A Rider Kick in Marvel Rewrite

A young man named Oliver is running down the sidewalk, his messenger bag bouncing wildly against his hip. New York's morning traffic blurred around him as he dodged pedestrians and street vendors.

"Not again," he muttered, checking his watch. 8:47 AM. The arthouse cinema opened at 9:00, and he was supposed to be there early to prep for the morning screenings.

His boss, Margaret, was notorious for her sharp tongue and zero tolerance for tardiness. Last time he was late, she'd lectured him for twenty minutes about "professional responsibility" and "millennial work ethic" in front of the entire staff.

Oliver cut through a narrow alley, hoping to shave precious minutes off his commute. The shortcut was cluttered with trash bins and graffitied walls, but he knew every inch of it from previous mad dashes.

Another block. Another quick glance at his watch. 8:52 AM.

He could already imagine Margaret's disapproving stare, her arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in that particular way that made employees feel two inches tall.

"Almost there," Oliver whispered to himself, rounding the final corner toward the cinema's vintage marquee.

Oliver rushed down the sidewalk, his messenger bag swinging against his hip. The morning traffic of New York blurred around him as he dodged pedestrians and street vendors.

A faint buzzing sound caught his attention. He paused, glancing around the empty alley. Nothing seemed out of place.

When he turned back, a set of large, red compound eyes stared directly into his face. Me·Ivae·Ba, the Fly Grongi, stood inches from him.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt," the creature whispered, its voice trembling slightly. "But I need a small favor from you."

Oliver froze, unable to move or speak.

"I apologize in advance," Me·Ivae·Ba continued, "but you must kill as many people as you can. It's quite important for my mission, if you don't mind."

A strange sensation washed over Oliver. His eyes glazed over, pupils dilating. The Grongi's compound eyes seemed to pulse with an unnatural rhythm.

Oliver closed his eyes. When he opened them moments later, the strange encounter had vanished from his memory. He blinked, suddenly remembering he was late for work.

"Oh no," he muttered, and sprinted toward the cinema.

Me·Ivae·Ba watched Oliver from a shadowy corner of the alley, compound eyes glinting with a nervous excitement. The Grongi fidgeted, wringing translucent hands.

"I'm so sorry for watching," Ivae mumbled to himself, "but this human seems perfect."

Oliver burst through the cinema's back door, breathless. Margaret, the manager, stood with her arms crossed, her face a storm of fury.

"You're late. Again," she snapped. Her voice cut through the quiet morning prep area.

Oliver stammered an apology, but Margaret wasn't listening. Her eyes narrowed as she gestured toward the uniform rack.

"Get changed. And when you're done, restock the entire snack bar. Every. Single. Container."

As Oliver turned to grab his uniform, something caught his eye. A sharp box cutter lay on a nearby shelf, its blade glinting under the fluorescent lights. A strange buzzing began to fill his ears, soft at first, then growing louder.

His vision blurred. The buzzing intensified.

Margaret's sharp voice broke through the sound. "Oliver! Are you even listening to me?"

Oliver blinked, the buzzing momentarily receding. Margaret stood inches from his face, her expression a mix of anger and concern.

"Get. Changed. Now," she repeated, pointing toward the staff room.

"Yes, ma'am!"

Oliver quickly gets changed, but he can still hear the buzzing noise slightly.

…

Ace walked toward the arthouse cinema and the sun has just set. Nico stood near the entrance, her gothic-style clothing a stark contrast to the morning's soft light.

"Hey," Ace called out, waving as he got closer.

Nico turned, a slight smirk crossing her face. "Berto's running late. Something about some errands he had to run."

They stood together, the quiet evening surrounding them. After a moment of silence, Nico looked at Ace with a curious expression.

"So, Ace…" she began, "what do you like? I don't really know much about you, to be honest."

Ace chuckled. "I'm into hero shows. You know, where the hero transforms all cool and stuff."

Nico's eyebrow raised. She let out a small laugh. "Seriously? You like kid shows?"

"They're not kid shows," Ace defended immediately, his voice rising slightly. "They're complex narratives about heroism and sacrifice."

"Right," Nico teased, drawing out the word. "Complex narratives about guys in colorful spandex fighting monsters."

Ace crossed his arms. "They're way more than that. Each series explores deep themes about humanity and—"

"Uh-huh," Nico interrupted, her tone playful. "Totally serious adult entertainment."

Ace raised an eyebrow, turning the tables. "Okay, fair enough. What do you do in your free time?"

Nico's expression shifted. Her eyes gleamed with a sudden intensity. "Supernatural stuff. Spiritual research. The kind of things most people write off as impossible."

"Oh really?" Ace's voice carried a hint of playful mockery. "Ghost hunting and crystal healing?"

"Not exactly," Nico said, her tone sharp. "I'm talking about real occult knowledge. Magical traditions, spirit communication, dimensional research. Stuff that goes way beyond cheap parlor tricks."

Ace leaned in, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "So basically ghost hunting and crystal healing with extra big words?"

Nico's eyes narrowed. "Careful. Or I'll hex you."

"Sure you will," Ace teased, mimicking her earlier sarcastic tone. "I'm absolutely terrified of your mystical powers."

Both got serious for a minute before the two burst out laughing.

Ace and Nico's laughter gradually subsided. As they stood together, Ace noticed a slight bulge in Nico's pocket. His eyes caught a glimpse of something rectangular.

"Are those tarot cards?" he asked, pointing subtly.

Nico pulled out a worn deck, its edges slightly frayed. "Good eye," she said. "These have been with me for a while."

Ace looked intrigued. "Do you actually know how to read them?"

A confident smirk crossed Nico's face. "Know how to read them? I've been doing tarot readings since I was twelve." She shuffled the deck with practiced hands, the cards moving smoothly between her fingers.

"Want me to read your fortune?" Nico offered, her tone a mix of challenge and invitation.

Ace nodded. "Sure, why not?"

They found an empty table near the cinema's window. Soft evening light filtered through dusty glass as Nico spread her tarot cards with practiced movements.

"Cut the deck," she instructed Ace, her voice calm and authoritative.

Ace complied, splitting the deck with a single motion. Nico began turning cards, her fingers moving deliberately across the worn surface.

The first card revealed itself: The Fool. Nico's eyes narrowed slightly.

"You're at the beginning of a journey," she said. "A new chapter. But this isn't going to be easy."

She turned another card. The Tower appeared, its imagery stark and dramatic.

"Difficulty and sacrifice are ahead of you," Nico continued. Her tone was matter-of-fact, devoid of melodrama. "This path will test you in ways you can't yet understand."

The next card emerged: The Hierophant. Nico paused, studying its symbolism.

"You'll only overcome these challenges by learning from those who came before you," she explained. "Your friends, mentors, previous generations - they hold wisdom you'll need to survive what's coming."

Ace listened intently, his expression a mix of curiosity and concentration.

Nico's fingers traced the edge of the next card. Her expression remained neutral as she spoke. "You will face many challenges. Each one will be more difficult than the last."

She paused, turning another card. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"The next challenge," Nico said deliberately, "will involve a fly."

Ace leaned forward, confusion etching his features. "A fly? What does that mean?"

Nico simply shrugged. "It's what the cards say," she replied, her tone matter-of-fact and devoid of further explanation.

The tarot deck sat between them, the cards spread out on the cinema's dusty window table, catching the last hints of evening light. Ace studied Nico's face, searching for more context, but she remained impassive.

As Nico and Ace continued their conversation, Berto rushed up to them, slightly out of breath. "Sorry I'm late," he said, adjusting his backpack.

Nico raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Well, well. Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence."

Berto rolled his eyes. "Traffic was crazy. Some weird police activity near the river." He paused, catching his breath. "You know how New York can be."

"Excuses, excuses," Nico teased, her voice dripping with mock sarcasm. "Some of us actually know how to be on time."

"Oh, really?" Berto shot back with a grin. "Says the person who's always 'fashionably late' to everything."

Ace looked between them, a smile playing on his lips. Then he interrupted their banter. "Okay, guys. We should get inside already or else we'll miss the movie."

The trio entered the dimly lit cinema lobby. Soft ambient music played in the background, mixing with the low hum of the air conditioning. Berto led the way, checking their tickets while Nico and Ace followed close behind.

At the snack bar, Oliver stood motionless. His eyes were glazed, staring blankly at the rows of candy and popcorn containers. The buzzing in his head grew louder, a persistent, maddening sound that seemed to pulse with increasing intensity.

A voice whispered inside his mind. Cold. Calculated. Commanding.

Kill, the voice said. Simple. Direct.

Oliver's hand slowly moved toward the box cutter sitting near the cash register. His fingers trembled slightly, muscles twitching between resistance and compliance. The buzzing crescendoed, drowning out all other sounds.

Kill, the voice repeated. Louder now. More insistent.

***

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Advance chapters are in my P@|r3on - Najicablitz