Richard knew that the information Howard had left behind was stored somewhere within SHIELD's archives, but he deliberately avoided telling Tony to go there directly. Instead, he simply suggested that Tony should learn more about his father—a piece of advice that carried more weight than it appeared on the surface.
Initially, Tony didn't take Richard's words seriously. His first instinct was to assume Richard was making another comparison between him and Howard, implying he wasn't living up to his father's legacy. The suggestion stung, bringing up old wounds that had never quite healed.
But after his initial irritation cooled, Tony found himself reconsidering Richard's advice. The more he thought about it, the more he realized there was substance behind the casual recommendation. After all, if Richard wanted to mess with him, there were countless more direct ways to do it. Why bring up Howard specifically unless there was something genuinely important Tony needed to discover?
Richard, for his part, wasn't particularly concerned about how Tony would eventually obtain Howard's hidden research from SHIELD's vaults. If Tony couldn't figure out that SHIELD had his father's files after such an obvious hint, then maybe he wasn't as brilliant as everyone claimed.
New York, Manhattan
In a penthouse apartment that commanded a breathtaking view of Central Park, Richard stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that dominated the living room. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the hardwood floors as he watched the bustling activity far below. From this height, the people looked like ants, their daily struggles reduced to meaningless motion.
The sound of footsteps broke his contemplation. Pietro approached, dressed in casual jeans and a dark hoodie—a far cry from the flashy costumes most heroes seemed to favor.
"I'm planning to hit Hell's Kitchen tonight," Pietro said, stopping beside Richard at the window. "Want to come along? Could be fun."
"No thanks. You can handle it on your own," Richard replied without turning away from the view.
Since their move from Los Angeles to New York, Pietro had kept a deliberately low profile. Instead of immediately jumping back into his vigilante activities, he'd spent weeks studying the city's criminal landscape, mapping out territories, understanding the complex web of corruption that plagued different neighborhoods. Hell's Kitchen, with its notorious reputation and endless supply of lowlifes, seemed like the perfect place to make his New York debut.
"Fair enough. Solo work it is, then." Pietro shrugged and started to head back toward his room, already mentally preparing for the night ahead.
He'd barely taken three steps when Richard's voice stopped him cold.
"The 'Silver Lightning' nickname doesn't suit you. You should stick with Quicksilver."
Pietro's shoulders tensed. This wasn't the first time Richard had brought up the name issue, and it wasn't getting less annoying with repetition.
When Pietro and Wanda had first awakened their abilities, Richard had been quick to suggest codenames for both of them. Wanda had accepted "Scarlet Witch" without question—the name seemed to resonate with something deep inside her, as if it had always been waiting for her to claim it.
Pietro's reaction to "Quicksilver" had been entirely different. The name felt wrong somehow, like wearing clothes that didn't fit properly. During his time operating in Los Angeles, he'd deliberately chosen something else: Silver Lightning. It captured his speed, his power, and had a ring to it that felt more... him.
"I've told you before—Silver Lightning sounds better than Quicksilver," Pietro said, turning back to face Richard with barely concealed frustration. "It's more dynamic, more memorable."
"Says who? I think Quicksilver has a much better ring to it," Richard countered, finally turning away from the window to meet Pietro's gaze.
"Why are you so obsessed with me using that specific name?" Pietro's voice carried a note of genuine curiosity mixed with irritation. "Is there some kind of deeper meaning I'm missing here? Some secret significance to 'Quicksilver' that you're not telling me about?"
Richard's lips curved into a knowing smile—the kind of expression that suggested he was privy to information Pietro couldn't even begin to guess at.
"You'll understand eventually," was all Richard said.
This cryptic non-answer was becoming a familiar pattern. Every time Pietro asked about the name, Richard would deflect with vague promises about future revelations. It was maddening.
Pietro fell silent, weighing his options. He could push the issue, demand a real explanation, but experience had taught him that Richard would simply find new ways to avoid giving straight answers. The man was infuriatingly good at keeping secrets.
After nearly ten seconds of internal debate, Pietro let out a resigned sigh. "Fine. Quicksilver it is. It's just a codename anyway, right?"
Before Richard could respond, Pietro activated his super speed and vanished from the living room in a blur of motion, leaving only a brief gust of displaced air in his wake.
Alone again, Richard settled into the plush leather sofa, his mind already shifting to other matters. Specifically, he found himself thinking about Bruce Banner.
The million dollars Richard had provided had served its purpose well. Banner had successfully established himself in New York, renting a modest apartment in Brooklyn and even managing to set up his own laboratory. It wasn't exactly a state-of-the-art research facility—the equipment was mostly secondhand, purchased from universities and private labs looking to upgrade their systems—but it was functional.
Banner had been clear about his priorities from the beginning. If he'd had unlimited resources, he would have built himself a laboratory that rivaled anything at MIT or Columbia University. Unfortunately, a million dollars, while generous, had its limitations. Still, Banner seemed genuinely grateful for what he had. After years of running from General Ross, constantly looking over his shoulder and conducting research in whatever makeshift facilities he could cobble together, having a permanent base of operations felt like luxury.
There was only one thing that continued to cause Banner pain, and Richard was well aware of what it was. Betty Ross. The knowledge that she was now with Richard—that she had moved on from their relationship—was a constant source of heartache that Banner tried desperately to hide behind his scientific work.
After several minutes of consideration, Richard made his decision. It was time for another conversation with the good doctor.
Without hesitation, Richard activated his teleportation ability and vanished from the apartment.
Brooklyn
The building that housed Banner's laboratory was a testament to New York's layered history. Constructed sometime in the 1960s, it had seen better decades. The brick facade was stained with years of city grime, and several of the windows on the lower floors were boarded up. Most of the commercial spaces remained empty, victims of changing neighborhoods and economic uncertainty.
On the fifth floor, wedged between a vacant office suite and a small accounting firm that seemed to operate on sporadic hours, a simple sign read "Bruce Betty Laboratory" in modest black lettering.
Inside the lab, Banner worked with the focused intensity that had made him one of the world's leading experts on gamma radiation. He wore a standard white lab coat over casual clothes, his hands steady as he manipulated delicate instruments that had seen better days. The microscope he was using had probably been cutting-edge technology fifteen years ago. The centrifuge made concerning rattling noises that he'd learned to ignore. None of it mattered to Banner—he'd conducted groundbreaking research with far less.
The blood samples in the test tubes represented months of painstaking work. Each vial contained a different approach to neutralizing or reversing the effects of gamma radiation on human cellular structure. Banner had tried everything from traditional radiation therapy principles to experimental genetic markers, searching for the key that would unlock his return to normalcy.
Richard materialized in the laboratory as silently as a shadow, his sudden appearance causing Banner to freeze mid-motion.
"Do you need something from me?" Banner asked, setting down his pipette with deliberate care. His tone was polite but wary.
"Can't I visit without having an agenda?" Richard replied, glancing around the modest laboratory with obvious interest.
"Of course you can," Banner said, though his posture remained tense. "But as you can see, I'm in the middle of something important right now."
Richard's gaze lingered on the blood samples arranged in neat rows across the workbench. "Still working on a cure for gamma radiation exposure?"
It wasn't really a question. Even without scientific training, the nature of Banner's research was obvious from the setup.
"I refuse to accept being a monster for the rest of my life," Banner said, his voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction.
"A monster?" Richard's eyebrows rose slightly. "Have you ever considered that your ability to transform into the Hulk might actually be a gift?"
The suggestion seemed to genuinely surprise Banner. "A gift? If this is what gifts look like, I'd rather return mine to sender."
Banner's response was immediate and heartfelt. The idea that his condition could be viewed as anything positive seemed foreign to him. Yes, the transformation granted him incredible physical power—strength that could level buildings, durability that made him nearly invulnerable—but Banner had never been interested in power for its own sake. What he wanted was simple: to be normal again. To wake up without wondering if today would be the day he lost control. To have relationships without the constant fear that his other half might emerge and hurt someone he cared about.
Richard leaned against the lab bench, his expression growing more serious. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the moment you survived that gamma radiation exposure, your old life ended permanently. No matter how much research you do, no matter how many potential cures you develop, the absolute best outcome you can hope for is learning to control the transformation."
Banner's hands stilled completely. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that the most successful version of 'curing' your condition would result in you becoming a permanently enhanced individual—someone with the Hulk's physical improvements but your intellectual capabilities intact. Think of it as being a large, green, incredibly strong genius instead of your current split-personality situation."
The words hit Banner like a physical blow. His scientific mind immediately began processing the implications, running through the theoretical frameworks that would support such a conclusion. The more he thought about it, the more terrifyingly plausible Richard's prediction seemed.
"You can predict the future, can't you?" Banner asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Something like that," Richard confirmed with casual indifference.
The confirmation sent a wave of despair through Banner. If Richard could indeed see future possibilities, then arguing with his assessment would be pointless. Banner had noticed that Richard never seemed to joke about serious matters—his predictions and observations always carried weight.
After a long moment of silence, Banner forced himself to ask the obvious follow-up question. "If what you're saying is true, then how do I achieve that outcome? How do I merge with... with him?"
"The process is actually straightforward in concept," Richard explained. "You need to find a way to integrate your personality with the Hulk's consciousness. Instead of fighting for control, you need to learn to coexist and eventually merge into a single, unified identity."
Banner frowned. "That sounds more like psychology than science."
"The best solutions often require both," Richard said. "You're the scientist here—I'm just pointing you in the right direction. The specifics of how to achieve that integration? That's something you'll need to figure out yourself."