Stark Future Technologies, top-floor laboratory.
Beyond the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, New York's glittering nightscape flowed like a river of stars.
Paul lounged in a comfortable lab chair, his feet casually propped on the control console as he listened to Baymax's report.
"According to the latest financial statements, the 'God's Eye' cybernetic prosthetics project exceeded first-quarter profit expectations by thirty-seven percent. Our global 'Regain Sight' charity initiative has provided free ocular implants to over ten thousand visually impaired patients, significantly enhancing the company's brand value and social reputation."
Baymax's voice was as steady as ever, but Paul could detect a subtle undercurrent of satisfaction beneath the smooth white shell.
"Good job, Baymax," Paul said with a lazy stretch. "Looks like we'll finally clean up the mess Obadiah left behind sooner than expected."
The thought of the ever-growing string of zeros in the company's accounts put Paul in an exceptionally good mood. Money meant security in this world—it meant turning the wild ideas in his head into reality, one after another.
He even started considering taking a vacation—soak up some sun on Malibu's beach, maybe check on Tony and Pepper's relationship while he was at it.
But that moment of relaxation lasted barely three seconds.
A jarring ringtone shattered the lab's tranquility.
Paul glanced at the caller ID—a large, heavily encrypted icon of a single eye. His brow furrowed.
Nick Fury.
Every time the bald Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. called, trouble followed.
He swiped to answer, but before he could speak, Fury's low, urgent voice came through.
"Paul, we have a situation. That theory you mentioned before—it's confirmed."
Paul's pupils contracted sharply. His feet dropped from the console as he sat bolt upright.
"What theory?" he asked, already knowing the answer, his voice chillingly calm.
"Dark Forest."
Two words—but they hit Paul's mind like a detonating bomb.
The air in the lab seemed to freeze.
For a long moment, Paul was silent, the only sound the faint hum of machinery. He could feel the nanobots inside him stirring, responding to his heightened emotions like a predator catching the scent of blood.
"Location," Paul said flatly.
"New Mexico. I'll send you the exact coordinates. We need your tech support. Might be dealing with… something we've never encountered." Fury's tone was uncharacteristically grave.
"Fine," Paul answered briskly. "But this is a favor S.H.I.E.L.D. owes me. When it's over, I'll send a list. Payment in kind."
He needed resources—massive amounts—to feed the increasingly voracious "beast" inside him.
"Deal," Fury agreed without hesitation.
Hanging up, Paul rose and strode to the panoramic window, gazing down at the city below, ablaze with light.
His expression changed.
A suppressed, almost predatory excitement flickered in his eyes—like a hunter who'd finally found worthy prey after too long a wait.
It had been so peaceful lately, he'd nearly forgotten the instincts carved into his bones.
Just as he was about to leave, another call came in—Tony.
"Hey, kid! Fury called. You're taking another one of his suicide missions? What, Afghanistan wasn't lesson enough?" Tony's yell was loud enough to rattle the receiver, his tone sharp with frustration—and concern.
"Relax, old man," Paul said lightly. "This is just a minor detour."
"Minor? Fury sounded like the sky was falling!"
Paul chuckled, then dangled an irresistible lure.
"This mission might be an opportunity."
"For what?"
"A way to get that reactor out of your chest—for good. No risk."
Dead silence on the other end.
A full ten seconds passed before Tony spoke again, his voice shaking—unable to mask his stunned disbelief.
"You… you're serious?"
"Completely." Paul's confidence was absolute.
He raised his right hand, and beneath his skin, countless microscopic silver particles gathered, forming a filament-thin nanoneedle, its tip gleaming faintly blue.
He brought it close to a superalloy test sample on the desk and murmured into the phone, "My tech can extract those shards, one by one, atom by atom, without touching a single capillary. Like a scalpel so precise, it's invisible."
His voice brimmed with youthful arrogance.
Tony's breathing grew heavy on the other end. He couldn't imagine it—and yet, the words sent his heart pounding, even as the arc reactor hummed in his chest.
To be free of this ticking time bomb—it was all he'd ever wanted.
"Fine. Just—come back in one piece," Tony said, deadly serious.
"One more thing," Paul added, matching his tone. "Until I return, Pepper should take Morgan and Baymax out of the city. Malibu, the countryside—anywhere but a major population center."
Tony's instincts sharpened. "Why?"
"The Dark Forest's about to echo with gunfire. Best keep our people out of the line of fire."
No further explanation was needed. Paul knew Tony would understand.
Without another word, he hung up and strode toward the garage.
Behind him, the lab lights dimmed one by one, plunging the room into darkness—save for the glow of terminal screens, the last remnant of civilization.
VROOM!
The garage doors lifted with a hum. A sleek, futuristic silver hypercar roared to life—Paul's masterpiece, Sidewinder.
The doors swung upward. Paul slid into the cockpit, the cool metal interior and illuminated holographic displays sending adrenaline surging through his veins.
"Destination: New Mexico."
With a low growl, Sidewinder's engines flared blue, launching like an arrow into the New York night—racing west toward the unknown.
The storm was coming.