The winter of 2012–2013 passed in a blur of calculated quiet.
Alex turned nineteen in January 2013, spending the day quietly with Elena—dinner at their favorite Queens diner, a new necklace he bought her (simple gold chain with a small diamond, funded by KaneTech dividends), and a long walk through Flushing Meadows where they talked about nothing and everything. She looked healthier than ever; the cumulative longevity traits had shaved years off her apparent age. She joked she could pass for his older sister now. He laughed, but inside the interface confirmed: *Familial lifespan projection stabilized at +45–60 years relative to baseline.*
KaneTech grew steadily without fanfare. Echo Aid drones were now standard in over a dozen U.S. cities' emergency fleets. Aether v1.2 handled predictive modeling for natural disasters with 91% accuracy on test runs. Revenue hit $22 million annualized. Alex kept the public profile low—occasional tech-conference panels under "KaneTech R&D Lead," no interviews, no social media presence beyond a corporate LinkedIn.
But the horizon was darkening again.
Aether's threat horizon had been flashing warnings since November: *Sokovian civil unrest escalating. HYDRA-linked arms trafficking confirmed. Enhanced individuals detected—twins, high-probability Strucker experimentation subjects.*
Wanda and Pietro Maximoff.
Alex knew their story: orphaned by Stark munitions, radicalized, augmented by Loki's scepter experiments. Chaos magic for her, speed for him. They'd become pawns, then threats, then reluctant allies. But before that—Sokovia relief efforts.
The perfect cover.
Humanitarian NGOs flooded the region after a brutal winter exacerbated the civil war fallout. Stark Industries donated heavily (PR move post-invasion). Doctors Without Borders, Red Cross, and smaller outfits set up field hospitals. KaneTech sent a small batch of Echo Aid drones—officially for supply-chain mapping and medical delivery. Unofficially: Alex volunteered.
He flew commercial to Berlin, then hitched a ride on a relief convoy into Sokovia. No fanfare. Just another young tech specialist with a backpack full of drone parts and a quiet demeanor.
The camp outside Novi Grad was grim: mud, tents, cold rain, kids with hollow eyes. Alex worked logistics—setting up drone routes for medicine drops, calibrating Aether to predict avalanche risks in the surrounding hills. He kept his head down, helped where asked, spoke little.
Opportunity came on day four.
Wanda Maximoff—then just "the girl with red eyes" to most volunteers—arrived at the medical tent with a sick child from her neighborhood. She looked exhausted, guarded, hair tied back under a scarf, but the air around her shimmered faintly if you knew what to look for. Chaos magic traces, barely contained.
Alex was nearby, calibrating a drone landing pad. He watched her hand the child to a doctor, then linger, arms crossed, scanning faces like she expected betrayal.
He approached slowly, holding a spare thermal blanket from the supply crate.
"Cold out here," he said in careful Sokovian-accented English. "For the kid—or you."
She glanced at him, eyes narrowing. "I don't need charity."
"Not charity. Just practical." He draped the blanket over a nearby bench instead of forcing it on her. "You look like you've been running on fumes."
She studied him a long moment. Something in his calm tone—perhaps the copied empathy from years ago, layered with Stark-level EQ—made her pause.
"You're American," she said flatly.
"Queens." He shrugged. "Here to help. Not judge."
A ghost of a smile. "Most Americans here want something."
"I want the kid to stop coughing." He nodded toward the tent. "And maybe fewer nights like this for everyone."
She didn't reply immediately. But she sat on the bench, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. They talked—small things at first. The weather. The food (terrible). The way the drones sometimes scared the older villagers.
Then deeper.
"My brother and I… we lost everything to your weapons," she said quietly, testing him.
Alex met her gaze. "I know. Stark's bombs. I'm not him. But I understand carrying that weight."
She searched his face. "You talk like you've lost someone."
"Feels like I've lived two lives sometimes." He smiled faintly. "One before, one after. You?"
Her eyes flickered red for a split second—uncontrolled. "Every day feels like after."
Silence stretched. Not uncomfortable. Shared.
When she stood to leave, she paused. A single auburn hair had caught on her scarf from the wind. She didn't notice. Alex did.
As she walked away, he "accidentally" brushed the bench where she'd sat. The hair transferred.
That night, in his tent, under a dim LED lantern:
*[DNA Sample: Wanda Maximoff. Analysis: Chaos Magic exposure (Mind Stone/scepter derivative) – Probability manipulation (nascent), Telekinesis & energy projection, Mental intrusion resistance, Emotional volatility markers. Risks: Psychic bleed, reality-warping instability if over-copied.]*
*[Selective Copy Recommendations: Minor telekinesis +0.9σ (control practice only), Probability intuition +0.7σ (precog-lite). Defer full chaos suite—high madness risk. Copy?]*
*Yes. Telekinesis partial. Intuition only.*
The transfer felt like static electricity in his nerves—sharp, then smooth. He tested it discreetly: lifted a water bottle across the tent without touching it. Wobbled at first, then steadied. A faint red glow under his fingertips faded quickly.
Probability intuition settled like a sixth sense—subtle hunches about outcomes. Not visions. Just better odds-reading.
He didn't push for more. Not yet.
The next day, he saw her again. She nodded in passing. No words. But the wariness had softened.
Over the next week, small interactions: sharing coffee, quiet talks about loss, power, control. Nothing forced. Genuine. She laughed once—dry, surprised—at his dry joke about American coffee. He felt the spark—not conquest, not utility. Just connection.
Pietro appeared twice—blur of silver hair, cocky grin, stealing food for kids. Alex didn't approach him yet. Too fast. Too watchful.
When the relief stint ended, Alex flew home. In his carry-on: a single strand carefully preserved.
The interface updated:
*[New Acquisition: Chaos Magic traces (partial). Telekinetic control: Basic objects <5kg. Probability enhancement: +12% decision accuracy in uncertain scenarios.]*
*[Emotional Note: Subject (Wanda Maximoff) – Trust level: Low-positive. Potential ally. Potential… more.]*
Back in Queens, he stared out his window at the Manhattan skyline.
Sokovia was smoldering.
Ultron was coming.
And for the first time, Alex felt something shift inside—not just power.
Something human.
(Word count: 1011)