Prologue

New York City, New York.

~Origins

August, 2, 2019

"Fuck!" Thundered the thug, tossing the worthless contents of the backpack on the ground and scattering the contents.

"Another poor bastard! The bruiser retorted."

"Yeah, the intel on this was terrible. He barely had shit on him.

The bruiser nodded, gripping the vacuum-sealed bag of dope. We're going to miss the quota again."

"Fuck! Stein is going to be pissed.

"Fuck Stein! He can take the quota and shove it. Mother fucker expects too much, especially giving us this poor ass block to take over.".

The thug said. "True. We should rally the boys and demand he let us uptown."

The bruiser smiled, his teeth shining under the dim street light as he thought about uptown pickings.

"Hey," the thug exclaimed, snapping his finger. "How about that blonde from earlier? She sure was fun, man."

The other man's smile became lecherous as he grabbed at his crotch. "Hell yeah! I'm glad we got to fuck her. Stein would have held her for himself."

"Exactly why we didn't inform him! I got the bitch I.D. She's going to be useful."

The bruiser cracked up. "Like the last one. Man, I can't believe she committed suicide. It was just the boys that had to turn. How bad could it have been?

The thug slapped the big man's arm. "It was six!" he guffawed

The thug noticed a textbook in the pile of junk; he grabbed it and read the cover. He waved the thick book before his partner. "Look, the girl and the wannabe banger went to the same high school."

The two stared at each other before they exploded in raucous laughter. Suddenly, Noise from a distance caused them to stop laughing. It originated from where they stashed the teen's body.

Jeremy York x Cole Stephens

Jeremy York's eyes snapped open. The last minutes of the York boy's life flashed through the mind of the soul that now possessed the body.

The body was jolted back into working order by an electrical current. The air crackled by the power of the shock that traveled from head to toe, causing the body to arch upward.

He gasped loudly, his lungs greedily inhaling. Cole Stephens's mind began to recall the entirety of the teen's life. As to be suspected, it all seemed surreal.

Jeremy York is a recent orphan teenager; his parents were murdered, he was currently a state ward, and his family is wealthy. Unfortunately, the money is tied up in the courts and child protection agencies. His lawyer, his aunt and uncle, and his caseworker were siphoning cash with the help of the shady orphanage.

'What happened to him, no to me?' He was on his way to the orphanage located in a seedy neighborhood in the declining parts near aging lower Manhattan before he was grabbed, beaten, and stabbed.

'He was murdered!' His mind wobbled at the realization.

He was a drug dealer; he couldn't wrap his mind around a teenager selling hard drugs, but he pondered as memories surfaced of their own volition. The orphanage was using kids as drug mules and dealers.

He fumbled around, the darkness hindering him; eventually, he pulled himself up with the help of the grimy, cold arm of the nearby dumpster.

Jermey. No, that was wrong. His face scrunched at his abstract thinking. He was Cole. Right? He groaned as his head throbbed. He gripped his head and dry heaved. He righted himself on shaking legs. Did it matter? He couldn't recall anything from his life; all he remembered was Jeremy's horrible existence.

He was thoroughly checking himself over. He patted his stomach, his hand cold and damp, fingertips sticky with his blood. He gulped loudly. The mugging was fresh in his mind, the merciless beating, humiliation, and the final stabbing, the misery, the fear, his passing, darkness. He shuttered, teeth chattering as the coldness of death's embrace lingered on his still-cold body.

Before panic could devour him and shatter his fragile state of mind, a cool, blissful, all-consuming sensation overcame him. Uncertainty and fear fled him, the horror of the experience departed his mind, the scarring of his soul, a profound gulf mended.

A translucent screen consumed his vision. His eyes soon went out of focus. Under a flickering street light, the two thugs began to walk back toward the dumpster, where they stashed the body, the Noise and shuffling piquing their interest. Being career street thugs, they knew the best witness was a dead witness.

System message: Mind merges completed...

System message: Persona acclimation beginning...

System message: Jason Todd - Red Hood (Prime Earth) installing...

His mind all but reformed, and situational awareness returned to him twofold.

He grasped the current situation in a newfound analytical way. He remembered everything that had transpired. He instinctively understood he was giving a new and intrinsically unique lease on life.

The York boy's life could be described as extremely sad, iniquity, and heartache. Even his final moments were suffering, bloodshed, misery, pain, and rage, so much madness, he understood clearly; it wasn't simple rage; it was rage born from death, and now he had experienced it thrice.

"Cole Stephens," he whispered, wanting to speak his name and claim his existence. He was alive; he didn't know how he had died, but he knew he couldn't dwell on the unknown.

The mind is marvelous, and it can adapt to many things. Take, for example, the memories and experiences of an entirely different life down to the minute details. Typically, if strong memories were introduced to the mind, they would more likely overwrite the old reason.

However, what happens when an otherworldly System administers those strong memories? Typically, the minds would struggle, but against such a supreme administrator, they could only merge accordingly.

The exquisite hands of the System sewed together Cole and Jermey's minds.

The two individuals, Jeremy York Cole Stephens, settled, merging into one dominant persona. Jeremy's memories and experiences were his memories and experiences.

The Hand killed his parents. His new analytical brain was more than a single organ; he had three personas, and with his newfound brain power, he had only thought for a second before he solved an issue of Jeremy. In his mind, he had already configured the night of their death, and the conclusion held a whooping Eighty-seven percent accuracy. More details, details he was sure to uncover, would increase the accuracy.

System message: Persona acclimation at 5%|100%

Cole's eyes closed, and when they opened, it was as if something else looked back at the world. He became rigid and unfeeling; even his face lost all emotions. One couldn't glean anything from his profile. The few people who knew Jermey York would be greatly alarmed at his featureless look.

Before entering his mind, he began to canvas his surroundings, recording a mental map of everything. Even amongst the enhanced, his mind worked at a rate incalculable by usual standards. This cold, dreary alleyway became the birth of a plan, one so far-reaching and cortical. This brief moment in time had altered time and fate, unbeknownst to the most powerful that their lives had changed.

He squatted down, making his figure less noticeable, utilizing the lowlight of the surroundings. His left eye dimmed slightly as the system interface bestowed to him came to his mental calling. His left eye darted around what he could only describe as his character sheet; as an avid reader and gamer, he understood the intricacies of such a sight.

'Marvel universe, but which one?' He didn't know much about Marvel besides the cinematic universe and the few comics he read. He was an avid D.C. comic reader, and he even enjoyed the poor attempts at creating an equal cinematic world.

He wondered, was that why he received a pseudo-intelligent system—that had almost all the personal items of most comics locked inside? All except Marvel Comics, but I understood why that was missing being inside the actual Marvel-verse. He could gain untold abilities, superpowers, gifts, and items as long as they belonged to the aforementioned literary library.

Currently, he wasn't as efficient as the original Jason Todd at his literary peak. He was still afforded marginal utilization of the installed personal abilities. He theorized the system as his x-gene, more straightforward to understand, he supposed.

He was currently at 5%. When the percentage reached 100%, he would randomly gain another comic book character persona.

Name: Cole Stephens

Known Name: Jeremy York

Alias- None

Alignment- Neutral

Persona(s) Jason Peter Todd- Red Hood 5%|100%

Intelligence- Potential Tier 2

Strength- Potential Tier 2

Speed- Potential Tier 2

Durability- Potential Tier 2

Energy Projection- Potential None

Fighting Skills- Potential Tier 2

Gear-Inventory

Red Hood Costume

Combat Knife

Dual Pistols [9mm Glocks]

Smoke Grenade

Pocket Explosives

Abilities

Holder of the Hero-Villain System

[Limited]-Enhanced Investigation.

[Limited]-Skilled marksman and expert tactician

[Limited]-Skilled martial artist and hand-to-hand combatant

[Limited]-Understanding and Utilization of high-tech equipment and weapons

[Limited]-Enhanced strength, speed, and durability due to exposure to the Lazarus Pit

Inhuman Healing Factor, due to being the holder of the System

Suddenly, his newfound body was engulfed with another electrifying sensation. This time, it was euphoric, akin to a revival, like the stories of the Phoenix rising from its smoldering ashes. His muscles flexed, becoming taut. He inhaled deeply.

This was [Enhance strength] and [Inhuman Healing Factor] both worming through this being. His body had undergone a complete overhaul; matter-of-factly, his entire being was reworked.

[Inhuman Healing Factor] wasn't the greatest. Still, he could theoretically heal fatal wounds entirely within hours and less in minutes, like the previous owner's abdomen stab wound. He wasn't sure about a bullet to the head, though. He still didn't understand things, like where his powers resided. Like most mutants, a headshot in the right spot could bypass his healing

Those thoughts were for tomorrow. He needed to get past the two men, and then he needed to rest. His body had overworked itself. Once his body acclimates more to his newfound abilities, he will be among the empowered. He also would need to train himself, and physical exertion will increase his acclimation percentage. He was also much more intelligent now, not Tony Stark, not Peter Parker, but he could outpace them easily given adequate time and research.

The first thug was the apparent leader of the duo. He neared the edge of the dumpster. Before the thug could take another step, a slow-moving blur darted before him. He experienced a brief bout of vertigo before landing heavily on the ground.

After seconds of warning, the bruiser yelped in shock but still swung his deadly fist out of habitat instead of technique. Cole slapped the man's wrist, causing his colossal fist to detour. He slid into the man's space and hit him with quick and concentrated blows.

Cole Stephens cursed as his hands burned in pain. He jammed his thumb, a rookie mistake. He stared down at the two thugs; one was scrambled backward, staring heatedly at him, nursing a broken nose. The bruiser was out like a light; a line of blood poured from his open mouth.

These two were killers, and they had murdered his predecessor mere minutes ago; it was almost ensured they would do it again. He withdrew his pistol from his inventory. To the thug, it seemed like the kid pulled it from thin air. The leader's eyes bulged. He couldn't believe it. This teen, who was indeed lifeless, was some freak.

"Please. Oh my god. You're one of those people. Stein. Do you know Stein?"

The matte black Glock was leveled at the head of the thug. He hesitated at the man's word. Mutants and enhanced people are already showing themselves? He mentally shrugged. The underbelly would be the first to know about these things.

A passing patrol car with bright flashing lights startled him. Red lights flashed on the top of the vehicle. Police officers scrambled out, hands on their weapons, screaming orders.

Cole fumbled with the pistol before he withdrew it back into his inventory. He heard a cop scream at him to stop. Still, he sprinted in the opposite direction, using the dumpster to catapult himself to a ladder connected to a dilapidated building fire escape. He soon vanishes from sight, leaving the cops and the thug astonished at the extraordinary athleticism

He regretted not killing the man outright and reassured himself the police would handle them; their crimes would be discovered, and they'd pay dearly for them. He fled down the alley under the cloak of darkness

[author] I've been in a writing slump and haven't been as active as I was, but I decided to restart this story in hopes it will help. [/author]