Chapter 10 – The Monkey King’s First Day in the MCU

Jack darted through the rooftops of New York City, moving like a phantom, his steps silent, his speed unnatural. But unlike someone who was escaping in fear—he was giggling like a little girl.

"Kekekekekekeke!"

He held Tony Stark's middle finger armor piece in his grip, twirling it in the air like a prized artifact. "I got it! I actually got it! The great Iron Man—beaten and looted by ME!"

He suddenly slipped it onto his own finger, flexing it. His giggles turned into full-blown manic laughter.

"KEKEKEKEKEKEKE!"

The sound echoed through the evening, sending a chill down the spines of anyone who heard it.

Somewhere, in a lawyer firm across the city, Matt Murdock—aka Daredevil—felt a strange disturbance.

"…What the hell was that?"

Jack landed gracefully on the peak of the Empire State Building, balancing perfectly on its narrow spire. The wind whipped through his hair, his robes flowing behind him. He gazed out over the glittering cityscape of New York.

It was… familiar. And yet—not quite right. His eyes landed on the twin towers—still standing, untouched. Jack exhaled, his tone suddenly serious. "Huh. The Twin Towers are still here."

His fingers tapped against the metal railing. Then, with an emotionless expression, he muttered—"Guess I can't make 9/11 jokes in this life, huh?"

Silence.

Then, Jack felt a dozen sets of eyes on him. He looked down. The Empire State Building's observation deck was filled with tourists, staring up at him in horror.

A child tugged at his mother's sleeve. "Mommy, look! A superhero!"

The mother instinctively pulled the child behind her, whispering, "Stay back!"

A man in a suit pulled out his phone. "Security?! Yeah, there's some lunatic standing on top of the damn building!"

Jack grinned and waved.

"Hi!"

A group of kids cheered, believing they were witnessing a new super hero in action. One boy cupped his hands and shouted, "Who are you?!"

Jack puffed his chest, smirking. "I'm Iron Man." Then—without hesitation, he leapt off the building.

As he plummeted, he called out—"DON'T DO THIS AT HOME, KIDS!" The crowd screamed.

Jack landed effortlessly on a rooftop, rolling smoothly back into a run.

His grin stretched ear to ear as he moved through the city, amusing himself with the minor differences in this version of New York.

Some small details were off—

His favorite restaurant, which should exist by now, wasn't around.

Some streets had different layouts.

The people seemed… sharper, more aware, like they lived in a world where crazy shit happened often.

Jack soaked it all in, grinning.

"A new playground. This is gonna be fun."

…

As night fell, Jack found himself in his old stomping grounds—or at least, where they should have been.

His former triad territory.

But instead of the lively, bustling Chinatown streets he once ruled—he found a dump.

The buildings were more rundown. The streets were filthy, covered in graffiti. The air stank of desperation. Jack frowned. "Well, this is depressing."

Then, an old beggar sitting against a wall suddenly muttered, "Young man… you shouldn't be here."

Jack turned toward him, curious.

The beggar studied his expensive-looking robes, his confident stance. "Rich kid like you shouldn't be in Hell's Kitchen."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "A what?"

The beggar sighed, gesturing around. "Hell's Kitchen. The Kingpin's territory."

Jack perked up. "Ohhh, so we got ourselves a wannabe crime boss, huh?"

The beggar looked at him like he was insane. "…Wannabe? Boy, if you don't wanna get yourself killed, you best walk away now."

Jack grinned. "Duly noted."

Then, he tilted his head, suddenly serious. 

"Hey, old man. You ever heard of the White Crane?"

The beggar frowned. "White Crane? What the hell is that?"

Jack's expression didn't change, but inside—he understood.

His old triad… didn't exist here.

"Huh. Oh well."

Jack casually pulled out a wad of stolen cash, tossing it to the beggar.

The old man gasped, staring at the money like it was a miracle. "Wha—"

Jack smirked. "Consider it payment for the free history lesson."

And with that—he kept walking.

Jack strolled through the dimly lit streets of Hell's Kitchen, hands in his sleeves, observing everything.

His heightened senses picked up every little detail.

A woman getting mugged in a nearby alley. A man getting beaten for refusing to pay protection money. Drug deals happening in dark corners. Jack's eyes narrowed. "This place really is a dump."

But there was something else. A presence. No—several. Jack could feel it.

He was being followed.

They were stealthy, well-trained. Moving in formation, keeping their distance. But to Jack—they were loud as hell. His lips curled into a smirk.

Without breaking stride, he spoke into the empty street, his voice calm, knowing.

"When the moon reflects on the water, the fish believe they are unseen. But the crane has been watching the entire time."

Silence.

Then, finally—movement.

Several figures emerged from the shadows, weapons drawn, their eyes cold and calculating. Jack grinned, flexing his fingers.

"Well, well. You guys wanna dance?"

Jack stared at the drawn weapons, his eyes lazily scanning their blades and batons as if he had all the time in the world. He rubbed his chin, humming in thought.

"Wait, wait," he said, holding up a hand. "Before we do this, why are you attacking me?"

The leader of the assassins, a tall, sharp-eyed man dressed in black, scoffed. "Why do you care?"

Jack crossed his arms. "Cause and effect, my friend. Everything has a reason. That's what I learned in business school."

One of the assassins hesitated. "You went to business school?"

Jack shrugged. "Not that I went to business school."

The assassin frowned. "Idiot, then why bring it u—"

Before he could finish, a massive golden staff suddenly extended from Jack's earring, thickening to the size of a man's skull. It swung with impossible speed, caving in the assassin's head with a sickening crunch.

Silence.

Jack sighed dramatically. "Now you've done it."

The leader's grip on his weapon tightened. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Jack tapped his fingers together. "See, I wasn't even personally offended." He spun the staff once—then, as if dismissing it, returned it to his earring. "But now you've given me a reason to kill you all."

The leader didn't hesitate this time. "ATTACK!"

They rushed him, their footwork precise, their strikes aimed at vital points. These weren't street thugs—they were trained killers.

Jack barely moved.

The first blade neared his throat. He exhaled.

Then he disappeared.

A blur of movement. A shift in space.

By the time the assassin's blade sliced through where he had been, Jack was already behind him.

"Too slow."

His palm slammed into the assassin's kidney, folding the man like a cheap chair. A strangled gasp escaped his lips before he collapsed.

The others attacked in unison. Jack moved through them like a shadow.

A dagger flashed toward his ribs. He twisted, letting it graze his robe by a hair's breadth.

A sword thrust toward his chest. He caught it between two fingers and snapped the blade in half.

Twin batons swung for his skull. He ducked, spun low, and swept the attacker's legs out from under him.

As he moved, he spoke.

"A man must understand the weight of his own existence," Jack mused, sidestepping another attack. "For if he doesn't, the weight of my fist will do the explaining."

His elbow crashed into an assassin's jaw, sending teeth flying.

"Balance is important in all things," he continued, catching another attacker's wrist and twisting it until bones snapped. "The sky has the sun and the moon. The ocean has waves and calm tides."

His foot lashed out, kicking a man's knee inward with a sickening pop.

"And I… have the urge to beat the absolute shit out of all of you."

He weaved between them, his movements effortless. One assassin tried to flee—Jack casually picked up a brick and hurled it, striking the man in the back of the head. He crumpled instantly.

Another swung wildly in panic. Jack stepped in and palm-struck his throat. His body hit the ground before his brain registered what had happened.

The battlefield fell silent.

Only one remained.

The leader took a step back, his face pale, his blade trembling.

Jack cracked his neck. "You seem to know a lot. Let's talk, shall we?"

Before the man could react, Jack grabbed him by the collar and started dragging him across the ground.

Jack blinked, realizing something.

"…Huh."

He tilted his head, murmuring to himself. "So this is what the old man felt when he dragged me around like a useless fuck."

The leader thrashed. "LET ME GO—"

Jack suddenly stopped, eyes narrowing.

"Wait."

Realization dawned.

"He dragged me… so I wouldn't say 'useless fucks.'"

Silence.

Jack sighed, shaking his head. "Damn it. The old man played the long game."

Then he shrugged, tightening his grip on the leader's collar.

"Oh well. Let's go have a chat, buddy."

With that, he walked off into the night, dragging his half-conscious prisoner behind him.

**A/N**

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**A/N**