Editing The Titans (Hybrid 70) (section)

==='''James Howlett III/Nemesis'''===

"Ms. Quinn" walked down the cold concrete stairs. Annoyed at the grating, the heels she was wearing morphed seamlessly into dressy flats. Mr. Stark had told her to "dress to impress" for this next pitch, but that she might need to break in. She and Puddin' had spent hours deciding on what to wear. Usually she was disguised as Stark's mousy assistant. She could never really reclaim the sexy doctor look she'd sported back as Doctor Quinzel, but that was a small price to pay.

I still think we should have gone with white and black. They are nice colors. Complimentary.. Nobody could hear Puddin' like she could. Stark could send messages, Puddin' could send them back, there was even a voice function. But nobody understood the warmth, the emotion of her new companion like she did. She knew that even though they had superficial arguments, they always got along, always loved each other. It was perfect.

"Now now, what's wrong with red?" 

"Being red makes me feel odd. Like wearing a new set of clothes and being self-conscious about it. Next time can we be black?"

"Of course." She could communicate with Puddin' silently and quickly, whole conversations taking only seconds. She'd once even planned a fight that way, with Puddin' analyzing hundreds of hours of Krav Maga footage to help her read her opponent's moves. She reached the bottom of the stairs and looked at the door. It was big and heavy and would not look out of place at a military base or a secure Stark Tech lab. She pressed the buzzer, and shortly after a gruff voice answered her. 

"What'ya want?" 

"Mr. Howlett, I'm hear to speak to you on behalf of a certain powerful individual." She had tried to get rid of her New York accent, which she had reduced to a very slight influence on her speech while a psychiatrist, but it hadn't worked, so she had decided to go the other way instead, and now sounded as if she hadn't left the city in her life. Just part of her cover. Stark and Grant were teaching her things like that. Yes, Puddin' could work on the raw data, but she still needed to practiced the more refined aspects of being a new person herself. 

"No. Go away." The voice sounded cross and had that five-packs-a-day growl to it, which Harley knew had to be impossible. She had also been afraid of a reaction like this. It was always the hard way. 

"Mr. Howlett, I really think you should listen to what my employer has to say. I am here to present an excellent opportunity."

"Look miss, that's very nice of you and all, and you look real nice standing there, but I ain't interested. So leave." Harley hadn't noticed any cameras. She had Puddin' analyze her visual data from her scan of the room, and he found it. A set of hidden cameras, so ingeniously camouflaged in the concrete as to be nearly invisible. Her eyes narrowed. She didn't like being spied on, she didn't like being told to go away and Mr. Stark had asked her to get to Howlett. So get to him she would. Admittedly, Stark hadn't told her to just break in. He'd more...hinted. Hinted at hinted. She asked Puddin' to hack the electronic lock on the door. She didn't imagine it would take long.

Twenty minutes later, Puddin' gave disturbing news. 

This one's protection is strong. Very, very strong. I have not seen such defenses before, and they are very cunningly programmed. I also believe that Howlett may be actively fighting my intrusion, though not with full attention. I can maybe disable the electronic locks for a few moments. Harley grinned, and with a look Puddin' was able to jam the cameras. He was getting so good at these technical things. It was good too, Harley didn't have much head for them herself. 

James Howlett (the Third, but don't bring it up) was born with a very rare condition. His immune system was highly compromised, and he had to spend his first five years of life in a hospital. When he finally arrived home, his parents, wealthy people that they were, had set up a clean suite, a set of rooms that were perfectly sterile. Howlett would be safe there, and no where else. Even from a young age, Howlett realized his condition was an anomaly and raged at it. He devoted his precocious mind to understanding everything he could do from an isolated location, over the years mastering computer sciences, hacking, engineering and cryptography, to name a few. He even tried his utmost to avoid agoraphobia, designing a sensory input tank that he hoped would allow him to leave his bubble without fear when his condition was finally cured (something he hoped for since a young age). His parents were only happy to see him apply himself, even within his bubble. He also took it on himself to train his body to be as strong as his condition could allow, bringing in weights, machines and even trainers via highly sophisticated video conferences. When he realized the extent to which his specialized hobbies and equipment was putting a drain on his parent's finances, he began taking jobs over the internet. As technology grew more sophisticated, so did his tinkerings. He even went on the books as a SHIELD consultant, and served as coordinator and tech specialist for several high-profile missions. James Howlett not only had earned several degrees via online courses by the time he was twenty-three, but had trained heavily in several martial arts and was a heavily consulted figure in the tech and software industries. And he never left his rooms. Eventually, citing his need for independence, he had a new home designed, an old Cold War bunker that he had completely converted. He traveled by truck, and was settled into his new home. It was a lucky thing too, since a terrible accident had consumed one whole wing of the house, burning it to the ground and claiming the life of his father and injuring his mother. He had lived there for two years, continuing his career, until today. For the first time in a long, long time, James Howlett came face to face with another human being. 

At least, he thought it might be a human being. It was shaped like a woman, but with pure black skin and an ever-shifting white pattern on the chest. The eyes were huge and white, and the teeth? James didn't want to dwell on the teeth. He'd always wondered if this day would come. If he didn't keel over from the germs, he had several countermeasures in place. There were a few weapons scattered about and he was fairly confident he could do some damage before he collapsed from infection. Then the thing held up its hands and spoke. In the same accent the broad at the front had spoken in. He'd figured her for the distraction while this one got in, but if they were the same person...then someone had bypassed his security, slipped through his defenses and penetrated his sanctum in a matter of a minute, all without breaching the "membrane" and letting the outside in. 

"Mr. Howlett, I really think you should hear me out." The creature stood there, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. It wasn't working, as far as James was concerned. He lowered the ultra-taser he'd pulled from under his desk. He spoke with rapid urgency and a small undercurrent of fear.

"You have to get out. Now. You've got outside contamination, you're risking my life here. You have to get out." 

"You don't have to worry about that. It wasn't easy, but we're totally sterile. As is the device I'd like to show you." James stepped back as she took a step forward, but then something slithered under her flesh, and a small lump worked it's way up her arm and finally through the black membrane. It was a small computer, a portable smartphone the likes of which he'd help consult on just earlier this year. It wasn't supposed to be out yet. The woman-thing laid it on the table, propping it up towards him and a face appeared on the screen. It was Tony Stark, James would recognize the tech guru anywhere. He was bigger than Jobs, Gates, the whole lot of them. It was a Stark Tech phone he'd worked on. This was big. 

"Mr. Howlett, I first want to say that I have always been a tremendous follower of your work in the hardware and software fields." Howlett was speechless. Eventually, he managed a response.

"Thank you sir." Stark continued. 

"I am also familiar with your extensive experience in espionage and certain...specialized hardware. I was particularly enthralled by Operation: Merovingian. " Howlett gulped. That work was classified. Really classified.

"You sure know plenty about me. Why all the digging?" Stark steepled his hands on the screen, pausing for a moment before continuing.

"Because I research everyone I make the offer to." Howlett was confused now. 

"What offer would that be?" 

"The offer of a lifetime, Mr. Howlett. I can offer you freedom. From your lavish cell, from the ravages that genetics has perpetrated on your body. I can make it so that you can walk out the front door of this bunker, to the top of your steps and breathe deep of the air of humanity that even now crosses and crisscrosses over your head, unaware that a great manage lays trapped by his own body beneath their feet." Howlett was truly speechless now. Stark continued. "I propose taking a proprietary technology of mine, my adaptable nanites, and programming them for you. They would not only work to repair your immune system, but serve as your protection against the world in myriad ways. They will not only protect you from viruses, but from just about everything else. Properly bonded to your body, they can mold themselves like clay, becoming whatever the situation calls for. Do you wish to swim the reefs of Australia? They will become gills. Are you being struck by a car? They will be armor. Are you walking the caldera of a volcano? They will become your protection from the heat and the lava. You will become an unstoppable man." Finally, James spoke.

"I...I don't know what to say. I'd have to look over your specs, make sure I thought it was safe." James kept his voice calm, but he knew that both of them could probably read the longing in his body language. Still, he shouldn't just jump into this.

"I cannot give you the full details, of course. But I can give you the information you require otherwise. Oh, and one little tidbit that I know you will find of interest. Your family home was not burned by accident, your father's life was not claimed by chance and your mother does not require skin grafts to this day because of chance. It was a malicious force that set that fire, that placed pyrotechnic devices at key places at your house, then removed them."

"Then...send me your data. And tell me what I need to do to prepare."

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James Howlett, Nemesis, the adaptable man. Lacking the AI support that Harley does, his nanites instead respond to outside stimuli, though under controlled conditions they can be programmed to give him fixed and limited metahuman abilities as well. Combined with his extensive tech training, creative mind and experience in espionage (though never in the field) it makes him a formidable foe. Now free to walk the streets, he has adopted a tough-guy persona and has a tendency to "live life to its fullest", which can sometimes be a distraction. Luckily the nanites adapt his lungs for the cigar smoke...