The conversation with Dr. Connors concluded with the scientist's enthusiasm burning bright despite the late hour and the cold gnawing at exposed skin.
"Astartes biological modification..." Connors repeated the words slowly, savoring them like fine wine. His eyes, tired monts before, now glead with intellectual hunger. "The surgical procedures alone represent centuries of accumulated dical knowledge. And the gene-seed technology? That's revolutionary. Transformative." He looked at Nolan with sothing approaching reverence. "I'll start with the remains. Dissection, tissue analysis, genetic mapping. Build understanding from the foundation up."
Nolan nodded, satisfied with the scientist's commitnt. Before he could respond, David's chanical voice cut through the conversation.
"Doctor Connors, the biological laboratory is among the most complete facilities in the new base." The Man of Iron's skull tilted, blue light flickering in his eye sockets. "It requires only minor decoration and equipnt calibration before you can begin preliminary work. I can have it ready within forty-eight hours."
Connors blinked, surprise evident. "That quickly? I'd expected weeks of setup ti..."
"I plan ahead." David's tone suggested this should have been obvious. "Your requirents were predictable. The infrastructure has been waiting for you."
The two fell into imdiate technical discussion, their voices overlapping as they debated laboratory specifications, equipnt needs, safety protocols. Connors gesticulated with increasing animation, his earlier penguin-like waddle forgotten as intellectual excitent overca physical discomfort.
Nolan let them talk, his attention drifting elsewhere.
His gaze traveled across the open area, past stacks of supply crates and equipnt containers, to where the Gang Dog squads had gathered in loose clusters. They laughed with the particular abandon of soldiers who'd survived danger and earned celebration. Bottles passed from hand to hand. Soone had started singing, badly but with enthusiasm. Others joined in, creating a discordant but genuine chorus.
These n had followed him from the start. Had fought with him. Had relocated to the literal end of the world without complaint or hesitation. Their loyalty was proven, their courage evident.
And Nolan had decided they deserved better than basic equipnt and hope.
The elite stormtrooper initiative had been forming in his mind for weeks, crystallizing into concrete plans during the voyage south. The Gang Dogs, all of them, would undergo transformation into sothing more. Not Astartes, that remained impossible for now, but sothing approaching their capabilities.
Step one was equipnt. The carapace armor they currently used, reliable but ultimately limited, would be replaced. But with what? Modular auxiliary power armor, similar in concept to Iron Man's systems, seed most practical. Exoskeleton enhancent without full enclosure. Strength amplification, reaction ti improvent, integrated weapons systems.
The thought made Nolan's tactical mind race ahead. If Raditus's foundry achieved projected production rates, if resources held out, if technical challenges proved surmountable...
Why stop at auxiliary systems?
Full mortal power armor. Not Astartes-grade, but closer. Sealed environntal systems. Comprehensive protection. Enough strength enhancent to turn an ordinary human into sothing that could at least survive on a battlefield where Space Marines operated.
The idea was radical, perhaps excessive. But if he couldn't acquire actual Astartes through the simulator, if gene-seed technology remained out of reach...
Low-end versions, small Astartes, budget Space Marines.
The terminology didn't matter. What mattered was capability. Enhanced Gang Dogs in proper power armor could handle small to dium-scale conflicts. Could defend the base. Could operate independently on missions requiring more than human capability but less than full Astartes overkill.
And if larger conflicts erged...
Nolan's thoughts turned darker, exploring scenarios he hoped would never manifest.
Alien invasion. Full-scale war with terrestrial governnts. Chaos incursion. Any threat large enough to truly endanger the base or his operations.
At that point, the calculation changed. Thousands of Intelligent Control Corps units could be manufactured and deployed. David's strategic brilliance applied at global scale. Total war, if necessary.
But the cost...
Images surfaced unbidden. The Death Korps of Krieg. Colonel Jurten's fanaticism. A world reduced to radioactive ash in the na of victory, its population transford into gas-masked suicide troops who knew only service unto death.
Earth had its own madn. Nolan knew this with certainty. Heroes walked the world, yes, but so did villains whose sanity hung by threads, whose response to existential threat might make Jurten look restrained by comparison.
And if pushed far enough, if the base faced total destruction, if his own life hung in the balance...
Could he guarantee he wouldn't beco that madman? Wouldn't choose scorched earth over defeat?
His simulated bodies' various self-destructions suggested the answer wasn't as clear as he'd like. That capacity for extre solutions lurked in him, waiting for sufficient desperation to manifest.
The thought was deeply uncomfortable. Nolan pushed it aside, focusing instead on the warm glow of the heating elents and the sound of his soldiers' laughter.
Better to build strength now. Better to never reach that precipice where such choices beca necessary.
The night deepened around them, temperature plunging as the already frigid air surrendered more heat to the endless sky. The round table eting wound down naturally, energy and alcohol both running low.
Gang Dogs departed in groups, those assigned to watch duty heading for their posts with weapons and warm clothing, the rest shuffling toward heated quarters with the particular weariness that followed good food and better fellowship.
Jessica and Connors left together, the forr still energized but recognizing the latter's exhaustion. Magnum oozed along beside them, an ambulatory puddle of rust-colored mudman that sohow managed to convey contentnt.
Soon, only two figures remained at the table.
Nolan sat with food still piled before him, eating with thodical efficiency that spoke to enhanced tabolism's constant demands. Each bite was large, chewed thoroughly, swallowed, imdiately followed by another. The rhythm was almost chanical, fuel consumption rather than dining.
David stood across from him, tending the grill with surprising delicacy. His tal fingers manipulated tongs and spatulas with precision, turning steaks at optimal monts, adjusting temperature through thods that had nothing to do with human intuition and everything to do with thermal sensors and programd algorithms.
"My lord." David's vox-speakers produced sound without the Man of Iron's jaw moving, an unsettling effect Nolan had never quite gotten used to. "According to my calculations, barring unforeseen complications, the Twin Island base will achieve full operational status within two months."
Blue light pulsed in his eye sockets, steady and rhythmic like a heartbeat rendered in photons.
Nolan paused mid-chew, considering the tiline. Then nodded once, swallowed, and resud eating. Two months was aggressive but achievable. David's estimates were typically conservative, accounting for multiple failure modes and setbacks. If he said two months, the real tiline was probably six to eight weeks.
The sound of footsteps on snow, soft but distinct, drifted through the cold air. Light steps, careful placent, soone trying for stealth but not quite succeeding against the crusted surface.
Nolan didn't turn around. He swallowed his current bite, exhaled a plu of white mist that caught the grill's light, and spoke to the darkness behind him.
"Ms. Romanoff, the nightti temperature on the Twin Islands approaches negative twenty Celsius. Not ideal conditions for escape attempts." His tone was conversational, almost friendly. "And unless you've developed the ability to fly or can single-handedly operate a ten-thousand-ton cargo vessel, I'd strongly advise against trying anything dramatic."
Silence held for several seconds. Then the footsteps resud, no longer attempting concealnt.
Natasha erged into the glow of the heating elents, her figure wrapped in a bulky white down jacket that added significant mass to her normally sleek fra. Her red hair was pulled back in a practical braid, her face pale but composed. She moved with her characteristic grace despite the heavy clothing, approaching the low table where Nolan and David maintained their vigil.
"Mr. Nolan?" Her voice carried carefully controlled surprise. "I believe we've t before. Once. Briefly."
David, without being asked and without breaking rhythm on the grill, plucked a fresh steak from the warming rack and extended it toward Natasha on a clean plate. She accepted it with a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, then settled onto one of the supply crates serving as makeshift seating.
Her green eyes studied Nolan's profile, taking in the short grey hair that caught light like frost, the cyan wolf eyes that reflected the heating elents' glow with unsettling intensity.
"Last ti we t," she continued slowly, selecting her words with care, "you seed to be concealing these rather distinctive physical characteristics."
Nolan pulled another large piece of steak from his plate, the at still steaming despite the cold. He bit into it, chewed, swallowed, all without looking at Natasha.
"Simple illusion," he said around the next mouthful. He finally glanced her way, expressing neutral. "Looking like this, going out in public requires precautions. But everyone needs to relax occasionally. Even ."
Another bite. "What do you want?"
Natasha picked up a table knife, its silver surface catching reflections. She began cutting her steak with precise, economical movents, each slice perfectly asured.
"I've been trying to understand." She didn't look up from her work, keeping her attention focused on the food. "You command significant force. Enough to secure considerable benefits through conventional channels. Yet you never expose yourself voluntarily. Instead, you hide on this frozen island at the end of the world."
Her knife paused. She looked up, eting his gaze directly. "With proper covert entry into existing power structures, you could extract enormous profits from major organizations. With skilled maneuvering, you could potentially replace them entirely." Her head tilted slightly. "So why don't you?"
Nolan wiped grease from the corner of his mouth with one tal finger, the gesture casual and slightly crude. He swallowed his last bite, set down his utensils, and considered the woman across from him.
"Do you want truth or comfortable fiction?"
"Truth. Obviously."
"Alright." Nolan leaned back, his armor's servos adjusting automatically to support the shift in posture. "Let's start with realistic factors, scaling from imdiate to cosmic. Setting aside local supernatural events and the various superpowered individuals, you're already aware of those complications."
He raised one finger. "I won't discuss human class dynamics with you. The concepts are complex and you lack the theoretical frawork to properly engage with them."
Natasha's expression flickered with sothing that might have been offense, but she remained silent.
"From Hydra. Large-scale organization, deeply embedded in global power structures." A second finger. "The Space invasion. Coming soon. Alien army, portal technology, intent to conquer." Third finger. "Skrulls. Shape-shifting infiltrators who've probably been on Earth for decades. You wouldn't know if your closest friend was one." Fourth finger. "The Kree Empire. Galactic power, countless light-years distant but very interested in Earth for reasons involving genetic experints conducted millennia ago."
His hand remained raised, fingers splayed, counting off threats like items on a shopping list. "And then there's Space Warlord nad Thanos. Cosmic-level entity collecting this Stones. Six that embody fundantal forces of reality itself. Earth currently houses two, possibly three of them, which makes us a target."
Nolan lowered his hand, letting it rest on the table's cold surface. "So tell , Natasha. Knowing all that, understanding the scale of threats approaching... how exactly should I waste ti playing power gas with you? With S.H.I.E.L.D.? With humans who've never left their own planet and can't comprehend what's waiting out there?"
He paused, then added almost as an afterthought, "Oh, and dinsional demons. Entities from other planes of existence who view our reality as a snack bar. They don't bother personally yet, but eventually those problems will land on my doorstep too."
Natasha had stopped cutting her steak. The knife rested forgotten against the plate's edge, her attention completely focused on Nolan's words.
"Maybe whenever Earth faces disaster, local heroes step up," Nolan continued, his tone shifting to sothing darker. "Maybe they succeed. Maybe they save the day and everyone celebrates. But what about the ti before they act? The civilians who die while heroes gather themselves? The collateral damage that's just accepted as the cost of victory?"
His cyan eyes caught the firelight, seeming to glow from within. "That's why we exist. Why I'm building this. Progress is slow, yes. The tiline is frustrating. But I'm working toward humanity's future. Actual long-term survival, not quarterly profit margins or political capital."
Silence settled over them, broken only by the crackle of the grill and the distant sound of wind across ice.
Then Nolan leaned forward, elbows on the table, and his voice dropped to sothing quieter but sohow more intense. "And Natasha, have you considered what humanity could beco if all Earth's nations and factions unified? If we stopped fighting each other and focused our combined resources on actual threats?"
He let the question hang in the frozen air between them, watching her face carefully for signs of understanding.
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