I returned the scalpel from my inventory to my hand. It lay on my palm, a shard of ghostly ice, pulsing almost imperceptibly in time with my heartbeat. Despite its density and materiality, I felt its true nature. This wasn't just an object. It was a frozen thought, an ethereal construct connected to me by an invisible energy umbilical cord. I intuitively understood that if I simply left it on the table, deprived of my sustenance, it would dissolve into the air within a couple of hours, breaking down into its original Reishi.
Moreover, I could do this myself. With a single effort of will, I could unravel that metaphysical knot that I had tied myself. It was the perfect tool, one that left no trace. But even this didn't seem like the most efficient option. Concentrating on the scalpel, I tuned into my new sensations and I found another possibility.
Eureka.
Instead of simply dispersing its structure, I could draw it back in. I could inhale it back into my spiritual core, back into my Reiryoku. Yes, the energy returned this way would be dozens of times less. The efficiency of my first creation was terrible. But the value of this method wasn't in the energy. It was in the blueprint.
Reabsorption! I could not just destroy an object, but preserve its imprint, burned into the very fabric of my soul. I could save it like a file in my memory. The next time, I wouldn't have to create the scalpel from scratch, going through all the stages. I could instantly materialize it again, spending only a tiny fraction of the energy. And the stronger my soul became, and the larger my Reiryoku capacity, the more such files I could store in its memory. The only downside to this method was that I wouldn't get OP again for the created scalpel, since this wasn't a direct creation process. But even so, the pros outweighed the cons, because OP wasn't what I should be thinking about right now. I needed to digest and absorb what I already had, not scatter my efforts.
I concentrated. The scalpel in my hand began to lose its outline, becoming translucent, and then it broke down into myriads of glowing particles that streamed back into my chest. I felt how a tiny, but tangible, part of my inner sun was reserved for this blueprint. I could erase it, freeing up space, but I wouldn't rush to do that for now.
Now that I had proven the concept was viable, I could proceed to the next creation. It wouldn't be a weapon. Though the thought of creating my own Zanpakuto excited my imagination, I understood that I currently lacked the strength, knowledge, and confidence for a sentient spirit sword. No, I needed something more practical and useful in the current situation. Something that I would use constantly.
Something for surveillance, for example.
Drones, bugs, sensors. It was a whole layer of technology that I had never gotten around to because of my constantly shifting priorities. But what if I created the perfect spy not from electronics? What if I created a spiritual bug that existed on a plane of reality that neither Stark's detectors, nor Fury's paranoid instincts, nor Natasha's experience could detect? In a world ruled by spies and corporations, an all-seeing eye is more valuable than the sharpest sword. This would give me a colossal strategic advantage. It was decided.
This time, I wouldn't rush. I swallowed an NZT pill and immersed myself in a virtual design lab in my own mind. Before gathering even one Reishi particle, I needed to design the future spy's brain. There was no question of programming a full soul yet, but creating a complex information matrix, a sort of spiritual microchip, was well within my capabilities.
For the physical form, I chose a dragonfly. It was the perfect natural drone. It had panoramic vision, the highest maneuverability, and silent flight. Then, I proceeded to program its spiritual core, defining its basic functions. I mentally honed every detail of this complex concept, preparing to embody it in spiritual flesh.
The first and main element for my dragonfly had to be an infallible return mechanism. I isolated and calibrated a tiny, but unique, part of my Reiatsu. This wasn't just energy. It was my spiritual signature, my resonant key in the universe. I embedded this frequency into the very core of the future construct, making it a quantum beacon-attractor. For the dragonfly, my signal would henceforth be the only constant, a fundamental metaphysical law that it would instinctively seek after completing its mission.
The next element was data collection. I programmed into the core a command for a sensory crystal: [ACTIVATE PASSIVE RECORDING MODE]. The crystal wouldn't actively scan the environment. Instead, like a multidimensional memory crystal, it would passively expose itself, absorbing into its structure all the surrounding information flows. This included photons for sight, sound waves for hearing, and most importantly, the finest vibrations of the target's Reiatsu. A built-in two-hour timer would serve as the trigger for completing the collection phase.
Third was autonomy. To maintain its form and functionality for two hours without depleting its own structure, I programmed the dragonfly's outer shell for passive Reishi osmosis. This wasn't aggressive vampirism. It was the finest process of harmonization with the target's aura background radiation. The shell would automatically absorb the minimally necessary amount of free spirit particles that were constantly evaporating from any living being. For the target, this would be as imperceptible as losing a single sweat molecule. For the dragonfly, it would be constant sustenance.
And finally, there was the self-destruct protocol. After it made contact with me and transferred the data, the bug should simply vanish. I sewed into the core a final directive that was written in the language of pure will: [IF [contact_with_creator_frequency] = TRUE, THEN [initiate_complete_data_dump_to_source] AND [initiate_structural_core_destabilization]. END PROGRAM.].
The mental blueprint was ready.
I extended my hand, and streams of Reishi rushed toward my palm. But this time, I wasn't just sculpting a formless mass. Following my internal blueprint, I began to perform microsurgery at the atomic level of the spiritual world. I built the complex, hollow internal structure of the dragonfly's body, its delicate wings, and its faceted eyes from the particles. I deliberately structured the particles on the very edge of materiality, creating a web of moonlight. It was a construct that would be invisible to normal vision and to most sensors.
In the dragonfly's chest cavity, I grew a perfectly stabilized Reishi crystal, layer by layer. Its lattice was designed to serve as a flawless information carrier.
Core imprinting. This was the final step. The culmination. My Reiryoku reserves melted before my eyes. Sweat streamed from my forehead, unpleasantly flooding my eyes. My temples pounded. Even on NZT and with the amulet's buff, I felt that I was at my absolute limit. I was holding dozens of simultaneous processes in my consciousness, preventing the fragile construct from falling apart through willpower alone. Gathering my remaining strength, I took the designed information matrix and, using my Reiatsu as a laser recording head, I imprinted it into the very center of the spiritual crystal.
At that moment, the ethereal dragonfly came alive. Light flashed for an instant in its crystalline eyes, and its wings trembled almost imperceptibly. It didn't become a living being. It became a spiritual automaton, ready to execute its program. There was one last touch remaining. I had to pour my signature into its core, my beacon.
[Spiritual construct created: "Spy Dragonfly." Complexity: Normal. +300 OP received!]
A spiritual construct created using the art of spiritual energy manipulation. It is capable of covert external information gathering and subsequent transmission to its creator.
This was indescribably exhausting. I felt wrung out to the very last drop. But I did it. I had created something more complex than a stabby stick.
With one mental effort, I dispersed the dragonfly, reabsorbing its essence and filling another slot in my soul's memory with its instant blueprint. The process returned a tiny bit of energy, but the overall fatigue was colossal. I left the Base, squinting in the bright morning sun. It was ten a.m. on the clock. It was the perfect time to find some diner and eat the biggest, juiciest burger I could find.
I called a taxi to Manhattan and wandered aimlessly through the busy streets for about half an hour. I was bait, and I needed to give the predator time to notice and approach me. Finally, I entered a random, unremarkable cafe that reeked of coffee and fried onions, and I sat at a table by the window. I ordered a double burger with a Coke and settled in to wait.
The burger never came. Instead of a waitress, a smiling, impeccably dressed man of about forty approached my table. His smile was disarming, but it was also professional, a tool that had been honed over many years.
"May I sit down?" His voice was calm and friendly.
"You can start by introducing yourself." I replied without taking my eyes off him.
"Agent Phil Coulson. Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate." He said it as if he were reporting the weather forecast. "But you probably know us as S.H.I.E.L.D."
"And you, I see, aren't one for beating around the bush, Agent Coulson." I smiled. Sincerity, even if it was feigned, was a good sign. As was the fact that Fury had sent one of his best people.
"And you, Mr. Thompson, seem to be completely unsurprised." Coulson accepted my tacit invitation with a slight nod and sat down opposite me. "Most people in your position would be asking far more questions."
"I prefer to find the answers before I ask the questions." I answered with a shrug. "And since we both value directness, I suggest we not waste any time and clearly define the purpose of your visit."
"Humanity." Coulson said, simply. "S.H.I.E.L.D. stands as its guardian. Your talents, Mr. Thompson, have been assessed very highly. We believe that they could bring enormous benefit to the entire world. And our agency is the only structure that is capable of helping you realize them fully."
I took a sip of my Coke, watching him carefully over the glass.
"I won't work for S.H.I.E.L.D." I said, clearly and slowly, tracking his reaction.
Coulson's smile didn't waver, but in his eyes, for a split second, the cold gleam of an analyst adjusting his calculations flashed.
"Don't jump to conclusions." He raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Let's discuss the details."
"But I am ready to work with S.H.I.E.L.D." I continued. "And that, as you understand, is not the same thing."
Coulson visibly relaxed. Now he was on familiar territory. Negotiation territory.
"I'm glad that you're open to dialogue."
"For me, as for you, humanity comes first." I said. "And producing even more advanced weapons, stimulants for soldiers, impenetrable armor, and other military technologies, that diverges somewhat from my concept of the common good. Don't you think?"
"It depends on your perspective." He parried. "If these technologies are used not against people, but to protect them from threats that they can't handle."
"Exactly." I snapped my fingers. "I'm ready to participate in creating such arguments. But only if S.H.I.E.L.D. provides me with unlimited resources and, more importantly, exempts me from bureaucracy in implementing, let's say, civilian projects."
"I don't quite follow you, Mr. Thompson."
"A corporation. I need my own corporation. A tech giant like Stark Industries, but with a different philosophy. This is the best way to not just protect humanity, but to elevate it to a new level. To prepare it for the coming problems."
"What problems?" Genuine interest sounded in Coulson's voice. "Problems that S.H.I.E.L.D. can't handle, but your corporation can?"
"I won't handle them alone, but I, as a public face, can become a catalyst." I shook my head. "And the level of these problems, it's right up your alley. Inhabited space, which, for you, I'm sure, is no news. Mystical threats and other planes of reality that are hidden from human eyes. Crime lords with armies of metahumans. And, of course, volatile Omega-level mutants who could snap at any moment. There are plenty of problems, Agent Coulson. And by my estimation, they will only increase."
"And you, out of pure altruism, are ready to shoulder all of this? Risking everything?" Coulson raised a skeptical eyebrow. "In our world, Mr. Thompson, pure altruism usually earns you a death certificate."
"Everything has its price." I smiled. "And its benefits. In my case, it's access to rare, unique materials for research. The opportunity to study other life forms. To visit places that ordinary people have never even heard of. I am, first and foremost, a scientist by nature, Agent. And only secondarily am I an adventurer with ants in my pants. If it weren't for this whole fake-Fisk story, you wouldn't have learned about me for a long time. I'm a homebody researcher."
"And now you've suddenly decided to become a public figure? A new hero-engineer, like Richards or Stark?"
"Stark isn't a hero yet." I noted calmly.
"'Yet'?" Coulson immediately latched onto the word.
"His genius will, sooner or later, not be able to withstand the realization of the horror that his weapons bring to the world." I replied as if it were self-evident. "As for publicity, yes, you're right. Sometimes it's the best protection. You know perfectly well what I'm capable of. And with your support, let's say, I can afford to be much more open. Which benefits us both."
Agent Coulson closed his eyes for a moment, massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers. This was the only gesture that betrayed his internal state. It wasn't confusion. No, this man was too professional for that. Rather, it was the realization that the standard protocols and playbooks had just been thrown out the window.
"Let me summarize, to make sure I understood you correctly." He sighed heavily, meeting my gaze again. "You want to create your own public corporation. You demand to be practically unrestricted in everything, including bureaucratically. And on top of everything else, this world-famous company should be supported by our agency with resources, technologies, and people. Did I miss anything?"
"In broad strokes, yes." I sipped my Coke. "And to be fair, I'm still being modest."
"Modest?!" Even Coulson's iron composure cracked. His eyes widened for a moment.
"Honestly, Agent, after such a start, I'd like to speak directly with your agency's director." I said thoughtfully, making my move. "He should definitely understand my true value. Apparently, they didn't provide you with the full report on my demonstration for Agent Romanoff."
Coulson didn't blink at the mention of Natasha's name. Their calculation was that I would either break or agree to less at this stage. But since I had moved to the next level.
"That's possible." He replied evenly, acknowledging my move. "After the director approves the request. I'll resolve this within a couple of hours. The meeting will probably be scheduled for today."
He extracted a simple, nondescript button phone from his jacket's inner pocket and placed it on the table. It had no sensors, no GPS, and no extra functions. It was the perfect, pre-prepared tool for a single call.
"You'll get a call."
I nodded, accepting the rules. Their plan was clear. Coulson was supposed to conduct an initial assessment. He was to probe my psychological profile, my adequacy, my readiness for contact, and, most importantly, determine my starting requirements. Apparently, everything had satisfied him. The final decision remained with Fury. It was logical.
He politely said goodbye, stood up, and dissolved into the crowd as he left the establishment. That same second, a waitress materialized before me with a plate bearing a fresh, juicy burger. I sank my teeth into it, replaying the meeting in my head.
There had been no outright refusal. That was the main thing. S.H.I.E.L.D. had probably expected me to ask for money, a lab, and a staff of scientists. It was the standard package for a valuable asset. But I had thought bigger. All of that was self-evident. But I needed a real shield, and sometimes publicity is the best protection.
Why? To hire the planet's best minds without having to hide. To create technologies that would change the world for the better, not just gather dust in secret hangars. To not have to fear every little rustle and wait for men in black to burst into my garage at any moment.
And in the global sense, solving problems on the level of Loki, Galactus, or Thanos is hundreds of times easier if you are a public figure with weight, authority, and the resources of an entire corporation behind you.
And, of course, there were personal matters. I could place Peter and Gwen somewhere where their genius would be appreciated. I could try to pull Frank from his coming war by offering him the position of head of security. I could establish, through Blade, connections with British intelligence, and from there, all of Europe. My company, even at its inception stage, would represent a serious power.
I finished the burger, paid, and, calling a taxi, stepped outside. The sun was shining brightly, and Manhattan was humming with thousands of voices. I barely suppressed the urge to take a walk, risking running into God knows who. Ahead of me lay high-stakes games, and I couldn't afford to relax.
I stood on the sidewalk, looking for my car, when I felt it.
It was a short, sharp prick in my neck. It felt like a mosquito bite. I jerked instinctively. An icy cold had already begun to spread through my veins, my muscles were rapidly stiffening, and the world before my eyes was beginning to swim, losing its colors and sounds.
//==============//