The cybernetic implant trials moved forward with shocking smoothness.
The first retired soldier to complete the full series of surgeries was already jogging—actually jogging—across the lab's training floor, boots thudding against the mat like he had never lost his legs in the first place. He could jump, pivot, and land without collapsing. His body still carried scars, but his movement looked clean. Controlled. Alive.
For him, it wasn't "successful treatment."
It was a new life.
He stared at his own legs like they belonged to someone else, then laughed, then cried, then laughed again. His gratitude came out in clumsy words and shaking hands, the kind of gratitude that doesn't know how to behave because it's too big.
Then he tried to repay it the dumbest way possible.
"Sir! I… I want to introduce my daughter to you!"
James didn't respond at first. He waited politely for the soldier to show him a photo.
One look.
James's face went blank.
Then, without a word, he kicked the man—lightly but repeatedly—right in the shin.
"Sir—hey—OW! What are you doing?!"
James's expression didn't change. "You can't repay kindness with malice like that."
The soldier looked offended until he realized James was dead serious. He quickly shoved the photo away like it was evidence at a crime scene.
The Military Smells Opportunity
This "civilian-grade" implant program was still more than enough to make the military's eyes light up.
Once James submitted the official materials, Commissioner Smith requested a visit immediately.
The reason was simple: the disability rate in the armed forces was brutal. Elite soldiers retired early because of injuries—legs crushed, spines damaged, nerves severed. Years of training lost in one explosion.
And good soldiers weren't easy to replace.
From the military's perspective, the math was insulting.
In war zones, a bag of screws could cost a hundred thousand dollars once it was shipped through the supply chain. But here, for tens of thousands, James could restore a combat veteran's ability to walk—possibly even improve their physical performance.
Two bags of screws for one elite soldier.
It was a bargain so obvious it almost felt criminal.
Commissioner Smith even suggested James should raise the price.
Not because it was "fair," but because if James charged too little…
…how would the commissioners skim enough profit?
James kept the implants limited to civilian-grade, partly to satisfy Tony's public stance and partly to avoid a political explosion. Even so, the military was thrilled.
And James? He didn't waste time playing polite host.
He left the meetings to Pepper and Natalie while he did what he was best at—living like a king and letting the world spin around him.
By the time he woke up the next morning tangled in expensive sheets beside several Victoria's Secret models, the contract between Stark Industries and the military had already been signed.
Just like that—one night of paperwork. One day of headlines.
The tension caused by shutting down the weapons division eased immediately. Lawsuits over terminated contracts were paused. Media coverage changed tone. Stock behavior shifted.
The message was obvious:
The military had softened toward Stark Industries again.
And that was good for everyone.
America was capitalist to the bone—money could push politics in any direction. But the military was its own monster, another power bloc that demanded respect. Cooperation was always safer than open conflict.
James had come to enjoy life. If throwing out a "small" piece of technology won him a powerful ally, why wouldn't he do it?
Now, anyone insane enough to target James would have two walls to crash into first:
Tony… and the military.
Tony didn't say it out loud, but the women he had arranged for James the night before made his gratitude pretty clear.
A Call in the Morning
Natalie entered the presidential suite and cleared the room with smooth efficiency, ushering the models out like she had done this a thousand times before.
Her skill in this area felt… trained.
Probably learned from Pepper.
Once the door closed, James looked far more respectable—mainly because he had pants on again.
Natalie had noticed something strange since becoming his secretary: the difference between "James with pants" and "James without pants" was so extreme it felt like two different people.
But she didn't have time to think about that.
"Boss," she said calmly, "General Ross needs your help. Immediately."
James paused mid-sip of coffee. "General Ross?"
"Thaddeus Ross," Natalie confirmed. "A major military figure. He's our main contact for cooperation. His daughter is Betty Ross. You've met her."
James's face shifted into a familiar grin. "Ohhh… her. Miss Ross left a deep impression on me."
Betty was beautiful. Smart. A perfect military-bred lady who looked like she belonged under spotlight. James had danced with her at a banquet once. He remembered the shape of her smile and the way men turned their heads when she walked by.
Unfortunately, she had a boyfriend.
Not the green one—Banner was already an ex. Her current boyfriend was a psychiatrist.
James didn't care much about labels, though.
If the psychiatrist didn't mind? James wasn't totally against "making an effort."
Natalie handed him a news brief. "It might be related to this."
James read the headline.
"Military blocks university… green monster reappears on campus…"
He didn't need the rest.
He knew exactly where the timeline had reached.
James tossed the paper aside casually. "So the military messed up and now they want me to clean it?"
He took another sip, then shifted topics like a man deciding what to eat for lunch.
"How's the welfare organization cooperation going?"
"Very smoothly," Natalie replied. "They'll receive one hundred free cybernetic implant slots every year."
"Good. Watch it closely. I don't want anyone playing games with the quota."
Natalie hesitated. "And General Ross's invitation?"
James sighed like he was being inconvenienced.
Then he set his cup down.
"Prepare the car."
He wasn't doing this because Ross had a beautiful daughter.
Of course not.
Absolutely not.
The Hospital Aftermath
At the military cooperative hospital, the atmosphere was heavy. Doctors moved fast. Soldiers lay broken. Blood and antiseptic filled the air.
The operation to capture Bruce Banner at the university had failed completely.
Ross's plan had been careful. His preparation thorough. His resources enormous.
But he underestimated one thing.
The Hulk doesn't care about planning.
Ross had paid a heavy price for that mistake. If his influence inside the military wasn't deep, he'd likely be facing a court-martial already.
He had sent soldiers onto a university campus, turned it upside down, and created a media storm so loud it could shake careers apart.
When James's car arrived, General Ross was already waiting outside the hospital entrance, standing stiffly like a man refusing to show weakness.
James stepped out and shook his hand.
"It seems you've stirred up quite a bit of trouble, General."
Ross's expression remained stone. The last time they met, he had looked like he hated James personally—probably because he'd seen his daughter dancing with him.
This time, Ross didn't have the luxury of pride.
"This isn't for you to comment on," Ross said harshly. "I invited you because my soldiers need help. They're elites. They shouldn't be trapped in beds for the rest of their lives."
That much was true.
Ross wasn't a simple villain or hero. But one thing couldn't be denied:
He did care about his men.
"What happened?" James asked. "Give me the details."
Ross waved in a physician. "Let the professionals explain."
The attending doctor handed James a report.
James scanned it.
Then his eyes widened.
"Full-body comminuted fractures?" he muttered. "Was he run over by a tank? The fact that he's still breathing is a miracle."
The name on the report was Emil Blonsky.
James stared at the damage list, then quietly exhaled.
No wonder this man could later become a monster. Even now, his life force looked like a cockroach refusing to die.
There were others too—soldiers torn up so badly that even if they survived, they would remain crippled permanently.
Against the Hulk, ordinary humans were like glass.
One wrong hit and bones turned to powder.
James raised his head. "These soldiers aren't on the implant cooperation plan list."
Ross's voice lowered. "Consider this one on me."
James smiled. "Do you have any other illegitimate daughters you can introduce to me?"
Ross's face darkened instantly. "What do you take me for?"
James lifted both hands. "Then how do you repay me?"
Ross held his ground. "What do you want?"
James glanced back at Emil's report. "Ordinary implants won't fix this. I want Emil transferred into Stark Industries security. Make him head of the department. Even if he can't stand up, I'll have him taken care of until he's old."
Ross's eyes flickered. He didn't respond immediately.
James continued, sweetening the deal like a businessman in a war zone.
"And for the other wounded soldiers, I'll make an exception. Outside the quota."
Ross raised his hand slowly.
"I want fifty implant slots."
James didn't blink.
The man was greedy. The number of injured soldiers wasn't even half that. The extra slots would quietly disappear into someone's pocket.
James extended his hand.
"Deal."
Ross shook it.
To James, fifty or five hundred made no real difference. The implants were already mature. The scarcity was political, not technical.
He gave Natalie a look.
She understood instantly.
Paperwork would be handled.
"Get an ambulance ready," James told the medical staff.
Then he left with Natalie while Emil was moved under Stark's authority.
Emil Wakes Up
When Emil regained consciousness, he was no longer in a military hospital.
He was in a Stark lab.
Needles covered his body like a spiderweb. Machines hummed quietly. Cold lights watched him from above.
Emil tried to move.
A wave of pain crashed through him so hard he almost blacked out again.
James stood nearby and spoke calmly. "Give him a painkiller."
A shot went in.
Emil's breathing steadied.
His eyes darted across the room. "Where am I? Who are you?"
James didn't answer right away. Instead, he placed two documents in front of Emil.
"This is your discharge certificate," James said. "And your employment contract with Stark Industries."
Emil's eyes widened. "What?! I didn't agree to anything!"
He tried to sit up, but the pain dragged him down.
James remained calm.
"I arranged for you to become head of security," he said. "Annual salary: five hundred thousand. Company car: two hundred thousand. Apartment included."
Emil froze.
The rage on his face evaporated mid-air.
"…Okay," Emil said carefully, "maybe I overreacted."
James continued like a surgeon explaining reality.
"You have full-body comminuted fractures. You can't move a finger properly. Only I can get you back on your feet." He leaned slightly forward. "Any other questions?"
Emil stared at him for a long moment.
Then, with the seriousness of a man choosing life:
"…When is payday?"
James nodded. "First of the month."
Emil instantly accepted his new identity as a working man.
Honor and military pride were nice.
But five hundred thousand dollars a year was nicer.
Emil swallowed. "Then… when can I stand again?"
James smiled faintly.
"Today."
Emil barely had time to react before James pressed a button. The bed tilted, shifting his body into operating position.
"Wait—what are you doing?!"
Emil's panic rose, but a general anesthetic entered his bloodstream.
The world went dark.
A New Spine
When Emil woke again, something felt different.
He felt… present.
He could sense his limbs with clarity that made his eyes burn. He moved too fast, overwhelmed by the feeling of "being whole," and accidentally fell off the bed.
He groaned and reached behind his back.
His fingers touched cold metal.
Emil froze.
He twisted his head, trying to see, feeling the unfamiliar structure inside him like a second skeleton.
James stood nearby, watching data scroll.
"Don't panic," James said calmly. "I replaced your spine with a cybernetic one. It will enhance your reaction and mobility. Once you adapt, you'll understand its value."
Emil slowly pushed himself upright.
To his own shock…
He stood.
No tremble. No collapse.
His eyes locked onto James with a new kind of emotion—something deeper than gratitude.
Reverence.
"...I feel better," Emil said quietly.
James tossed him a lab coat. "Put it on. From now on, you handle my security and the company's. For the handover, talk to Miss Natalie outside."
Emil nodded like a man receiving a sacred mission, pulled the coat on to hide the cybernetics, and walked out.
Outside the lab, Natalie watched him step out on his own two feet.
A flicker of shock passed through her eyes.
She recovered quickly, but the damage was done.
She had just witnessed something she couldn't easily explain.
It was becoming clearer by the day:
She had still underestimated James's technology.
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