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Chapter 13: Juicy Big Brain
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Jean blinked, caught off guard by the directness. "I should be, yes. Why?"
Adam's expression brightened, and as if he were stating a simple, logical fact, he said, "Would you like to go out with me tomorrow?"
[!!!!!!!!!!]
[HOLY SHIT HE WENT FOR IT!]
[I know it! He's horney!]
[Tf? He just asked Jean out in front of Cyclops!!]
[THE BALLS! I mean, we've seen they're big, but their personality is even bigger!]
[SCOTT'S VISOR IS GONNA SHOOT ANY SECOND NOW!]
[This is the best show ever! I knew he was horney]
Adam's mouth twitched. What's with this guy always accusing him of being horney?! He isn't at all.
Oh, it all made sense after Adam focused on his comment and saw his name [#1-DogBreed-Horndog69] Yeah, mental patient.
What brought that up anyway? What he said has nothing to do with being horney?
The silence in the Danger Room was absolute, thick enough to be cut by one of Wolverine's claws.
Adam's question hung in the air, a simple string of words that had detonated a social bomb.
Cyclops was the first to break, his jaw tightening visibly beneath his visor.
"No," He said, the word sharp and final, spoken not as a teammate but as a territorial claim.
Jean's brow furrowed instantly, a flash of irritation in her emerald eyes.
She disliked anyone speaking for her, especially Scott when he slipped into this overprotective mode.
Before she could formulate her own response, Adam turned his head toward Cyclops, his expression one of genuine, uncomprehending confusion.
"Why not?" He asked, his tone devoid of any challenge, merely seeking data. "Do you want to come too?"
He then looked back at Jean, his analytical gaze sweeping over her as if assessing a piece of equipment. "But you'd just be dead weight. Jean is enough."
Cyclops's mouth twitched, a muscle in his jaw jumping. The sheer, oblivious audacity of the statement left him momentarily speechless.
"Adam," Jean interjected, her voice carefully controlled. "What exactly do you mean by 'go out'? What do you need me for?"
"I want to investigate something tomorrow," Adam explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I need you for protection. Just in case I'm targeted by Hydra. It shouldn't be dangerous at all, but it's a logical precaution."
The tension in the room deflated, replaced by a wave of awkward realization.
Cyclops's shoulders slumped slightly, the fight draining out of him. He had misunderstood, projecting his own anxieties onto the situation, but to be fair, the situation was easy to misunderstand.
"I see," Jean said, a small, relieved smile touching her lips. "I'll need to inform Professor X. If he approves, then I don't see why not."
With the bizarre interlude over, the training session began. Adam observed the dynamic with interest.
He may have been deprived of a normal life, love, and social experiences, but that did not make him dense.
He was, in fact, a master observer.
His entire existence had been a study in human behavior; first from a hospital bed, then from a cell, living vicariously through the stolen digital lives of others on the Hydra network.
He had learned to read people not through interaction, but through endless analysis, envying their connections, their freedoms, their simple, uncomplicated emotions.
It was ironic that he, the perpetual observer, was now the star of his own bizarre show.
He could see the patterns clearly.
Cyclops carried a torch for Jean that was bright enough to power a small city.
Even the gruff Wolverine had a soft spot for her.
Adam had been genuinely surprised to learn Jean was still single; Scott's pursuit seemed hampered by his own rigidity and whatever the fuck happened between them.
The timeline was a mess, but the interpersonal drama was a constant.
Cyclops, now nursing a bruised ego, focused the session's drills with laser-like intensity on Adam.
He paired them up for sparring, his commands clipped and clear. Adam felt a flicker of amusement.
This was a territorial display, pure and simple.
And Adam loved it.
Cyclops, for some reason, saw him as a love rival, but if it meant more violence, Adam wouldn't see why he wouldn't let the misunderstanding go on.
The spar began, a whirlwind of controlled violence. Cyclops was no Wolverine, but he was a highly disciplined, acrobatic fighter.
His movements were efficient, his strikes powerful and well-aimed.
He came at Adam with a series of jabs and low kicks, testing his guard.
Adam, fueled by the effects of his Prime Slow Curse, was faster than he looked.
He certainly seemed much more fluid and trained than the blank slate he was a month ago.
He blocked a cross and attempted a grapple, but Scott effortlessly broke the hold, sweeping Adam's legs out from under him.
Adam hit the mat with a grunt, but was back on his feet in an instant, a faint, eager smile on his face.
He didn't mind the pain.
Pain was an old friend, a familiar sensation from years of Hydra's "motivational" techniques.
Cyclops pressed his advantage, his attacks becoming more forceful. A hard right hook connected with Adam's ribs, followed by a knee to the thigh that would have dropped a normal man.
Adam absorbed the blows, his body rocking, but his stance holding. He saw an opening and lunged, driving a shoulder into Scott's chest.
The impact was solid, but Scott used the momentum, twisting and throwing Adam over his hip in a perfect judo throw.
THUD. Adam landed hard, the air rushing from his lungs. For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling.
Then, he started to laugh. It was a low, breathless sound of pure catharsis.
"That was fun," He declared, pushing himself to his feet and brushing himself off.
Cyclops stared at him, his chest heaving slightly. He had been trying to teach the new guy a lesson, to kinda assert dominance, and the kid was… enjoying it?
He saw Adam's smile not as genuine pleasure, but as a mocking challenge. He's toying with me, Scott thought, his chagrin deepening. He's trying to show off for Jean.
The truth was far simpler. Adam was genuinely not interested in romance.
The emotional turbulence, the drama, the time investment; it all seemed like an inefficient distraction.
His mind was occupied with grander designs.
How do the Chinese say it? Women will only affect the speed at which I penetrate... No, I think it was Women will only affect my wallet.
No, not that either. Women will only affect???
[Cultured Daoist: Women will only affect the speed at which I draw my sword!! Goddamn!]
[The internal monologues are strong in this show. That's a first.]
The session ended with Cyclops frustrated and Adam bruised but invigorated, the misunderstanding between them wider than ever.
Adam really just liked the violence.
Adam took a quick, efficient shower, the hot water stinging his new bruises, then immediately returned to the workshop.
The day was not over. He had preparations to make for tomorrow.
He worked deep into the night, long after the mansion had fallen silent.
It was well past midnight when he finally trudged to his room.
He allowed himself a few hours of his mastered, instant sleep, but before the sun had fully risen, he was awake again.
He lay in bed, not yet moving, and blinked. The familiar, phantom screen materialized in his vision.
[Information: Kinda Homeless]
Natural Traits:
Envy(B): Slow. Fade. Hollow. Recoil. Stupefy
Information Traits:
Cyberpathy(C)
Adam's lips twitched. 'Who the fuck writes these stupid prompts?' He mused in his mind.
At least he wasn't 'Fully Homeless'. He closed his eyes, focusing his will on the nebulous concept of [Information].
He needed to understand what 'Kinda Homeless' represented.
His mind zoned out, flooded with a torrent of sensory data. It was a chaotic stream of observations; comments, theories, and the weight of millions of eyes upon him.
He felt his influence, a faint but growing imprint on the world. And there was something else, a strange, thin sliver of… worship?
He had no idea where that was coming from.
He had accumulated more Information in this single month of freedom than in an entire decade at Hydra.
Of course, the System had likely only broadcast a curated 'episode' of his captivity, the climax of his escape.
The bulk of that decade's Information had come from his influence within Hydra itself; the famous researchers, the high-level agents whose paths he had crossed, all observing him, their attention fueling his growth.
That reservoir had been spent to awaken Cyberpathy and elevate Envy from its nascent C-rank to its current B-rank.
The upper limit for his curses had remained stubbornly at 30%, but he could now maintain more simultaneously, and the cost was lower.
Most importantly, the B-rank had unlocked the Prime curse function.
Now, looking at the 'Kinda Homeless' reserve, he knew it was nowhere near enough for the next rank.
So, without a moment's hesitation, he directed the entire, swirling mass of accumulated Influence, information, observation, and that strange sliver of worship into a single point: Stupefy.
The System responded. He felt a shift, a subtle rewriting of a fundamental rule. The limit for the Stupefy curse surged to about 50%.
A slow smile spread across his face. A 50% deprivation. He could now syphon half of a target's intelligence.
And since he intended to use the Prime version, that meant he could steal 50% of Victor von Doom's intellect.
He held no regret for spending all his resources.
He genuinely believed that raw, transcendent intelligence was the ultimate superpower in this madhouse universe.
The intellect possessed by Reed Richards and Victor von Doom was a unique force, a spark of something beyond the cosmic, capable of outthinking and outmaneuvering near-omnipotent entities.
The mechanics of how a mortal mind could achieve such a feat were incomprehensible to him.
But he didn't need to understand the spark to steal it.
He just needed to get close enough to touch it.
Oh, Doom, my friend. I'm coming to touch you, no need for consent. I'm gonna touch that juicy big brain, and it's gonna be wonderful.