Marvel: Monkey King

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The wind screamed past him, tearing through his robes as Jack weaved between cars, dodging police sirens in the distance. His prize—Logan's motorcycle—rumbled beneath him, its engine purring like a restless beast.

Jack grinned, his golden eyes flickering in the rearview mirror. The cops were persistent, but they weren't him.

A sharp turn. Another alley. In a blur of movement, he tilted the bike sideways, sliding underneath a truck just as it passed. The patrol cars screeched to a halt, blocked by traffic. Jack didn't look back. Within minutes, he was gone.

He finally rolled into the warehouse, the metal doors groaning as he entered his claimed territory.

His new 'employees'—formerly Volkov's men—glanced up from their stations. Some of them still weren't sure what to make of him.

He was young. Unpredictable. Insane. But after yesterday? They all knew one thing. Jack Hou was the real deal.

One of the bigger guys, arms crossed over his chest, smirked. "That stolen bike?"

Jack hopped off, flipping the keys in his hand. "Mine now."

No one argued. Jack stretched, rolling his shoulders. Then, he plucked a strand of hair from his head, biting it in half. In an instant—dozens of clones materialized, each standing at attention.

They looked to Jack, awaiting orders. Jack sighed. "Same deal as yesterday. Patrol the streets." The clones scattered, leaping into the darkness, their movements fluid, calculated.

Jack watched them go, then ran a hand through his hair. Something felt off. Something wasn't sitting right with him. So—he did what he always did when his thoughts got too loud. He sought the sky.

Jack soared across rooftops, moving like a shadow against the neon glow of New York. He wasn't sure where he was going. His mind was too cluttered. Too heavy.

Then—he saw it.

The Chrysler Building.

Jack grinned. "Empire State can wait. Let's go with the classic art deco beauty tonight." With a final, effortless leap, he landed on one of the towering steel beams.

The city stretched beneath him like an ocean of lights, endless and restless. The wind howled, tugging at his robes. 

Jack crossed his legs, placing his staff across his lap. Then—he closed his eyes. And for the first time that night—he let himself think.

His thoughts drifted through the day's events. From his deal with Madam Gao, to his claim over Hell's Kitchen.

Was this truly the best choice?

His old philosophy—the one he used back in his past life—was simple: "Power isn't about ruling people. It's about making them need you so much they can't live without you."

That's what he was doing now. Making his territory thrive. Making sure the people leaned on him, not the government.

But this world? This world wasn't like his past life. This world had gods. Monsters. People who could rewrite reality with a snap of their fingers. Could he really play the same game here? Could he really win? 

Jack's jaw tightened. Back in his past life, the biggest threats were rival gangs, corrupt cops, and territorial disputes. 

Here? He was in a world where a man in a flying suit could wipe out a small country with missiles. Where a meta human with a thought could erase him from existence. Where a being like Thanos could snap his fingers and delete half of reality.

What good was territory control in a world like this? What good was power, if it could be taken in an instant?

Jack exhaled sharply, tilting his head up. Then—he thought about his Golden Gaze. At first, it had seemed like just another tool. A way to see through people. To know the truth of their sins, their past, their darkness.

But now...

Now, it felt like a curse. When he looked at Logan—he had seen everything. The sins stacked on his soul like a mountain of corpses. The weight of every kill, every regret, every failure.

Jack had judged him instantly. But was that fair? Logan didn't even remember those sins. And yet—Jack had condemned him for them. Just like Charles had judged Jack by snooping while he was dancing.

Jack hated people who tried to control or categorize him. And yet—here he was, doing the same damn thing. 

His fingers curled into fists.

Judgment was all he had. It was his gift. His curse. He had spent his entire life surviving by reading people, knowing exactly what kind of person they were just by watching their movements, their speech, their actions.

But his Golden Gaze? It made that process instant. And that scared him. Because the day he relied on it completely… Would be the day he lost his humanity.

Jack exhaled, his breath slow and deliberate. He was starting to see the trap. The easy way out. It would be so easy to just rely on his gaze. To judge people instantly. To discard them based on what he saw.

But wasn't that what he hated most? Wasn't that why he despised authority? Because they judged before understanding?

Because they saw people as numbers, statistics, burdens—rather than humans? And yet—here he was, dangerously close to doing the same thing.

Jack clenched his jaw. "Damn it."

"I hate when life forces me to be introspective."

He had to be careful. Because if he let himself fall into the trap of easy judgment… Then one day—he'd look in the mirror… And not recognize himself anymore.

The wind howled around him, cold and biting. The city pulsed below, alive with energy. Jack opened his golden eyes, staring down at the world beneath him.

He had a lot to think about. A lot to process. But one thing was certain. He wasn't done yet. This city? This world? It was still his playground. He just had to decide what kind of game he wanted to play.

For now—he would wait. Watch. Learn. And when the time came? He would make his move.

Jack smirked. "Alright, Marvel world. Show me what else you got."

And with that—he closed his eyes and meditated once more.

…

The morning sun cast long golden rays across Hell's Kitchen. The city was awake, but something was... different.

Agent Phil Coulson adjusted his tie, standing outside his black SUV, sipping coffee.

Beside him, his junior field agent—Agent Thompson—flipped through a series of photos on his tablet, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Sir, I swear, it was the craziest thing I've ever seen," Thompson said, unable to contain himself.

Coulson exhaled slowly. He had seen a lot of crazy things in his years at SHIELD.

Aliens. Meta Human. Experiment gone wrong. But this? This was something new. He glanced toward the neatly arranged streets of Jack Hou's territory.

A place that should have been crawling with crime. But instead? Instead—it was thriving. And that was the problem. Coulson's eyes scanned the butcher shop across the street.

The door was unlocked. Wide open, in fact. That, in itself, was an impossibility in Hell's Kitchen. Not locking your shop here? You might as well leave an invitation for looters and gangsters.

In most places of Hell's Kitchen, stores had three to five different locking mechanisms just to keep themselves safe. Some even hired guards just to get through the night.

But here? Here, in Jack Hou's claimed territory? Not a single store was locked. Not one. Coulson's eyes narrowed. Something was happening here. Something big.

Coulson turned to Thompson. "What did we find on him?"

Thompson paused, rubbing the back of his head. "Uh... that's the thing, sir. We didn't find anything on him."

Coulson's grip on his coffee cup tightened slightly. "Nothing?"

"Nothing, sir." Thompson pulled up his tablet, scrolling through the overnight reports. "We ran his face through every major government and private security database—FBI, CIA, NSA, INTERPOL, even the goddamn DMV." He turned the screen toward Coulson. "No matches. No records. No ID. No history. It's like the guy just popped into existence yesterday."

Coulson exhaled slowly. That—that was a problem. Because nobody just appeared out of nowhere. Not in this world. Not with SHIELD watching.

Coulson rubbed his temple, deep in thought. This wasn't just some low-level street meta. This was someone with power. Presence. Control.

And the worst part?

SHIELD had no idea where he came from.

"There's more," Thompson continued, swiping to another report. "Jack can multiply."

Coulson's eyes flickered toward the screen. The grainy, night-vision footage showed Jack plucking a strand of hair, biting it in half—And then?

More Jacks. Each identical. Each moving independently.

Coulson frowned. "We've seen something like this before, haven't we?"

Thompson nodded. "Yeah. One of Xavier's kids—Jamie Madrox. He called himself 'Multiple Man.' But he's barely in his teens. Jack Hou?" Thompson zoomed in on the image. "He's fully grown. And his clones? They're organized."

SHIELD had dealt with Jamie Madrox before. But Jamie's clones? They weren't... like this. They didn't move with precision. They didn't coordinate like a trained unit.

Jack's clones? They patrolled the streets like an elite task force. They weren't just duplicates. They were extensions of him. That made him a whole different kind of problem.

"Oh, and one more thing," Thompson added, pulling up another image.

Coulson looked at it. It was Jack's staff. Long. Ornate. And expanding. In the images, the staff shifted in size—growing from the size of a baton to the length of a street pole.

"It's magical," Thompson said, awed.

Coulson sighed. Of course it was. Because this wasn't complicated enough already. Coulson took a slow sip of his coffee.

Then, finally, he spoke. "Alright. Let's break it down."

Jack Hou appeared out of nowhere. He has no records in any database. He has powers similar to an established meta human, but far more refined. He wields a staff that seemingly bends the laws of physics. He took over Hell's Kitchen without a single shot fired.

And now? Now, Wilson Fisk was screaming to the media about an unknown 'threat' attacking the city.

Coulson exhaled. This was about to become a massive headache. Coulson finally closed his tablet, staring at the sunrise. The city was waking up. And he had decisions to make.

SHIELD didn't care about gang wars. They didn't care who controlled Hell's Kitchen. What they did care about was data. They needed complete control over the information surrounding Jack Hou.

Because if this guy could really do all this? If he could spread like a virus, fight like a god, and disappear without a trace?

Then SHIELD needed contingencies. And fast. Coulson turned to Thompson. "Put a classified tag on all this information. Need-to-know basis only."

Thompson blinked. "You think he's a threat, sir?"

Coulson took another sip of coffee. "I don't know what he is yet. And that's the problem."

"We need to know before someone else does." Thompson nodded, typing away on his tablet. Coulson sighed.

His morning had barely started. And already? Jack Hou was making his life a nightmare.

**A/N**

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