A Free Radical

The first building looked promising from a distance. An old convenience store with boarded-up windows and a rusted padlock on the door. Levi's stomach gave a faint growl as he approached, the faded 'Forest Hills Market' sign mocking him. It may not sell taquitos anymore, but it looked quiet enough to crash in.

As he crossed the street, a woman with a patched coat shuffled past him, dragging a wheeled suitcase with a broken handle. Its wheels rattled unevenly across the pavement, and she muttered to herself as she walked, her breath visible in the chill air. Levi watched her disappear into an alley, guilt nibbling at the edges of his thoughts. Back home, he might've ignored her completely, walking by without a second thought. But now he was walking a mile—or at least a few city blocks—in her shoes.

Shaking off the thought, he focused on the building. The padlock was barely hanging on, rusted and useless. If someone was squatting here, they weren't big on security. That seemed like a sign. Whether good or bad remained to be seen.

He gave the door a gentle shove, stepping inside. The odor hit him immediately—thick, stale, and sour enough to make his nose twitch. Shafts of dim light beamed through cracks in the boarded-up windows, illuminating rows of empty shelves. The floor was a mess of debris—rotting wood, bits of plaster, and what looked like the remnants of a busted cooler.

It wasn't cozy, but quiet enough to sleep in. If he could tolerate the smell.

[ANALYSIS]

:: Environmental contamination detected.

:: Airborne particulates include asbestos fibers.

:: Levi froze mid-step. Asbestos? Seriously?

[CLARIFICATION]

:: Host can adapt to mitigate the effects of asbestos.

:: Adaptation will require energy allocation, reducing available resources for stamina and immune function in the short term.

He let out a breath. So, he could technically survive here, but it might not be comfortable. Not a dealbreaker, but not exactly ideal either.

Then the wind shifted. Sharper now. He turned his head and caught sight of a dark stain spreading across one wall. Water damage? No. It isn't water.

[ANALYSIS]

:: Stachybotrys chartarum detected.

:: Airborne spores contain mycotoxins linked to respiratory distress and neurological symptoms.

Oh, good—a wall of mold. Perfect for the man who has everything. This place came preinstalled with a 'start your own zombie apocalypse' kit.

[ADVISEMENT]

:: Host recommended to vacate the premises.

:: Secure a safe location to rest and recover from universal transfer before prioritizing system adaptations.

[ASSURANCE]

:: Host may cultivate a wall of Stachybotrys chartarum at a time of their choosing to gain adaptive resistances to mycotoxins.

Current situation is unsuitable for amateurish experimentation.

Roger, roger.

Like a B1 battle droid, Levi spun on his heel and departed without complaint. Stepping out into the street, he scrubbed the back of his neck as if he could scrape off the lingering stench of mold.

Strike one.

He cast one last look at the sagging convenience store before shaking his head. The wind bit at his face, threading through the gaps in his jacket, and he tugged it tighter as he scanned the block.

A cab screeched to a halt in the distance, and a woman cursed loudly into her phone as she walked past. Levi barely noticed.

His gaze landed on the next building down the street—an old brick tenement with boarded windows and peeling paint. It looked sturdier than the first place. Maybe his luck had turned, or maybe he was just setting up his expectations to be dashed.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and trudged forward. The crooked door hung off rusted hinges, groaning in protest as Levi pushed it open and stepped inside.

The air inside hit him like a slap—damp, sour, and clinging with the tang of old sweat and stale cigarettes.

A single staircase loomed ahead, its walls tagged with faded graffiti—gang symbols and phone numbers to call 'for a good time'. Levi pressed his weight onto the first step, the wood creaking loud enough to make him clench his teeth. He paused, swallowing the urge to curse, then moved upward with exaggerated care.

The first few doors were broken, hanging open to reveal empty rooms with little more than peeling wallpaper and cracked floors. But as he approached the third room, he froze.

[ANALYSIS]

:: Room contains signs of recent activity.

:: Trace chemical residues detected: cigarette smoke, human perspiration.

:: No immediate salvageable assets observed.

Levi's gaze shifted to a crumpled blanket in the corner, its faded fabric stained and worn. Next to it, an overturned tin can and a single, scuffed shoe told a quiet but unmistakable story: someone had been here. Recently.

He stepped closer, spotting a rusted ashtray sat on the windowsill. It was stuffed full of cigarette butts that couldn't have been more than a day or two old.

Someone lives here.

A faint cough drifted up from below, followed by a low murmur of conversation. Levi's pulse quickened, every muscle tensing. He couldn't make out the words, but the tone said enough: this place wasn't abandoned.

[OBSERVATION]

:: Unknown individuals detected.

:: Proximity increases risk of confrontation.

:: Recommend disengagement.

No shit, Sherlock. What gave it away? The smoldering cigarette butts or the literal voices?

He held his breath as he made his way back to the stairs, his footsteps slow and deliberate. Halfway down, a floorboard creaked louder than he intended, and he froze.

For a moment, the building seemed to hold its breath with him. Then, faintly, the murmur of voices below shifted—sharper now, like someone had noticed the sound. Levi's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't stick around to find out whose home he'd been caught invading. Careful to keep his steps light, he slipped out the front door, easing it shut behind him.

By the time his feet hit the street, the adrenaline was draining out of his system, leaving his limbs heavy and his nerves frayed. Levi shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, the night air biting his face. Finally able to unclench my butthole, he thought, letting out a long breath. The mental and physical exhaustion was piling up.

Strike Two.

His gaze moved, searching for more options down the street. The second failure further frayed his patience. Levi kept his head down as he walked, trying to shake the image of the ashtray and crumpled blanket. Whoever lived there probably wouldn't have killed him—but "probably" wasn't good enough. Not in this city.

The streets had shifted, somehow. Shadows stretched longer now, and the air felt colder, sharper, carrying an edge of anticipation Levi didn't like. People moved quicker, their faces tight, their gazes harder. Levi didn't know if they were avoiding trouble or looking for it, and he wasn't interested in finding out.

At the end of the block, a squat, ugly building caught his eye. Graffiti streaked the walls, and the door hung slightly ajar, swaying faintly in the breeze. It didn't look much better than the others—but it was quiet. For now.

He stepped inside, his eyes adjusting quickly to the gloom. The air smelled damp, tinged with the faint metallic bite of rust and the stale aroma of standing water. Somewhere below, a car horn blared, cutting through the muffled hum of distant voices.

A staircase led to the second floor, its boards creaking but holding steady under his weight. He passed a rusted dumpster on the way up, water dripping from its side, and made a mental note to avoid that corner altogether.

The second floor was a mess of broken furniture, splintered crates, and what might have been a mattress in a former life. The ceiling dripped steadily in one corner, but the boards over the windows seemed sturdy enough to keep the worst of the elements out. Levi crossed the room, testing the walls with light presses of his hands.

Solid.

[OBSERVATION]

:: Host environment is moderately stable.

:: Barricading the entry points will increase host's security.

Levi let out a breath, his shoulders sagging as some of the tension slipped away. Moderately stable. This place definitely wouldn't show up on House Hunters, but it beats the mold pit—or getting shanked by a squatter puffing away on their cancer stick.

Levi grabbed one of the crates and dragged it toward the door, wedging it under the knob as a makeshift barricade. The broken chair followed, reinforcing the effort. When he pushed lightly against the pile, it creaked but held. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

Al's voice buzzed faintly in the back of his mind, listing everything this place couldn't protect him from: the drafts sneaking through the cracks, the dripping ceiling that might breed more mold, the flimsy door frame that wouldn't hold against even a halfhearted shove. The effort suddenly felt small, almost pointless.

Not exactly Fort Knox, but it'll hold for the night. Probably.

He leaned against the wall, his eyes drifting over the room's cracked plaster and sagging ceiling. Back home, he'd lived in a modern two-bedroom apartment with a bougie coffee maker and Wi-Fi fast enough to stream cat videos in 8k. Back then, wall-mounting a new TV or swapping out the furnace filter were all the 'fixer-uppering' he'd had to do in a few years. Now, he was dragging splintered furniture to block a door and praying the whole building didn't collapse on him while he slept.

Someone better call FEMA. Hell, they'd need a whole task force just for this floor. Levi let out a half-laugh, half-grimace.

He shook the thought away and pushed the chair a little tighter against the door. Outside, faint voices drifted up from the street—a man laughing, a child shouting, a couple arguing in clipped tones. Hell's Kitchen didn't stop moving, even when you wanted it to.

I'll figure it out. Food, water, something to defend myself with. One step at a time.

Levi wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there. The adrenaline that had carried him through the last few hours had finally burned off, leaving exhaustion in its wake. His fingers brushed absently against the edge of the crate he'd leaned on, the cheap wood rough against his skin. The room was quiet now—still, aside from the faint drip of water from the ceiling and the muffled hum of voices below.

For the first time all day, nothing felt urgent. His head tilted back against the wall, and his eyes slipped shut despite the cold gnawing at his bones.

Just a second. One second won't hurt.

The pain hit like a spike, sharp and immediate, jerking him upright. Blood dripped down his fingers, a vivid crimson that stood out starkly against his pale flesh. He turned his hand over, catching sight of a jagged cut slicing across his palm. A quick glance at the crate he'd been leaning against told him everything he needed to know—a piece of rusted metal sticking out from the edge, slick with fresh blood.

Oh good, Tetanus. Today needed a bit more excitement. What's next—a ceiling collapse? A feral raccoon? Levi shook his head, flexing his hand gingerly.

[ANALYSIS]

:: Laceration detected.

:: Contaminants present.

:: Initiating adaptive response.

Levi froze, his breath catching as the System's words registered. His skin prickled faintly, a subtle buzzing sensation radiating from the wound, making the area feel numb. He watched in stunned silence as the redness around the cut began to fade, the swelling receding with it. The pain dulled, replaced by a faint throbbing.

[REPORT]

:: Foreign agents neutralized.

:: Host immune response augmented.

:: Tetanus and similar bacterial threats now partially mitigated.

Levi flexed his fingers, watching in disbelief as the cut slowly knitted itself shut, leaving skin that looked days old instead of minutes.

Well, that's one way to save on healthcare. His lips twitched. No co-pay. No waiting room. Ten out of ten—would bleed again.

[ADDENDUM]

:: Adaptation requires continued exposure for maximum efficiency.

Levi rolled his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. Yeah, sure. I'll just go poke myself with more rusty nails. Sounds like a fun Saturday night.

[ANALYSIS]

:: Host demonstrates behaviors consistent with masochistic tendencies.

:: Recommend deferring such indulgences until adequate resources are secured.

Levi flexed his hand again, watching as the last faint traces of the cut vanished like it had never happened. His chest tightened.

The System was insane–but where did it draw the line? Would he still be himself when this was over?

He shook the thought off and rose to his feet, stretching until his spine cracked. Staying cooped up here wouldn't solve anything. He needed food, water—hell, anything to keep himself moving. Whatever this city wanted to throw at him next, he'd deal with it.

The streets had changed by the time Levi ventured out again. The air carried a different energy now, sharper and heavier, like something was about to boil over.

Levi stuck to the edges, keeping his head down as he wandered. His goal was simple: learn what he could without drawing attention.

He slowed to a stop at the corner near a bodega with the sign 'Sonny's Grocery', pressing himself against the wall as voices carried from the alley ahead. The streetlamp barely reached the shadows, but he could see enough: three guys in sharp suits. Broad shoulders, bad intentions, and—yep—the unmistakable glint of metal under one guy's jacket.

These guys are strapped. Of course.

Pinned against the wall was a wiry man frantically clutching a ratty backpack like it held his browsing history. His knees were shaking so hard, Levi half-expected the bag to rattle loose.

"You think Fisk gives a damn about your excuses?" one of the enforcers growled. His hand rested on the holster beneath his jacket, casual as anything. "Tomorrow. Or we're done."

Levi tensed. Fisk. That name hit like a sucker punch. This wasn't the early MCU cakewalk he'd been hoping for. This was Hell's Kitchen. Fisk's Hell's Kitchen. Could be worse, I guess. At least it's not Gordon Ramsey's.

The scrawny guy stammered something Levi couldn't make out, his voice cracking, but one of the suits shut him up with a shove. The sound of his back hitting the wall echoed sharp against the bricks.

"Sell your shoes. Sell your kidneys. Don't care how you do it." The enforcer leaned in close, his voice low and final. "Tomorrow."

Levi ducked back, exhaling through his nose as adrenaline tingled in his veins.

Three guys packing heat? Working for Fisk? Yeah, no thanks. I don't think this cutscene is part of the tutorial.

[CONFIRMATION]

:: Threat level: High.

:: Direct confrontation not recommended.

You don't say? Thanks, Al. Real insightful analysis. Levi's response came automatic, but his fingers flexed at his sides as another thud echoed from the alley. He hated this. The powerlessness. The itch to act. But stepping into that fight wasn't bravery—it was just a free Darwin Award.

Walk away. Stay alive. Grow strong enough to do whatever you want next time.

The enforcers didn't give him much choice. Their leader motioned, and the group stalked off, their footsteps heavyfootsteps heavyt. Levi stayed hidden until the sound faded, his breath curling in the cold night air.

When he risked a glance back into the alley, the scrawny guy was slumped on the ground, muttering curses as he stuffed scattered trinkets back into his bag—cheap sunglasses, gum, loose change. Nothing worth dying for.

Levi let out a breath and shook his head, his hands pushing deep into his jacket pockets as he turned away.

Sorry, kid. I haven't gone through my training montage yet.

[APPROVAL]

:: Host demonstrates appropriate caution.

:: Survival probability remains stable.

Levi didn't answer. Al wasn't wrong. If Fisk's guys were throwing their weight around, it meant money—or something useful—was moving through this city. And where there was chaos, there were cracks. Cracks he might be able to slip through.

Levi's gaze snagged on an empty alley as he passed, its walls tagged with looping graffiti. A black cat crouched near a pile of trash, its sleek black coat catching the faint glow of a streetlight. It didn't dart away like most strays. Instead, it held its ground, watching him with unblinking green eyes.

He stopped and frowned. "You waiting for someone? Or just casing the joint?" The cat flicked its tail and padded into the shadows without a sound. Levi shook his head and kept walking.

Tomorrow, he'd figure out where he stood in all this. How the System really worked. What it could do—and what it couldn't. He'd push it until it broke, if that's what it took. Better to know his limits now than when it mattered most. Food, water, shelter—they were the basics, but power? Power was the real game-changer. And if he wanted to play, he had to know what cards he was holding.

His breath curled like smoke in the cold night air. Somewhere in the distance, a cat screeched, dramatic and unnecessary—just like his inner thoughts.

I'm not the hero this city deserves. And I'm not the one it needs right now. But I won't just stand by and watch it burn.

[META]

:: Angsty Inner monologue detected.

:: Recommend host acquire dramatic cape.

:: Chapter termination sequence has been initiated.

Huh?