"The weather in New York was starting to grow colder. Morning mist clung to the windows, leaving a hazy white layer that blurred the glass, softening the glow of the streetlights outside into dim golden halos.
Schiller sat at Stark's lab desk with a cup of coffee in hand. Stark came over with a thick stack of data, saying,
"We'll need to rework Joint 5, then set it up as a control against Joint 13. And there's an issue with the armor plating on Arm 7—its numbers are off. I'll need to recalibrate that later…"
"Can't you ever take a break? Don't you get tired?" Schiller asked.
While spreading the files across the desk, Stark replied,
"You've already asked me that at least twenty times tonight—since seven p.m. yesterday. And now it's seven a.m. today."
"That's because you've had me working since seven last night. I haven't even had time for a proper cup of coffee."
"And what are you doing right now? It's been three minutes. You're done, right? We still have two more deployment trials to finish. They must be done before eight o'clock."
Schiller collapsed face-first onto the desk.
Peter pushed through the glass lab door with two files in hand.
"Mr. Stark, there's a problem with the external frame of Leg 5's bone support. In the third report Jarvis gave me, the structural support seems unstable. The brace might fracture. Jarvis suggested swapping the material, but if we go too rigid, it'll sacrifice flexibility and mobility…"
Stark grabbed the file, skimmed it, and waved it off.
"Not a big deal. Look—" he pointed at the diagram. "If we add a buffer system here, then shift this joint down by two centimeters…"
Peter rubbed his chin, thinking. Stark turned and yanked Schiller upright.
"You usually down an espresso in three seconds. You've been nursing this one for five minutes. Get up. Work."
"My magic needs recovery time…"
"I recall someone saying that was a 'low-tier trick.' Who was that again?"
Schiller covered his face. "Why can't you just bring me a fully assembled suit, let me cast a spell on it once, and then you'd be good to go? Why dismantle it into parts for endless testing?"
"Because sometimes you sound like you understand this stuff, and other times you're a complete mechanical idiot," Stark muttered. He spread the schematics flat. "See here? When you solved the shrinking-and-deployment issue for the Mark IV, I could finally focus on improving performance. But every upgrade changes the structure, which means I have to re-test whether it can still shrink and re-expand properly—and whether it functions the way I designed."
"That means you're stuck doing endless modular tests to confirm every single part?" Schiller asked.
"And what if the next part fails?" Stark said.
Damn these hyper-rigorous science types. Schiller collapsed back onto the table.
Peter added, "I agree with Mr. Stark. Building this armor isn't a game. Imagine you're 30,000 feet up and one piece fails. That could kill you."
"Exactly," Stark said. "And it's not just stability—we have to test every output range. Low-power mode versus high-power or even overclocking—completely different behavior. Each state has to perform flawlessly."
So Schiller got dragged back to the workbench. Peter handed him a component; Schiller decomposed and rebuilt it with magic, and Stark tested it. Another part, another rebuild. Over and over.
Peter and Stark were doing science. Schiller felt like an assembly-line worker screwing in light bulbs.
Meanwhile, the symbiote in his head wouldn't stop chanting:
"Their brains smell so good. So delicious. Can I eat just one? Just one now, the other later. I want the blue-eyed one first…"
Apparently, the creature could sense brainwave activity. The harder someone's mind worked, the more fragrant it seemed. With two geniuses like Stark and Peter, their brains smelled like walking buckets of fried chicken to the parasite. Impossible to ignore.
And now it had learned to play wet gulping noises on loop inside Schiller's mind. It was making him hungry.
Finally, after "tightening" one last metaphysical bulb, Schiller groaned:
"Can we please eat something? Don't you guys get hungry?"
Stark tossed him two compressed rations.
"Thank S.H.I.E.L.D.'s latest invention. I can work forty hours straight now."
Schiller sighed deeply. "And you don't get sleepy? What about you, Peter? Haven't you been awake for nearly two days?"
"That's why I brought him," Stark said. "More stamina than anyone else."
Peter shrugged. "Since I got my powers, I only need short naps to stay sharp. I just slept fifteen minutes in the lounge—I'm fine."
He tilted his head. "But honestly, aren't you supposed to be a wizard? Don't you have some magic spell to keep you awake?"
The truth was, Schiller wasn't physically tired—thanks to the symbiote, he didn't need food, water, or sleep at all. But after twenty-plus hours of repetitive grunt work, anyone would feel mentally drained.
He didn't understand Stark's designs one bit, but every time Stark burst out from behind the glass, glowing with a "new idea," Schiller had to clap like a cheerleader. If he didn't, Stark would just dive back in, trigger a series of explosions, and come out with another idea.
"This is history in the making!" Stark declared. "A milestone in science—maybe even in magic! The first fusion of human technology and mystical power. How can you not be thrilled about the outcome?"
"I'm more concerned with one thing," Schiller said. "Are you still calling these 'Marks'? I think the new series deserves its own name."
"A new name? How about the S-Series—for Schiller and Stark."
"Peter will get jealous. He's working on this too."
Stark scratched his head. Peter waved it off. "I don't care about the name. But I do think the armor should look cooler—something distinct from the Mark line."
"Paint it blue," Schiller suggested. "Fits the magic vibe. Distinguishes it too."
"Perfect. Once we've tested every module, we'll assemble it, then give it a proper paint job. Blue and silver, maybe. And—" Stark looked at Schiller. "I think it should have magical attack capability."
"Sorry. My spellbook doesn't really have 'attack mode.'"
"What about that levitation trick? Floating objects could be useful."
"You should consider magnetism," Schiller said without hesitation, instantly selling out Magneto. "Stronger than you think."
By the time Natasha showed up, the three of them had been awake for nearly fifty hours. Schiller and Peter looked fine thanks to their powers. Stark looked like a panda.
"We were about to file missing-person reports," Natasha said. "You've been gone almost three days."
"But we've made a breakthrough!" Stark announced.
He pulled out a cigarette. Natasha smirked. "Still clueless. I quit years ago—ever since joining S.H.I.E.L.D."
"Now? That's a bit late, don't you think?" Schiller teased.
"Quit smoking for health? Don't be ridiculous. I'm Russian. It's that damn office smoke detector. Goes off twenty times a day. I couldn't stand it anymore."
"Hey, eyes over here! Look at me!" Stark shouted. "Behold my masterpiece!"
He flicked the cigarette upward. In a flash, a suit of sleek blue-and-silver armor materialized over his body.
The new armor looked different from the Mark line—slimmer, smoother, hugging his frame. No mechanical whirs or clanks. More like a sharp, futuristic battle-suit than bulky machinery.
Schiller stood. "Huh. Your old suits made you ten centimeters taller. This one only adds three."
"That's what you focus on?!"
"Of course. Because without armor, you're shorter than me by one centimeter."
"Two centimeters," Peter corrected. "You forgot the shoes."
Stark took a deep breath. He leapt into the air, hovering silently. "Thanks for the inspiration. Jets are passé anyway. This mag-lev system is rough, but promising."
Schiller quickly turned to Natasha. "So… Nick Fury needed me for something? I can bill him again. Any amount."
"Yeah," Natasha said dryly. "Something about those ninjas, the ones Captain and Peter fought last time."
"So you came for Peter. And I—" Stark started.
"No, no," Schiller cut in. "I've taken too much of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s money already. It's only fair that I give their agents free emotional evaluations. Prevent nervous breakdowns in the field. Crucial for mental health."
"…Free?" Natasha asked.
"Of course!" Schiller said, all smiles."