Marvel: Son of TOAA

Chapter 9: The Weight of life

The alarm buzzed at 4:30 a.m., pulling Ethan Cross from a restless sleep. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, letting the chill of the morning air ground him. His small Hell's Kitchen apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the radiator in the corner.

His routine was methodical. After a brisk shower, he dressed in a crisp white shirt, black tie, and long coat. His crimson eyes caught his reflection in the mirror as he tightened the knot. People always asked about his eyes, but he rarely answered. They were just another part of him people avoided.

Breakfast was simple: black coffee and a slice of toast. On the counter, his sketchpad lay open to a detailed sketch of the city skyline at dusk. He stared at it for a moment, then closed the pad. Today would bring new challenges, and his focus had to be sharp.

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The Streets of Hell's Kitchen

Ethan walked to the 23rd Precinct, the city's cold air biting at his face. The streets of Hell's Kitchen were alive with their usual chaos. He passed by a group of schoolchildren laughing, their innocence a stark contrast to the gritty reality surrounding them.

Near a deli, a man in a wheelchair was struggling to pick up a bag of groceries that had spilled onto the sidewalk. Without hesitation, Ethan crouched down, gathering the scattered cans and placing them back in the bag.

"Thank you, son," the man said, his voice weathered but kind.

Ethan nodded, his voice calm but firm. "Be careful out here."

---

At the precinct, Captain George Stacy greeted Ethan with a grim expression. "Morning, Cross. I've got a case for you."

Ethan leaned against the captain's desk, his crimson eyes narrowing. "What's the story?"

"Double homicide. A doctor and a nurse were found dead in an alley behind Midtown General Hospital. No signs of robbery, no apparent motive. And here's the kicker—they both worked for the Fisk Foundation."

Ethan straightened. "Wilson Fisk's foundation?"

"Yeah," Stacy replied, sliding a file across the desk. "They were clean—no criminal records, no shady connections. But something about this doesn't sit right."

Ethan flipped through the photos, his jaw tightening as he studied the crime scene. The killings were precise, almost surgical. Not the work of common thugs.

"I'll handle it," Ethan said, closing the file.

Stacy gave him a knowing look. "Be careful, Cross. Fisk's got his hands in a lot of places. People who dig too deep tend to disappear."

---

Ethan started at Midtown General Hospital, where the victims had worked. The building was clean and modern, a stark contrast to the struggling neighborhood around it. Fisk's wealth was on full display, with his name etched in gold above the entrance.

He interviewed staff members, most of whom spoke highly of the victims. Dr. Elaine Porter and Nurse Michael Lane were described as kind, dedicated, and hard-working. But when Ethan asked about their recent activities, the answers became vague.

One janitor, a nervous young man named Luis, hesitated before speaking. "They… they were looking into something. I don't know what, but they were asking questions about funding for the free clinic. After that, they seemed... worried."

Ethan's eyes narrowed. "Worried how?"

Luis glanced around, lowering his voice. "Dr. Porter told me once, 'If something happens to me, it's because I got too close to the truth.'"

---

As Ethan dug deeper, he began to uncover discrepancies in the hospital's financial records. Money was being funneled into shell companies, all tied back to the Fisk Foundation. On paper, Wilson Fisk was a philanthropist, funding hospitals and shelters across the city. But Ethan knew better.

Hell's Kitchen whispered rumors of a shadowy figure pulling the strings of organized crime—a man known only as the Kingpin.

Ethan's suspicions grew when he discovered that the victims had requested access to restricted financial documents shortly before their deaths. They'd stumbled onto something big, something Fisk couldn't afford to let them reveal.

---

Late one night, Ethan sat in his apartment, piecing together the fragments of the case. The faces of Dr. Porter and Nurse Lane stared back at him from the case file, their lives cut short by greed and corruption.

The world, Ethan thought, was a cruel place. People like Fisk thrived in the shadows, preying on the weak and silencing anyone who dared to challenge them.

He closed the file and leaned back, staring at the cracked ceiling. His parents' faces flashed in his mind, a painful reminder of the price of justice. He had been just a boy when they were murdered, their deaths shaping the man he'd become.

---

The next day, Ethan tracked down one of Fisk's enforcers, a man named Marcus Cole. Cornering him in a dimly lit alley, Ethan's presence was as cold and unyielding as the winter air.

"You know who I am," Ethan said, his voice calm but laced with menace. "And you know why I'm here."

Cole sneered. "I don't know anything about those hospital murders."

Ethan grabbed him by the collar, slamming him against the brick wall. "I wasn't asking about the murders. I'm asking about Fisk."

Cole's bravado cracked. "You're insane," he spat. "Fisk will bury you."

Ethan leaned closer, his crimson eyes boring into the man's soul. "Let him try."

---

The chapter ends with Ethan standing on a rooftop, overlooking the city. Hell's Kitchen stretched out before him, a tapestry of light and shadow.

"This world doesn't need heroes," he murmured. "It needs people willing to do what heroes can't."

His phone buzzed. A message from Captain Stacy: Cole's talking. We've got a lead.

Ethan slipped the phone into his pocket and turned toward the stairs. The case was far from over, but for the first time, he felt like he was closing in on the truth.

And for Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of Crime, the shadows he ruled were about to become a cage.

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