47
So, what could I create? No, I was asking the wrong question. What could I create that would make me stronger on all fronts, right here and now? And preferably, it should be a valuable asset, a calling card that defined my worth as a brilliant specialist for SHIELD. Actually, there was only one answer: improve "Proteus." Turn it from a simple protective suit into a full-fledged combat exoskeleton, packed with technology. Especially since I had that technology in abundance, thanks to Shocker, Vulture, and Rhino. I'd reverse-engineer the tech; steal... ahem... adapt the most interesting parts, and I'd be set.
It didn't take long to repeat the process I'd used to create a suit for Blade, adapted for my own physique. The process was streamlined like an assembly line, and soon a perfect base was hanging on the mannequin before me. I moved on to the first modification: the gloves. Of course, the gloves, or more precisely, the single remaining Shocker glove became the ideal reference for this. Placing it on the lab workbench, I carefully disassembled it, laying out the components on a sterile surface like a surgeon preparing for an autopsy. This time, I analyzed it not with the goal of targeted modification, but with the full understanding that I wanted to build something similar, but an order of magnitude better.
"Hmm, crude, but effective for intimidating punks. And how did Gwen manage to lose to this?" I muttered, studying Schultz's technology.
This had been assembled by a talented but resource-limited engineer. Or, well, stolen from Hammer Industries. So I was stealing from a thief? Amusing. Essentially, this was an industrial jackhammer converted for combat. Powerful but inefficient, energy-intensive, and devoid of precision. It was a sledgehammer in a world that required scalpels.
Power source: a simple lithium-polymer battery pack. Bulky, heavy, with limited operating time and slow charging times. It was an antique.
Converter: a set of induction coils and powerful capacitors. Its task was to convert direct current to ultra-high-frequency alternating current. It worked, but with massive efficiency losses.
Emitters: the heart of the technology. A simple package of piezoelectric crystals enclosed in a tungsten-alloy resonator. When current was applied, the crystals vibrated, creating a shock wave. Cheap but effective.
Control system: As Schultz had said before his death, primitive and straightforward. Clenching the fist closed the circuit. Clenching force was regulated by a simple rheostat. It was crude, like the gas pedal in an old truck. No feedback, no fine-tuning.
Housing: No elegance, no optimization. A massive steel shell with damping pads. Bulky and heavy.
I didn't even look at the rest of Shocker's suit. I understood that I would have to reassemble everything from scratch. I couldn't use something so... limited.
"Ha, when did I become so picky?" I asked the laboratory silence. And the silence, in the voice of my own mind, answered me. "Since you understood that disposable garage projects weren't leverage for negotiating with Nick Fury on equal terms. Since Blade, a warrior with more than a century of experience, valued you highly. This level must be maintained."
So. The goal was not to improve. The goal was to create anew, using the same idea but at a completely different technological level.
Power source and energy system. Obviously, my palladium reactor. Power output would increase by several orders of magnitude. This would enable powering a much more advanced emitter, and the operating time would become practically infinite. Installing a separate reactor in each glove was idiocy. Instead, I would integrate a universal power port into the glove base. This, in turn, would connect to the central power grid of the suit, which would be powered by the palladium reactor located, for now, presumably on my back. Thus, the glove became modular. It could be removed. But when connected, it gained access to practically inexhaustible energy, which also allowed the glove to be lighter and more compact. This would not be just a gadget. This was a component of an integrated system.
Good, the energy question was solved. Now, the heart of the device. How to achieve the highest efficiency? Obviously, grow the piezoelectric crystal myself. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. I dared to hope my current knowledge was sufficient for something like this. Why use natural quartz with its defects when you could create a perfect crystal lattice in a controlled environment? If you want to create a perfect tool, you start by creating perfect materials.
In the vacuum induction furnace, I created a supersaturated solution based on lead tungstate and barium titanate. Then I added a secret catalyst. Pluronic, a thick, transparent medical gel resembling syrup, became a sort of scaffolding for the crystal lattice. To this, I added a perfluorocarbon modifier of a special formula. With it, crystal growth acquired laser precision: the piezoelectric coefficient d33, a measure of how much electricity an impact generates, surged by three hundred to five hundred percent. All because the nanostructure of the crystal, porous inside like a honeycomb but monolithic outside, multiplied polarization many times over.
Next, using a precisely tuned magnetic field, I initiated directional crystallization. This was like the work of a digital potter: I didn't just wait; I shaped the growing structure. In several hours, a large, absolutely transparent, and structurally perfect synthetic crystal grew in the furnace. Using a five-axis CNC machine with a diamond cutter, I gave this crystal a perfect geometric shape calculated on the computer for maximum resonance effect.
The final crystal proved approximately five times more efficient than the limited samples Schultz had used. But now the question of control arose. Primitive fist clenching? That would be an insult to such a work of art. I needed something more serious. Something like a neuro-interface?
The idea, once it took hold, wouldn't let go. This was not just a thought but a revelation. I gained the ability to instantly change the frequency and power of vibration through thought. With improved technology, previously impossible modes became available to me:
"Vibro-scalpel": An ultra-high, focused frequency capable of cutting metal like butter.
"Infrasonic shock": A low, disorienting frequency causing nausea and dizziness in opponents without physical contact.
"Kinetic shield": Creation of a vibration field around the glove capable of deflecting or destroying incoming objects.
A neuro-interface for such fine control was essential.
Okay, I'd save the neuro-interface that would integrate with the whole suit system for last. Right now, I needed to solve a more pressing problem: recoil. What were my options? The antiphase principle? Too finicky, and the calculations would take forever. Then... resonant damping. Obvious. Effective.
Around the main emitter crystal, I carefully installed a "floating" cage made from a layered composite, one I'd fabricated myself. The composite consisted of alternating layers of Kevlar, ballistic gel, and paper-thin lead sheets. When the crystal vibrated, it transmitted some of that energy to the cage. I'd calculated the design so that each layer had its own resonant frequency. As vibrations passed through, the layers resonated out of phase, effectively canceling each other's oscillations. It was like trying to swing on a playground and having someone constantly push you at the wrong moment, constantly working against the momentum.
Sure, it wasn't as elegant as complete wave annihilation, but the glove absorbed up to ninety-eight percent of the recoil, dissipating it as heat internally. The suit's cooling system would handle the rest. It was incredibly effective and, most importantly, totally feasible with my current resources.
Housing and design. Critical stuff. Time to bring in the CNC machine and 3D printer. I used the former to carve the power frame and glove base, its skeleton, from a solid block of aerospace aluminum alloy. While the machine buzzed away, cutting metal, the 3D printer worked its additive magic, building up external, non-load-bearing panels from lightweight carbon fiber, layer by layer. Based on a 3D scan of my hand, they fit my anatomy perfectly.
The final glove was light, strong, and fit like a glove. It looked like a genuine high-tech product, not some garage conversion. Later, it would integrate seamlessly with the rest of the suit, connecting to the power and neuro-ports on the forearm. I held it now, feeling its cold, smooth surface. It promised incredible power. Excellent. The first step was complete.
I set the finished glove on the table and turned my attention to the next trophy sitting nearby: the bulky Vulture wings. I'd initially considered flight boots, but... yeah, not the best option. Time to see what that gloomy genius working for Fisk had cooked up.
Approaching the massive winged exoskeleton, I began my examination. More precisely, an autopsy. The procedure dragged on for a good hour. Why so long? Because this wasn't technology. This was, mother of God, a clusterfuck. Garage-built junk pushed to the limits of engineering by someone whose only tools were a sledgehammer and a welding rig.
Engine: A noisy, bulky, filthy micro-turbojet running on aviation kerosene. A roaring, smoking, damn inefficient contraption that left a thermal trail visible from orbit.
Wing design: Assembled from industrial turbine blades and scrap titanium alloy held together by bolts and crude welds. And they were completely mechanical! To change geometry and maneuver, it relied on a complex, painfully slow system of hydraulic actuators and servomotors. Large, heavy, and incredibly vulnerable at the joints.
Control system: Two joysticks built into the gloves. Joysticks! In an era of viable neural interfaces! It demanded enormous skill from the pilot and didn't allow for truly sharp, intuitive maneuvers.
Protection: Nonexistent. The design was exposed. The engine and fuel tanks were perfect targets, the size of refrigerators.
These weren't wings. This was literally a flying tractor. Effective for robbery and intimidation, but in a serious fight against high-tech opposition, it was a flying coffin. I wouldn't improve this. I'd have to create everything from scratch again.
"Eh, if only they'd hand out the good stuff for once..." I grumbled, realizing exactly what I wanted to create.
Turns out, I didn't just want a way to fly. My back offered too much valuable real estate for something so single-purpose. Maybe I should build a multifunctional combat platform instead? The wings could double as weapons, shields, and engines all at once, integrated right into the suit. It sounded reasonable. And most importantly, I could make it stylish. Whatever anyone said, style mattered in this world. Tony Stark understood that perfectly. The Hulkbuster's epic entrance in one of the films was still burned into my brain as the gold standard of spectacle and coolness. I needed to aim for something like that. So, let's begin.
The base. Instead of a turbine, I would use energy from my cheap palladium reactor, surprisingly enough. I had definitely decided now: it would sit on my back. The wing base wouldn't be a bulky exo-backpack but an armored platform mounted over the reactor. Using the CNC machine, I carved a solid frame from aerospace aluminum that would serve simultaneously as a protective casing for the reactor and a mounting base for the wings. This solved the vulnerability problem with my back as well.
Wings. No crude mechanics. No servomotors. Only plasma, only hardcore. Instead of mechanical blades, I created solid-state plasma emitters. Each wing feather wouldn't be a piece of metal in the end, but an elongated flat emitter housing a matrix of graphene supercapacitors and focusing magnetic coils. When my future neuro-interface sent the command, the reactor would pump a powerful energy pulse to the emitters. They would ionize the surrounding air, turning it into plasma, then use magnetic fields to eject it downward at enormous speed, creating jet thrust. By varying power to different feathers, I would be able to pull off incredible maneuvers. The flight would be silent, with no fire or smoke. Folded up, the wings would look like two small, elegant techno-backpacks behind my back. Deployed, they would unfold into a dozen such feathers glowing with blue light.
Defense and attack. The way I designed it, using a custom protocol for the neuro-interface, the wings could instantly change configuration via mental command. They could fold together in front of me or above me, forming a solid surface. At that moment, the plasma emitters would switch from "pulling" mode to "defensive." They would create a stable, laminar plasma field on their surface with a temperature of several thousand degrees. Bullets hitting this field would instantly evaporate. Energy beams would dissipate. This wouldn't be a pathetic piece of metal but a nearly impenetrable energy barrier capable of withstanding short but intense bombardment.
Reviewing the design in my head and on the computer once more, I realized it was time for final assembly. The base was machined from metal, but I'd created the emitter feathers themselves from heat-resistant ceramics printed on a 3D printer, housing all the most complex electronics inside. The wings were modular, of course, and attached to the back platform using a quick-release electromagnetic lock. In case of critical damage, I could drop them via mental command in a fraction of a second.
The result was an overall compact, modular, and elegant system, though not refined at the software level. In travel mode, a protected backpack. In combat mode, silent plasma wings. In defensive mode, a practically impenetrable plasma shield. Not just wings but a Swiss Army knife for aerial combat, forged by... Um, Daedalus? No, everything ended badly for him. And for me... it was time to proceed to the key stage.
Alas, the most powerful hardware in the world was useless junk without perfect software. The power of thought... honestly, this was definitely the most complex and important part of the entire system. I really didn't want to implant a chip into my brain; my skull wasn't a server rack. That meant a non-trivial, interdisciplinary approach was required. Well, or... do it in the spirit of the superhero genre and stuff everything into one module. Into a mask. Oh, I definitely wouldn't abandon this idea now. The symbol of my hidden identity would become the source of my power. And, oddly enough, most of the work on this mask I'd... program.
For this, I created a simple AI and provisionally named it "Synapse." It would be responsible for reading brain signals with the highest accuracy, using only the mask's contact points with my head. Instead of one type of sensor, I used a multimodal reading system. "Synapse," receiving data from three sources simultaneously, would cross-reference them to eliminate interference and obtain a crystal-clear signal of my intentions.
I outfitted the mask with dry graphene electrodes, the "seismograph of thoughts." The inner lining against my forehead and temples held a network of flexible graphene micro-electrodes. They picked up the brain's general electrical activity directly through the skin, providing an overall picture of mental activity.
fNIRS sensors came next, the "activity map." I embedded miniature infrared sensors into the forehead area. They shone through the upper layers of the skull and measured blood oxygen levels in the prefrontal cortex. This technology let "Synapse" see which specific brain area was active and filter out background noise from targeted commands.
Finally, EMG sensors, the "intention sensors." I built electromyographic sensors into the straps securing the mask. They detected barely noticeable, preconscious electrical impulses that the brain sent to the muscles fractions of a second before movement began.
How did this work in theory? I think: "Activate wings!" "Synapse" sees: an activity spike on the EEG, increased blood flow in the motor cortex on the fNIRS scanner, and a micro-contraction of back muscles on the EMG sensors. Cross-referencing all three signals, the AI identified the command with ninety-nine point nine percent accuracy and instantly transmitted it to the wing modules.
How did this happen in practice? Calibration. Constant code modifications. And thirty fucking hours of programming under NZT, during which I essentially conducted a continuous dialogue with the machine, teaching it the language of my thoughts. This was the most exhausting mental work of my life. But the result... it was definitely worth it.
One small matter remained: finishing the mask. Sleep was beginning to pull at me. No matter how good the fatigue pills were, when your mind and body worked to exhaustion for more than fifty hours straight... No. I would finish the suit. And only then, with a clear soul and conscience, would I rest.
So, where was I? Ah yes, the mask and its respiratory part. The brain was connected. Now I needed to connect the lungs.
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