The presidential suite of New York's finest five-star hotel had become Xu Xialing's temporary command center. She sat at a large glass desk, the glittering skyline of the city spread out behind her. She turned the heavy, three-stage Fraternity token over and over in her hands, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin. She was calculating every possible angle, every line of play, to squeeze maximum value from this unexpected prize.
One of her lieutenants entered the silent room without knocking, his footsteps quick on the plush carpet. "Boss, there's chatter on the dark web. Someone's selling a Dragon Ball."
Xu Xialing's eyes sharpened. She stopped fidgeting with the token. "How many stars? Please tell me this isn't another fake."
Since arriving in New York, she'd collected enough counterfeit Dragon Balls to fill a damn sack. They were glass, resin, even polished stone. The Camorra's bounty had turned Dragon Ball forgery into a booming cottage industry practically overnight.
"Three stars," her lieutenant said, holding up a tablet. "The seller included verification footage. They put three nine-millimeter bullets into it at point-blank range. It didn't even scratch."
A slow smile curved Xu Xialing's lips. Finally. Something real.
"What do they want?"
"They're in London. They are insisting on a face-to-face exchange."
That didn't surprise her. Anyone who knew what Dragon Balls actually did wouldn't trust this kind of transaction to intermediaries or couriers. The risk was too high.
"Then we go to London." She stood, her movement decisive, already mentally packing. "Charter a plane. We leave within the hour."
Her lieutenant nodded crisply. "Yes, boss."
Kraven didn't linger at the castle. He climbed into a nondescript black sedan and drove, his hands tight on the wheel. He navigated the streets from memory, arriving at a dark, empty parking garage. He abandoned the first car, walked two levels down in the concrete-scented gloom, and slipped into a second, identical vehicle waiting in the shadows.
Lucian was already inside, slouched in the passenger seat, filling the small space with a coiled, animalistic energy. Kraven didn't waste time on pleasantries.
"You started an open war with the Death Dealers," Kraven hissed, his voice low and furious. His aristocratic composure was cracking, revealing the panic beneath. "Chasing humans through the open streets like some rabid animal. Several Death Dealers are dead because of your rampage, and I had to grovel to Selene. Do you have any idea what position that puts me in?"
Lucian's hand shot out. It moved so fast Kraven barely registered it. His fingers wrapped around Kraven's throat with a casual, brutal strength, pinning him to the headrest.
"Calm yourself, Kraven."
The pressure increased, just enough to make his point, to cut off the air and underscore the power dynamic.
"That human means nothing to you. And I've been on a killing spree for centuries. This changes nothing."
He released Kraven's neck as suddenly as he'd grabbed it.
Kraven sucked in a ragged breath, the sound loud in the quiet car. He rubbed his throat, red marks already rising on his pale skin. He fixed Lucian with a hard stare. "Soren and his men released that human, but the Death Dealers are tailing him in secret."
He straightened his jacket, trying to reclaim some dignity. "Whatever you're planning next, leave that man alone. Keep your pack on a leash, Lucian. At least for now. Don't make me regret our arrangement."
Lucian's lip curled in pure contempt. "With your current position, can't you just recall all the Death Dealers? Handle your own house, Kraven. Remember, I'm the one who bled for you."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a poisonous whisper that filled the car. "Without me, you have nothing. Not the status you parade around in. Not the war stories the other vampires worship you for. Strip all that away, and you're actually nothing."
Lies bounced off like rubber. Truth cut like a blade.
Kraven stared at Lucian for a long, silent moment, his jaw tight. Then, without another word, he shoved the car door open and walked away, his stiff posture the only sign of his barely contained fury.
Soren emerged from his quarters and headed straight for the archives. The old records section was deep in the castle, and it smelled of dust, old paper, and preserved leather. He found the file he was looking for under Kraven's name and flipped it open on a wooden table, under a single dim bulb.
The entry was brief, written in an old, formal script: Kraven, the sole vampire survivor among all warriors who assaulted Lucian's fortress. Rewarded generously, not merely for his courage and bloodshed, but for providing proof of the werewolf leader's death—a section of branded skin, cut from Lucian's own arm.
Soren's eyes lingered on those last words. A piece of skin. He read the line again. Something about this didn't sit right.
Back at the Fraternity base, Tony had pulled strings and called in favors. Every piece of equipment, every server rack, every spool of fiber-optic cable Friday needed had been delivered, installed, and debugged in record time. The AI's new information processing center occupied an entire building, a cathedral of servers and quantum processors humming with potential.
"Smith, I didn't expect you to move this fast," Tony said. He had a faint, genuine surprise coloring his tone as he sipped an espresso. "I figured your base would take three to five years minimum to reach this level."
Smith Doyle grinned, gesturing at the sprawling, state-of-the-art facility around them. "Tony, Eastern speed. You really should experience it. Want me to have Fox send you the contractor list? Might come in handy next time you need to build a house or twelve."
Tony shook his head, that familiar smirk playing at his lips. "Stark Industries has no plans to enter real estate. Besides, I already have more houses and bases than I know what to do with."
Smith's eye twitched at the casual flex. Yeah, Tony really was absurdly, stupidly rich. In the future, the guy would just hand the Avengers an entire state-of-the-art base like it was a birthday card.
Thinking of the Avengers triggered another thought. "Speaking of that bald egg with the eyepatch, he's been radio silent since he pitched his little superhero team to us."
Tony snorted. "That's because you had such a good time tearing apart his proposal. Now he's shelved the whole Avengers initiative." He waved a hand dismissively. "Fine by me. It's not like the world desperately needs another bureaucratic committee. Your idea about using it to supervise S.H.I.E.L.D died before it started."
"I actually tried to follow your lead," Tony continued, warming to the subject. "Figured I'd angle for a consultant position at S.H.I.E.L.D with supervisory authority. Guess what happened? That hard-boiled egg wouldn't even meet with me. I couldn't track him down anywhere."
Smith laughed, the memory still fresh and amusing. "Oh man, you don't even know. Last time, I showed up with a full team from the Fraternity, ready to exercise our so-called supervisory rights. You should have seen Nick Fury's face. It turned green, Tony. Actually green."
Tony's eyebrows shot up, delighted. "No way."
"I'm serious. He thought I didn't know where their fancy office building was located. Joke's on him. Unfortunately, Coulson intercepted us at the entrance. Said that Fraternity members aren't S.H.I.E.L.D agents and therefore have no clearance to enter the building." Smith shrugged. "Can't fault the logic, even if it is bureaucratic horseshit."
Tony burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the metal and glass of the server room. "Smith, that's hilarious. How could you not invite me to something that fun?"
Smith spread his hands in mock innocence. "I would have loved to bring you along. But you're always either out playing superhero or locked in your workshop obsessing over the next Mark iteration."
He leaned against a console. "Speaking of which, how's the new suit coming? When can we have that sparring session you keep postponing?"
Tony's expression shifted, becoming more guarded. The truth was, after analyzing the data from Smith's previous outburst of power, none of his current materials could withstand the kind of punishment Smith could dish out. Until he achieved a breakthrough in material hardness, he had zero intention of letting Smith tear his armor apart with his bare hands like cheap cardboard.
Though he had heard some interesting rumors from his military contacts recently. Something about special metals that defied conventional physics.
"I've been focusing on portability improvements lately," Tony said vaguely.
Before Smith could press further, Bulma came running over, her lab coat flapping. Her eyes were bright with excitement. "It's all done!"
She didn't wait for a response before adding, "By the way, I modified your artificial intelligence, Friday. Also, the name Friday is really boring."
Bulma swung a backpack off her shoulders and pulled out what looked like a compact, folded robot. She activated it with a few quick gestures on a keypad. The machine unfolded itself with a series of precise, mechanical whirs and clicks.
The robot that stood before them looked like someone had taken a high-tech security camera and given it four jointed limbs. Its design was abstract, almost whimsical, yet clearly functional.
"Artificial intelligence reporting for duty!" the robot announced in a crisp, energetic, and distinctly new voice.
Smith and Tony both stared, momentarily speechless.
Smith's mind immediately made the connection. The design... it looked exactly like Giru, the robot assistant from Dragon Ball GT that followed Goku's granddaughter, Pan, around. He hadn't expected to see that particular piece of Dragon Ball tech materialize in front of him.
Tony, meanwhile, was processing something entirely different. Bulma had somehow accessed Friday's core code and completely rebuilt the AI's behavioral matrix. The personality subroutines were far more sophisticated, more nuanced than even JARVIS had been in his early iterations.
This wasn't just an upgrade. It was a fundamental reimagining of what his AI could be. He hadn't anticipated that Bulma would modify Friday's code so thoroughly. The AI was now far more anthropomorphic, significantly more advanced than his original clumsy attempts with Friday's base programming.