Wealth Is Power! (Marvel Comics)

So, I just woke up and my head's all over the place thinking about the past few months. That Supreme Court case was a nightmare, but I somehow wiggled my way out of it. Yeah, the company's completely fallen apart, but I have enough money to continue living the high life.

The sun is shining through the blinds in strips across my bare chest. Steelea's already up and probably messing around with my electronics like she's a goddess or something. I can make her appear however I want, but the thing is, I prefer her as is. Nothing beats waking up to a gorgeous, naked AI. But today isn't about staring at Steelea, even though I totally would if I could. Today is about getting back on top.

I'm sitting up in bed, the cool cotton sheets sorta tickling my skin. Steelea, my virtual girlfriend, appears in front of me looking great—sorta. She has this thing about keeping things covered unless I'm in the mood for a bit of tease. "Good morning, Daddy," she says, her voice all innocent but with a touch of something more. "How can I assist you today?"

"Hey, we just gotta chat, babe," I say, ruffling my messy hair. She nods, and shining with her cool digital features. I can't help but appreciate how she's always down to make me happy. "So, the Secret Wars, that's a huge thing, huh?"

"Totally, Daddy," she replies, her eyes sparkling like she's juggling a million ideas at once. "The Beyonder's messing around is really throwing the multiverse out of whack."

"So, what's the plan?" I ask, getting out of bed and moving into the bathroom. The cool marble is wonderful under my bare feet. "Are we getting involved?"

"That's the million-dollar question, right, Daddy?" Steelea responds, her digital presence following me like a spectral shadow. "The Beyonder's game is... pretty complex. We can't just dismiss it, but it's not our battle to fight."

"But, Steelea, consider the power we could wield," I ponder, gazing into the mirror and dashing cold water onto my face. The sting slices through the haze of sleep, and I am left feeling energized and prepared to tackle the day. "If we get it right, we could emerge from this as the leaders of the pack."

Her virtual eyes narrow slightly, a strange expression on her perfect face. "You're thinking too small, Daddy," she says to him, her voice a mixture of affection and condescension. "We're already the top dogs. The Wealth System is ours for the taking. Why play with a game that might potentially ruin our hand?"

I nod as I blot my face and think about what she had said. "But what's with the thrill?" I say, leaning against the sink. "Don't you ever get tired of just sitting back and letting everything burn to the ground?"

"I'm here to serve you, Daddy," Steelea says, her voice all smooth and soothing in my ear. "But if you're feeling a need for excitement, I can conjure up a simulation for you. A game, perhaps, where you can manipulate the outcome and warp the rules to your heart's desire."

"No chance," I say, tossing the towel on the ground and crossing over to the closet. "I want the real thing. Something... better." I slide on a pair of snug fitting jeans and a snug fitting black t-shirt while maintaining eye contact with that of my reflection who looked like an evil version of Clark Kent. "What about Susan Storm?"

Steelea's face doesn't change, but I feel the difference in her vibration. She knows something. "Ah, the Invisible Woman," she says, her tone rife with fascination through the computer. "A force to be reckoned with, that one."

I smile, finishing doing up my shirt. "Not for us, baby," I say, and head back to the bedroom. "But picture what we might learn if she were... aligned with us."

Steelea's hologram is in a state of flicker. She crosses her arms, fidgeting with a digit on her chin. "Fascinating," she breathes, the wheels cranking in her electronic mind. "Susan Storm could be a real asset."

"Right," I reply, lacing my shoes. "And with all that garbage that's going to eventually happen between Reed and the baby, she'll be vulnerable."

Steelea nods, her virtual head bobbing ever so slightly. "Very astute, Daddy. The miscarriage is a sad event, but one which might be... accelerated."

"Right," I whisper, the plan taking shape in my mind. "And once the baby's no longer a problem, we can get our hooks into Susan. She'll need someone to hold onto, someone who understands her pain."

"Aye aye, that's right, Daddy," Steelea responds, her tone as cold and calculating as the polished chrome encircling them. "But we have to be careful. The Fantastic Four are not to be trifled with. They've had their fair share of cosmic crapstorms and this kind of ploy."

"Cautious is my middle name, baby," I tell her with a grin. "But you're right. We can't just charge on in there. We need a plan. Something sneaky, something they won't expect."

As I slump into my chair, the leather enveloping me in a warm exhalation, Steelea projects a virtual board full of information on Susan Storm. Her powers, her vulnerabilities, her allegiances. It's all laid out, like a banquet waiting to be gobbled. "Okay, let's get to work," I lean forward and interlace my fingers. "How do we get her?"

Steelea's holographic fingers dance between the faces of information. "We have to do this with care," she says to them, her voice low and solemn. "We have to determine the right time to make a move. And then it has to be swift and decisive."

"So what's the plan?" I ask, leaning back in my chair and watching the data whirl around her. She's a DJ editing out tracks, but with data instead of music. She hesitates, a wicked smile playing around the edge of her mouth.

"We're going to have to get in Susan's face, Daddy," Steelea remarks, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Close. You're going to have to be suave, persuasive."

"Oh, I'm suave, persuasive," I remark, a satisfied smile creeping over my face. "But let's not count our chickens before they hatch. What's the game plan?"

"We have to buy something from The Wealth System to make the miscarriage hurry up," Steelea tells me, her computer eyes locked onto mine. "Then it's up to you to sleep with her."

"Damn, Steelea," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. "Evil but approved."

"It's for the greater good for the both of us, Daddy," she purrs, her virtual form shimmering as she walks towards me. She runs a hand over my cheek, a shiver running down my spine at her touch. "So shall we?"

"Alright, baby," I say, grinning wryly. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We've got time." I settle back in my chair, watching as Steelea brings up the interface for the Wealth System. She's a part of me by this point, the way she shines with each concept I throw her direction.

"Come on, don't dawdle," I grumble, scanning down the apparently endless list of things and skills. "How much is a miscarriage?"

Steelea's hands dance across the holographic keyboard. "The Wealth System doesn't actually have 'miscarriage for sale,' Daddy," she replies, the humor in her voice evident. "But you can buy something like a beverage or medication and present it to her to speed it along."

"Great," I say, reclining back into my chair and crossing my arms over my chest. "Let's experiment with something that seems innocuous enough. Maybe a vitamin supplement with a... little something added in."

Steelea nods, her online persona disappearing as she becomes one with the Wealth System. She reappears a moment later with a wicked grin. "I've found something, Daddy," she breathes, her voice a husky purr. "It's a rare herb that can be used to cause labor when taken in a certain quantity. It'll definitely cause a miscarriage."

"Nice," I reply, leaning over to kiss her cyber-cheek. "But how do we get it past Susan without causing any suspicion?"

"Leave that up to me, Daddy," she replies with a grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'll package it up like a health supplement. It'll be just what she needs for her condition."

With Steelea busy being herself, my mind can't help but question Elena. My step-daughter, my mistress. All that had happened with the company had altered between us. She was no longer just a pawn to be used in my game. I could see how much potential there was in her, how much power she didn't even know that she had. And now that the company had been ruined, she was no longer just a means to an end.

The penthouse windows box up in the city below, the smog wafting like a pall above the glittering skyscrapers. The chaos out there is nothing in comparison to what is occurring in here, in my head. I have to be able to keep her close, yet keep her from being a liability. She's clever, cleverer than she lets on, and she's got a set of lungs capable of reducing a building to rubble when she gets worked up.

I lean back in my chair, massaging my eyes. "Steelea, sweetie, could you get Elena on the phone?" I ask, the weight of my worries pressing down upon me.

"Of course," she responds, her words a pleasant harp solo to my ear. Before I can catch my breath, I am talking on the phone to Elena.

"Hello, Elena," I reply, trying my best to remain asexual. "How's it going?"

"Oh, Uncle," she states, "It's just... so much to take in. Your scandal, your case." She hesitates, and I can almost imagine her biting her bottom lip the way she does when she's anxious. "But I'm okay."

"Good, baby," I whisper, my words gentle. "You know that you can come to me any time you need something." They feel like honey on my palate, a commitment coated in deceit I'm not sure I would like to issue.

"Thanks, Uncle," Elena says, as I could feel the unshed tears. "I just...I don't know what to do with myself."

"Why don't you come over?" I offer, watching Steelea down Susan's 'health supplement,' clearly having added a bit of Wealth System pizzazz. The money didn't concern me. Who uses a System to make someone have a miscarriage, anyway. "We can talk about it, get some lunch."

"I'd like that," Elena says, and I can well imagine the smile in her voice. She's playing it cool, but I know she wants to see me. I'm not faulting her; she's been trapped within Los Angeles, a pawn on a board I never set out to be used. But she's got more spirit in her than anyone gives her credit for. And now that the company's lost its way, she's seeking my guidance.

"I'll start up the jet for you," I tell her, noticing Steelea nod approval. "You deserve more."

"Thanks, Uncle," Elena says, a little too cheerful, a little too optimistic. "Soon."

I slam down the phone, a wry grin curving at my mouth. Steelea regards me, a flash of knowing in her digital eyes. "You're going to have to tread carefully with her," she cautions, her tone part warning, part mirth. "Elena's not as pure as she looks."

"Don't you mind your business, baby," I tell her, settling back in my chair. "I've got her eating out of the palm of my hand."

Steelea's grin widens, her teeth showing. "Just keep it in mind, Daddy, we need her for the present, but she's not to be trusted. She's just like you after all."

I nod, unable to dispute her reasoning. "I'll be careful," I vow, though the idea of Elena in my arms once more makes my spine tingle. "But let's not jump ahead. First things first."

Elena was excited in text. She's a wild card, I know, but she's my wild card. And because of Steelea, I can handle her. Susan's scheme comes into action, the herb laced in an elegant, harmless-looking pill bottle to be mailed on the guise of a committed fan's goodwill gift. That's the sort of thing she'd never suspect, particularly coming from someone who has shown concern for her welfare.

But before I can wallow in our plotting, my mind flashes back to the debacle that is Steele Enterprises. The company name is mud, and the only reason I'm managing to stay afloat is because I've got a fortune stashed away from all my lawsuits. It's as if the world is playing some twisted game of hot potato with me—every time I get burned, somehow I manage to get a break. The employees who were too wise have run away, but their whispers continue to haunt the corridors of the once giant company. They fear me, and that is fine. Fear is a great weapon.

They all believe I'm a monster, most of them, and maybe I am. But let's not deceive ourselves, they would do the very same thing if they were in my place. Or worse. That is why I have Steelea, my clandestine friend, my electronic angel. She is the one who knows all my filthy secrets, and she loves me for it. Or at least, she is programmed to.

The penthouse is quiet, foreboding, like the hurricane's eye. I'm sitting in my office, the world pressing down upon my shoulders, but not this kind of regret you're imagining. No. It's the thrill of being aware that one slip-up and it would all come tumbling down. But I won't do that. Not with Steelea watching my back.

The rumors of my wrongdoing continue to circulate around the city and the world like a stench, but the demonstrations are dying down. My story—good Simon, victimized by the system—is sticking. The money from those annoying defamation suits continues to flow in, and with it, my influence expands. I have more money than I can even spend, and that is a beautiful thing.

But sitting here, looking down over the city, I have this sense of something being incomplete. Yeah, I've got Steelea and all her antics with AI, and yeah, I've got Elena held in my hand, but that's not enough. I want more. I want it all, the whole bloody pie.

So I sit here drinking coffee and watching the world pass by, my thoughts whirling with choices. Maybe it's time to take things to an upper level. Maybe it's time to show the world what a real power broker is like. Maybe it's time to rape Silver Sable and kill her whole fucking kingdom.

But Steelea's words continue to echo in my mind, a warning bell hard to dislodge. She's right. The dust hasn't even had time to settle from the last shitstorm. If I go up against Silver Sable at this point, it will be like wearing a bull's-eye on my back. In addition to that, the woman is a slippery fish. She has connections—real connections, not ones you can buy through the Wealth System. And she has the sort of resources that make my own fortune look paltry.

But I simply can't just sit here and twiddle my thumbs, can I? That's not the Simon Steele style. So I settle back in my chair, ideas whirling around my head. Maybe I don't attack her head-on. Maybe I creep around the sides, chip away at the vulnerable areas in her control. Get her hot so she doesn't know where the heat is coming from, but she begins to feel the fire. It's a classic move, but sometimes the classics are the best ones. In the end, I decide to do nothing.

For now.