Chapter 4: Hell's Kitchen
In a modestly dilapidated apartment building, a small figure sat cross-legged, elbow propped on a knee, one hand cradling a cheek, the other gently coaxing the delicate fingers that hovered above a set of LEGO bricks, meticulously assembling layer upon layer.
Curiously, the child who appeared to be about five or six years old wasn't physically touching the blocks. Instead, they floated and flipped through the air as if guided by invisible hands, seeking their rightful place to form the likeness of a train.
"Aiden, my child, I bought these blocks for you to build with your hands, not with your... unique abilities," a gentle voice spoke as the door swung open.
The blocks tumbled down onto the carpet as the child, startled, glanced back to see his father. A middle-aged man of Asian descent, with dark hair and eyes, spoke in fluent Mandarin.
"Mm," the boy acknowledged with a pout, reaching for the scattered blocks. The next moment, he found himself lifted into the air by a pair of warm, large hands.
"Stop it," Aiden squirmed, trying to evade the tickling sensation of his father's stubble against his cheek, but to no avail. He resigned himself to the playful torment of the man he called father.
"It's time to help in the kitchen," a woman's smooth voice called from outside the door, offering Aiden a reprieve. His father set him down on the carpet and ruffled his dark hair firmly. "We made a deal, no using your powers."
Aiden nodded silently in agreement.
The man sighed deeply, squatting down to Aiden's level with earnestness in his tone, "Son, you're young, and these powers might make you feel special, capable of things other children can't do, but it's dangerous. We've talked about this, right? Don't let anyone discover what you can do; they would take you away from your mother and me."
Hearing the gravity in his father's voice and seeing the sincerity in his eyes, Aiden finally nodded, "Okay."
"That's my good boy," his father said, tousling his hair once more with a signature rough affection.
"Go get ready, you always use too much force," the mother chided, pulling her husband by the collar to help him up. The man chuckled and hurried out of the bedroom.
"Aiden, you're a brave boy. Your mom and dad have to work, and it's unfortunate we can't find a sitter for you, but you like Grandma Amy next door, right?" A woman, also with dark hair and eyes, squatted down, resting her arms on her knees and smiling tenderly at the small figure below her.
Aiden looked up at his mother's gentle face and nodded lightly.
The woman caressed Aiden's cheek and whispered, "Even though her skin is much darker, she's very kind. Don't make her angry, okay? Let's go."
"I don't want to go to her place. Can I just sleep at home? If I get scared, I'll bang on the wall," Aiden suddenly spoke up, causing his mother to pause.
"You need to listen, that's what good children do," she said, trying to look stern, but Aiden saw through the act.
"You know I'll be okay; it's been over three months. I don't want to be woken up in the middle of the night to be carried home again. Although Grandma Amy never complained, we did disturb her sleep," Aiden reasoned softly.
The woman was taken aback by her child's words, then her expression turned somber. After a moment of silence, she spoke, "I'm sorry, Aiden, that we can't provide you with..."
"Mom. It's just for a few hours; you'll be back soon. I'll be at our home, not going anywhere. If something really happens, I've told you, I'll bang on the wall; you know it works. Every time there's a weird noise from the neighbors, they stop when I knock," Aiden explained, leaving his mother slightly embarrassed.
"I was six when I first stayed home alone. True to the saying, 'the student surpasses the master,' our child is daring to do so at five. You're amazing," the father interjected, seemingly eager to end the conversation and approving of Aiden's suggestion. Pulling his still-concerned wife out of the bedroom, he said, "We're going to be late; ten minutes late, and there goes our bonus for the month."
"But he's still so young..."
Their voices faded as the door closed behind them, and Aiden sighed in relief. He stood up from the carpet and approached the bed. The small body struggled to climb up, and after two failed attempts, he simply jumped. Instead of landing, he soared up, unable to control the force, and after a mid-air spin, Aiden landed on the bed with a bounce.
Aiden shook his head, steadied himself, and peeked out the window, gazing downward.
The view revealed a worn-out street, part of an old neighborhood. The setting sun dipped halfway below the horizon, painting the sky with fiery clouds that bathed the world in red.
The scene mirrored the decline of Aiden's neighborhood, an area of New York City known for its grit rather than its glamour. As every opulent mansion has its dirty sewers, this region was the underbelly of the bustling city, aptly named Hell's Kitchen.
Aiden watched his parents drive away in their aged car, slowly disappearing down the road under the dying light of day. He exhaled softly, contemplating the six months he had spent in this place.
Those months had seen Aiden's mindset shift from shock and panic to acceptance and, eventually, a deep appreciation for the care and love his new parents provided—affections the Aiden of the old world had never experienced.
Aiden wasn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Inwardly grateful, he treasured everything he had. The couple had not only provided Aiden with sustenance but had moved him from a gloomy basement to the apartment, brightening his world.
Though the building was old and the room small, the lights were bright, and the bed was soft. No longer drifting, the family settled down as the parents found steady work, and their lives improved, filling Aiden with pride and joy. Life was still hard, likely to remain so for a while, but he relished every moment.
In half a year, Aiden had learned where he had landed. Computers were unheard of in this household, even TVs were absent. Yet, the discarded newspapers from the old man downstairs had provided Aiden with ample information.
Four years ago, in 1987, a 17-year-old prodigy named Tony Stark graduated with top honors from MIT. The media frenzy surrounding Howard Stark's son had been intense, not only because of Tony's genius—his first circuit board at four, his first V8 engine at six—but because of his father's legacy as a billionaire, arms dealer, and founder of Stark Industries. And, unbeknownst to the public, one of the founders of S.H.I.E.L.D. Aiden knew this last detail as a traveler between worlds.
"The Marvel world, the Marvel Universe—it must be the game," Aiden muttered to himself as the car carrying his parents vanished from view. He lay back on the bed, eyes closed, devoid of ambition, content to cherish every second with his family, to be a good son, and when the time was right, to persuade his parents to leave New York, perhaps even the country, for a quiet life in a peaceful town.
For now, five-year-old Aiden had no influence over his parents, especially not while they were enjoying the fruits of their newfound stability. His intelligence was average, his experiences limited to those of a high school junior from another world. Suddenly thrust into a world filled with unfamiliar affection and family bonds, Aiden basked in the warmth while carefully guarding it.
Despite his father's heavy-handedness and his mother's faked sternness, Aiden turned over, pulling the blanket over his tiny frame. The curtains drew shut, blocking out the sunset, and in the darkness, Aiden drifted off to sleep.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone