Chapter 89: York Kind Of Business

Disheveled and wearing mean stubble, Stuart said,” Am I late? Who’s in charge? Oh! Sorry.”

“Please take a seat, sir.”

The interruption at the door was a sign of events taking an unexpected turn. The H.U.D. suddenly appeared in his vision, overriding his bio-contact with critical information.

“Any leads,” he sub-vocalized.

“Per usual, his cloaking technology is quite peculiar,” Alfred replied.

“As in advanced or…”

“Ubiquitous, sir. Your earlier assessment has risen to ninety percent. We’re dealing with an enhanced.”

“Are we sure it’s not something like you? Maybe another sentient artificial intelligence.” Alfred was aware of everything that Cole could spill, and the artificial intelligence had taken that data and dedicated it to the probability of occurrences; he just hoped that would lead him to the nest of vipers he was after sooner rather than later.

“The probability that it’s an advanced artificial intelligence is unlikely. The data shows potential psionic; based on the magical data in computing, we can remove a more magical approach; if I use guesswork, sir, I may have the mutant ability pinpointed. It’s more like Psionic Analysis. The technological aspect is the advanced technology used in sync from countless computers.”

He twirled ideas around in his head before discarding all but one. Nanotechnology was the next step, and he already had that. The T-spheres and the Boas were already blended to create something far superior. There was no way of knowing or safeguarding against someone who spoke to computers outside of magic and conscious intelligence, the former he hadn’t dived into, but it was coming up on his list of things to handle.

The Broker and Cole barely had a relationship. The man had a strange fixation on his identity. Alfred’s reassurance that they were dealing with a mutant and techno made him guess why the nature of his tech guarded Cole’s presence. Was it foolproof? He doubted it; Xavier had taught him that lesson not too long ago.

The technomancer had unleashed a swath of emails and the subsequent pictures. He winced at the images. Daniel Thomas “Danny” Rand is the son of Wendell Rand, the C.E.O. of Rand Enterprises, and his wife Heather. Danny lost his parents in a plane crash, resulting in the young Rand being rescued by monks and taken to K’un-Lun, where he trained and eventually took the title of the Iron Fist.

This version mixes the cinematic universe: Earth 199999 and 616 and his current planet. Danny’s parents had died, but he didn’t know if it was an accident or not. He was never rescued by the K’un-Lun but captured by their enemy.’

‘Odd,’ he thought; the Hand didn’t train and brainwash him; chi-manipulation to its full potential was extremely rare amongst humanity, yeah most could grasp it, but to be capable as Danny was out of the question.’ Daniel Rand was returning to New York; the blurry pictures told a sad tale.

He would need to think further. The ship would arrive in Saugerties, and a local biker gang would be the facilitator. That made him chuckle. The Hand was avoiding him and others. One group he recognized, The Daughters of The Dragon, Silver Sable, had popped on his radar recently; the princess and mogul wanted to meet him.

He ducked into another thought strand and checked his appointments; the C.E.O. and a sophomore had their hangups. He sent a nudge toward Legal; he would see the update sooner or later; whatever Sable wanted, he needed to see where her company sat amongst the hostile takeovers.

Using his parallel mind, he split his consciousness between the boardroom; his perception slowed to a crawl before snapping back to normal.

‘Sweet,’ he thought, loving the mental gymnastics he had just done.

The holdouts continued questioning, some of whom he hazarded a guess would be hard to convince. Those who signed had their reason, but upon their signature, their demeanor changed; he schooled his face, not wanting to smile as the back and forth continued amongst his lawyers and the prospective leaders that would one day run his conglomerate.

He fully intended to make the most of his contract ability. The system granted knowledge, which was once enough but quickly became a crutch. Cole had taken the text literally, which was wrong and misleading.

He had already opened a clinic to test the limits of his power. He was reluctant to use the Sarcophagus, but the labs have been thinking of watering down the tech for mass use; Alfred had his hands in that project, too.

Project Health was about taking the strange ability to a whole other plateau. Think doctors without borders but with alien technology. If his mass chi training bore fruit, he could further empower his forces and business with magical healing.

Bang.

“And a child is supposed to lead all of us?” a soon-to-be-dead man scoffed; the N.D.A. slammed against the table.

‘Oh, I got lost in thought.’ Cole locked eyes with the man, his mind quickly recalling his identity.

“Yeah, Isiah 11:16, a child will lead them,” Cole said, interrupting the obvious ploy.

“A.I.M?”

“Excuse me.”

He sighed; even with all his efforts, there were bound to be hiccups. “Doesn’t matter, Perry?”

“Doctor Perry!” The man corrected the confusion written across his face.

“Ah, excuse me, Doctor Perry. You may leave; I no longer consider you worth my efforts.” Cole looked toward the A.T.C. security; the lady nodded, a mischievous smile barely hidden behind her facade.

The man stood, anger written across his face. “I’m the leading scientist on bio fusion in North-” Jessica, the A.T.C. security hands clamped down on his shoulders, and whatever he wanted to say was voided; on her finger was a pretty potent ring.

Cole stood. “Leadership has no age, gender, or ethnographic place in my company. I want the best, yes, why wouldn’t I? But, I can foster an environment where the least of you can reach the peak in half the time anywhere else.”

He stood in front of the diagonal tinted windows spread across the room, back turned.

“Leadership, at its core, is doing your damnedest to support and shelter the people working under you. They, in turn, throw their heart and soul into their jobs. That is the world I envision.” The words spilled from memory, and he knew where he heard them; his heart clenched at the realization.

“What guarantees do you give us that you’re capable of running a company? What we see so far seems unattainable; just who are you, kid.” Murmurs followed the lady’s words

‘Who am I?’ Cole repeated, words resonating with him.

“Dr. Sarah Townsend, you have signed already. Do you have any regrets?”

“I’ve none; I’m just seeking to understand.” The British doctor responded, shoulder shrugging, garnering grumbles from around her. Cole chuckled.

“Sebastian Baptise York,” the name drew inhalations of breaths. He had wondered if they noted his last name beforehand.

“He is my father; allow me to reintroduce myself, C.E.O. Jeremy York, heir to York Industries.”

“What the fuck did she do?” the leading Biophysicists shouted, interrupting Cole again.

“You’re his son; that at least explains the company. It’s amazing how it was kept hidden for so long. I’m willing to commit if we can work out this deal, and I’m allowed to work with the York’s.”

He cocked his head back, his eyes locked on the A.I.M. spy. ‘Work with the York’s? He was the only true York.’ A notification pressed against his eyes; he didn’t spare it more than a glance. His relationship notification had already confirmed it.

“People who believe their subordinates will automatically admire them just because they hold a higher position are often disappointed.” He pointedly stared at the man, a sinister idea emerging.

“Similarly, those who try to exploit their employers for nefarious reasons are usually met with negative consequences.”

“Hum.” Perry’s face expressed countless emotions, indicating that he was carefully storing that advice in his memory for future consideration. Cole subtlety nodded, and he casually waived away the A.T.C. security.

“Take a seat, Dr. Perry; you will get the same deal. Do understand that any breach will be withheld on my end.” He had warned him personally that it was due time to see what the system or his power as far as consequences went.

“So, what I’m saying is…” Cole continued circling the table, eyes following him as he narrated his plans and what his deal entailed. In the recesses of his mind, he felt the questions react, his voice taking on an unmistakable cadence, his words dripping with influence.

Cole focused on the late arrival as if a call beckoned him. The man was an idealistic, proud inventor who refused to sell his high-tech designs to a larger company, which resulted in him sinking into deeper debt. After being forced to declare bankruptcy, Clarke became frustrated when Tony Stark emerged with his Iron Man suit. Soon, he believed it was similar to his designs.

Clarke donned his prototype armor and became the armored supervillain known as Rampage. Stealing money from banks, he was soon opposed by the Champions. After a crushing defeat by the superheroes, Clarke attempted to take his own life but was restrained by Iceman.

“Mr. Clarke, “Cole said, rifling through the folders as he returned to his seat at the foot of the table. He found the man’s folder and scanned it. He handed it to a junior H.R. member, and the man hurried over to the down-on-his-luck inventor.

Stuart hadn’t needed to read it, but he was desperate. He quickly signed and let out an exhale, visibly relaxing. Cole felt the tactile sign of a notification settles behind his eyes.

System message: Host has diverted the life of The Super-villain Stuart Clarke-Rampage Reward(s): +Hero alignment. $187,568. Slim-Bot

‘Color me surprised, even this garnered rewards.’ He thought, reading the notification.

The design of the Slim-Bot suit was based on the technology from a Kryptonian War suit, which the S.C.U.—obtained after recovering it from Lex Luthor’s failed attempt to destroy Metropolis. They started using the suits for their agents when Superman became erratic after discovering a dead Superman corpse at S.T.A.R.Labs in Queensland Park. Although these suits are highly durable, they cannot withstand the physical strength of an angry Kryptonian.

Each unit contains a command pod within the suit’s head where an officer can completely control the armor’s weapons systems. The suits are armed with rocket fuel cannons, mini-missiles, and strobe-burst weapons.

‘Redundant, he had the ATC mechas, but something could be added or removed to make each other better. He summoned the suit into the Redoubt’s garage. If anything, Angelica would enjoy it. At least he had more Kryptonian gear unlocked.

“Welcome to Armacham Technology, Mr. Clarke,” Cole said excitedly. He observed the man some more before continuing.