In Queens General Hospital's ICU, on a warm July morning in 2010, my eyes fluttered open. Two months earlier, in May, I'd been shot in the chest at Stark Expo 2010, saving Peter Parker—future Spider-Man—during Ivan Vanko's Hammer Drone attack. Iron Man 2's events had wrapped—Tony Stark and Rhodey had defeated Whiplash, Natasha Romanoff and Happy Hogan had crashed the drone controls, and Justin Hammer was behind bars. I'd been lying in a coma, tethered to machines—until Steve Rogers' super-soldier blood brought me back. That morning, as consciousness returned, a Ding! rang in my ears. A blue screen materialized:
"Locked System Function Unlocked: Rank/Tier Progression Activated!"
Then another line:
"New Skill: Partial Super-Soldier Strength (Unique) - Limited physical endurance, strength, and healing from blood derived from Steve Rogers' super-soldier serum."
"What the hell's going on?" I thought, sitting up, stunned. "Wasn't I just a vendor? Where's this coming from?" I touched my arm—muscles taut, the scar on my chest faded. "Whoa… I've got guns now," I muttered, chuckling as I glanced in a mirror.
In the room's dim light, the door creaked open, revealing a graceful, red-haired figure—Natasha Romanoff. "Oh, man…" I thought, heart racing. She wore a simple gray blouse, jeans, and a light jacket— Black Widow had finished her S.H.I.E.L.D. mission shadowing Tony, but now she was here, like a friend, an angel. "An angel visiting the sick," I thought, "this woman's too beautiful." Natasha approached my bed, a faint smile on her lips, her eyes brimming with relief, as if she'd found peace for the first time since the Expo's chaos. "Am I in heaven?" I said aloud, voice weak but playful. "If so, it was worth everything. Got an angel right here." Natasha raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Heard the patient's recovery brings the doctor running, huh?" she teased, her tone lightly mocking. She sat on the bed's edge, scanning me. "How're you feeling?"
"Dunno…" I said, touching my chest, "bit sore, but… you're easing it—like a balm." Natasha laughed—a genuine, warm sound, no trace of Black Widow's edge. "Anyone else would be freaking out," she said, "but you're still cracking jokes. You almost died, you know that, right?" "Alright, don't scold me…" I said, grinning, scratching my head. "What happened, Natalie? Those robots had HAMMER logos. Why'd they go nuts?" My chest ached faintly, but Natasha's presence brought an odd calm—like nothing was too scary with her there. She paused, eyes locking onto mine— as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, she couldn't spill everything, but she seemed ready to share something. "First off," she said, "my name's not Natalie. It's Natasha. Natasha Romanoff." It was the first time she'd laid her real name bare to me. "And yeah, those robots were Hammer Industries'. A guy named Ivan Vanko teamed up with Justin Hammer, hijacked the drones' controls. They turned the Expo into a bloodbath—targeted Tony, but it spiraled. Tony, Rhodey, and… me, we stopped them. Hammer's in jail, Vanko's dead."
"So, Natasha," I said, smiling, "suits you better. Thanks for looking out for me, red-haired angel." "Getting carried away," I thought, but the warmth in her eyes made me not care. She leaned closer, our faces inches apart; then she pressed a small, passionate kiss to my lips—warm, brief, but it shook me to my core. "See you," she whispered, standing and slipping out, closing the door softly. "Wow…" I said, fingers brushing my lips, "I could get used to this." My heart pounded—Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow, had kissed me again, deeper, more meaningful this time. As she left, I sank back, still dazed, still grinning.
Alone, I summoned the system screen—locked functions were open, time to check my rewards. The blue screen flickered:
"Quest Completed: Stark Expo Battle - Reward: Partial Super-Soldier Strength (Unique), CST: +100 (from Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, and rescued Expo civilians)."
"Not bad for a quest," I said, "though getting shot sucked." My CST counter glowed—MCU headliners always racked up big points. Then a note caught my eye:
"Note: You survived thanks to Steve Rogers' super-soldier blood, secretly injected into your IV."
"Wait… what's that say?" I gasped, eyes wide. "I'm alive because of Steve's blood? He gave me his own, in secret?" Gratitude surged, my eyes welling. "I owe you forever, Cap! Respect!" I whispered. No one knew—not Tony, Natasha, S.H.I.E.L.D.—only the system clued me in. This secret stayed buried—mine to keep till the grave.
Partial Super-Soldier Strength (Unique): "Limited physical endurance, strength, and rapid healing from blood derived from Steve Rogers' super-soldier serum—a fraction of full super-soldier capacity; surpasses fragile human limits but falls short of Captain America's level."
"What's that mean?" I said, laughing, eyeing my arms—muscles defined, chest scar nearly gone. I stood, legs wobbly but stronger than ever—like I could lift a lahmacun cart single-handed. I shuffled to the mirror, peeled off my shirt—my body had changed, sturdier, sharper. "I was a vendor," I said to myself, "what am I now?" Natasha's kiss lingered on my lips, Steve's sacrifice warmed my heart—the system's surprises scrambled my head. From the hospital window, I watched Queens' morning light—sun glinting off apartments, streets stirring. "Let's see," I said, "what lahmacuns I'll make with this strength!" I grinned—I was alive, a different Ali than before.
Natasha's visit, Steve's hidden heroism, the system's gifts… I felt joy, shock, all at once. "Gotta thank Tony," I thought, "he fought hard to save me too." But first, rest—awake from a coma, I wasn't at full strength. I lay back, eyes closing—Ali Usta, mobile vendor, was turning a new page in the MCU; not just with döner, but a touch of superhuman grit. "Here we go," I whispered, "Queens is waiting." Drifting to sleep, Natasha's kiss and Steve's blood danced in my mind—two miracles tethering me to life.