Marvel: Shadow Thief "Solo Levelling System in Marvel"

It was January 2nd, exactly at 2:03 a.m. The early morning was cold and silent, with a blanket of fog covering the city streets. Scott and Max left the club discreetly, avoiding drawing attention. The group moved with precision, like shadows slipping through alleys. They were halfway to their hideout when Scott broke the silence.

"Hey, Shadow, I know you don't like talking about these things, but… how the hell did you get the entrance guard to let you in without ID or showing your face?" he asked, his curiosity evident.

Max smiled with a sense of triumph, but there was something more behind his expression. A shadow of unease that didn't go unnoticed.

"Ah, about that…" Max replied, shrugging slightly. "The guy works for Tombstone, and well, let's just say I owe him a favor now. One I'll have to pay sooner or later."

Scott swallowed hard at the mention of that name. Just saying "Tombstone," a notorious criminal in the city, was enough to make anyone tense up.

"Max... Tombstone's no joke. You know that, right?" Scott said, genuine concern in his voice.

Max sighed, resigned, but kept his calm demeanor.

"Relax. I know. I'm aware. I'll just use part of the money we make from this mission to settle that debt. It's already planned out."

Scott rubbed his face with both hands, trying to dissipate the tension. Finally, with a deep sigh, he nodded.

"Well, it's up to me to make sure this goes smoothly. We'll meet at 7 p.m. at the hideout. I need some time to mentally prepare for what's coming."

By the time they arrived at the hideout, it was 2:30 a.m. The place was an old converted warehouse, with worn tables, mismatched chairs, and a wall full of tools and maps. Without wasting time, Scott quickly said his goodbyes, pulled out his phone, and checked the screen. Seven missed calls from someone saved as "Maggie ❤️."

"Great…" he murmured, his tone resigned. He knew what was waiting for him at home.

He got into his car, a second-hand sedan he had bought years ago, and drove toward his neighborhood. He lived in a quiet, decent area where the houses were two stories, with small front gardens and warm lights illuminating the streets. His wasn't much different: a modest house with beige walls, large windows, and a well-kept porch. Though it was nice, paying for it every month was a huge burden that was getting harder to manage.

When he arrived, he parked at the driveway and got out of the car quietly. He tiptoed toward the front door, remembering the day they bought the house. Maggie had been pregnant with Cassie, and they had chosen the place hoping to give their daughter a secure future. That memory brought a nostalgic smile to his face.

Carefully, he inserted the key into the lock, trying not to make any noise. But no matter how slowly he turned the key, a loud click echoed through the stillness of the morning. Scott closed his eyes and sighed in frustration.

"Seriously?" he muttered under his breath, annoyed with himself.

He entered the house cautiously. The interior was cozy: a living room with a worn but comfortable sofa, a warm-colored rug, and Cassie's toys scattered on the floor. In one corner, a Christmas tree, still decorated, dimly lit the room. Everything was calm.

Just as he turned to head to his bedroom, his foot stepped on something unexpected.

Chirp!

It was one of Cassie's rubber toys, a yellow duck that he had bought for her. The sound echoed through the house like an explosion. Before he could react, the light in the next room switched on.

In the doorway stood Margaret, her hair messy and an unmistakable look of anger on her face.

"Scott…" she said in a low voice, filled with disappointment. "What the hell?"

Scott froze. His entire body screamed regret, but he didn't know how to begin explaining.

"I… I'm sorry…" he stammered, unable to meet her gaze.

"Sorry?" Margaret crossed her arms and stepped toward him. "Tell me it's not what I'm thinking. Tell me you didn't get involved with VistaCorp again."

Scott turned his gaze away, unable to respond.

"We talked about this, Scott!" Margaret continued, raising her voice slightly, though careful not to wake Cassie. "You promised me that when our daughter was born, you'd leave that life behind. You were doing fine. You had a job at VistaCorp. Why can't you just let it go?"

Her words hit Scott like a sledgehammer. He knew Margaret was right, but he also knew he couldn't leave it behind. Not when the money they needed to survive was running out.

"Margaret… I…" he tried to speak, but the words got caught in his throat.

Margaret looked at him with a mix of sadness and anger.

"What happened to the promise you made me, Scott? It's not just about us. Think about Cassie."

The silence in the room became heavy. Scott wanted to explain himself, to justify what he had done, but the truth was that there was no justification. They had talked about this. They had decided it together. But reality, with bills piling up and a daughter who needed a future, had pushed Scott into a desperate decision.

Margaret left him standing there, motionless, as she returned to the bedroom. The sound of the door closing behind her echoed in his head like a guilty echo. Scott remained standing in the hallway, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.

With palpable resignation, Scott walked toward the bathroom, located just next to the bedroom. The house, though warm, had an air of nostalgia that tightened his chest. The dim light from the hallway illuminated the walls decorated with memories of happier times. He knew what awaited him, but there was nothing he could do about it. He climbed the stairs slowly, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the empty house. Once on the second floor, he headed to the attic, a dark and solitary space. The old bed, used only when there were visitors, awaited him. Without energy, he collapsed onto the mattress, feeling the weight of guilt and regret enveloping him.

He lay there with his eyes closed, breathing heavily, as a sense of emptiness took over him. He knew that what he had done was irreversible, but still, that small spark of hope persisted inside him. "This will be the last time…" He thought firmly, despite the inner struggle. "Just this one time, and I'll quit." The words barely left his lips, laden with deep pain. At that moment, a solitary tear rolled down his cheek. He couldn't stop it.

With that sense of defeat, he stayed there, in silence, and little by little, sleep overtook him.

POV Maximus

When he arrived at the abandoned warehouse, Max still couldn't shake the oppressive feeling in his chest. A tangle of thoughts crossed his mind, all accompanied by a sharp pang of regret. "What if something goes wrong tomorrow?" he asked himself over and over. "How will I pay Tombstone if everything falls apart?" He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm down. "Why didn't I just show my face to the guard?" But no, that option also seemed absurd. Max bit his lip, uncomfortable. "Maybe there's something good about always hiding my face. If something goes wrong... I'll just stop wearing the mask, change my hairstyle or something." That small lie to himself didn't reassure him, but at least it allowed him to hold back the flood of anxiety for a moment.

The warehouse was a huge, gloomy space, with high ceilings and rusty metal beams that creaked faintly with the wind that filtered through the holes in the roof. The concrete walls were covered in graffiti and damp stains, and the floor, covered in dust and debris, barely left space to walk without tripping over forgotten boxes or broken machinery parts. In the center of the warehouse, under the dim light of an industrial lamp hanging precariously, was an improvised table surrounded by old chairs. On the table, blueprints, stolen tools, and some disassembled electronic devices were piled up. To one side, a torn sofa covered with a dirty blanket served as a resting place for the group members.

When Scott said goodbye, Max simply nodded, avoiding speaking. His gaze swept over the others, who were still discussing the details of the plan, and he raised a hand in a gesture of farewell before walking toward the exit.

Next to one of the large, rusted metal doors of the warehouse, barely hanging on its rails, was his old bicycle. It was a relic from another time, with a faded red frame, worn handlebars, and a seat covered with black duct tape. Although the wheels creaked with every movement, it still served its purpose.

The journey home was quick and uneventful, though his mind kept drifting between what could happen the next day and how he would fix everything if something went wrong. When he arrived at the building where he lived, Max climbed quietly up the fire escape, his usual route to avoid making noise at home. When he entered his room, he didn't turn on the light. He simply collapsed onto the bed, exhausted, hoping that somehow, everything would work out.

Max woke up early the next day. The smell of something cooking in the kitchen reached his nose, and surprised, he left his room.

"Mom?" he said as he entered the small kitchen. There she was, sitting in her wheelchair, preparing breakfast with a serene smile on her face.

"Good morning, Maxie," she replied cheerfully.

Max couldn't help but smile. There was something different about her. Her face looked more relaxed, her gaze clearer than usual.

"Are you… okay?" he asked, still incredulous.

"Of course, son," she replied while pouring a mixture of beaten eggs into the pan to make an omelet.

The kitchen was modest, specially designed for her mother. The countertops were at the perfect height for someone in a wheelchair, with free space underneath so she could approach comfortably. The appliances were also strategically placed: the microwave installed at a low height and the sink adapted with easy-to-reach faucets. Although small, the kitchen was functional and warm, with shelves full of spices and a wall clock that kept a steady rhythm.

Max watched her for a moment, enjoying the calm of the scene. He decided to approach and help her cook, an activity they rarely did together because of his mother's condition.

"Hey, mom," he said cautiously while beating some more eggs. "Did you take the new pill I brought you?"

His mother looked up and smiled softly.

"Oh, that pill... I knew something was different. In fact, I think I feel better than ever," she replied, her tone filled with understanding and a bit of hope.

Max felt relieved hearing that, but his mother soon changed her expression to one of concern and resignation.

"Listen, son. I know I put a lot of pressure on you, and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for being... useless. This wheelchair has turned me into a burden, and I can't help but depend on you. Before, when I was in the army... I could do so many things. Now, I'm nothing but dead weight for you."

Max stopped beating the eggs and looked at his mother. She rarely talked about her past, and hearing her open up like that moved him.

"Don't say that, mom. You've always done everything you could for me."

She shook her head and took Max's hand in hers, trembling but firm.

"I mean it, Maxie. You're too young to carry all of this. I don't want you to ruin your life because of me."

Max looked her in the eyes, feeling a weight in his chest. He couldn't tell her the truth about what he planned to do that night, but in that moment, he decided to enjoy breakfast with his mother as if there were no worries in the world.

The morning and afternoon passed in an unexpectedly peaceful way. Max and his mother spent the day together, enjoying a clarity he hadn't seen in years. Although at first, he expected the confusion that characterized his mother's dementia to return at any moment, this day was different. There were no episodes. It was as if, for one day, time had stopped to allow them to be a normal family.

They talked about everything: childhood memories, dreams that never came true, and moments of sincere laughter. They played a memory game, something his mother used to do daily as part of her therapy, but now Max enjoyed it with her simply for the pleasure of seeing her happy. Deep down, Max couldn't help but think that if this plan worked, it could improve their lives forever.

"A million dollars doesn't get spent quickly," he thought, carried away by an unusual wave of optimism. They could live comfortably, find a legitimate job, and forget about the constant danger of stealing. For the first time in a long time, Max allowed himself to dream of a future where the problems that tormented him faded away.

Time flew by. He was so immersed in the feeling of happiness that the sound of his phone caught him by surprise. It was a message from Scott: "At the hideout in 30."

It was around 6:00 p.m. Max knew there was no turning back. He looked at his mother, who was still smiling as she placed the cards for the memory game.

"Mom, I have to go work at the club. They need me," he said, hiding his true intentions behind a kind smile.

His mother looked at him with some concern.

"Take care, okay? And come back early, please."

Max nodded, maintaining that happiness he rarely felt.

"Of course, mom. Also, I think today will be my last day. I'm going to quit to find a better job, something that will allow me to spend more time with you."

His mother smiled, calm for the first time in years.

Max left, took his bike, and pedaled to the hideout. His worn hoodie and mask covered his identity, as always, but this time his mood was different. Even though he knew what he was about to do, he couldn't help but feel a small spark of hope for the future.

When he arrived at the warehouse, it was just two minutes to 6:30 p.m. The others were already there, gathered around the makeshift table in the center. Scott, usually upbeat and full of energy, was quieter than usual.

"Shadow, right on time," said Scott when he saw him approaching.

Max noticed the unusual tone in his voice.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking at him curiously.

Scott shook his head, as if wanting to avoid the subject, and quickly shifted the focus to the final details of the plan.

"Alright, listen up. This is what we're going to do," he said, placing a digital blueprint of the mansion on the table, projected from a small tablet.

The mansion had a state-of-the-art security system: cameras at every corner, motion sensors at the main entrances, and electronic locks connected to an internal network. The safe was located in the owner's office, a corrupt millionaire who had amassed his fortune by scamming small business owners and diverting funds.

"First, we need to deactivate the perimeter cameras. I'll handle hacking the system from here," said Eddie, one of Scott's teammates, a systems expert. "The software they use isn't that complex, but it has a firewall that will take me about 10 minutes to bypass."

Max nodded, watching Eddie open a program on his laptop, an interface full of lines of code and commands he barely understood.

"In the meantime, Shadow and I will enter through the back door using the access card we cloned. We'll use a device to temporarily disable the motion sensor," Scott continued, pulling out a small device with a blinking light. "This emits a signal that confuses the sensor for about 30 seconds. That's all we need to get in."

"And the safe?" Max asked, crossing his arms.

Ricky spoke up.

"The safe's lock is electronic, but I already have a partial code I got from a reliable source. I'll need you, Shadow, to enter it manually while I search for the documents we need."

Max raised an eyebrow.

"And what if the code fails?"

Ricky intervened again, showing a USB device.

"If it fails, use this. It's a keyboard emulator that generates possible combinations. It'll take about 3 minutes, but it should work."

Max nodded, analyzing each step.

"What about the owner's computer?" he asked.

Scott smiled.

"That's the fun part. While you open the safe, I'll copy the files from his computer. I've designed a program that tracks transactions and redistributes the stolen money to the original accounts."

Max let out an ironic laugh.

"Robin Hood, huh?"

Scott shrugged, returning the smile.

"Something like that."

The group went over every detail of the plan one more time, making sure everyone knew their role. Despite the palpable nervousness, there was a sense of determination in the air. This was their chance to change their lives forever.