A Free Radical [SI in Marvel/MCU]

The stack of pizzas balanced precariously in Levi's left hand, a tower of cardboard boxes releasing faint tendrils of steam into the brisk late-November air. His right hand rested casually in his jacket pocket as he ambled down the street, small clouds of breath puffing from his nose. The streets of Hell's Kitchen were filled with their usual symphony of car horns, distant construction, and 'I'm walking here!'.

"Afternoon, Mr. Russo," Levi called as he passed a stoop where an older man in a wool coat and knit cap was sprinkling salt over some icy steps.

The man looked up, his weathered features breaking into a grin. "Afternoon! Keeping warm with all that pizza?"

Levi adjusted the stack slightly. "Trying to. Good luck with those steps!"

Further down, Nita stood hunched over her fruit stand, her weathered hands deftly rearranging a display of apples. A vibrant scarf was tied neatly around her hair, framing a face etched with lines from her many years. She glanced up as Levi passed, her ever-present scowl softening at the edges. "Wilder," she called out, her accent lending his name a lilting quality. "Should've brought me some of that."

Levi chuckled, balancing the boxes with ease. "You're in luck," he said, flipping open the top box with one hand. "Have a couple slices—delivered hot and ready."

Nita's eyebrows arched, surprise breaking through her guarded expression. She reached for two slices with a nod of thanks. "Not as bad as you look, Wilder," she teased, though her voice held a warmth that hinted at her affection for him.

"You wound me, Nita!" Levi placed a hand dramatically over his chest, gasping. "I'll have you know, I'm every bit as bad as I look. Don't go spreading vicious aspersions on my character."

That finally cracked her surly demeanor, a full smile emerging as she shook her head. "Troublesome," she huffed, though her smile lingered. "That's what you are."

Levi beamed cheekily at her and waved as he rounded the corner. Behind him, the faint clink of fruit shifting in a crate blended with the sounds of the street. Nita's stand, tidy and colorful, seemed at odds with the weariness in her posture as she turned back to her work.

The turn onto his block brought a shift in pace. The small park beside his brownstone was alive with activity. The basketball court echoed with the rhythmic thud of a ball and the sharp calls of teenagers mid-game.

A group of younger kids darted across the playground, bundled in puffy coats and bright hats. A few broke away to leap joyfully into a pile of leaves near the trees, their laughter cutting through the crisp air. Levi couldn't help but smile at the scene, the warmth of their excitement cutting through the chill of the day. For a moment, he let himself enjoy the simple joy radiating from the park.

Levi adjusted the stack of pizzas as he crossed into the park, heading for a familiar bench near the court. Old Man Booker sat there, his derby cap slightly askew and a cane resting against his knee. Thick black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, the salt-and-pepper beard on his obsidian face shifted as he chuckled at his grandson's antics on the court.

"Mr. Wilder," Booker greeted, his voice steady and warm. "That's quite a tower you're balancing there."

Levi grinned and set the top three boxes down on the bench beside him. "Figured you all could do with a treat. Lunch is on me. Now, don't eat it all yourself, Booker." Laugh lines streamed across Levi's brow as his grin fully bloomed into a playful smile.

Booker's eyes crinkled behind his glasses as he returned the smile. "You're all right, Wilder. Thank you kindly." He looked over at the children's frenzied antics, his smile lingering, "Lord knows, these kids could do with more kindness like this."

"Anytime," Levi said, nodding toward the court. "Jamal's got some serious handles. If he keeps this up, he'll be breaking ankles in the NBA one day. Remember me once he's starting for the Knicks."

Booker's laugh was a rich and rolling. "You hear that, Jamal? Mr. Wilder thinks you've got what it takes to go pro. What do you say to that?"

Jamal turned, gripping the ball in one hand and letting it hang low as he beamed, "You know it! Watch for me on SportsCenter!" With a quick spin move, he was back in the game, slipping past his defender with an ease that drew a proud shake of Booker's head.

Levi waved as he walked away, leaving Booker to distribute the pizzas. Behind him, the kids' excited cheers brought a small, genuine smile to his lips.

That smile faltered slightly when he noticed her.

Across the street, a woman stood near a doorway—the same woman from the bench the other day. She cradled an infant tightly in her arms, its small form wrapped snugly in a blanket. Her expression was hard to make out in the distance, but something about her body language struck him as… wrong. The line of her back stayed rigid, unmoving, each step landing with a precision that twisted something in Levi's gut.

Levi tilted his head, his brow furrowing. What's her deal?

The thought lingered, sharp and insistent, until something else swept over him—sudden, warm, and disorienting. It hit him like a wave, flooding his chest with an involuntary pressure, a confusing maelstrom of emotion that left him nearly breathless. He felt his heartbeat slow, and a rush of warmth spread throughout his body. Levi's steps slowed, his hand brushing against his side as if to ground himself. What the hell is this?

The feelings were all consuming, drowning out everything else, wrapping around his ribs like a powerful hug that refused to let go. Levi blinked, the frown on his face faltering, his confusion growing.

This doesn't make any sense. What is happening to me?

[ALERT]

> Host cognitive state shows signs of external influence.

> Detected mental interference: suppression of critical reasoning.

> Emotional dissonance recorded.

Levi frowned at the alert, his rational mind trying to claw its way back to the surface. The woman's rigid posture. Her too-measured steps. Her empty stare.

This isn't right. This is—

But the thought dissolved almost as quickly as it had formed, smoothed over by a strange, placid certainty. Everything felt… fine. Normal.

Levi exhaled, his body untensing as he watched the woman disappear into the building—the soft coo of the baby, barely audible over the noise of the street, lingered. The door clicked shut behind her, and for a moment, all that remained was that faint sound.

His chest ached, but not with alarm. It was softer, an ache that settled into him like it had always been there, waiting.

The words came unbidden, slipping into place without effort. She'll be fine. Nothing to worry about.

The faint prickling at the base of his skull lingered as he resumed walking, a ghost of something sharper that he couldn't quite grasp.

[ALERT]

> Host demonstrates incremental resistance to external cognitive influence.

> Continued exposure may improve adaptive capacity.

Levi's lips tugged into a faint smile as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Sweet family," he murmured, the words slipping out unbidden. His pace was steady, the cold air nipped at his fingers, but the faint prickling at the base of his skull refused to fade completely.

Levi stepped into his Brownstone. Soon, the warmth of his office greeted him as he set the remaining pizza boxes on the desk. Sliding into his chair, Levi grabbed a slice, letting the savory aroma pull him back to the present. His gaze drifted to the glowing monitors.

The trading bot was still at work, its movements precise and efficient. Each trade aligned perfectly with the predictive dataset he'd reconstructed, the power of compounding gains in full effect. The numbers ticked upward steadily, reflecting his efforts in piecing together the timeline and strategy.

Still on track, Levi thought, taking another bite of pizza. What's the word, AL? Anything surprising me today?

[THE BIRD IS THE WORD]

> Market trends remain aligned with host's forecast.

> No unexpected fluctuations.

You're alright, AL. You can tell people I said so. Or, well—you could tell people I said so if you could, ya know, talk to people.

Levi turned his attention to the corkboard on the wall. Strings crisscrossed, connecting names like Stark Industries and Citigroup to events carefully plotted on his timeline. Every piece was moving on the board as predicted.

Scrolling through the day's news, a headline caught his eyes: Stark Enterprises Poised to Unveil Next-Gen Intelligent Weapons.

The article outlined an anticipated demonstration set to occur within the year, a game-changer for the defense industry. Levi's grin grew shark like as the stars aligned for a play on Stark.

"I love it when a plan comes together," Levi murmured, leaning back with a smirk. "Now, if only I had a cigar."

—

Levi leaned back in his chair, idly tapping his fingers on the desk as his profits streamed across the live feed of his trading bot's flawless executions. He was absentmindedly inspecting a few of the more interesting vials he'd nabbed from the Maggia heist. He picked one up and rolled it between his fingers, watching the mercury like substance ripple against the glass.

This could be anything from the Super Soldier Serum to Horse Viagra. 

The trading bot continued its dance across the screen, its efficiency almost hypnotic as Levi scrolled through the numbers. The satisfaction of watching his gains stack up was tempered only by the nagging question of how far these chemicals could push his evolution—and what the fallout might be.

Maybe I should keep these locked up. Just in case I start glowing in the dark.

The thought barely had time to settle when his phone buzzed on the desk, breaking the spell. The screen of his phone lit up with a familiar name: Chuckles (Jessica Jones).

He answered on the second ring, smirking. "Why, Jessica Jones, as I live and breathe! Calling out of the blue... should I prepare myself for the walk of shame?"

Jessica's voice came through flat and unimpressed. "Meet me at the park. Bring the goods."

Levi laughed, already rising from his chair. "When you say it like that, I'm tempted to demand dinner and a movie first, lucky for you, I'm easy. Be there in ten."

Grabbing the small black duffel bag he'd packed earlier with samples of the Maggia heist's chemical loot, Levi stepped out into the brisk November air. The park wasn't far, and he ambled over at a leisurely pace, whistling a cheery tune with the bag slung casually over his shoulder.

When he spotted Jessica sitting on a bench with her trademark dead fish eyes and her hands stuffed into the pockets of her leather jacket, he couldn't help but grin. "A daywalker, huh?" he called as he approached through the late afternoon glow. "I was sure you'd burst into flames the second the sun hit that ivory skin."

Jessica's gaze flicked up to him, unamused. "You're late."

Levi plopped down beside her, adopting a mock-serious tone and affecting an old, gruff voice. "A client is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to—"

"I'll hurt you," Jessica cut in, deadpan.

Levi raised his hands in surrender, the grin never leaving his face. "Noted, ma'am. My apologies, ma'am. Please, continue, ma'am."

Jessica shook her head and leaned back against the bench. "I found someone. Dr. Curt Connors. He's a professor in advanced genetics, one of the best in the field. Normally, he wouldn't touch something like this—too much risk to his reputation—but he needs the cash."

"Oh?" Levi prompted, already intrigued.

"He's trying to regrow his arm—Lizard DNA or something. The guy's desperate for a breakthrough and the funds to keep his research running full steam. He'll take some risks if it means keeping the lights on."

Levi leaned back, tapping his chin thoughtfully. I don't have my lucky dice, so it's best to know the eerily glowing chemical I shoot into my veins than not.

[ANOMALLY]

> Uncharacteristically prudent behavior detected.

> Host showing deviance from baseline erratic decision making models.

"Legit, discreet, and desperate," Levi said aloud, nodding. "My three favorite traits in a professional. Sounds like the guy for the job."

He reached into the duffel and pulled out a smaller bag containing a selection of vials and chemicals. "Here are the samples." He handed the bag to Jessica, who took it with a hesitant hand and a pinched look on her face—she'd clearly rather not be carrying around drugs of questionable legality and safety.

"I'll get it to him," she said. "You'll hear back when he's got the results."

A faint buzz tingled at the edge of his thoughts, sending a ripple jolting down his spine. The hair on Levi's arms stood on end as his gaze drifted, almost instinctively, to the far side of the park. The woman from the bench—the one with the bundled infant—walked toward the building across the street. Her posture remained rigid, her movements detached, but this time, Levi's attention caught on the baby nestled in her arms. His chest tightened, the ache returning with a strange pull that left him staring longer than he intended.

"Hey, Jones," Levi said, nodding toward the woman. "I might have another job for you soon."

Jessica followed his gaze, her expression unreadable. "You know my rates."

"Yeah, I'll get back to you when I have something more concrete," Levi said. "It may be... complicated. You like weird cases, right? Ghosts and goblins and all that?"

Jessica quirked an eyebrow and responded, "Ghost, Goblins, Purple People Eaters—so long as it pays, it gets done." She got up, tucked the bag under her arm and turned to go.

Levi stood as well, watching her retreat. "Hey, Chuckles," he called after her, "wanna come back to my place for some pizza and Smash Bros?"

Jessica paused, glancing back over her shoulder. "I'm on the job... maybe next time." She began to walk away, but after a few steps, she called out without looking back, "Final Destination. Three stock. No items. No whining." Then she continued on her way.

Levi blinked, momentarily stunned, before a slow grin spread across his face. "I bet she's never had to face the might of the Ice Climbers de-sync. Prepare yourself, mortal."

—

Levi's steps slowed as he approached Nita's fruit stand. It wasn't the usual tidy array of apples, oranges, and pomegranates that caught his eye—it was the absence of her. The cart stood abandoned, crates jostled, a few apples rolling near the curb like lost marbles.

His stomach knotted. Nita never left her stand. Pride didn't allow it. He scanned the street, his gaze catching movement down a narrow alley just ahead. Voices filtered through, muffled but sharp with tension. Adjusting the duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Levi approached the alley's mouth, stepping lightly to avoid drawing attention.

"We've been real patient, lady," a man growled, his voice thick with condescension. "But patience only stretches so far."

"I told you," Nita's voice trembled with a mix of anger and fear, "I don't have it. I've sold everything I can. My wedding ring, my furniture, my mother's necklace. I'm working extra shifts, but I can't keep up with the interest. Please, I just need more time."

"Time doesn't come cheap," another man sneered. "Maybe we stop by that grandson of yours. Shame if anything happened to him. Medical bills would be the least of your worries then."

Levi's jaw tightened. The sight before him fanned the simmering anger in his chest into something hotter, sharper. Nita was backed against a brick wall, her hands gripped the apron tightly, the fabric bunched between her fingers, her knuckles whitening. Two hulking men loomed over her. One of the men cracked his knuckles loudly, stepping forward with a grin that showed too much eagerness. The other hung back, hands in his pockets, his gaze cool and measuring.

Levi stepped into the alley, his voice an incongruous note of forced cheer against the tension hanging heavy in the air. "Evening, gentlemen. What's all this about?"

The men turned, annoyance flickering across their faces. The one with the knuckles stepped forward, planting himself between Levi and Nita. "Nothing to do with you, pal. Keep walking."

"Funny," Levi said, his tone deceptively light. "Because it looks like you're harassing a friend of mine." His eyes darted to Nita. "Everything okay?"

"I'm fine," she said quickly, but the quiver in her voice betrayed her. Her wide eyes and pale face told the real story.

"See? She's fine," the second thug said, his tone flat. "So let us wrap up our business, here"

"How much?" Levi asked, his voice flat.

The thugs exchanged a look before Paycheck shrugged. "Ten grand."

"Ten…?" Nita's voice rose with indignation. "That's what I borrowed. I've paid back fifteen! They keep saying tacking on more and more—it's never enough!"

Levi's smile turned cold. "She's paid you fifty percent over what she borrowed, and you're still squeezing her? That's not just greedy—it's pathetic. What's next? Shaking down kids for their lunch money?"

"Interest adds up," Knuckles snapped, his tone bristling. "She's the one who borrowed. She knew the deal. This is how Kingpin's lending service works."

Paycheck chimed in, his voice calm, almost clinical. "Look, it's not personal. It's accounting. You fall behind, interest piles up. That's just the way it is." He spread his hands slightly, absolving himself of responsibility. "People like her don't pay on time, and we get sent to collect. That's just how the game is played."

Levi reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. "Fine. I'll pay it off. How much to clear her debt, right here, right now?"

Knuckles stepped closer, his smirk twisting into something uglier. "Ain't about the money. If she gets away clean, who's gonna take us seriously next time? Gotta make an example."

Paycheck chimed in, his voice calm, almost clinical. "If she pays it all off now, it undermines the process. People need to understand there's a cost to falling behind, or the whole system stops working. You understand."

Levi's gaze hardened, his voice steady and low. "So the House always wins, right? This isn't money lending—it's a racket." The casual air slipped away like a discarded mask as he sized them up.

Knuckles sneered, taking a step closer, "You think you're tough? Walking in here, running your mouth like you got nothing to lose?"

Levi didn't flinch, his eyes locked on Knuckles. Silence stretched thin between them, tension coiling tight like a spring. Knuckles' sneer faltered, his jaw tightening as Levi maintained his stare. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles turning bone-white. The sound of grinding teeth became audible as his face grew red.

Here it comes...

Knuckles swung wide, a wild arc that left him wide open. Telegraphed. Sloppy. Levi tracked the motion, slipping it in one fluid step. Crisp. Clean. He shifted forward, twisting his hips as he snapped his fist in low and tight. The punch drove into the soft spot beneath the ribs. Liver shot.

The blow sent a shudder through Knuckles' torso, his eyes bulged and mouth gaped like a fish. His diaphragm seized. The thug folded, his knees buckled, and he hit the pavement hard. A guttural wheeze escaped as he wrapped his arms around his middle, like it might contain the agony jolting through his core.

The second thug's stance shifted, his weight balanced as he raised his fists. Levi mirrored him, settling into a practiced boxing stance, his movements deliberate.

This one knew how to fight. Let's see how my time at Fogwell's pays off.

The thug feinted, probing for an opening. Levi's body reacted instinctively, slipping outside the jab with a roll of his shoulders. The counter came fast—a short, sharp hook that smashed into ribs. Crack. The sound echoed as the thug staggered back, breath catching.

He pressed forward again, throwing a flurry of strikes in classic combinations. Jab, cross, hook. Levi braced, forearms absorbing each blow with practiced efficiency. Thud. Thud. Thud. Heavy impacts, but they didn't phase him. He remained patient, watching for the opening.

The thug closed in, ready to continue the boxing match. But this wasn't boxing. And this wasn't a match.

Levi pivoted sharply, driving his heel onto the man's instep. A crunch. A howl. The thug faltered, hands dropping instinctively. Levi capitalized. An overhand right smashed into the jaw—bone met bone with a sickening crunch. The thug hit the pavement in a heap.

The alley fell silent, save for the labored gasps of the two men sprawled on the ground, their pain hanging in the cold air like an echo of Levi's efficiency. Levi reached into his duffel, pulled out a wad of cash, and dropped it onto their prone bodies. "The debt is paid. Stay away from her."

Levi gave the alley one last critical scan and made sure the thugs weren't getting back up. Turning to Nita, he softened, offering his arm. "Let's get you out of here."

She hesitated, her grip trembling as she took his arm. Together, they walked to her stand. Levi crouched, plucking bruised apples from the curb and setting them carefully into a crate. He straightened, nudging an overturned basket upright with his foot, then stacked it neatly onto the cart. Nita muttered her thanks, her voice breaking as she shook like a leaf.

"You don't have to—" she began, her voice thin, cracking under the strain.

"You've been through enough," Levi interrupted gently. "We'll figure out a way to keep them off your back."

Her hands clung to the cart, quivering, the veins prominent against her paper-thin skin. "Nieto…" She faltered, her breath hitching as she tried again. "My grandson, he was so sick. I—I couldn't…" Her throat work as she swallowed. She pressed one hand against the edge of the cart for balance, her other trembling as it brushed over her apron, the fabric worn thin from years of use. The action seemed to steady her, if only slightly. "I emptied my savings. I sold everything. Mamá's ring. Everything. And still, it wasn't enough."

She looked up at him, her eyes glassy and rimmed red, her voice softening to a bitter whisper. "The seguros—the insurance—they just said no. Called it 'experimental.' Like my nieto wasn't worth it." Her laugh was sharp and hollow, cutting through the cold night air. "They don't know, Levi. They don't know what it's like, watching someone you love…" She paused, her breath uneven, body trembling. "—just slipping away," she spoke softly, her voice breaking as she held herself together..

Levi didn't move, didn't speak. He knew this wasn't the time for reassurances or easy answers. He let the silence stretch, heavy but unbroken, giving her space to fill it.

Her shoulders sagged, and for a moment, she looked as if the weight of the years might drag her to the ground. "I borrowed because I had no choice. What was I supposed to do? Just watch mi vida suffer?"

Levi stayed silent, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, then relaxing. Finally, he reached out, placing a hand over hers where it gripped the cart. His voice was steady, warm. "You did what you had to do. Our children... we'd do anything not to see them suffer. He's lucky to have you."

She blinked hard, a single tear sliding down her cheek, carving through the faint powder of makeup she always wore. "Gracias, Levi." Her voice cracked. "I just want to be with my nieto. I want to sit with him on the stoop, tell him about his abuelo—his mamá—without looking over my shoulder."

"You will," Levi promised. His voice soft but steady. "You're not alone anymore."

They walked to her door in silence, Nita leaning slightly on the cart as they went. Each step seemed to take an eternity, her movements stiff and careful, as though her body might crumble under the weight of her years and her sorrow. At the door, she paused, her hand resting lightly on the wooden frame, her fingers brushing against the chipped paint, as though seeking comfort. Her shoulders slumped forward, and for a moment, she looked impossibly small.

Levi glanced back at the alley, his jaw tight. Predators came in all shapes—some wore suits, others hid in shadows. Either way, they'd learn. This wasn't their playground—it was his neighborhood.

—

Matt lingered in the shadows, his cane brushing lightly against the rough brick wall. The fight had gone as he'd expected—quick and brutal. The shift of balance, the crack of bone, the rasp of air forced from lungs—all predictable, given what he'd come to know about Levi. But it wasn't Levi's skill or the swiftness of the fight that kept Matt rooted in place.

It was what came after.

Levi's voice broke the quiet, calm but deliberate. Nita's breathing changed, slowing from panicked gasps to something less erratic. Her words trembled, but the terror that had gripped her was unraveling, exposing what was underneath—grief, frustration, exhaustion. Levi stayed quiet, letting her story fill the space between them at her pace, uninterrupted.

When she whispered, "They don't know what it's like, to watch someone you love…," Levi's breathing shifted. Matt caught the momentary hitch, the subtle tightening in his chest, before it smoothed again. Levi didn't reply, but there was something in the way he stood, the way his attention stayed fixed on her, that spoke louder than words.

Nita's trembling eased as they walked. Her steps were still slow, her body still burdened by the years of carrying more than she should have had to. But the fear that had hollowed her out seemed to have loosened its grip, leaving her steadier than before.

Matt adjusted his grip on the cane, the cool metal grounding him as he listened to the faint rustle of fabric and uneven footsteps fading into the distance. Levi Wilder had stepped into something bigger tonight. Kingpin's men weren't the kind to lick their wounds and move on. A message had been sent, and it wouldn't go unanswered.

Matt stayed in the shadows, his cane still against the ground. He listened to the fading sounds of their departure: Levi's deliberate pace, Nita's uneven breaths easing into something calmer. The immediate danger was over, but Matt knew it wouldn't end here.

Helping people like Nita wasn't just about fending off threats in the moment. It meant facing the attention of men who saw lives like hers as assets to squeeze. Men like Kingpin, who never let any challenge go unanswered.