"You know, I'm tempted to build a production line. With how much juice you're going to burn, it might be worth it."
"Not yet," James said. "Earth's not ready for high-grade tech production. We're keeping this under the radar."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The new version of Umbra Sentinel was complete—twice the size of the original. The Nexus Arms system was functional, though only one set had been produced so far. James needed to get familiar with the equipment, work through any issues, and see if the system was ready for limited production.
Tony Stark's cliffside villa was isolated, with the ocean sprawling below. It was perfect for live-fire tests. James could launch rounds into the sea without worrying about collateral damage.
But something still bugged him.
"The energy weapon in my left arm can't use the sling-shot gun trick," he muttered, a little frustrated.
[Cortana: We designed the weapon around stable energy pulses, not ballistic simulation. Sling-fire arcs require projectile mass and shape—typically sharp or round. Energy doesn't behave like that.]
"So we'd need a whole new energy model based on pistol physics?"
[Correct. Not impossible, but not practical without a breakthrough in energy field shaping.]
"Guess I'll keep thinking about it. I don't want to rely on one system. If I can't trust my weapon to land a hit every time, I'm at a disadvantage."
[Your focus should shift to close-combat options. You can't shoot your way out of every situation. Think ahead—New York is going to be chaos.]
"Yeah. So what matches my style for close quarters?"
[Consider the Glorious Executioner's gear. Spinning axes.]
James raised an eyebrow. "That's… actually kind of cool."
[You already know knife combat, which could be incorporated with the spinning axes, as well as the accuracy and dexterity to throw and catch the axes.]
Before he could follow that thought further, Tony's voice crackled through the comms.
"James, come inside for a sec. Don't start practice yet. Phil Coulson called—something big seems to be going down."
James walked back toward the villa, armor compacted and stored within his internal space. He couldn't match Stark's wealth, but his gear was efficient. All his capital was tied up in League Games—zero liquidity, which meant no personal support crew.
"What's going on?"
"Watch this." Tony cued up a video feed. J.A.R.V.I.S. played it on a nearby display.
The footage was chaotic and shaky—definitely not professional. People screamed in the background. A massive figure rampaged through the street, cars flying, buildings crumbling.
James recognized it instantly.
"Abomination."
Then came the counter. A familiar green figure charged in—Hulk. The two giants collided, throwing each other through concrete and metal.
"When was this? And why didn't we hear about it?"
"A few days ago," Tony replied. "We've been deep in your armor project, and I'm guessing this was media-suppressed. J.A.R.V.I.S. didn't catch much, which is unusual. I'd heard rumors about the green guy before, but he disappeared for a while."
James crossed his arms. "Probably the U.S. military poking around again. When in doubt, they always mess with their own country."
Tony snorted. "Paranoid generals and narcissistic politicians—what else is new?"
James nodded. "Exactly. So what does Coulson want with you? They're not planning to recruit you, are they?"
"Not this time. Someone wants to add Abomination to the Avengers initiative. Fury's not on board, obviously—guy's unstable. But the pressure's building. Phil wants me to visit General Ross, get him to lock the brute down permanently."
James smirked. 'Classic tie-in. I remember this—used to be a Marvel short. Now it's real.'
They suited up in sleek business attire and boarded Tony's private jet. James didn't envy the luxury plane. What he really wanted was Phil Coulson's old ride—the retro hover-car SHIELD compensated him with. Too bad he'd probably have to "die" to get it.
The jet touched down in New York. Ross was holed up in a small bar, drunk out of his mind. He'd been burned. His reputation, his projects, his funding—all gone.
"Guy deserves it," James muttered, flipping through Phil's briefing. "Why's he still even a general?"
"Not our call," Tony said. "Our job is to make sure he doesn't hand over Abomination. SHIELD's officially calling me in."
Tony seemed a little too excited.
They pulled up to the bar, stepped inside, and spotted Ross immediately—military fatigues, slouched at the counter, whiskey in hand.
Tony whispered, "Time to rattle the cage."
They walked over.
"I smell steel, booze… and failure," Tony said casually. "General, I hate to say 'I told you so,' but your Super Soldier program? It was doomed from day one."
Ross looked up, bleary-eyed. "Stark. Always dressed like you're going to a photoshoot."
Tony smirked. "Exactly. Presentation matters. That's why I succeed—and you don't."
Ross's eyes narrowed. "Watch it."
"I say this to presidents too, don't feel special. I'm here on behalf of SHIELD. Someone upstairs thinks your mutant science experiment could be an asset. Personally, I think it's trash. But whatever—World Security Council wants it."
Tony leaned in.
"Hand him over. We'll take responsibility. Better with us than wasting oxygen in your cage."
Ross slammed his glass down. "Not happening! That thing's staying buried. Forever."
"Really? Even after I bought this bar?" Tony pulled out a check and waved it around. "Yeah. This place? Mine now. Thursday I'm blowing it up. It's ugly anyway."
James leaned back, arms crossed, grinning from the antics.
'Typical Stark.'