Chapter 351

In S. . . . . .'s office, Nick had just lifted his coffee cup and taken a sip when Natasha walked in holding a file, glancing down at it as she spoke: "Director, there are still 26 items pending confirmation today, and several more piled up from yesterday…"

"Alright, I know. Put it down. I'll get to it as soon as possible."

As Natasha turned to leave, her phone rang. She answered: "Hello? … Oh, yes, but he's busy right now. Okay, I'll pass it along."

"Director, it's Stark. He asked me to ask if you're free this afternoon—he wants you to come to Stark Lab to see the results of their joint materials research with Wakanda. They've produced a sample…"

"Schedule it for 5 p. . today."

"Director!" Coulson entered, waved at Natasha, then walked up to Nick: "Professor Arkham—I mean, Professor Rodriguez—just called to ask if you're free for lunch. He'd like to invite you to eat and discuss his plans…"

"Lunch? I'm afraid I can't spare lunch. Let's make it 2 p. ."

"Wait." Natasha turned back, picked up the file again: "No, Director, don't you remember? At 3 p. . you're meeting the Director of S. . . . . . an hour isn't enough to get there…"

Nick was still thinking when Steve pushed the door open: "The Superhero Team Initiative is down to its final step. Oh, you're here too, Nick—mind if we talk privately?"

At that moment, a portal crackled open in midair. Strange stuck his head out, looking down at Nick on the floor. Nick looked up at him. Strange said: "Come with me quickly—Loki wants to talk to you about establishing diplomatic relations with Asgard. It's a major matter…"

Before he could pull his head back, another head emerged from the portal—it was Wanda. She brushed back her red hair and said: "Are you the S. . . . . . Director? Professor Xavier wants to speak with you…"

Before he finished, another head popped out: Venom opened his mouth, revealing a full set of sharp teeth as if ready to bite off Nick's head. He snapped impatiently: "Your mom wants you—go now! About that Blue Spirit business!"

Nick covered his forehead: "Why do you all come one by one? Why not gather in one place and settle everything at once?"

At that moment, two hands reached out from the portal and shoved all three heads down. Shiler stuck his head out: "Good question. I was just about to discuss this plan with you. Don't you think it's time we formed a dedicated organization?"

Two hours later, in the reception room of Arkham Sanatorium, Nick poured a bit of wine into his glass from a bottle on the table. Strange leaned back in a single armchair, dozing.

Stark held a blueprint, making perfect use of his spare time. Shiler continued writing his patient records. Loki stood by the window, unbraiding the braid Frigga had woven for her.

When Charles entered, he saw this scene and said: "Sorry I'm late—I'm not very mobile…"

He motioned for Quicksilver, who pushed his wheelchair, to leave. Stark, seeing everyone was present, spoke: "Honestly, we should've handled this sooner. Why not just form an organization right away? Now it's still a mess, and efficiency is abysmal."

Nick shook his head: "It's not that simple. Look at the people sitting here—if we unite, many won't sleep a wink."

"But if we don't unite, I won't sleep either." Strange covered his eyes, looking exhausted. "I'm already swamped managing Kamar-Taj and the Sanctum Sanctorum. Our one-way communications eat up all my free time."

"Who isn't?" Stark sneered. "I spend hours every day on this ridiculously inefficient communication network—it's pure garbage."

"Alright, suppose we're forming an organization now to handle all this chaos—interdimensional wars, interstellar diplomacy—what should we call it?" Strange asked.

"I think it should be called Light…" Stark hadn't finished when Shiler cut him off: "How about the Luminous Alliance?"

"But—"

"No buts. Forget that unlucky name."

Nick stared at him, puzzled: "Last time we discussed what to name the Superhero Team, you rejected my suggestion outright and called it unlucky. Why is it unlucky?"

"Don't ask. If I could have one power in this organization, it'd be naming rights. I'm democratic too—if you hate 'Luminous Alliance,' pick another. Just not the one in your heads."

"Whatever," Strange shrugged. "Names are the least important thing. The Sanctum Sanctorum is called that, but now it's a customer service center. Kamar-Taj is called Kamar-Taj, but now it's a comprehensive magical technology institute…"

"You might as well call it the 'Immoral Alliance,'" Stark said bluntly. Shiler shook his head: "Don't say that. Professor Xavier is very solid on ethics."

"The Demon Warrior God"

"Exactly. Without him, your moral bottom line would be endless."

"Alright, names are just labels. Let's focus on something real. Most importantly—where should we locate the base? How do we build the communication network? How do we maximize efficiency?"

At that moment, Shiler cleared his throat. Everyone turned to him. Seeing his expression, Stark suddenly felt a bad premonition. Sure enough, Shiler spoke: "Do any of you know what the Mind Palace Theory is?"

Half an hour later, Nick rubbed his temples: "How many years has it been since I last sat through a lecture? I feel like my brain is now a lake of sludge."

"I understand the principle you explained—but how does this relate to building our base? … Wait, you're not seriously suggesting we build the base inside a dream, are you?" Stark looked at Shiler.

"That's the most efficient method," Shiler explained. "During the day, everyone's busy: Nick runs S. . . . . ., Tony conducts research, Strange manages the Sanctum, Loki returns to Asgard for house arrest, Professor Charles oversees the mutant school, and I run the sanatorium."

"So why not use our nights? A single dream could solve all these problems. If I had such a thing in my job, I'd wake up laughing from my dreams."

Stark raised one finger: "First—how do we link our dreams together?"

Charles glanced at Shiler and said: "To you, the mental space may seem unreal, dreams mere illusions—but in truth, they are not."

"If you insist on a scientific explanation: brainwaves are real. Therefore, mental space exists too. If we can link brainwaves, we achieve true telepathic connection."

"Perhaps you've heard of my abilities—I use brainwaves to connect directly into others' minds."

"When your brainwaves all connect to mine, they're also connected to each other. That way, we can achieve shared consciousness—appearing together in the same dream."

"A few days ago, Professor Charles and I developed a prototype—a dream-based base with all necessary functions. We can test it first, then adjust," Shiler said, showing he had prepared in advance.

Charles looked at their expressions: "I can assure you—this dream will only reveal what you choose to reveal."

Charles's expression remained gentle, but his next words sent a chill through them: "If I truly wished to use my power for something, no one in front of me would have secrets."

Charles had never revealed the full extent of his abilities. No one knew how far he could go. Compared to magnetism, telepathy was a subtler force—less dazzling, yet far more deadly.

Loki asked: "I'm not human. Can you still—"

Charles smiled: "Sentient life—equal for all."

Everyone stared at Charles's face. His features were aged, his gaze still kind, showing no hint of aggression. Yet they all sensed in him a power rivaling Magneto's.

"Wait—if you can link minds, does that mean you can form a mental network? And if so, could you build a supercomputer made of human brains?"

As Stark's eyes brightened, Charles said calmly: "Theoretically, I could link every human brain. Such a mental network would far surpass any supercomputer. But I cannot do it."

"Humans aren't computers. Their brains contain emotional modules. If we use them for computation, we risk disrupting their emotions—or drastically compressing their emotional capacity. That would strip them of their humanity."

Stark sighed: "Yeah, that's a real problem."

"Professor Charles and I have been researching similar concepts. We'll inform you the moment we have results. But tonight, let's first try—see if you can enter the dream base."

That night, Stark was busy in his lab. Peter organized the papers on the desk and said: "Mr. Stark, I'm heading home. If I stay any later, my aunt will worry."

"Go ahead," Stark said, glancing outside. It was already late, but he had no desire to rest—he only wanted to finish this project.

As he stared intently at a model, a wave of drowsiness washed over him. His vision blurred. He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed his temples, trying to wake up.

His breathing slowed. He struggled to catch air. He sat down in a chair. Two seconds later, he collapsed onto the lab table.

Peter, returning to retrieve something he'd forgotten, walked back into the lab and saw Stark slumped over the table. He leaned close—Stark's chest rose and fell steadily. He was asleep.

As Peter turned to leave, a voice said: "Turn off the lights."

Peter assumed it was Stark. He walked to the wall and switched off the lights. But as he stepped out, he realized—the voice didn't sound like Stark's. And it hadn't been spoken aloud—it had echoed inside his mind.

He used his spider-sense. Nothing unusual. He shrugged it off—Stark must've been exhausted, altered his voice. He didn't think more of it.

Meanwhile, Stark found himself in a vast white space. He took two steps forward—and before him appeared a beach. Waves lapped gently, soothing. At the shore stood an ancient manor, its end crowned by a lighthouse.

As the lighthouse beam swept over him, Stark instinctively squinted. When he opened his eyes again, he stood inside a room. Shiler rose from the sofa before the fireplace and said:

"You're finally here."