Back in the car, I got a call from Tommy not long after his conversation with the Vought folk. I knew it was coming, because I’d watched every moment. As we continued to ride peacefully through the city, I spoke with the man of the hour.

“Yes, I can have my medical specialist visit you in a couple of hours,” I told Tommy on the phone. “No no, it’s no issue. They’ll need to take a look at you personally, and the last thing I want you to do, is wait. Got it. Will do. Have a good day, Mr. King.”

Once he’d hung up, I looked over at Mechelle. “What you thinking?”

“That if you hadn’t offered a very different point of view, he would have accepted the deal. Or at least considered it more seriously,” Mechelle said, leaning forward in her seat a bit. “They likely knew on some level that he was already looking at them negatively based on his responses. I’m not sure if they always go for the hardline so fast, but that could be a reason why.”

“Well, hopefully Colin already has everything ready to go. We’ll have to pretend we didn’t already hack his records and create a basic plan,” I leaned back. “This will be good, getting actual experience in robotization in this universe, if a less invasive version.”

“Do you have more individuals you want to practice it on?” Mechelle sounded less curious and more like she was trying to figure out my schedule.

“A few. I’ll need to see about that. And I wasn’t lying. I’d like to begin making cheap robotic implants a normal thing for society, to help those who need it,” as long as they don't end in people looking like those Maelstrom guys from Cyberpunk 2077. With a full chunk of their face removed and replaced with machinery. Gross.

“Then of course, there are your other projects,” Mechelle noted.

Ah… right.

I leaned back in the plush seat of the car. “Well, sadly I can’t justify making the Swatbots or the White Glint just yet, so I’m thinking my next build should be simple. Military drones…”

Despite my jokes, a part of me was saddened. The fact is, while I enjoyed building the technology I was making, I knew much of it would be used to kill people.

In my world, drones had killed the family of someone close to me. Innocent people. But then, this was the life I’d chosen. To be a weapons manufacturer. It was the logical choice to explain why I’d have tech that would make the weapons I needed. The things I would sell would kill people, innocent, guilty, all flavors of human beings. One day, I could find some way to… I don’t know, balance the books I suppose?

For now, I accepted it.

“Drones, simple ones that can hover. I can probably justify them by ‘studying’ the Badniks' remains and footage, make Bradley think that I got the idea from the Buzz Bombers.”

“I recommend having some models fail,” Mechelle said. “No need for them to be too successful.”

“Agreed. Beyond that, our work on improving designs for current models of tanks and fighter jets will be a good way to install our surveillance tech within the US government and military,” I stroked my chin. “I’ll have to consider buying a senator at some point.”

“Are you joking?”

“Kind of. They’re cheaper than you’d think. We can work on how to lobby a few,” always good to have a few politicians ready to go for when you needed them. “Let’s stick with the military angle for a bit. Night goggles?”

“Gen 5 models are being worked on now,” she said. “I also have some paperwork coming through in building new facilities.”

“That’ll help us make our new materials,” various alloys of metal, soundproof materials, new plastics and nanocellulose designs, even graphene. “What about outsourcing?”

“We have some workforces and factories available. I’m making sure they don’t work on anything too impressive.”

I chuckled. Yeah, outsourcing. Sadly, we couldn’t do everything in-house. We didn’t have the room to make all the tech I wanted. So a lot of once defunct factories and out-of-work engineers, machinists, and good old oil heads were gonna be busy. Fun!

The show events were catching up though. Soon enough, I’d be looking over the Boys, Starlight, and the spread of Compound V. Speaking of Supes.

Gordon. Time for a meeting.

------

Gordon Clarke

When Gordon had fallen asleep, it was in his cell. Same as it had been for the last 5 years, since he had been taken to Sage Grove.

When he woke, he was on a tropical beach.

For a moment, just a moment, he stared around. He was on a comfy chair, wearing a clean t-shirt, a pair of board shorts, and a pair of flip-flops. On the table next to him, along with an umbrella casting shade on him, was a pitcher of something fruity smelling, and a tray of sandwiches.

Gordon knew what was happening immediately. He’d died. Of course! He’d died inside his cell and was now in heaven!

With that small adjustment to his thought process, he relaxed. He reached towards the drink on his table and took a sip, sighing happily at the taste of the first truly delicious drink he’d had in a long time. When he bit into the sandwiches, they were just as amazing. Years of torture, stuck in a cell, with only the most basic foods… finally, he’d reached heaven.

Someone showed up on the edge of the beach. Gordon watched the man slowly walk over to him. He was odd looking, with a bald head and a massive orange mustache. Gordon slowly chewed on his sandwich, trying to put together the image of the man with the idea of someone like this showing up in heaven.

“...Are you god?” Gordon finally asked when the man came to a stop.

The man raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. “My boy, you put me in quite a conundrum with that question. First, because I worry about the ego stroke. Second, because a wise man once said ‘when someone asks if you’re a god, you say yes’,” he chuckled again, raising a white-gloved hand to rub at his mustache. “I’ll answer that simply. I am Dr. Robotnik. Some call me the Eggman.”

Gordon thought about that, trying to process the words through the confusion that plagued him for years. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be. I picked it. The name doesn’t matter as much as what you do with it. How are you enjoying your meal?”

“...Who are you?” Gordon asked. He was beginning to feel nervous. Very nervous. It had been a long time, so long, that people had just talked to him. The closest he could think of were the orderlies that beat and drugged him and… her.

Inside of him, Gordon felt a coiling heat fill his belly. He began to hyperventilate, trying to breathe.

“Are you all right, my boy?” the man, Eggman, said gently.

He couldn’t stop it! It was too much, he-

FWOOMPH

A wave of force echoed out from him. Gordon felt the chair under him shatter, the umbrella, drink, and sandwiches went flying, and Eggman disappeared in a wave of sand and air as the blast pushed out from Gordon. Gordon felt despair at the pain the burst left in his chest, but also relief at the loss of pressure, like a hand clenching on his heart finally let go.

Gordon landed on his back, and slowly looked around. “I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry-”

“The funny thing is,” the man rose up, looking positively covered in sand and dust. “I think I would have ended up covered in sand no matter what.”

He brushed off the sand as best as he could off his red suit, but was still looking much more ruffled than he had before.

“I-I’m-”

“Nothing to worry about, my boy,” Eggman waved a hand dismissively. “In fact, I expected something like this.”

He moved over to Gordon and sat down. “Does that happen often? Accidental, shall we say, bursts of EMP?”

Gordon stared at him. His mind, already addled, tried to pull together a proper response. “Y-Yeah.”

“...Mr. Clarke, I’m a scientist. A good one. I don’t claim to be a good man of course, but I try to help those deserving who need it. I’d like to offer you that help.”

Gordon could barely comprehend those words. “H-How do you mean?”

His voice just sounded so raw. This was the longest conversation he’d had since… since his kidnapping.

“Medical assistance, for one. I suspect that your powers hurt, at times? Maybe you feel confused after using them,” Eggman said, not unkindly.

“A-All the time,” as Gordon said that, his earlier question returned. “Who are you? How did I get here… what do you want?”

“As I told you. I am Eggman, a scientist. As for how you got here, I found you in Sage Grove, and rescued you from there. Finally, what I want, Mr. Clarke, is to help you. If you can help me, I would love that. But if all you want is peace, then that is fine as well.”

Eggman relaxed in the sand, looking over at Gordon. “Mr. Clarke, I didn’t break you out to subject you to more torture. I can help you with control of your power, to help you focus it without pain. Once I do that, I can provide you with food, shelter, and anything else you may need. In return, I’d like to research your power as noninvasively as possible.”

Gordon hugged his knees to his chest. For a moment, everything was quiet, only the sounds of the ocean filling the air.

“...Will you stop the pain?”

“Absolutely.”

Trying to think, trying to push past the fog that always filled his head, Gordon spoke once more. “Can you… protect me from her?”

“Stormfront?”

He knew. Gordon felt his eyes burn. “And the doctors.”

“I’m planning to have her either imprisoned or killed at some point, to be honest.”

Gordon felt a rush of excitement fill him. Killed… “Can I help with that?”

“...We’ll see. But for now, let’s take things one day at a time, shall we?” Eggman rose up, still dusty and sand-covered, but also somehow… grand, in his stature. It was in how he smiled, the crinkle of his eyes around those ice-blue glasses he wore. He held out a hand. “How about it, Mr. Clarke? To a beautiful friendship?”

Gordon took so long to take his hand that it became awkward. In the end, he took it. The promises the man gave were impossible. But if he could do even half what he said, well… Gordon had gone to sleep not having anything to lose anyways.

-----

Julian Ivo

Gordon Clarke needed therapy. That was an understatement, but a start.

In my office, after Eggman met our Electromagnetic Pulse generator and I showed him to the small space set up as his new home, Colin and I were looking over two boards in front of me. Granted, work was still being done on the island beyond that. The Badniks would be digging even as we spoke, making a base for Eggman to work from. What was supervillain without a base after all?

“You know, we have computers for this sort of thing,” Colin noted, watching as I stepped forward to write something.

“The sensation of writing something with my own hands helps me remember things better,” I twirled the marker in my hand around. “Okaaaaaay. So. We have before us two individuals. Let's start with Tommy King.”

“Replacing his legs will be simple enough. Same with his arm. His eye… while we could try and create an eye, that sort of technology maybe-”

I interrupted Colin. “Too advanced. Yeah. In fact, while I’d love to give Tommy the full package possible, we’re gonna end up looking suspicious. We need to hold back. Give him enough to be advanced, even experimental… I hate to say it, but he’s going to have a couple uncomfortable moments while we pretend to be adjusting and advancing the technology.”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Itchy limbs, muted connections, slight problems with the heat or pressure sensors. And for his eye, I would recommend we replace it with a visor of sorts to stretch over to his other eye. Give him back some depth perception and other more advanced visuals, but still bulky enough to throw people off.”

I rubbed my face. “As for strength and speed, that’s going to be interesting.”

“He can’t be too strong, not without replacing large portions of his skeletal structure. Otherwise, it’ll be like using heavy machinery wrapped around eggshells. Some basic reinforcement will work, so we can make him stronger. And of course, his stamina will be elevated. We’ll have some trouble rebuilding his skin.”

“Better than nothing. What about the exoskeleton?” I asked.

“Being fabricated now. I’ll scuff the design a bit of course, but he’ll be the most durable police officer in existence when the time comes.”

Or one of, at least. I felt kind of bad. Making the tech purposefully subpar got a bit annoying sometimes, not giving the straight-up insane enhancements I wanted. He’d be a badass. But Mechelle would be able to rip him in half by comparison. Still. Needs must, when the... devil drives.

Wow. Never thought about that phrase too much before now.

“What about Gordon?” Colin asked, pulling me from my darker thoughts.

I turned to the board holding all the information we had on Gordon. “Well, he’s a harder egg to crack. The man has spent the last five years being tortured after his DNA was already transformed by Compound V. To build onto that, he’s also a walking EMP. Who knows what sort of effect his own powers have had on his brain and body? He would have been a touch-and-go case with any of those on their own.”

“So we have a problem. Now, we need the solution,” Colin turned away, pacing slowly. “This will take intense analysis. We aren’t simply helping a normal man. We need more controls, Julian. We need supes who have had their powers since their birth, or at least Voughts research on them. You have the files we stole from Sage Grove?”

“Oodles of it,” I pressed a hand to my chin. “I’m still digging through it though. You’re right. We can narrow our focus with those. See what sort of medical files they have on supes. I remember they had a few on current heroes. If we get a look at the heroes who are similar to Gordon, then we can isolate ways to help him control his power.”

“And the therapy he’ll need?” Colin asked. “You read my report, yes?”

“On the mental state of heroes affecting their powers? I’m not sure that has as much bearing as you think.”

“Not on functional supes, Julian. We aren’t talking about people like the Deep or A-Train.”

“Of all the heroes to consider functional,” I snarked.

“They have massive issues, but they aren’t on the verge of a mental breakdown yet,” Colin pointed out. “Gordon lost control just from talking to someone. We did all we could to make him comfortable, and he still unleashed enough force to crumble a car in all directions. That isn’t calculated violence, that is a loss of control.”

True. Gordon may not have been a bad person, but he was unstable.

“We’ll hire a therapist,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m not comfortable making one.”

“I can understand why. You aren’t exactly stable yourself.”

I barked out a surprised laugh, looking over at him. He smirked at me unabashedly. I shook my head. “Fair. I do have the memories of a bunch of much older and smarter minds running around my head after all.”

“We can reach out to someone about that. As I posited, a severely unstable mind likely would have intense trouble controlling their powers, no matter what cybernetics we put in or what superhero name we give them… I like Pulse, by the way.”

“That’s a good one.”

“Thank you.”

I placed my marker down. “By the way, one of our Buzz Bombers is currently in place over target C.”

“And how is target C?” Colin asked.

I walked over to my computer and pressed a button. On the large monitor in the back of the room, an image popped up.

Colin and I watched as a house swam before us from the eyes of a Buzz Bomber. Through the kitchen window, we could see a pretty black-haired woman eating with a young boy, both of them smiling and gazing at each other with love.

“Rebecca Butcher. And Ryan…” Colin stopped, thinking.

“Butcher,” I said softly. “When it comes to kids, I prefer to remember their best traits.”

“...I’m going to say something cold,” Colin said as I turned off the footage of mother and son.

“Go ahead.”

“A sample of his blood would be a boon to my research,” Colin said. “I’m not saying we kidnap him. But a natural-supe’s DNA would be-”

“Goddamnit,” I cut him off, rubbing my face. “...A nanobot. A mosquito maybe. Send him in when Ryan is asleep, take the tiniest bit of blood while also scanning him.”

“Julian, we aren’t hurting him.”

“It’s skeevy as hell to steal a kid's blood and study it. Besides, I need to make sure I rethink these things. The last thing I want is to just accept every justification I make at face value. It’s a slow path to shoving a self-destruct in someone I trust.”

Colin sighed. “When does the line between keeping the moral high ground and punishing yourself for nothing get crossed?”

“I’ll let you know when we’re done taking down Vought,” I said. “Or after someone kills me I guess.”

“Which reminds me-”

“I’m working on it.”

------

With that conversation over, I met up with General Bradley in my machining shop, where the IM guns and some models of the Big Foot were being made.

“-grips are slippery as hell in combat,” he explained as we walked through my factory together, alone except for the workers buzzing about. “Along with the magazines getting stuck sometimes on the reload. They’re still damn good guns, but that might need some fixing.”

I sighed in fake disappointment. “Well, I guess the conditions weren’t what we expected. I’ll make adjustments to the IM guns. What about the Big Foot?”

“It’s a damn sight more useful than I expected. Some of the boys are complaining that it's a little hard to drive, but they’ll get used to it.”

“Do you mind sending me any reports they have?” I asked him. “Any insights they might have would be handy. It’s nice to be advanced, but it’s better for the tech to be useful.”

“Wish some of our boys had the same thought process,” he grumbled. “Anyways, I’m not here just for a refresher.”

“If you want more new technology you’ll have to wait a bit. I can only do a couple of miracles a month.”

He didn’t seem to appreciate my sense of humour, but didn’t comment on it. “I’m actually here about a project you wanted a look at. The robots that attacked the Seven.”

“You got my request?” I asked with a frown. “My company put that through a… actually, I don’t really remember the name of the people we sent the paperwork to.”

“Regardless,” Bradley continued. “I caught your name, thought I’d drop by and talk to you about it.”

I sighed. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?”

We came to a stop in front of the latest Big Foot being built. As it’s balance program was being programmed I leaned against a railing separating us from it. “General, I’ve worked my entire life to excel at robotics and engineering. And yet, after building a machine that I thought dwarfed anything that could be possible in terms of robotics… some upstart asshole drops out of the sky and blows me out of the water with… cutesy animals.”

I looked over at him. “Did you see those bees?”

Bradley nodded. He suddenly looked exhausted. “We wish we could make drones with the flight ability those things had. And the fact they managed to hurt Homelander of all people is insane.”

“Barely scuffed his cape really,” I pointed out. “But that’s more than I’ve seen before. And really, the way those things flew with wings that small blew our minds. We’ve been working on hovering vehicles, trying to improve their weight, power, durability… here, look,” I pulled out my phone and unlocked it, loading up a video.

As Bradley and I watched, a large machine hovered on the top of a cliff in the middle of a forest. “Upstate New York,” I explained to him. “We thought we’d ironed out some of the kinks on our first version of the Mono Platform, a bot we’re planning on eventually selling to you fine folks. But it’s… not going well.”

The drone was hovering happily over the forest below, looking solid. It began to drift to the left, then right, then up. It was extremely slow, almost glacial, but the big thing was moving.

Then a fire started in one of the propeller sections, a crackling sound filling the air. The machine went squealing over the heads of the cameramen, who ducked aside as the machine, hundreds of thousands of dollars of research, exploded against a tree and crashed in a heap.

I put on another video. Same cliff, smaller machine. This time, the second it launched, it flew forward. And forward. And forward.

“Is it supposed to do that?” one of the people there said.

“It was not, in fact, supposed to do that,” I grumbled. “My expensive prototype disappeared over the horizon cause none of the people I hired were smart enough to go out and catch the damn thing.”

“You telling me your prototype ran away?” Bradley asked incredulously.

“Flew away and crashed, hard enough that we lost trackers on the damn thing,” I put my phone away. “I’ll be honest, I wish we had installed a self-destruct mechanism on the damn thing.”

Bradley scoffed. “I hate to say it, but I think Eggman has you beat on that front. His bots exploded when we went to take the remains.”

“Makes sense. Anyone with tech that advanced would want to keep it out of enemy hands. I just wish I knew where he was getting it!”

“I assume he built it,” Bradley snarked. “Unless you mean where he’s getting the tech. We’ve been looking into people who might have the knowledge to make something like this, along with the resources and place to actually put it all together.”

“Is it strange to hope I’m on the list?” I said with a bit of chagrin. “Because Eggman is clearly insane, but… his robots were impressive.”

“If you think you can’t match him, you just dropped down the list,” Bradley sounded somehow both serious and teasing all at once. “As far as I know, the FBI are visiting MIT, Apple, Boston Dynamics, Tesla,.Anyone and anywhere that has the slightest chance of making the shit that guy made.”

“...So I am on the list.”

“It’s a short list,” Bradley admitted. “But you’re there. Considering your recent lawsuit against Vought. So I hope you aren’t planning on attacking them.”

“I hate the superhero that broke my prized robot, and I dislike that they defend him. Other than that, I just hate their movies. The acting is terrible,” as Bradley and I shared a small chuckle, I continued. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Well, I’d like you to take a look at something in particular…” he pulled out his phone and brought up an image. “Work on replacing a vehicle that shares my name. Or at least, be one of the people looking into it.”

“...You want me to join as one of the companies invited to make proposals to replace the Bradley Fighting Vehicle.”

Oh god no.