"By the way," Noah said casually, glancing at one of the officers still managing the scene, "with something this big, shouldn't Captain George be here?"
The officer hesitated, clearly uneasy under Noah's gaze.
"Captain Stacy's… on leave. Health reasons. He'll be out for about a week."
Noah nodded. "Probably for the best."
If George Stacy had been here, things might've gotten… awkward.
He turned away, watching the chaos settle into something more controlled—paramedics loading the injured, officers trying to restore order, cameras still rolling.
Then he looked to Victor.
"Let me know before the launch," Noah said. "You'll have the funding by tomorrow. Wilson will handle the transfer."
Victor nodded quickly. "Of course. Everything will be ready."
He hesitated, then added, "Would you like us to arrange some training? Space isn't exactly forgiving. It might help to go over the basics beforehand."
Noah waved it off. "No time. Just send the materials. Coordinate with Wilson."
And with that, he turned and walked away.
A gust of wind swept through the street—and in the next instant, he was gone.
A moment later, Kingpin stepped forward.
"This is… a bit too noisy," he said politely. "Mind if we talk somewhere quieter?"
Victor agreed immediately.
They moved off to the side, away from the crowd.
"I assume this is about the training materials?" Victor asked. "Just send us an address and we'll deliver everything."
Kingpin shook his head.
"Reading alone isn't enough. For Mr. Vale's safety, it would be better to have someone teach him directly."
Victor blinked. "You're suggesting…?"
"Someone from the mission team," Kingpin said smoothly. "They're already qualified, and they'll be working alongside him anyway."
Victor thought it through, then nodded slowly. "And who did you have in mind?"
Kingpin didn't answer directly.
"Well, Johnny Storm already has a… history with Mr. Vale. Probably not the best choice."
Victor didn't hesitate. "Agreed."
"And Ben Grimm," Kingpin continued, "was almost removed from the mission entirely. That could make things… uncomfortable."
Victor shook his head again. "Also not ideal."
Kingpin spread his hands slightly.
"That leaves one option."
Victor followed his gaze—straight to Susan.
He stiffened.
"Mr. Wilson… Susan is my fiancée."
Kingpin's expression didn't change.
"Mr. Vale is a reasonable man. And this is about safety."
He paused, then added casually—
"I'm prepared to allocate an additional one billion to the project. Consider it an investment in future cooperation."
Victor inhaled sharply.
One billion.
For a moment, his expression tightened—but only for a moment.
"…If it's just training," he said finally, forcing a smile, "then I trust Mr. Vale's professionalism."
Kingpin's grin widened.
"Excellent. Then we have an understanding."
They shook hands.
Late that night, in a hospital room across the city—
Brett lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.
Everything below his waist was numb from the anesthesia.
That didn't stop the anger.
He had been part of the protest.
Now, both his legs were shattered—and something else had been completely destroyed.
Anger burned hot.
Regret crept in quietly.
Why had he even gone?
Voices suddenly rose outside the room—loud, heated, overlapping.
"What do you mean that's not covered?!"
"That's insane!"
"I'm not agreeing to that!"
Brett frowned.
Before he could think it through, the door opened.
A doctor walked in, followed by a well-dressed man in a suit.
"Doctor," Brett said quickly, "how bad is it?"
The doctor hesitated.
"If the surgery goes well, your legs should recover enough for normal walking," he said carefully. "But… the other injury is severe. There's no realistic chance of restoring it."
Brett's mind went blank.
Gone.
Just like that.
Then—
"Well," the doctor added, "there may be a partial solution."
Brett's head snapped up. "What?"
"With enough training, your body might recover more completely," the doctor said. "But regeneration of that kind of damage… isn't currently possible."
He paused.
"There may be advancements in the near future. New techniques. New methods."
Brett understood immediately.
And it made his stomach twist.
The same person who had ordered the attack—
Was now the only one who might be able to fix it.
Before he could process that, the doctor cleared his throat.
"There's also the matter of your hospital bill," he said. "Your deposit won't cover the full cost."
Brett's eyes flared.
"Why am I paying? I was attacked! They should be paying!"
"We checked," the doctor said. "The individuals responsible have no assets. In fact, they're heavily in debt. There's nothing to recover."
"Then what about Noah Vale?" Brett snapped. "He ordered this! Don't tell me he's broke too!"
The doctor shook his head slowly.
"There's no evidence linking him to the attackers. Legally, he has no liability."
Something in Brett cracked.
"Are you kidding me?!"
He slammed his fist against the bed, over and over, rage spilling out with nowhere to go.
"Damn it! Damn it!"
"Mr. Brett," the man in the suit said calmly, stepping forward, "we're here regarding compensation."
Brett froze.
Value Line Corporation.
He recognized the name.
Hope flickered.
"So you're here to settle?" he said coldly. "Good. Because if the number isn't right, I'm not letting this go."
The lawyer adjusted his glasses.
"I believe there's been a misunderstanding."
Brett's stomach dropped.
"You'll be compensating Mr. Vale."
"…What?"
"You participated in actions that damaged Mr. Vale's reputation," the lawyer continued smoothly. "We are formally issuing a legal notice for defamation and emotional distress."
Brett stared at him.
For a moment, he thought he'd misheard.
Then he laughed.
A sharp, disbelieving sound.
"So let me get this straight," he said slowly. "He has me beaten half to death…"
"And I'm the one who has to pay him?"
...
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