The Savior of American Comics? I'm the Subspace Evil God!

Chapters 520, 956, and 957: Tony wants to integrate 'himself' into [Ultron]?
“Okay, Tony, you definitely know more about this than I do.”

Bruce Banner looked at Tony Stark's arrogant expression, which seemed to say, "I've seen it all before," and finally shrugged helplessly, conceding defeat.

"I must say, you always have a way of persuading me, or rather... dragging me into it."

He stepped in front of the 3D holographic projection of [Ultron], adjusted his glasses, and his gaze gradually became focused. "But let me make it clear beforehand, this time I will only provide you with pure technical support, responsible for algorithm optimization and checking for logical vulnerabilities."

"As for any trouble or controversy that may arise later, or any unknown 'accidents,' they are all irrelevant to me... After all, I am just a 'temporary worker.'"

"No problem, absolutely no problem."

Tony Stark immediately patted his chest and guaranteed, his face beaming with joy, "If anything goes wrong, I'll take full responsibility... But Banner, I must remind you, we only have three days at most."

He slowly extended three fingers, his tone becoming urgent and excited: "Because someone in the PPDC organization will soon realize that Ultron is missing, so we must race against time to finish it."

"And three days from now, I plan to host a grand party here, and I will invite all the big names in the scientific community, the media, the entertainment industry...."

"When the time comes, I'm going to give that guy Reed Richards a huge 'surprise,' so that he, and everyone else, will open their eyes wide and see clearly who the 'smartest man' in the world really is!!"

Tony Stark's eyes gleamed with intense competitiveness and a desire to perform.

But that's normal. With his arrogant and attention-seeking personality, how could he possibly be completely indifferent to a cool title like "the smartest man in the world" that he can show off?
Upon hearing this, Bruce Banner's facial muscles twitched slightly, and his expression became extremely strange.

He silently thought to himself: Good grief, after all this time, this last sentence is your real purpose and core driving force, isn't it?!
I was almost moved by your lofty ideal of 'putting armor on the earth'.

Tony Stark, you really are still that eternally immature, show-offy, and arrogant super genius jerk!

"Cough cough..."

Tony Stark clearly noticed the strange expression on Bruce Banner's face, and coughed awkwardly, trying to steer the conversation back on track to conceal his true motives.

"Oh, right, Banner, I did some small 'preparations' before you arrived..."

He then used his phone to bring up an extremely complex, detailed 3D brain scan, down to the neuron level, and displayed it on the large screen in the studio.

"I scanned my cerebral cortex activity and neural circuit connection patterns with the highest precision and created this data model."

Bruce Banner's expression changed instantly upon seeing this, and his voice rose eight octaves: "Hey, Tony, you wouldn't be... thinking of incorporating this into Ultron's underlying personality structure, would you?!"

"Are you...are you crazy?"

"What's wrong, Banner? Is there a problem?" Tony Stark retorted immediately, looking completely at ease, even with a hint of smugness.

"If Ultron can inherit my genius-level creativity, strategic thinking, sense of humor, and... well, impeccable aesthetics, then its future potential and the heights it can reach will definitely easily surpass the current Jarvis. It might even become a groundbreaking, truly 'interesting soul' super AI artificial intelligence system!!"

No, are you sure there aren't any personality flaws like 'showing off,' 'bragging,' 'arrogance and conceit' among them?
Bruce Banner, looking at the 'praise me for being smart' expression on Tony Stark's face, almost had a black line appear on his forehead. He sighed and rubbed his forehead:

“Uh, Tony, to be honest, I personally still think this is definitely not a good idea.”

“Your ‘personality’ contains too many… well, those unpredictable and high-risk uncontrollable factors, such as your impulsiveness, your arrogance, your desire to perform, and your domineering tendency to disregard rules…”

"I believe these 'traits' could be extremely fatal 'personality' flaws for a super artificial intelligence, especially one designed to protect the world in the future!!"

“Hey, Banner, I didn’t expect you to be this kind of person?” Tony Stark protested, his face hardening. “You’re not just jealous of my amazing talent, are you?”

Although he was sharp-tongued, a hint of guilt flashed deep in his eyes, a result of being caught out.

However, in order to alleviate the lingering anxiety he had after sending the H-bomb into space during the Battle of New York, he finally decided to give it a try.

Bruce Banner knew that no matter how much he tried to persuade him, it would be in vain, so he nodded silently, preparing to finish quickly and go back to continue his 'jail'.

Soon, the two scientists, who stood at the pinnacle of human intelligence, became completely immersed in their work.

They worked tirelessly around the huge, constantly flashing blue 'electronic brain' 3D holographic projection.

Lines of code constantly refreshing on the computer screen, complex 3D model construction, repeated simulation tests and failures...

The only sounds in the studio were the clatter of keyboards, the faint hum of the holographic equipment, and the two men's algorithmic debates, which were sometimes excited, sometimes frustrated, and sometimes so intense they were on the verge of exploding.

As New York City gradually falls asleep in the night outside the window, the battle on the top floor of Stark Tower continues.

A clash of intellects, capable of altering the fate of the world or plunging it into unknown destruction, is burning fiercely and bursting with passion in the silent night!

Tony Stark and Bruce Banner struggle to find the perilous path to 'success' in a seemingly impossible and complex digital maze.

Time passed, second by second...

…………

……

Two days later.

The night was like thick ink, splashed across the skyline of Washington, D.C.

A high-rise apartment building.

The dazzling neon lights and traffic flowed past beneath his feet, but they could not illuminate the deep darkness that shrouded Steker Pantecost's heart.

He dragged his weary body, numb nerves, and legs that felt as heavy as lead, back to his residence like a walking corpse, and opened the apartment door.

They didn't even bother to take off their expensive custom-made leather shoes, leaving a trail of crooked, muddy marks on the spotless floor.

The crisp general's uniform of the PPDC organization that he wore, which represented his life's glory and responsibility, now felt like a heavy shackle, making it almost impossible for him to breathe.

Steker Pantecost walked straight into the lavishly decorated but cold and lifeless living room. Thump—

Strick Pantecost, utterly dejected, practically collapsed into the expensive Italian leather sofa.

The expensive leather groaned dully, as if it too was bearing its unbearable weight.

silence--

A deathly silence enveloped the spacious living room, broken only by the faint hum of the distant city outside the window and his own heavy, disordered breathing, trembling with despair.

Just half an hour earlier, he had attended an important press conference meticulously planned by the Security Council regarding the 'disbandment' of the PPDC organization.

A "farewell performance" that brought his career, and indeed his entire life, to a shameful end.

The flashes of light were like cold blades, repeatedly cutting into his dignity.

The reporters' sharp and cutting questions were like poison needles piercing his already fragile heart, riddled with wounds.

He, on the other hand, could only follow the script prepared by those high-ranking figures, expressionless, word by word, taking all the blame for the 'failure' of the PPDC organization, the 'mistakes' in command of the Pacific campaign, the 'waste' of huge resources, and so on... all the dirty, heavy burdens that should not have been borne by him alone, onto his thin but still straight spine.

He clearly saw the relieved satisfaction hidden beneath the "painful" expressions of the high-ranking members of the Security Council below the stage.

Thus, he became the perfect scapegoat, using his life's reputation and future to temporarily quell the anger of the critics and save face for those hypocritical high-ranking officials!

Finally, the press conference came to a successful conclusion.

His professional career ended with this press conference.

"Uh... Ahh..."

A suppressed whimper, like that of a wounded wild beast, finally broke through the tightly clenched teeth.

Strick Pantecost, the iron-blooded general who had never flinched before the giant sea monster, now resembled a child abandoned by the world. He pressed his hands tightly against his throbbing temples, curled up on the sofa, and began to tremble uncontrollably.

A man doesn't easily shed tears, unless he's truly heartbroken!
Hot, humiliating tears finally broke through the last dam, gushing from his sunken eye sockets, soaking his fingertips, and dripping onto his cold uniform.

He sobbed silently, his shoulders heaving violently.

I'm not reconciled! I feel resentful about my situation!
The PPDC organization he gave everything for, the Titan Hunter mech he cherished as his life, the countless days and nights of his hard work… all he got in return was heartless abandonment and utter rejection?!

Unfair! I feel the Security Council's decision is unfair!

Those politicians who hold positions without doing their jobs can simply use their words to erase all his and the PPDC organization's achievements and shift all the blame onto him alone!
It's heartbreaking! I feel so sad to see those Titan Hunter mechs go!
He knew that once he fell, the fate of those masterpieces of wisdom, which combined the highest human technology with the biological characteristics of the Titans, would be fraught with peril!
Outraged! Outraged by Nick Fury's 'backstabbing'!
That one-eyed bastard, while outwardly offering support, has secretly been coveting control of the PPDC organization and those Titan Hunter mechs.

Instead of offering a helping hand during his most difficult time, they kicked him while he was down and pressed him relentlessly!
It was precisely because of their betrayal that the PPDC organization was quickly destroyed...

A myriad of emotions, like ferocious beasts, relentlessly gnawed at his shattered heart.

A deep-seated sense of desolation and powerlessness, like an icy tide, completely overwhelmed him.

He knew that, throughout history, the victor is king and the loser is villain.

No matter how much he roared and struggled inside, the mark of a "loser" on him could not be erased.

His era... has ended!!
Just as this suffocating sorrow and despair, like a thick fog, filled the entire room—

In the shadows of the opposite wall, in the corner beneath the huge abstract oil painting, the 'darkness' seemed to twitch without warning.

Immediately afterwards, a tall figure emerged silently from the dark corner like a ghost and pounced on Steker Pantecost on the opposite sofa.

It wasn't until he felt a shadow loom over him, and a sudden, chilling sense of oppression descend upon him, that Steker Pantecost belatedly awoke from his self-indulgent grief.

"Uh?!"

He looked up in terror, his vision blurred by tears, and saw only the silhouette of a tall man standing before him, his back to the faint moonlight streaming in through the window, like the Grim Reaper.

Swah——

The next second, a cold, hard metal hand, with lightning speed, suddenly grabbed the front of Stark Pantecost's uniform.

Click!

The faint sound of the top button of the uniform popping off was particularly jarring in the deathly silent room.

"Ugh, who...who are you?!"

Steker Pantecost screamed in terror and struggled in vain.

But the power contained in that mechanical left arm with a large red star on its shoulder far exceeds the limits of human capability.

With ease, they lifted him up from the deep sofa like a chick, his feet instantly leaving the ground!

A powerful sense of suffocation overwhelmed him, forcing Steker Pantecost to confront his attacker face-to-face.

With the faint light coming in from the window, he was finally able to see the other person's appearance clearly.

She had short, slightly messy, brown hair that reached her shoulders.

His face was covered by a black special operations mask that concealed his mouth and nose, leaving only his eyes exposed—light blue pupils, cold, sharp, and empty, like a hawk hunting for food in the permafrost of Siberia, devoid of any human emotion, only pure, command-driven ruthlessness.

The other person was wearing a dark special forces combat uniform without any markings, covered in various tactical accessories and weapons. He exuded the sharpness of a battle-hardened veteran and a chillingly cold aura like a killing machine...

(End of this chapter)