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Jay stared at the cracked ceiling of his secondary safe house. Morning light filtered through reinforced blinds, casting shifting shadows across sparse furniture. Just a bed and basic necessities. Nothing like his old life.
Before Doom's broadcast painted a target on his back, before the world learned their hero was also the Power Broker. Within hours, crowds had gathered: grateful patients, curious onlookers, full-blown pilgrimages. Mutants wanting their abilities removed. Desperate people seeking cures. Protesters screaming about mutant supremacy.
Moving here discreetly had been the only safe option.
Jay rolled out of bed, muscles protesting. Yesterday's events blurred together: Xavier and Fury's coalition, absorbing new abilities, Emma's asset transfer, Logan's brain surgery, delivering on his promise to ForgetMeNot.
He pulled out the deformed adamantium bullet from his jeans pocket. Still warm after all these hours, this fragment represented his path to true invulnerability. With Creel's absorption power, he could transform his entire body into living adamantium.
Under the scalding shower, Jay studied his reflection. The enhancement had left him with peak human physique, every muscle defined while keeping his lean build. Magazine-cover perfection that couldn't fill the hollow ache in his chest.
He slammed his palm against the tile wall. The sharp crack echoed like a door slamming on his old life, where people looked at him with gratitude instead of fear.
Standing still meant drowning in regrets he couldn't change.
After dressing and pulling on Bobby's jacket, he paused at the safe house door. The weight of public recognition pressed down on him. His sedan was still parked in Staten Island, where Fury's extraction team had airlifted him to the Fridge yesterday. Public transportation it was.
The subway ride was a gauntlet of stares and whispered recognition. Every passenger who recognized him from the news either stared openly or pretended not to notice while fumbling for their phones. An elderly woman clutched her purse tighter. A teenage boy whispered "Power Broker" to his friend. By the third stop, Jay had pulled his hood up and moved to the back of the car.
The taxi provided brief relief from scrutiny. Stark Tower stood like a gleaming middle finger pointed at the sky. Nearly a year and a half ahead of its original timeline. Jay grinned despite himself. Tony's massive ego must have been eating him alive watching Reed Richards get all the attention with the Baxter Building.
"That's far enough," Jay told the driver, handing over cash. The tower's front entrance buzzed with construction crews and security personnel.
Conversations stopped the moment he walked through the doors. Workers recognized the notorious Power Broker. Whispers followed him across the marble lobby. "Is that really him?" "What's he doing here?" "Should we call security?"
Within seconds, Happy Hogan materialized, face set in professional wariness. His hand rested near his jacket, where Jay's enhanced senses detected a concealed weapon.
"Mr. Jay," Happy said, the name carrying careful neutrality. "Mr. Stark is expecting you. I'll need you to submit to a security scan first."
"Standard procedure," Jay said, raising his hands slightly.
Happy's expression softened marginally at the compliance. "Appreciate the cooperation. Just following protocol."
The security checkpoint was thorough but professional. Jay noticed the slight tension in Happy's shoulders, the way his eyes never quite left Jay's hands.
"Clear," Happy announced to his earpiece. "Escorting the guest up now."
The elevator ride carried its own tension. Happy kept glancing at Jay, but there was something else now, grudging professional respect for someone who'd submitted to security without complaint.
"Long way up," Jay observed, watching floor numbers climb.
Happy grunted, then seemed to wrestle with himself before adding, "Mr. Stark likes his privacy. Can't blame him, considering the kind of people who want to get close to someone with his resources."
The unspoken question hung in the air: which kind of person was Jay?
When the elevator doors opened, Jay stepped into Tony Stark's personal playground. Open concept design flowed from gym to bar, massive windows offering panoramic city views. The kind of space that screamed wealth and ego in equal measure.
Tony Stark stood near the gym equipment in workout gear, nursing a green smoothie. But Jay's enhanced vision immediately focused on the dark veins threading along Tony's neck, barely visible beneath his collar. The palladium poisoning was accelerating.
"Well, well," Tony said, setting down his smoothie with theatrical precision. "The infamous Power Broker graces my tower." He flashed his trademark smirk, though Jay caught the slight tremor in his gesturing hand. "I was starting to wonder if you'd developed an allergy to answering your phone. Or maybe you're just playing hard to get. Very mysterious, very 'I'm too cool for billionaires.'"
"Welcome to my humble penthouse," Tony continued, his voice carrying that familiar rapid-fire cadence. "Though I suppose when you can steal anyone's abilities, material wealth loses its appeal. Like being Neo in The Matrix, except instead of dodging bullets, you're dodging my incredibly charming personality."
Jay studied Tony's performance, recognizing the deflection mechanism. The more nervous Tony got, the more he talked. "Let's skip the small talk, Tony. We both know why I'm here."
Tony's smile faltered momentarily.
Tony gestured dismissively at Happy, who had positioned himself near the elevator. "Give us some space, Hap. This is grown-up talk."
Happy hesitated, protective instincts warring with orders. "Boss, you sure about this? I could stay, just in case..."
"Hap, if the man wanted to hurt me, he'd have done it in the lobby. Besides," Tony's grin turned sharp, "I have JARVIS monitoring everything. Go grab a coffee, maybe flirt with that redhead from accounting."
Happy's jaw tightened. "There is no redhead from accounting."
"Then find one. I have faith in you."
Happy retreated, but not before giving Jay a look that clearly communicated: 'I'll be watching.'
"The deal's simple," Jay said once they were alone. "I remove the poison from your body, you get me the meeting I want. Today."
Tony's laugh carried less conviction now. "Poison? You wound me with such accusations. Next you'll be telling me my arc reactor isn't just a fashion statement. I'm the picture of health. Ask any of my doctors, the very expensive ones who tell me exactly what I want to hear because I pay them obscene amounts."
"Tony." Jay's voice carried patient authority. "Anyone with basic metallurgy knowledge knows that putting a nuclear reactor full of heavy metals next to your heart would poison your body. The only question is timeline."
The smoothie slipped from Tony's fingers.
[Sir,] came a crisp British voice from hidden speakers, [I believe our guest has made quite an astute observation. Perhaps we should consider that Mr. Jay's assessment is more accurate than our previous consultations.]
Jay glanced around, feigning surprise. "And you are?"
[Just A Rather Very Intelligent System, sir. Mr. Stark's AI assistant. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jay. Your reputation for directness appears well-founded.]
"Likewise." Jay wondered if his world's AI bots would have developed similarly given time.
[If I may interject, Mr. Jay, I have been monitoring Mr. Stark's biometric data extensively. His cardiovascular stress indicators are increasing exponentially, and cellular regeneration rates are declining alarmingly. My programming prevents me from acknowledging the obvious conclusion, but perhaps an outside perspective might prove... illuminating.]
Jay studied Tony's face, noting how his confident mask was finally cracking. "So, you going to keep pretending, or can we get to work?"
Tony was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice had lost its performative edge. "The doctors... they've given me months. Maybe a year if I minimize reactor usage. But I've been throwing money at the problem like that's ever solved anything fundamental. Nothing works fast enough. And I can't exactly advertise for a specialist in 'removing exotic metal poisoning from genius billionaires,' can I?"
Tony walked to a sleek diagnostic station, pressing his palm against the scanner. Numbers flickered across the display: blood toxicity levels, cellular degradation rates, projected survival timeframes. The readout showed 64% palladium saturation.
"Jesus," Tony breathed, staring at the numbers like his own death certificate. "It's gotten worse since last week."
"Sit down and stay calm," Jay interrupted, already moving toward him. "This is going to feel weird."
Tony settled into a nearby chair, hands gripping the armrests until his knuckles went white. "If this is some kind of elaborate con..."
"Shut up and let me work," Jay said simply.
Jay placed both hands on Tony's arms and activated his healing aura with surgical precision rather than general restoration.
The sensation was immediate and deeply uncomfortable. Jay felt palladium traces flowing through Tony's bloodstream like liquid mercury, concentrated around the arc reactor but spreading in microscopic tendrils throughout his cardiovascular system. Each fragment was a tiny time bomb.
He sensed metal shards embedded near Tony's heart, legacy fragments from whatever had created this situation. 'Jesus, Tony, for a genius, you really did a terrible job protecting your own body.'
Tony's breathing became rapid and shallow, pupils dilating as his nervous system registered the foreign sensation of blood chemistry being actively manipulated. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "What are you doing to me? I can feel... something moving inside..."
"The palladium is being redirected through your circulatory system," Jay explained, voice tight with concentration as he maintained precise control. "Your body's natural filtration can't handle this volume of contamination, so I'm creating artificial pathways to concentrate the toxins for safe extraction. This is going to hurt."
Carefully, methodically, Jay redirected the palladium away from vital organs, using his healing ability like a microscopic guidance system. The process required incredible finesse—too fast would cause shock, too slow could create embolisms.
Tony's left hand began swelling as the poison concentrated there, skin darkening to an alarming black.
Tony stared at his discolored hand in horror. "Oh god, what's happening to me?"
"Quit whining," Jay said grimly.
Jay grabbed an expensive whiskey bottle from the bar, dumping the contents onto the floor. Tony started to protest, "That's a 1947 Macallan, do you have any idea..." but Jay ignored him. He used Creel's absorption power to transform his finger into a sharp glass blade.
The makeshift surgery was quick but precise. Jay made a small, clean incision, creating a controlled drainage point. The concentrated palladium flowed out like thick black sludge, each drop representing poison that would have eventually stopped Tony's heart.
The substance collected in the empty bottle, nearly a quarter full by the time flow stopped. The liquid was viscous, almost metallic, seeming to absorb rather than reflect light.
Tony watched the black liquid drain from his body with fascination and revulsion. "Is that... is that what's been killing me?"
"For months," Jay confirmed, using his healing ability to seal the wound without scarring. "Slowly, but yeah."
Profound silence filled the room, broken only by Tony's sharp breathing and the wet sounds of contaminated blood dripping into glass. Even JARVIS seemed to process quietly.
Tony immediately staggered to the diagnostic station, movements unsteady but urgent. He pressed his palm against the scanner with trembling fingers.
The display updated: 5% palladium saturation.
"JARVIS," Tony called out, voice shaking, "confirm these readings."
[All diagnostics indicate significant improvement, sir. Your cardiovascular stress indicators have dropped to levels not seen since before arc reactor implantation. I'm detecting traces of an unknown energy signature that accelerates your natural healing processes. However, this level of palladium extraction should be medically impossible without extensive surgical intervention and weeks of chelation therapy.]
Tony stared at the diagnosis, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Is this real... this is real."
"That's all I can do," Jay said, wiping black residue from his hands. "If you keep using that arc reactor at the same power output, palladium will build up again. You need a permanent solution, not regular detox sessions."
Tony's response was immediate and desperate. "Anything," he said, voice thick with emotion. "Money, resources, whatever you want. I'll pay you billions to be my personal physician. I'll give you a floor in this building, your own lab, unlimited research budget. Hell, I'll make you a partner in Stark Industries."
Jay shook his head. "I don't need money. And I can't be on call for your whims." He paused. "But Reed Richards has what you need. Let the two smartest men on Earth figure it out together. You've got the resources, he's got the theoretical framework for clean energy applications."
Tony's gratitude instantly soured into wounded pride. "Richards? You think I need that pompous, stretchy bastard to solve my problems?"
"I think your ego is going to blind you to obvious solutions," Jay replied bluntly. "Don't let pride kill you, Stark. You just got your life back—don't throw it away because Reed's initials come before yours in the alphabet."
Tony was quiet for a long moment, staring at his healed hand, flexing fingers like he was testing their reality. When he looked up, something had shifted—desperate gratitude replaced by calculating respect. "You're right. Screw my ego. Besides, working with Richards might actually be... interesting. Been a while since I had a real intellectual challenge." He turned toward the ceiling. "JARVIS, prep the jet. And... get me Reed Richards' contact information."
[Already done, sir,] the AI replied with satisfaction. [I researched Dr. Richards' recent publications. His work on dimensional energy applications is fascinating. I believe you two will have much to discuss.]
"Thank you," Tony said quietly. The words carried more weight than any amount of money could.
Jay nodded. 'Funny. The world's richest man, and those two words might've been the most valuable thing he's ever given out.'
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