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Kael leaned back in his leather chair, surveying his newly renovated Director's office. He turned to Pepper Potts, who was standing by the door with a stack of files.
"Don't you think sothing is missing here?"
"No. Everything on the requisition list was delivered," Pepper replied, scanning the room. From the high-end terminal to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan, it was a textbook executive suite. "What exactly are you looking for?"
"A big, soft bed. You know, I'm a big fan of the power nap. Essential for the 'Technical Genius' workflow."
Kael looked at Pepper with a face of pure, unadulterated sincerity. It was a performance that would have fooled a polygraph.
"..."
Pepper closed her folder with a sharp snap and left without a word. A few minutes later, she dragged a standard-issue military folding cot into the center of the office and dropped it in front of him.
"Napping, right? This will do."
"This thing?" Kael nudged the stiff canvas with his boot. He paused, then chuckled. "Well, a small bed has its own small pleasures. It'll work."
"Kael, listen to ," Pepper warned, her tone shifting to her 'HR Manager' voice. "No ssing around in the office. I don't want a single workplace harassnt complaint crossing my desk. This is a professional environnt."
"Relax, Pepper. As the saying goes: a rabbit doesn't eat the grass near its own nest."
Kael gave her a reassuring wink, conveniently deleting the mory of his recent entanglent with the front-desk receptionist. But he ant what he said. His situation had changed; he was a Director now. Hooking up with low-level staff was a tactical error—too many landmines. If he wanted entertainnt, he'd find fellow "professionals" who understood the rules of the ga.
"…Whatever. I've already hired you a secretary. She'll be here shortly to keep you on schedule—and keep an eye on you."
"A secretary? If she's not easy on the eyes, Pepper, I'm sending her back to recruiting."
Kael figured he needed soone to handle the paperwork while he focused on his secret projects. Pepper handed him a digital dossier. As he scrolled through the data, his expression flickered with a subtle, dangerous amusent. He looked up, his voice deadpan.
"Can I take back what I just said about returning her?"
Pepper let out a soft, knowing laugh. "No."
Kael shrugged. Looking at the photo of the cold, stunningly beautiful woman in the file, he knew he'd caught the eye of S.H.I.E.L.D.—or whatever Nick Fury was calling his circus these days.
"How's our Chairman doing?" Kael asked, handing the dossier back.
"Just like that, I guess," Pepper sighed.
She had hoped the Middle East would have grounded Tony, but after a brief period of focus, the playboy had returned with a vengeance. However, Kael knew better. Behind Tony's wild parties and Iron Man flights lay a death countdown—the palladium poisoning in his blood was a ticking clock. Tony wasn't just partying; he was drowning his trauma in adrenaline.
"Don't worry, Pepper. It'll get better," Kael comforted her, gently ushering her toward the door.
"I hope so." Pepper felt the weight of the company on her shoulders, though Kael's Smart Toilet line was currently printing money, keeping the shareholders from a total revolt. High-end luxury household tech was surprisingly as profitable as small arms, and it was just the beginning.
Knock, knock.
The door opened to reveal a woman with cascading wine-red hair and a tailored charcoal suit that did little to hide a physique trained for high-stakes violence.
"Natalie Rushman, I presu? Welco. Drink? I find a mid-day whiskey helps the onboarding process. This is the good stuff I lifted from Tony's private stash."
Kael sized up the Black Widow, admiring the "honey trap" S.H.I.E.L.D. had deployed. He had to play the part; if he didn't act like a calculating playboy, she'd know sothing was off.
"I don't drink during work hours, Mr. Wayne. It affects my efficiency," Natasha replied, her voice cool and professional.
"And after work?"
"That depends on my mood. That's my private ti."
Classic push-and-pull, Kael thought. He handed her a stack of project files. "Alright then. Since you're so focused on efficiency, let's get to it. I need volunteer test subjects for my latest Cybernetic Implants research. Specifically, disabled veterans."
Kael's plan was a "Calculating Survivor" move: build a bridge back to the military through dical tech to ensure Stark Industries maintained its political shield.
"These n have... complicated histories," Natasha noted, flipping through the PTSD and addiction records. "PTSD, alcoholism, drug dependency. Not exactly easy subjects."
"To be my secretary, Natalie, 'pretty' is just the entry requirent. If the job is too hard, I have much easier ways you can spend your ti here," Kael said, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"Boss," Natasha said, her eyes eting his with a practiced, captivating intensity. "As your secretary, I should remind you that sexual harassnt lawsuits against billionaires tend to be very expensive."
"There was a speck of lint on your blazer. It's gone now." Kael patted her shoulder twice with a smirk. "You're welco."
"Thank you, sir."
Kael watched her walk out. Once the door hissed shut, he spoke to the empty air. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., I want a 24/7 ghost-protocol on her. Every keystroke, every heartbeat, every encrypted burst she sends."
"Understood, Master," the AI replied.
Fury had sent a spider into his web, but Kael owned the web. He'd put the Black Widow to work and let her see exactly what he wanted the "Egghead" to know.
Cybernetic Research Lab.
Kael stood in a white lab coat before a row of veterans. He whispered to Natasha, "You should've made them shower first."
"Will the hygiene affect the neural-handshake?" she asked.
"No, but it affects my mood. And my mood affects the scalpel."
A man in a wheelchair barked from the front. "Hey, pretty boy! Enough talk. Just kill or fix , and make sure the compensation goes to my daughter's account!"
"I like your attitude," Kael smiled, a cold glint in his eyes. "For that, I'm skipping the local anesthetic."
A few minutes later, the vet was strapped to the table, cursing at the top of his lungs. Kael ignored the noise, his hands moving with the precision of a Titan-chanic. He wasn't using cutting-edge Night City tech—that would be too suspicious. He was using a simplified version of 20th-century bionics, disguised as a breakthrough.
"Neural core implantation complete..." Kael announced.
The "Neural Core" was a heavily throttled version of a Brain-Computer Interface (BCI). Without it, the prosthetic limbs wouldn't have the "ghost-sensation" needed for fluid movent.
The veteran, who had lost both legs in Basra, slowly opened his eyes. He reached for the back of his head, feeling the fresh incision.
"I'm alive? Damn. That's a surprise."
"Don't get used to it," Kael said, checking the teletry. "At most, you'll be paralyzed and incontinent if this fails. Dying is for over-achievers."
Natasha watched from the corner, her internal sensors recording every detail. She was building a profile: Brilliant, arrogant, morally grey, but undeniably effective. Kael Wayne was becoming a very high-priority blip on Nick Fury's radar.
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