After Happy left, Finnian pulled down the rolling door and immediately invested the entire $5 million payment into the system.
"Purchase White Can Armor."
[Ding! White Can Armor purchased successfully. Item stored in system space.]
"Extract."
A white pendant materialized in his palm. Finnian hung it around his neck, and with a single thought, liquid metal surged out like living strands, wrapping him completely in seconds.
White Can Armor—reporting for duty.
In the mirror, the sleek white metal armor gleamed with futuristic brilliance, glowing with technological light.
Finnian couldn't help but laugh softly.
"No wonder they say mecha is a man's romance. Goddamn, this is handsome to no end."
The White Can Armor was easily the flashiest of Iron Man's creations across history.
So that raised the real question.
Who the hell was Iron Man right now?
Tony Stark had been kidnapped in Afghanistan a month ago. According to Finnian's memory, he'd still be locked in a cave for two more months before busting out with the Mark I—thanks to Dr. Yinsen sacrificing himself.
Right now, Stark was probably hammering away at scrap metal in a desert hole.
"If the little bearded guy saw this, he'd probably start questioning his whole damn life."
Finnian smirked at the thought.
Of course, he didn't immediately rush off to Afghanistan to play hero. Not yet.
It was broad daylight. If he exposed himself now, S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA would both be on his ass, harassing him nonstop, screwing up his money-making.
Unless one day he bought the Phoenix Force or Chaos Magic—then, and only then, he could flip the bird to everyone on Earth.
"Heh. When that day comes, first thing I'll do is rob the Federal Reserve."
Putting the White Can Armor back into the pendant, Finnian closed up shop, grabbed a couple of Chinatown takeout boxes, and drove straight to:
Nelson & Murdock & Page Law Office.
His luck at reincarnation? Terrible. He'd ended up a white pig.
But at least his body wasn't bad.
He'd been adopted by boxer Jack Murdock when he was young and grew up alongside his cheap older brother, the one and only Daredevil: Matt Murdock.
The firm in Hell's Kitchen had been founded by Matt, Foggy Nelson, and Karen Page.
"Why do I kinda miss Karen's long legs…"
Shaking his head, Finnian forced out the impure thought.
According to the Daredevil TV show, Karen and his cheap brother would eventually fall for each other. Which meant one thing—Karen was technically a future sister-in-law.
Dumplings can be eaten recklessly. Sisters-in-law? Off-limits.
"Fine. After I bring back Little Beardy Stark, I'll go hit up an ex-girlfriend for a sparring match instead."
Given his "talent" and endurance, his exes never said no to a rematch.
Chinatown to Hell's Kitchen wasn't far. In ten minutes, his second-hand Mazda pulled to the curb.
Hell's Kitchen: chaotic, grimy, almost Gotham-level bad.
Kingpin's personal playground.
Exactly why Finnian had set up shop in Chinatown instead.
"Oi, Karen."
At the law office's front desk, Karen Page was lounging in her chair, blonde hair tumbling down her shoulders, legs as long as a runway.
"Hi, Finn."
"Where's my brother?"
Karen tilted her head upstairs. "Sleeping."
"Uh." Finnian didn't bother asking further. Matt's "night job" was an open secret if you paid enough attention.
Daredevil had powers.
Blindness didn't stop him—his Radar Sense let him track enemies with terrifying accuracy.
Spider-Man's Spider-Sense? It warned him of danger.
Matt's Radar Sense? It mapped the entire damn city. Heartbeats, footsteps, whispers. He could pick a target out of a thousand voices.
Stan Lee himself once said Radar Sense was more useful than Spider-Sense.
And Finnian had bought it too. That was why he was so damn good at finding people.
Theoretically, neither Murdock brother could ever be ambushed.
Unfortunately, both were physically weaker than Spider-Man or Captain America—so Matt got his ass kicked on the regular when suiting up as Daredevil.
"Here. Your favorite—Kung Pao Chicken."
Karen's lips curled. "How rare. Too bad Foggy's in court."
Finnian just grinned and headed upstairs.
Sure enough, Matt's voice called out before he even opened the door.
"Out of money again?"
Finnian spread his hands innocently. No point explaining. He'd borrowed plenty in the past to buy system items, and Matt knew it.
"I came to tell you something."
Matt sat on the bed, sunglasses in place, his hand hovering mid-air. He couldn't see, but his Radar Sense painted his brother's blurry outline clearly.
"Trouble?"
"No. One of your fat friends tossed me a job. I need to go to Afghanistan."
"I'll come with you." Then, sharply: "How much are they paying?"
"Five million."
"Five million…" Matt whistled. "Yeah, that's worth the trip."
Finnian chuckled. "Thought I'd drop by in case you couldn't find me later. Come on—check this out."
Liquid metal flowed across Finnian's body, covering him in one smooth sweep.
Matt's Radar Sense instantly picked up the shift. His brother suddenly lifted off the ground, floating up, almost hitting the ceiling.
Finnian… was flying.
"Holy crap." Matt surged to his feet. "Get me one too."
"Hahahaha!" Finnian posed dramatically, laughing like a maniac.
What do people live for?
Answer: To show off.
A life without flexing was no life at all—especially not in front of your overly serious older brother.
And Matt? Matt was confrontational to the bone.
This was a guy who once sued the goddamn Beyonder in the comics.
Two and a half minutes later, Finnian landed.
"Later, I'll buy you something even cooler."
"Alright," Matt muttered, touching the armor's smooth surface. His tone was resentful. "But be careful. Otherwise, Dad will beat me to death."
Because Finnian existed in this timeline, Jack Murdock hadn't been shot by gangsters. The old man was still alive, retired on a farm in the countryside.
That gang? Still unaccounted for.
Matt had already sensed enough from the brief contact to know the truth:
This armor wasn't just flight capable.
It was goddamn indestructible.
Era-defying tech.
But Matt didn't press for details. He hadn't even told Finnian about being Daredevil yet.
"C'mon, let's eat downstairs. I even got you sweet-and-sour pork with pineapple."
"You're treating?" Matt raised an eyebrow. "That's rare."