The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and death.
Thomas Klein sat propped against pillows, fifty pounds lighter than his driver's license photo, skin gray as concrete. Forty-seven years old. Former construction foreman. Dying from the power that made him special.
"Mr. Hammer." His voice rattled. "Appreciate you coming."
I pulled a chair close. "Mr. Klein. Thank you for agreeing to meet."
"Tom. Nobody calls me Mister." He coughed, wet and painful. "Your assistant said you could help. Also said it sounds crazy."
"It does. But it's real." I glanced at Christine Palmer standing by the door—she'd insisted on supervising, medical ethics and all that. "You manifested spontaneous mutation seven years ago. Localized gravity manipulation. You can make things lighter or heavier within about fifteen feet."
"Could. Past tense." Tom gestured weakly at the monitoring equipment. "Now I can barely lift a coffee cup without blacking out. Doctors say my cells are tearing themselves apart trying to fuel the ability. Six months, maybe less."
"I can take the power. Transfer it to myself. Remove the strain killing you."
His eyes sharpened despite the morphine haze. "And I get what? Couple extra years watching TV?"
"Three to five years according to my analysis. Maybe more. Plus two million dollars for your family. College funds for your daughters. Your wife never worries about money again."
"Why?"
"Because I need the capability. Because you're dying anyway. Because this way something good comes from your suffering." I leaned forward. "I won't lie—the process isn't pleasant. And there's risk. But if it works, you live longer and I gain an ability I can use to save lives."
Tom was quiet for a long moment. Machines beeped. Christine shifted by the door.
"Show me," he said finally.
I pulled up my sleeve. The void marks glowed faintly in the dim room—geometric patterns crawling up my forearm like frost on glass.
"The process leaves marks. Changes you. I'm at nine percent transformation right now. Taking your power will push me higher."
"You're dying too."
"Eventually. Different timeline, different cause. But yeah."
"Then we're both fucked." He laughed, which turned into coughing. "Alright. Do it. Better my power goes to someone who'll use it right than letting it kill me for nothing."
Christine stepped forward. "Mr. Klein, you should know the extraction process is experimental. There could be complications—"
"Doc, I'm dying in six months. Complications ain't exactly my biggest concern." He met my eyes. "Let's do this before I lose my nerve."
The extraction room was reinforced concrete and steel.
We'd learned that lesson the hard way during previous acquisitions—unpredictable power fluctuations could tear through drywall like tissue paper. Tom lay on a reinforced medical bed while I stood beside him, right hand hovering above his chest.
AEGIS spoke through my earpiece. "Sir, vital signs stable. Recommend proceeding slowly to minimize corruption acceleration."
"Copy that."
Christine monitored equipment from behind a protective barrier. Yelena stood in the doorway—backup in case things went wrong.
I activated All For One.
The sensation hit immediately—Tom's power trying to resist extraction like a drowning man clinging to driftwood. Gravity distorted around us. My feet lifted off the floor. Equipment rattled. Christine grabbed the barrier to stay grounded.
"Compensating," I grunted, pushing harder.
Tom screamed.
The gravity flipped. I slammed into the ceiling, stars exploding across my vision. The bed crushed downward, metal groaning. Then everything reversed—I dropped, Tom floated, the bed's legs bent upward.
"Justin!" Christine's voice was distant through the chaos.
I grabbed Tom's wrist, anchoring myself while All For One pulled harder. The power fought like a living thing, lashing out in desperate self-preservation. Gravity spiraled—left was down, up was sideways, my inner ear screaming contradictions.
Just a bit more. Almost there.
The void marks burned. I felt corruption spreading like ice water through my veins, creeping higher with every second. Nine percent. Nine-point-five. Climbing.
Then the power snapped free.
Gravity normalized instantly. We both crashed to the floor in a heap. Tom gasped for air. I rolled onto my back, feeling the new capability settle into my mental vault beside the others.
Four powers now. Pyrokinesis unstable in storage. Regeneration and Enhanced Reflexes active in my body. And now Gravity Control waiting to be learned.
"Status," I croaked.
"You're both alive," Christine said, already moving to check Tom's vitals. "Mr. Klein, how do you feel?"
"Like I got hit by a truck. But..." He took a deep breath, then another. "Not dying. First time in two years I don't feel like I'm dying."
"Your cellular degradation has stabilized." She checked monitors. "Projected lifespan extending to... three to five years assuming no complications."
"I'll take it." Tom looked at me. "Thank you."
I pushed myself upright, legs shaky. "Thank you. The power will be used well."
Yelena helped me out of the room while Christine continued Tom's examination. My head pounded. The void marks had spread—visible halfway up my biceps now, glowing faintly through my shirt.
"Nine percent," AEGIS confirmed. "Corruption accelerated point-eight percent during extraction. Within projected parameters but approaching concerning thresholds."
"How concerning?"
"At current acceleration rates, you have approximately four years until fifty percent threshold. Assuming no additional major power acquisitions and moderate usage."
Four years. Less than I'd hoped. More than I'd feared.
"The new power," I said. "Analysis?"
"Gravity manipulation. Fifteen-foot radius based on Klein's baseline. You can reduce object weight by eighty percent or increase up to three hundred percent. Duration before corruption risk: approximately ninety seconds of continuous use. Synergizes excellently with combat applications—imagine reducing opponent's weight while increasing your own for devastating strikes."
I flexed my hand, feeling the new capability humming beneath my skin. Untrained. Raw. But there.
Worth the cost. Another tool for the vault. Another option when disasters came.
Christine cornered me two hours later in the recovery room.
"Your cellular degradation increased twelve percent in one hour," she said flatly. "Whatever you're doing, it's accelerating. And before you deflect or minimize—I'm a doctor. I see the patterns. You're systematically destroying yourself."
I met her eyes. "I know."
"Then stop."
"Can't."
"Won't."
"Can't," I repeated. "There are threats coming that require capabilities I don't currently possess. Every power I acquire increases the probability of successful mitigation."
"Mitigation of what?"
"Everything."
She grabbed my wrist, pulled up my sleeve. The void marks pulsed under her fingers—geometric patterns spreading like cracks in ice.
"This isn't sustainable. You're talking four years at best. Probably less."
"I know."
"And you're fine with that?"
"I'm accepting of it. There's a difference." I gently pulled my arm back. "I died once already, Christine. Got a second chance in circumstances I can't explain. This time around, I'm making it count."
"By killing yourself slowly?"
"By saving as many people as I can before transformation completes." I stood. "Tom Klein was dying in six months. Now he has three to five years with his family. That math works in my favor."
"Not if you don't survive to see the threats you're preparing for."
"Then I build an organization that continues without me. That's always been the plan—make myself obsolete while the mission persists."
Christine shook her head. "You're the most frustratingly logical suicidal person I've ever met."
"I prefer 'strategically self-sacrificing.'"
"Same thing."
"Perspective matters."
She was quiet for a moment, then: "Promise me something."
"What?"
"When it gets bad—when the transformation accelerates beyond control—you'll let me help. Let someone help. Don't just disappear into whatever void thing you're becoming alone."
My throat tightened. "I promise."
"Liar."
"Optimistic promise-maker."
"Still lying." But she almost smiled. "Go. Rest. Let your body process the new power before you do something stupid like test it immediately."
"Would I do that?"
"Yes. Which is why Yelena's outside with orders to physically restrain you if necessary."
I left the recovery room and found Yelena leaning against the wall.
"Restraining me?" I asked.
"If you're stupid enough to need it." She fell into step beside me. "Four powers now. How's it feel?"
"Heavy. Like carrying extra weight I can't put down."
"Good. Means you're still human enough to feel the burden." She glanced at my arms where void marks pulsed beneath fabric. "How long?"
"Four years. Maybe less."
"And then?"
"Then I become something else. AEGIS projects complete transformation—personality erasure, void entity emergence, dimensional existence. Fun stuff."
"You're terrifyingly calm about your own death."
"Not death. Transformation. Different thing."
"Is it?"
I thought about that. "Ask me in four years."
We walked through the facility in silence. Outside, New York stretched under afternoon sun—still rebuilding from the Chitauri invasion, still carrying scars but healing fast.
I had four powers now. An organization positioned for future conflicts. Resources sufficient to weather financial storms. Allies developing across multiple factions.
And four years until I stopped being me.
Better make them count.
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