Chapter One
Ace hated the summer. Granted, he also hated winter and fall and spring. He hated the outdoors, and he hated the indoors. He hated people, and he hated being alone, although he preferred his own company, solitary as it might be, to anyone else's.
But most of all, right now, he hated the summer. It was too hot and too sunny. Even the shade, where he was sitting right now, was practically cooking him. He had lost his jacket a few days ago, it had probably been stolen. He didn't care, seeing as how he'd stolen it first.
In fact, everything he was wearing was stolen, from his ratty converse to his bleached jeans worn through the knees to his old, thin, Nirvana t-shirt. The only thing he had that was undeniably his, was the necklace he wore.
His dad had given it to him when he turned six, ten years ago. It was a plain silver chain, and shaped a little like a double-helix. Ace wore it around his neck because that was the only place he knew people wouldn't steal it from.
The heat was making him tired. He was sitting against an old building, he wasn't even sure what it was, in downtown Brooklyn. One of his legs was stretched out in front of him, the other bent up at the knee. He was waiting.
He had seen someone enter the building across from him, a tall, gothic-looking museum-churchy place. They had been wearing a fancy suit and Ace had caught the glint of a gold watch on their wrist. They had been dropped off by a limo.
He was waiting for them to come back out so he could rob them dry. Because Ace was a pick-pocket. A thief, a scoundrel, a street-rat, a hooligan. He had heard them all, and he didn't care. He had been living on the streets of New York for ten years. He had learned young that the only way to survive was to steal.
He had become pretty good at it, too. If only it wasn't so damn hot outside. Winter was worse, though, he admonished himself. Winter was when the shelters would come in handy. But he didn't like those places. They had called Child Protective Services on him once, and Ace had spent a total of four months in an absolute hellhole of a 'home' before he high-tailed it back to the streets.
Now, he was usually able to rough it on his own, sometimes sneaking into apartments or hotels for the really cold nights. Summer was a bit of a blessing in disguise, really, because he didn't have to worry about freezing to death at least.
Across the street from him, the man in the fancy suit stepped out of the building, looking around for his ride, before huffing and pulling out a phone. Ace stood, stretched, and crossed the street.
He started jogging towards the man, crashing straight into him, knocking them both to the ground. The man grunted in surprise as Ace landed nearly on top of him.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, sir, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going–" Ace started rambling as he helped the man to his feet, one hand covering that expensive gold watch of his as his fingers undid the clasp and a second later, the timepiece was safely hidden in Ace's pocket.
"No, no, it's alright," the man said distractedly, brushing off his jacket. "No harm done." He opened his mouth to say something else, when Ace pretended to wave at someone over the man's shoulder.
"Yeah, I'm coming," He called to no one, before turning back to the now watch-less man. "Hey, I'm really sorry about that, but I gotta go, my friends are waiting." He smiled before jogging down the street. Once he was out of sight, he pulled the watch from his pocket and examined it. If he had to guess, he'd say it was made up of mostly steel and gold, probably some silver. He could sell it for a good price.
He knew quite a few pawn shops around the city that didn't ask questions as long as what you had to sell was pretty enough.
When the sun began to set, Ace made his way to one such shop, a little place on a street corner, squashed against a laundromat. It was called 'Another Man's Treasure', which Ace thought was stupid, but accurate because they mostly sold trash.
He knew the owner a little, an ex-marine, dishonourably discharged for trying to sell drugs to the other soldiers. He was a big man, a little past his prime and usually unpleasant. He drove a hard bargain, but Ace knew he would never get his grubby hands on another Rolex like the one currently in his pocket.
The shop was empty when he pushed the door open, and the smell of must and beer was heavy. "Look, kid, I don't want whatever you've stolen this time. The Fuzz came around after you tried to sell me that ring. Thank the Lord I didn't have it or I'd be back in the slammer."
Ace smirked. "Nice to see you too, Beez. And don't give me that crap, we both know I'm why you can pay your power bills." He sauntered up to the counter, where Beez was slumped, swirling a half-empty beer bottle in his hand. He eyed Ace.
"Yeah? Well maybe I ought to invest in some candles. You never bring anything but trouble. I shoulda called CPS on you a long time ago–"
"Been there, done that. If I have to go through another fucking foster home I'm gonna murder someone." Ace slapped down the watch on the counter top, and Beez's eyes were immediately glued to it. He stared for a few seconds, and then turned away.
"I don't want it, don't need some big-shot corporate guy knocking my door down 'cause some punk stole his f-fancy watch." He stuttered over the words, eyes drifting back to the gold piece.
Ace smiled.
In the end, all it took was threatening to sell to one of his competitors for Beez to give in, buying the watch and the handful of other trinkets Ace had accumulated over the day, and Ace left with a wad of cash tucked safely into his shoe.
He was headed to his 'home', a little camp he had under the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn bridge. He had lived in Manhattan when he was a kid, and the sense of safety just never really left.
It was already dark out, the sun nearly set, and he had aways to go before he would get to his 'home'. He stopped for a sandwich on the way, making a detour to Delmars. He had the best sandwiches in Queens, and by far the best Ace had ever had.
He ate in Delmar's, chatting with the man himself, because he knew several people that were not above mugging a teenager for a good sandwich. It was even darker when he left for the bridge, but Ace wasn't afraid of the dark.
He was afraid of what the dark might hide.
The next morning, he awoke as the sun was rising, the day just as hot as the one before, and his little green tent was already feeling too stuffy. He changed into a clean shirt (stolen, of course. How lucky for him that people still liked to use clotheslines) and set his sights for the day's earnings on the western side of mid-Manhattan, opting to stay within his own territory today.
He had a bad feeling, and didn't want to stray too far from his own little safe spot in case something did go down and he needed to pick up and leave. So far, he'd been lucky, and hadn't had to relocate for a few years. But if there was one thing he learned, it was that there was no such thing as being too careful.
By the time he reached his destination, the sun was fully up and the streets were beginning to fill with early joggers, and people headed to and from work. He could see the Avengers Tower in the distance, not too far away, looming over the city like an overbearing sentry.
Ace had never cared much for the Avengers. Sure, they had saved the city from aliens, and they had stopped Ultron, but they had also created those problems. They never took time out of their busy lives saving the world to look a little closer, to see the little people that needed help, the people like Ace who might still have a family if the so-called superheroes had paid enough attention to the people they 'protected'.
Ace sighed, planting himself on a bench not too far from Times Square, waiting for the right person to walk by. He eyed up several people who looked about right, dressed in the expensive brands, or walking with their heads bent over phones, but he didn't make a move just yet.
He was waiting for the optimal moment, because there was always one. He noticed a man walking hurriedly. He was dressed in a casual suit, but fancy enough to look like he knew his way around a bank. He was talking on the phone with someone, and looked frustrated.
Ace picked himself up off the bench, and made his way towards the man, picking his pace up to a run. When he drew close enough, he turned his head, craning his neck to see the clock in Times Square, like he was running late for something.
He crashed straight into the man, sending himself tumbling to the ground, scraping his chin on the rough pavement of the sidewalk. The man stumbled back, dropping his phone, swearing angrily. "I don't have time for this," he muttered.
"Oh my God, sir, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to- I didn't see you! Have you seen a black dog? I'm supposed to be waking him for the owners, but he got away–"
The man huffed, reaching down and pulling Ace up by his elbow, swiping his phone off the ground in the process. Ace dipped his hand into the man's pocket and swiftly lifted his wallet out, stuffing it in his own pocket.
"I haven't seen your dog, kid. Now get lost, I'm in a hurry." Ace apologised once more as he hurried past, still running. Once he got a safe distance away, he slowed to a stop, pulling the black leather wallet out of his pocket. There was a decent amount of cash, some gift cards he could definitely use, a couple credit cards he could get a few uses out of probably, and a driver's licence.
"Huh," he murmured. "Harold Hogan. Sounds like a nice guy." He stuffed the wallet away and wandered back to the Square. When the sky was at its peak, he stopped at a fast-food place to eat, spending some of Hogan's cash to get a cheap burger.
Ace went back outside to eat, sitting on another bench. The streets were busy now, too many people around for Ace to feel like he could lift another wallet or bracelet and get away with it. So he sat calmly, the steel 'A' glinting in the distance.
He tipped his head back, huffing as sweat dripped down his spine. God, he hated summer. The bench creaked as someone sat down beside him, and tried to ignore whoever it was that was sitting too close. God, he hated people.
Whoever it was leaned over, placing a hand on Ace's shoulder, gripping him tightly. Ace tried to jerk away, but the person's grip tightened, their hand now circling his bicep. Ace finally looked over.
The man was middle-aged, probably forties, and had definitely seen better days. His hair was black streaked with grey, and straggeled down to his shoulders. His face was smeared with dirt and he stank of alcohol. He was gripping something inside his jacket, and it wasn't hard to guess, by the crazy look in his eyes, that it was some sort of weapon.
He leaned close to Ace's ear and said "I gotta knife on you kid. I seen you around today, you don't got no one here to save you. You're gonna come with me and you're gonna do what I say or I'm gonna shove my blade between your ribs and let you bleed out."
Ace swallowed. He had enough street smarts to know he about a fifty-fifty chance of survival, less if the stench of beer was as fresh as he thought it might be. But the longer he lasted, the better chance of survival he had, and the higher chance that he could be saved. Ace nodded his head minutely, and the man grinned, revealing blackening teeth.
They walked, the man still gripping Ace's arm, to a small-fry news station, six blocks down- closer to the Avengers Tower than Ace had ever been in his life- about three stories high, with brick sides and big windows. The man pushed the door open, shifting his grip so he was holding Ace against him with an arm across his collarbone, revealing his hidden knife and jamming it against Ace's throat.
"Listen up!" He shouted to the room. "I want one of you to record a message to send to the Avengers." He spit the name with so much venom, one lady flinched, several people rushing to pull out their phones or, in the case of one guy, a hand-held camera, recording the man as he spoke.
Despite the serrated metal at his neck, Ace wasn't really scared. He'd been scared before, had seen much worse things than this, lived through much worse things, and he knew that sooner or later, something would happen, and he would be given the perfect moment to escape.
The two of them ended up on the roof of the building, the man still holding his knife to Ace's throat tightly. The sun beat down on them, but this high up there was at least a nice breeze.
God, Ace hated the summer.
Fun fact: it's impossible to look at a word without reading it in your head.
......told you.