Chapter 68: The Billion-Dollar Detox

Jay stared at the cracked ceiling of his secondary safe house. Morning light filtered through reinforced blinds, casting shadows that shifted and danced. The place was sparse with just a bed and basic furniture. Nothing like his apartment before everything went to hell.

His apartment. That felt like a lifetime ago. Before Doom's broadcast painted a target on his back, before the world learned their hero was also the Power Broker. Within hours, crowds had gathered- grateful patients first, then curious onlookers, then full-blown pilgrimages.

Mutants wanting their abilities removed. Desperate people seeking cures. Protesters screaming about mutant supremacy.

The only safe option for everyone was for him to move here discreetly, away from everyone else at the building.

Jay rolled out of bed, muscles protesting. Yesterday had been a marathon. Xavier and Fury forming their coalition against Hydra, absorbing Blackout's darkforce manipulation and Creel's molecular absorption abilities, getting Emma to transfer the Hellfire Club's assets, performing brain surgery on Logan with his bare hands. Finally delivering on his promise to ForgetMeNot.

He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the deformed adamantium bullet. The metal was still warm after all these hours, retaining heat from yesterday's procedure. This little fragment represented the key to his biggest weakness, physical vulnerability.

With Creel's absorption power, he could turn his entire body into living adamantium. Become truly indestructible.

The shower was scalding hot. Jay studied his reflection in the steamed mirror. The enhancement had left him with peak human physique, every muscle defined while keeping his lean build. The kind of body that belonged on magazine covers, not in hiding.

But physical perfection couldn't fill the hollow ache in his chest. The Fantastic Four had cut all connections with him after learning about his manipulations. Rogue looked at him like he was living poison.

And Domino...

Jay slammed his palm against the tile wall. The sharp crack echoed in the small bathroom, refocusing his thoughts. The sound felt like a door slamming on his old life, where people looked at him with gratitude instead of fear.

He needed to move forward. Standing still meant drowning in regrets he couldn't change.

He dried off and pulled on fresh clothes and Bobby's borrowed jacket. His sedan was still parked in Staten Island, where Fury's extraction team had airlifted him to the Fridge yesterday. Public transportation it was.

The subway ride to Manhattan gave him too much time to think. Every passenger who recognized him from the news either stared openly or pretended not to notice while fumbling for their phones. By the time he switched to a taxi for the final approach to Stark Tower, Jay's jaw ached from clenching it.

The newly constructed building stood like a gleaming middle finger pointed at the sky. Nearly a year and a half ahead of its original timeline. Jay grinned despite himself. Tony's massive ego must have been eating him alive watching Reed Richards get all the attention with the Baxter Building being declared New York's most famous tourist destination.

"That's far enough," Jay told the driver, handing over cash. The tower's front entrance buzzed with construction crews and security personnel.

The moment Jay walked through the doors, conversations stopped. Workers recognized him from news broadcasts- the notorious Power Broker, walking casually as you please into Stark Tower. Within seconds, Happy Hogan appeared like a well-dressed bulldozer, face set in professional wariness.

"Mr. Jay," Happy said, the name carrying careful neutrality. "Mr. Stark is expecting you."

The elevator ride was uncomfortably silent. Happy kept glancing at Jay like he expected him to sprout tentacles. Jay couldn't blame him; associating with known criminals wasn't great for anyone's health insurance.

"Long way up," Jay observed, watching floor numbers climb.

Happy grunted noncommittally. "Mr. Stark likes his privacy."

When the elevator doors opened, Jay stepped into Tony Stark's personal playground. The entire floor was open concept- gym flowing into a full bar, massive windows offering panoramic city views, helicopter pad visible through reinforced glass. The kind of space that screamed, 'I have more money than you could dream.'

Tony Stark stood near the gym equipment in workout gear, nursing a green smoothie that probably cost more than most people's grocery budgets. But Jay's enhanced vision immediately focused on something else- dark veins threading along Tony's neck, barely visible beneath his collar. The palladium poisoning was progressing faster than it should have been.

"Well, well," Tony said, not looking up from his smoothie. "The infamous Power Broker graces my tower." He turned, flashing that trademark Stark smirk. "I was starting to wonder if you'd developed an allergy to answering your phone."

"Welcome to my humble penthouse." Tony's eyes glittered with calculated charm. "Though I suppose when you can steal anyone's abilities, material wealth loses its appeal, doesn't it?"

Jay replied, cutting through Tony's performance. "Let's skip the small talk. We both know why I'm here."

Tony's smile faltered for just a moment.

Tony gestured dismissively at Happy. "Give us some space, Hap. This is grown-up talk."

Happy hesitated, clearly uncomfortable leaving his boss alone with someone of Jay's reputation. Eventually, he retreated to the elevator.

"The deal's simple," Jay said once they were alone. "I remove the poison from your body, you get me the meeting I want. Today."

Tony's laugh was sharp and brittle. "Poison? You wound me with such accusations." But his free hand moved unconsciously to his chest, fingers pressing against the arc reactor's glow beneath his shirt. "I'm the picture of health. Ask any of my doctors—the very expensive ones."

"Tony." Jay's voice carried the patience of someone explaining basic physics to a child. "Anyone with half a brain knows that putting a nuclear reactor full of heavy metals next to your heart would poison your body. The only question is how long you've got before it kills you."

The smoothie slipped from Tony's fingers.

[Sir] came a crisp British voice from hidden speakers, [I believe our guest has made quite an astute observation.]

Jay glanced around suspiciously, looking for cameras or visible speakers. "And you are?"

[Just A Rather Very Intelligent System, sir. Mr. Stark's AI assistant. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jay.]

"Likewise." Jay said while wondering if his world’s AI bot would have developed into JARVIS at one point.

 Jay studied Tony's face. "So, you going to keep pretending, or can we get to work?"

Tony ran a hand through his hair. "The doctors... they have given me months." His voice cracked slightly. "Maybe a year if I'm lucky. I've been working on solutions, but nothing... nothing works fast enough."

Tony walked over to a sleek diagnostic station, pressing his palm against a scanner. Numbers flickered across the display—blood toxicity levels, cellular degradation rates, projected survival timeframes. The readout showed 64% palladium saturation.

"Jesus," Tony breathed, staring at the numbers like they were his own death certificate. "It's gotten worse since last week."

"Sit down and stay calm," Jay interrupted, already moving toward him. "This is going to feel weird."

Tony settled into a nearby chair, trying to project confidence he clearly didn't feel. His hands gripped the armrests so tightly his knuckles went white. "If this is some kind of elaborate con—"

"Shut up and let me work” Jay said simply.

Jay placed both hands on Tony's arms and activated his healing aura. But with surgical precision rather than general restoration.

The sensation was immediate and uncomfortable. Jay could feel the palladium traces flowing through Tony's bloodstream like liquid metal, concentrated around the arc reactor but spreading throughout his cardiovascular system. Microscopic fragments that would eventually cause organ failure.

He could even feel tiny metal shards embedded near Tony's heart. ‘Jesus, Tony, for a genius, you really did a terrible job protecting your own body.’

Tony's breathing became rapid and shallow as Jay worked. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "What are you doing to me? I can feel... something moving inside..."

"The poison is being redirected," Jay explained, his voice tight with concentration. "This is going to hurt."

Carefully, methodically, Jay began redirecting the palladium away from vital organs. The body responded to his will, forcing the metal to flow like mercury toward Tony's extremities. Tony's left hand began to swell as the poison concentrated there, skin darkening to an alarming black.

Tony stared at his discolored hand in horror. "Oh god, oh god, what's happening to me?"

"Quit whining," Jay said grimly.

Jay grabbed an expensive-looking whiskey bottle from the nearby bar, dumping the contents onto the floor. Tony started to protest—"That's a 1947 Macallan, do you have any idea—"—but Jay ignored him. He used Creel's absorption power to transform his finger into a sharp glass blade.

The makeshift surgery was quick and brutal. Jay sliced open Tony's swollen finger, allowing the concentrated palladium to drain out like thick black sludge. The substance collected at the bottom of the empty whiskey bottle, nearly a quarter full by the time the flow stopped.

Tony watched the black liquid drain from his body with a mixture of fascination and revulsion. "Is that... is that what's been killing me?"

"For months," Jay confirmed, sealing the wound. "Slowly, but yeah."

The silence during the procedure was profound. Broken only by Tony's sharp breathing and the wet sounds of contaminated blood dripping into glass.

When it was finished, Jay sealed the incision with healing energy, leaving no trace of scarring. Tony immediately moved to the diagnostic station, pressing his palm against the scanner with trembling fingers.

The display updated: 5% palladium saturation.

"JARVIS," Tony called out, voice shaking slightly, "confirm these readings."

[All diagnostics indicate significant improvement, sir. Your cardiovascular stress indicators have dropped to levels not seen since before the arc reactor implantation. I'm detecting traces of an unknown energy signature that appears to accelerate your body's natural healing processes. However, I must note that this level of palladium extraction should be medically impossible without extensive surgical intervention.]

Tony stared at the diagnosis, his eyes bright with unshed tears. " Is this real..." he whispered. "This…. this is real"

"That's all I can do," Jay said, wiping black residue from his hands with a bar towel. "If you keep using that arc reactor, the palladium will just build up again. You need a permanent solution."

Tony said suddenly, his voice thick with emotion. "Anything, Money, resources, whatever you want. I'll pay you billions to be my personal physician. Regular detox treatments. Name your price."

Jay shook his head. "I don't need money. And I can't be on call for your whims." He paused. "But I'll tell you this—Reed Richards has what you need. Let the two smartest men on Earth figure it out together."

Tony's gratitude instantly soured into familiar wounded pride. "Richards? You think I need that pompous, stretchy bastard to solve my problems?"

"I think your ego is going to blind you to obvious solutions," Jay replied bluntly. "Don't let pride kill you, Stark. You just got your life back—don't throw it away because Reed's initials come before yours in the alphabet."

Tony was quiet for a long moment. He stared at his healed hand. When he looked up, something had shifted in his expression—the desperate gratitude replaced by calculating respect. "You're right. Screw my ego." He turned toward the ceiling. "JARVIS, prep the jet. And... get me Reed Richards' contact information."

[Already done, sir], the AI replied with what almost sounded like satisfaction.

"Thank you," Tony said quietly. The words carried more weight for the genius than any amount of money could.

Jay nodded. ‘Funny. The world’s richest man, and those two words might’ve been the most valuable thing he’s ever given out.’