Chapter 16: The Island and the Inventor
"Optimus Prime, take us home," Talon commanded, settling into the pilot's seat beside a wide-eyed Helen Cho.
"Acknowledged, My Lord."
The aircraft, sleek and silent, lifted vertically from the rooftop. Its advanced stealth systems engaged, rendering it a shimmering mirage against the Seoul skyline before it shot away, leaving the U-GIN facility behind without a whisper.
Ten minutes later, they touched down on the private island. Helen emerged from the craft, her initial apprehension replaced by sheer delight. The villa, the pristine beaches, the lush greenery—it was a paradise. She ran across the grounds, her laughter echoing, exploring the villa like a child in a wondrous new world.
Talon let her be. Let her have this moment of joy. It would make the transition easier.
After two hours of exploration, Helen returned to the villa, her face flushed with exertion and happiness. "This is all your fault," she said, though her tone was playful. She gestured to her sweat-dampened clothes. "I didn't bring a single change of clothes. What am I supposed to wear?"
Talon smiled. She was already relaxing. "Take a shower. You can wear my pajamas for now. I'll have Optimus Prime procure a wardrobe for you immediately. Your new clothes will be here by the time you're finished."
"Well then, I'll go wash up first," she agreed sweetly, the earlier tension completely gone. The island's charm and his seemingly benign authority were doing their work.
Once she was in the bathroom, Talon issued the order. "Optimus Prime, dispatch a suit. Have it assume a humanoid configuration, enter the city, and acquire a full range of women's apparel and toiletries. High quality."
"Complying."
A section of the villa's roof slid open, and a single Iron Man suit, its movements now subtly altered to seem less robotic, shot into the sky.
As predicted, Helen lingered in the shower. By the time the suit returned, laden with shopping bags, she was still enjoying the steam.
Thirty minutes later, she emerged wrapped in his too-large pajamas, her hair wrapped in a towel. Her skin was flushed, her features soft and clean. She was a vision of natural beauty.
"Are my clothes here?" she asked.
"In your room," Talon replied, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. "Optimus Prime, escort Dr. Cho to her quarters."
A small, non-threatening service robot whirred to life and led a curious Helen away.
She returned transformed. Her hair was down, framing her face. She wore a simple white blouse and fitted jeans, the casual clothes highlighting her youthful elegance. She looked vibrant and utterly captivating.
"You look... stunning," Talon said, the compliment slipping out, genuine and uncalculated.
A delicate blush colored Helen's cheeks. "Thank you," she murmured, looking down shyly.
"You must be hungry. Please, sit. Optimus Prime has prepared dinner." He guided her to the table, his manner now that of a gracious host.
He poured her a glass of a deep red, vintage wine. "A '45 Bordeaux. Try it."
He served her a delicate piece of mushroom. "Wild matsutake. Exquisite."
"A king crab, caught fresh from our waters by Optimus Prime himself."
"The pigeon, roasted with..."
He was overwhelmingly attentive. Helen, a woman whose world had consisted almost entirely of her research, was unaccustomed to such focused attention. She had no close friends, no romantic history. This onslaught of charm and luxury left her flustered, her heart fluttering with a confusing mix of nervousness, excitement, and a faint, thrilling fear.
Had this been Natasha, Talon would never have bothered with such courtship. But Helen Cho was different—brilliant, beautiful, and possessing a purity that was rare in his new, brutal world. She was a prize worth winning, a potential partner, not just a tool.
After a flustered meal, Helen made a hasty retreat, unable to withstand the intensity of his focus.
Talon watched her go, a confident smirk on his lips. You'll adjust.
Putting romance aside for the moment, he turned his formidable intellect to the problems of nanotechnology and the regenerative cradle, organizing his knowledge from the films into a workable theoretical framework. He could develop it himself, but it would take time—a luxury he was unwilling to spend. He had other technologies to pursue. Helen was his accelerator.
The next morning, after breakfast, he led her to the underground laboratory.
"Dr. Cho, this will be your workspace. Anything you need, ask Optimus Prime. He will provide it."
"Thank you," she said, her eyes already alight with the possibilities of the advanced lab.
"I have to leave for a while. You'll be alone on the island. Will you be alright?"
"Perfectly," she assured him, a sincere smile on her face. "As long as I have a laboratory, I will never be lonely."
"Excellent." Talon was genuinely pleased. She was perfect: brilliant, tractable, and content. In a less dangerous world, a life here with her would be idyllic. But this was the Marvel universe, and idylls were fleeting.
With a final, lingering look, he boarded the Transformer and departed, the massive machine shrinking to a speck on the horizon.
His next target was Hank Pym.
Pym Particles. The ability to alter the size and mass of any object. With them, his Transformers could shift from microscopic to colossal. But more importantly, they could solve the problem of scarce resources. A single gram of vibranium could be enlarged into a mountain. The potential was limitless.
The Transformer, now in its heavy truck form, rumbled through the streets of San Francisco, coming to a halt with a squeal of tires before a towering skyscraper emblazoned with the name: PYM TECHNOLOGIES.
Talon stepped out. "Optimus Prime, find parking."
He strode into the sleek lobby, approaching the receptionist with an air of unshakable authority.
"Hello. I'm here to see Hank Pym."
"Do you have an appointment, sir?" the receptionist asked politely.
"No. But inform him that a representative of S.H.I.E.L.D. is here. He will see me." The S.H.I.E.L.D. credential was a key that opened many doors. He would use it until it no longer served his purpose. Let Fury fume later. The ends justified the means.