The drone of New York traffic replaced the alley's silence. The silver-haired man, whom I decided to call Orion in my own mind—sharp, distant, and celestial—walked out of the alleyway, his first loyal asset, the newly christened 'A-01,' trailing three steps behind him.
A-01 was a blank slate, his expressionless face and vacant eyes proving the dominion protocol's terrifying efficacy. He was strong, obedient, and utterly disposable. Perfect for errands.
"We need capital, A-01. And information. Start with the basics: your former associates. Tell me everything about who owes you, who you owe, and where the loose cash is kept."
A-01 spoke in a dull monotone, reciting details of a small-time loan shark operation, a network of poker dens, and a cash drop scheduled for later that night. It was small potatoes, but a necessary first step. The empire needed a treasury.
The First Acquisition
The cash drop was in a forgotten warehouse near the docks, illuminated by a single flickering security light. Orion wore the jacket taken from the first two dust piles—a surprisingly high-quality black leather—which, combined with his striking silver hair and amethyst eyes, gave him the look of a dangerous new arrival.
Inside, three more thugs were counting stacks of banded hundreds.
They looked up, annoyed. "What do you want, pretty boy? This ain't open for business."
Orion didn't waste time with dialogue this time. He was testing his efficiency. A-01, without instruction, moved to intercept the one reaching for a sawed-off shotgun.
Orion extended his will. Two quick bursts of violet energy, faster than thought, turned the accountant and the lookout into dust. The air shimmered with the residual charge, which flowed into Orion, invigorating him. He felt his mind sharpen, his senses peak.
The third thug, the one A-01 was grappling with, froze mid-struggle, staring at the sudden piles of ash.
"If I dominate this one, that's two assets. A decent foundation," Orion thought, focusing the dominion protocol.
The violet light enveloped the struggling man. The scream that followed was longer and louder than the last, a raw, painful expulsion of identity. When it finished, the man stood limp, his eyes glazed over.
"Kneel," Orion commanded.
The man dropped, his knees hitting the concrete.
Orion gestured to the counting table. "A-01, secure the cash. A-02, you will inventory this warehouse. Where are the weapons? The vehicles? The other safe houses?"
In the space of an hour, Orion had gone from a man with nothing to a man with two mind-slaves, close to fifty thousand dollars in cash, and the keys to a small network of low-level criminal infrastructure.
It was satisfying, but it was nothing. He needed to be among the powerful, not the petty.
The Problem of Visibility
Orion knew he couldn't simply drain every mid-level crook he met. Mass disappearances would draw attention from the wrong people: SHIELD, the FBI, maybe even that armored idiot in his tower. He needed clean, untraceable influence.
"We need a legitimate front," Orion murmured, exiting the warehouse and watching the dawn break over the East River. "Something that provides access to data and wealth without drawing the eye of the world's most paranoid billionaire."
His mind, sharpened by his enhanced vitality, raced through the possibilities. Banking was too regulated. Real estate was too slow. Tech... that was the key. Tony Stark obsessed over tech, which meant that the tech under him was ripe for exploitation.
He remembered a name from A-01's fractured memories: Cain. A data broker. A man who laundered money through shell companies and specialized in digitally erasing problems for high-paying clients.
Cain would know the right people.
Targeting Cain
Using the thugs' flip phones and a borrowed burner, Orion located Cain in a high-rise in Midtown. The building was expensive, protected by a simple, but effective, security team.
"A-01, A-02," Orion said, standing across the street, his eyes scanning the traffic. "I need one of you to cause a distraction. A minor incident. Something that draws the guards out for two minutes. A-01, you are the more expendable. Make it loud."
A-01 nodded, his face unreadable, and began crossing the street, heading toward the building's loading bay entrance. He pulled a brick from a nearby construction site and, with chilling determination, threw it through the large plate-glass window of a nearby luxury car dealership.
The alarm shrieked.
The two security guards instantly sprinted around the corner. Orion moved.
He slipped into the service entrance and took the elevator up, his psychic awareness (a natural extension of Michael Morningstar's power) allowing him to sense the life energy of the floors above him. He found Cain's office suite, and more importantly, the low-energy signature of an unarmed man within.
The door was locked, but the mechanism was cheap. A simple, focused pulse of bio-energy shorted the lock, melting the delicate pins.
Inside, Cain, a nervous man in a $3,000 suit, was frantically clicking on his keyboard, clearly trying to erase something.
"Who the hell are you?" Cain squeaked, turning around.
Orion closed the distance. "I am your new silent partner, Cain. And you are going to tell me exactly how you use your companies to clean money."
Cain tried to protest, babbling about NDAs and clients, but Orion had already initiated the dominion protocol. He didn't use the dust method—Cain's mind and network were too valuable.
The violet energy surged. This time, Orion wasn't just erasing Cain's will; he was imprinting his own identity, his own goals, over the broker's operational memories.
When the light faded, Cain blinked. The panic was gone, replaced by a deep, unsettling reverence.
"Master," Cain whispered, pushing his chair back and bowing his head. "How may I serve the expansion of your enterprise?"
Orion smiled. This felt right. The power was not just for petty violence; it was a psychological scalpel.
"First," Orion said, circling the desk, his amethyst eyes glowing with victorious ambition. "We need to create a new corporation. Something international. Something vague. I want its name to signify power, but remain utterly untraceable. And I want the first acquisition to be the company developing that new satellite communications array near New Jersey."
Orion walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked out at the vast, uncaring city. The skyline belonged to Tony Stark, but the shadows belonged to him.
"We will call it Aethyr Dynamics," Orion stated, the name rolling off his tongue with a calculated weight. "The boundless air. The space of the gods."
He turned back to his new asset. "Now, Cain. You have work to do. Show me the vulnerabilities of the world, and I will show you how to exploit them."