Eight months until the invasion.
The Prometheus Suit stood in Justin's private facility like a monument to brutal pragmatism. Eight feet of layered armor, three arc reactors humming with power, weapons systems that could cut through organic metal, and transmutation circles that glowed faintly on both palms.
It was ugly. Functional. Perfect.
"Final integration test," Justin said through comms. "Maya, Vanko, you both clear?"
"Clear," Maya responded from the control station. "Biometric monitoring active. If your heart stops, I'm scrapping this project and building something safer."
"Is good suit," Vanko said. "Ugly like Russian tank. But effective like Russian tank. Will crush enemies properly."
Justin smiled inside the helmet. "AEGIS, systems check."
"All systems nominal, sir. Arc reactors at full capacity. Weapons armed. Transmutation circles charged. Neural link established. Welcome to the Prometheus Combat Exoskeleton. Try not to destroy it immediately."
"No promises."
The combat simulation began.
Hundreds of holographic Chitauri soldiers materialized, exactly as Justin remembered from the Battle of New York he'd watched in another life. They moved with insect-like coordination, energy weapons blazing, flying on their gravity-defying platforms.
Justin's Scientific Intuition activated automatically, AEGIS feeding tactical data directly into his consciousness. He saw patterns. Weaknesses. Optimal firing solutions.
The suit's arm-mounted plasma weapons spoke.
Chitauri disintegrated. The weapons were optimized specifically for organic-armored targets—his Scientific Intuition had analyzed every frame of available footage, designed munitions that would punch through their natural armor with maximum efficiency.
More came. Dozens. Hundreds.
Justin held his ground. Where Tony Stark's suits danced through the air like art in motion, the Prometheus Suit anchored. Became a fortress. Jump jets provided tactical repositioning—short bursts that didn't try to match Iron Man's flight but gave enough mobility to avoid being overwhelmed.
Energy blasts hammered his armor. The Prometheus Steel held. Layers cracked but didn't fail. Exotic alloys absorbed and distributed impact. When damage accumulated too severely, Justin pressed his palms to destroyed Chitauri corpses.
The transmutation circles blazed.
Alien metal reshaped itself. Flowed into cracks in his armor. Reinforced weak points. It wasn't pretty—the repairs looked like scar tissue, brutal and functional—but it worked.
A simulated Leviathan appeared—massive organic warship that made the soldiers look like insects. Justin's weapons were insufficient. But his transmutation circles weren't.
He slammed both palms into the ground.
Concrete transmuted. Reshaped. Erupted upward in massive spikes that skewered the holographic Leviathan. The simulation declared it destroyed.
"Impossible," Maya's voice cut through comms. "That material transmutation shouldn't—"
"Later," Justin growled. More Chitauri were flooding through. His regeneration factor was working overtime, healing impacts that should have knocked him unconscious. Blood ran down his face inside the helmet. Ribs cracked and healed. The void marks on his arms burned with each transmutation.
But he kept fighting.
Thirty minutes of sustained combat. The suit was falling apart. Armor cracked. One reactor flickering. Weapons overheating. But Justin was still standing. Still fighting.
Still winning.
"Simulation complete," AEGIS announced. "Performance exceeded all projections. However, sir, you sustained injuries that would have killed a normal pilot four times over."
Justin climbed out of the wreckage, his regeneration already healing. Maya was staring at him with something between awe and horror.
"You're insane," she said.
"I'm prepared." Justin looked at the destroyed prototype. Blood dripped from his nose, already stopping as his healing factor worked. "The design is sound. We build the production model, reinforce the weak points—"
"You died in there. Four times. The simulation recorded it."
"And I came back four times. That's the point, Maya." Justin pulled off his helmet, void marks glowing visibly on his arms. "Tony's suits are elegant. Beautiful. But if the pilot gets hurt, the suit fails. Mine? Mine keeps working even when I'm dying inside it. Because I can heal. Can transmute. Can adapt."
Vanko approached, examining the damage. "Stark's suit would have failed catastrophically. Pilot dead. Beautiful corpse, but dead." He nodded approval. "Yours keeps fighting. Is proper philosophy. Brutal, but correct."
Natasha appeared from the observation deck, her expression unreadable. "Can I talk to you? Privately?"
Justin followed her to an empty office. The moment the door closed, she grabbed his shirt. "You built this expecting to throw yourself into a war. Not as backup. As frontline combatant."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I have knowledge of what's coming. Powers that can make a difference. Regeneration that makes me harder to kill than most." Justin met her eyes. "If I don't use those advantages to save lives, what's the point of having them? I'm not trying to be a hero, Natasha. I'm trying to be useful."
"Useful." Her voice was sharp. "You're trying to martyr yourself. Throw yourself into combat against impossible odds because you think your life matters less than everyone else's."
"My life matters as much as anyone's. But I have advantages they don't. I'd be wasting them by staying safe while others die."
Natasha kissed him—fierce, desperate, angry. When she pulled back, there were tears in her eyes. "Be useful. But don't be stupid. I didn't free myself from Red Room and fall for you just to watch you throw yourself into a suicide mission."
"It's not suicide if I survive."
"That's not funny."
"Not meant to be." Justin pulled her close. "I'm scared too. But I have to do this. Someone has to stand on the ground and hold the line while the Avengers do their thing. That's me. That's what this suit is for."
Natasha held him tight. "Then promise me you'll come back. Promise me this isn't just a noble death you're planning."
"I promise I'll try to survive. That's all I can offer."
"It's not enough."
"I know. But it's all I have."
They stood together, holding each other in the empty office. Outside, the Prometheus Suit waited—ugly, brutal, functional. A tank built to fight gods.
Justin's regeneration factor finished healing his injuries. The void marks pulsed. Nine percent corruption. Eight months until invasion.
And one completed suit that might—might—let him survive what was coming.
AEGIS's voice cut through comms: "Sir, probability analysis complete. With current equipment and personal enhancements, your survival probability during extended combat against Chitauri forces: 73.8%. Without equipment: 8.2%."
"Those odds good enough for you?" Justin asked Natasha.
"No. But they're better than nothing." She wiped her eyes. "Just... come back to me. Whatever happens when that portal opens, come back."
"I will."
"Liar."
"Probably." Justin managed a smile. "But I'm a liar with a really impressive suit now. That counts for something."
They returned to the testing facility. The Prometheus Suit waited, scarred and damaged but still functional. Proof that brutal efficiency could match elegant design when the stakes demanded it.
Justin ran diagnostics, planned modifications, prepared maintenance schedules. Eight months to refine the design. Eight months to train in the suit until using it became instinct.
Eight months until everything changed.
But tonight, he'd completed something real. Built armor that could let him fight alongside gods without being instantly obliterated. Created a tool that might save thousands of lives.
It wasn't enough to guarantee victory.
But it was enough to give hope.
And sometimes, hope was all you needed to keep moving forward.
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