The Vigilante Code (Marvel Fanfic)

2

The lab corridor stretches out in eerie silence, its sterile white walls gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights above. The faint buzz of electricity hums in the background, barely audible but always present—like the pulse of the place itself. The floor is smooth, too clean, too perfect, devoid of any signs of life. The emptiness feels hollow, as cold and clinical as the experiments that have defined her existence.

Eleana runs barefoot, each step a jarring slap against the cold tiles, her muscles weak and trembling. Her white gown clings to her sweat-soaked body, plastered to her skin like a second layer, trapping her in her own fear. The air feels unnaturally cold, biting at her lungs with every ragged breath, but she can't stop. 

Her heart pounds, each frantic beat reverberating in her skull, drowning out any coherent thought. Her legs threaten to give out, but she pushes harder, fueled by something stronger than exhaustion. Desperation claws at her insides. She has to get out.

She slams into the smooth wall as she rounds a sharp corner, her shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. Pain shoots through her, momentarily staggering her. She glances over her shoulder—no one's there. No footsteps, no shouts. But she knows better. They're always watching. In this place, even silence feels like a trap.

Leaning against the wall for just a moment, she catches a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the glossy surface. The girl staring back at her is a stranger. Pale and skeletal, hollow eyes framed by sweat-matted hair. She hardly recognizes herself. She is no more than twelve. But in this sterile prison, she isn't a child.

Her father, always the brilliant scientist, and her stepmother, his ever-faithful assistant, never looked at her like she was a person. She was nothing more than a vessel. Not their child. Never their daughter. She was a subject. A project. Something to be perfected.

She shakes her head. There's no time to linger. The moment stretches too long, the silence too dangerous. She pushes off the wall, stumbling forward, forcing herself to keep moving. Her legs wobble like they might give out at any second, but she can't afford to stop. Not when escape is so close—if it's close at all.

Her breath hitches as she rounds another corner, only to find herself back where she started. She stops dead in her tracks, panic flaring in her chest, hot and suffocating. The identical corridor stretches out in front of her, mocking her with its endless, sterile perfection. She's running in circles, trapped in a maze with no doors, no windows, and no escape.

***

Eleana jolts awake, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, she lies there, blinking into the darkness, her pulse still racing. The sheets feel cold against her skin, the familiar emptiness settling in as the terror fades. But the unease remains.

Thunder rumbles through the night, followed by a brilliant flash of lightning that momentarily illuminates her room, casting jagged shadows across the expensive, pristine furnishings. For a brief second, it feels as though the storm outside has followed her from the dream.

Her hand reaches instinctively for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lights up with a soft glow: 2:58 a.m. Eleana stares at the time, her heart sinking. Sleep won't come again—not with the nightmare still fresh in her mind.

With a sigh, she swings her legs over the side of the bed and slides her feet into her slippers. The room, despite all its opulence and luxury, offers no comfort. It has never been a sanctuary—it's a cage dressed in wealth.

The dim corridors of the mansion stretch out before her, vast and empty. Her footsteps barely make a sound as she walks, the stillness pressing in on all sides. The grand mansion, once buzzing with staff who tended to every trivial need, now sits in silence. She fired them all—the maids, the gardeners, the cooks. Unnecessary. She sent them away with checks so large they could build new lives, far removed from her, from the Foss legacy. She didn't need them. She didn't need anyone. Their presence had been an uncomfortable reminder of her parents' dominance over every detail of her life.

Her fingers twitch slightly as she passes the kitchen. Her eyes flick toward the cabinet where the sleeping pills sit. Just a pill or two, and the nightmare will be gone. The idea of slipping into a dreamless oblivion, of finding temporary peace, even for a few hours, is tempting. But she forces the thought away. It's a false solution. Pills won't fix the root of it. 

Her path takes her to the living room, where the floor-to-ceiling windows frame the raging storm outside. Lightning illuminates the skyline, casting brief flashes of light over the rain-soaked city. She stands there, motionless, watching the chaos unfold below. The storm feels distant, yet somehow familiar—like the one inside her that never quiets.

They're gone, she reminds herself, but the words feel hollow, as they always do. She destroyed or donated everything of theirs since their death months ago—photos, awards, their obsessive trophies—but their ghosts linger, heavy and suffocating, not in objects, but in her.

She clenches her fists, nails digging into her palms. Foss Corporation—the empire they built on their twisted genius, and they tried to mold her into their greatest achievement, something more than human, a weapon of their design. Now, The company is hers, all of it. She has the power they once wielded, but it doesn't feel like freedom. It feels like another chain—a burden left behind for her to bear.

A soft buzz interrupts her thoughts, dragging her back to the present. Eleana glances down at her phone, the screen glowing with a new notification: an email from Tony Stark. The subject line reads: Stark Exhibition Invitation.

She stares at it for a long moment, remembering how he invited her days ago. Stark is, in many ways, her equal—a man of genius, forged in fire and ambition. But he thrives in the public eye, embraces the spotlight, while she has always worked in the shadows. Stark built himself into something more, something the world can admire. She was built into something cold, something lethal. The thought of attending his exhibition feels foreign, almost absurd.

The rain pounds against the glass as she continues to gaze at the message, something shifts inside her. For years, she's been running—first from her parents, then from herself, and now from the hollow ache their death left behind. Stark knows the weight of a legacy, the burden of living up to a name. He turned his into something else, something beyond what anyone expected. Perhaps, it's time for her to stop running.

Her thumb hovers over the screen, her decision suspended between acceptance and rejection. A second passes. Then with a slow, deliberate breath, she taps the screen.

Accept.

The word glows briefly before the email disappears.

Eleana looks up at the storm once more. The city lights flicker through the rain, struggling against the torrent. But within her, the decision settles like a new stroke of clarity.

I'm not their puppet anymore, I'll create my own legacy.