“Jarvis, start repairs on this suit, please.” I said that as soon as I landed and the pieces of the suit began to fly off, I had to pry a few malfunctioning pieces as about a dozen tweaks I could make to the armour began to buzz through my head.

I slumped into one of the chairs in the workshop and held my head in one hand. There were two parts of me. One was constantly screaming that I needed to be in control of everything, and the other was saying that if I did that, I would only exhaust myself and push others away. I was frustrated; I wanted to smash something.

I hate the feeling that no matter what I do, I will be at a disadvantage. I wanted to do it now. I wanted to just smash all those people who were going to do bad things long before they ever did.

I then began to laugh. It wasn’t a maniacal or whimsical laugh. It was that laugh you get when you remember that this is reality. Until now, even on the surface, I refused to admit it. I was treating this like I was a player in some game. This was reality, and no matter how hard I tried, everything would never be under control.

It was one of the few things I hated about being a sapient being. That awareness we all had, about the fact that reality didn’t really care, and that we had to delude ourselves into thinking it was.

Shaking my head, I stood up and said, “Jarvis, use some of the black funds to fund the launch of more tachyon-emitter satellites. I want that ship found. Get Friday to make it look like the money is coming from companies that want their own satellites.

If my maths was right, then I could find Marvel’s research ship within about six months once the whole array of about a hundred emitters was in place.

Once they were done with their job, they would essentially be useless, but it was worth it. I had intended to send only about half a dozen up with each test launch over the next few years, but I decided to stop holding back.

In about a year's time, it wouldn’t matter if the world knew I was an ironman; I would be strong enough to ignore whatever threats people made against me.

I also ordered Friday to drastically increase the number of worker drones she was producing and get as many scientists as possible to work on the more mundane technologies I would need that were outside my purview, like protein synthesis.

…

Deep within the Canadian arctic in the waters around the uninhabited Thor Island, several Vanguard drones swarmed over an underwater cave that stood below the cliffs of the island, sat about forty metres below the surface ice, and was about twenty metres across at its entrance. Within the cave, they were attaching several dozen pieces of metal to the walls after widening them with their muon beams.

Over the course of several days, they would leave and return, constantly attaching fabricated pieces of metal and eventually creating a massive set of bunker doors that could open and close in front of the cave and were about five metres thick.

Then they began construction of an industrial air pump, an arc reactor, and a ten-metre-wide tunnel going up at sixty degrees straight to the surface. Once the arc reactor was running, the doors began to close themselves, and once they were closed, the pump began to pump out the water that had flooded in. The access point had come out right under the mountain, and after reaching about a hundred metres above sea level, the tunnel turned flat and eventually reached a cave, which would be the ground entrance.

Over the course of several months, worker drones were brought in, along with concrete to cover the bare walls. The deep cave was divided into a sealed reactor room, and the arc reactor was replaced with the biggest one I had ever created. I guessed that if it was at full efficency, it could produce well over 40 terawatts an hour, or about enough to power the entirety of the North American continent, though I had no need for such an amount of power in the near future.

The other room was turned into a dry dock, which had the keel of a new submarine laid inside it. It was quite the logistics chain to keep the worker drones supplied with enough of the prefabricated parts that they didn’t just stand around idly, and it stretched my limited supply of vanguard drones to the limit.

Once the submarine was complete, it could be used to smuggle cargo to this base, and eventually I wanted to have an entire industrial network in place so I wouldn't have to be reliant on any other factories. It was a small sub, with it being only about twenty metres across and being capable of carrying a few tonnes of cargo.

The venture had also given me a few ideas about how to improve the worker drones. I smiled and then got back to work, finishing the next batch of improved Vanguard drones. I had changed the name to the Vigilant Autonomous Network for Global Unmanned Automatic Response and Defence. Since that just looked better, Not that anyone would actually say the whole thing in the first place, but it's the little things that give the most dopamine, you know.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

…

“PURGE, PURGE, PURGE!!!” My words echoed through the room as the vial of nanites I was building began eating the workstation incredibly slowly. As U let out a methyl-acetylene flamethrower I had installed on him, I flinched as the intense wall of heat reached me as ice-blue flames engulfed the out-of-control nanites, which soon melted since they were mostly made of plastic.

As the doors outside opened and I felt the cool ocean breeze on my neck, I slumped to the floor, clutching my forehead. It probably wouldn’t have ended the world, but I had been an idiot; it was too soon for nanites yet, and I was a long way from being able to actually use them. Besides, there were some major hurdles to making nanites. Mainly, despite what science fiction said, making self-replicating nanoparticles was next to impossible with my current tech base since they need so many different materials and also because, because of their small size, even if one armoured them, the metal would be so thin it would melt.

“Huh.” I paused as I realised how I had done it in the MCU. Of course. I mean, it wasn’t like Hank Pym was a genius engineer; he was one of the greatest physicists to ever exist, but I mean, look at the suit; frankly, it sucks.

“Jarvis, how hard would it be for you to get me some research from Pym Technologies?" I said it in a cheerful tone as I gestured for a cup of tea from DUM-E.

Jarvis seemed to think about what I was saying but surprised me when he said, “Which of their files are you interested in, sir?”

“I like this proactiveness in you, Jarvis." I answered as I saw terabytes of classified files and began scrolling for anything on Python particles.

As I found some information about quantum particles, Jarvis replied, “I aim to please.”

As he began to read files, I asked him, “Hey, Jarvis. Should we continue the experiments to turn you into a superintelligence?”

“I don’t see why not?” He said it curtly.

As much as I thought he was a living being at the moment, he wasn’t. In truth, Jarvis was a general intelligence, which was just a bunch of weak AIs merged together. And to learn a new task, a different AI had to be merged with his subroutines.

The difference between a general AI and a superintelligence was the fact that a superintelligence, like a human, would be able to be given a completely alien task and figure it out themselves without any guidance.

Emotions and consciousness were programmable. Despite what humans like to believe, we aren’t that special; we are just really complex meat computers. At least that's the case in my old world; I suppose the soul really does exist here.

“But what is a soul?” I muttered to myself before laughing, and I decided I would have to have a chat with Schmitt about that.

…

Gareth Barnett had become disillusioned with his country. Most would justify the things he had done as necessary, as he had. But times like these, when he saw what he was meant to be protecting, made him feel like he was a hypocrite.

“Hey!” he shouted, slurring his speech slightly from the few shots he had taken. “She said to leave her alone.” He continued as he walked towards the three guys surrounding the bartender, who was trying to get onto her motorcycle after her shift.

They all laughed, and one of them said, “Fuck off, Trollface. None of your business,” said one of the guys in their mid-twenties in a New York accent before turning back to an uncomfortable woman.

Not thinking, Gareth felt a sense of rage overcome him as he pounced on the man, wrapped both arms around his neck, and pulled him to the floor, where he started choking the man.

Using the distraction, the girl pulled out pepper spray, dosed both of the other guys, and then hopped on her motorcycle before starting her engine. The one Barnett had pounced on had passed out, and he strained as he pushed the kid off and stood up. He saw one of the others curled up on the floor crying while the other had been sprayed less and was about to charge him.

He braced for the impact when they collapsed forward, spasming slightly. And he watched as two glowing blue darts came out of the dark and impacted the other two.

He watched in fascination as he leaned against the wall of the alley as a man in his mid-forties who looked to be a mix of white and Asian wearing a suit walked towards him.

“What do you want?” he said, rubbing his eyes, thinking he was hallucinating.

The man seemed to smile at that as he spoke in one of those posh British accents. “Well, Mr. Barnett, I was here to offer you a job, but it appears you need some help.” He turned his head to look at the three men sprawled out on the floor.

Gareth looked at the man, feeling a slight sense of dread, and said, “What kind of job?” His instincts kicking in, this wasn’t the first time a foreign intelligence agent had tried to turn him, though it usually ended in one of the parties dead when he rejected.

“Oh, don’t worry. Mr. Barnett. I have no wish to make you betray your oath, your country, or your family. I simply require someone with your skill set.” he said.

Being drunk, he wasn’t able to think clearly enough, and in his mind, the only reason someone would bring up his kids was to blackmail him, so he saw red. He tried to take a swing at the figure and said, “The hell you say...” as he took a swing at the relaxed Englishman in a suit.

But as his fist was about to impact the Englishman's smug face, the man disappeared right in front of him without even a blur, and Gareth lost his balance and fell flat on his back. He then saw the strange figure standing above him as he said, “Who the fuck are you anyway?”

“Bond. James Bo…” The man stopped and proceeded to laugh merrily before composing himself and saying, “Sorry, I can’t say that. My name is Andrew. Now I would very much like to discuss my job offer with you.”

“A hand.” Gareth said, his back aching from the impact as he tried to sit up.

Andrew shrugged and said, “Unfortunately, I’m just a holo-gramme. I’m actually at Denny's, about two blocks away.”

Gareth looked on in confusion as the spiffing Englishman just disappeared from his sight.