Marvel: Emotion Farming System

Chapter 40: Bonus Chapter: Feeling Something

This for 69.

Enjoy the Chapter.

...

"Are you going somewhere, sir?" One of the houseworkers, a young woman with a charming smile, looked at him with practiced respect. "Should I notify the driver?"

’What does it feel like to hit someone?’ The words repeated in his mind as he watched her thin hands and pristine white skin.

"...No, no need for that, Cindy." Norman snapped out of his thoughts and smiled at the woman who helped him put on a coat. "I’ll just take a stroll around the block, need to... clear my mind."

"I wish you a pleasant walk, sir." She bowed as he exited the place.

’Have I gone crazy?’ Walking the streets lit up by street lights and passing cars, Norman trudged along the sidewalk. He shouldn’t have come outside. Should’ve locked himself in his room.

It had been a while since he was ousted, so even the reporters had thrown him by the wayside. He had no value to them. Same with the board. Same with the employees. It was like the world had already moved on without him.

"But you are still stuck six months ago."

For the first time, Norman understood why he kept spending money. He hoped it would fill the hole in his heart. He hoped it would satisfy him. He had held hope that it would replace what he had lost.

But it did none of that.

Soon, Norman found himself in an alleyway. He almost tripped over a squashed beer can and happened to shoulder check a random passerby.

The man was tall, with a pot belly and the stench of liquor. The moment his beer bottle smashed against the ground in a confetti of shards, the red face and bloodshot eyes turned towards him.

"Watch where you are going, shithead!" The man’s stinky breath made him wince.

Norman’s first instinct was to say sorry and move on; it was the normal, more peaceful way. But the words from before kept echoing in his head.

"How much can you know about yourself if you’ve never been in a fight?"

That grating voice kept gnawing at the back of his head like an annoying lawsuit.

What if Tyler was right?

And if he was, which else of his words were true?

"How much can you know about yourself if you’ve never been in a fight?"

"Shut the fuck up!" The pent-up frustration found an outlet somehow as his voice echoed in the alley with a chorus of distant barking dogs.

"The fuck you said to me, you motherfucker?" Rage filled the man’s eyes as he wound his arm back, ready to unleash a wild swing.

"No, I was no—!" Norman wasn’t shouting at the man. It was the questions that kept repeating in his head.

Before he could explain, the balled-up fist struck his cheek. It was hard. Like a baseball. Almost like a hammer.

Norman staggered. His face stung. The jaw was rattled. But all his focus was on the thing that dripped down his nose. And that iron which dominated his tongue.

’Blood...’ His blood dripped onto his hand. Scalding, pure red, and extremely enchanting to watch.

The angry man drove a knee into his stomach. The wind was knocked out of Norman’s lungs. He collapsed on the ground. Bile rose to his mouth alongside the caviar he had for dinner.

His vision started to spin, and he could barely breathe.

"What the fuck are you smiling about?" The man spat.

Was Norman smiling in this moment?

He couldn’t feel his face. But he might be smiling.

Because of this pain coursing through him, this rushing blood and pounding heart. It was the first time in six months that he had felt anything.

It almost made him chuckle.

"What are you laughing about, bitch? You think you are better than me, you piece of shit!" The man kept stomping him, but Norman kept laughing.

"Fucking weirdo."

At the end, the drunk bastard stumbled away, leaving Norman curled up in the alley that smelt of cheap beer and piss. Even as rats squeaked around him, he didn’t move. He continued to rest on his side, feeling that stinging pain on his face and back.

Only after an hour or so had passed did he slowly get up. The pain was gone. The blood had dried. Norman walked back to his house. The expensive coat was wet with blood and garbage juice.

He was almost stopped in the lobby, but the guard apologized. Even asking if he should call a doctor.

"It’s ok." Norman didn’t even remember what else he had said as he arrived at his room.

He noticed Harry’s car keys on the table and the sound of rustling paper inside his room. Without a word or sound, Norman reached his room. The computer screen was still turned on that oak desk.

With one line staring into his soul.

"Who should I fight next?"

***

After waking up early in the morning, John had started work on the next Chapters of Fight Clubs and scheduling them for release. He was still figuring out the first draft for Princess Mononoke, however.

That one would take him a week to finish at least. But the biggest problem for him was still the notification from last night.

[Norman Osborn has reached an important realization. +200 EP]

Realization? What exactly did he realize?

Was he going to turn into Goblin, or give it up?

John could only speculate while rocking in his chair. Honestly, a part of him did fear what would happen if Marvel villains had read the work he put out, but seeing it in reality was much more terrifying.

He wanted to know how it would affect Norman. But he didn’t want to think further than that if possible.

"Let’s not raise any flags here." This was already out of his ballpark.

There was no way for him to control someone else’s life, and he had no right to it either. His own life was chaotic enough. He didn’t want to be responsible for someone else’s life, and neither the will to rule over others and decide what was best for them.

Still, the reaction of readers was much stronger this time. Some people liked Tyler, many found the Narrator pathetic, and some were asking for an illustration of Marla for research purposes.

However, if he had to say one thing. The readers were far more invested after the third Chapter.

Many speculations were flying about, supporting or opposing Tyler Durden’s absurd statement as the Fight Club was born in the basement of a bar.

But there was one thread that caught John’s attention.

TheMaker—What if Tyler was the one that burned down the Narrator’s House to pull him further down?

DammS—@TheMaker Why would he do that? They just met.

TheMaker—@DammS He just suddenly shows up when the narrator is disoriented and hands him a card just before his house is burned? Coincidence, I think not.

DarkHawk_7369—Looking at it that way, @TheMaker, in making sense.

TheMaker—This clearly looks like Tyler is manipulating the MC to carry out an experiment and see if his views are correct or not. The MC basically embodies the consumerism mindset, the perfect target for someone like Tyler who is wholeheartedly against it.

Chevisto—Or maybe he just wants to help, and this was the only way to make the MC listen?

THEREALSTARK—That sounds even more far-fetched than, say... that Tyler is the Narrator.

"And here I thought they were just into making jokes and threatening to kidnap me." He chuckled.

The fact that Tyler was manipulating, by burning his house and other things, could be a viable theory. In actuality, it was written like that so readers would think they had caught onto a twist while being oblivious to the one.

But the manipulation angle didn’t sit well with Fight Club. This novel’s structure embraced randomness in its full form.

One second the narrator had a gun in his mouth; next he unloaded his entire personality and addictions to the readers. Marla and Tyler both arrive abruptly; the house was just burning one day, and the next thing you know, two characters are fighting each other outside a bar and have decided to move in together.

Fight Club doesn’t escalate the way normal stories did. It mirrored life and how events happen to people. John always found that randomness charming.

"Not charming enough to miss university, though." He changed clothes and rushed out.

...

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