I'm having a blast in Marvel!

Page 51

Chapter 61 Filling one's stomach is the first priority

The icy seawater felt like countless tiny knives, scraping against Chu Hang's skin again and again.

He lay silently on the wet sand, his body as heavy as trash carelessly tossed aside by the waves. The night wind swept mercilessly past, taking away the last trace of warmth from his body and sending a chill down his spine. Exhaustion, like a bone-deep wound, spread from every cell deep within his body, so heavy that even moving a finger felt like a luxury.

But he is still alive.

that's enough.

Inside his body, a silent repair process was underway. The healing factor copied from Logan, like a swarm of tireless worker ants, slowly but steadily mended his nearly broken body. Meanwhile, the super-soldier serum, like a loyal engine, relentlessly squeezed the last remaining food scraps from his body, converting them into negligible energy to barely maintain a sliver of body temperature and resist the corrosive effects of the seawater. As for the newly acquired, vast cosmic energy, it remained like a supreme deity, peacefully slumbering deep within him, indifferent to the host's life-or-death predicament.

Chu Hang lay there, motionless. Time seemed to lose its meaning; perhaps ten minutes had passed, or perhaps longer. He greedily savored this moment of tranquility after surviving the ordeal, letting his body's instincts guide him, carrying out the most primal self-repair.

Only when the icy chill, as if he could shatter at any moment, gradually subsided, replaced by a stiff, frozen feeling, did he finally muster a bit of strength. He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows and sat up with difficulty on the soft sand.

He raised his head and looked around.

This is a typical California beach. In the distance, the city lights outline a blurry yet dazzling silhouette against the deep night, like a distant and ethereal sea of ​​stars. As the view draws closer, a few beachfront villas with private docks are sparsely lit, exuding an indescribable solitude in the boundless darkness.

Chu Hang lowered his head, scrutinizing himself. His tattered white prison uniform, soaked with seawater and some unknown filth, clung stickily to his body, emitting a nauseating, sour stench. This appearance, even if he were thrown back into the 21st century, let alone in 1995, would be enough to make any passerby frantically pull out their phone and dial the police within three seconds.

Something has to be done.

The first task is to change out of this conspicuous outfit and then find some food to fill the already empty stomach.

Man is made of iron, food is made of steel; you'll get hungry if you skip a meal. This simple and brutal truth applies equally well, whether in the trenches amidst the gunfire of World War II or in the decadent California of the 1990s. As for how to survive in this era that is both familiar and strange, and how to use those world-leading memories in one's mind to make one's first fortune, those are things to worry about after the problem of basic needs are solved.

He staggered to his feet, looking like a homeless man who had been drinking all night, and trudged away from the cold beach, heading towards the distant city lights. Instead of choosing the wide, flat road, he instinctively ducked into the shadows of the roadside trees and buildings, like a frightened wild animal, carefully avoiding any possible vehicles or pedestrians.

His condition is extremely poor. Although his healing factor is still working, severe energy depletion has left him extremely weak, and any unnecessary attention could lead to fatal trouble.

After wandering in the darkness for about half an hour, he finally reached the edge of the city. It was more like a chaotic, disorderly suburb, with low, dilapidated houses crammed together, narrow, haphazard streets, and walls covered in colorful, meaningless graffiti. The air was thick with a nauseating mixture of the sour stench of rotting garbage and the cloying sweet smell of burning cheap marijuana.

Just as he turned into a dimly lit, narrow alley, he suddenly stopped.

Enhanced by the Super Soldier Serum, his hearing keenly picked up the sounds coming from around the corner ahead—a suppressed argument, rude curses, and a woman's tearful pleas.

"Give me all the money! Hurry up, you bitch!" A hoarse, rude male voice broke the silence.

"Please, please, let me go... I really have no money left..." A woman's voice trembled, filled with despair.

"Enough talk! Search her!" another voice commanded menacingly.

Chu Hang's face remained expressionless. He wasn't some superhero overflowing with a sense of justice, especially when he was on the verge of starvation. His first instinct was to avoid this trouble; it was better to do less than more. In this unfamiliar world, survival was the first rule.

However, just as he was about to quietly retreat and find another way, a crisp and loud slap came from the depths of the alley, followed by a woman's even more shrill cries.

The sound pierced his eardrums.

Chu Hang frowned and stopped retreating. He leaned against the cold, rough wall, closed his eyes, and although he couldn't mobilize the dormant cosmic energy, his innate energy perception quietly began to unfold.

In an instant, a three-dimensional "map" took shape in his mind. Deep in the alley, the outlines of three "humanoid" figures emitting faint energy points were clearly visible, their energy fluctuations filled with violence, greed, and chaos. And within their embrace, there was an even fainter, almost extinguished point of light, its radiance emanating pure fear and despair.

Three street thugs rob a woman who is getting off work late at night. A clichéd script that plays out every day in countless corners of this city.

Chu Hang slowly opened his eyes, his gaze devoid of any hesitation, replaced by a cold decisiveness. He wasn't suddenly overcome with kindness and wanting to do something chivalrous. He simply realized in that instant that the trouble before him was precisely the best shortcut to resolving all his current predicaments.

He needed clothes, money, and a hot meal. And the three people in front of him seemed like "kind people" who could "generously" provide him with all of these things.

Without further hesitation, he strode into the depths of the alley. His steps were incredibly light, landing silently, like a cheetah lurking in the night, ready to pounce.

At the end of the alley, three young men dressed in baggy T-shirts and baggy pants, with thick metal chains around their necks, were cornering a woman in a restaurant waitress uniform against a wall. One of them, with dyed blond hair, was roughly tearing at the woman's handbag, while another, a burly Black man, grinned lewdly and reached out his dirty hand to touch the woman's face. A tall, thin man leaned casually against the opposite wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips, watching his companion's depravity with amusement.

Lost in their own atrocities, no one noticed that a ghostly figure had silently appeared behind them.

The tall, thin man with a cigarette in his mouth was the first to notice something was wrong. He felt as if a shadow had suddenly appeared behind him, and a bone-chilling coldness shot up his spine without warning.

He turned his head sharply.

In his field of vision was a blank face and a fist that was rapidly enlarging in his pupils.

A dull, muffled sound, like a heavy hammer smashing a watermelon.

The tall, thin man couldn't even utter a groan before collapsing to the ground like a limp lump of mud. His nose was sunken at an eerie angle, and blood mixed with white brain matter slowly flowed from his nostrils and ears.

Chu Hang didn't even glance at him. The instant his fist struck its target, his body, like a taut and released bowstring, abruptly turned towards the burly black man.

The burly black man heard a strange noise behind him. He had just turned halfway around and hadn't even seen what was happening when he felt an irresistible, terrifying force kick him hard on the outside of his knee.

The crisp sound of bones breaking was particularly jarring in the deathly quiet alley.

"what--!"

The burly black man let out a bloodcurdling scream, clutching his leg twisted at a ninety-degree angle, and collapsed to the ground. The excruciating pain instantly rendered him incapable of resisting.

Now, only the blond-haired guy still rummaging through his bag remained. The sudden, bloody turn of events terrified him, and his bag fell to the ground with a thud. He stared in horror at Chu Hang, who appeared like a demon descending from heaven, his lips trembling violently, but he couldn't utter a single word.

Chu Hang walked towards him step by step, unhurriedly, each step feeling like stepping on Huang Mao's heart.

"You...you stay away! Do you know who I am?" the blond-haired man screamed, his voice trembling as he pulled a switchblade from his pocket and waved it wildly in front of him, trying to bolster his courage.

A hint of undisguised impatience flashed in Chu Hang's eyes. He didn't even bother to dodge; just as the knife was about to pierce his chest, he struck with lightning speed, precisely grabbing the wrist of the blond-haired man holding the knife.

Huang Mao felt as if his wrist was being tightly clamped by a red-hot iron clamp, and the excruciating pain instantly spread throughout his body, causing him to scream in agony.

Chu Hang remained expressionless, only slightly tightening his wrist.

With a soft crack, the blond-haired man's wrist was effortlessly crushed. The switchblade fell to the ground with a crisp clink on the concrete.

"Ahhh! My hand!" The blond-haired man rolled on the ground in pain, howling incessantly.

Chu Hang ignored him. He bent down and deftly pulled off the relatively clean black jacket and jeans from the unconscious, tall, thin man. Then, he pulled a crumpled, sweaty roll of banknotes from the pocket of the burly black man clutching his broken leg and screaming in agony.

He quickly counted: one hundred and twenty-seven dollars.

Not much, but enough.

Throughout the entire process, the robbed waitress remained huddled in the corner, watching Chu Hang's every move with the terrified look of someone eyeing a monster.

Chu Hang quickly put on his jacket and jeans. Although they didn't fit perfectly, they were a thousand times better than that conspicuous prison uniform. He casually stuffed the money into his pocket and then walked up to the trembling woman.

The woman trembled with fear, closed her eyes in despair, and thought she was doomed.

However, the expected assault did not occur. Chu Hang simply bent down, picked up her handbag that had fallen to the ground, and gently placed it in front of her.

Without saying a word, he turned and disappeared into the darkness deeper into the alley.

From the moment he appeared until he left, he didn't utter a single word.

Emerging from the alley and returning to the dimly lit streets, Chu Hang felt as if he had finally come back to life. He had normal clothes on and money in his pockets, not much, but the down-to-earth feeling finally allowed his long-tense nerves to relax.

He found a 24-hour convenience store on the street.

"A hot dog, a Coke, and today's newspaper," he said to the drowsy clerk behind the counter in somewhat broken, slightly rusty English.

Soon, he was sitting on the cold steps outside the convenience store, wolfing down his first hot meal of his life in this era. The hot dog sauce tasted cheap, and the bun wasn't soft enough, but for someone who had been physically and mentally "starved" for nearly fifty years, it was an unparalleled delicacy. The cold cola slid down his throat, the bubbly sweetness shooting straight to the top of his head, making him let out a long, comfortable sigh.

After finishing his meal, he unfolded the newspaper, which still smelled of ink.

The front-page headline was an in-depth analysis of the situation in the Middle East, which he had no interest in. He flipped directly to the margins of the newspaper and found today's date.

1995, April 5.

It was close to the time he had anticipated.

His gaze swept quickly across the newspaper, searching for names that were both familiar and unfamiliar. Microsoft, Apple, Netscape… these names, representing a wave of an era and poised to shake up the global landscape, appeared quietly before him. He soon noticed a small, inconspicuous news item tucked away in a corner, reporting on a small internet company called Yahoo! that had just secured a new round of funding and was actively preparing for its initial public offering next year.

A meaningful smile slowly crept onto Chu Hang's lips.

He knew where his first pot of gold had come from.

The night wind was still icy cold, but a raging fire burned in his heart. The crisis of survival had been temporarily averted; now it was time for this old relic, who had been dormant for half a century, to ask this new world, full of opportunities, for what was rightfully his.

He downed the remaining half-bottle of cola in one gulp, carefully folded the priceless newspaper, stuffed it into his pocket, then stood up, straightened his back, and disappeared into the deepest darkness before dawn.

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Chapter 62 The First Pot of Gold in the 90s

But Chu Hang felt no fatigue whatsoever. As the first rays of dawn pierced the darkness, casting a hazy golden glow on the sleeping city, he stood in a cheap motel room, looking in the mirror and examining a completely new version of himself.

The hot shower not only washed away all the grime and the nauseating smell of the sewer pipes, but also seemed to wash away the coldness and numbness that had lingered for nearly fifty years. A cheap razor bought from the corner convenience store shaved off the stubble on his face, revealing a sharply defined face. This face was strange; it retained the delicate features of his previous life as a corporate slave, yet the gunfire of World War II and the slumber of glaciers had ruthlessly etched upon it a vicissitude and hardness far beyond his years.

The man in the mirror had black hair and black eyes, his gaze as calm as a bottomless ancient well, undisturbed. He wore a black jacket and jeans that he had taken from a street thug; they were slightly oversized, but on his almost perfect clothes hanger-like figure, reshaped by the super-soldier serum, they gave him a somewhat unruly and casual look.

He was no longer the veteran sleeping in the glacier, nor the office worker who died suddenly in the office. He was Chu Hang, a ghost living in 1995, a penniless pauper with a treasure trove of wealth.

He pulled the crumpled bills from his pocket, spread them out on the bed, and counted them carefully. After deducting the motel room fee and the cost of the ravenous meal he'd wolfed down the night before, he had one hundred and three dollars left.

One hundred and three dollars.

Chu Hang looked at the small amount of money and laughed self-deprecatingly. What could he do with so little? Forget investing in Yahoo stock in Silicon Valley, it wasn't even enough to buy a computer with internet access. In this era, he had no identity, no bank account, and no start-up capital. His business plans, decades ahead of their time, were like treasure maps printed on waste paper—worthless, a complete joke.

He needs money, a lot of money.

What's the fastest way to make money?

Countless thoughts flashed through Chu Hang's mind. Robbing a bank? The risk was too great, and the commotion too loud. What he needed most right now was to keep a low profile and blend into the world like a ghost. Becoming a mercenary? He was quite adept at that, but he couldn't find a reliable way in the short term, and he didn't want to expose himself to any organization too early.

His gaze finally settled on his own hands, long and strong with distinct knuckles. These hands, enhanced by the Super Soldier Serum, possessed strength, speed, and reflexes far exceeding those of ordinary people. His brain, in particular, was a humanoid supercomputer, its processing speed and memory reaching a terrifying level.

So, it seems there's only one answer left.

For ordinary people, casinos are bottomless pits that devour wealth and life. But for him at this moment, it was simply an ATM with its vault doors wide open, just waiting for him to withdraw his money.

He carefully folded the precious newspaper again, placed it close to his body in the inside pocket of his jacket, and then pushed open the door and walked out of the hotel.

During the day, he didn't rush into anything. He spent a few dollars on lunch at a roadside fast-food restaurant, then wandered aimlessly through the streets like a true tourist. As he walked, he greedily observed this familiar yet strange world, cramming every useful piece of information into his mind. The car brands on the street, the prices in shop windows, the clothing of pedestrians… everything helped him quickly fill the cognitive gap of fifty years, transforming him from a living fossil of an era back into a modern man.

Night falls again.

Chu Hang walked into a neighborhood bar on the outskirts of the city, a melting pot of all sorts of people. As soon as he pushed open the door, he was hit by dim lighting, deafening heavy metal music, and the murky stench of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and hormones. On the dance floor, people were wildly twisting their bodies, releasing the pent-up frustrations of the day.

Chu Hang walked straight to the bar and ordered the cheapest beer.

"Hey, buddy," he nudged a fat white man next to him who was drinking alone in silence, and asked in a low voice, "Want to make some extra cash?"

The fat man glanced at him bleary-eyed and waved his hand dismissively: "Get lost, kid, I'm not in the mood."

Chu Hang wasn't angry. He quietly pushed a twenty-dollar bill next to the fat man's glass. The green Franklin wine looked especially tempting in the dim light.

The fat man's eyes lit up instantly. Without making a sound, he covered the banknote with his large palm, quickly stuffing it into his pocket as if by magic, then glanced around warily before leaning closer: "What do you want to know?"

"Where around here can I play cards?" Chu Hang asked, "The kind where the stakes are high."