"I'm sorry," Leonard said, scratching the back of his neck and looking genuinely lost. "While that sounds like a very compelling narrative... who is Iron Man?"
Elena froze. Her brain, usually ten steps ahead, suddenly hit a wall. She looked at their faces—blank, honest, and completely devoid of recognition. "You don't know Iron Man? Tony Stark?"
"Oh!" Howard snapped his fingers. "That guy that lives in Malibu and has another girl each day?"
The morning light filtered through the new floor-to-ceiling windows, cutting sharp lines across the minimalist decor. Elena stood by the kitchen island, the weightless drape of black silk flowing around her like dark water. The fabric held a liquid-like glisten, clinging to the curves with every movement and breath.
Forget the convenience of a coffee machine; Elena was a purist when it came to fuel. She worked the manual crank of her burr grinder, the tactile resistance of the beans a grounding rhythm for her racing thoughts. She transferred the grounds into an old-school Italian press, the stainless steel cool against her palm before the boiling water hit. She added a single, precise drop of dark agave to cut the bite—the perfect balance of bitter and sweet.
Her laptop was still open on her unmade bed, a glowing testament to her nocturnal paranoia. She had been careful—VPNs layered like an onion, ghost-routing her pings through servers all over the world. She still did not want to believe it. Names like Professor Charles X. Xavier, Stark Industries, Oscorp, and A.I.M. weren't just comics and movies; they existed.
She leaned against the counter, taking a sip of the bitter brew. She thought she was observant, but the revelation didn't allow her to sleep, so she was awake, thinking. She should have noticed it sooner, just the tech in the mobile phones – the very item with which she earned money – made it obvious something was different. The hardware is way more advanced. The smartphones in the hands of the people she'd passed on the street were sleeker, their processors humming with an architecture that shouldn't exist for another five years in her memory.
Consequently the scientific ceiling was way higher. Alone the super soldier serum from WW2 made that perfectly clear. But she would never find that or comparable ground breaking research in regular universities, not even one as big as Caltech. If she was going to break through, she couldn't waste time listening to the acknowledged 'public' science; her goal wasn't merely to lead Earth's progress, but to become the singular apex of all known existence.
I'll need more knowledge, and Caltech may be a good start, but it is far from enough, she thought rationally. Her original plan wasn't a bad one, but she wouldn't be able to relax as much as she'd liked. The university would give her legitimacy while she furthered her horizons and tried to stay under the radar.
A groan from the living room broke her focus.
Rajesh was beginning to stir. He had somehow managed to keep the hat on all night, although now it served more as a shield from the light than actual head-wear by now. Remembering the previous evening, a slow, predatory smile spread across her face.
Elena watched him over the rim of her cup, her expression unreadable. She didn't pity him for his current pain, it was self-inflicted. Maybe it would teach him, but she didn't really believe it.
As Raj's eyes fluttered open, they landed on her—the silhouette of a woman in black silk, framed by the morning sun. His jaw dropped. He tried to scramble backward, tangling his legs in the duvet and falling to the floor. As he finally managed to stand his mouth opened, but only a pathetic, dry wheeze came out. His selective mutism was back in full force.
"Rough night, Raj?" Elena asked, her voice like velvet.
He nodded frantically and pointed at his throat, his face turning a shade of plum.
"Don't worry," she said, turning back to the counter. "I anticipated the hangover. And your... silence."
She poured a second cup of coffee and reached for a heavy glass vodka bottle sitting on the counter. With a practiced flick of her wrist, she poured a small splash into the mug. "Polish vodka. The high proof should jumpstart your vocal cords, and hopefully, it's not enough to encourage a repeat of last evening's... performance. Bottoms up!"
She handed him the mug. Raj took it like a lifeline, staring at her with wide, worshipful eyes. He took a long, desperate gulp. The heat of the coffee and the "burn" of the supposed alcohol seemed to hit his system immediately, and he let out a long, shuddering breath.
"Oh, god," he croaked, his voice cracking as the warmth of the coffee—and what he believed was vodka—unlocked his throat. "Elena, I am so, so sorry. I... I see the hat. I don't remember any of it. I remember flirting with you, then drinking the rest of the tumbler and... everything just goes dark."
He looked down at his lap, his face a deep, painful crimson. "I only drank that much because... well, I couldn't get a word in. Howard and Leonard were practically hovering over you all night, fighting for your attention like... like starving seagulls over a dropped fry. And then Howard challenged me. He said I'd never have a chance with a woman like you unless I 'manned up.' I just wanted to talk with you, but I couldn't even manage that without a drink. And then..." He gestured vaguely at the couch, his hands trembling. "I assume I've made a complete fool of myself."
Elena leaned back against the kitchen counter, the black silk of her robe opened and letting her legs be seen as she crossed them, holding her steaming cup in both hands. She didn't laugh. She didn't mock him. She simply watched him with that terrifyingly calm, analytical gaze.
"You didn't just make a fool of yourself, Raj," she said softly. "You were better than any prime-time entertainment."
She looked toward the ceiling, as if scrolling through a vivid memory, and slowly bit her bottom lip. She let the silence hang for a moment, pretending to savor the thought.
"Let me just say you found my sex toy trunk. Your attire involved my harness, a monster-sized phallus, and a hemp rope you used as a whip. And of course, the hat. It was... memorable."
Raj quickly glanced over his shoulder at the gear on the couch before he groaned. "I sincerely apologize, Elena," he said, his voice thick with shame. He muttered to himself, "I'm a professional astrophysicist. I work with the secrets of the universe, and yet I can't even speak to a beautiful woman without alcohol turning me into a drunken joke."
"Is that what you think?" She watched him, a slight, knowing tilt to her head. "You think you have a 'serious medical illness' that requires a bottle of booze just to say 'Hi, my name is Raj'?"
"It's selective mutism!" Raj squeaked, a mix of outrage and embarrassment. "It's a recognized condition. I'm broken, Elena. I am a disaster."
Elena didn't blink, no she forced him into intense eye contact. Contact he somehow couldn't break. She pushed off from the rear counter and took two slow, deliberate steps toward the kitchen island. She reached the marble surface and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the cool stone.
As she angled her body down, the laws of physics took over. Without a bra to provide support, the weight of her breasts pulled the silk neckline wide, straining the fabric and offering Raj a deep, unobstructed view of her cleavage. She was so close now that he could smell the hint of agave on her breath.
Raj's eyes went wide, his brain short-circuiting. The vodka confidence was suddenly warring with a very primal, very sober panic.
"Interesting," she breathed, her voice dropping to a velvety purr. She reached out and plucked the mug from his trembling fingers, her eyes never leaving his. "Do you want more alcohol now? To continue our conversation?"
Raj, caught between a frantic yes and a terrified no, tried to speak, but his voice failed him completely. She smiled, a predatory expression like a cat playing with a mouse.
"Do you want to come with me? I haven't bathed yet." She closed her eyes and let out a soft, low moan while slightly loosening her shoulders—a movement that sent a visible ripple through the silk over her chest. "My tub is big enough for both of us, Raj. Just give the word, and I'll share."
Raj tried desperately to force the words out. Then, quite suddenly, the tension left him. It was a visible deflation; his shoulders slumped, his chest hollowed out, and the frantic light in his eyes flickered and died, replaced by a dull, heavy glaze of self-loathing. Heartbroken and resigned, he simply waved a hand in defeat and turned to flee the apartment.
He was midway through the door when Elena's voice stopped him.
"Wait a second."
Hope flared in his eyes as he looked back at her with the expression of a lost puppy. Elena simply rolled her eyes.
"Not for that, Raj. But you may want to know that yesterday, you shouted—quite loudly—that you were going to tie Penny and me together and 'fuck us into oblivion' at the same time. I suggest you apologize to her as well."
Raj looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
"And," Elena added, her voice cooling as she stood up straight, "you might also want to know that there was no vodka in your coffee. I just added a shot of water from an empty vodka bottle. You've been talking to me for ten minutes, stone-cold sober."
She paused just long enough to let the realization hit him like a physical blow.
"You aren't broken. You're just holding yourself back, that is absolutely clear now."
With that, she turned and disappeared toward the bathroom, the silk of her robe whispering against the floorboards. She left a speechless Raj rooted to the spot in the doorway. His thoughts were a chaotic mess of missed opportunity and searing embarrassment, but beneath it all sat one quiet, persistent question: Did I really just do that without the alcohol?
The bathroom door clicked shut, ending the teasing of Raj finally. Elena leaned her back against the cool, polished wood and let out a soft, melodic laugh. Looking into her new bath—a space she had gutted and rebuilt into a temple of high-end tech and luxury. The tub was a deep, sculptural piece of stone-composite, hidden LEDs creating a soothing environment.
"Poor Raj," she whispered to the empty room. "But hopefully, the next time you meet a beautiful woman, you might not need alcohol."
She hadn't just riled him up for the sport of it—though she admitted the sport was excellent. She had done it to force a crack in the wall he'd built around himself. If he could talk to her while thinking he drank alcohol, knowing that there was no alcohol should reduce that dependency.
After filling the tub she discarded the silk robe and stepped into the tub with water at a precise 104°F / 40°C. She slid into the heat, letting the mountain of sandalwood-scented bubbles swallow her.
As her muscles relaxed, her mind accelerated. The realization that she was living in a reality shared with Mutants, A.I.M., Oscorp and Hydra changed everything. She couldn't afford to be a "normal" student. "I think I should be grateful that I did not find anything regarding to Reed Richards or Victor von Doom," she murmured.
For now her short time goal was to still have time even after her PhD study starts.
She would offer a $100,000 "unrestricted research donation." To a Dr. Siebert, a man constantly begging for funding. In exchange, she wanted to keep her priviliges as PhD student, but be free of compulsory attendance. She somehow she really wanted at least one PhD, even if she learned faster than pretty much anyone else and usually does not need outside approval.
The steam curled around her as she shifted in the tub, her thoughts moving from the university to her own four walls. She wouldn't hide her wealth. If anyone questioned a PhD student buying an entire apartment building in Pasadena, she had a perfectly logical, "rational" excuse ready: the gaming industry was a fickle beast. Her current income was a spike, not a plateau. Investing in real estate was simply smart diversification—a way to secure her future once the world moved on to the next digital craze.
Besides, she was tired of the small inconveniences. After all the renovation she was sick of the perpetually broken elevator and the lack of control over her environment.
"If I own the deed," she mused, tracing a pattern in the bubbles, "I own the air above and the dirt below."
The plan began to crystallize. She would install a high-end greenhouse on the roof, directly above her own apartment. To the city inspectors, it would be a luxury "green" addition; to her, it was perfect tactical cover. By adding a discreet, modern fire escape to the exterior of the A and B wings, she could create an exclusive, private entrance to her rooftop sanctuary.
This fire escape on her side of the building would serve a dual purpose. She could integrate an automated waste-disposal chute into the structure, allowing her to inconspicuously phase out the debris from her subterranean excavation. By mixing the soil and concrete rubble with standard building waste, she could clear out the dirt for her secret lab without a single neighbor—or city official—noticing the change in volume.
The plan for the secret lab had moved from a "maybe" to a "definitely." She intended to dig the elevator shaft far deeper than the original blueprints allowed—deep enough to bypass the city's standard sensor grid. She wouldn't hire a crew for the sensitive work; she would build the machines to do it for her. A silent, subterranean excavation done in the dead of night, right under the noses of the unsuspecting nerds downstairs.
By the time she was finished, the building wouldn't just be an apartment complex. It would be her secret base.
The biggest hurdle for anything big the rarity of some metals and earths. And buying them would lead to people asking questions. Even if she were to go through some shady channels.
To build anything truly revolutionary she needed more than the normal aluminum and consumer-grade plastics available on the open market. She needed aerospace-grade titanium and other specialized materials. Buying those in bigger quantities would be like lighting a signal flare for S.H.I.E.L.D., which is essentially Hydra. She had no interest in being recruited—or neutralized. To remain anonymus, she needed a supply chain that would not arouse suspicions.
Her thoughts drifted to New York. If the history of this world so far mirrored the stories she knew, there was a goldmine of abandoned genius waiting in the basement of a normal family.
In some versions of the story, they left behind a hidden lab in the derelict Roosevelt subway station; in others, it was a cache of encrypted files and biological samples hidden in an old briefcase. She didn't want to steal Peter's birthright—the boy could keep his destiny—but she wanted the data. Their work on gene editing, adhesive polymers and high-tensile bio-conductors would be the perfect foundation for her own works in biology.
Yesterday she was rather fine with being a genius by day and assassin by night. Now it frightens her, this world was way to dangerous for staying "normal".
As the water began to cool, her mind began to construct a solution for the Parker "heist." She didn't want to break in herself— if possible not ever. She needed something that could do the breaking in for her. Something small. Something that could slip through a ventilation grate or an open window ant the like.
Her thoughts drifted back to the Spider-Man lore, and a smile played on her lips.
A Spider. Her engineering mind immediately engaged, deconstructing the anatomy of an arachnid and replacing it with high-end tech. Creating eight jointed legs with micro-motors was well within her current capability. The real challenges would be the power-to-weight ratio and the logic. She would need a high-density solid-state battery, a way to harvest energy from ambient heat or wireless signals to recharge on the fly, and a low-latency connection to her AI to stream data and remote-access nearby computers.
Most importantly, it needed a multi-spectral camera array and radar to ensure it stayed unseen. Starting with the Parker house was the perfect "Beta Test." The risk was minimal compared to a corporate giant, and the data she could recover there wouldn't be anything important than what a corporate giant has.
She shifted in the water, a stray thought of the at some point emerging future heroes crossing her mind. She dismissed it instantly with a shudder. She had zero intention of ever publicly playing hero; that job was thankless and usually ended in tragedy. And thinking of Neith the Weaver of Fate and her Web of Life and Destiny a chill ran down her spine.
"No," she whispered, watching a bubble pop on her knee. "I'll create my own variation. Without some godly influence."
The water eventually became too cool, pulling Elena back from her thoughts. She rose from the tub, the sandalwood scent clinging to her skin as she dried off and began the ritual of transformation. She chose her "public armor" carefully: a charcoal-grey tailored blazer that spoke of professional authority and dark, form-fitting jeans that maintained her sharp, modern edge. After a final glance in the mirror to ensure her social mask was perfectly in place, she grabbed her laptop bag and stepped out.
The transition from a naked, plotting mastermind to a sophisticated PhD candidate was seamless.
Elena stepped out of her apartment, looking every bit the professional woman. She began her descent, her heels clicking rhythmically against the stairs. As she reached the fourth-floor landing, the door to 4B swung open. Penny stepped out, lugging a heavy basket of laundry toward the elevator.
"Oh! Hey, Elena," Penny said, shifting the basket to her hip as she noticed the woman descending from above. "You look like you're on a mission."
"Just a bit of university bureaucracy to handle," Elena replied, waiting for Penny to catch up. She offered a graceful smile. "By the way, did Raj find you this morning? I told him about what he shouted out loud while wearing my dildo and reminded him to apologize to you as well."
Penny's eyes went wide, and she let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Oh my god, yes! He came over about an hour ago. He was bright red and looked like he was about to pass out."
She shook her head, a smirk playing on her lips. "Usually, he just stands there squeaking like a pathetic little mouse until I get uncomfortable and leave, but today was... different. He actually stood his ground for five seconds. He managed to choke out an 'I am sorry' before he bolted."
"Good," Elena murmured, her eyes dancing with secret amusement.
She adjusted the strap of her laptop bag, pausing for just a moment at the top of the next flight of stairs. "Listen, I'm planning to head to a shooting range later this week to get my local license. It's boring to go alone. Would you be interested in joining me?"
Penny blinked, a surprised but knowing grin spreading across her face. "A shooting range? Oh, honey, you're talking to a girl from Nebraska. My dad started taking me to the range as soon as I was tall enough to hold a shotgun. I'm actually a pretty good shot."
"Is that so?" Elena's eyebrows rose in genuine interest. "Then I definitely want you there. But don't underestimate me, girl."
"You got it," Penny said, her excitement building. "Hey, we should invite the guys! Can you imagine? Watching Leonard try to keep his glasses from fogging up or Sheldon trying to calculate the wind resistance for a target ten yards away? It would be hilarious."
Elena chuckled at the mental image. "I suspect Sheldon might have a panic attack if he's within ten feet of a propellant, but the entertainment value alone is worth the invitation."
She paused, as if thinking of the logistics. "But we should probably invite one or two other girls as well. That would even out the numbers so it's not just the two of us against a pack of nerds. Do you have someone that could maybe fill in?"
"Bernadette!" Penny said instantly. "She's tiny, but she's got a mean streak. She'd love it." Penny chuckled, the idea clearly starting to appeal to her. "You know, after a week of waitressing at the Cheesecake Factory, shooting at some paper targets sounds kind of amazing. And watching Howard try to act tough with a pistol? That's worth the trip alone."
"Perfect," Elena decided, starting her descent again. "I'll reserve a few lanes for Friday afternoon. We can blow off some steam and then head back here for dinner. I'll tell the boys—it'll give them something to obsess over for the next few days."