The Spark Before the Fire
Owen was sitting with his gaze fixed on Doctor Pym, watching him closely as the old man explained the creation of Ultron. And apparently, to Owen's surprise, Pym had not lost the memories of what had happened during the creation of his artificial intelligence. That small change in the official version caught Owen's attention immediately.
The old man had known about Ultron from the very beginning and understood everything related to its existence. That was why no mental assistance from Wanda had been necessary; it even seemed that the doctor had already considered a defense against such intrusions. He had implanted a small device somewhere in his body that prevented any kind of mental manipulation. Ever since mutants and heroes had begun to appear, a mind concerned with his inventions always acted the same way: by preparing for everything.
Not even Tony had something like that. But judging by Stark's expression, he was clearly considering it now. As if it had never occurred to him before; though that old man had. And Tony couldn't allow himself to fall behind.
Pym continued explaining how, after leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. due to a fight with those idiots who ran it, he decided to create an artificial intelligence that would protect the world better than they ever could. He wanted to prove to them how incompetent they were; that with a single one of his creations, he could achieve what they never had.
However, he had used part of the artificial intelligence stored by S.H.I.E.L.D.—one that held the mind of a scientific genius trapped inside a computer. He copied some data, just enough to improve the learning processes. Obviously, it wouldn't be the same intelligence; but he took inspiration from the scientist known as Zola. At first, everything went smoothly. The AI learned quickly, almost too quickly, showing magnificent capability in every test.
Then, Pym had an even better idea: if a digital copy of someone like Zola's brain had such potential, why not copy his own brain?
And so he did. He created a virtual copy of himself and integrated it with the intelligence he was already developing, forming the first high-frequency AI with cognitive thought; an intelligence that seemed almost human, though entirely virtual.
To Pym, it was a success. The greatest of his career, setting the Pym particles aside of course. The problem appeared when he thought about transferring that artificial mind into a robotic body. He didn't have Stark's technology, so he only built a basic body for experimentation.
The problem arose the instant Ultron took control of the robot. It attacked him immediately.
Fortunately, the original Ant-Man had exceptional reflexes. Using the Pym particles, he shrunk the robot down to a tiny metal toy before it could kill him.
It was at that moment that Pym understood just how dangerous that artificial intelligence really was. He tried to repair it, correct it, reprogram it, but all he managed to do was distort its code even further. Without a much more powerful computer, it was impossible to fix. No solution. And considering that the technology he needed cost an absurd fortune, even for his company, he decided to store it away in a secure server and focus on other projects. Wait for technology to advance.
And so it was archived. But when he lost his company, everything fell into the hands of whoever took control. And those files remained ready to be manipulated.
The room was in complete silence when he finished his story. Everyone was listening with full attention.
"Ha. Your own creation attacked you," Tony said with a mocking smile. "Ever since I created JARVIS back in high school, he never thought about rebelling or anything like that," he added, with obvious competitive pride.
"Yes, but my artificial intelligence is still out there. Where's yours?" Pym replied with a smirk.
Steve stepped in before a fight could start.
"So… Ultron was created with a copy of your brain. Just like they did with Zola in S.H.I.E.L.D.?" he asked seriously.
"Something like that," the old man replied, not denying it entirely.
"And how do we stop him?" Steve insisted, even more serious.
"The only way is to pull him out of the network. Completely isolate him and then destroy his data. But… that would be complicated," Pym said, thinking aloud.
"Can't we just… pay the internet?" Steve asked with genuine innocence.
He immediately earned incredulous looks from everyone in the room.
"That's not the problem," Banner muttered tiredly. "If he leaves even a single piece of data hidden somewhere, he could copy himself again."
"And not only that. The most important thing is… what did he mean when he said he would find you 'in the flesh'? And that he was still missing something?" Thor asked, who had returned from who knew where. In truth, he had been missing since yesterday after the fiasco with the robots; he had escorted Doctor Helen and the others to a safe place. Better not to ask further.
Pym let out a sigh. "When he attacked me with that incomplete body, he realized how weak that structure was. I suppose he meant that; improving a robotic body."
"Improving?" Pietro asked. He was sitting with Scotty and Nicolás, watching the conversation with little interest… until that moment. "You mean he'll be looking for a better armor?" he asked as if it were about a video game, though it was actually the most accurate question.
"Uh… yes, you could put it that way. More durability, more resistance, and more—"
Before he could finish, Tony's eyes widened and he looked at Steve with sudden urgency.
"I know where he might find that," he said, his expression tense. "And we should hurry. If he gets those materials, he'll be a lot harder to destroy."
…
Meanwhile, on a cargo ship called Churchill, anchored at the docks of Durban's port, an illegal trade was taking place. Ulysses Klaw, a robust, muscular man with an imposing presence, walked across the deck with an arrogant stride while talking casually about merchandise, prices, and contacts. His confident, almost predatory attitude filled the atmosphere.
Behind him walked a man who didn't quite fit in with the port workers. He had a strikingly attractive face; defined features, eyes that seemed to shine with a faint golden hue, and a smile that was almost hypnotic. His blond, curly hair completed that strange picture—so ordinary in appearance, yet so dangerous in sensation. He wore simple clothing: a shirt and light pants, as if he were just passing through… though his presence was anything but ignorable.
Around them, dozens of workers moved tirelessly, carrying containers, securing crates, handling machinery, and welding damages on the ship's hull. The metallic creaking, the smell of oil, and the sound of the sea hitting the docks shaped a tense, clandestine atmosphere.
"So, how much do you want? If you give me a good offer, we can make a deal. And the fact that you got all the way here proves you really want it," Klaw said with a scavenger-like smile, eager to squeeze out a fortune.
"How much do you have?" the blond man asked with a calm smile, completely ignoring Klaw's gaze, which followed him like he was a walking gold nugget.
"Hehehe…" Klaw chuckled with false modesty. "You know, I went through a lot to get it, so it's worth a lot." As he said this, he scratched several scarred marks on his arm; very particular and deep scars.
"Ah, don't worry about that," the man behind him replied, right as Klaw's phone began to ring. Klaw checked the screen and, the moment he unlocked it, he watched tens of millions of dollars appear one after another, transferring directly into his account.
Klaw's smile widened immediately. He walked faster toward a side hatch, unlocked it, and revealed a second, even more hidden door. Behind it, a narrow room illuminated by white lights displayed several glass containers filled with what appeared to be chunks of a special material: vibranium.
The blond man's eyes gleamed for a moment. Their golden tone intensified, almost as if flames had come to life within them.
"This is good," he said with a calm smile. "Looks like I'll be able to take a few days off thanks to this."
Upon hearing that phrase, Klaw stopped, frowning as he stared at the man with growing confusion.
"Those words…" he muttered, studying him more carefully. With a slow gesture, his hand drifted toward the gun on his waist. "A soldier I ran into several times back when I was a mercenary used to say that. Owen Colt."
Judging by his tone, it was clear he wasn't talking about someone he remembered fondly.
Before Klaw could draw his gun, the blond man's expression twisted into pure fury. He moved so fast the mercenary barely understood what happened; suddenly he was standing right in front of him, staring directly into his eyes with a hatred so intense the air itself felt thick.
"What did you say?" he asked, while his blond hair lit up with reddish tones, moving as if fire were running through it. There was no wind inside the compartment, yet his hair swayed like living flames. His eyes, once a soft gold, turned into a bright, blazing ember-like color.
Klaw felt a burning pain in his arms; the man's grip seared like red-hot iron.
"My father used to say that. Don't get it wrong," the stranger said as his hands turned red, the muscles tightening under his skin and radiating unbearable heat.
Klaw screamed in pain, a cry that echoed down the narrow metal corridor.
As if that scream snapped him out of it, the man released him abruptly. His hands slowly returned to normal while he brushed his palms together as if they were dirty.
"Oh… sorry about that. I've been having a bit of trouble controlling my anger lately," he said with total calm.
It was then that he noticed the workers who had been busy moments ago were now standing still, pointing guns at him from all directions.
The blond man looked around with unsettling calm, as if none of this bothered him in the slightest. A small, excited smile appeared on his face, as though this were… amusing.