The journey from the alley to the forge was a tense, silent affair. I led, acutely aware of the impossibly elegant, and probably very expensive, heels clicking on the pavement behind me. She was following a complete stranger who had just beaten three men unconscious, yet she walked with the defiant posture of a queen entering a conquered city.
We reached the roll-up door of the warehouse complex. I keyed in the code, and the heavy steel door rumbled upwards, revealing the dusty, cavernous space within.
"Welcome to my humble abode," I said with a wry smile, gesturing into the gloom.
Emma stopped dead at the threshold, her perfectly sculpted nose wrinkling in distaste. "You live in a factory?"
"I prefer 'industrial chic'," I corrected, stepping inside and flicking on the lights. The space flooded with the cool, clean light of the LED panels I'd installed, revealing the stark contrast of the grimy, old brick walls and the sleek, humming monolith of the Synapse server rack.
Her eyes widened, sweeping from the dusty concrete floor to the state-of-the-art machine at its center. The disgust on her face was replaced by a flicker of genuine surprise. "What... is that?"
"That," I said, patting the server's cool metal casing, "is the future. But first, practicalities." I turned to face her. "You're safe here. No one knows this place exists. But my guest room is... currently under construction. Permanently."
I rummaged through a storage locker and pulled out a clean, folded t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. "It's not exactly Chanel, but it's clean." I handed the clothes to her, my expression softening slightly. "It's a step down from haute couture, I know, but I have a feeling you could make a potato sack look stylish."
Emma took the clothes, a flicker of surprise in her eyes at the unexpected compliment. "Is that supposed to make me feel better about wearing your laundry, Sterling?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm, but the bite was gone. "Where can I change?"
I pointed to a small, newly constructed bathroom in the corner. While she was gone, I busied myself, pulling out a packaged air mattress and a pump. The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on me. One of the richest, most powerful heiresses on the planet was about to sleep on an inflatable bed in a Brooklyn warehouse.
She emerged a few minutes later, looking utterly out of place in the baggy clothes. She'd rolled up the sleeves of the shirt and the legs of the pants, but it did little to diminish her natural elegance.
"So, the 'metahuman' with the quiet mind builds a server that looks like it belongs in the Pentagon?" she asked, her arms crossed as she watched me inflate the mattress. The interrogation had begun. "How did you know my name, Sterling? And how did you do what you did back there?"
"I'm a guy who pays attention," I deflected smoothly, avoiding her gaze by focusing on the mattress. "And as for back there... let's just say I'm good at recycling energy."
Heh, I thought to myself, a thrill running through me. Absorbing kinetic energy and redirecting it... isn't that similar to how Sebastian Shaw, the canon Black King of the Hellfire Club, does it? The irony is delicious.
She wasn't buying it, but she let it slide for now. Her eyes scanned the workshop again. "You have all this," she gestured to the tech, "but what do you eat? Protein paste and nutrient bars?"
"Even better," I said, opening a small mini-fridge and pulling out the last two slices of a cold pepperoni pizza. I offered her a slice on a paper towel.
She stared at the slice as if it were a dead rat. "You're joking."
"It's got all the major food groups," I said with a shrug. "Carbs, protein... grease."
She hesitated for a long moment, then took the slice, her pride clearly warring with her hunger. We stood there in silence for a minute, the future partners of a corporate empire, sharing cold pizza in a dusty garage.
"This is surprisingly adequate," she finally conceded, refusing to look at me.
I chuckled. The tension was finally breaking, replaced by a strange, almost comfortable rapport. It felt less like a tense negotiation and more like teasing a spoiled younger sister.
"So," I said, leaning against my workbench. "About that empire."
She finished her slice, her business persona snapping back into place like a physical shield. "You have the genius," she said, nodding towards the Synapse. "You can create things no one else can. But you're a ghost. You're hiding in the shadows. An empire needs a face. A public figure to be the visionary."
"I agree," I said, my tone serious. "It needs a face. A king."
Her eyes lit up with understanding and ambition. "Exactly. And I—"
"And that's me," I cut in, my voice calm but absolute.
Emma froze, her mouth slightly open. The shock on her face was palpable. "You?" she asked, her voice dangerously quiet. "You hide in a factory and eat cold pizza. You want to be the face of a global enterprise?"
"I'm the one who can explain the technology. I'm the one who can innovate on the fly. And frankly," I added, a confident smirk touching my lips, " The visionary, the creator, the public face... yes. That has to be me."
I saw the flicker of wounded pride in her eyes. I had to reframe it, and fast.
"But let's be honest, Emma. I have absolutely zero interest in balance sheets, shareholder meetings, or hostile takeovers. That's not my world. That's your world. That's where you're the master."
I pushed off the workbench and took a step closer, my expression earnest. "This partnership isn't about me being the king and you being my second. It's a division of power. I will be the face. I will invent the future. And I will provide you with something your father never could: absolute protection. I will be the 'King' that keeps all the wolves at bay."
I let that sink in before delivering the final part of my proposition.
"And you... you will be the Queen. You will run the entire empire. You will control the finances, you will direct the strategy, you will wage the corporate wars. You will have all the power, all the authority, with none of the tedious public relations. I invent it, you monetize it. I protect it, you grow it."
She was silent for a long time, the gears turning in her brilliant mind. I had offered her not a throne to sit on, but a kingdom to command. It was a position of absolute operational control, a role she was born and bred for.
"So you want to be the pretty face and the muscle," she finally said, a slow, calculating smile spreading across her lips. "While I do all the actual work."
"I think you'll find building the future is plenty of work," I countered with a grin. "So, Queen Frost... do we have an empire to build?"