A Free Radical

Levi stopped by the bulletin board on his way out of the library. A warped corkboard, framed by chipped wood, was plastered with layers of flyers—some crisp, others faded and curling, and a few practically fused to the surface.

His eyes flittered across the chaos. "Nelson & Murdock: Attorneys at Law" sat near the top, the clean logo instantly recognizable. Just below it, a black-and-white ad declared: "Alias Investigations: No Case Too Strange. Call Jessica." The two Defenders classifieds intriguing, but not currently relevant.

Further down, a bold red flyer caught his attention: "Fogwell's Gym: Train Hard, Fight Harder!" The blocky address glared back at him. Old-school place. No frills, no nonsense. Just sweat, grit, and busted knuckles. Levi filed it away. God knew he'd need to up his training from his current "home gym"—Fogwell's would be just the ticket.

Then he spotted the kind of flyer he was looking for:

"VOLUNTEERS NEEDED FOR CLINICAL TRIALS. GENEROUS COMPENSATION."

It was slapped up crookedly, printed on cheap paper, with tearable tags fluttering at the bottom. Most had already been ripped off, but a couple still dangled by stubborn corners. No company name. No specifics. Just an address, a phone number, and the words "PAYMENT PROVIDED" underlined twice in bold.

Levi snorted quietly. 'Generous compensation.' Nothing screams 'ethical drug testing' quite like a flyer with no logo promising wads of cash. This looked perfect for quickly filling his piggy bank.

[OBSERVATION]

:: Host displays notable lack of risk aversion regarding unverified medical trials.

:: Lemmings are famed for a similar approach to self-preservation.

Relax, Al. If Joe six-pack can survive this, I'll be fine–otherwise, what's the point of this adaptive system. Levi yanked one of the hanging tags free, squinting at the barely legible address. The ink was already smudging across the cheap paper. No specifics on the payout, but if they're dangling this much bait, it's got to be worth my time.

He turned back to the Fogwell's Gym flyer, giving it a lingering look. He'd need to push himself harder, break through plateaus. A place like that? Perfect. Heavy bags to hit, iron to lift. Everything a growing super-boy needs.

With the crumpled tags stuffed in his pocket, Levi glanced over the board one last time. Bad decisions or not, it looked like he had a game plan now.

Playing guinea pig and punching bag—here's hoping I come out more Rocky, less Frankenstein's Monster.

Levi sat on a cracked vinyl chair, surrounded by naked drywall and rickety medical equipment. This place looked like it could scurry underground if an inspector got too close. A clipboard was packed with medical waivers that went on longer than a CVS receipt.

The guy at the front desk—a wiry man with a stained collar and a face that screamed 'I clock out at 5'—glanced up. "You signing or what? Plenty of people need the cash, pal."

Levi boldly scrawled a large signature across the bottom with a flourish and slid the clipboard across the desk. "You get a lot of volunteers free lobotomy, huh?"

The man grunted, slapping a smudged barcode wristband into Levi's hand. "Room three. Don't touch anything. You break it, you buy it."

And the employee of the month award goes to–Levi peered at the guy's chest. No name tag–figures. I guess we'll call you Gus.

[OBSERVATION]

:: This establishment is unlikely to celebrate employee excellence.

Levi snorted as he pushed through a flimsy door into what might have passed for a testing area during the COVID outbreak. If someone told him this lab had been cobbled together overnight using thrown out hospital supplies and a random IKEA instruction manual, he'd believe it. Looking around, he saw a couple of scuffed folding tables, mismatched monitors humming faintly, and an IV stand holding a bag of liquid that looked disturbingly like Code Red Mountain Dew.

"I am mad scientist. It's so cool. So of a bitch," he stuck his thumbs towards himself in a "this guy" pose, then squinted suspiciously around the corners of the room. No gel bananas. No microwaves. Guess these guys aren't with SERN.

[ANALYSIS]

:: Host's current mental state suggests the introduction of hazardous material may have little negative impact on stability.

Har Har, Al.

Levi looked around. Three other volunteers were already hooked up—one slumped in his chair snoring, the other two staring blankly ahead like they'd gone into standby mode. Levi had the sneaking suspicion this wasn't their first rodeo.

"Welcome," said a voice too chipper for the room's aesthetic. A woman in a white coat entered, clipboard in hand, her Pan Am smile couldn't quite hide the fact that she saw him as a lab rat. "Thank you for participating in this neurological study. You're contributing to trailblazing innovations in medicine."

Levi arched a brow. "Trailblazing, huh? This place doesn't look ARPA backed."

She reacted as much as a mannequin might. "Please take a seat. We'll begin shortly."

An assistant approached with the IV bag. The liquid inside shimmered faintly under the fluorescent lights, looking alarmingly like Ninja Turtle Ooze.

Of course, it's glowing. Why wouldn't it be?

Levi sank into the chair, watching the needle inch closer to his arm.

You know, Al, this might not be the brightest idea I've had this year. If only I had an omniscient AI companion to alert me to the dangers of such impetuous foolhardiness.

[OBSERVATION]

:: Host demonstrates questionable risk assessment capabilities.

:: Additionally, Host is showing signs of early progressive onset memory loss.

Hmm? You say something, Al? Levi gulped and started composing a self-elegy in his head as the IV needle slid home.

'Here lies Levi, beloved man of the people'

[CORRECTION]

:: Host is an unknown entity with no connections to mourn his passing.

A cool sensation spread through his veins, but that wasn't the part that worried him. Electrodes were stuck to his temples as the woman—Dr. Someone-or-Other, she'd never said—flipped a switch and began to play Dr. Frankenstein. All that was missing was the shout, "It's alive!"

"Relax," she said cheerfully, a true smile spreading across her face. "You may feel some minor pressure behind your eyes. That's normal."

I'm sure it is.

At first, nothing. Then it hit.

Starting as a dull throb, the pressure ramped up like someone was inflating a balloon in his skull. His pulse spiked. The world behind his closed eyelids exploded in spirals of red, blue, and gold—like fireworks fired directly into his brain.

[WARNING]

:: Elevated neurological activity detected.

:: Free radicals accumulating.

:: Stabilization required.

:: System implementing adaptive protocols.

Levi clenched his jaw. Define stabilization, Al. He hissed, as his teeth began to chatter like castanets.

[CLARIFICATION]

:: Free radicals destabilize cellular integrity.

:: Increased risk of DNA denaturation.

:: Excess accumulation may trigger Aberrations.

Denaturing? Isn't that what happens to eggs if you toss salt in them? I don't need my brain scrambled, Al! His fingers curled against the armrest, white-knuckled. Perfect. Handle with care and avoid microwaves—I'm one bad microwave burrito away from becoming a human narwhal.

[CORRECTION]

:: Probability of growing tusk: Low.

:: Probability of catastrophic genetic mutation: Moderate.

The balloon feeling peaked—pressure so intense it felt like his head might pop. Ears crackling like Rice Crispies. Eyes bulging like he'd taken a shot to the 'nads—and then, suddenly, it stopped.

Levi gasped, blinking rapidly as his vision swam back into focus.

[ALERT]

:: Host's genetic volatility stabilized at current parameters.

:: Free radical energy available for allocation.

:: Select enhancement pathway.

Levi blinked, his fingers flexing as the buzzing in his veins intensified. Allocation? You're telling me I get to pick where all this… whatever it is goes?

[CLARIFICATION]

:: Host must allocate free radical energy to enhance neural and cellular pathways.

:: Options are cumulative and non-exclusive.

Oh, I get to spend a Perk Point, huh? What do you have for me?

[POSSIBLE EVOLUTIONS]

:: 1. Synaptic Overclocking

:: "Accelerate neural processing for enhanced reflexes and rapid decision-making. Think faster. Act faster."

:: Benefits: Increased speed in reaction and cognition.

:: Drawbacks: Neural fatigue under prolonged use.

::

:: 2. Sensory Amplification

:: "Sharpen your perception to unparalleled levels. See, hear, and sense the world like never before."

:: Benefits: Heightened environmental awareness.

:: Drawbacks: Vulnerability to sensory overload.

::

:: 3. Memory Delving

:: "Reconstruct stored sensory and cognitive data with perfect fidelity. Access everything you've ever seen, heard, or known—if you're willing to dig deep."

:: Benefits: Perfect recall with active focus.

:: Drawbacks: Requires time and concentration for complex reconstructions.

His fingers tapped against the chair as he considered his options. The increased thought speed and reflexes seem all around solid, potentially lifesaving in the middle of a fight. The sensory amplification could help me stay out of trouble. Delving, huh? That should let me dig around and organize my meta knowledge. Well, 'Schoolhouse Rock!' said it best, Knowledge is Power.

Let's go with Delving, Al. Lock it in.

[SELECTION CONFIRMED: MEMORY DELVING]

:: Adaptive pathway activated.

:: Host may now reconstruct stored sensory and cognitive data with perfect fidelity.

:: Retrieval requires active focus and contextual cues.

:: Minor improvements to sensory input and reflexes applied.

Levi exhaled as the buzzing in his veins subsided, leaving a faint hum of clarity in its place. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting his thoughts spiral backward. The clipboard from earlier—the exact words on the waiver, the faint smudge of ink at the bottom—it all snapped into focus like a high-res photo.

Yeah, I can work with this. Levi peeled the electrodes from his sticky temples.

The doctor reappeared, clipboard tucked to her chest and her detached smile firmly in place. If she had thoughts about his results, they stayed behind the cold professionalism in her eyes. "You performed admirably, Mr. Hancock. Payment will be processed at the front desk."

Levi rolled his neck and smirked faintly. "Glad I could help. I hope it was as mind-blowing for you as it was for me."

She blinked once, mannequin-still, then turned and left without a word.

The hallway outside felt even thinner and staler than before, his footsteps loud against the tiles. Levi had no idea how long he'd been in that room—hours? Overnight? Time had unraveled like a fever dream, replaced by static energy twitching in his fingers and toes.

Stepping outside, the cold air slapped him in the face, sharp and bracing. He paused just past the door, blinking at the clinic's crooked neon sign: CLINICAL RESEARCH—half the bulbs dead, the other half flickering.

[OBSERVATION]

:: Genetic volatility stabilized under current parameters.

:: Neutralizing residual free radicals.

Neutralizing, huh? Hope I'm not setting off any Geiger counters.

Levi exhaled, pulling his jacket tighter around him as he started down the block. A bus screeched as it braked nearby, the high-pitched squeal drilling straight through his skull. Somewhere in the distance, a pigeon flapped wildly against a fire escape—whap, whap, whap—like it was perched on his shoulder.

God, I can hear New York breathe… Well, wheeze.

His fingers brushed the fresh wad of cash in his pocket, its crumpled weight satisfying and somehow grounding in the unnatural clarity buzzing in his senses.

I feel violated. He rolled his shoulders, wincing at the phantom ache still lurking in his skull. Then he smirked faintly. But some shawarma and brown-bagged beer would fix him right up. Halal and Haram, hand in hand.

Licking his fingers clean, Levi tossed the grease-stained napkins and crumpled brown bag into an overflowing trash can. The air was crisp, carrying the faint metallic tang of car exhaust and city grime. It cleared his head just enough to spot the faded Salvation Army sign across the street.

The place reeked of mothballs and stale detergent, the fluorescent lights buzzing and dim. But the racks—representing a couple eras of deeply questionable fashion—had potential.

Half an hour later, Levi stepped back outside, a tactical backpack over his shoulder. He adjusted his grip and stole a glance at his reflection in a grimy store window.

The chunky butterscotch sweater was soft yet sturdy, peeking out beneath a charcoal tweed jacket with a solid weight, worn-in and real, its scuffs and edges hinting that it had been around the block a time or two. He'd paired it with rugged, dark denim jeans—tough enough to take a beating but still sharp enough to pass for intentional—and leather boots that walked the line between practicality and presentation.

His hair, finally under control, was clean and neatly trimmed—short on the sides, the couple of inches up top pushed back with nothing but stubbornness and water. His beard, sharp and trimmed, looked deliberate instead of desperate.

He glanced down at his new G-Shock and then gave his reflection a faint smirk. Respectable by day. Invisible by night. Exactly where he wanted to be. Mister Incognito.

[OBSERVATION]

:: Host appearance upgraded.

:: Residual odors reduced by 82%.

Bet the other 18% is the shawarma.

The gym wasn't far. Levi covered the blocks quickly, boots thudding steadily against cracked pavement. The city was alive–Bus brakes screeched, some fat cat hurled obscenities into a phone, and a jackhammer pounded pavement with gusto.

Fogwell's Gym loomed into view—a squat brick-and-steel relic that looked like it'd been here long before the skyscrapers shot up.

Time to see what this new and improved body can do.

The bell over the door jingled as Levi stepped into Fogwell's Gym. It was old-school, the kind of place that refused to put on a fresh coat of paint because it didn't bother with frills. The faint tang of sweat and old leather hung in the air.

Sodium-green light illuminated the cracked mats, a sprawl of free weights, and a boxing ring that sagged in the back corner like it had seen one too many knockouts. The rhythmic thud of gloves drumming against a heavy bag echoed faintly, punctuated by gruff grunts.

Well, it's got… Character. Still, better than Planet Fitness and its parade of vapid influencers.

[OBSERVATION]

:: Training facility sufficient for current host objectives.

:: Environmental conditions may promote adaptive resistance to:

:: - dermatophytic infections

:: - airborne fungal irritants.

:: - tetanospasmin exposure.

Good looking out, Al. I'd rather not have ringworm.

Behind a beat-up counter sat a man as old and rugged as the gym's cinderblock walls. 60s. Built like a mid-century refrigerator–back when they were lined with lead.

Is this guy a coach, or a heavy bag?

[CALCULATION]

:: Probability of coach designation: 66%.

:: Probability of punching bag designation: 33%.

"You lost?" he rumbled, his voice like a cement mixer–not looking up from the sports section of the newspaper.

Huh. Bam Bam can read?

Levi shook his head. "Nope. Here to get in fighting shape." He gave a winning grin as he flexed his bicep, patting it to demonstrate his physique.

The man snorted, glancing up. "You ain't lookin' like a fighter."

"Not yet," Levi agreed, smiling cheerily. "First I'll tune up the guns. Then I'll work on aiming them."

The old warhorse stared for a beat, rusty gears turning in his over-concussed head, before jerking his head toward the gym floor. "100 smackers a month. We're open most o' the time. Try not ta bleed on the weights, they rust." He looked back down to his paper, squinting intensely.

Lovely guy, but I think he may just be looking at the pictures.

Coming out of the changing room, Levi dropped his bag near a bench and twisted his back until it gave that satisfying pop. Perfect—no distractions, no excuses. Just plenty of iron to sling around.

Levi grabbed a pair of heavy dumbbells and settled into his first exercise—bicep curls, slow and deliberate. The iron bit into his palms, each rep sending the familiar burn creeping up. By the time his arms gave out, they felt shredded—dead weight, like some prick had lobbed a Rasen-Shuriken my way.

[OBSERVATION]

:: Recovery initiated.

:: Hypertrophy in progress.

Already better than a creatine drip–convenient, as I'm not yet made of money.

Next, he hit the weighted dips—a belt looped around his waist with an old plate dangling from a chain. Lower. Hold. Push. The chain rattled with every dip. By the third set, his arms were losing their battle with gravity. They trembled under the weight, veins bulging, but the moment he unhooked the belt and stood, the recovery kicked in—like his body had opted out on the lactic acid. Levi panted, sweat running off him in rivulets.

Alright, Al, this is starting to feel like I unlocked a regenerative perk.

[CLARIFICATION]

:: Host's adaptive system continuously improves recovery rates in addition to muscle growth.

Well, damn. Let's keep this train a'rolling! Choo, Choo!

[ALERT]

:: System's sensors appear to be faulty: unable to identify source of host's cognitive derailment.

Right, let's just, uh, get back to it.

Levi headed to the squat rack that sat in the corner. The bar was warped with time and the padding was covered in duct tape that couldn't keep up with the rips. Levi ducked under it, resting the loaded barbell across his shoulders.

Down. Slow. Up.

I'm flying high, defying gravity

And really holding space with that.

His legs strained, quads shaking, but the System hummed faintly under his skin, knitting him back together even as he tore himself down. By the time he racked the weight, the worst of the trembling had already started to slowly fade.

[OBSERVATION]

:: Ligament and tendon adaptations accelerating.

Al, I swear—if I wake up with tree trunks for legs and nothing else, we're gonna have words. I don't need to end up with half of New York thirsting after my cake.

Hours later, Levi had cycled through a full circuit of isolations, the initial muscles fully recovered and ready to start again by the time he got back to it. He sat on the edge of a bench, elbows on knees and shirt clinging to him like a second skin. His body still hummed faintly, fatigue and soreness a distant memory.

The gym had emptied out, and it was just Levi and Bam Bam left–and it looked like he was ready to lock up. Levi gave him a nod and headed to change, giving himself a brief look in the mirror.

Good God Almighty. Levi gawped in awe at the amount of progress he made in a single evening.

I may not have a Hyperbolic Time Chamber, but this would definitely get me banned on any WoW server for hacks.

[UPDATE]

:: Muscular adaptation progressing.

:: Structural integrity has achieved a qualitative upgrade.

Levi smirked faintly, dragging a hand through his sweat-damp hair. You're really earning your keep, Al. I'll give you that… But this still doesn't mean you get to choose the workout playlist.

Levi pushed out the door, the cool night air bracing after hours of sweat and exertion. The neon sign for "Tony's Pizza" glowed faintly down the block, beckoning him like a moth to the flame.

I think I've earned a few slices and a beer after that workout.

[ANALYSIS]

:: Host's caloric reserves critically depleted.

:: Immediate intake recommended to stabilize energy levels.

Correction: a few pizzas and a keg.

He ambled down the street, muscles loose and light from the workout, and his perception still heightened from the Ninja Turtle Ooze injected into his brain. The scent of tomato sauce and melted cheese reeled him in like a cartoon pie on a windowsill. Just as his hand reached for the pizzeria door, a voice carried from a nearby alley—low, hushed, but sharp.

"The Cat's got the whole gang stirred up. Boss says it's go time tomorrow night."

Levi paused, fingers hovering over the door handle. The Cat? He didn't need to delve into his memories to take a stab at who that could be. Felicia Hardy, maybe?

He glanced toward the alley, keeping his expression neutral as he clocked the speakers: two sketchy vagabonds, the kind who looked like burglars.

Pizza could wait. This couldn't. He had a date with destiny... or maybe with Cat if his story turned out to be a standard isekai.

[WARNING]

:: Host is in danger of breaking the 4th wall.

Not this again…