As Aidan walked toward the raised platform, the roar of the gymnasium faded into a distant hum. His consciousness split. In the present, his feet moved with practiced confidence across the polished floor. In his mind, he was tumbling through a decade of relentless effort. The System had unlocked his first world, Real Steel, with a deceptively simple directive: Design and manufacture a combat robot.
For the starving orphan he had been, it was a task as monumental as being asked to build a starship out of scrap wood and mud. He couldn't even grasp the technology of the present, let alone a future of sophisticated robotics. So began the crucible. His school days were for the official curriculum; his nights were a frantic, self-imposed odyssey through every technical field he could get his hands on. He remembered the musty, comforting smell of the Queens Library, borrowing stacks of books on electronics, control engineering, and computer science until the librarians knew him by name. He remembered the sting of solder fumes in his cramped apartment at 3 a.m., his eyes burning from the glow of a monitor as he wrestled with the arcane complexities of microelectronics and human-computer interaction.
The System, in its cryptic mercy, provided the raw materials for the robot within the movie world—a novice-level perk—but the knowledge, the understanding, had to be earned. It was a brutal, ten-year gauntlet. Finally, two years ago, standing in a workshop in a world that wasn't his own, he had watched his first true combat robot take its first step.
But that triumph, monumental as it was, paled in comparison to the reward he'd received after the movie's successful release. The System had bestowed upon him a novice bonus, a permanent upgrade to his very soul: "Technology and Magic Affinity." It wasn't a database of information; it was a fundamental shift in perception. He remembered the moment it activated—a silent click in the architecture of his mind. Suddenly, the universe, in all its complexity, began to make sense. The elegant dance of code, the fundamental laws of physics, the whispered rumors of magic he'd read about—they were no longer foreign languages. He could see the grammar, the syntax. The impossible chasm between zero and one had been crossed for him, forever.
The robot walking silently behind him, Adam, was the first fruit of that new reality, built with the profits from the film and a mind newly awakened.
He stepped onto the platform and took the microphone, the warmth of the spotlight chasing away the ghosts of the past. Adam came to a halt behind him, a silent steel sentinel.
"Hello everyone," Aidan's voice, amplified, was calm and clear. "I'm Aidan Parker, and I believe most of you know who I am." He gestured behind him. "The exhibit I brought today is this robot... Adam." Recognition rippled through the crowd. "And I'm sure many of you are not unfamiliar with him. Yes, he is the fighting robot from Real Steel."
He let that sink in for a beat, then delivered the real payload. "...I should also mention, I was the director of that film." He smiled, placed the microphone back in its stand, and simply waited for the detonation.
It came a second later. A shockwave of sound, a collective, disbelieving "WOAH!" that seemed to shake the gymnasium's rafters.
Ned slapped Peter so hard on the back that Peter stumbled forward, gasping. "I KNEW IT!" Ned roared, his face flushed with vicarious triumph. "I told you he made it! I TOLD YOU!"
"It's so cool," Peter breathed, his mind reeling. It all clicked into place—Aidan's long absences, the secretive phone calls Aunt May had mentioned. "No wonder we haven't seen him! I have a hunch our school is about to be famous. I can see the headlines now: Midtown High's Genius Director, Scientist, and Student Takes World by Storm!"
Aidan picked up the microphone again, letting the buzz die down. "Now, for the demonstration." He began to pace the stage. "As you can see, Adam's core programming includes an advanced image-learning function. You all saw how he mirrored Martin's movements perfectly when he entered. But for direct combat control..." Martin scurried forward and handed him a sleek, custom-designed joystick controller. "He can also be piloted manually."
Aidan's fingers danced over the controller. On the floor below, Adam exploded into motion. It wasn't just movement; it was brutal poetry. A leg snapped up in a side-kick that tore a hole in the air with a soft whoosh. A sequence of piston-like punches blurred, the oiled steel of Adam's arms a testament to perfect engineering. He jumped, landed silently, and dropped into a defensive crouch. Gasps and cheers punctuated every action.
After a final, dramatic pose, Aidan turned back to the crowd, spreading his hands. "His functions are exactly as you saw in the movie. What Adam can do on screen, this Adam can do in reality."
A girl with a cascade of black curly hair bounced on her toes, her hand shooting into the air. "Aidan! Can I please get a photo?"
"Of course," Aidan nodded.
The girl squealed, shoved her phone at her friend, and sprinted onto the stage, beaming as she stood next to the silent giant. As her friend snapped the picture, she did something unexpected, planting a quick, excited kiss on Aidan's cheek before running off, her face glowing with satisfaction.
At that moment, the corporate agents were no longer calm predators. Their facades crumbled. One man with a Stark Industries pin was speaking urgently into his phone. "Forget the patent, sir, we need the patent-holder. The human-computer interface is... seamless. The demonstrated latency is less than fourteen milliseconds. It's negligible. Sir, he's solved the signal transmission problem. He's solved it in a high-school gymnasium."
Aidan saw the sea of other hands go up, all wanting a picture, a moment. He saw the eager faces and knew he'd made a tactical error. If he let one, he had to let them all, and they'd be here until midnight. If he stopped now, he'd disappoint people, but it was the only fair way. "To be fair to everyone," he announced into the mic, "I have to stop the photos here, but thank you so much for your enthusiasm!"
For the rest of the afternoon, he was bombarded with technical questions. "Mr. Cole, what's the actual video function latency?" "Zero-point-zero-one-three seconds. Effectively nonexistent for the human eye." "Does the manual joystick operation conflict with the image-learning mode?" "No, you can switch between modes seamlessly."
By the time he looked up, the sun was setting, painting the high windows orange. His throat felt like sandpaper. He saw Peter and Ned waiting patiently and remembered his promise to Aunt May.
"It's getting late," he said into the mic, his voice raspy. "I have to go home for dinner." He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the corporate agents. "Today was just an exhibition. For business inquiries, please speak with my teacher, who will direct you to my legal representation. But I will state my bottom line right now: the core technology is not for sale. Licensing of specific-use chips and derivative technologies can be discussed."
He then hopped off the stage, gathering the now-drowsy Martin. "Peter, let's go. Aunt May is expecting us, and I'm not in the mood for a lecture on tardiness."
"Okay, okay!" Peter buzzed, turning to Ned. "Want to come? I can ask May to make extra."
Ned glanced at the dark sky outside, the city lights beginning to sparkle. "Nah, it's almost eight. My mom's probably freaking out. She only let me come because she knew I'd be with Aidan."
"That's a pity!"
After a quick word with his supervising teacher, Aidan led his small entourage out of the exhibition hall. The moment they were out of the school gates, Peter's excitement, which had been simmering, boiled over.
"Aidan, that was so cool! You really directed Real Steel? All this time, you were making a movie?" His words tumbled out in a rush. "I went to see it, it was amazing! It came out of nowhere, like a total dark horse, and crushed everyone. Facebook was a warzone for weeks over it!"
Lying on Adam's back as the robot was remotely guided, Martin shot Peter an amused look.
As they reached the street, a large, heavy-duty truck rumbled to a stop beside them. The door opened and a man with a tough, weathered face and a stocky, powerful build hopped down from the driver's seat. He wore a worn tan jacket and a weary expression.
"Hey, kid. How'd the show go?" he asked, his voice a low gravel.
"It went well, Logan," Aidan replied, moving to the truck's rear cargo bay. "What did the Professor say?"
"He's happy. Told me to thank you."
"No need. If you weren't willing to convince him to invest, I'd still be pitching to suits who think a high schooler is a bad bet," Aidan said. He opened the bay doors, revealing a space kitted out with maintenance tools. He handed the control bracelet to Martin. "By the way, you and Martin will probably have a lot of press events. It'll be tough."
Logan grunted. "Should've asked Hank."
"Hank's a good man, but he's not exactly subtle. You have a star quality, Logan. Once the world sees you as a hero on screen, it'll be easier for them to accept who you are in real life. Isn't that what you've always wanted?" Aidan's eyes were serious. Internally, he knew it was the truth. He'd approached Logan on a desperate gamble, having failed to secure funding everywhere else. He'd recognized him from news reports about mutants and sought him out, pitching the movie not as a film, but as the ultimate PR campaign for mutant acceptance. He'd known about Professor X, and his presumed wealth, and had carefully coached Logan on what to say, terrified of facing the telepath himself. One peek inside his mind, and the Professor would see it all: the System, his other Earth, the entire impossible truth. He couldn't risk that, not until he had some form of psychic defense.
"Oh, right. Logan, this is my brother, Peter Parker."
Logan extended a hand. "Logan Howlett."
Peter shook it vigorously. "Hello! Wow, you're the uncle from Real Steel! Your fighting was so handsome! That last uppercut, the lore! It was just… wow!"
(PIC)
Faced with the boy's unfiltered fanboyism, Logan, the Wolverine, actually looked a little embarrassed. Meanwhile, Martin expertly guided Adam up a ramp and into the truck.
"You wanna come be a guest at the school?" Logan asked Aidan.
"Not today. I've been away too long. If I don't go home, Aunt May will ground me for life," Aidan said with a shudder, thinking of her lectures. "Peter's talkativeness is definitely inherited."
"Goodbye then, kid."
"Goodbye, Logan."
As the truck rumbled away, Peter reluctantly tore his eyes from it. "Let's go, let's go back quickly," Aidan said, already walking. Peter trotted to catch up, his mind a galaxy of exploding stars, unable to comprehend the sheer scale of the world his brother had just revealed to him