What kind of existence are you Chaldeans?

Tony Stark demanded as he examined the sleek virtual gaming helmet in his hand. "Although the interface language is originally Japanese, I can guarantee there's no organization or scientist in Japan capable of creating a finished product like this. This isn't just a prototype—it's a market-ready device."

Tony's tone was laced with disbelief. The helmet, along with the enigmatic Mirage mecha's energy source, didn't appear to be a product of this world at all. It was as if its very design transcended the known limits of technology on Earth.

Nate Locke, standing calmly beside Tony in his lavish laboratory, replied, "I told you, most of the time we're just observing—observing multiple worlds. But sometimes, when a bad future looms, we must step in and interfere directly. Look at this device, Tony. You and I both know it will change your world. My role now is to ensure that change steers in a positive direction."

Tony's eyes softened as he nodded. "I agree," he said, his deep voice resonating with conviction. "People like us, who have the power to change the world, have the responsibility to ensure that our changes improve it rather than plunge it into chaos."

Tony's recent decisions had reflected that belief. Although he'd once been in the business of manufacturing cutting-edge weapons, his outlook had shifted dramatically. He had even shut down the weapons production division at Stark Industries, convinced that he could no longer guarantee that his armaments would help make the world a better place. Now, with his focus shifting toward defense and innovation, he was ready for a new beginning.

Nate then sat down beside Tony at a sleek conference table. "Alright, let's set everything aside. Now, it's time to cut the cake." Nate grinned as he broke the ice. "Tell me, Tony—how many shares would you like in my new company?"

Tony chuckled, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I think 10% should suffice," he replied. "Even though you have a finished product, no one except me can crack the technology quickly. If you calculate according to its future potential, my initial investment is trivial. Ten percent in technical support and operational production sounds fair."

Tony's statement carried an edge of irony: he was valuing a technology that was almost impossible to assess in venture capital terms. Beyond the numbers, the mysterious aura of the Chaldeans—Nate's enigmatic organization—added another layer to the deal.

"Tony," Nate continued, "I have another idea. You know I'm not really interested in money for its own sake. Money, to me, is merely a resource—a means to save the world. So why don't we exchange shares?"

Tony's eyes widened in surprise. "Are you saying you want shares in Stark Industries?"

"Exactly," Nate nodded. "I need the influence of Stark Industries, but not right away. I plan to exchange shares gradually as my company develops. Virtual helmets like these might one day dominate the network industry and even influence reality, but the key is that the world must survive those crises safely. For me, what matters is not just digital influence but real, industrial power. With such an exchange, I can use your strength with confidence rather than relying solely on friendship."

Tony stroked his chin, his gaze thoughtful. "Stark Industries was my father's legacy, and I need to ensure that its equity and control remain with me. After my uncle passed, my shares were all wrong. So, what can I say? Perhaps we should throw a party to celebrate our new partnership."

"Of course," Nate agreed, his voice carrying both excitement and a tinge of mischief. "The party is a must." Nate had only been in this world for twenty days, but each day had brought him closer to the top. Even though his operations relied on cheats, the thrill of advancing in power never failed to excite him.

Tony's mind, ever the repository of grand plans, soon wandered to future prospects. "And later, maybe we'll have to face a new challenger—like the Prince of Asgard, Thor, the God of Thunder." Tony added with a wry laugh. "Asgard may have been destroyed before Earth, but I'd like to change that plot line if I could. After all, I've always felt that my role should be to save the world, not just to watch from the sidelines."

Nate's eyes gleamed as he considered Tony's remark. "I've been observing from the shadows for a long time, and now I'm ready to intervene directly to ensure the world turns out well. But before the next big plot begins, I must strengthen myself." Nate's current level had reached thirteen, but the cost of breaking through past the tenth level was steep. He planned to continue training Violet with every resource he had, even though reality, as always, presented obstacles.

"Why can't she be strengthened after the tenth level?" Nate grumbled to himself, his mood darkening for a moment.

A soft voice interrupted his thoughts. "Master?"

Violet's gentle tone, the only word she could say at this early stage, made Nate smile. "It's not your fault," he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed where Violet and the two ritual summons rested. He gently stroked her soft, long blond hair as the virtual interface in front of him displayed ten "Wyvern's Claws" that still needed to be strengthened. In the dungeon runs, only monsters from the 30th floor could produce the necessary challenge, and Nate had only managed to clear up to the 20th floor. Thus, for now, he could only strengthen his two summoned allies.

Nate looked at the other ritual follower lying silently on the bed—Sister Shi—who had also been undergoing enhancement attempts, though it hadn't yet helped her awaken. At that moment, his cell phone rang sharply.

"Tony, what's the matter?" Nate answered.

Tony's voice came through with an uncharacteristic softness. "How come you sound so subdued, Nate? This isn't like you."

"There are days each month when my mood just sags," Nate replied with a hint of helplessness. "I've got some issues here that you can't fix."

"Okay then, I've got some good news to lift your spirits," Tony suddenly interjected, his voice regaining its usual bravado. "I believe that the virtual helmet we discussed might help treat your girl—the one in the ritual state."

"…Are you serious!?" Nate's excitement flared.

"Of course," Tony continued. "I checked her medical report myself. Her condition is different from a typical vegetative state—her EEG still shows high-amplitude waves. That means she's likely asleep rather than completely devoid of thought. I won't delve into all the details, but I'm sending you two lab-replicated helmets to try out."

Tony had been studying that helmet for days, fully aware of its potential—and the importance it held for Nate's cause. When Tony thought of the possibility, he called Nate immediately.

After hanging up, Nate found himself anxiously pondering the feasibility of Tony's suggestion. According to the original design, the prolonged coma had locked the consciousness of the ritual followers away in an internal void, constantly touching on themes of death. The idea was that only by using the "magic eye" of this technology could one awaken them.

Tony's proposal gave Nate hope—hope that his dear Violet might finally awaken. "Hope for Shiji Sister to wake up," Nate whispered, recalling that even in the darkest timelines, a spark of life might be reignited by cutting-edge technology.

Nate's mind raced with possibilities. He thought of the immense potential that a virtual gaming helmet, such as the one Tony had now provided lab replicas for, could have in bridging the gap between a vegetative state and true consciousness. "This isn't just a gimmick," he realized. "If it works, it could give my followers a second chance—a chance to reclaim their identities and become more than mere weapons."

Tony's earlier words echoed in his mind: "People like us who have the ability to change the world have a responsibility to ensure that change is for the better." Nate nodded to himself. Yes, he was determined to use every tool at his disposal to save these souls—even if it meant intervening in ways that would shock the very foundations of destiny.

Nate leaned back and closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the weight of responsibility settle on him. His level had now reached thirteen, and the challenge of amassing the necessary "strengthening stones" was daunting. But he was not one to back down from a challenge. He had already dedicated himself to training Violet and the other ritual summons with all his might, hoping that one day they would not be trapped in an endless sleep.

"Tony, I appreciate the chance you've given me," Nate murmured softly into the comm, his voice resolute. "I'll do everything in my power to ensure that Violet—and all those who rely on us—can wake up and reclaim their futures."

Tony's voice, laced with both admiration and a hint of relief, responded, "I know you will, Nate. And remember, I'll always be here to back you up. Together, we can make sure that our legacy isn't one of destruction, but of hope and transformation."

As the conversation wound down, Nate's thoughts turned toward the future. The technology represented by the virtual helmet was a groundbreaking convergence of cutting-edge innovation and ancient magic—a blend that promised to reshape the boundaries between life and death. For Nate, it was more than just a means of awakening his allies; it was a symbol of his unwavering determination to challenge fate itself.

He opened his laptop and began reviewing the schematics and medical reports Tony had forwarded. The data was complex—a tangled web of EEG readings, digital neural maps, and algorithmic predictions. Yet, amid the technical jargon, one thing was clear: Violet's condition was not entirely hopeless. The high-amplitude waves indicated that her brain was still active, albeit locked in a deep, dreamlike state. With the lab-replicated virtual helmet, there was a real chance of stirring her consciousness.

The potential was staggering. If successful, this breakthrough could revolutionize not only the way they treated the comatose but also the broader applications of virtual reality in medical technology. Nate's heart pounded with a mix of hope and trepidation. "I have to make this work," he thought, "for Violet, for all of us who have been left behind by fate."

With a renewed sense of purpose, Nate began coordinating with his team. He arranged for further tests, scheduled meetings with top medical experts, and even drafted a proposal to secure additional funding from S.H.I.E.L.D. The stakes were high—not only for his personal mission but for the future of countless lives. Every detail mattered, every minute brought them closer to a breakthrough that could alter the course of history.

As dusk fell over the city, the soft glow of the laboratory's screens lit Nate's face with an otherworldly radiance. In that quiet, intense moment, he allowed himself to believe in the possibility of a better tomorrow. "Hope for Shiji Sister to wake up," he whispered again, a mantra that would carry him through the darkest hours.

Tony's earlier reassurance and the promise of new technology had rekindled something deep within Nate—a spark of optimism that even in a world rife with chaos, there was still a path to redemption. With every plan meticulously laid out and every contingency prepared, Nate was ready to face the next chapter of his journey. The virtual helmet was not just a piece of black technology—it was a beacon of hope, a tool that could help awaken the dormant potential in those who had been silenced by fate.

In the coming days, Nate vowed to leave no stone unturned. He would harness every bit of his superhuman abilities, every resource at his disposal, to ensure that Violet and his other summoned allies could one day rise and reclaim their lives. The road ahead was fraught with danger, uncertainty, and moral dilemmas—but Nate Locke was resolved to walk it with unwavering determination.

"Tony, I'll keep you updated," Nate said into the comm as he closed his laptop. "We're on the cusp of something extraordinary. I promise you, we'll turn this dream into reality."

Tony's voice came back, confident yet thoughtful: "I believe in you, Nate. Just remember—the future isn't written yet. It's ours to create."

And so, with the last rays of the setting sun casting long shadows across the lab, Nate Locke prepared himself for the battles and breakthroughs yet to come. In a world where hope was as fragile as it was essential, every heartbeat, every decision, and every drawn card could change the course of destiny. The promise of awakening, of transformation, of a sister—of a future—sparked a fire within him that would burn bright against the encroaching darkness.