On the screen the ship kept rotating, a giant that would only live if the million small things obeyed. James rolled his shoulders, drank the rest of his cold coffee, and went back to work. The helicarrier needed a mind that did not panic and a heart that did not lie. If he built this right, the next time the world called S.H.I.E.L.D. a relic, the sky itself would answer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once Fury delivered the specific requirements, James threw himself back into the program. The smart system had to govern nearly the entire Helicarrier, which meant extensive interior modifications. Doors, hangar gates, weapons interlocks, even isolation protocols. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't care about the scale of the job. That suited James fine. He'd already left a back door only [Cortana] could open—an invisible keyhole that gave him control over the entire helicarrier if things ever turned sour.
A week into his assignment, James had the underground factory mapped in his head. Days were split between long hours coding in the studio and trips aboard the half-completed Helicarrier, running tests in the command deck and engineering bays. It gave him an excuse to interact with engineers, laborers, and guards, cataloging who belonged where.
At night, he compiled his observations into neat lists—people he trusted, people he flagged—and handed them to Coulson. For now, they were sealed away. When the time came to act against Hydra, those names would matter. The problem was pacing. [Cortana]'s scans and his own heartbeat tracking burned fuel too fast. He couldn't sustain it every day without draining himself. The headquarters in-house restaurant had started serving him triple the portions.
Maria Hill he only saw in passing. She was busy with her own workload, but when James asked her out a week later, she accepted without hesitation. That alone was enough for him. If no one else fit, he could wait. She had her own ambition. Maybe one day she'd be the new Director, and then they could talk about permanence. For now, they left it unspoken.
That morning he cleared the security checkpoint, flashed his badge, and walked into the factory like any other day. Nine-to-five work still chafed. He wanted some real missions, but the helicarrier had to come first. His studio was supposed to be quiet, so when he found several armed soldiers clustered around a crate the size of a coffin, he frowned. Coulson stood nearby.
"Phil," James said. "What's with the babysitters?"
Coulson's smile was strained. "Your delivery came in last night, but Fury didn't want to disturb you. Since this is a priority work. So it takes precedence over everything else right now."
James eyed the soldiers and their rifles. "Little much, don't you think?"
"Not for this," Coulson said. "Experts compared the sample. They say it's on par with Captain America's shield."
James's brow rose. "So what wins in a fight—Cap's shield, or the weapons I'm about to make?"
Coulson shrugged. "No idea. Could be the unstoppable spear against the immovable shield."
James chuckled. "That's a fight worth watching."
Coulson motioned for the box to be left under James's supervision. "Take a look. But don't lose focus on it. The program comes first." He paused. "Oh, and Stark told me you gave yourself a Hero name. 'Nocturne,' right?"
James smirked. "He's still telling stories? Did he complain?"
"No. He's busy with Miss Potts. I filed the Hero name into our system anyway."
"Fine. Back then it was just for fun. My armor's called Umbra Sentinel. My close-quarters kit? Nexus Arms. This metal will finish them properly."
"Awesome," Coulson said. "Shame you're not a knight."
"If I were, I wouldn't be here."
Coulson gave a quick nod and left with the agents, leaving James alone with the box. He pried it open. Inside were fractured chunks of rock with metallic veins glinting through them.
"Cortana, any familiarity?"
[Cross-referencing. Visual similarity to Adamantium ore from the Wolverine films. Probability uncertain.]
James raised a brow. "Adamantium? This isn't supposed to be that universe." He tapped a piece with his knuckle. "If mutants exist here, Magneto could end all of us. Cap's shield, Stark's suits, even me. Thor's hammer—hell, that's metal too."
[Negative indications so far. S.H.I.E.L.D. hasn't logged mutants, nor has Hydra. This is likely meteor metal with superficial resemblance.]
James exhaled slowly. "Still, the resemblance is uncanny."
[You could call it Adamantium, but explaining the name would cause problems. Scientists would press.]
"Yeah, better not stir that nest."
He weighed a chunk in his palm. Heavy, Dense, seems Promising. "So where do we process it?"
[S.H.I.E.L.D. lacks the metallurgy capacity. Stark Tower has the best equipment—better than his Malibu villa.]
James smirked. "Figures. Stark always turns his homes into factories. Never clear if that's convenience or just his inner hermit showing."
[More likely for his control. He trusts only his own walls.]
James sighed. "Guess I'll be making another trip to see him."
[Cortana: You still haven't leveraged your wealth. League Games is profitable, but Tony invested a billion at the start out of friendship, not foresight.]
James frowned. "What are you implying?"
[Without Stark, no investor would've touched you. They don't know what you know from your former world.]
James chuckled dryly. "And yet, here we are—Tony's already made dozens of times his investment back. That's the difference. I don't play for short gains. I'll wait until profits peak. Public offerings and antitrust laws can wait."
He set the chunk of metal back into the crate and turned to his console. The helicarrier schematics spun slowly in the hologram. Programs and weapons could wait. For now, the carrier needed a brain—and he with Cortana was the one to give it life.