Marvel: The Game of Talents

Sister Margaret's Bar.

Wade had already left to prepare for his next move. Now, only Ethan and Weasel were left in the dimly lit space, surrounded by the faint smell of stale beer and unwashed mercenaries.

"You want to be a mercenary?" Weasel asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I need money," Ethan replied with a nod.

Before this conversation, Wade had filled Ethan in on Weasel's role. He wasn't just a bartender—Weasel was a broker and an information dealer. Running the bar was just a front for his real business: assigning mercenary jobs and taking a cut of the commission. In other words, Weasel was like an NPC in a video game, handing out tasks to whoever needed cash.

Beyond that, if the price was right, Weasel could also provide illegal goods—firearms, explosives, and, most importantly for Ethan, forged identification.

Weasel scrutinized Ethan for a moment, his skeptical gaze lingering. After a long pause, he shrugged. "Alright, for Wade's sake."

With that, Weasel reached under the bar and pulled out a stack of cards, split into two piles—one gold, the other black.

"You might've already heard this from Wade," Weasel began, "but I'm gonna go through the rules anyway. There are two types of jobs here—gold card and black card."

He held up a gold card. "Gold cards are low-risk jobs. Easy money, but don't expect a big payout."

"And the black cards?" Ethan asked, already sensing where this was going.

Weasel picked up a black card, his tone growing serious. "Black cards are higher stakes. More dangerous. The pay's better—sometimes a lot better—but if you take one of these, you're on your own. I'm just the broker; I don't clean up messes, even for Wade's friends. Got it?"

Ethan nodded. "Got it."

"Good." Weasel slid both stacks across the bar. "Pick your poison."

Ethan started flipping through the gold cards first. The tasks were mundane and unremarkable—teaching a cheating boyfriend a lesson, scaring off stalkers, maybe roughing someone up a little. The pay ranged from $50 to $200, which was as low-risk as it got.

But when he turned to the black cards, the atmosphere shifted.

"Kill Jeff Mond, a Russian gang member: $1,000."

"Surveil Warner Hewlett, a Blood Wolf Gang lieutenant: $5,000."

"Kidnap Ashley Suzanne, daughter of a billionaire: $100,000."

Ethan frowned as he skimmed through the cards. Almost every black card involved dangerous targets—gangsters, criminals, or otherwise high-profile individuals. The tasks weren't just risky; they were practically begging for trouble.

"Wow," Ethan muttered under his breath. "This is like a starter pack for becoming a wanted criminal."

Noticing Ethan's hesitation, Weasel chuckled. "What's the matter? Getting cold feet?"

Ethan leaned back in his seat, his expression calm. "I'm just not the type to pick fights with people who haven't wronged me. Especially gangsters—I'd rather not make enemies for no reason."

As if on cue, a glowing panel suddenly appeared in Ethan's vision.

[Title Triggered!]

[Wanted List - Eligible for Completion]

[Unlock Condition: Eliminate 15 notorious criminals (0/15)]

[Reward: Super High School-Level Sharpshooter Title]

Ethan's eyes widened slightly. After two months of uneventful grinding, he'd finally unlocked a new challenge.

"Fifteen notorious criminals, huh?" he murmured, considering the criteria. His thoughts were interrupted by Weasel, who had started gathering the black cards back into their pile.

"Smart move," Weasel said. "These jobs aren't worth the heat they'll bring. You mess with the wrong gangster, and you'll have a mob at your throat faster than you can say—"

Slap!

Ethan's hand shot out, pinning the stack of black cards to the bar.

"I'll take the gangster jobs," Ethan announced, his tone firm.

Weasel blinked, stunned. "Wait, what? You were just saying you didn't want to provoke them!"

Ethan straightened, putting on an air of righteous determination. "It's not about the money, Weasel. It's about justice. I can't stand criminals running amok."

Weasel stared at him, speechless for a moment. Then his gaze drifted to the half-empty soda in Ethan's hand.

"Uh-huh," he deadpanned. "Maybe finish your Coke before delivering the superhero speech next time."