Pepper stared at the glowing device embedded in Tony's chest, her face pale with sudden understanding. "You're using that thing to stay alive? That's what's keeping you from dying?"
Tony held up the new arc reactor, its sleek design a marked improvement over the crude original. "Yes, but this current model is an antique. I want to upgrade to this newer version for the foreseeable future."
"Problem is, I tried replacing it myself and ran into complications."
Pepper's voice rose with concern. "Complications? What kind of complications?"
Tony examined the device in his palm, turning it over as though discussing a minor mechanical issue rather than life-sustaining technology. "Nothing serious. Just a small technical problem."
He reached up and began disconnecting the old reactor from his chest housing. "There's an exposed wire that's making contact with the socket casing. Minor short circuit risk, but manageable."
With a sharp intake of breath, "Hiss! Okay, that's unpleasant", Tony extracted the old reactor completely and handed it to Pepper.
She took it reflexively, her hands trembling slightly. "What... what should I do with this?"
Tony waved dismissively. "Set it on the table over there. That one's obsolete anyway."
Pepper turned and placed the reactor on the nearby workbench with exaggerated care, as though handling a live grenade. "Oh my God, Tony..."
"Now," Tony continued, gesturing to the cavity in his chest, "I need you to reach inside and gently extract the electromagnet wire. Very carefully, don't let it touch the housing."
Pepper spun back around, her eyes wide. "Reach inside? Tony, is that safe?"
Tony closed his eyes, his voice taking on forced casualness. "In theory, yes. It's basically minor surgery. Just a simple extraction procedure."
"As long as you keep the wire away from the socket edges, there's minimal shock risk."
"Minimal shock risk?" Pepper's voice cracked slightly. "What constitutes 'minor surgery' in your world?"
"Think of it as a game," Tony said, trying for reassuring and landing somewhere near desperate. "Don't overthink it. Just reach in carefully, grasp the wire, and pull it out. Simple."
Pepper swallowed hard. "Okay."
She leaned forward, extended one hand toward the opening in his chest, then immediately jerked back. "I can't do this. I really can't."
Tony opened his eyes and met her gaze directly, his voice dropping to something genuinely vulnerable. "Yes, you can. You're the most capable person I know. The person I trust most in the world."
He paused for emphasis. "I need your help, Pepper. You're the only one who can do this. I'm not asking for anything unreasonable here, I just, "
"Okay, okay!" Pepper interrupted, her resolve solidifying. "I'll do it."
Tony's expression softened with relief and trust. "Thank you. I really do need you."
Pepper took a deep breath, steeling herself, then slowly inserted her hand into the chest cavity. Her fingers encountered warm liquid immediately, and she recoiled slightly. "Oh God, there's pus! Tony, why is there pus?!"
"That's not pus," Tony corrected quickly. "It's inorganic plasma discharge from the mechanism. Completely sterile. Not pus."
"It smells awful!"
"Yes, there's a smell. Industrial lubricants mixed with biological fluids. Do you feel the copper wire?"
Pepper's fingers explored cautiously. "Okay... okay, I've got it. I'm holding the wire."
"Perfect. Now pull it out slowly, and whatever you do, don't let it touch the outer shell."
Despite the warning, Pepper's hand brushed the casing during extraction, causing Tony to jerk and hiss in pain. But after several tense seconds of careful maneuvering, she successfully removed the old electromagnet assembly and helped Tony install the new arc reactor. The process required two complete stops when Tony's vitals spiked dangerously, each pause accompanied by gasped instructions and Pepper's barely controlled panic.
Finally, the new reactor clicked into place and began humming with stable power.
Pepper extracted her hand, now covered in plasma solution and other unidentifiable fluids, and held it away from her body with visible disgust. "Never, ever, EVER ask me to do that again."
Tony looked at her with genuine affection, his voice soft despite his characteristic deflection. "But... you're the only one I'd trust for something like this."
They held eye contact for several seconds, the moment stretching into something meaningful before Tony broke the tension with an exaggerated grimace, his face contorting comically.
"Anyway, thank you. For this, and for getting Smith Doyle to rescue me from Afghanistan."
He added with forced bravado, "I'm confident I could have escaped on my own eventually, but... thank you."
Pepper turned away, muttering something uncomplimentary about men and their egos. Her eyes landed on the old arc reactor sitting on the workbench. "What should we do with this?"
Tony was already buttoning his shirt, his attention shifting to the next project. "Destroy it. Trash it."
Pepper picked up the device carefully, studying its scarred surface, the thing that had kept him alive through captivity and torture. "You don't want to keep it? As a reminder or something?"
Tony turned to face his robotic arm assistant, already moving past the emotional moment. "Pepper, I have many character flaws. One of them is that I get bored with old technology very quickly."
The dismissive comment stung more than Pepper wanted to admit. Her voice turned professional and cool. "Will there be anything else, Mr. Stark?"
"No, Miss Potts."
As Pepper headed for the stairs, Tony addressed his mechanical assistant. "Dummy, what's the point of keeping all this junk? Except for my phone and that photo of my dad, throw everything else away. All of it."
Pepper left the workshop still holding the old reactor, despite Tony's instructions. Some things deserved preservation, even if their creator couldn't see their value.
At the Fraternity headquarters, John Wick delivered his status report to Smith in the main conference room. Since the Hand's destruction, John had been assisting Fox with managing the Assassin's Brotherhood facilities and coordinating the thousands of registered assassins now operating under their banner.
"Chief, with confirmation of the Five Fingers' deaths, Tokyo's underground factions have launched a full offensive against remaining Hand positions," John reported, his delivery precise and professional. "Complete elimination is projected within forty-eight hours."
"Shimazu Koji personally led the assault with substantial assassin support. Sophia arrived from Casablanca with her team to hunt down Hand remnants in New York."
He paused, his typically stoic expression showing a flicker of uncertainty. "However, multiple assassins have reported interference from a masked individual operating in Hell's Kitchen. He's actively attempting to prevent them from eliminating Hand operatives."
Smith's eyebrows rose. Someone was protecting the Hand's survivors? "Masked individual? Do we have identification?"
John's poker face cracked slightly, revealing what might have been embarrassment. "Local criminal elements refer to him as 'Daredevil.'"
Smith laughed outright, the sound genuine and surprised. No wonder John looked uncomfortable reporting this.
"Daredevil. Of course it is."
His amusement faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by analytical assessment. "Has he managed to actually stop any, or is he just interfering?"
Matthew Michael Murdock, Daredevil. Blind lawyer by day, costumed vigilante by night. Student of Stick, the True Pure Society's master. Defender of Hell's Kitchen. And adherent to a strict no-kill code that Smith found fundamentally incomprehensible.
Daredevil fought for justice, certainly. He punished criminals and protected innocents. By most definitions, he was a hero. But his philosophy, his absolute refusal to kill under any circumstances, represented everything Smith rejected about half-measure justice.
In Smith's worldview, some criminals forfeited their right to life through their actions. Mass murderers, serial killers, drug kingpins who destroyed thousands of lives for profit, these weren't candidates for rehabilitation. They were problems requiring permanent solutions.
Petty criminals, desperate people pushed to theft by circumstance, those could be reformed. The system could work for them. But for those who murdered, trafficked humans, poisoned communities with drugs? The only appropriate response was elimination.
Daredevil's approach, beat them up, turn them over to authorities, hope the justice system functioned properly, was worse than useless. It was active harm. Evidence requirements let guilty parties walk free on technicalities. Prison sentences eventually ended, releasing unrepentant monsters back into society. Escape attempts succeeded more often than authorities admitted.
The cycle perpetuated itself endlessly.
The Fraternity operated on a simpler principle: Forgiveness was God's business. Their job was arranging the introduction.