I could totally feel the atmosphere change when we arrived. It was thick, sort of like when a storm is about to break, and you can just know that rain's gonna pound down with blows, quick and strong. Jennifer Walters—She-Hulk, my attorney, my big, green, fabulous buddy even when everything else is in shambles—was with me and her crew. There were loads of attorneys moping about, acting big shots, and I don't know. I couldn't vibe with it, not today.
We parked a few blocks off to avoid the paparazzi, but the nearer we moved towards the Supreme Court, the louder the protests grew. I could even hear them before I saw them. Angry chants. "Nazi scum!" "Corrupt!" and "Down with Steele Enterprises!" It was like they could tell I could hear them—heck, possibly even smell my fear, my grime, and all my screw-ups, even though those jerks hadn't gotten the whole picture.
The streets were filled with signs and yelling citizens. Folks were pretty riled about this—this wasn't a protest, no sir, it seemed more like a mob about to blow its top. Cops were attempting to maintain order, but it was a big free-for-all. There was this tension in the air, and everyone out there seemed to desire me to burn.
I took a quick scan about, attempting to maintain my cool, and kept moving with them. That's my role, isn't it? To maintain? I could see the fear in the faces about me, for real, I could feel it creeping down my backbone. They did not want me to win. They hoped I'd flounder.
Jennifer nudged me and whispered loud enough for me to make out, "We're gonna make it through this. You just have to hold it together."
Right, hold it together. But at a price?
"You think they have a point?" I grumbled, my eyes still locked onto the mob.
She moved her head, her green face glinting in sunlight. "Doesn't matter what they believe. What concerns me is the law, Simon. We'll have to face it."
Forget about the law. What does that even mean when everyone else wants me dead?
We reached the steps of the Supreme Court, and a protester edged through the barrier. One of them attacked me, screaming, "You're a monster! Your corporation's founded in blood!" A cop nearby shoved him back into the horde, but those words hurt. Blood. Yeah, I'd had a lot of that on my hands.
I kept moving. I flicked a quick glance at Jennifer, who kept pace with me like it was nothing. "So, then, what's the big with this case, then?" I attempted to sound cool, but I totally fluffed it.
She glared at me, her face a complete blank, "They've got the Nazi claims. They're throwing everything at us—your ties to Himmler, Steele Enterprises' ties to the black market. They've even got leaked photos, Simon. Leaked vids. It's going to be a real battle."
Man, that old information is just crazy. The photos. yeh, they were totally real. Just like my work. Some of it, at least. It's not the whole picture, but they were surely using it against me. Silver Sable wasn't throwing shots for nothing, for cryin' out loud!
And then Steele Enterprises, it hurt thinking about it, and hurt even worse when I saw them calling me a damn criminal, saying I was running the same shady operations as all those other shady businessman types who sold out in order to make a name for themselves. It's such a buzzkill, for real, that they didn't even touch on what actually happened. That I got isekei'd and well... continued what the old Simon did.
I shot a glance at them big courthouse steps. The law. The justice. But where's the damn justice for me, then? Did nobody care about my climb to rise above? Nope. It was all "you're guilty" even when we hadn't even begun yet.
I trudged my way up the first staircase, my breath getting all shallow as I struggled to calm down my thudding heart. Jennifer's fingers touched my arm, offering me that quiet confidence that she's with me, ready to stand with me with whatever she's got in her arsenal. I really needed her to knock it outta the park with this one.
We reached the doors, and I took a quick scan at the group of them out in the hallway, then took a deep breath and shoved my way through, through doors and out of view. They were all just salivating for me to screw up, practically drooling for my fall, and for my sake, I wanted to see them dissapointed.
"Steele," a voice snapped, jerking me out of my head. I glared over and saw the judge, this older guy with graying hair and a glacial stare that could make water freeze. "This way."
Shit. Here I go.
The trial was looking to be a real battle. I could already see the headlines—the smear campaign, the outlandish rumors. It was gonna be full-on war, and whether I'd leave here today a free man or a convicted offender was a toss-up. But one thing for certain: I had to win.
Everyone's eyes were trained on me in the courtroom, like I was an animal in a cage. Jennifer sat beside me, her crew all geared up.
And then the accusations started raining down.
"You, Simon Steele, stand accused of crimes against humanity—your complicity in Nazi war crimes, your direct ties to Heinrich Himmler, and your corporation's illicit dealings in the black market, amongst a plethora of other accusations," the prosecutor exclaimed, thudding down a file.
I clamped my jaw shut. They were throwing everything at me and, yeah, it happened to be true. He continued—mentioning concentration camps, the atrocity, the experiments. I could feel my gorge rise in my mouth. They'd have evidence, no doubt, but not everything happened, not everything I'd done, at least not in the manner in which it sounded.
"You bankrolled the development of weapons used against civilians," he exclaimed, jabbing a finger at me, "and when the war finished, your corporation—Steele Enterprises—continued to make a profit off of illicit deals, glossing over the bloodshed in an attempt to become wealthier and more powerful."
Jennifer was squirming in her seat, her whole frame taut, and she whispered, "We'll make it through this. Just hold on."
But I couldn't manage it. Every statement out of that prosecutor's mouth sounded like a hammer pounding down, and I could see my entire life disintegrating, and with it, the weight of all my past transgressions—things I'd long buried—rising up over me again. I wasn't flawless, no, but the accusations about me? Not even remotely full.
Jennifer stood, her voice echoing off the walls of the subdued courtroom. "Your honor, that fellow over there isn't the same Simon Steele everyone perceives him to be. This is a complete case of mistaken identity, a conspiracy to destroy an innocent fellow's reputation!"
The prosecutor simply shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Your honor, we have concrete evidence connecting Mr. Steele with Wolfgang von Lundt, this high-flier Nazi businessman who hung out with Himmler. Same fellow who profited off the misery of millions!"
But Jennifer refused to give in. She pounded her fist onto the tabletop, and the water glasses rattled in its wake. "You have the wrong fellow! Simon Steele is a victim of his past, a fellow whose life was hijacked by a complete beast!"
The judges inched in, and the spectators whispered amongst themselves.
The documents and photos, courtesy of Jennifer's crew, were produced in court. Everyone in court leaned in, desperate for the real tea. The photos were tampered with, the minor mistakes in the documents' date stampings to favor me. It was brilliant—freakin' brilliant, in fact, that I'd almost enjoy showcasing a little, but I'm wedged in my seat in court.
Here's the kicker no one saw coming, though. Steelea, my ace in the hole, had been working in the background, crafting this whole scheme. It'd constructed this whole doppelganger theory. It'd gone viral before, and gone mad, and now, it played out in the country's most prestigious court room.
My heart pounded as I saw the prosecution totally freak out, scrambling to keep pace with all the lies that we, excuse me, I were throwing at them. And me? I was the cool billionaire, the one with the iron-clad alibi, the one with nothing to hide.
I whispered to Jennifer, "Is it working?"
"It's too early to say," she whispered, her eyes locked onto the observers.
The hours ticked by, and the prosecution sweated with each tick of the clock while we disentangled their narrative thread by thread. They had their fabricated photos and fabricated documents, but we had the truth, at least my version of it, and truth trumps fiction any day. It was a battle in a court, a battleground, and each move and each statement calculated and deliberate. It was a game of chess in which all your pawns overnight became queens and horses overnight.
"Your honor, the evidence that's being produced isn't circumstantial; it's completely fabricated!" I heard one of our attorneys cry out. Everyone waited with bated breath for them to react.
But they were out of options. Perspiration was glistening on their foreheads, and their objections grew increasingly desperate.
Jennifer passed me a glance, a sly smile creeping onto her face. She knew we had them trapped. She had no idea that I had manipulated her and everyone so well.
The day crawled like a storm cloud in the sky. The prosecution hurled everything at us, but in all honesty, it seemed a case of throwing paper airplanes at a tank. We had the law, we had the facts—or at least ones that I'd twisted to make them sound believable—and everyone's undivided attention.
Finally, it was my turn to climb onto the witness stand. I swaggered over, cool, but I act like I was totally freaked out. I'd prepared for this, thinking about all the questions I'd face and how they'd attack me in a thousand different ways. But then I saw all those faces, and I could have sworn I saw a soap opera crew in a ready-made cast in front of me.
I placed my hand over my heart and took the oath, grinning at them like a big joke. The prosecutor approached, looking like a zombie, tie disheveled, and eyes bloodshot. "Mr. Steele, can you speak about your acquaintance with Wolfgang von Lundt?"
I sat back, attempting to sound suave. "Never heard of him," I told them, my voice calm and even. Everyone in the room gasped, and even the prosecutor seemed to stutter over his words.
"But the photos, your honor!" he yelled, waving the photographs in the air like a drowning man clutching for a lifeline.
Jennifer interrupted him before the judge could say a word. "Your honor, this is a case of identity theft, and Simon Steele is being portrayed as a villain for actions he hadn't even taken!"
The judge glared at the prosecutor and sat forward in his seat. It grew quiet enough that a pin could have landed with a sound in the room. "Prosecution, any reaction to that?"
The prosecutor glared at me, but he'd run out of options.
The rest of the day seemed to descend into complete chaos with fingers wagging in all directions and counters being made, but whatever, things were most definitely changed now. By court adjournment, the horde out in the street had transitioned from a mad mob to a sea of confused murmurs. Perhaps they weren't so convinced I was the villain, at least not yet, and perhaps they simply waited to see what kind of soap opera would unfold next.
Back at... well, it wasn't my penthouse any longer—it seemed more a fortress with cops fending off the protesters. I collapsed onto the couch. Steelea buzzed about me, her digital form ablaze with lights and alarm bells flashing in all directions.
"Daddy," she trilled, blending concern with anticipation. "We have a problem."
I let out a long, exhausted breath and rubbed my eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Steele Enterprises is tanking big," she said, sounding deadlier than ever. "But I have an idea."
I sat a little taller, even when I was beat. "Spill it, kiddo."
"If your company collapses, it'll be a complete disaster, but it could actually work in your best interest," she continued, with screens encroaching in all directions with all these spreads and statistics. "It'll make your enemies sound like they sabotaged your company, like they tried to take over and failed."
Damn. That was mean. But they earned it. "So burn it down?"
"Not exactly," she said, her digital eyes in deep consideration. "To actually allow your company to tank, use whatever funds are left to steal something out of The Wealth System."
The Wealth System. That's what granted me immortality and made me the smartest guy in the universe. Now it seemed my salvation lay in its hands.
"What am I seeing?" I questioned, reeling.
"Super Scott's powers," she told me, and I couldn't help but laugh. The guy was a joke—his powers paled in comparison to Captain America's level of powers. "But hey," she hurried to say, "you have the brains to make them work and even make them better."
I sat back, weighing it out in my head. Perhaps she was onto something. "Alright, lay out the details for me."
Steelea's screens flashed with information, revealing what Super Scott's powers could and couldn't do, and then how I could modify and boost them. It was a long shot, no question about it, but whatever. If I'd go down swinging, I'd go down swinging.
I nodded. "Alright, let's go with it."
The transformation was... intense. It seemed like someone inserted a high-powered battery in my chest and flicked a switch. I saw my room whizzing past, my body changing, my cells transforming to adapt to the new power pumping through my bloodstream. I could feel each and every one of my cells humming with potential, and it was both exciting and creepy at the same time.
"Daddy," Steelea whispered her calming voice in my ear. "You're doing it. You're becoming something else."
And when it finished, I rose to my feet, feeling. changed. Stronger. Something more than a man with a past that would make Judge Holden look like a joke.
"Steelea, my current worth?" I inquired, extending my fingers and bending them. They felt... strange. As in, I could crush diamonds with them, and I totally could.
Her voice in my ear, cool and calm, "Three hundred fifty-two million, and growing, daddy."
I nodded, hardly noticing the figure. It was a lot less than I'd ever seen, but whatever, it was a starting point. Fresh start, and I could make my own rules. I walked over to the windows, taking in the city view, my eyes wandering out towards the horizon. "Fuck them all," I breathed.
"Daddy," she interrupted, "We have to work with your new image. Everyone must believe in your transformation."
"Right," I answered, my eyes wandering off towards the city. "But first, I want to try this out."
I took the whole freakin' bundle off of Super Scott—flying, superhuman strength, laser eyes, name it. But I couldn't go hogwild with it yet. Too much, too soon, and I'd become a complete wreck. So I took it slow, hovering over the couch like a kid riding a bike for the first time. It sorta felt strange, my body discovering new muscles it hadn't even known it had. But I caught on pretty quick.
"You're a natural, daddy," Steelea interrupted, floating alongside me in her digital form.
"Of course, I'm the smartest man in the universe." I chuckled, taking off off of the couch and soaring towards the ceiling. The walls of the penthouse rattled with my launch, but they kept holding strong.
I was just lounging there for a minute, staring down at the city. The lights completely resembled fallen stars that landed in this concrete city. It was such a high. But I had to calm down.
I cleared my head, and then, out of nowhere, the television in the corner freaked out and crashed into the wall. "Shit," I grumbled, recalling I needed to monitor my telekinesis. I really did not want to blow shit up by accident.
So I figured I'd try out my laser eyes. I'd have a fucking lightsaber in my eyes, no joke. I concentrated on the television, and this thin, red laser shot out, cutting through the metal frame like it was tissue paper. The television buzzed and simply died with this pitiful whine.
"Wow," Steelea breathed, sounding sorta amazed and scared at the same time. "But you have to be careful, too. You don't know how much you can actually destroy."
"Right," I said, feeling tension in my head. "It's like... a killer hangover, but with laser beams."
I glided over to her, lounging in midair. "What else can I do?"
"Your strength, dad," she exclaimed, her eyes flashing with excitement. "Let's try that out."
I nodded and zipped over to the weight rack in the corner. I took a big barbell and balanced it in one finger like a freakin' toothpick. "Alright," I said, "What can I do?"
I grunted and hurled the barbell through the floor into the apartment below. The thud when it landed sounded like an explosion. "Fuck," I whispered. "That's... wow."
Steelea's screens flashed with data. "Your strength is already off the charts," she said. "But we can do a bit more, nonetheless."
And then hours had passed with all the possible testing of new skills: punched the walls, crumpled up the steel beam, flew out to the city for some time, cautious not to be visible. This was just unreal fun.
But the more I pushed, the more I realized—I wasn't invincible. Sure, I could go toe-to-toe with Captain America if he didn't have any of Marvel's bullshit scaling and feats, but what about the big guys? The Hulk? Thor? I needed more.
"We need to train," I told her, removing sweat. "We need to find out if these powers can be pushed further."
Steelea nodded, an almost serious expression on her holographic form. "I'll devise a regimen," she said. "But first, we need to take care of the company."
The figures were not looking great, and Steele Enterprises was bleeding quicker than a bullet through a watermelon. No miracle, none whatsoever, after my move of late, could save it. Saving the world-aka Superman-in my penthouse, while loads of fun, simply just wasn't about to cut the mustard outside its walls.
I brought in the best accountants, the best wizards with finances that I had left and hadn't betrayed me, and we sat down and started crunching numbers, trying to find out what the fuck to do. It felt almost like playing Tetris against a brick wall-no matter how you moved things around, you couldn't stop the collapse.
"We can still win this," I said, more to myself than anyone else.