When James woke up, he didn't just feel refreshed.
He felt… wrong.
Not sick-wrong.
More like reality-wrong—like his body had been rewritten overnight by a system that didn't care about normal limits.
He sat up slowly and flexed his fingers. The movement was smooth, controlled, and powerful in a way he wasn't used to. His muscles didn't feel heavier—just denser. When he rolled out of bed and caught his reflection in the mirror, he paused.
His physique had always been solid, but now it looked like someone had carved him from stone. Every line was sharp. Every muscle sat perfectly in place. Under the morning sunlight, he didn't look like a normal person anymore.
He looked like a polished statue that could punch through a wall.
And the strength inside that body was even more frightening. James tested his grip on the hotel chair, and the wood groaned like it was about to crack. He exhaled slowly, letting the feeling settle.
In his mind, a ridiculous thought popped up:
Even Captain America—with that heroic body and absurd endurance—might only barely fight him to a draw now.
But as impressive as the body was, James knew the real treasure wasn't his new physical power.
It was the memories.
Not one world. Not two.
Several.
Different knowledge systems, different technologies, different survival instincts, all stuffed into his mind like a library downloaded in one night.
In a world like Marvel—where gods, monsters, and cosmic threats existed—being "strong" wasn't enough.
Even the strength of "five Jameses" still felt… limited.
Especially if he wanted to survive long-term without relying on brute force, or without becoming someone else's disposable tool.
James glanced at the woman beside him from last night. She was still asleep, hair messy, makeup smudged, breathing slow.
He pulled up his pants quietly, ready to leave.
Love? Romance? Sweet talk?
Too vulgar.
He was past that now.
He had bigger things to do.
But the universe, as usual, refused to let him walk away cleanly.
The woman shifted, blinked, and woke up.
The moment her eyes landed on James—half-dressed, shirtless, newly sculpted like a myth—her sleepy expression transformed instantly into hunger.
She swallowed hard without even realizing it.
Her brain was still foggy.
Did I really… eat that well last night?
The same face. The same man. Yet now he looked like a perfectly edited photo come to life—too clean, too sharp, too unreal.
Her eyes traced down his torso.
Eight-pack abs.
Perfect lines.
A body that looked like it was designed to be addictive.
"Oh la la…" she whispered under her breath.
Then she sat up, hands reaching without warning.
James barely had time to react.
"Wait—don't pull my—"
Too late.
He lost the battle.
And by the time he finally re-fastened his belt again, the sun had climbed high enough to remind him it was almost noon.
James stared at the ceiling for a second, then glared at the woman who had already drifted back to sleep, satisfied like a cat after stealing meat.
Fortunately, it was the weekend.
No work.
No meetings.
No Allen hovering around with fake compliments.
James cleaned himself up, straightened his clothes, and left without looking back.
That didn't count, he told himself.
I was careless. I didn't react in time.
From this moment on, he would be a noble, upright man.
And with pants fully secured, his walk looked far more confident.
---
A New Routine, A New Goal
The first thing James did after getting home was take a long shower, scrubbing away the perfume smell like it was evidence. He changed into fresh clothes, threw away the torn underwear, and felt slightly offended that his "reborn body" wasn't immune to surprise attacks.
Then he ordered takeout from a familiar restaurant. He didn't bother with anything fancy. Calories were calories, and his stomach was empty enough to be legally classified as a disaster zone.
Food arrived.
He ate.
Then he moved straight to the desk, pulled out pen and paper, and started writing like a machine.
No hesitation.
No corrections.
No pauses.
He transcribed from memory the manufacturing specifications for an early Arasaka smart pistol—the Shinmura, one of their earliest models.
This weapon was old in the Cyberpunk world. Kang Tao's rise had pushed many early Arasaka smart designs into "outdated" status. And thanks to V's connections, James had obtained those specs long ago.
Even though it was a phased-out model, the design itself was still terrifying in this world.
Because in Marvel's current tech era, those specs were at least a decade ahead of what most companies could casually reproduce.
James wasn't stupid enough to submit everything.
Being one step ahead makes you a genius.
Being ten steps ahead makes you a problem.
And in this world, "problems" got studied, caged, recruited, or erased.
So James didn't plan to hand over the whole blueprint.
He only wanted to extract the core concept behind smart weapons—the intelligence module logic, the targeting system design, the idea of guided trajectory correction.
Just enough to open a door.
Because Stark Industries wasn't just a weapons company. That was the public mask.
Behind it, artificial intelligence was already a hidden pillar.
And at the top of that pillar was J.A.R.V.I.S., Tony Stark's proud creation—still unknown to most of the public, because Tony knew AI was politically sensitive.
People were scared of smart machines.
Public opinion could turn ugly fast.
Tony didn't want that heat.
But smart weapons sat in the perfect middle space—AI applied to military tech without admitting you're building a future thinking machine.
And smart weapons required smart logic.
That was exactly where James wanted to step in.
Using the Shinmura specs, and his own technical skill, James dissected the structure and produced a prototype intelligent program. In truth, it wasn't even "inventing."
It was copying with adaptation.
Even if it was only a prototype, in this world it was still sharp enough to be considered cutting edge.
Of course, it couldn't compare to J.A.R.V.I.S.
That was Tony's masterpiece—something truly ahead of its time.
But James didn't need to surpass Tony.
He only needed to attract Tony's attention.
Because circumstances had changed.
"Salary thief" was the old life.
Now, Stark Industries was a stepping stone with money, resources, and military channels.
And James needed protection.
In the Marvel world, strength alone was not safety.
Even with his enhanced body, James was only at the entry level of the extraordinary. He could fight elite humans like Black Widow if needed.
But against monsters like Thor or Hulk?
He'd rather not even try.
The smartest way to survive was to integrate into power.
The best armor is belonging.
And the quickest way to belong in Stark Industries was to become too valuable to ignore.
So James monetized his knowledge—carefully.
Not too fast.
Not too perfect.
Just strong enough to be useful.
An email went out through the internal system—an official submission channel where researchers could showcase new ideas.
Whether Tony saw it personally depended on luck.
Or, more accurately—
whether J.A.R.V.I.S. decided it was worth showing him.
James leaned back and smiled faintly.
Old D in Night City still waited for him to fix the mind-fracture problem.
For that, James needed intelligence research, not just guns.
Smart weapons were the bridge.
---
Tony Stark Notices
Manhattan.
A luxury Stark mansion.
Tony Stark woke up sluggish and irritated, pushing three women off him like pillows he didn't remember ordering. A full night of drinking and indulgence left him feeling heavy and tired.
He was still human.
Genius or not, flesh was flesh.
And taking on three women wasn't pure talent—it was exercise, habit, and a little chemical help.
He sat naked on the couch like it was a throne, accepted coffee from Pepper, and started scrolling through emails.
Playtime was playtime.
Work still had to move.
J.A.R.V.I.S. handled most things. Obadiah handled others. But the final decisions still belonged to Tony.
Then J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke.
> "Sir, there is an internal email you may find interesting."
Tony glanced up. That tone wasn't random.
> "Show me."
He read.
His expression shifted.
His posture straightened.
His coffee lowered slowly.
> "Smart weapons…" Tony murmured. "Interesting."
The concept wasn't new to him. His home was already full of "smart" machines.
But this email had something different.
Not perfect. Not polished.
But feasible.
And importantly—it showed thinking.
Tony scratched his stubble and smirked.
> "Send me the employee profile for 'James Wayne.'"
J.A.R.V.I.S. complied.
Within seconds, a full profile appeared: background, education, sponsorship history, MIT double degrees, department position, internal evaluations.
Tony's interest grew.
This wasn't a random worker.
This was a cultivated asset.
And the email proved the person had potential.
Tony didn't like rules.
He liked results.
If someone could produce something real, Tony didn't care how young they were or how low their rank was.
He made the decision immediately.
> "Give him the project. Independent lab. Full resources."
Bold decisions were Tony's style.
And having a boss like that was rare.
---
Promotion Day
James opened his email later and read the message from J.A.R.V.I.S.
An independent lab.
A strong budget.
Top-tier equipment.
Full authorization.
His lips curled upward.
It was exactly what he wanted.
But James also understood the hidden meaning behind Tony's generosity:
If you don't deliver, you don't stay.
The next day, James moved his computer and chair out of his old office while Allen stared like he was watching someone steal company property in broad daylight.
He arrived on an upper floor.
A new laboratory.
Pepper met him there, personally congratulating him and hanging a sign at the entrance:
SMART WEAPON RESEARCH LAB
Then she handed him her private email.
> "If you need anything, tell me. Tony thinks highly of you."
James thanked her sincerely.
Pepper wasn't just efficient—she was smooth. The kind of person who made systems work quietly. No wonder she had climbed from assistant to leadership material.
In under a day, everything had been arranged.
Assistants.
Funding.
Equipment.
Clear reporting authority.
As project lead, James now sat outside the normal structure.
He only answered to Tony.
And Tony had already laid out the deal: success meant huge profit through military channels.
James stared at the lab, feeling something rare.
A real starting point.
He needed results quickly.
Preferably before Tony became Iron Man.
Then James's mind hit another thought.
Wait… when exactly does Tony go to the Middle East and get attacked?
He only remembered it happened after Tony slept with some magazine cover models.
James shook his head.
Forget it.
First, he needed to welcome his incoming lab team.
The door opened.
New faces entered.
James scanned them… then froze.
One familiar face stood there, smiling like nothing was wrong.
James blurted out instinctively:
> "Crap… Martin?"
Of all people, the biggest "salary thief" he knew had landed on his project team.
James's first impulse was to go straight to Pepper and demand a replacement.
Because he knew exactly what kind of hypocrite he was.
When he was slacking, he wanted everyone around him to slack too.
But now that he was the leader?
No way he'd tolerate someone poisoning the team atmosphere.
Martin winked at him, completely unaware of the danger brewing behind James's calm expression.
Martin didn't understand advanced tech the way James did, but he understood something else perfectly:
how to latch onto powerful people.
And he had applied the moment he saw James's name on the announcement.
James stared at him for a long second.
Then sighed silently.
He didn't have a clean excuse to kick Martin out. Martin's qualifications were valid. At worst, he was lazy.
And… Martin had brought James to see "awesome dancers" plenty of times. That debt was real.
Fine.
Worst case, James would work harder himself and force Martin into shape.
Martin suddenly felt a chill down his spine for no reason and straightened his posture.
He had no idea what kind of training hell he was walking into.
---
Smart Weapons, Without Implants
Back in Night City, smart weapons required smart implants—especially cybereye modules that assisted in enemy locking.
But James couldn't just pull cybernetic implant tech out of nowhere in Marvel.
So he needed an alternative.
A visual module integrated with computation.
A helmet.
A pilot's helmet was the best carrier.
In his memory, combining a titan-style intelligent core with a pilot helmet created a smart weapon effect—automatic correction, trajectory assistance, enhanced targeting.
The blueprint was already etched into his mind.
With Stark-level equipment, building a disguised version wasn't hard.
He only had to simplify it slightly.
And make sure it didn't look too perfect.
Because perfect gets questioned.
James exhaled, stepped into full project manager mode, and began assigning tasks. His team was new, so there would be an adjustment period.
But the goal was clear.
Build the smart field.
Build the helmet.
Build the future.
And do it fast.
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Extra chapters available on patreon
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