Night fell.
Alex Ray stepped out of the Good Luck Restaurant and hung up a sign that read, "Open as Usual."
"Evening, Dog Deadpool. Keep an eye on your turf, alright?" he greeted the scruffy mutt lounging by the door.
Dog Deadpool rolled his eyes in an uncannily human way, stretched out a paw lazily, then flopped back down.
Alex glanced around. The street was clean and unusually quiet. He nodded to himself with quiet satisfaction.
Hell's Kitchen had always been one of Marvel's grittiest corners of New York City—an infamous place tourists were warned to avoid.
If you didn't have to be there, you simply didn't go.
It was practically the crime capital of the city, a miniature Gotham without the moody billionaire. Only 25 blocks wide, but just as dense with scum and villainy.
You could be walking in broad daylight and run into a twitchy junkie begging for money or a masked thug sticking a gun in your face, asking to "borrow" your wallet.
Pro tip: always carry some cash in Hell's Kitchen. If you have money, you might walk away intact. If you don't… well, hope you've got a will in place.
Jokes aside, even God would be expected to pay a toll to pass through here.
But where there are criminals, there are always those who punish them. In Marvel's version of the world, that meant vigilantes like Daredevil, Spider-Man, Iron Fist, and Luke Cage.
Once upon a time, pimps, thugs, and lowlifes prowled Hell's Kitchen by night. If you were wandering around here after dark, you either had a death wish or you were the kind of person who caused them.
But recently, since Alex Ray had taken over the Good Luck Restaurant, things had started to change. Hell's Kitchen felt just a bit less hostile—at least on his block.
Now and then, you'd see a few regular folks coming in to eat, people who looked like they wouldn't survive five minutes in a bar fight. Not many, but more than before.
It was his own subtle ripple in the Marvel Universe.
"Heh, guess I'm not really the protagonist after all," Alex muttered. "Can't even tame this little piece of Hell's Kitchen, and the alien war's already on the horizon."
He'd been in this world for over twenty years now. Unlike other Transmigrators to the Marvel Universe, he hadn't magically ended up at Kamar-Taj and become the next Sorcerer Supreme. He didn't wake up in Superman's body or start punching Thanos on day one.
In his past life, Alex wasn't some tragedy-fueled antihero. No heartbreak, no betrayal, no assassinated loved ones.
His parents were still alive. He had a cute younger sister. His family was doing well. He was even a returning overseas graduate.
Then one nap later—boom—he woke up in the Marvel Universe, reborn as a Chinese-American orphan scraping by in Hell's Kitchen.
In this life, he started from the very bottom of the barrel. Even with all his knowledge of this world's future, it wasn't easy to climb the ladder—especially when someone like Tony Stark wouldn't even glance your way without a compelling reason.
Still, Alex wasn't the type to whine. He didn't need to be the strongest. He just wanted to protect his little corner of the city.
And maybe—just maybe—give Hell's Kitchen a makeover while he was at it. One day, if he played his cards right, he might even break the fourth wall and revisit the family from his previous life.
With that thought, he resolved to save Tony Stark and earn his trust. Maybe Stark would be interested in investing in some inner-city revitalization. After that, he'd pay a visit to the Kingpin and have a serious chat about business.
That's right—Wilson Fisk, the infamous Kingpin of Crime, was the shadow ruler of Hell's Kitchen. And in this life, he was also Alex's late father's childhood friend.
His father had died protecting Fisk in a gang fight, back when Fisk's body fat was still under 3%.
Lost in thought, Alex didn't notice the pair of eyes watching him from across the street.
"Target shows no abnormal activity at the moment," a calm voice said.
"Understood. Continue surveillance," came the reply.
The voice belonged to a woman observing from the window of a neighboring apartment. It was Natasha Romanoff—Black Widow.
"Woof…" Dog Deadpool growled softly, interrupting Alex's train of thought.
"Alex," the dog said in a gravelly voice, "we're being watched. Multiple angles. There's someone across the street—and a few others scattered nearby. One of them smells familiar. Pretty sure it's the same woman who came by this afternoon."
Alex frowned at that, then smirked without a word. He turned and went back inside the restaurant.
He had no love for S.H.I.E.L.D. In his past life, he'd read enough comics and watched enough movies to know what they were really like. They claimed to protect the Earth, but most of the time, they were just another control-hungry organization trying to micromanage the world.
And half the disasters in the MCU? Yeah—S.H.I.E.L.D. usually had a hand in those too.
Worst of all, their agents walked around like they owned the place. Arrogant to the point of stupidity.
Alex didn't care if someone looked like Scarlett Johansson—if you were spying on his turf, you were a threat.
He had just started making contact with Tony Stark, and they were already crawling up his ass? Next thing he knew, they'd be slapping him with fabricated charges and calling it justice.
Well, if they made a move, he'd be more than happy to give them a proper Hell's Kitchen welcome.
As the minutes passed, more people began to drift onto the block. Some entered the restaurant. Others just strolled along the sidewalk. A surprising number of people were out and about.
Natasha watched the scene and couldn't help but feel a pang of disbelief.
"If I didn't know better," she muttered to herself, "I'd think this wasn't Hell's Kitchen at all. It looks like a quiet residential neighborhood."
In a normal Hell's Kitchen, you didn't see this kind of activity after 8 PM. The streets would be deserted. But here, the atmosphere was different.
She was sure it had something to do with the man she'd met that afternoon—the owner of the Good Luck Restaurant.
Almost everyone who passed by the place slowed down and greeted the dog at the door. "Hey, Wilson," they'd say casually.
It was oddly wholesome… unexpected in a place like this.
Natasha found it strange that her mission to track down Tony Stark had led her to someone like Alex Ray.
"Keep watching him, Natasha," came the voice in her earpiece. "See how they plan to find Tony Stark. He's our priority right now. This guy—Alex Ray—has two mutant associates who are extremely dangerous. Our reports suggest he's got a bit of an anti-authority streak. Use whatever means necessary to keep tabs on him."
"I'll send two more surveillance teams your way. Focus on Tony. He's the key to everything. Let the others monitor the rest."
The voice was unmistakable: Nick Fury.
"No problem, Director," Natasha replied coolly, never taking her eyes off the restaurant.
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