Chapter 59
The next few hours turned into an intense but surprisingly productive negotiation marathon. This wasn't a friendly chat. It was a hard-nosed deal between two highly motivated but mutually distrustful parties. Though to be clear, my distrust wasn't aimed at S.H.I.E.L.D. itself, but at the moles inside it.
"I'll state the main condition up front," I said, cutting Fury off before he could beat around the bush. "There will be no direct technology transfer. No blueprints, no formulas, no operational principles. You get the final product. Period. Given your leak problem, you must understand I'm not about to hand over my designs to your internal enemies on day one."
Fury listened silently, his expression showing he'd expected exactly this. He nodded.
"Reasonable. Then we're talking about a supply contract. S.H.I.E.L.D. becomes your first and primary client."
"Exactly. We create a company, provisionally named 'Thompson Corp.'" I deliberately chose the most boring, generic name I could think of. "Stark Industries screams 'superhero' to the entire world. 'Thompson Corp' sounds like a firm selling office supplies. Perfect camouflage, and perfect for a public face, since it's tied directly to me. And this company supplies you with the necessary resources."
Next, we moved to specifics. Fury dictated needs, I estimated my capabilities.
The first item was Proteus fabric. Five thousand meters.
"We need only the material itself," Fury clarified. "Our specialists will handle the tailoring to individual measurements for each operative."
I agreed. This was even advantageous: no hassles with size charts.
Next: consumables. Muscle stimulants and Apex Predator serum.
"A thousand portions of each, for starters," Fury said, looking at his tablet. "But for the fatigue pills, given their utility for all employees, not just combat groups, we need ten thousand."
I made a mental note to convert the other stimulants to tablet form as well. It would simplify logistics.
When the conversation shifted to the Ash and Dawn potions, the atmosphere grew more serious.
"A hundred portions for starters," Fury said, and I could tell this number hadn't come easily.
He understood this was a drop in the bucket for him, but the million-dollar-per-portion price tag and the production complexity dictated the terms. This was a trial batch. I saw in his eyes not just a desire to strengthen agents, but something more: the opportunity to return 'written-off assets' to service, those crippled veterans pulled from active duty whose loyalty was beyond question. These potions weren't just medicine. They were a tool for creating the most loyal army in the world. And Fury understood this perfectly.
The last item: compact palladium reactors. Ten units. That was where I decided to push my luck.
"Twenty-five million per unit," I said calmly. "And I'll be honest, Director, this price is a fraction of what it should be, because this technology is literally capable of changing the entire planet's energy sector. One such baby can power a dozen flying carriers year-round, if you've got them. Consider this price a gesture of good faith, because I don't plan to transfer this technology to anyone else yet. In the future, when I develop something even more impressive, the price will naturally drop."
Fury studied me in silence for several seconds, then gave an almost imperceptible nod. He didn't haggle. He wasn't buying reactors. He was buying future potential for S.H.I.E.L.D.
I committed to providing all of this within a month after receiving the science complex at my disposal. In turn, S.H.I.E.L.D. took on the whole headache: creating the corporation, cutting through bureaucratic and patent red tape, financing, and most importantly, access to exotic resources and their knowledge base.
"Your security and that of your key employees will also be our priority," Fury added.
By this point, I was already mentally assembling my team. Peter Parker: head of R&D. Gwen Stacy: personal assistant and field operative. Frank Castle: penciled in as 'head of security,' which meant a difficult conversation was waiting for me. And somewhere on the periphery: Flint Marko. If he really did have a sick daughter, I could find the right levers of pressure... or motivation. Another matter for the infinite pile.
The terms suited me perfectly. Especially considering my main ace, those NZT pills capable of shifting the entire global power balance overnight, which I hadn't even mentioned. The rest. Yes, this was serious reinforcement for S.H.I.E.L.D. I even admitted that some of the technology would inevitably leak to Hydra. But reverse-engineering anything more complex than the Proteus or Apex Predator serum would be nearly impossible. It would require years of research and massive resources. All of it just to desperately try to catch a train I'd already launched. Then, as the deal details settled in my head, I was hit by another unpleasant realization connected to Peter. A problem I'd created myself.
Through sheer stupidity and for the sake of questionable short-term gains, I'd made a mistake, showing my hand too much. At that moment, this brilliant but impulsive teenager knew stimulant recipes, including NZT. He knew the Proteus formula. He knew how to brew Ash and Dawn. And the cherry on top of this powder keg: under the influence of cognitive enhancers, he could theoretically recreate and stabilize Connors' serum, creating the perfect regenerative drug. He was a walking treasure trove of my most valuable secrets.
For now, I was safe because Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. only saw "potential" in him, not knowing what his brain actually held, and all their attention was focused on me. But as soon as Thompson Corp began operations and Peter took a key position there, he would inevitably fall under the microscope. The Parker problem was transforming from potential to priority. And I had no idea how to solve it. Strengthen him? I'd run through the options dozens of times, and they all hit a dead end, primarily because of Peter's personality. Overall, regarding his enhancement, I'd been thinking in terms of engineering, chemistry, and biology, but what was needed...
...Wait. I froze. Spider powers. This isn't about radiation and genetics. This is, damn it, fucking magic!
Unable to restrain myself, I slowly ran my palm over my face. The gesture was so expressive that Fury, who had been immersed in his tablet, looked up at me with an unspoken question in his eyes.
And I barely noticed him. In my head, a wild mosaic was coming together. The Multiversal Web. Spider Totems. A sacred connection impossible to reproduce in a lab through mere gene copying. And all this time, the answer had been right under my nose. Gwen: carrier of the Spider Essence. Peter: theoretically the perfect, compatible vessel. And me: the one who knew how to work with Essences, extract and transplant them. It was so insane it was genius. Most frightening of all, it could actually work. A true classic Spider-Man, a true one, could appear in this world. And that changed absolutely everything.
Okay. I'd return to that question later. First came the company, the lab, and straightening out Peter's brain.
"Finished with your internal crisis?" Fury inquired dryly, setting aside his tablet. His tone snapped me back to reality.
"Something like that." I nodded.
"Legal will prepare a preliminary contract by tomorrow morning. If everything suits you, we'll begin executing our part of the deal. This will take five to seven business days."
"Excellent." I let out a breath. The hours-long negotiation had concluded. The last day of September had been eventful.
"Then that's all for today. You're free to go. Outside, you'll be met and escorted to the Base's residential complex. And yes, Kraven's body. It would be better if you transferred it to us for study."
"Mm, no," I drawled. "First, I'll study my trophy. I might share my research findings."
Fury simply nodded in agreement, acknowledging my right to the spoils.
"But we're not finished," I added. Fury looked at me with interest again. "At my exploded base, there's one metal box." I indicated its dimensions with my hands. "It's valuable to me. Under our agreement regarding resources and mutual assistance, I'd like S.H.I.E.L.D. to find and deliver it to me."
Four hundred craft points is four hundred craft points; that box had cost me dearly, and the ore replenishment due in two weeks wasn't something to write off either. Fury nodded again. He'd clearly already ordered his "eggheads" to study that box inside and out before handing it over. Well, let them have their fun; they wouldn't find anything interesting there.
"And now the second request," I continued, adopting a more serious tone. "It also concerns access to your resources. And information. I need all available information you have on Vibranium processing."
Fury, who had been taking a sip from the glass on the table, froze, then choked. Not theatrically, but genuinely, with a stifled, strangled sound. For several seconds he just stared at me, and in his eyes I saw not just surprise, but a complete reassessment of the situation.
"Strange request," he finally said, regaining composure. His voice was perfectly even. "Anyone who knew about something like that would have demanded the metal itself." I spread my hands with a slight smile, which vanished instantly at his next words. "Vibranium itself is far less valuable than the technology for processing it. And S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't have that information."
"What?" I didn't hide my skepticism. "What about Captain America's shield? Howard Stark created it."
"Wakandan technology is a black box. Impenetrable. As for what Stark did..." Fury rubbed tiredly at the bridge of his nose, as if he'd told this story a hundred times already. "That's not technology. It's a scientific miracle mixed with luck and negligence."
"How exactly can you 'luckily' process a metal that absorbs any energy?"
Heating, stabilizing fields, hydraulic presses with controlled vibration, the process was complex," Fury explained. "And Stark's genius complicated things further by adding an experimental iron sample to the alloy, hoping it would help with stabilization. He repeated the experiment dozens of times, and during one such attempt, one of his engineers, Myron MacLain, simply dozed off on duty. He slept right through the critical moment, and the alloy solidified. Permanently. Transforming into something unique and, as it turned out, absolutely indestructible. And Stark had no more Vibranium. And, anticipating your question, we don't have it either.
"I see. A scientific fluke." I nodded. "But if they could affect it in the forties, even accidentally, then modern technology should yield a more predictable result. I need all records on this project. Everything you have. And also, all information on Adamantium ore processing."
This time, Fury was less surprised.
"That won't be a problem. Information will be transferred today." He nodded. "Is that everything?"
The Stark Expo map and City of Tomorrow blueprints briefly surfaced in my mind—the key to creating a new, clean element. But I bit my tongue in time. No. This was already too much. Knowing about classified past projects was one thing. But future technologies that existed only in Howard Stark's head? That kind of knowledge couldn't be explained away as either genius or espionage. This was a direct ticket to a padded cell.
"Yes." I rose from my chair. "Thank you."
I headed for the exit but froze for a moment at the threshold. A second's concentration, an almost imperceptible effort of will, and a tiny fragment of my spiritual energy separated, forming into a translucent dragonfly invisible to the ordinary eye. I left it in the office with a single directive: remain here, record everything, and transmit information to me in two hours and self-destruct. With that done, I finally left Fury's office.
There really was someone waiting for me at the office exit. More precisely, it was her. Natasha Romanoff leaned against the wall in a relaxed pose that nevertheless allowed her to react to any threat.
She nodded silently and started down the corridor, making it clear I should follow. Each time we turned down a new corridor, I split off another particle of my energy. Another invisible dragonfly took off to scout another section of the base, lingering near any source of spiritual power I detected. My Reiryoku reserve should be enough for about fourteen such spies. In a few hours I'd have an approximate map of the base, a personnel count, and, if I was lucky, leads on a couple of "Hydra scum."
We walked in tense silence for the first few hundred meters.
"Decided to moonlight as a tour guide?" I threw it out casually to defuse the situation. "Or are you afraid I'll get lost and accidentally stumble on your cursed artifact warehouse?"
"Just following the Director's orders," she said, her voice even, but I caught the tension in it.
"Shame. I was hoping for a fascinating tour with an overview of local attractions. Anyway, stop being so tense," I said calmly, breaking the silence that was becoming increasingly oppressive. "You'll get your medicine soon. Fury ordered a hundred portions, and I'm sure one has your name on it."
I immediately wondered: what would the Ash and Dawn potion do to the super-soldier serum? Most likely something purely positive. The formula seeks out defects and deviations from the carrier's 'ideal' genetic marker. The ideal marker for Romanoff was her own enhanced body. Worst case, nothing would happen. Best case, the potion would optimize her system and make her even stronger.
She stopped. Not sharply, but enough that I almost ran into her. Then she turned around. The tension in her shoulders hadn't gone anywhere, but in her green eyes, professional coldness gave way to burning, personal curiosity.
"How do you know about... the 'Graduates' problem? How do you even know about the Red Room?"
Her question sounded almost unprofessional. Apparently, curiosity and shock at my awareness had outweighed her spy composure. The masks were off now. What was the point?
"What two know, the pig knows too," I shot back with an old Russian saying. "Besides, you were too heavy-handed. No offense, but your sister ruined your whole operation with her lack of subtlety."
"Fury's too taken with you," she said through clenched teeth.
"He just has a keen eye," I smirked. "And unlike some, I haven't been caught switching sides yet."
That barb struck home, and she felt it.
"Another Russian phrase," she muttered, her accent barely noticeable, slipping back into her native tongue.
I pretended not to understand and changed the subject.
"Speaking of your little sister: why does she work for the CIA? An agency of dubious quality, frankly. S.H.I.E.L.D. looks more attractive on all fronts. Nicer people, more competent leadership."
"Don't stick your nose in our business," she cut me off. "This doesn't concern you."
"Strange, coming from someone who was probably in my house uninvited a couple of days ago, planting hundreds of bugs. Why is my business yours, but yours isn't mine?"
"Are you serious right now?" Natasha stopped again and looked me up and down. "Okay, I see you're not serious. A loner who thinks he's on par with a state power structure." She muttered something else under her breath.
"And I thought you guarded all humanity," I chuckled, continuing to follow her.
We continued on. The corridors grew wider here, metal walls giving way to more pleasant finishes. People in civilian clothes passed us, though they still moved with the bearing of operatives. We were clearly in the residential complex. Natasha stopped at another nondescript door, confirming my suspicion.
"The US is more concerned than others about humanity's future. We've arrived."
"Of course. To promote capitalism to the masses, you need to preserve those same masses," I added caustically.
"Something like that. I'm leaving. There's an internal phone in the room if you need me."
"So now you're at my complete disposal?" I smirked. "Personal handler, bodyguard... maid? A superspy in an apron sounds like a teenage boy's dream."
She stepped close to me. The air between us seemed to spark. Her voice dropped to a low, enveloping purr.
"For you, handsome, I can be anything." Her cool fingers lightly traced my jawline, sending a current through my entire body.
Before my stunned brain could formulate a response, she pulled back, and a triumphant smirk played on her lips.
"But only after you prove you're really worth the effort."
She turned and walked away, swaying her hips in a way that should be banned by the Geneva Convention. I remained standing in the middle of the corridor, following her with my gaze, sporting a sudden erection, and raging inner demons demanding that I catch up with her and immediately hand over that potion ahead of schedule.
Barely suppressing this impulse, I entered my assigned room. Perhaps I should meditate. Restore my Reiryoku reserve, calm down, and wait for reports from my dragonfly spies.
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