The drive back to the penthouse was a study in surreal tranquility. The city of New York hummed, a symphony of distant sirens, rumbling subways, and the gentle thrum of my sedan's engine. It was a world of mundane normalcy, completely oblivious to the fact that I was driving home with a Tier-2 Supe in my back seat.
[You know, for a billionaire CEO, your hobbies are getting really weird,] the System's voice commented, breaking the silence in my head. [Last week, it was mass assassination. This week, it's kidnapping traumatized super-soldiers. What's next? Are we going to try and teach Homelander to love?]
"This isn't a hobby," I replied, my eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. Kimiko was a small shape under the blanket. "This is an investment."
[Right. An investment that can rip your throat out if you look at her the wrong way. My favorite kind of high risk asset.]
The System wasn't wrong. This was by far the most dangerous and unpredictable thing I had done. Killing Supes was a binary transaction. They died, I got stronger. But Kimiko… she was a living complication.
The private elevator ascended silently to my penthouse. I carried her inside, her small frame surprisingly dense with muscle. The chaos of the noodle shop basement felt a universe away from the minimalist luxury of my home. I bypassed my own bedroom and took her to one of the guest suites. It was a beautifully appointed room with floor to ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city, a king-sized bed with ridiculously soft sheets, and an en-suite bathroom bigger than most city apartments.
I laid her gently on the bed. Her breathing was even, her face was peaceful in a way it probably hadn't been in years. I stood there for a moment, looking down at her. She was a weapon, forged by cruelty and Compound V. But underneath that, she was just a girl who had been stolen from her life.
I left a bottle of water and a plate of fresh fruit on the bedside table. I also left a stack of clean clothes. Then, I walked to the far corner of the room, settled into a plush armchair that offered a clear view of the bed and the door. Patience was a predator's virtue, but it was also a caregiver's necessity.
An hour later, she began to stir. Her eyes snapped open, and in a single motion, she shot up into a sitting position. Her body was a tightly coiled spring of primal instinct. Her eyes darted around the unfamiliar room, taking in the clean sheets, the plush carpet, the impossible view of the city skyline.
Then her eyes found me. The confusion in her expression was instantly incinerated by a wave of pure rage. A low growl rumbled in her chest. Her hands curled into claws, her knuckles white. She looked like a wolf that had woken up to find itself in a gilded trap with one of its captors.
Before she could launch herself across the room, I held up my phone, my movements slow and non-threatening. I had the translation app pre-loaded.
"Calm down," the phone's synthesized Japanese voice said, the sound sterile and calm in the tense silence. "You are safe here."
The sound of her native language gave her a moment's pause. Her head tilted, her glare unwavering but now tinged with a flicker of confusion.
She was still a breath away from attacking, so I continued, my thumbs moving quickly across the screen. "I am not your enemy. I freed you."
She glanced at the open door of the room, then back at me. She wasn't a prisoner here, not in the same way. But that only seemed to make her more suspicious. What did this new captor want?
I began to type the story I had formulated on the drive home.
"My name is Aryan Spencer," the phone spoke. "My company has been tracking a series of illegal experiments conducted by a rogue division within Vought International. These experiments involve a chemical called Compound V."
At the mention of Vought, her eyes narrowed. That was a name she knew. A name she hated.
"We discovered their operation in that basement," I continued. "They were testing the chemical on unwilling subjects. They were turning people into weapons."
I watched her face, looking for any reaction. Her expression was a mask of stone, but I saw the subtle tightening of her jaw. She was listening.
"You are one of their victims," the phone said. "They did this to you. They are the enemy."
I was framing myself as a third party, an enemy of her enemy. It was a more believable position.
She pushed herself off the bed, her movements like a predator testing the boundaries of its new territory. She never took her eyes off me. She circled the room, her bare feet silent on the carpet. She touched the cool glass of the window, her gaze sweeping over the city below. She was processing, trying to make sense of the impossible leap from a filthy basement cage to a sky-high luxury penthouse.
[She's not attacking,] the System noted in my mind. [That's a good sign, right? Or is she just figuring out the best angle to launch herself at your face from?]
"Patience," I replied.
She stopped in front of the bedside table and looked at the food and water, then back at me, her expression a mixture of suspicion and a deep hunger.
"The food is for you," the phone said. "It is not poisoned."
She let out a short hiss, a sound of pure contempt. The idea that I might try to poison her was probably the least surprising thing she had heard all day. But she was also starving. After a long moment, she snatched the apple from the plate, her movements lightning fast. She retreated to the far corner of the room, and began to eat, her eyes still locked on me, watching my every move as she devoured the fruit in a few quick bites.
I gave her time. I sat in the chair, making myself as non-threatening as possible. I let her finish the apple, then the rest of the fruit. When the plate was empty, she looked at the bottle of water.
"It is just water," the phone said.
She hesitated, then picked it up, unscrewed the cap, and drank, her throat working as she drained half the bottle in one go.
For the next hour, we existed in this state of tense truce. She huddled in the corner like a cornered animal. Me, sitting in the chair, a statue of patience.
I knew the next step was the most dangerous. I had to establish a baseline of trust, and that meant showing vulnerability. Or at least, the appearance of it.
I stood up slowly, my hands raised. Her entire body went rigid, a low growl rumbling in her chest.
"I am not going to hurt you," I typed, holding the phone out for her to see. "I am going to leave. This room is yours. You are not a prisoner here. The door is unlocked. But I ask you not to leave this room yet. The people outside this apartment are my security. They will not understand. They will see you as a threat."
It was a partial lie. Marcus and his team would follow my orders without question. But I needed to create a boundary, a reason for her to stay put while I figured out the next step.