[June 1934 - Sterling Laboratories]
Dr. Abraham Erskine arrived like a refugee from a nightmare, which he essentially was. Alexander had paid handsomely for his extraction from an increasingly hostile Germany, using contacts that didn't officially exist and routes that wouldn't appear on any map.
"Dr. Erskine," Alexander greeted him in the private lab. "Welcome to your new home."
"Mr. Sterling." Erskine's handshake was firm despite his ordeal. His eyes held the haunted look of a man who'd seen his country lose its mind. "I must thank you again for—"
"No thanks necessary. Your mind is payment enough." Alexander gestured to the state-of-the-art equipment. "Everything you requested, plus some additions I thought might prove useful."
Erskine examined the lab with the wonder of a child in a candy store run by mad scientists. "This centrifuge... it shouldn't exist yet. The specifications are beyond anything currently manufactured."
"I have talented engineers who enjoy turning theoretical designs into practical equipment. Sometimes theory becomes practice faster than expected."
"Indeed." Erskine's look was knowing. "Tell me, Mr. Sterling, why the interest in human enhancement? Your letter mentioned medical applications, but this equipment suggests more... ambitious goals."
Because in about ten years, you're going to create Captain America, and I'd rather have a hand in that than watch from the sidelines.
"Medicine is just the beginning," Alexander said carefully. "Imagine workers who don't tire as quickly. Soldiers who heal faster. Humans who can survive in environments that would kill normal people. The applications are endless."
"The Germans think similarly. They speak of creating the Übermensch. I've seen where that philosophy leads." Erskine's face darkened. "It leads to viewing some humans as less than others. To justifying atrocities in the name of improvement."
"The Germans are driven by ideology. I'm driven by practicality." Alexander picked up a folder. "Your research focuses on enhancing what's already there, not creating some master race. That's what interests me. Improvement, not replacement."
"And if my research succeeds? What then?"
"Then we change the definition of human potential. Carefully. Ethically. Profitably."
Erskine studied him for a long moment. "You remind me of someone I knew in Germany. Brilliant, driven, absolutely certain of his vision-"
"But I'm not German. Alexander smiled. "Besides, I believe in enhancing everyone, not just those who fit some arbitrary ideal. Equal opportunity enhancement."
"A democratic approach to human improvement?"
"A profitable approach. Why limit your market based on ideology when you can sell to everyone?"
That actually got a small smile from Erskine. "You're either very progressive or very greedy."
"Por que no los dos?" Alexander moved to the window. "Dr. Erskine, war is coming. When it does, governments will throw ethics out the window in favor of victory. I'd rather you work here, with resources and protection, than in some government lab where your conscience will be considered a liability."
"And my conscience won't be a liability here?"
"Your conscience is an asset. It keeps us from becoming monsters." Alexander turned back. "I don't want to create weapons, Doctor. I want to create possibilities. What humanity does with those possibilities... well, that's on them."
Also, I know exactly what humanity will do, and I'm positioning myself to profit from it. But let's keep that between me and my morally flexible business model.
"Very well," Erskine extended his hand. "Let's see where this partnership leads."
"To the future, Doctor. One enhancement at a time."
[August 1934 - Council of Nine Meeting, Location Unknown]
The meeting was peak shadow organization aesthetic—dramatic lighting, mysterious figures, dialogue that sounded like it was written by someone who'd read too much pulp fiction. Alexander played his part perfectly, the ambitious industrialist slowly being seduced by power.
"Your contributions to our cause have been noted," Gloucester intoned from his position at the council table. "The information about Roosevelt's infrastructure plans was particularly valuable."
Yeah, information I pulled from high school history class. You're welcome, discount Illuminati.
Alexander inclined his head. "I aim to prove my worth."
"Indeed. Tell us, what's your assessment of the European situation?"
"Germany will move within two years. They're rearming faster than anyone admits publicly. Japan's already expanding in Asia. The democratic powers are too weak to respond effectively."
"And Sterling Enterprises?"
"Will be positioned to supply all sides until America inevitably enters the conflict. Then we'll be the arsenal of democracy, at substantial profit."
"Profit." Another council member, face hidden in shadow like they were auditioning for a Batman villain role, spoke with disdain. "Is that all that drives you?"
"Profit is power. Power is survival. Survival is everything." Alexander met the hidden gaze steadily. "Ideologies come and go. Money endures."
"A pragmatic view. Perhaps too pragmatic." Gloucester leaned forward. "We seek to reshape the world order, not simply profit from its convulsions."
"Reshaping requires resources. I provide those." Alexander allowed a hint of steel into his voice. "Question my methods if you like, but my results speak for themselves."
The council exchanged glances—exactly the reaction he'd wanted. Let them think he was motivated purely by greed. Greedy men were predictable. Predictable men were controllable.
"Very well," Gloucester concluded. "Continue your operations. We'll have specific requests soon. Manufacturing capabilities we'll need developed."
"I'll await your specifications."
As Alexander left the meeting, he memorized every detail. Three possible locations based on travel time. Seven council members present, including Gloucester, Hugh Jones of Roxxon, and that newspaper magnate Mortimer Hayes. Security protocols that were good but not impenetrable. Every meeting gave him more intelligence. Soon, he'd know enough to move against them if necessary.
Know your enemy. Especially when your enemy thinks they're your friend.
[October 1934 - Sterling Tower, Executive Floor]
"The Council's getting pushy," Torrio reported, settling into the leather chair across from Alexander's desk. "They want us to start manufacturing specialized equipment. No specifications yet, but I'm guessing it ain't gonna be toasters."
"Let them want. We'll delay, ask for clarifications, need more details." Alexander studied the chess board between them, a game in progress. "How's Tommy working out?"
"Kid's a natural. Already identified three union leaders we can work with. Negotiated a deal with the dock workers that'll save us thousands."
"Good. Keep him away from the grey area operations for now. Let him build his network clean."
"Speaking of networks, Capone wants to expand into California. Says the territory's ripe."
"Approved, but carefully. We're not in the crime business anymore. We're in the aggressive logistics business."
Torrio smirked. "That what we're calling it?"
"That's what the lawyers call it. And what lawyers call things is all that matters in court." Alexander moved a knight, taking Torrio's bishop. "Any word from our German friends?"
"Erskine's making progress. Says he's close to something. Won't say what."
"He'll share when he's ready. Genius can't be rushed." Alexander reset the chess board. "What about Howard?"
"Stark's been asking questions. Wants to know why we're so interested in theoretical materials."
"Let him ask. Curiosity's healthy. It's when people stop asking questions that I worry."
The intercom buzzed. His secretary's voice: "Mr. Sterling, Senator Walsh on line one."
"Tell the good senator I'll call him back. After he's had time to review our latest campaign contribution."
Torrio chuckled. "You've got ice in your veins, kid."
"No," Alexander corrected, studying the chess board. "I've got foresight. Ice melts. Vision endures."
[December 1934 - Private Airfield, New Jersey]
The plane touched down at midnight, carrying cargo that didn't officially exist. Alexander watched as crates marked "Agricultural Equipment" were unloaded, knowing they contained anything but.
"Early Christmas presents?" Tommy asked, appearing beside him. He'd proven adaptable to Sterling's grey areas, smart enough to see the necessity, idealistic enough to still question it.
"Something like that. Samples from our European partners. They want us to reverse-engineer some interesting technologies."
"The kind of technologies that go boom?"
"The kind that make other technologies go boom more efficiently." Alexander signed the manifest without reading it. He already knew what was inside. "Make sure these get to Lab Seven. Tell the team they have six months to improve on the designs."
"Improve how?"
"Make them cheaper to produce, more reliable, and add failsafes we control." Alexander turned from the plane. "Never give anyone a weapon you can't turn off."
Tommy nodded, understanding. "This connected to those Council guys?"
"Everything's connected, Tommy. That's the first rule of the game." Alexander headed for his car. "The second rule is making sure you're the one connecting the strings, not dancing on them."
As they drove away, Alexander considered the pieces he'd assembled. Criminal networks reformed into corporate structure. Scientists developing tomorrow's weapons. Politicians bought and paid for. Shadow organizations thinking they were using him.
By 1940, he'd need all of it. The war would come, and with it, opportunities and threats in equal measure. But first, more pieces to position. More pawns to promote.
"Hey, Alex," Tommy said suddenly. "You ever wonder if we're the bad guys in all this?"
Alexander smiled in the darkness. "Tommy, there are no good guys. Just different levels of self-interest. The only question is whether you're honest about it."
"That's a dark way to see the world."
"It's a realistic way. And realism keeps you alive."
"What about idealism?"
"Idealism is luxury for people who aren't trying to survive in a universe where gods and monsters are real."
Tommy was quiet for a moment. "You say that like you know something the rest of us don't."
If only you knew, Tommy. If only you knew.
"I know that power is the only truth that matters. Everything else is just pretty lies we tell ourselves to sleep at night."
"Jesus, Alex. When did you become so cynical?"
When I died and got reborn into a universe where half of existence gets deleted by a purple alien with a rock collection.
"When I realized the world doesn't care about what's right, only what's profitable. So I decided to be profitable."
They drove in silence after that, two kids from New York who'd become something else entirely. Something harder. Something necessary.
Something that would thrive in the storms to come.
Phase one complete, Alexander thought. Criminal empire legitimized. Scientific resources secured. Political connections established. Shadow organization infiltrated.
Phase two: Survive until the war. Then profit from it.
Phase three: Don't die when the superheroes start showing up.
Phase four: There is no phase four because I'll probably be dead by phase three.
But hey, at least it won't be boring.