The hospital room in Chicago smelled like failure.
Carlos Rivera lay in the bed, twenty-nine years old and dying slowly. Former Marine. Afghanistan veteran. Volunteered for Killian's Extremis program seeking to overcome combat injuries that had ended his service. Got experimental weaponization instead. Then Marcus's rescue during the AIM facility raids. Then stabilization attempts that failed despite every protocol we'd developed.
Pre-existing cellular damage from Killian's unstable formula had created cascade failures my Extremis 2.0 couldn't reverse. Enhanced metabolism was cannibalizing his body. Burning him from inside out. Weeks of suffering ahead before inevitable death.
Christine stood beside me reviewing charts. "Cellular breakdown is accelerating. Pain management is reaching maximum safe dosages. He's essentially starving despite consuming eight thousand calories daily."
"Options?"
"Medically induced coma until death. Or..." She looked at me. "Extraction."
Carlos heard us. "Do it."
I moved to his bedside. "You understand what I'm offering? I take the power killing you, end your suffering immediately, provide your family two million dollars. But the power doesn't just disappear—it transfers to me."
"I know. Yelena explained when you rescued us from AIM." His voice was thin. Exhausted. "I wanted to be hero after getting medically discharged. Wanted to matter again. Killian promised that and delivered nightmare instead."
"Your death isn't meaningless. The compensation helps your family. The power helps me protect others."
"That's something." He met my eyes. "I wanted to be hero. Maybe my power helps you be one instead."
"I'll try to be worthy of it."
"That's all I'm asking."
The extraction began at 1400 hours.
I activated All For One, right hand hovering over Carlos's chest. The Extremis power resisted immediately—integrated deeply into cellular structure, fighting removal like animal caught in trap.
Thermal fluctuations hit instantly. Room temperature spiked—air shimmering with heat distortion. Then plummeted—frost forming on windows. Carlos's dying body releasing stored thermal energy chaotically as power unraveled.
"Extraction at fifteen percent," AEGIS reported. "Subject experiencing severe pain despite sedation. Recommend—"
"Keep going," Carlos gasped. "Worth it to... stop this."
Twenty percent. Thirty. Void marks on my torso flared hot, spreading visibly up my neck. Corruption climbing—seventeen to seventeen-point-five, still rising.
The power lashed out. Thermal blast that scorched ceiling. Carlos screamed. Christine moved to intervene.
"Don't," I said through gritted teeth. "Almost there."
Forty minutes. Fifty. My hands shook from sustained power use. Sweat pouring despite temperature fluctuations. Carlos's body glowing orange, then dimming, then glowing again as Extremis fought its removal.
"Corruption at eighteen percent," AEGIS warned. "Highest jump from single extraction recorded."
"Noted. Continuing."
At fifty-five minutes, the power snapped free.
Carlos's body went still. Breathing stopped. Heart monitor flatlined. But his face was peaceful—first peace he'd shown in weeks.
Christine checked vitals formally, then declared time of death. "1455 hours. Natural causes secondary to Extremis complications."
The power settled into my vault alongside the others. Six now. Growing collection of abilities taken from dying people who'd volunteered their final gift.
"Extremis-class powers cost more than physical enhancements," Christine said quietly, checking my corruption levels with scanner. "Eighteen percent. That's one full percentage point from single extraction. Previous record was point-five."
"Worth it. Carlos died peacefully instead of suffering weeks. That matters."
"Does it? Because from where I'm standing, you just accelerated your death timeline to acquire another power. Two years becomes less with every extraction."
"Two years was always optimistic. This is realistic adjustment to actual costs."
She didn't argue. Just documented corruption increase and added notes to my medical file that read more like obituary with each update.
Testing the new power took three days.
Extremis Enhancement manifested as partial extraction—I'd gotten the enhanced physiology without full thermal cascade risk. Three hundred percent strength increase compared to baseline human. Healing critical injuries in twenty minutes versus ten for native Extremis subjects. Thermal generation controllable up to two thousand degrees Fahrenheit.
"Combined with existing powers, you now operate at super-soldier tier minimum," AEGIS calculated. "Combat effectiveness increased approximately forty percent. Synergies between Extremis strength and Gravity Control create force multiplication effects."
I tested that in training facility with Frank.
Enhanced strength let me hit harder. Gravity Control let me make enemies weightless. Kinetic Absorption let me survive their counterattacks. Regeneration healed damage they managed to inflict. Enhanced Reflexes let me dodge what couldn't be absorbed.
Frank backed off after I accidentally launched him through reinforced wall.
"You're approaching Avengers-tier combat capability," he observed, checking his ribs for cracks. "Maybe not Thor or Hulk, but definitely Hawkeye or Black Widow level."
"Still not enough for Thanos."
"Nothing's enough for Thanos. That's why you're building army instead of trying solo heroics."
Fair point.
Carlos's family lived in modest Chicago suburb.
I arrived unannounced carrying envelope with compensation documentation and small box containing Carlos's personal effects recovered from AIM facility.
His mother answered—Maria Rivera, maybe fifty, exhausted from weeks watching her son die by inches.
"Mrs. Rivera. I'm Justin Hammer. I tried to save your son."
"Tried." Her voice was flat.
"Failed. His pre-existing damage was too extensive. But I was with him at the end. He didn't suffer. That's... something."
"That's not enough."
"No. It's not." I handed her the envelope. "Two million dollars. Life insurance through my company's program for rescued operatives. Tax-free. Carlos volunteered his—" I struggled for words that didn't sound insane. "He gave me his abilities before dying. Asked me to use them protecting others. This is compensation for that gift."
She stared at the envelope like it might explode. "Blood money."
"Practical support for family who lost someone to corporate experimentation I failed to prevent earlier. Call it whatever helps you accept it."
"You can't buy absolution."
"I'm not trying to. Just ensuring his death wasn't completely meaningless." I handed her the box. "His effects. Letters. Photos. Dog tags. Things that mattered to him."
Maria took the box, opened it carefully. Found letters Carlos had written to family during his Marines deployment. Photos from better days. The dog tags that had hung around his neck through two tours in Afghanistan.
"Will you be careful with his gift?" she asked finally.
"I'll use it when necessary and honor him by not wasting it on frivolous risks. That's all I can promise."
"It's more than Killian promised. He just took Carlos's life and called it progress."
"Killian's dead. His organization's destroyed. That's justice, even if it doesn't bring Carlos back."
She nodded slowly. "Thank you for trying to save him. For being with him at the end. For this." She gestured at envelope and box. "It doesn't fix anything. But it's something."
"Sometimes something is all we get."
I left the Riveras to their grief and their sudden wealth. Drove back to New York thinking about six powers in my vault. Each one representing life that ended giving me capabilities.
Tom Klein's gravity manipulation. David Chen's kinetic absorption. Carlos Rivera's Extremis enhancement. Three dead men whose powers I'd inherited through ethical extraction that was still fundamentally theft—taking abilities from people who'd never use them again.
The void marks pulsed steadily. Eighteen percent corruption.
Worth it if those powers saved lives that would otherwise be lost.
But the weight accumulated anyway.
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