could just... ask them to rearrange."
"Ask them?" Sarah repeated. "David, matter doesn't work like that."
"I know. But that's what it felt like." He reached out again, more carefully this time. The concrete sphere flattened into a disc. Then stretched into a cylinder. Then formed itself into a perfect replica of the Empire State Building, scaled down to two feet tall. David did all of it without conscious effort—he just thought about the shapes and the concrete complied.
Silence from the observation room.
"Let's try something else," Banner said finally. "David, there's a steel beam against the far wall. Can you manipulate that?"
David turned his attention to the I-beam. Twenty feet long, probably weighing half a ton. He reached out with his gift and immediately felt the difference from concrete. Steel had a crystalline structure, iron atoms arranged in precise lattices, with carbon creating interstitial spaces that gave it strength.
He could see all of it. Feel it. Understand it at a level that had nothing to do with architecture and everything to do with fundamental physics.
He made the steel flow.
It moved like mercury, like liquid metal in a sci-fi movie. The I-beam melted—not from heat, but from David convincing the atomic bonds to loosen—and reformed into a sphere matching the concrete one. Then into a cube. Then into a spiral staircase so detailed you could see individual treads and risers.
"Okay," Tony said. "Okay, that's officially terrifying. Banner, are you seeing this?"
"I'm seeing it. I don't understand it, but I'm seeing it." Banner's voice had that careful tone he used when trying not to Hulk out. "David, stop. Pull back. Let's not push this too far yet."
David released his gift. The steel staircase stayed exactly as he'd shaped it, frozen in place. He felt fine. Not tired, not strained. If anything, using his power now felt easier than breathing.
That was the terrifying part.
"How do you feel?" Sarah asked.
"Good. Too good. Like I could do that all day and not get tired."
"During the invasion, holding twenty-eight buildings almost killed you," Marcus pointed out from his position by the door. "Now you're casually restructuring matter and feeling fine. What changed?"
"I don't know. But something definitely did." David looked at his hands. They looked normal. But he could feel the power thrumming under his skin, vast and patient and waiting to be used. "Banner, what's my biosign data showing?"
"That's the interesting part. Your brain activity is off the charts, but in a controlled way. It's like you're using previously dormant neural pathways. Your cardiovascular system is calm—heart rate actually dropped while you were manipulating the materials. And there's some kind of energy signature we're detecting that we can't quite identify. It's not electromagnetic, not thermal, not kinetic. Something else entirely."
Tony's voice cut in. "I've seen energy signatures like this before. When Thor uses Asgardian magic. When Loki manipulated matter. This isn't just enhanced abilities anymore, David. This is something else. Something closer to what we'd call magic, except it's focused entirely on physical structures."
"I'm not magic," David said. "I'm an architect."
"You're an architect who can apparently convince atoms to do whatever you want. That's basically magic with a degree."
David couldn't argue with that. He looked at the concrete sphere and steel staircase, at the casual impossibility of what he'd just done, and felt something close to fear. During the invasion, his power had limits. He'd pushed past them and nearly died, but the limits existed. Now?
He wasn't sure there were limits anymore.
"Let's test range," Banner suggested. "David, can you manipulate something you're not directly looking at? Something in another room?"
"I can try." David closed his eyes, extended his awareness. He'd done this during the invasion, reaching across distances to stabilize buildings he couldn't see. But now his range felt... infinite wasn't the right word. But close.
He felt the entire warehouse. Every beam, every wall, every foundation support. He felt the building next door. The street between them. The buildings beyond that. His awareness spread like ripples on water, touching structure after structure, moving outward with no apparent limit.
He felt Brooklyn. All of it. Every building, every bridge, every piece of infrastructure in the entire borough. Millions of tons of concrete and steel and glass, all resonating with his attention.
He pushed further. Manhattan. Queens. The Bronx. Staten Island. All five boroughs of New York City spread out like a living map in his mind, every structure visible and accessible.
"David?" Sarah's voice sounded distant. "Your vitals are spiking. Whatever you're doing—"
He pushed further still. He felt Boston. Philadelphia. Washington DC. Cities up and down the eastern seaboard, their architecture singing to his gift. He could reach them all. Could touch them all. Could manipulate them all if he wanted to.
The entire East Coast was within his range.
"DAVID!" Multiple voices shouting his name.
He snapped back to himself, awareness collapsing back to the warehouse. He was on his knees, breathing hard. Not from exhaustion—from shock at what he'd just felt.
Banner was in the room with him, glass door open, medical scanner in hand. "Your neural activity went through the roof. We thought you were having a seizure."
"I'm fine." David stood, legs shaky but holding. "I just... tested my range."
"And?" Tony asked over the intercom, then apparently decided that wasn't close enough and walked into the room. "What's the verdict? How far can you reach?"
"The entire East Coast." David said it flatly, still processing the implications. "Maybe farther. I stopped pushing before I found the limit."
Dead silence.
"That's not possible," Sarah said.
"None of this is possible. But I felt it. I could reach out right now and manipulate a building in Boston. Or Philadelphia. Or DC. Distance doesn't seem to matter anymore."
Marcus had gone pale. "During the invasion, you could barely hold buildings in Manhattan and Brooklyn. Now you're saying you could do the same thing to the entire eastern seaboard?"
"I think so. I don't know if I should. But I could." David looked at his hands again. "What the hell happened to me?"
Banner pulled up a holographic display, medical scans rotating in the air. "Your gift burned out during the invasion. Pushed past total failure. But instead of dying, it regenerated. And when it came back, it came back stronger. Much stronger. David, your brain is creating new neural pathways in real-time. Your gift is rewriting your neurology to support what you can do."
"Is that dangerous?"
"Probably? Maybe? We don't have data on this. You're unique. But the fact that you're conscious, coherent, and not having seizures is a good sign."
"There's something else," Tony said, manipulating the hologram. "This energy signature. It's not getting weaker when you use your powers. It's getting stronger. Like using your gift is feeding it somehow. That's not how enhanced abilities usually work. Powers have a cost. You're apparently violating that rule."
David thought about the invasion. How exhausted he'd been, how much it had cost to hold those buildings. Now he'd restructured matter and expanded his awareness across hundreds of miles and felt fine. Better than fine—energized.
"What's the theoretical upper limit?" he asked quietly.
Banner and Tony exchanged glances. "We don't know," Banner admitted. "Based on what we're seeing, you might not have one. Or if you do, it's nowhere near anything you've done so far."
"That's terrifying," Marcus said.
"That's an understatement," Sofia added. She'd been quietly monitoring data feeds, but now she looked up, face pale. "David, do you understand what this means? You could potentially manipulate any structure on the planet. Maybe beyond. If your range keeps expanding—"
"It won't." David said it firmly, trying to convince himself as much as them. "I'm not going to push it. This is already too much power. I don't need more."
"Power doesn't care what you need," Tony said. "It just is. The question is what you do with it."
"I do what I've always done. Build infrastructure. Help people. Use it for the Foundation's mission."
"And if someone threatens you? If another invasion happens? If some villain decides the guy who can manipulate matter is too dangerous to live?" Tony's voice was serious. "David, you're officially one of the most powerful enhanced individuals on the planet. That comes with complications."
"I know."
"Do you? Because I've been there. Hell, I am there. Having power that could level cities means everyone treats you like a weapon. Some want to control you. Some want to kill you. Some want to use you. Very few just let you be a person."
David looked at Tony, really looked. Saw the exhaustion under the genius, the weight of being Iron Man, the cost of being known as someone who could destroy as easily as protect.
"How do you handle it?" David asked.
"Badly, mostly. Sarcasm, alcohol, building suits when I can't sleep. Pushing people away so they don't become targets." Tony smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm not a good role model, is what I'm saying. But if you want advice? Find people you trust and keep them close. Don't try to carry everything alone. And remember that the power doesn't define you—what you do with it does."
"That's surprisingly insightful."
"I contain multitudes. Mostly anxiety and unresolved trauma, but also occasional wisdom." Tony's expression turned serious. "But David, we need to know the limits. Not to exploit them—to understand them. Because if your power keeps growing exponentially, we need to know what we're dealing with."
"He's right," Banner said. "We should run more tests. Carefully, with full monitoring, but we need data."
David wanted to refuse. Wanted to say he'd learned enough, that testing his limits felt too much like preparing for war. But they were right. He needed to understand what he could do. If only to know how to not do it.
"Okay," he agreed. "More tests. But controlled. And we stop if anything feels dangerous."
"Define dangerous when you can apparently restructure matter at will," Sofia muttered.
"When I feel like I might accidentally collapse a building?"
"That's a low bar, but fine."
They spent the next three hours testing. David manipulated materials he'd never worked with—glass, plastic, even water. He discovered he could feel and manipulate anything with a physical structure, though organic matter felt wrong somehow. Like it had its own will he couldn't override.
"Try the steel again," Banner suggested. "But this time, make something complex. Something that requires precision."
David reached out to the steel beam he'd liquefied earlier. This time, instead of simple shapes, he imagined gears. Interlocking, precisely machined, functional gears. The kind that would take hours to manufacture in a machine shop.
The steel flowed and formed. When he was done, a working gear system sat on the floor. David had created tolerances measured in microns, surface finishes that matched industrial standards, and functional mechanical engineering without any tools.
"That should have taken a team of engineers and machinists hours to produce," Tony said, examining the gears. "You did it in thirty seconds."
"I can see it in my head. The structure, the dimensions, the requirements. Then I just ask the material to match that image."
"You're not manipulating matter," Banner said slowly. "You're manipulating reality. Imposing your will on physical structures and having them conform. David, that's not just enhanced abilities. That's something else entirely."
"What does that make me?"
"Honestly? We don't know. There's no classification for what you can do. Mutant doesn't fit—you're not genetically distinct. Enhanced doesn't capture the scope. Super-soldier serum doesn't explain the mechanics. You're something new. Something unprecedented."
David sat down heavily. Unprecedented. The word felt like a weight. He'd spent three years trying to stay under the radar, to be just a builder, just an architect. Now he was apparently a walking physics violation with near-unlimited power.
"Can we please not tell anyone about this?" he asked. "The range thing, the matter manipulation, any of it? As far as the public knows, I can reinforce buildings and move concrete. That's already concerning enough."
"Agreed," Marcus said immediately. "The fewer people who know the full extent of David's abilities, the safer everyone is."
"I'll bury the data," Sofia added. "Classified Foundation internal research. Accessible only to people in this room."
"Works for me," Tony said. "But David, eventually someone's going to push you. Some crisis will happen that makes you use the full extent of your power. When that happens—"
"The secret's out," David finished. "I know. But until then, let's pretend I'm just really good at holding buildings up."
"Really good," Tony repeated. "The understatement of the century. But fine. We'll keep it quiet. For now."
They ran a few more tests, but David was done pushing. He'd learned what he needed to know: his power had expanded exponentially, his range was essentially unlimited, and he could manipulate matter at the molecular level with minimal effort.
It was terrifying. World-changing. Potentially civilization-altering if he wanted it to be.
He didn't want it to be. He just wanted to build things. Help people. Keep the Foundation running.
But the universe didn't care what he wanted. It had given him power beyond reason, and now he had to figure out how to live with it.
That Evening
David's Apartment, Brooklyn
He stood on his balcony, looking out at the city. From here, he could see his buildings scattered across Brooklyn. Foundation properties, standing solid, housing thousands of people. His work. His purpose.
He reached out with his gift, gently, just touching the nearest building. Felt its structure, its integrity, the lives inside it. Then he reached further, to the next building. And the next. All his properties across the five boroughs, connected to his awareness like a living network.
He could feel them all simultaneously now. Before the invasion, it had taken enormous effort to spread his attention across multiple structures. Now it was effortless. Natural.
His phone buzzed. A text from Tyler: "Saw the testing facility reports. Sofia told me what you can do now. That's insane. Also awesome. Also terrifying. Mostly awesome though."
David smiled and replied: "Still just an architect. Just one with better tools."
Tyler: "Better tools like restructuring matter at the atomic level? Yeah, super normal architect stuff. Next you'll be building cities in a day."
The scary thing was, David wasn't sure he couldn't. If he really pushed, if he used the full extent of what he could apparently do now... he might be able to do exactly that. Reshape entire cities. Build megastructures. Create architectural impossibilities.
He wouldn't, of course. Because that wasn't the work. The work was helping people, one building at a time. One foundation at a time. One life at a time.
The power didn't change that. The mission stayed the same.
His gift pulsed, vast and patient and waiting. David closed his eyes and made a conscious choice. He wouldn't push it. Wouldn't test its limits unless absolutely necessary. Wouldn't become the guy who could reshape reality just because he could.
He was David Chen. Architect. Builder. Foundation director.
Everything else was just details.
Even if those details included the ability to manipulate matter on a scale that should be impossible.