When Eyeball re-entered Eyetech, two of his security personnel; wearing badges that somehow now sported that ridiculous hand-painted Eye logo rather than the precisely drawn one that was the official corporate logo; both looked intensely startled at the sight of him... limping. Missing a hand. On a crutch! He stepped forward. "Can I help you, sir?"

Eyeball sighed. "Not at the moment. Have Cobalt meet me at the lab. The elevator will give me all the help I need for the next few minutes."

They both stepped back; scanning him from a few feet away. Aside from the missing hand, he matched his old ID perfectly; and he stepped on into the elevator without issue. The elevator smoothly rose to the top as he leaned against the wall. He should probably be in a wheelchair at this point. This... hurt.

When he stepped out onto the floor, he could see himself losing balance before it happened; but was unable to stop himself, stumbling a few steps, leaning against the wall.. before grumbling to himself about godforsaken helicopters. He was going to start flying lessons. Today! Even if he had to do it with one hand.

Inside the lab, an apparently young, slender, woman in too-tall platform boots with vivid purple hair that contrasted with the simple white lab-coat, had an enormous holographic projection up of a hand; showing a skeletal structure surrounded by, for the most part, thousands of tiny cables. He studied it for a moment. "...So what do we have here, Jenny?"

She glanced back at him, smiling. "Only the Mark One, boss! Bobby is looking into the research Wayson sent over and tells me that we need to re-work the final product from the ground up, and also to, well. Modify you to better support it, but that you'll be more than happy with the result."

He frowned. "Modify me?"

"So, Wayson got around the issue of power supplies for cybernetics by augmenting people. The default only works on people without any sort of physical mutation... so probably not you, boss... but Bobby thinks he can clone and graft a set of implants that will basically let you biologically store and generate electricity using what he's learned from it."

"..What was the default?"

"He actually can get people to grow the organs themselves; and after a few months, they're just part of the body, like bones or kidneys. For you, if they get damaged, they'll need to be replaced, like that Reflex gland, but for them, they just heal back over time."

Eyeball studied the diagram. "Hmm. Is it possibly to duplicate his work for me?"

"...Maybe? To be honest, this stuff is extremely advanced, even by our standards. Either Wayson himself or one of his people is better than anyone we have at genetic manipulation. I honestly think he could make that Reflex-generating organ a natural part of someone too, if he had the same info we did."

Eyeball sighed. "Alright. What do you have for now?"

"An appointment with a hundred-thousand-dollar-an-hour Healer who goes by Doc Feelgood that has been running here on La Famiglia for a while now, in about two hours, who should get you right as rain for everything but the missing hand... and a hand that is stronger and tougher than your old hand but has a 7-day battery life and mild reflex loss since it isn't directly connected to your nervous system. But! You should be able to type, shoot, and punch without an issue. Its also temporary; we've got something special for you once Bobby gets the organ work prepped."

"..Not going to tell me what it is?"

"If you insist, I will. But I promise, it'll be worth it."

As they started getting him fitted for his new, temporary, prosthetic, Cobalt arrived in the lab with his familiar, distinctive, blue gelatinous face; and Eyeball noticed that the security badge he wore also sported the odd logo. He frowned. "Alright. We had some graphic artist put together some neat stylistic eye logo for the company. Used it for all sorts of things. But I'm seeing that original, frankly awful, eye I scribbled on a motorcycle helmet come up everywhere now. Any good explanations?"

Cobalt chuckled. "Is that why you called me up here, boss?"

"Ugh. No. I need you to slap an alert on the biometrics of my left hand. I never retrieved it; it might be partially intact. If someone tries to use it to access any of our stuff, I want to know about it. We can still use genetic scans for me as well, but not just those. If you don't mind, pick a few security questions for me as well; essentially act as if whoever walks into the building... including me... after I lost that hand might be an infiltrator."

"...Who introduced you to Emerald?"

He glared at Cobalt. "Seriously? Ripper. And don't make that one of the standard questions, or I'll get pissed off at whoever is asking them every time."

***

La Famiglia did, of course, have its own air force. For the most part it relied on flying Metas; but they had a few helicopters, and even a half-squadron of six heavily modified MiGs; one of which was, at any given time, sitting in a lab at Eyetech being modified; so far a fairly low priority, aside from trying to come up with tech to sell to either the DoD or supervillains for aircraft. Its pilots were mostly former Russian officers, and a handful of trained Enforcers; but only a few of the Russians had ever seen combat, and none of these craft had ever been given cause to test their modifications in real combat.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The head of La Famiglia's modest air force was an old Russian pilot named Sergei; with thousands of hours of flight time, and a mastery of dozens of Russian military and general civilian aircraft. And at the moment, he was sitting in the simulator in Enforcer HQ's basement, a bottle of vodka on the counter beside him, casually prattling about the bad old days with one of his fellow former Russian colleagues. As Eyeball watched from the doorway, he casually drank from the bottle while the machine rocked with simulated motion; La Famiglia could, of course, shell out for some fairly nice simulators; this one couldn't accurately simulate G-forces, but could completely invert itself on its track.. and the man's ability to keep the vodka inside the bottle while flipping upside down was truly remarkable.

The simulators were mostly setup for the MiG; especially the modified ones La Famiglia used; but could be altered for just about anything.

He knocked on the counter outside the simulator. A few short raps. After a few seconds, the simulator shut down; settling down into its passive, resting position. The man pried himself out and pulled to his feet, glaring at the counter. "I'm off duty. Not like it matters. Nobody's going to attack this place. Who the fuck is... Huh."

He studied Eyeball for a moment. Had another drink. "Guess you're my boss, right? I'm an... 'Enforcer' now. Hah. Need something? Someone complain I was drunk on the job?"

He chuckled. "Ahh... someone will attack, someday. The Jotun. And that MiG of yours is modified to be able to shoot down one of their fighters. Until they show up though, you're probably right. I'm here for entirely different reasons."

Sergei set his drink down on the counter. "And what could some rich supervillain maniac want with a drunken old pilot?"

"Honestly? I got shot down while flying. I want to get at least a basic grasp of how to fly anything you can teach me. Help make it less likely to happen again."

"Shot down? And still alive? Lucky!" Sergei laughs, stepping closer. "What does it pay?"

"Not lucky. Just... had a really good friend there to save me. And, well. Still lost a hand. As for pay... we'll say a hundred grand for the next month of lessons. And you can keep your Enforcer salary and just go right back to that after. How many planes and helicopters can you fly?"

"Huh. Do you count ones where the made a new version that was a little different as a new plane?"

Eyeball blinked. "I suppose?"

"Over sixty."

"Hmm. Can you show me the basics of enough that I at least won't crash in the rest?"

He took a long drink of the vodka, and set it down again. "That is a dangerously foolish idea, rich man. Each MiG is a bit like the others, and if you know one plane, they all work on the same idea... but each has its own unique characteristics. Its own way to fly. I can do my best, but even I, with decades of flying under my belt, wouldn't just walk in and start flying a new plane sight unseen. Its not like a gun. My people, they made the MiG-X3. These MiG-31s we have here on the island are the same kind the Jotun shot down in droves during their last attack; and the X3 is the version made to fight them. We've made some very expensive upgrades; our custom jets are better than an X3 in some ways, worse in others. But while both are, technically, MiGs, they handle quite differently. If I'd jumped into an X3 straight from flying a 31, without any simulator time, no training, no prep? I'd be dead."

Eyeball frowned. He would probably be fighting the Jotun, sometime soon. But as far as other enemies, it was hard to say. Would his powers make him as good with a jet as he was with a gun? Should he stop building a weapons arsenal, and start working on a custom fighter?

"Tell you what. Lets start with our custom MiGs. Show me how to fly one of those, and we'll go from there."

"Hah. Very well. Come along. I will show you the basics. We can run the simulator tomorrow. First, learn how the controls work."

***

Six hours later, Eyeball's elbow was sore; he wasn't used to the sort of strain the artificial hand and wrist put on him; it was a bit heavier than his real hand; and Sergei was growing increasingly irate.

For the first two hours, Eyeball had been a standard trainee. Running through the simulator he would crash, hit the wrong button and kill himself, flail wildly and get himself killed; it had taken an hour to even reliably take off properly, in fact. He seemed to have some piloting experience, but not with a MiG; and Sergei hadn't hit him with anything crazy, like high winds, sandstorms, incoming fire while trying to take off.

Once he had a good, comfortable grasp on the jet's performance, however... Sergei started throwing challenges at him. Enemy aircraft. SAM sites. At five hours in, he turned on the second simulator and went against him head-to-head.

It was maddening. The rich bastard was still having issues with adjusting to different altitudes, and certainly wasn't the best pilot he'd ever trained... except when it came to dodging and shooting. He always seemed to dodge perfectly, getting the jet to just barely avoid any serious damage. And if he got in close enough? He always nailed the target. He sometimes screwed up his long-ranged shots; most 'dogfights' actually started off so far away that missiles would be in the air a fair amount of time before impact; actually seeing your enemy before firing a missile was rare. Once he got in close, though?

Three times now, he'd run the simulator. The first time, Eyeball had fired off a few missiles at the proper range, when he should, and Sergei avoided all of them... though Eyeball had also neatly avoided all of Sergei's own. Finally, at virtually point-blank-range by modern standards, he'd fired a single missile at precisely the right moment and nailed him.

The next two times? The bastard had actually kept dodging until he was close enough to kill Sergei with the 23mm gun.

He could still teach the man. There were numerous tricks and tools, and nothing beat experience in flight. But...

Sergei glared at Eyeball, whose own expression was impossible to read through that irritating chrome helmet. "The Soviets, they tried putting men with super reflexes in a jet. They tried telepaths. But while they were a bit better, they were not the game-changer they hoped for. When it came to an aircraft, you couldn't beat training, experience, good judgement, and of course, natural talent. I flew against such men and helped prove that a few times. But you.... What the fuck is it with you? Is it luck? It can't be telekinesis, its not even a real missile!"

Eyeball shrugged. "Trade secret. You down for continuing the training still? I'd like to work out the kinks in my handling of the MiG for the next few weeks, then do a live flight, then maybe try a couple of attack helicopters."

"....Why are you thinking so small? Why do you use guns, planes, here in dirt? Why not space? Do you realize how much more you could do against Jotun up there, before they reach ground?" He gestured up at the sky, clearly agitated. "I am not best pilot on earth. Am very good; especially when drunk; is why Nicky hire me. But not best. You get trained, you might be best pilot on earth."