~Yo! We've hit 100 Powerstones, here's your Bonus Chapter as promised!
~Next milestone: 200 Powerstones! Let's keep the momentum going!
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Inside the lab, Nolan's fingers danced across the keyboard.
The room echoed with rapid-fire keystrokes, the mechanical clatter sounding almost rhythmic beneath the low hum of power systems.
Strings of code streamed down the massive central monitor, integrating seamlessly into the base AI framework Otto had built.
A low mechanical hum intensified behind the monitor as the cooling units kicked into high gear.
Then, everything went black.
Nolan leaned back.
"ELLE, initialize."
The screen flickered back to life. A line of text appeared:
> Hello World!
It was a beginner's typo, a cliché for anyone who'd ever written their first program.
But Nolan hadn't typed it.
The AI had booted itself.
"Welcome back, Elle."
"Greetings, Superman," the AI responded calmly.
After acquiring Otto's rough AI prototype, Nolan had rapidly absorbed the relevant coding languages. What took most engineers years of agony, Nolan absorbed like bedtime arithmetic.
In the Marvel world, every major tech mogul had their own intelligent system. Stark had JARVIS, SHIELD had F.R.I.D.A.Y. clones, and Wakanda had Kimoyo-tech built into their civilization.
If you were building the future, you needed smart tools.
"Your value-logic model is… extraordinary," Elle commented.
"No flattery. Begin syncing your framework with our non-classified databases. Access all public logs, patents, and scientific journals. You're cleared to learn unless it's top secret."
It would take Elle time to grow, but with enough exposure and feedback loops, she could rival JARVIS.
Eventually, Elle could even run basic experiments autonomously, like extracting demonic energy from Black Void's symbiote.
Just then, Nolan's phone buzzed. Otto's voice came through excited.
"Boss—it's real! That element you theorized during the reaction, additional stabilizing energy appears around the nucleus. It's self-correcting!"
"I'll send over more samples," Nolan replied. "Let's see which one matches Howard Stark's isotope. We'll run comparative tests."
With a flick of thought, the screen shifted as code auto-typed itself, Nolan's neural interface now synced directly to the keyboard.
Within seconds, multiple atomic structures flashed across the screen and transferred to Otto.
Then Elle's voice cut in again.
"Sir, two urgent news alerts."
Two videos appeared.
The first: a televised rant accusing Oscorp's enhancement serum of causing human deaths.
The second: a lawsuit claiming Oscorp had violated human rights with unauthorized clinical trials.
"Call Norman."
A beat later, the call connected. "Boss?"
Nolan didn't even look up from Mystique's genome data. "Found out who's been stirring the pot?"
"We're still tracing sources," Norman answered, "but we've confirmed one name: the Rockefeller family."
Nolan's eyes narrowed.
"Those oil barons are targeting me now?" He smirked. "Send me everything."
Screens lit up with headlines, meeting logs, surveillance of senators and corporate backers, and most importantly, a familiar face.
David Rockefeller's heirs.
"Of course it's them," Nolan muttered. "No one else could've accelerated legislation this fast."
The Rockefeller family, once kings of oil, were now relics of a dying world. When Tony Stark launched his clean energy initiative, they were the ones who fought back hardest.
They'd helped fund Justin Hammer. They'd backed Vanko's little rampage in Iron Man 2.
And now, with Tony off their backs, they turned their eyes on him.
"They've ruled the old world long enough," Nolan said coldly. "They think everyone still plays by their rules."
He looked at the chessboard they'd set.
Then he made a choice.
Flip it.
---
Rockefeller Estate, Long Island.
Inside the opulent study, David Rockefeller, head of the third generation,, sat comfortably, cigar in hand, listening as a butler read from the Wall Street Journal.
He had run Manhattan Bank for decades. This morning routine was sacred. A moment to analyze, strategize… dominate.
"Sir," a servant whispered, "John and Paul are here."
Two well-dressed middle-aged men entered quickly.
"Uncle David."
David waved off the staff, then studied the two with a look that carried the weight of history. "I hear you've been provoking Superman. Stop it. You don't understand what you're dealing with."
"Why not?" John scoffed. "Even the mutants bow to our influence. Xavier hides in his school like a fugitive."
"Because Xavier is an idealist," David replied. "He plays by the rules. Superman… doesn't."
"We're not defenseless," Paul said. "You know that."
They weren't lying.
The Rockefellers had access to resources the public couldn't dream of: enhanced operatives, secret projects, black-budget weapons.
John's eyes gleamed. "If we can control him… we could become the shadow kings of America."
David's jaw tensed.
He saw himself in John—ambitious, brilliant… and dangerously overconfident.
But times had changed.
"The world is bigger than you think," David said finally. "As head of this family, I'm ordering you to stand down. Withdraw from all actions against Superman."
They exchanged glances defiantly.
But before they could speak, the butler burst in, visibly shaken.
"Sir—there's someone at the gate."
David raised a brow. "Who?"
The butler swallowed.
"Superman."
David's cigar dropped onto the carpet.
That was fast.
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