Three months passed like water through cupped hands.
Steve Rogers sat in a S.H.I.E.L.D. apartment overlooking Brooklyn, staring at a cityscape that bore only passing resemblance to the one he remembered. The Dodgers had left for Los Angeles in 1958. Ebbets Field was gone, replaced by apartment buildings. The elevated train lines he'd ridden as a kid had been demolished decades ago.
Everyone he'd known was dead or elderly. The world had moved on without him.
But Nick Fury kept him busy. Training sessions. Briefings on current events. Introductions to technology that would have been science fiction in 1945. The Director seemed determined to integrate Steve into the twenty-first century through sheer force of will.
It helped. Mostly.
Steve turned from the window and picked up the tablet Fury had given him. The news feed displayed a story about New York's newest vigilante problem.
HEADHUNTER: HERO OR MENACE? the headline screamed above grainy cell phone footage of a figure in black biomass armor biting off a mugger's head.
Steve grimaced. The world had changed, but apparently crime and the people who fought it hadn't.
Eddie Brock crouched on a fire escape in Hell's Kitchen, watching drug dealers conduct business in the alley below.
"We should eat them," Venom growled inside his mind. "They poison people. Destroy families. They deserve death."
"We've talked about this," Eddie whispered. "Broken bones, sure. Terror, absolutely. But no more eating heads. The PR is killing us."
"Bad guys don't deserve heads."
"And we don't deserve to be labeled monsters by half the city." Eddie shifted position, preparing to drop into the alley. "Knock them out. Web them up for the cops. That's the plan."
"Your plan is boring."
"My plan keeps us from getting hunted by S.H.I.E.L.D."
Venom grumbled but didn't argue further. The symbiote had learned that Eddie's moral compass, while flexible, had hard limits. No killing civilians. No collateral damage to innocents. And try very hard not to eat criminals even when they really, really deserved it.
Eddie dropped from the fire escape, Venom's biomass flowing across his body mid-fall. They landed in the alley with enough impact to crack concrete, and the drug dealers barely had time to reach for weapons before tendrils wrapped around their limbs and slammed them into the walls.
Thirty seconds. Six dealers unconscious. No fatalities.
"See?" Eddie said, already moving toward the next rooftop. "We can do this without the carnage."
"Less satisfying though."
"Yeah, well. Welcome to being a hero."
Across the city, in different neighborhoods, two other symbiote-enhanced vigilantes moved through the night. John Wick, bonded with the symbiote he'd named Reaper, dismantled a human trafficking ring with lethal precision. Wesley, partnered with the symbiote called Severance, broke up an arms deal that would have put military hardware in gang hands.
Both operations left significantly fewer witnesses than Venom's approach. And because neither John nor Wesley cared about publicity, their activities blended into the background noise of New York's underworld.
Most of their kills were attributed to Venom anyway.
The Fraternity's main conference room had grown since the last Dragon Ball tournament.
Smith sat at the head of the long table, surveying the assembled operatives. The core group remained—Fox, Alexei, Selene, Michael, Bulma. But now Melina and Yelena Belova occupied seats as well, fully integrated into the organization after their rescue from the Red Room.
Wesley sat beside his father Cross, the symbiote Severance a barely visible shimmer beneath his skin. John Wick occupied a chair near the back, Reaper's presence evident in the slight darkening around his eyes.
"It's been almost a year," Smith began without preamble. "Tomorrow, the Dragon Balls will reactivate. Which means the second tournament begins."
The room's attention focused immediately. Everyone remembered the last competition—Selene's victory, the vampire and werewolf factions, the close calls and narrow margins.
"Before we issue invitations to external holders," Smith continued, "I want to know if anyone here has a wish they'd like to pursue. The Dragon Balls belong to the Fraternity. If members have legitimate needs, I'll support their participation."
Silence answered him.
Smith let it stretch, giving people time to consider. The Dragon Balls could grant virtually any wish—resurrection, immortality, transformation, power. Surely someone wanted something.
Fox spoke first. "I'm focused on the business operations. Universal Capsule Company is expanding into three new markets this quarter. The Stark Industries partnership needs management. I don't have time for tournament prep, and I don't have wishes that can't wait."
"Same," Bulma added. "The Gravity Chamber upgrades are consuming my attention. Plus the Scouter v3 development, the hover car refinements, and Friday's neural network expansion." She glanced at Smith with a slight smile. "I've already got everything I want."
Wesley raised a hand like he was in school. "I'm good, boss. Been training with Korin in the tower. Learning to sense ki, control my breathing, that whole martial arts enlightenment thing. Don't need a wish when I'm literally learning to fly."
John Wick's response was quieter, more personal. "Helen's alive. That was my wish. Everything else is..." He shrugged. "Extra. I'm content."
Smith's gaze moved to the Red Guardian. "Alexei?"
The former super-soldier grunted. "After Riot controlled my body, I have no interest in magical artifacts. I'll stick to what I can punch." He flexed his enhanced muscles. "Besides, training in the Gravity Chamber is improving my strength more than any wish could."
Melina and Yelena shook their heads in unison. The mother-daughter pair had found peace within the Fraternity—freedom from the Red Room, meaningful work, a chance to reconnect with Natasha despite her S.H.I.E.L.D. cover. Wishes seemed superfluous compared to that.
Michael Corvin leaned back in his chair. "I'm the first werewolf-vampire hybrid in existence. What would I wish for? To be more unique?" He smiled, showing teeth that were slightly too sharp. "I'm good."
Selene's answer was the simplest. "I already won the last tournament. Used the wish to walk in sunlight. That was everything I needed." She gestured to the windows where morning light streamed through without causing her any discomfort. "I'm satisfied."
Smith nodded slowly. He'd expected this outcome—most of his core operatives had achieved their goals or were pursuing paths that didn't require miraculous intervention. But he'd needed to offer the opportunity.
"Bulma," he said, shifting topics. "Market analysis."
The teenage scientist activated the holographic display built into the conference table. Data streams appeared in midair—transaction records, social media mentions, underground market prices.
"Dragon Ball speculation has gone viral again," Bulma reported. "Single-ball prices are listed at 30 million dollars, though no confirmed sales at that level. Most holders aren't selling."
The display shifted to show counterfeit Dragon Balls—cheap replicas being sold to desperate collectors.
"Knockoffs range from 1 million dollars to 10 millions dollars. But they're easy to spot. Real Dragon Balls are indestructible and have perfect internal star visibility from any angle. Counterfeiters can't replicate either property, so the fakes are obvious."
Another data stream appeared, showing purchasing patterns across Asia and Europe.
"Several buyers have been stockpiling natural round stones for six months," Bulma continued. "Tens of thousands of specimens collected and catalogued. Someone's preparing for the reactivation by gathering potential Dragon Balls before they transform."
Smith smiled slightly. "It seems a previous competitor is thinking ahead, probably Xu Xialin with her resource or it might be Tony"
"Smart," Fox admitted.
Smith stood, signaling the meeting's transition to operational planning.
"The tournament island is ready?"
Fox nodded. "Construction never stopped. We've expanded the arena, reinforced the structures, added observation decks for non-combatants. It's significantly upgraded from last year."
"Good." Smith moved to the holographic display, pulling up a map of the world. "Once the Dragon Balls reactivate, we'll track their locations and identify the holders. Invitations will be issued. The tournament begins two weeks after reactivation."
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