In the MCU with the Omnitrix/Ultimatrix

Sometimes being a hero is about cosmic threats and reality-altering powers. Other times, it's about stopping a high-speed car chase through Manhattan at 7 AM.

"They really couldn't wait until after breakfast?" I mutter, transforming into XLR8 and racing after three stolen sports cars weaving through morning traffic.

The police scanners crackle with updates - apparently these guys hit a luxury dealership, taking the most expensive cars they could find. Now they're treating 5th Avenue like their personal race track.

From my perspective at super-speed, everything moves in slow motion. I can see civilians jumping back, coffee cups frozen mid-spill, police cars trying to keep up.

I catch the first car easily, carefully removing the driver and depositing him (gently-ish) in the back of a police cruiser before he even realizes what happened.

"One down," I say to myself, already moving toward the second car. "Though seriously, who steals a Lamborghini in New York? The traffic alone makes it pointless."

The second driver actually sees me coming - probably in his mirrors - and swerves wildly. At normal speed, it would be dangerous. At XLR8's speed, it's almost comical how slowly the car turns.

I grab him too, making sure to set the car's brake before dropping him off with the police.

The third guy, seeing his buddies caught, decides to get creative. He turns down a side street, aiming for narrower roads where my speed might be less advantageous.

"Points for thinking," I mutter, following easily. "Minus several million for thinking it would work."

Three minutes later, all three drivers are in custody, the cars are secured, and I'm back on my morning patrol route.

Just another day in the life of New York's newest hero.

Sometimes it's nice when things are simple.

The rest of the morning follows a similar pattern. I stop two muggings (seriously, who mugs people before coffee?), help an elderly woman whose wheelchair got stuck in a pothole, and rescue a cat from a tree - because apparently that superhero cliché is actually a thing.

"You know," I tell the cat as I climb down in human form, "you could probably get down yourself. You're just being dramatic."

The cat gives me a look that somehow manages to be both grateful and condescending before sauntering off to its relieved owner.

My phone buzzes - another alert, this time about a stuck elevator in a business district building. Nothing major, but people are trapped, and the maintenance team is still twenty minutes out.

I transform into Humungousaur for this one - not because I need the strength, but because the sight of a dinosaur carefully prying open elevator doors tends to make people feel better about being stuck.

"Everyone okay in there?" I call down the shaft, spotting the elevator stuck between floors.

"Shift?" a voice calls back. "Oh thank god, I'm late for a meeting and my phone's dying!"

"Don't worry," I reach down, carefully stabilizing the elevator before working on the doors. "Though maybe take the stairs next time?"

Ten minutes later, everyone's safely out, and I'm getting thanked by a group of office workers who seem more concerned about their meeting schedules than their near-death experience.

New Yorkers, I swear.

The morning sun feels good as I patrol the rooftops, keeping an eye out for anything unusual. No alien invasions, no reality-warping powers, no complex family dynamics - just a hero doing what heroes do.

Sometimes that's enough.

My phone buzzes again. This time it's the group chat:

Thor: "FRIENDS! I HAVE DISCOVERED THIS BEVERAGE CALLED A FRAPPUCCINO!"

Loki: "Brother, please. It's too early for this enthusiasm."

Stark: "Who taught him about whipped cream? We need to talk."

I smile, putting the phone away.

A commotion from below catches my attention - some kind of disturbance at a bank. Not a robbery, from what I can see, but an argument getting heated. Very heated.

I swing down to street level, transforming back to human form as I approach. Sometimes people respond better to a face they recognize than a hero form.

"Everything okay here?" I ask, noting the growing crowd of onlookers with their phones out.

The bank manager, a middle-aged woman trying to maintain her professional composure, turns to me with visible relief. "Mr. Fisk! Thank goodness. We have a... situation."

The "situation" turns out to be an elderly man, probably in his seventies, red-faced and waving papers around. "They're trying to take my house!" he shouts, his voice cracking. "Forty years I've lived there, forty years!"

I step between them, keeping my voice calm. "Sir, why don't we talk about this? Away from the cameras?"

He looks at me, really looks, and I can see the moment he recognizes who I am. "You're that hero kid. The one who can change..."

"That's right," I gesture toward some chairs. "And right now, I'd like to help, if you'll let me."

The next hour involves less heroics and more listening. His name is Frank Martinez, and his story is sadly common - medical bills, predatory loans, a system designed to trip up those who can least afford to fall.

I make some calls. Being Wilson Fisk's son has its advantages, especially when it comes to banking matters. By the time we're done, Frank has a restructured loan, a manageable payment plan, and his dignity intact.

"You didn't have to do this," he tells me as we wrap up. "Probably had more important hero stuff to handle."

"Sometimes being a hero is just about being human," I reply, remembering Vanessa's words from dinner. "Besides, paperwork makes a nice change from fighting alien robots."

As I head back out, my phone buzzes with a text from Fisk: "The Martinez situation has been handled permanently. His mortgage is cleared."

I smile. Sometimes even crime lords can do good things, even if their reasons might be complicated.

The afternoon sun hits my face as I prepare for another patrol. No cosmic threats, no world-ending dangers - just a hero doing what he can, where he can.

Sometimes that's more than enough.

The Ultimatrix pulses softly on my wrist, almost like it agrees. Time to get back to work. After all, you never know what might happen next in New York.

But for now, I'll take the simple stuff. The human stuff.

Because sometimes that's what being a hero is really about.

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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!

Tell me, how did you find the look of the normal day of Sam's current life? I hope it was interesting. Do please tell me if it was or wasn't.

So yeah, I hope to see you all later,

Bye!)