Tony studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly.
"…Alright," he said. "If anyone's insane enough to make that work safely, it's you."
At that exact moment, Cortana's voice returned—almost intrigued.
[Comparison complete.]
[Structural similarity confirmed at a conceptual level.]
[Conclusion: Your hypothesis may be viable.]
James allowed himself the faintest smile.
'That's great,' he murmured.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a sealed S.H.I.E.L.D. medical facility, far from any official registry, Nick Fury stood behind reinforced glass, watching the resurrection procedure unfold.
This base did not exist on any map.
Ironically, the man who once oversaw it—Phil Coulson himself—would never remember it.
The surgical chamber was lit in sterile white. The newly resurrected Coulson lay strapped to the operating table, electrodes embedded along his skull and spine. The machinery hummed as controlled electrical pulses surged into his brain.
"Ah—!"
The scream tore through the chamber.
Memory reconstruction after resurrection was not gentle. The subject had to remain conscious. Neural pathways were forcibly rewritten while synapses were re-stimulated. The pain was deliberate—precision demanded awareness.
"Just kill me!" Coulson screamed hoarsely, muscles straining against restraints.
Nick Fury's single eye narrowed. Sweat ran down his face despite the cold room. He didn't look away.
He wasn't sure he could endure that kind of pain himself.
But it had to be done.
Once this memory was erased, Coulson would forget this place ever existed. Fury had already chosen to give Phil a rare vacation memory, although it would be vague.
Tahiti was a good place. Warm, Remote, Sunlit, with White sand and Clear water. A memorable vacation.
When the machines finally powered down, Fury turned away and left without a word.
The procedure unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
This facility would be sealed again.
Preferably forever.
STARK TOWER – LOWER LABS
The New Umbra Sentinel stood completed.
James stepped into the armor without ceremony as the segmented plates sealed around him, locking with a soft hydraulic hiss.
"Neural sync online," he said calmly. "Athena(cortana), status."
[Neural interface active.]
[Motor control latency reduced by 47%.]
[Flight stabilization compensation engaged.]
James flexed his fingers, then lifted off the ground slightly—perfect control.
"Athena, to make you unique to my suit, I will designate you as Cortana." James smirks, now at least people won't raise eyebrows when he calls for Cortana.
[Affirmative, I will now be designated as Cortana.]
"Are you able to gain full control over the suit?" he asked.
[Affirmative.]
[Full-body command authority achieved.]
[Compensating for your known aerial instability.]
James exhaled. "Good."
Previously, Cortana had only assisted. Without a direct neural interface, full control had been impossible. Now, using alien-derived architecture and Stark integration, the Umbra Sentinel responded like a second nervous system.
The payment had already gone through—one hundred million transferred to Stark Industries. The actual cost of construction was far lower; the payment covered prior iterations, discarded frames, and burned prototypes.
Tony Stark didn't comment.
That was just business.
Bruce Banner and Dr. Erik Selvig returned from below carrying recovered Chitauri weapons—one spear-like energy projector, the other a forearm-mounted emitter.
"These were scattered around the area," Bruce said. "Two primary variants. Same energy logic—different ergonomics."
James examined them briefly.
"Our priority isn't firepower," he said. "It's storage. If we can integrate their energy containment method, weapons can draw power directly from the Space Stone channel without instability."
Bruce nodded. "Agreed. Their operational endurance is impressive. So their energy storage method is worth studying.
James' phone rang.
"James here," he answered.
"Can we talk right?" came the reply from Nick Fury.
"Give me a second."
James stepped out of the lab.
"Phil's back to life?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," Fury said. "The process was… unpleasant. I arranged a Tahiti vacation memory. And I'm preparing something else—an exclusive global-response aircraft. For his team."
James paused. "That bad, huh?"
Fury didn't answer directly. "I didn't want to lose him."
"I understand. I'll join his unit."
"This team isn't like the others," Fury continued. "The team's purpose is to fight Hydra. A Global Reach Surgical Strike Force. You'll be deployed across multiple branches."
James' grinned. "Good."
Hydra had enabled Loki's escape. Without them, New York wouldn't have suffered.
"I'll be off-grid for a while though," James said. "Armor upgrades and such."
"Understood." Fury hanged up the call.
Back in the lab, James broke the news.
"A resurrection?" Tony, Bruce, and Selvig blurted in unison.
"Relax," James said dryly. "You underestimate S.H.I.E.L.D.'s backlog. They've been collecting alien artifacts since the forties. Red Skull wasn't improvising—he left loads of alien techs."
The room fell quiet.
Bruce frowned. "But without the Tesseract—"
"They have alternatives," James replied. "Trust me."
The weapons redesign continued.
Twin energy pistols, rapid-fire, precision-tuned.
An upgraded Arcshot EM sniper rifle, heavier caliber, reinforced barrel, and deeper penetration.
When Selvig asked how James planned to carry them, James simply reached out.
The weapons vanished.
Tony stared. "You stored them."
James smiled faintly. "Space Stone trick."
(It wasn't—but no one needed to know that.)
HOME
James returned late.
Mindy opened the door and jumped into his arms.
Annabelle circled his feet, purring in delight.
"Awww I miss you too, my little furball, that's quite a nice pendant you have there too." James noted fondly, intrigued by the pendant but dismissed it as an ordinary accessory as his tummy rumbled.
James hadn't eaten yet.
The realization came to him suddenly, somewhere between the hum of the refrigerator and the unfamiliar quiet of the apartment. After days of constant pressure of decision-making, actions and inventing, the silence felt almost loud.
He went to the kitchen and made something simple—eggs, toast, whatever ingredients were immediately available. Basic American food was like that: simple, filling, and rarely demanding thought. Right now, that was exactly what he needed.
The smell hadn't even finished spreading when footsteps approached.
Carlos and Hannah appeared in the doorway, both of them pausing for a moment just to make sure he was really there.
"How long can you stay this time?" Carlos asked, leaning casually against the counter, though his eyes carried the familiar edge of concern.
"For a while," James replied without looking up as he plated the food. "Consider it a vacation."
Hannah raised an eyebrow. "A real one?"
James smiled faintly. "As real as I get."
He set the plates down and finally turned to them. "I also need a company situation report. I don't need to go in myself—but I do need to have them come here. Kyle, Phillip, The usual."
Carlos nodded. He understood what that meant. Waiting for the company to go public meant timing, leverage, and patience. When it happened, money would stop being a concern entirely.
That night, James slept properly for the first time in days.
At Stark Tower, he'd ended up on a couch—Tony, predictably, hadn't bothered to prepare a guest room. James had been too tired to complain. Here, though, the bed was familiar. The air smelled like home. There were no alarms waiting to go off.
The next morning, James was up early.
Mindy was already awake, sitting cross-legged on the floor with Annabelle sprawled beside her like a furry loaf.
Mindy and James, with Annabelle tagging along did their long awaited morning training that she missed so much.
After breakfast, he drove Mindy to school. October had settled in properly now—the air crisp, the sunlight beamed thin. Hannah had made sure Mindy was bundled appropriately, and for once she hadn't argued about it.
"Mindy," James said as they waited at a light. "How's school?"
Her answer came instantly, bright and animated. "It's great! I have a lot of friends now. And we're learning flower arranging—I can practice at the shop. Carlos and Hannah say it's good for me."
James nodded, genuinely relieved. "It is."
He glanced at her in the mirror. "Do you have enough pocket money? Evelyn's been paying you on time?"
"Yes," Mindy said quickly. "Every week. But I can't spend that much!"
James huffed softly. Evelyn Salt had somehow become his sister's full-time Nanny. She barely saw her actual employer anymore. Between managing Mindy's schedule, errands, and expenses, she was practically family.
"Then save it," James said. "You'll need it someday."
Mindy frowned in thought. "Savings jar or bank?"
"That's your choice."
They pulled up to the school. James waited until Mindy disappeared inside with her friends before driving off.
Home felt quieter without her.
James returned to the apartment, dropped onto the sofa, and let the television run without really watching it. News anchors were still talking about New York. About heroes. About fear. About questions no one could answer yet.
He picked up his phone.
"Evelyn," he said when the call connected. "Organize a full company situation report. Tomorrow morning. Also, call Kyle and Phillip—have them come in person."
The line disconnected immediately after her confirmation.
He stretched, rolled his shoulders, and stood. For the first time since the Battle of New York, there were no immediate threats demanding his attention.
But James already knew—
The Battle of New York was only the beginning of his troubles.