Masquerade of Marvel: Chaos Reborn

The gym's dim glow cast a soft haze over the cracked mats, Jade's quiet dare a lingering spark as Jake stood beside her, the Mask still tucked in his pocket. Its weight pressed against his thigh, Jen's hand on his shoulder—firm, warm, a tether—fading as she stepped back, her silhouette a green anchor against the boarded windows. Jade's words—"Start here"—rooted into his chest like a seed cracking stone, her hand still brushing his, a spark he couldn't shake. "Here," he muttered, voice low, the word tasting solid—his kid, Jen's kid, not just a flare but a start.

Flatbush wasn't stirring tonight—the air hung thick and still, green and emerald pulses dimming across the skyline, leaving the gym a quiet island in the city's bruised sprawl. Beyond the cracked boards, Church Avenue stretched silent—brownstones loomed like weary watchers, their stoops bare, streetlights flickering over the chaos-scarred pavement like candles on a worn altar. Jade shifted on the bench press, uncrossing her legs, her green skin catching the faint light—steady, not flaring, just there, watching him with those eyes—his eyes—sharp and daring.

He didn't move fast—no rush, no chaos—just eased down beside her again, the bench creaking under their weight, his hands resting on his knees. "So," he said, voice rough but soft, glancing sidelong at her. "You're fixing—smashing what's wrong. Courthouse was a start?" Jade nodded, slow, her jaw tightening—a flicker of Jen's resolve, his wildness tempered. "Yeah," she said, voice steady, not a kid's lilt but something forged—Jen's grit, his fire. "Judge was crooked—locking up folks who didn't deserve it. Saw it in Mama's papers, felt it when I walked by. Smashed it 'cause it needed smashing."

The words settled slow—not a jolt, not a flare, just a weight sinking deep, stirring something he'd buried under chaos and quips. "Needed," he echoed, leaning back, the metal cool against his spine. "You're not just breaking—you're choosing." Her eyes flicked to his—sharp, green, unblinking—a dare still there, but quieter now, like she was testing him, not the world. "Yeah," she said, voice low. "Your green—it's loud, but it talks. Tells me what's off—what's gotta go. Mama fights with words, fists—I fight with this." She flexed her hand, the green glow pulsing faint, then dimming—like she was weighing it, not flaunting it.

The gym's hush wrapped them—weights racked crookedly along the walls, the punching bag sagging in the corner, Flatbush's stillness pressing in like a held breath. He tilted his head, really looking at her—past the green, the chaos, to the kid with his eyes, Jen's steel, sitting there like she'd carved a space he hadn't known he'd left. "Talks," he said, voice quieter now, tasting the word—Jade, his daughter, not just a flare but a voice, echoing his chaos with purpose. "What's it saying now?"

She didn't answer right away—just watched, her hand resting on the bench, inches from his, the green glow steady, not wild. "Says you're here," she said finally, voice low, deliberate—Jen's law in it, his edge softened. "Been waiting—watching. Figured you'd show, or Mama'd drag you. Wanted to see if you'd run again." She paused, tilting her head, studying him like he was a case she hadn't cracked yet. "You didn't."

The air hung heavy—Flatbush's quiet stretched, brownstones casting long shadows beyond the boards, the gym's glow a faint heartbeat in the dark. He let out a breath, sharp and slow, running a hand through his hair. "Ran plenty," he admitted, voice rough, barely above a whisper, the truth slipping out like a crack in a dam. "Didn't mean to make you—didn't mean for any of this. Just wanted… something else. Now you're here, fixing what I broke, and I don't know what to say."

Jade's hand shifted—brushing his, not grabbing—just there, warm, solid, a spark he hadn't asked for but couldn't dodge. "Say you're staying," she said, voice steady, not pleading—just stating, letting it hang. "I broke the courthouse 'cause it was wrong—been breaking stuff 'cause it's what I know. But I'm waiting—watching—for you to show me what's next. Mama says you're wild—says you don't stop. I wanna know why."

The gym's stillness pressed in—weights racked crookedly, the punching bag swaying faintly, Flatbush's hush a cocoon around them. He looked at her, really looked—past the green, the chaos, to the kid with his eyes, Jen's fire, daring him to stay. "Why," he echoed, voice low, the word tugging something loose—Jade, his daughter, not just a flare but a why, a mirror he hadn't meant to face. "Didn't have one—not 'til now. Just kept moving—chaos was the ride, not the reason."

The door creaked—Jen stepped in, She-Hulk's green skin catching the dim glow, her suit scuffed but calm. She didn't rush—just leaned against the frame, watching, her presence a tether in the dark. Jade's hand stayed there, brushing his—not pushing, just resting—a question in the air. "Now?" she said, voice low, a dare in it still, but softer—Jen's steel, his wildness, waiting. "What's it say now?"

He exhaled, slow and sharp, the weight shifting—Jade, his kid, not just chaos but a why, a spark he couldn't outrun. "Says I'm here," he said, voice rough but steady, meeting her gaze—past the green, the dare, to the kid who'd smashed a courthouse and waited for him to show. "Says I'm staying—figuring it out. You're breaking stuff—fixing stuff—I don't know how, but I'm here. What's next?"

Jade's lips twitched—a smirk, faint and sharp, Jen's shadow in it—her hand settling firmer against his, not pulling—just there, warm, real. "Next," she said, voice steady, not a kid's lilt but something forged—Jen's grit, his fire. "Show me—teach me. I've got your green—Mama's fight. Been waiting to see what it's for—not just smashing, but why. You?"

The gym's quiet wrapped them—weights racked crookedly, the punching bag still, Flatbush's hush pressing in like a held breath. Jen stepped closer, her heat brushing him, a quiet smile breaking through—grit and warmth, a steady edge cutting through. "She's daring you, Jake," she said, voice a murmur, resting a hand on his shoulder—not pushing, just there. "What's your why?"

He looked at Jade, really looked—past the green, the chaos, to the kid with his eyes, Jen's steel, daring him to stay. "You," he said, voice low, the weight settling—Jade, his daughter, not just a flare but a why, a spark he'd sparked without knowing. "Guess I'm figuring that out too."

The Mask hummed, low and smug: "Twenty-six and counting, kid. The why's sparking—gonna fuel it?" He stood, the gym a sanctuary of quiet ruin and glowing shadows, Flatbush a battlefield of green and emerald—his kids, his chaos, simmering low. She-Hulk's fire, Rogue's storm, Carol's radiance, Gamora's edge, Mystique's shadows—the world trembled under his legacy. Thanos loomed, SHIELD hunted, and the X-Men waited. He gripped the Mask, grin sharp as a quiet spark. "Time to spark the why."