Rogue Replacement: A Marvel Story

Date: Wednesday, July 28, 2010.

Location: 44 Maiden Ln., Manhattan, New York

Tyson paused at 44 Maiden Ln, letting the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders. Before him, the Federal Reserve Bank of Manhattan loomed. Its grand limestone façade rose upwards, accentuated by ornate carvings and patterns reminiscent of an age long gone. Two enormous iron-bound doors, framed by two lanterns, stood as gatekeepers guarding the entrance.

He noted the constant flow of tourists lining up for the regular tours. Most of them chattered excitedly, cameras around their necks, their eyes full of curiosity. To them, it was an opportunity to get a rare glimpse inside one of the world's most important financial institutions. For Tyson, it was so much more.

As the magnitude of his intent weighed heavily on him, the bustling New York crowd seemed oblivious to his internal struggle. Just as he was about to turn and walk away, a playful voice pierced through his thoughts. "You know, when you're standing outside a big building looking all conflicted like that, it's either girl trouble or you're about to make a really tough decision."

Tyson turned to see an elderly man standing beside him, dressed in aviator glasses and a cardigan, his silver hair perfectly coiffed. The man had a mischievous sparkle in his eyes and a grin that told of countless stories and adventures. "I've seen a lot of things, been in a lot of places. More places than you might think."

Tyson recognized the man immediately. He was stunned, staring in amazement and confusion. But he chose not to press the issue and instead spoke truthfully. "I'm... I'm contemplating something big," he admitted.

The old man chuckled. "Oh, I can see that. Trust me, kid, I’ve seen that look on many faces."

Tyson looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Lowering his voice, he asked, "What if what I'm thinking isn’t noble or heroic? What if it's...selfish?"

The old man scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well, not every story is about saving the universe or a damsel in distress. Sometimes, the story is about making a choice for yourself."

Tyson nodded, understanding the gravity of what the man was hinting at. "But what if I get caught?"

"Ah, the age-old dilemma," the old man said with a smile, "To take the risk or to stay safe? Look, every choice comes with consequences. The real question is are you ready to face them, whether they're good or bad?"

Tyson hesitated, thinking deeply about the weight of his decision. "I don’t know if I can do this."

The elderly man clapped him on the back. "You know, I’ve seen many others hesitate before they leap. But sometimes, all you need is a little push in the right direction."

"Are you saying I should do it?" Tyson asked incredulously.

The man grinned. "I'm not saying you should, but I'm also not saying you shouldn’t. All I know is that sometimes you have to take risks."

Tyson took a deep breath, his resolve strengthening. "I just... I don’t want to regret this."

The old man smiled warmly. "Regret is a part of life. But remember, sometimes the biggest regret is not taking the chance when you had it."

Tyson looked up at the Federal Reserve one more time, determination creeping into his eyes. The clock was ticking on his use of Illyana's power.

"Thank you," he said, turning to the elderly man. But to his surprise, the man was nowhere to be found. He had disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as he'd appeared. Tyson swore he heard a word echo from the space the man had vacated…

Excelsior.

Tyson approached the entrance to the Federal Reserve Bank, easily blending into a group of eager tourists. All around him, people chatted animatedly, their faces lit up with excitement. One man was pointing at the various features of the building, while couples leaned into each other, sharing whispered conversations.

Tyson activated his illusion ability, wrapping himself in a disguise. Though he was standing amidst the crowd, none would see the real him. To the tourists and guides, it was as if he was a medium-height, wide, overweight, Texan tourist with a wide-brimmed hat. Tyson was, in reality, wearing the outfit of the illusion he projected, but he changed his height, and skin color, and replaced his muscular form with an obese bulk. To complete the outfit, Tyson wrapped a bandanna around his face, another detail that was obscured by his illusion, and hopefully wouldn't be too noticeable on cameras, obscured by his oversized hat.

The heavy, ornate doors of the Federal Reserve Bank slowly opened, granting the group entrance. As they stepped inside, the transition was remarkable. The noisy, bustling streets of New York were replaced by a hushed, grandiose aura. The bank's interior was a blend of historical architecture and modern functionality. Marble columns reached towards a high, decorative ceiling. Golden chandeliers hung low, casting soft, elegant light upon the polished floors. The very air inside felt rich with legacy.

The tour guide, a petite woman with a bright smile, ushered the group forward. "Welcome to the Federal Reserve Bank of Manhattan! Throughout this tour, you'll see the operations of one of the most important financial institutions in the world."

The group followed her as she led them through grand hallways. They passed offices with frosted glass doors, where silhouettes of employees could be seen discussing important matters. Display cases showcased historic coins and old paper currency. The highlight of the tour was, of course, the vault. After descending the elevators in smaller groups, and passing through numerous security checkpoints, the tour found themselves standing before a massive steel door.

The guide paused, letting the suspense build. "Behind this door," she began dramatically, "is one of the largest gold vaults in the world. Thousands of gold bars, each weighing approximately 28 pounds. A literal mountain of wealth."

Tyson's eyes locked onto the immense vault door. But Tyson made no overt actions. This wasn’t the time. Not yet. Instead, he silently committed every detail of the vault to memory. The number of security cameras, the placement of guards, the patterns on the vault door; every piece of information was crucial. As the tour guide continued to speak, discussing the history and significance of the bank's gold reserves, Tyson took mental notes. He needed to understand everything about this place. Every corner, every hallway, every door.

After what felt like an eternity, the guide began to usher the group away from the vault. "Thank you all for visiting the Federal Reserve Bank. We hope you've found this tour enlightening, enjoy your stay in New York!"

Tyson, still under his illusion, moved with the group, careful not to cause suspicion. As they made their way through the same opulent halls they had entered, he felt a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

Finally, the tour group emerged back onto the busy streets of Manhattan. The city’s sounds and sights were jarring compared to the bank's quiet, grand interiors. Tourists chatted excitedly, recounting their favorite parts of the tour and discussing the unbelievable amount of gold they'd just seen.

Blending in with the departing crowd, Tyson removed his illusion. He merged seamlessly into the New York foot traffic, just another face in the crowd. The Federal Reserve Bank's grand facade began to recede behind him, but his mission was only just beginning.

Tyson walked the few blocks to Wall Street, finding TJ Maxx. Once inside his eyes scanned the aisles as he made his way to the luggage section. He perused the selection carefully. He needed suitcases that were not only large but also sturdy enough to handle significant weight. After a few moments of consideration, he selected a pair that seemed to meet his criteria. Their robust build and spacious interiors were exactly what he needed. With a plan in mind, Tyson proceeded to the checkout. He paid for the suitcases, maintaining a low profile amidst the crowd. Then, with the purchased items in hand, he casually walked outside, maneuvering through the bustling streets until he found a secluded spot around the corner. Ensuring no one was watching, he teleported the suitcases to Limbo.

He repeated this process, returning to the store to purchase another pair of suitcases, taking them outside, and teleporting them to Limbo just as he had done before. Tyson used his illusions to, blend in with the crowd of shoppers and change his identity each time he re-entered the store. After several trips, Tyson had successfully transported a total of 10 suitcases to Limbo. With his task completed, Tyson took a moment to ensure everything was in order before preparing for his next move.

He had picked out an alley behind a Chick-fil-A, nestled between John St. and Fulton St., as his staging area. This location was strategically chosen for its relative seclusion and its proximity to two key locations. The alley offered the perfect cover for Tyson's activities. It was quiet, tucked away from the street, providing the privacy he needed for his plans. Just as importantly, the alley put him within a quarter mile of both The Federal Reserve Bank, which he had visited earlier, and the Four Seasons Downtown where he had been staying in the Empire Suite.

As Tyson stepped into the alley, he scanned the area with a careful eye, ensuring that he went unnoticed. Satisfied, he paused to take a deep breath, before beginning to execute his plan.

Tyson's surroundings shifted instantly as he initiated the teleportation into Limbo. The bustling sounds of New York City were replaced by the eerie, timeless atmosphere of Illyana’s dimension. Around him were the suitcases he had gathered and transported here.

The alley had been a strategic choice because it provided a stable anchor point for his portals. In Limbo, time behaved differently, and the risk of time-warping was a constant concern when using Illyana’s teleportation powers. By using the alley as a fixed starting point, Tyson minimized these risks as both his target destinations were within a safe distance.

Standing amidst his luggage collection, Tyson focused his attention on the next phase of his plan. He visualized the guest bedroom in his suite at the Four Seasons Downtown, a space he had become familiar with during his stay. With a clear image in mind, he conjured a portal, the swirling vortex of energy opening up to the well-appointed guest bedroom.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Tyson tried to recall every detail of the vault from the tour. The security measures, the size of the room, and the exact location of the gold stacks. With a clear image in mind, he extended his hand outward, focusing his energy. A small, shimmering portal opened before him.

Through the portal, he saw the gleam of the gold bars. It was the vault, just as he had pictured it. No guards in sight, at least not from this vantage point. The sheer amount of gold was staggering, almost unbelievable. A lump formed in his throat. This was it, the moment of truth. Would he go through with it?

With a flick of his wrist, Tyson closed the portal. The shimmering void dissipated, leaving behind only the ever-gloom of Limbo. Taking a moment to regain his focus, he visualized the inside of the Federal Reserve's gold vault. He pictured the stacks of gold bars, glistening and neatly arranged. With another gesture, a new portal materialized, this one offering a bird's-eye view into the vault. It was a golden wall, the metal bars packed so densely they reached near the ceiling. The sight was awe-inspiring.

Carefully, Tyson reached an arm through the portal. He wrapped his fingers around a gold bar, its cool weight instantly pressing into his palm. The dense metal was heavy, but with his enhanced strength, Tyson hardly noticed.

Lifting the lid of one of the suitcases, he started stacking the bars inside. One by one, the bars clinked together, their weight causing the fabric of the luggage to strain. He counted each bar as he placed it in, ensuring he had exactly one hundred bars.

Closing the lid, Tyson took a moment to marvel at his achievement. The heist was proving successful, but he had a long way to go.

With a grunt, Tyson gripped the suitcase's handles tightly, the sheer weight of the gold threatening to slip from his grasp. The wheels were utterly useless under the immense load. He could feel the strain on the luggage’s frame, knowing it might give way if he wasn't careful.

He held the first suitcase horizontally, using the solid side as a base while it was heavy with gold, and carefully maneuvered it through the portal into the guest bedroom of his suite at the Four Seasons. The weight was significant, but Tyson managed it with ease, thanks to his super strength.

Once the first suitcase was securely through, he turned his attention to the next one waiting in Limbo. He dragged it over to another portal he had opened, one that led directly down into the vault of the Federal Reserve above a different stack of gold.

One by one, Tyson filled each suitcase with gold, working efficiently to transfer the precious metal through the portal. After filling all ten suitcases, Tyson began the process of dispersing them around his suite. He placed them in strategic locations, ensuring they were well-hidden yet easily accessible when needed. The suite, with its luxurious decor and expansive layout, offered plenty of options for concealment.

"Made it," he whispered to himself, a victorious grin spreading across his face. As he spread the suitcases throughout the suite, Tyson couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. The plan had come together smoothly. The heist had been a success, but what came next was uncertain. Tyson now had to decide how to use his newfound wealth.

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

Inside a dimly lit conference room in the heart of the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Director Nick Fury paced the floor. His piercing gaze held the intensity of a storm, yet his voice was calm and calculated when he began. "Listen up. We've got a situation."

Four agents sat around the table, heads turned toward Fury. Agent Coulson leaned forward with pen poised over his notepad. Beside him, Clint Barton, the famed Hawkeye, scrutinized the room with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, sat with an elegance that belied her lethality, her red hair a splash of color in the otherwise muted space.

Fury slid a series of folders to each of the agents. "The Federal Reserve Bank in Manhattan was hit. The thief got away with 1000 gold bricks. Each brick weighs 27.4 lbs, and gold is valued at around $1,200 an ounce. For those mathematically challenged, that's 526 million dollars worth of gold." He paused for a moment, letting the information sink in. "Clean getaway. No prints, no mistakes."

Agent Coulson lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. "Any leads?"

Fury pointed to a surveillance photo of a tall, imposing figure. "This is the only lead we have. Caught on camera, yet didn't register with any of the tour groups that day."

Clint squinted at the photo. "Man's a giant. You'd think someone would've noticed."

"That's what's odd," Fury said. "He stood with the tour group, and when the others were questioned, they only recalled a ‘fat cowboy’."

Natasha leaned in, her green eyes studying the image. "Fat? That's quite a stretch for an entire group to agree on. Are we dealing with an enhanced individual?"

"It's looking that way," Fury replied.

Coulson pondered aloud. "It's possible he possesses some form of telepathy or mind manipulation, given that no one noticed him."

Natasha frowned, picking up the file. "Still, leaving behind this image was careless. An amateur mistake. Unless it was intentional."

Fury nodded, mulling over the possibility. "It might be a message. Or a challenge. We need to find out who he is and what he wants… Besides the gold."

Natasha added, "We should consider known enhanced individuals who fit the profile, and cross-reference with any recent activities."

Clint leaned back, eyes still on the image. "Whoever this guy is, he's playing in the big leagues now. You don't just rob the Federal Reserve and walk away."

The air was thick with purpose, the kind that made the entire room buzz with intent. Nick Fury, face grave, addressed his team.

"We've got the FBI, CIA, and a handful of other agencies combing the streets," Fury began, using his hands to emphasize the breadth of the investigation. "They'll handle the usual protocols, interviews, witness statements, and scouring every available camera feed."

Agent Coulson shifted slightly in his seat. "So, where does that leave us?"

Fury's one eye gleamed with a mix of determination and cunning. "I want S.H.I.E.L.D. to think outside the box. Use our resources and our contacts. We've got a bigger pool to fish from than the feds. Ideas?"

Clint Barton, always quick on the draw, offered, "The gold's got to go somewhere. I suggest we make contact with gold buyers. Not just any buyers, but the ones who deal in bulk. The ones who'd melt it down to resell. We need to find out if anyone's approached them recently with a massive amount of gold."

Coulson nodded, tapping his pen on the table thoughtfully. "Additionally, we should check out high-profile auction houses. If this thief wants to move the gold quickly, they might turn it into artifacts or art pieces, selling them to the super-rich on the black market."

Natasha's lips curved into a sly grin, her mind always several steps ahead. "Or we think even more unconventionally. What if our thief isn't selling? What if the gold is a means to an end? Perhaps a distraction for something bigger or a component for a significant project."

Fury leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Elaborate."

"Suppose he's using the gold to buy something more valuable or dangerous. Weapons or information. Of if it's being used in some kind of new technology." Natasha continued, her voice dripping with intrigue. "I suggest we watch the arms and tech black market. See if there's any unusual activity or big buyers."

Fury's stern expression cracked into a smirk of approval. "Good ideas. Barton, you take point with the gold buyers. Coulson, look into the auction houses and underground art world. Romanoff, dive into the black market. See what bubbles up."

The agents nodded in agreement, each with a clear direction and purpose.

"This isn't just a theft," Fury reminded them, his voice firm. "It's a statement. Let's find out what they're trying to say."

The energy in the room was palpable as the agents dispersed, ready to unravel the mystery of the gold heist.

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

The room's overhead lights illuminated the smooth surface of the conference table, casting a warm glow on Clint Barton's face. He looked triumphant as he faced his SHIELD allies.

"I got something," Clint said, clicking a remote to play the footage on a large screen. The video was grainy but showed a busy Diamond District street. A man entered a gold dealer's shop and left shortly after. From a distance, he looked just like any other customer, but a few telltale signs caught Clint's expert eyes.

"The guy's big, like our guy from the Federal Reserve footage," Clint began. "Talked to a few folks in the Diamond District, and they pointed me to this dealer. This guy," he pointed at the man on screen, "walked in and sold half of a gold brick. 80% market value, roughly 204 thousand dollars."

Nick Fury leaned forward, brow furrowed, "But he's not our guy?"

Clint sighed, "Here's the interesting part. I got to the gold-monger before any of the feds did. He described the man who sold the gold bar as an average-height, Caucasian guy. Nothing like the big guy from the Federal Reserve footage."

Fury's good eye narrowed, "What are you saying, Barton?"

"I'm saying the video time stamp matches our tall suspect, but the description doesn't."

Natasha quickly chimed in, her voice razor-sharp with intrigue, "Even with a photostatic veil, you can't change someone's height that drastically."

Agent Coulson nodded in agreement, "So, we're dealing with an enhanced individual. Someone who can not only change their appearance but also their physical build. Or at least, the perception of their appearance."

Nick Fury sat back, taking it all in, his fingers tapping the table thoughtfully. "I’m going to get some of the eggheads on this. See what we can learn.”

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

Nick Fury stood at the head of the conference room, its high-tech interior illuminating the new set of folders Fury had placed in front of his agents. "Our techies worked some magic and managed to piece together a clearer picture of our suspect."

He slid a picture across the table, revealing a young black man with a strong build. "This is Tyson Smith."

Natasha's eyes scanned the contents of her folder. "Currently living it up in the Empire Suite at the Four Seasons downtown," she commented dryly.

Clint looked up with an eyebrow raised, "Empire Suite? Swanky."

Fury nodded, "That's not all. Turns out Mr. Smith has enrolled in his senior year at the Midtown School of Science and Technology."

Agent Coulson jumped in, "So he's a student. That gives us something."

Clint was still stuck on the age detail, looking incredulously at the photo, "Hold on a second, he's still in high school?"

Fury’s stern face betrayed a hint of amusement. "He is, or will be, in a few weeks."

Natasha leaned forward, her mind racing ahead, "What's the play here? Do we pick him up?"

Fury's expression turned more contemplative, "No. Not yet. We know he's only pawned a small portion of that gold. But the gold's not our top concern anymore. The Feds are still scratching their heads, so we're going to drop the investigation, saying it's not our jurisdiction. Our priority lies here. Enhanced individuals like him are a rarity. And this one's just a kid. I want eyes on him to watch his movements."

Agent Coulson quirked an eyebrow, "Are you suggesting one of us goes undercover at a high school?"

Nick's smirk widened, "Exactly. And I might just have the perfect cover for one of you."

The room went silent for a moment, and Clint said with a smirk, "I can already see Coulson as the new principal."

Natasha rolled her eyes but grinned, "Only if you're the new wood shop teacher, Barton."

Fury chuckled, "We'll sort out the details. For now, let's keep our eyes on the prize and remember. This is a reconnaissance mission. No moves until I give the order."

The agents nodded in agreement, ready for their next mission... Even if it meant heading back to high school.

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

The heavy wooden doors of the Chikara Dojo creaked open, and Tyson stepped inside, pausing for a moment to observe. The focused faces of the children greeted him. Their forms were precise as they went through katas under the watchful eye of Colleen Wing. Tyson silently moved to a corner, waiting. After the class, the children dispersed, bowing to Colleen and bidding their farewells.

With the room now quiet, Colleen turned to Tyson, "Took you a few days. Thought I might not see you again."

He ran a hand through his hair, slightly embarrassed, "Got caught up with some... odd jobs to earn a few bucks."

Colleen's eyes scanned him briefly, landing on the space beside him. "Your companion, Illyana. She's not with you today?"

Tyson's gaze fell to the floor momentarily, sadness flickering in his eyes, "She left New York. I don't think she's coming back anytime soon. It's just me now."

A brief silence followed. Colleen then tilted her head, studying him, "Still interested in the intense program?"

"Yeah," Tyson nodded, "but I only have a few weeks before school starts."

Colleen crossed her arms, considering, "We could work hard for the rest of the summer, and lay a strong foundation. And once school's back, you could practice in the afternoons. I'll have other classes, but I can guide you with exercises and pointers. Think of it as a supervised, self-study."

Tyson looked hopeful, "Really? That would be great."

Colleen smiled, her eyes softened as she said, "This dojo is more than just a training center. It's a family. We look out for each other. And, Tyson, you're welcome to be a part of it."

He grinned, "Thanks, Colleen. Sensei?"

As the two discussed the plans for Tyson's training, Colleen cleared her throat, she began, "There's just the matter of payment. You mentioned picking up some odd jobs, but if the fee is too steep, we can work something out. Weekly installments or..."

Tyson waved his hand dismissively, cutting her off. "No need," he replied. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a thick wad of cash. With a smirk, he asked, "Is it cool if I pay for the first three months upfront?"

Colleen blinked in surprise, taking a moment to process what just happened. She hesitated for a brief moment, then nodded, stretching out her hand to accept the money. "Of course, that works," she replied, trying to keep her tone casual. However, as she looked at the notes in her hand, she couldn't help but wonder about the origin of this unexpected windfall. She eyed Tyson, a hint of suspicion in her gaze, "Doing odd jobs around town, huh? Must be some high-paying gigs."

Tyson nonchalantly replied, "Let's just say I've had a bit of good luck lately."

Although grateful for his contribution to the dojo, Colleen couldn't shake off the nagging feeling. She wondered if Tyson was involved in anything dangerous or illegal. But for now, she decided to let it slide and focus on his training.

Over a month, a montage of lessons played out…

…Tyson executed a series of kicks and punches. Under Colleen's watchful gaze, he practiced roundhouse kicks, jab-cross combos, and elbows, tirelessly working on his footwork and agility.

…When the time came for a more personalized session, Colleen sat cross-legged on the mat, looking at Tyson intently. "You've grasped the basics quickly," she began. "But martial arts is not just about movements. It's about the spirit, the intention behind every punch, every kick. What do you want to focus on?"

Tyson took a deep breath, understanding the gravity of her question. "I've always been strong," he began hesitantly, "but I prefer open-palm strikes." He shaped his hand into a claw and explained, "This... feels natural to me."

Colleen raised an eyebrow, confusion, replaced with suspicion, before giving way to consideration. "That's not a common choice. Most find it uncomfortable." She paused, observing Tyson’s hands closely. "But there's a style, a form of kung fu, called Fu Jow Pai. Tiger Style. Its techniques are inspired by the strikes of a tiger's claws."

Tyson’s eyes lit up. "That sounds perfect."

Colleen smirked, amused by his excitement. "It won't be easy. But if you're up for it, we can start today."

…Sessions became more intense. Tyson lunged at his imaginary opponent, fingers curled like a tiger's claws, aiming for the opponent’s throat or face. He learned to combine swift footwork with devastating claw-like strikes. The power he felt, the alignment of his unique style with this ancient martial form, was invigorating.

…Colleen introduced weapons into his training. First, the staff. She demonstrated a few moves, twirling it with an ease that left Tyson awestruck. When Tyson attempted, his movements were awkward and clumsy. But with every wrong move, Colleen was there, guiding, correcting, and encouraging him.

…Colleen explained the art of 'Iaido'. The way of the sword. She demonstrated how to draw, strike, and sheath the sword with swiftness and precision. Tyson watched, absorbing every detail, and when he got his turn, he managed a few strikes, mimicking Colleen’s movements. As they practiced, Colleen paused and looked at Tyson. "You've come far, but remember, a weapon is only as good as the person wielding it. Respect it, understand it, and it'll never fail you."

The days flew by, with Tyson’s skills becoming more refined. Colleen often sparred with him, pushing him to his limits, and making him adapt and think on his feet. The month of intense training ended with Tyson, standing at the center of the dojo, executing a series of Tiger Claw strikes with utmost precision.

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

Tyson opened the door to the Empire Suite after another intense training day, anticipating a warm shower. As he stepped in, a rich and inviting smell tickled his nostrils, causing his mouth to water. But what caught him off guard was a familiar scent, nearly masked by the food.

He walked further in, and there she was. Illyana sat on the lavish couch in the common area, a smile adorning her face. The table in front of her was a delightful sight, covered in dishes he didn’t recognize but felt an instant craving for. Discarded bags lay haphazardly across the kitchen counter.

"I hope you’re hungry," Illyana teased with a playful lilt in her voice, her accent as captivating as he remembered. "I brought all this from Nepal."

"You know I am," Tyson responded with a grin. He moved towards her, wrapping her in a warm embrace. Their lips met briefly in a sweet reunion after weeks apart. He’d been doing some light meditation during his training. But it hadn’t helped to rein in his power in the slightest. So he quickly pulled back.

Tyson's eyes took in the spread. There were savory dumplings, spicy curries, and a steaming pot that smelled of rich broth and fresh herbs.

"You didn’t have to go through all this trouble," Tyson remarked.

Illyana shrugged, "I wanted to. Plus, I thought you might need some comfort food before heading back to school."

Tyson groaned at the mention of school. "Don’t remind me. From training all day to sitting in a classroom."

"But think about it," she countered, "only a year, and then you're free."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. She didn’t know it would be closer to two years before the Ancient One would accept him as a student. And didn’t know how to explain it to her.

As the rich aroma of the Nepalese dishes filled the room, Tyson and Illyana settled comfortably opposite each other. Tyson eagerly picked up a dumpling, taking a savory bite. "This is amazing," he praised, mouth full.

Illyana chuckled. "Wait until you try the curry."

"I've missed you," Tyson admitted, his tone slightly melancholic.

Illyana reached across the table, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "I missed you too," she whispered, her blue eyes softening. "Tell me about your training with Colleen."

With an enthusiastic nod, Tyson began recounting his experiences at Chikara Dojo. "Colleen is patient. We worked on some basics first, but then I told her about my... preference." He wiggled his fingers, indicating his claw-like strikes.

Illyana raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And?"

"She introduced me to Tiger style. It’s perfect for my claws." Tyson demonstrated a few moves, looking quite pleased. "Plus, she also taught me to use various weapons. There's so much to learn, but I feel far more confident."

Illyana grinned, "Sounds intense. Let me tell you about Kamar Taj."

Tyson leaned forward, eager to hear her tales. With a dramatic sigh, Illyana began, "First, the altitude. It took me days to adjust." She made a face, clearly not having enjoyed that part.

Tyson chuckled, imagining Illyana huffing and puffing in the Himalayas.

"But once you get past that, it’s... magical, literally." Her face lit up with excitement. "The way they manipulate energy, creating spellforms, it's unlike anything I've ever seen."

His curiosity piqued, Tyson asked, "Did you learn any... cool tricks?" Illyana picked at her food, her brow furrowing in what seemed like frustration. Tyson took note of the sudden shift in her mood. "Hey, what's on your mind?" he asked, concerned.

With a deep sigh, Illyana looked up. Her usually fierce blue eyes held a hint of vulnerability. "It's just... you’ve progressed so much in your training, and here I am, struggling with the basics."

Tyson leaned forward, trying to gauge her emotions. "What do you mean?"

She scoffed, "I see other initiates opening portals left and right. And me? I've managed some flashy sparks, but that's it." She looked genuinely frustrated, a side of Illyana Tyson hadn’t seen before. "And spells?" she continued, "Don’t even get me started. I can punch, kick, and grapple with the others, but magic? It feels like I'm hitting a wall."

Tyson reached out, taking her hand gently. "Hey, everyone has their own pace. Just because you're finding it challenging now doesn't mean you won't master it later."

Illyana's gaze hardened, her pride evident. "I'm not used to being... mediocre," she admitted begrudgingly.

Tyson smiled softly. "You know, Colleen says that true mastery isn't about getting it right the first time, or even the tenth. It’s about perseverance. It's about rising every time you fall."

Illyana rolled her eyes, though a tiny smile tugged at her lips. They shared a moment of understanding. Illyana's expression softened. "It's just... frustrating, you know? I want to be the best. But I guess I need to learn patience."

He chuckled, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "I have no doubt you’re going to be a powerful sorceress. They were calling you Magik before you even knew magic was real."

The atmosphere in the room became heavy with anticipation, as Tyson hesitated. Finally, he took a deep breath and asked, "So, you're going to stay at Kamar Taj?"

Illyana looked deep into his eyes, her voice softer than usual, "Yes," she nodded, "I feel like I belong there. I've missed you so much, Ty, more than words can describe. But training there, feeling the magic in the air, it's like finding a missing piece of me. It's something I need."

Tyson took a moment to digest this. He knew how important this was for her, but their separation was tough on him too. "Illyana, this past month..." he began, choosing his words carefully, "it felt both long and short. Days flew by, but every moment felt... incomplete without you. I felt... hollow."

A hint of vulnerability peeked on Illyana’s face. "I felt the same way. But we both know, we're on separate journeys right now. Journeys that'll pay off in the end."

He sighed. "I know. And I want you to learn, to become powerful enough to cleanse Limbo. But it doesn't make missing you any less difficult."

She moved closer to him, "We're a team, and we always will be. Distance can't change that." Drawing close, Illyana gently cupped Tyson's face, her fingers cool against his heated skin. Her thumb slowly traced the line of his cheekbone. Pulling away before the drain became too much, she looked deep into his eyes. "A year, Tyson," she began softly, "It's going to be a long time. But you need it. You need to go to school, experience some sense of normalcy, have fun... be happy."

Tyson shrugged, discomfort wrinkling his brow. "I don't know about all that. I'm not exactly... typical high school material, Illyana. Normal isn't exactly in the cards for me."

"Oh, come on," she rolled her eyes, her voice taking on a challenging edge. "After all the hell you've been through? This should be a cakewalk. Think about it." she said, flicking her hand at him, "You in high school. Making friends, going to lame parties, and oh" she feigned a gasp, "Maybe getting a girlfriend?"

He blinked, taken aback, his mouth opening and closing as he processed her words. "A girlfriend? Aren't you... I mean... aren't we..." He stumbled over the words, his certainty waning under her intense, playful gaze.

"Of course, we're something," Illyana said with a shrug, but her voice had an undercurrent of something deeper. "It's just a year, Tyson. Besides, with your... condition," she continued, circling her finger in the air vaguely towards him, "it's not like you can get super close to anyone else, right? So, what's the harm?"

Tyson frowned, "It feels wrong," he admitted, his voice a low rumble. "And you're not just 'something' to me, Illyana. You know that."

"I know. And you're not just something to me either. But we're not normal, are we? We don't get the luxury of simple. We're always in the middle of some storm." Her eyes, usually so fierce, held a hint of melancholy. "You need to grab every experience you can. Because who knows what tomorrow holds?"

"Is it selfish to not want to let you go?" Tyson questioned, his voice low, almost a growl.

Illyana's tough facade was crumbling. "I don't want to hold you back. think about it. A high school sweetheart, the drama, the excitement. It's a rite of passage, no? I won't lose you to some cheerleader. And who knows, it might be fun to hear stories about you fumbling through flirting."

A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "You think I'd be bad at it?"

"I know you'll be adorable trying," she quipped back, the fire returning to her eyes. "So, promise me you'll give it a shot? Live a little, for both of us? Since you didn’t get to at the institute."

Tyson's gaze held hers, reading the earnest plea in her eyes. This was her way of caring, he realized, her way of ensuring he didn't miss out on life, even if she couldn't be as much a part of it as they both wanted.

"Okay," he capitulated, "I'll try.."

Illyana's smirk returned, full force. "That's the spirit," she said with a wink. She pulled out the small enchanted item the Ancient One had given her. The artifact that would allow them to touch, even if just for twenty minutes. She held it up between them, watching his reaction.

"I mean," she began with a teasing tone, voice dripping with sultry suggestion, "I'm the only one who can really... enjoy you." She paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully, though the mischief in her eyes betrayed her mock seriousness. "So, the question is, should we use this now or save it for later?"

The room's air grew thick with tension, a charged expectancy that buzzed between them. Illyana's eyes were intense, the teasing quality never fully leaving them. "Just because we're going to be apart doesn't mean I'm willing to risk some high school girl swooping in and stealing what's mine," she declared, her tone possessive yet playful.

Tyson's throat felt dry, his heart thundering against his ribs. "Yours?" he managed, the word barely a whisper.

She confirmed with a nod, leaning in so close he could feel the warmth radiating from her. "That innocence? It belongs to me. Imagine," she continued, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "if you finally learn to control this power of yours while I'm away..." Her gaze flitted to his lips, then back to meet his eyes. "I'd have missed my chance to... spoil you for any other girl."

"You've already corrupted me, remember?" he tried to joke, though his voice was tinged with longing. "Thanks to my illusions." Tyson swallowed hard, the memory of the night they'd shared flashing in his mind.

Illyana scoffed lightly, waving a hand dismissively. "Illusions," she echoed with a roll of her eyes. "They're fun, satisfying, and it feels so real that I can't tell the difference… but it's not real." Her hand reached up, hovering mere inches from his face, the desire to touch mirrored in both their expressions. "Nothing can replace the real thing. To actual touch. To true intimacy."

The words hung heavy between them. Tyson was the first to break the silence, "So, what are you suggesting?"

Her smile was all victory and temptation, eyes alight with triumph. "I suggest we make some real memories, ones that'll have to last us both for a whole year." Tyson's breath caught in his chest, the reality of what she was offering dawning on him. "And when we're aching from the absence," she continued, "we'll have this moment to hold onto."

He nodded, the action bringing his face dangerously close to hers, their breaths mingling. "Okay," he breathed out.

Illyana's smirk softened into something tender, perhaps vulnerable, an expression reserved only for him. "Okay," she echoed. "But, since we only have twenty minutes, we should probably start with...illusions."

Tyson reached for her, his thumb tracing the high arc of her cheekbone, marveling at the surreal reality his powers created. Drawing her closer, their lips met in a kiss that spoke of starved longing and tender affection. To Illyana, it felt so real, so vivid, but she knew it was his power. There was no drain, no ebbing of her life force.

Their kiss deepened, and the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in a universe of Tyson's creation. Hands explored her body, rekindling the flames between them. It was sighs and soft laughter, a narrative told in the silent language of yearning looks and urgent caresses. Somehow, they found themselves moving, drawn toward the bedroom. Clothes became a forgotten casualty along the way, discarded haphazardly.

In the soft light of the bedroom, the ethereal glow of her skin contrasted artfully against his duskier tones. Her platinum locks were a wild cascade around a face flushed with need. His features had sharpened with desire yet were softened by affection.

It was a sight, a moment, they both wanted to sear into their memories, to carry with them through the lonely nights ahead.

With a breath that trembled, Illyana reached for the artifact that had been resting on the bedside table. It hummed with magic as she clasped it around her neck, the metal felt cool against the heat of her skin.

Tyson took the place previously occupied by his illusion. The warmth of her skin was real under his hands now. The weight of his touch was no longer an illusion but tangible, real. They gasped at the actual, physical contact they'd been denied for so long.

The connection they shared in those moments was transcendent. It was tender yet passionate, an expression of love and longing too powerful for mere words. Their world narrowed down to the sound of shared breaths, the patter of skin against skin, and the quiet declarations spilled in the space between kisses. Time was their enemy, but became irrelevant, existing only in the beats of their joined hearts. And when the climax came, it was with a shared sense of wonder, a realization that what they had was worth every second of waiting, every moment of yearning.

They collapsed together in a tangle of limbs and satisfied laughter. The artifact's glow dimmed as the spell wound down. But the memory of their shared experience, burned all the brighter for it.

In the afterglow, they lay together, but apart, the artifact silent around Illyana's neck. They didn't need words; their shared glances spoke volumes, promises, and reassurances exchanged without a sound.

They'd face tomorrow when it came, with its uncertainties and challenges. But for now, in this quiet moment, they were simply Tyson and Illyana, together.

And that was enough.