----
"Mr. Rockefeller,"
Nolan smiled calmly as he gazed at the aging lion before him, David Rockefeller, head of one of America's oldest and most powerful families.
Though well into his twilight years, David still carried a regal weight, like an old king who no longer hunted but could still command fear with a glance.
"Superman," David greeted, voice steady.
Nolan sipped the tea offered to him.
"I think you know why I'm here," he said, tone light but laced with threat. "In my investigation, I noticed your family's… unusual level of interest in me."
As he spoke, his gaze shifted to the two men standing behind David.
Paul and John.
They had thought Nolan was just a young man with impressive power, but manageable. Yet the moment his eyes locked onto theirs, both men stiffened. Their blood turned to ice.
It felt as if a starving predator had turned its attention on them, not attacking, just watching.
But that alone was enough to trigger primal fear.
David exhaled slowly. "It was the mistake of two arrogant nephews, nothing more."
Nolan's smile sharpened. "This wasn't just a mistake, Mr. Rockefeller. This was legislation. A media smear campaign. Political manipulation. You played the oldest game in America, only this time, you picked the wrong target."
He snapped his fingers.
Paul and John flinched.
Suddenly, several armored guards emerged from the hallway, Rockefeller's private enhanced operatives. They moved to act.
Bad call.
Red energy detonated.
One of the guards was instantly thrown across the room, his head gone, skull split clean by an invisible force. His body crumpled into a heap, smoke rising.
"Those toys you've been hiding in your basement? They're not nearly enough."
Gunfire erupted, but every dart and projectile froze midair.
Needles filled with a faint green serum trembled in place, suspended as if gripped by an invisible hand.
David's eyes widened. "Magneto?"
"You're sharp," Nolan said, pleased. "Yes, magnetic field manipulation. I've already scrambled the iron ions in their blood. Two minutes—tops—and they'll start losing the ability to produce hemoglobin. Oxygen stops flowing. Death follows."
He sat back down, fingers drumming lightly against the chair's arm.
Paul and John nearly collapsed, gripping David's chair to stay upright.
David's face had gone pale.
"My father once told me," he said slowly, "everything comes with a price. The smart ones pay early. Or… shift the cost to someone else."
He swallowed, looking down at his trembling nephews.
"I assume you're here to discuss what price we must pay."
Nolan's smile returned. "Now we're speaking the same language."
He leaned forward. "Your family controls oil, infrastructure, banking, you sneeze, entire economies catch a cold. But what made you think you could target someone like me?"
David didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
Nolan already knew. The elite were used to mutants hiding, used to powers being contained by law, fear, and bureaucracy. Their confidence wasn't earned; it was inherited.
"I assume S.H.I.E.L.D. used to be your pet project," Nolan said flatly.
David's hands twitched at the mention.
"But S.H.I.E.L.D. is dead."
David nodded, slowly.
"Whatever you want," he said quietly. "The Rockefeller family is ready to make reparations."
"Good."
Behind him, Paul and John sighed in relief, holding themselves up against the wall, dizzy but still conscious.
---
Days later…
All the negative media coverage about "Superman and the Registration Act" abruptly vanished.
Replaced by a bombshell:
The Rockefeller Group was buying a major stake in Oscorp.
Stock prices exploded.
Pundits speculated wildly. Old money joining hands with new tech? A show of faith? A financial pivot?
But the ones paying closer attention… remembered the smear campaigns.
They remembered how the Rockefeller family had been backing the media storm against Nolan until suddenly, they weren't.
Had he forced their hand?
Nolan offered no public comment.
He didn't need to.
What baffled him wasn't their wealth, but their arrogance. These families, untouched by consequence for generations, had assumed all superhumans were like the X-Men.
Afraid. Passive. Containable.
They were wrong.
"Rules," Nolan told Norman one day, sitting in his office, "are made for people too weak to break them."
Norman frowned. "Won't this… upset some very important people?"
"If they're still 'sensitive,' maybe they need a reminder of what I can do."
Nolan smiled. "Like freezing the Hoover Dam… permanently."
Norman chose not to ask further.
Instead, he shifted gears. "The departments are progressing. The Undead Legion is fully operational. The Demon Unit is almost there, but the Nightshade Serum's compatibility rate is too low. We're moving forward with constructing the Nightshade Armor."
"And Jessica's team?"
"Recruitment ongoing."
Norman hesitated. "Boss… who are we preparing for?"
"You'll find out soon enough," Nolan said, rising from his chair. "Our goals don't end on Earth."
"And funding?"
"Handled. The diluted version of the Nightshade serum is market-ready. The enhancement drug is nearing final clinical trials. Push the Rockefeller side harder."
"Yes, sir."
---
Back in his lab, Nolan reviewed Connors' latest notes. He'd be departing soon for Kamar-Taj.
How long he'd stay, he wasn't sure.
Then his comm buzzed.
Otto's voice came through, breathless with excitement.
"Boss—I found it! The element you were looking for!"
Nolan grinned.
"On my way."
Finally.
Some good news.
----
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