All For One in the Marvel-verse

The older man, who turned out to be named Emmet, led John through the soup kitchen, which looked a bit like a high school cafeteria. The tables were arranged in long rows with more seating than the current occupancy. Thus, the two sat in a secluded corner away from the other diners and the volunteers working. Despite the attempt at privacy, it drew more attention to John.

He pulled his hood down lower as he dug into his meager meal of mashed potatoes, string beans, and boiled chicken. It wasn't anything fancy, but it was practical. While he wasn't particularly hungry, he knew there would be no free or easy food from there on out. 

"So," John began slowly, giving Emeet time to get his bearings. "These are Mutants in the city, right?" 

Best to start from the beginning and get everything straight, he thought, eyeing the older man.

"Yes, the mounting bills and regulations against mutants seem to do the opposite of what they intend to. They drive most mutants into crime because they have no other options." Emmet said.

"They form gangs that most...common folk can't deal with?" John asked.

"Exactly," Emmet said, looking nervous like he was talking about a taboo. "A few have cropped up, but the major one is the Mutie Gang."

John nearly spit his food out of his mouth when he heard the name, especially in Emmet's whispered and fearful tone. It took everything he had not to burst into laughter at the stupid name, though he forcefully composed himself. The name sounded much too close to 'the cutie gang' for him to take the name seriously.

"Excuse me. They call themselves what?"

"The Mutie Gang. Their name is one of many tools that they employ. Most didn't take them seriously at first, but after they skinned some of the local gang leaders alive that changed. They are dangerous psychos with superpowers and a penchant for violence. It's best to avoid them like the plague." Emmet began.

"Are they a large or particularly dangerous group—other than skinning people alive, I mean?" John asked curiously.

"They hit the occasional bank or armored car, but they generally don't often engage in street brawls, but there are no survivors when they do. Although, for someone...like you it may not be as bad. From what I know, they don't target other...mutants... unless provoked first." Emmet whispered the word mutant like it was a curse or slur that he didn't want others to overhear.

"Where are they located? It will be an area that I need to avoid. While I don't think I have any issue with them, I am not the most well-liked Mutant in California, to say the least." John lied casually.

From the way the older man glanced at him it was clear that the lie didn't entirely convince him, but that didn't matter. Once the information John needed came out, there would be no reason to worry about Emmet. While the proffered job opportunity could be a good way to earn some money in the short term, there were better ways to spend his time than work. 

"Like I said," Emmet continued, "I have an opportunity where nobody will ever care where you come from or who you are. It won't be pleasant, but it's better than being a criminal."

"Undoubtedly," John agreed lazily before continuing his questions before the older man could go on a rant. "Do you know what powers this 'Mutie Gang' has access to?"

"Their powers?" Emmet asked uncertainly, "I don't know exactly, but I've heard rumors floating around." 

"I may not look it," John said, gesturing to his scarred appearance, "but I love gossip. Do tell me all the details."

"The only piece of reliable information is that they have a girl who can read the minds of anyone she touches. Nobody can meet the gang's leader without going through her first." Emmet recounted, shooing away some people who moved over to sit with him as he explained. "As for the others, there are all sorts of rumors. Some say they can fly, shoot lasers, turn into dragons, or kill with a thought. It's all useless information if you ask me."

"The presence of a Telepath, even a weak one, is good information. Thanks, Emmet." John said.

"What about the job?" Emmet asked.

"I'll have to think about it," John said, inwardly discarding the idea immediately.

The two sat in contented silence until Emmet eventually broke the peace. The older man cautiously leaned forward and asked a question that caught John off guard. Though, in hindsight he should have seen it coming eventually.

"What's your power?" Emmet asked.

"My power?" John repeated dumbly.

"You know," the older man said, leaning closer. "You guys have powers. I've heard of the X-Men before. Not that they exist any longer, but I know they were incredibly powerful. What can you do?"

John chuckled at the question, contemplating how exactly to answer while Emmet waited expectantly on the other side of the table. 

"My power isn't impressive. It's nothing like any of the X-Men or these gang members we've discussed. If it came down to a fight, I would be the same as anybody else." John said dismissively.

"What is it, though?" Emmet asked, sounding a bit too casual.

"My power makes it so I can see in the dark better than a normal person." John lied, noticing that something was wrong.

He had been too focused on extracting the information from Emmet that he hadn't paid the other patrons of the Soup Kitchen much attention. However, now that he looked, spotting the tense atmosphere they were trying to hide was easy. Everyone tried their best to look natural, but they kept casting subtle glances his way.

Additionally, a massively built man was hovering near the door that was clearly there to keep a watch outside the door, as if they were waiting for someone. The volunteers previously in the kitchen were absent except for a couple who looked extremely tense, wearing obviously forced smiles.

Did I get sold out? John thought as he stood up. A visible wave of tension spread through the room as he casually strode forward, returning his tray to the front of the room where the kitchen staff were pale. People avoided looking at him as he walked. The sound of him slamming his tray down caused everyone to jump and spin.

There was a middle-aged woman behind the tray collection area in the kitchen who leaned away as he approached. With everyone's attention on him, John threw off his hood to the gasps and revulsion of some of the people present and reached forward, grasping the woman's arm as she tried to jerk away. With a yank, he pulled her forward as she yelped in pain, then wrapped his free hand around her throat. 

"Did you tell anybody that I am here?" John asked calmly, his voice quiet, but in the dead silence of the room, everyone heard him easily.

"It...it..wasn't me. I didn't make any call or signal. I swear I didn-" the woman began to plead, but John squeezed her neck until she stopped speaking.

"Who did and how long ago?"

Normally, he wouldn't employ such tactics, but it was a life-or-death situation. Without any powers to protect himself, John was practically a regular person. If the police, military, or any other organization captured him here, he would be royally screwed—desperate times called for desperate measures. 

"It was him," the woman cried, pointing toward one of the other workers.

The man paled and immediately began trying to deny the accusation, but John didn't care about him now. All he cared about now was escape before the police arrived. He pulled the woman over the counter, grabbing a knife as he did so, holding it to her neck. Then, he began dragging her toward the doorway. The woman started to cry hysterically and beg, but he ignored her.

"Anyone tries to stop me as I leave, and I'll carve this woman's neck like a god-damn turkey," John called as he continued backward. "Her blood will be on your hands if you act up."

People stayed in their seats watching. Some turned away, looking sick. However, a few people gave him calculating looks as if trying to decide if it was worth it to try and take him down. 

"Don't try and be a hero," John called again as he neared the door.

Just a few more steps then I ditch her and run. Then, I can go and find this gang of mutants and hopefully get a few powers to defend myself. I'm not expecting anything too powerful, but beggars can't be choosers.

This thought distracted him for a split second, which gave one man time to act. The man extended a foot from a table behind John and tripped him from his blind spot. The knife, which had been resting across the woman's neck, gouged a deep line through her neck as John lost his balance and fell backward.

Blood instantly poured from her neck like a river, and there was a moment of pause as everyone stared at the woman as she desperately tried to hold her neck together. The blood poured out too quickly, though, quickly staining her hands and shirt crimson as she made choking sounds, eventually collapsing in a heap on top of John, who was just as shocked as everyone else. 

"GET THAT MURDERER!" A voice cried from the crowd, and mob mentality quickly took over.

With the people pulled out of their stupor, John tried to rise and run for it, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the bloody corpse before him. His hands trembled slightly as he looked at her. That was, he looked at her until the first blow crashed into him. 

The massive man from the door had stepped forward and blasted him in the side of the head as he sat there stunned. Stars burst across John's vision violently as more and more people got on top of him until there was only a rain of punches and kicks, all aimed at him. Pain bloomed from every inch of his body as the crowd whipped themself into a frenzy. 

"MUTANT TRASH!" one voice cried 

"MURDERER" came a second.

"JUST DIE FREAK," came another

These curses and shouts were the last thing that he heard before his vision started to dim, and darkness surged from the corner of his eyes to pull him into unconsciousness. All he could do was curl himself into a ball and silently curse himself for failing almost immediately after being reincarnated into a new world.