The departure of Ororo, Sharice, Kitty, and Vivian left the Long Island mansion quiet, the lingering tension from the night's horrors finally dissipating.
Zhou Yi, far from feeling fatigued, felt a surge of restless energy—the lingering resonance of his immense power. Recognizing the futility of attempting sleep, he decided to turn his focus inward, addressing the long-pending projects he reserved for moments of profound inspiration.
He descended silently into the basement, a sprawling, four-hundred-square-meter space that served as his private sanctum and workshop.
The aesthetic here was starkly monochromatic: walls, floor, and ceiling bathed in an unblemished, luminous white. It was a space designed for mental clarity, a void where his mind could meditate and process the overwhelming complexity of his powers and his life.
Zhou Yi approached the left wall, a seamless expanse of pristine white. He placed both hands flat against the surface and exerted a carefully controlled, sustained burst of kinetic force. With a deep, mechanical groan, the section of the wall began to lift slowly upward.
The entrance was revealed to be a marvel of over-engineered security. The door was a solid, monolithic block of a dense, high-temperature alloy, measuring 3.5 meters high, 2.1 meters wide, and 90 centimeters thick. Zhou Yi had deliberately selected a material with extreme density, calculated to weigh an astonishing 220 metric tons.
This weight was only the first layer of deterrence. Affixed to the back of the slab were four colossal hydraulic metal arms. These weren't intended to assist the opening; they were designed solely to provide counter-resistance. The arms actively applied a combined opposing force equivalent to 80 metric tons.
To open the vault required a minimum of 300 metric tons of direct, sustained brute force. As far as Zhou Yi knew, this number comfortably exceeded the physical capacity of virtually every individual on the planet. He considered it a measure of whimsical self-amusement.
Against telekinetic abilities, molecular manipulators like Magneto, or phase-shifters like Kitty Pryde, the door was irrelevant. But against any standard espionage operation, the image of a spy attempting to breach 300 tons of resistance was deeply satisfying. The defense was not against attack, but against petty theft and intrusion.
Stepping into the vault, Zhou Yi allowed the massive alloy door to descend back into place, sealing with a final, air-tight clunk that rendered it utterly invisible within the white wall.
As Zhou Yi moved toward the center of the hidden chamber, a red light swept over his body, initiating a full bio-scan. A gentle, synthetic female voice immediately filled the silent space.
"Welcome back, my dear Yi!"
Following the audio greeting, the entire room erupted in activity. Bright, holographic light panels flickered to life, illuminating massive, intricate mechanical devices, advanced diagnostic stations, and complex fabrication machinery. The pristine white vault transformed instantly into a vibrant, high-tech engineering suite—a scene ripped directly from a futuristic science fiction concept.
"It has been 410 days, 13 hours, and 26 minutes since your last operational visit. State your required service, please," the AI continued. This was Medusa, an artificial intelligence program Zhou Yi had created with a generous, and technically vital, assist from Tony Stark.
While Medusa possessed independent thought, advanced computational, and analytical prowess, she lacked the nuanced, near-human serendipity that made Stark's J.A.R.V.I.S. unique. Medusa's intelligence was defined by a cold, efficient electronic rationality.
"Medusa, report on the final material analysis. Specifically, the modified samples."
"Analysis is complete, and all required parameters have been integrated into the existing test samples," she responded promptly.
"Show me the results."
A detailed, crystalline three-dimensional holographic projection materialized before him, displaying a silver-white metallic substance. . As Medusa manipulated the projection, Zhou Yi could observe the substance's interior, which was a frenetic maze of abnormally active atoms.
These nano-scale particles exhibited extreme plasticity, wildly deforming and reacting to simulated external pressures and impacts within the demonstration.
Medusa's voice, calm and informative, began the detailed explanation. "As per your core requirements, I performed a structural and molecular modification on Mr. Stark's original nanometal formula. The result is Alpha Nanometal Type VII. Its properties are superior to its predecessors: it possesses unprecedented energy conductivity, a powerful self-compression capability, molecular-level metal-memory repair, and a secondary, fixed-state deformation function. Once reshaped, its configuration is virtually permanent and exceptionally stable.
It continues, "Furthermore, it exhibits near-total resilience to extreme thermal and magnetic interference, and its compressive strength is approximately one hundred times that of reinforced titanium. Critically, its density-to-strength ratio means its final structural weight is only one-third that of comparable conventional aerospace alloys. The material perfectly meets all parameters for extreme situational deployment."
"Excellent." Zhou Yi clapped his hands, a genuine smile replacing his earlier sternness. "What is the final cost projection for bulk manufacturing?"
"Calculated at optimal efficiency, the cost is approximately $15,680 per ounce."
Zhou Yi raised an eyebrow. "That's roughly ten times the market price of platinum. Production is anything but cheap, and the applications are so niche that it's effectively unsalable to a standard market."
"Affirmative. Therefore, based on the non-commercial viability and the completion of the requested specifications, should I seal the files, declare this particular iteration a functional success but an economic failure, and proceed with the development of Alpha Nanometal Type VIII?"
Medusa's query was utterly detached, seeing a multi-million-dollar breakthrough as simply another completed data set.
"Seal the files. Notify the research subsidiaries to hold development for the next iteration—direction pending registration," Zhou Yi instructed. He was no longer thinking like an investor. He was thinking like a man who needed a suit of armor for an off-the-books operation.
"Medusa, based on our current inventory of rare earth and elemental stocks, how much Alpha Nanometal Type VII can we fabricate?"
"I can produce a working quantity of 550 kilograms in an estimated 17 hours."
"Start the fabrication process immediately. And Medusa, open the tactical blueprint search engine, conduct a full-body scan of my physical structure, and automatically optimize the match. I require a suit of armor that is robust, supremely durable, and aesthetically intimidating."
"Order initiated. Fabrication commencing in the micro-foundry. Search engine activated. Physical scan complete. Optimizing armor models for rapid construction."
As countless holographic schematics of advanced armor designs began assembling, disassembling, and optimizing before his eyes, a mischievous, almost boyish grin spread across Zhou Yi's face.
Zhou Yi had conceived of this plan long before his impromptu introduction to Tony Stark's unique blend of philanthropy and arrogance. He had been accumulating the resources, the intellectual capital, and the technological infrastructure for years.
Seeing the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier lurking in the sky earlier that day was not merely a shock; it was the final, undeniable signal. The world was already too complicated, too dangerous, and too monitored for him to remain simply "Zhou Yi, the prodigious investor."
With superhuman strength, a network that provided near-limitless wealth, and a social status that afforded him unparalleled access, what else was there left to pursue? For men like Tony Stark, the answer was always the thrill—the existential excitement of putting one's power to a transcendent, spectacular use.
Zhou Yi had resisted that impulse for his family's sake. The identity of "Superman" was an experience, a life he had tasted and desperately craved, but he had too many vulnerabilities: a sister he adored, a mother he protected, and a quiet, domestic life he cherished.
He could not extinguish fires and save damsels in distress as "Yi Zhou, the CEO." His enemies were already powerful, and an overt, unmasked presence would expose his loved ones to unimaginable retaliation.
But after the close call with Sharice, the discovery of a hidden vampire covenant, and the blatant presence of the S.H.I.E.L.D. aerospace carrier, he knew the veil of normalcy was tearing. He needed a buffer. He needed a second identity—a terrifying, autonomous force that could operate in the shadows and above the law without compromising his family.
A new superhero identity was no longer a hobby; it was a necessary shield.
"Filter the results for designs that minimize flight visibility and maximize structural integrity for atmospheric re-entry," Zhou Yi instructed Medusa, his mind racing with the strategic implications of his new life. "The core color must be black, deep indigo, or midnight blue. We are not designed to be the sun; we are designed to be the cosmic storm."
He knew that everything happening in this pristine white room right now was the genesis of a story—the precise moment where the life of the prodigious billionaire ended, and the legend of the masked protector began.
Meanwhile, far above Manhattan, inside the command bridge of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, the tension was almost palpable.
Agent Phil Coulson, ever smiling, ever immaculate, moved smoothly across the bridge, offering brief, genuine greetings to the few stunned technicians still grappling with the impossible sensor data from the previous night. He walked toward the central tactical command console, the nerve center of the global espionage agency.
There, standing with his back to the console, was Director Nick Fury. Clad in his trademark black leather trench coat, the man was a study in grim authority. His single, visible eye narrowed with severe scrutiny, his expression as dark and unforgiving as the abyss.
"Sir, Agent Phil Coulson reporting as ordered," Coulson stated, snapping a crisp salute.
Fury did not return the gesture, his gaze fixed on the tactical display.
"Last night, Agent, I was enjoying a rare and beautiful moment of uninterrupted sleep. Commander Hill saw fit to wake me and inform me that an unidentified aerial object was violating every known law of physics in our jurisdiction. What's utterly contemptible is that we, the Strategic Homeland Defense Offensive and Logistics Support Agency—possessing the most advanced sensor array on the planet—can only provide a grainy, pixelated mosaic where a human face should be. I trust my most capable analyst is here to deliver better news."
"I believe I have something that will considerably improve your disposition, Director," Coulson replied, his easy smile unwavering. He produced a miniature, high-density storage device.
"What is this, Coulson?" Fury asked, snatching the device.
"It is a memory key, Director," Coulson said simply.
"I am perfectly aware it is not a cigar cutter! Thank you for the redundant clarification, Agent. The question is: what intel does it contain?" Fury's eye darkened, showing his zero tolerance for Coulson's playful insubordination.
"It holds the analyzed data, residual energy reports, and biometric evidence I recovered from the underground location. I believe the individual we are looking for is one of the three individuals profiled within," Coulson explained with unwavering confidence.
Fury inserted the key directly into the primary control interface. The holographic screens immediately flashed, displaying experimental data and three distinct profiles.
"Let's see who broke my sweet, rare dream," Fury muttered, reviewing the evidence.
"First, the circumstantial evidence," Coulson narrated, tapping the display.
"Our analysis of the dust particles confirms they are highly volatile biological tissue residues. We cross-referenced these with Level 7 clearance files and confirmed the remains belong to the body of an extraterrestrial vampire—specifically, an individual identified as Asset 025, with whom our organization maintains a long-standing, volatile peace treaty."
The screen shifted, showing a waveform. "The environmental scan shows high levels of residual, concentrated Ultraviolet Radiation—powerfully localized, suggesting a weapon of unnatural intensity was used to achieve vaporization. It was a targeted termination event."
"Finally, the fingerprint analysis. I recovered prints from a whiskey glass, the only object left untouched in the central area where the incident initiator would have stood. These prints led me to the three suspect individuals."
Coulson pointed to the first, a blurred image of an older man. "Joe Albert. Age 47. Professional bartender. Died seven years ago in a suspected animal attack in Pennsylvania. The death certificate is fraudulent. He was a low-grade vampire. He is the least likely primary actor."
Next, he pointed to the striking image of the elegant woman. "Nisha Maginos. Daughter of the late Ellida Maginos, founder of the International Consortium for European Health. A charming, seemingly timeless woman who is, in reality, forty-six years old. She rarely appears in public, maintaining an image of exclusivity. The fingerprint analysis of the glass places her near the scene, but her prints were only on the lower rim, suggesting she was served by the main suspect."
Fury's eye scanned the file. "I recall the Maginos name. Sixty years ago, a woman by that name signed the North American Non-Aggression Pact on behalf of the established vampire clans. This confirms her as a pure-blood and the ranking operative on site."
"Precisely," Coulson affirmed, then pointed to the final, high-resolution image—a handsome, clean-cut young man.
"This gentleman is Yi Zhou. American of Chinese descent. His mother is the renowned designer Zhou Lan. His biological father, Smith Zhou, died in a mission accident in Eastern Europe. He also had a deceased stepfather, Anthony Ferguson, a prominent banker. He has a younger sister, Sharice Ferguson."
Coulson paused for effect, letting the weight of the profile settle on the Director.
"Mr. Zhou's rise to prominence began at age eleven when he became involved in equities. By sixteen, he was a known stockbroker, and he parlayed that success into a series of aggressive, non-public high-tech investments. Currently, he is the third-largest shareholder in Stark Industries, a significant stakeholder in Osborn Industries, and controls majority stakes in several specialized technology research laboratories. Based on current valuations, he ranks easily within the top five youngest self-made billionaires in the United States."
Fury leaned back, his solitary eye unblinking. "Young. Billionaire. Has the resources of Tony Stark and the political sway of Norman Osborn. Philanthropist. Prolific investor. And a seasoned, highly-rated martial arts enthusiast. I distinctly recall spending my twenties shining shoes. I may have wasted my life."
He stared at Zhou Yi's composed face on the screen, then looked back at his analyst. "Agent Coulson, are you completely certain this 'untouchable' asset is our prime suspect in a massive, non-sanctioned extermination event?"
"My judgment is absolute, Director," Coulson stated with calm conviction. "The residual energy signature on the glass, combined with his profile, points directly to a single, capable, and extraordinarily powerful individual."
Fury shifted, turning toward Commander Maria Hill, who stood beside him, her expression ice cold but focused.
"Commander Hill, this asset is now your responsibility. You will establish 24/7 surveillance on Yi Zhou and his immediate family. Standard security protocols apply: absolutely no disclosure, no contact, and no engagement with the target until we understand the extent of his abilities and intentions."
"Yes, sir," Commander Hill replied, a spark of challenge visible in her eyes. The prospect of observing a potential new god in their midst was an assignment she was clearly eager to tackle.
"And what of me, sir?" Agent Coulson asked, feeling the immediate sense of being sidelined from the most important case of the decade.
Fury gave him a rare, thin smile. "I have a completely different assignment for my best analyst, Agent. I need you to contact Mr. Stark. We are going to require a substantial amount of his latest technology, and his full attention, to deal with what may be coming next."