Chapter 55
I retrieved the scalpel from my inventory, letting it rest in my palm. It lay there like a shard of ghostly ice, pulsing almost imperceptibly in time with my heartbeat. Despite its density and materiality, I sensed its true nature. This wasn't just an object. It was a frozen thought, an ethereal construct bound to me by an invisible spiritual umbilical cord. I intuitively understood that if I simply left it on the table, cut off from my energy, it would dissolve within hours, breaking down into its base Reishi.
Moreover, I could unravel it myself. With a single effort of will, I could untie the metaphysical knot I had created. It was the perfect tool, one that left no trace. But even this didn't seem the most efficient option. Focusing on the scalpel, I tuned in to my new sensations and found another possibility.
Eureka.
Instead of simply dispersing its structure, I could draw it back in. I could pull it back into my spiritual core, back into my Reiryoku. Yes, the energy returned this way would be a fraction of what I had invested. The efficiency of my first creation was terrible. But the value of this method wasn't in the energy. It was in the blueprint.
Reabsorption! I couldn't just destroy an object, but preserve its imprint, burned into the very fabric of my soul. I could save it like a file in my memory. The next time I wouldn't have to create the scalpel from scratch, repeating the entire process. I could instantly materialize it again, spending only a tiny fraction of the energy. And the stronger my soul grew and the larger my Reiryoku capacity became, the more such files I could store. The only downside to this method was that I wouldn't gain OP again for the created scalpel, since this wasn't a direct creation process. But even so, the pros outweighed the cons, because operational power wasn't what I should be focusing on right now. I needed to digest and absorb what I already had, not scatter my efforts.
I concentrated. The scalpel in my hand began to lose its outline, becoming translucent, then dissolved into myriad glowing particles that streamed back into my chest. I felt a tiny but tangible part of my inner sun reserved for this blueprint. I could erase it to free up space, but I wouldn't rush to do that for now.
Now that I had proven the concept viable, I could proceed to the next creation. It wouldn't be a weapon. Though the thought of creating my own Zanpakuto excited my imagination, I understood that I currently lacked the strength, knowledge, and confidence for a sentient spirit sword. No, I needed something more practical and useful in my current situation. Something I would use constantly.
Something for surveillance, for example.
Drones, bugs, sensors. It was a whole layer of technology I had never gotten around to because of my constantly shifting priorities. But what if I created the perfect spy without electronics? What if I created a spiritual bug that existed on a plane of reality undetectable by Stark's detectors, Fury's paranoid instincts, or Natasha's experience? In a world ruled by spies and corporations, an all-seeing eye is more valuable than the sharpest sword. This would give me a massive strategic advantage. That settled it.
This time, I wouldn't rush. I swallowed an NZT pill and immersed myself in a virtual design lab inside my mind. Before gathering even one Reishi particle, I needed to design the future spy's brain. There was no question of programming a full soul yet, but creating a complex information matrix, a sort of spiritual microchip, was well within my capabilities.
For the physical form, I chose a dragonfly. It was the perfect natural drone. It had panoramic vision, supreme maneuverability, and silent flight. Then I proceeded to program its spiritual core, defining its basic functions. I mentally honed every detail of this complex concept, preparing to embody it in spiritual flesh.
The first and main element for my dragonfly had to be an infallible return mechanism. I isolated and calibrated a tiny but unique part of my Reiatsu. This wasn't just energy. It was my spiritual signature, my resonant key in the universe. I embedded this frequency into the very core of the future construct, making it a quantum beacon-attractor. For the dragonfly, my signal would henceforth be the only constant, a fundamental metaphysical law that it would instinctively seek after completing its mission.
The next step was data collection. I programmed a command into the core for the sensory crystal: [ACTIVATE PASSIVE RECORDING MODE]. The crystal wouldn't actively scan the environment. Instead, like a multidimensional memory crystal, it would remain passively exposed, absorbing all surrounding information flows into its structure. This included photons for sight, sound waves for hearing, and most importantly, the subtlest vibrations of the target's Reiatsu. A built-in two-hour timer would trigger the completion of the collection phase.
Third was autonomy. To maintain its form and functionality for two hours without depleting its own structure, I programmed the dragonfly's outer shell for passive Reishi absorption. This wasn't aggressive vampirism. It was a refined process of harmonizing with the target's background aura radiation. The shell would automatically absorb the bare minimum of free spirit particles constantly emanating from any living being. To the target, this would be as imperceptible as shedding a single molecule of sweat. To the dragonfly, it would be constant sustenance.
And finally, there was the self-destruct protocol. After making contact with me and transferring the data, the bug would simply vanish. I embedded into the core a final directive written in the language of pure will: [IF [contact_with_creator_frequency] = TRUE, THEN [initiate_complete_data_dump_to_source] AND [initiate_structural_core_destabilization]. END PROGRAM].
The mental blueprint was ready.
I extended my hand, and streams of Reishi rushed toward my palm. But this time, I wasn't just sculpting a formless mass. Following my internal blueprint, I began performing microsurgery at the atomic level of the spiritual world. I constructed the dragonfly's complex hollow internal structure, its delicate wings, and its faceted eyes from the particles. I deliberately structured the particles at the very edge of materiality, creating a web of moonlight. It was a construct that would be invisible to normal vision and to most sensors.
In the dragonfly's chest cavity, I grew a perfectly stabilized Reishi crystal layer by layer. Its lattice was designed to serve as a flawless information carrier.
Core imprinting. This was the final step. The culmination. My Reiryoku reserves drained rapidly before my eyes. Sweat streamed from my forehead, stinging my eyes. My temples pounded. Even on NZT and with the amulet's buff, I felt I was at my absolute limit. I held dozens of simultaneous processes in my consciousness, preventing the fragile construct from collapsing through willpower alone. Gathering my remaining strength, I took the designed information matrix and, using my Reiatsu as a laser recording head, imprinted it into the very center of the spiritual crystal.
At that moment, the ethereal dragonfly came alive. Light flashed in its crystalline eyes, and its wings trembled almost imperceptibly. It didn't become a living being; it became a spiritual automaton, ready to execute its program. One final touch remained. I had to imprint my signature into its core, my beacon.
[Spiritual construct created: "Spy Dragonfly." Complexity: Normal. +300 OP received!]
A spiritual construct created through spiritual energy manipulation. It is capable of covert external information gathering and subsequent transmission to its creator.
This was indescribably exhausting. I felt wrung out to the very last drop. But I did it. I had created something more complex than a stabby stick.
With a thought, I dispersed the dragonfly, reabsorbing its essence and stored its blueprint in my soul's memory. The process gave back a little energy, but the overall fatigue was colossal. I left the Base, squinting in the bright morning sun. It was ten a.m. It was the perfect time to find some diner and eat the biggest, juiciest burger I could find.
I called a taxi to Manhattan and wandered aimlessly through the busy streets for about half an hour. I was bait, and I needed to give the predator time to notice and approach me. Finally, I entered a random, unremarkable cafe that reeked of coffee and fried onions, and sat at a table by the window. I ordered a double burger with a Coke and settled in to wait.
The burger never came. Instead of a waitress, a smiling, impeccably dressed man of about forty approached my table. His smile was disarming but professional, a tool honed over many years.
"May I sit down?" he asked, his voice calm and friendly.
"You can start by introducing yourself," I replied without taking my eyes off him.
"Agent Phil Coulson. Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate." He said it as if reporting the weather forecast. "But you probably know us as S.H.I.E.L.D."
And you, I see, aren't one for beating around the bush, Agent Coulson.
I smiled. Sincerity, even if it was feigned, was a good sign. As was the fact that Fury had sent one of his best people.
And you, Mr. Thompson, seem to be completely unsurprised.
Coulson accepted my tacit invitation with a slight nod and sat down opposite me. Most people in your position would be asking far more questions.
"I prefer to find the answers before I ask the questions," I answered with a shrug. And since we both value directness, I suggest we not waste any time and clearly define the purpose of your visit.
"Humanity," Coulson said simply. S.H.I.E.L.D. stands as its guardian. Your talents, Mr. Thompson, have been assessed very highly. We believe that they could bring enormous benefit to the entire world. And our agency is the only organization capable of helping you develop them fully.
I took a sip of my Coke, watching him carefully over the glass.
"I won't work for S.H.I.E.L.D.," I said, clearly and slowly, tracking his reaction.
Coulson's smile didn't waver, but for a split second, his eyes held the cold gleam of an analyst adjusting his calculations.
"Don't jump to conclusions." He raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Let's discuss the details."
"But I am ready to work with S.H.I.E.L.D.," I continued. And that, as you understand, is not the same thing.
Coulson visibly relaxed. Now he was on familiar territory. Negotiation territory.
"I'm glad that you're open to dialogue."
"For me, as for you, humanity comes first," I said. "And producing even more advanced weapons, combat stimulants, impenetrable armor, and other military technologies diverges somewhat from my concept of the common good, don't you think?"
"It depends on your perspective," he parried. "On whether these technologies are used not against people, but to protect them from threats they can't handle."
"Exactly." I snapped my fingers. "I'm ready to participate in creating such solutions. But only if S.H.I.E.L.D. provides me with unlimited resources and, more importantly, lets me bypass bureaucracy when implementing civilian projects."
"I don't quite follow you, Mr. Thompson."
"I need to start my own corporation. A tech giant like Stark Industries, but with a different philosophy. This is the best way not just to protect humanity, but to elevate it to a new level. To prepare it for the coming problems."
"What problems?" Coulson asked, genuine interest in his voice. "Problems that S.H.I.E.L.D. can't handle, but your corporation can?"
"I won't handle them alone, but I, as a public face, can become a catalyst." I shook my head. "And these problems are right up your alley. Inhabited space, which I'm sure is no news to you. Mystical threats and other planes of reality hidden from human eyes. Crime lords with armies of metahumans. And, of course, volatile Omega-level mutants who could snap at any moment. There are plenty of problems, Agent Coulson, and by my estimation, they will only increase."
"And you, out of pure altruism, are ready to shoulder all of this? Risking everything?" Coulson raised a skeptical eyebrow. "In our world, Mr. Thompson, pure altruism usually earns you a death certificate."
"Everything has its price." I smiled. "And its benefits. In my case, it's access to rare, unique materials for research. The opportunity to study other life forms. To visit places that ordinary people have never even heard of. I'm a scientist at heart, Agent. Secondarily, I'm an antsy adventurer. If it weren't for this whole fake-Fisk story, you wouldn't have learned about me for a long time. I'm a homebody researcher."
"And now you've suddenly decided to become a public figure? A new hero-engineer, like Richards or Stark?"
"Stark isn't a hero yet," I noted calmly.
"'Yet'?" Coulson immediately latched onto the word.
"His genius will, sooner or later, be unable to withstand the realization of the horror that his weapons bring to the world," I replied, as if it were self-evident. "As for publicity, yes, you're right. Sometimes it's the best protection. You know perfectly well what I'm capable of. And with your support, let's say, I can afford to be much more open. That benefits us both."
Agent Coulson closed his eyes for a moment, massaging the bridge of his nose. This was the only gesture that betrayed his inner state. It wasn't confusion. No, this man was too professional for that. Rather, it was the realization that the standard protocols and playbooks had just been thrown out the window.
"Let me summarize, to make sure I understood you correctly." He sighed heavily, meeting my gaze again. "You want to create your own public corporation. You demand to be practically unrestricted in everything, including on the bureaucratic front. And on top of everything else, this world-famous company should be supported by our agency with resources, technologies, and people. Did I miss anything?"
"Broadly speaking, yes." I sipped my Coke. "And to be fair, I'm still being modest."
"Modest?!" Even Coulson's iron composure cracked. His eyes widened for a moment.
"Honestly, Agent, after such a start, I'd like to speak directly with your agency's director," I said thoughtfully, making my move. "He should definitely understand my true value. Apparently, they didn't provide you with the full report on my demonstration for Agent Romanoff."
Coulson didn't blink at the mention of Natasha's name. Their assumption was that I would either break or agree to less at this stage. But I had moved to the next level.
"That's possible," he replied evenly, acknowledging my move. "After the director approves the request, I'll resolve this within a couple of hours. The meeting will probably be scheduled for today."
He extracted a simple, nondescript burner phone from inside his jacket and placed it on the table. It had no sensors, no GPS, and no extra functions. It was the perfect tool for a single call.
"You'll get a call."
I nodded, accepting the rules. Their plan was clear. Coulson was supposed to conduct an initial assessment. He was to probe my psychological profile, my stability, my readiness for contact, and, most importantly, establish my opening terms. Apparently, he was satisfied. The final decision remained with Fury. It was logical.
He politely said goodbye, stood up, and dissolved into the crowd as he left the establishment. The instant he was gone, a waitress materialized before me with a plate bearing a fresh, juicy burger. I sank my teeth into it, replaying the meeting in my head.
There had been no outright refusal. That was the main thing. S.H.I.E.L.D. had probably expected me to ask for money, a lab, and a staff of scientists. It was the standard package for a valuable asset. But I'd thought bigger. All of that was a given. But I needed a real shield, and sometimes publicity is the best protection.
Why? To hire the world's best minds without having to hide. To create technologies that would change the world for the better, not just gather dust in secret hangars. To not have to fear every little noise and wait for men in black to burst into my garage at any moment.
And on a global scale, solving problems at the level of Loki, Galactus, or Thanos is hundreds of times easier when you're a public figure with weight, authority, and the resources of an entire corporation behind you.
And, of course, there were personal matters. I could place Peter and Gwen somewhere their genius would be appreciated. I could try to pull Frank from his impending war by offering him the position of head of security. I could establish connections with British intelligence through Blade and, from there, all of Europe. My company, even at this early stage, would represent a serious power.
I finished the burger, paid, called a taxi, and stepped outside. The sun was shining brightly, and Manhattan was humming with thousands of voices. I barely suppressed the urge to take a walk, risking running into God knows who. Ahead of me lay high-stakes games, and I couldn't afford to relax.
I stood on the sidewalk, looking for my ride, when I felt it.
It was a short, sharp sting in my neck. It felt like a mosquito bite. I jerked instinctively. An icy cold had already begun to spread through my veins, my muscles were rapidly stiffening, and the world swam before my eyes, losing its colors and sounds.
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