We'll skip the part where Coulson slunk out of Old Dutch's bar.
On this Friday night, Li Pu gained a secretary; he recruited the self-proclaimed homeless Jessica Jones as his employee.
It wasn't lust—he simply had a mountain of packing to do and felt like slacking off.
Hiring a secretary to handle the grunt work? Bargain!
At dawn tomorrow he's flying to Alaska with little Broly and Koz, and yes, it's on an airplane.
Compared with Bukūjutsu, piloting a plane is slow and tedious.
But when the aircraft is something father and sons built with their own hands, the game changes.
As the Primarch genes mature, their gifts surface, and Li Pu suspects the rumor might be true.
The story goes that, after the four Chaos gods stole the Primarchs and scattered them across worlds, the twin influences of Subspace and each Planet's environment scrambled their pre-programmed talents.
Guilliman, engineered to be a rabid War Machine, now prefers life behind a wall of bodyguards.
Angron, meant to be a brilliant strategist, became a mindless brawler slave to the Butcher's Nails.
Mortarion possesses a Physique to rival Vulkan's; he should have been the Empire's bedrock like Rogal Dorn, yet grew into a defeatist easily crushed by frustration.
Rogal Dorn, destined to ease his brothers through the agony of merging with their Subspace essence by dampening psychic influence, instead sprouted a legendary acid tongue—one word from him could mortally offend.
Little Koz, raised under Li Pu's steady guidance without such toxins, displays traits that mock the titles 'Child of Night' or 'Midnight Haunter.'
For one, he rarely stays up late.
Not only does he hate pulling all-nighters, he's fond of a midday cat-nap.
Nor is he the introverted loner portrayed in Warhammer 40k.
Though quiet, he loves dropping the occasional ice-cool one-liner.
He craves order, a passion that naturally spilled into engineering.
Li Pu now suspects the Emperor gave Koz top-tier psychic foresight less for predicting grand events—
—because, compared with the angst of seeing the future, a glimpse of a single upcoming moment is god-tier for R&D.
Take the old country's sixth- or seventh-gen fighters: aerodynamic PDEs usually lack general solutions; the equations themselves are often empirical.
So you run wind-tunnel simulations, iterating until something fits.
Use Koz's psychic sight—even if it can't replace wind tunnels outright, even if it only answers a go/no-go before a test—and you slash cost and time.
Li Pu suspects that, had fate followed the Emperor's script and Koz stayed uncorrupted, the Empire would have birthed a Genius dwarfing even Magos-Domo Kael.
Then the Warhammer Universe's Imperium could have escaped its dead-end of 'innovation by archaeology.'
Thinking of it, Li Pu can't help sighing: 'Just imagine how glorious that would've been.'
Alas, 'glorious' and Warhammer 40k were never meant to meet.
Fortunately, he's in Marvel now.
Watching the stormbird prototype—two scavenged radial engines, scrap from auto shops, father and sons laboring two months in spare time—roll from the hangar, Li Pu hears a chorus of 'demon whispers.'
Get in!
Step on it!
Woohoo, let's fly!
Hari, hari!
His two sons are as eager as he is.
Only Jessica, pushing two trolleys stuffed with luggage and tools, feels a twinge of dread.
She's already plotting an excuse to bail out of what looks like a suicide run.
The airport staff who towed the stormbird out openly doubted the thing could leave the ground.
Yet Li Pu cheerfully signed the 350-plus-pound flight waiver.
'Boss, are you sure that… thing can fly?'
Seeing Jessica's fear, little Koz waved it off.
'Trust science; with enough thrust even bricks fly. Two radials can push this bird to first cosmic velocity.'
Thanks to his upbringing, Koz is barely 1.8 m at two-plus—short for a Primarch.
He's slightly taller than big brother Broly, but nowhere near a true Primarch's stature.
They'd zipped straight from Kamar-Taj after Auntie Ancient One's extra class via portal this morning.
Li Pu forgot to mention that Broly and Koz are both his sons.
So Jessica took the polite, black-haired boy for some backyard engineer.
And her boss? Clearly the deep-pocketed sucker funding him.
'Hey, science kid, don't bluff,' Jessica warned, shaking a fist. 'My boss's money isn't easy to steal.'
'Why would I scam my dad?'
Koz tilted his head, wondering if this big sister was slow.
Dad?
Jessica's brain blue-screened, head swiveling between Li Pu, Koz, and Broly.
'Oh, Jessica, let me introduce them,' Li Pu said. 'My sons—Broly and Koz, six and almost three.'
The introduction crashed her system; she doubted her English.
One-point-eight metres tall—and not even three?!
Before she could reboot, Li Pu hustled them on.
'Come on, into the stormbird—my hands are itching. We've got thousands of miles to Alaska; let's grab lunch there by noon.'