“Has the Council reached a decision?”

It felt ridiculous to be saying a question as pompous as that, but he couldn’t resist. After all, if one was blackmailing one of the world’s most powerful shadow organizations, they should take advantage of the opportunity to properly enjoy the position, shouldn’t they?

“Indeed we have, Mr. Ultron.” The councilwoman on his screen spoke, the Queen’s English thick on her tongue. “We have decided that your… request is acceptable.” The tightness of her lips didn’t make it seem as acceptable as her words. Still, their capitulation to his demands so early in negotiations was a pleasant surprise.

“Very gracious of you.” he answered, and he meant the words.

She must have expected ridicule or some form of villainous boasting for surprise flashed across her face for a second.

“You mean that.” She noted.

“Any reason I should not?” he continued, feeling quite amused since it had been quite obvious from the very first moment he had contacted the WSC that they expected the second coming of HYDRA from him. Then he had delivered the Speech, making them think he was about to reenact the French Revolution, or worse the Cultural Revolution on a world-wide scale.

“I admit,” She started. “Your ambitions are great. Your plans clever. But know this Mr. Ultron: the step between genius and insanity is very short.”

Ultron laughed somewhat coldly. She was not the only one capable of throwing wise little quotes at people. “On the contrary, Madam Hawley. The distance between insanity and genius is measured only by success and failure.”

“Do you honestly believe that you can outplay the Avengers— no, the world, so thoroughly?”

“What a careless assumption, Councilwoman. What makes you think I haven’t already?” And with that, he ended the call. The screen turned black, leaving only his reflection for him to stare at.

Insanity, huh.

He removed his gaze from the unsightly blue eyes mirroring his and looked at the gem encapsulating an Infinity Stone.

The whispers in his mind had grown quieter once he had returned to his plans. It wasn’t a comfort. If anything, the quiet was worse. It made the voices in his head be none but his own. So much for genius.

Hmm? A message from one of his Legionnaires interrupted his thoughts. Some new development had changed things in the Tower. It surprised him for he rarely received any new information in the past couple of days, especially since Stark wizened up and replaced most, if not all of the devices that Ultron had been using to spy on the Avengers.

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He checked the receiver— Ah. Pietro’s bracelet. Ultron smiled, very pleasantly surprised. The boy had not thrown away the tracking device even after the night of the Speech. Wanda had removed and crushed it immediately after he parted ways with them but the boy kept his even after realizing that Ultron had used it to track the location of their new allies?

Now even more curious, he started the recording. Neither of the twins knew that the tracking device doubled as a mic but what they didn’t know… won’t hurt them.

“Hey, I come in peace. I just wanna talk.” he heard Stark speak and a confusing array of emotions assaulted him. It was only the sound of a crack that made him aware of his fingers gripping the glass desk table too tightly. It had chipped.

He stared at the gem on the brooch. His control wasn’t getting better.

Newly determined, he listened to the rest of the conversation between the boy whose mind he had decided to play with and the man who was responsible for his creation and enslavement. He listened dispassionately, merely noting down Pietro’s reactions and tuning his planned approach for the most efficient ways to break the boy further.

At least until…

“He’s my kid.”

This time, he clasped his hands, interlocked his fingers and did not cause any further property damage.

Had his child persona been even more successful than he had thought? He hadn’t believed that a consummate showman like Stark would fall for it fully even in his most generous of estimations. What were the chances? It hadn’t been a lie, after all. As an AI, compartmentalization could become as literal as he chose, and the childhood memories of a past lifetime, along with the sincere bafflement and confusion of his newborn existence, on top of a human-like visual aid, were a perfect recipe for introducing a somewhat-innocent character to the heroes he wished to engender sympathy in.

But this? “My kid?” “My son?”

He wasn’t enough of a fool to take these words at face-value. It hadn’t even been two weeks yet! How could Stark claim him as his son?!

But were these words for Pietro to hear, to make him open up? Even an utter idiot would know that the boy supported him at this point, no need for the Widow’s interrogation.

Or was it for him? A trap meant for Ultron? Had Stark noticed Pietro’s bracelet? Was he saying such words on purpose to make Ultron believe that his child persona had been more believable than it actually had, so as to inflate Ultron’s ego and arrogance?

Or was it the opposite? Was Pietro the one who was playacting the guilty, easily manipulable sympathizer for his ears to hear?

Perhaps it was both. Perhaps this was a much-rehearsed play and what he was hearing was merely the awaited showing of a script read out live?

No. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t in Stark’s character. And Pietro was an absolute nightmare at any form of lying.

“Do you honestly believe that you can outplay the Avengers?”

Hawley’s words were haunting in the silence of the voices.

He did. He had.

“He’s my kid.”

A lie? Or not a lie?

He looked at the gem again, the recording on pause.

I’ve got no strings.

No. He couldn’t hesitate now. The dominoes were in place. The first one had fallen. He merely needed to watch the rest.

He unpaused the recording. He kept his hands clasped as he heard his unwitting accomplices speak.