Wealth Is Power! (Marvel Comics)

I woke up to the sun streaming through curtains unfamiliar to me. The bedding beneath me felt like it cost more than the rent of my apartment back when I was… me. My heart stuttered as my gaze fell upon my hand, weathered, veiny, and with knuckles that screamed years of wear. My reflection in the ornate full-length mirror across the room confirmed the creeping dread clawing at the back of my mind. This wasn't my body. It was his.

Simon Steele,

Wolfgang von Lundt.

This ex-Nazi industrialist was obscurity's blessing to Marvel history. He is one of the guys I have never really remembered from comic book lore and all online deep dives through wikis-a generic bad guy you could scoff at with an over-the-top sinister aura. And then, I turned into him.

"Fuck," I muttered low, pacing the room in the stiff, tailored pajamas someone else had picked out for me. My reflection followed, each movement bringing home the reality that this was no dream. There was no turning back: my name belonged to someone else now, and so did all of their memories. His triumphs, his sins, his ambitions-they were all mine now, wanted or not.

My stomach curdled. He was a Nazi. A real honest-to-goodness Nazi. No redemption arc, no 'misunderstood villain' shtick-he was a man who'd swallowed a hate-based ideology to excuse his desire for power. I wanted to vomit, but this new body of mine didn't. No queasiness, no light-headedness, just an unearthly calm, as if Simon's body was refusing to take the full implications of what it had done to heart.

And that's when the day had started with a knock on the door of my bedroom.

"Mr. Steele, your schedule is clear until noon," said a voice, smooth and businesslike, or as impersonal, perhaps, as a robot's.

I opened the door onto a beautiful young woman in a pressed suit holding a tablet; her eyes hardly rose to meet mine, evidently disinterested. "Your coffee is ready in the study, sir, and the board awaits your final signature on the merger proposal."

Coffee, board meetings, and mergers. I was Simon Steele, the Chief Executive Officer of Steele Enterprises, a corporate monster with extreme wealth. And with but a thought, my body went on autopilot, guiding me through the routine I'd never lived yet knew.

The study was ridiculously opulent: dark oak, leather-bound tomes that seemed to never have been opened, and a steaming cup of coffee sat next to a pile of documents. I sank back into the oversized chair behind the desk, supple leather creaking with my weight. My weight? No, Simon's weight.

I didn't read the papers, my eyes scanning, not catching a single line. Gone was the man I used to be-average, anonymous, replaceable-and in his place this creature, with the power, the money, the name of a monster. I wasn't sure which was worse-the being Simon Steele or the memory of how ordinary I once had been.

And that's when existential dread fell upon me as heavy as an oncoming freight train: all those memories of Steele, his ambition, his ruthlessness intoxicated into my system. And yet, down below in its bottom, what my brain kept screaming was this: I do not want to die.

Simon Steele was old. His body was a monument to a life of excess and calculated evil. I didn't know how much time I had, but it couldn't have been much. The idea of aging into Steele's death felt like a second punishment layered on top of waking up as him.

My thoughts were a mess. I could pour Steele's resources into researching immortality. I could hire the sharpest minds on the planet, get secret projects built, maybe investigate the kind of pseudoscience that gets laughed off the internet, but the more I thought of that, the less possible it sounded. Steele is not a genius; he wasn't some crazed scientist or supervillain with something in his pocket arsenal that may bring down earth. He was just a man who'd bought his power and held onto it through fear.

Weeks turned into more weeks. Work occupied me, but at each moment when I got my break, a voice persisted and grew stronger. There had to be some way out of my impending death. I went through the resources at Steele, ordering men to look deep into the various ways experimental medicines and genetics were even muttered in whispered talks of black market enhancement sites: it was all dead-ended.

But it wasn't over. When I had already lost my hope, this weird pop-up showed up on my vision:

Welcome to The Wealth System.

Wealth is power and your power can buy anything.

It read like something taken directly from some fanfiction forum or a poorly written science fiction book, and yet, with each line of text, I could feel hope emerging. The system wasn't for publicity purposes; it was all too real, hooked directly with the accounts in Steele Enterprises or any wealth that was technically mine and providing a listing of upgrades and abilities no human should have had access to.

And there it was: Eternal Youth – 80% Off for First-Time Buyers.

My hand hovered above the keyboard while my heart raced, reading over the description. Eternal youth wasn't immortality, but it was near enough. Of course, that came with a price tag to make my eyes water, billions. Still, Steele's fortune could swing it. Hell, his fortune could handle it twice over. It wouldn't take long after that for Steele's wealth to surpass the loss in billions in this purchase.

It was a matter of minutes. My finger had barely clicked the "Confirm Purchase" key that a searing warmth began racing along my veins. I reeled, leaning against the desk for support, as every inch of me was remade anew: wrinkled skin smoothing out, old scars vanishing, and in the glass of a nearby cabinet, a man I hardly knew stared back.

Simon Steele, but a youthful version of him. Probably in his early thirties, maybe? He still kept his white hair and blue eyes, maybe always had the white hair his whole life, but what was left of him—of me—was a peak version of what he'd been.

I was alive. Finally alive, since the first time of waking up in this nightmarish dream.

"Holy shit," I whispered, the grin creeping onto my face.

Soon after that, it didn't take long for my "miracle" to grab attention.

The first inkling of trouble came in the morning after I bought Eternal Youth. I was sitting in my office, drinking coffee, scrolling through emails as one does casually, when one headline plastered across my news aggregator caught my eye: "Simon Steele's Jaw-Dropping Transformation: Billionaire Turns Back the Clock.

"Shit," I muttered, putting the mug down. There was a picture of me at a charity gala three months ago right beside a blurry new one of me going into Steele Tower that morning. I looked like my own grandkid if I even had one.

The emails started flooding my inbox not longer thereafter. PR teams and board members-a few reporters seemed to have gotten their hands on my personal account. Next came phone calls-some were from friends that I hadn't spoken to in years; others I didn't know at all. And they all wanted the same thing to know: how the hell had I pulled that off?

By midweek, my PR team was badgering me for a news conference. "Damage control," they termed it, though I'm not certain what the damage was beyond people simply being curious. I certainly wasn't going to give them a straight answer, but equally I had no intention of allowing anybody else to speak on my behalf.

I strode up to the podium in the gleaming lobby of Steele Tower, wearing a sharp, fitted suit showcasing a physique now without fault. Cameras snapped, reporters murmured among themselves, and all eyes in the room centered on me.

"Thank you for coming," I said, my voice steady and confident. "As you've all no doubt noticed, I've made some changes lately."

The crowd tittered nervously.

"I won't bore you with the details," I said, continuing. "Let me put it this way: breakthroughs concerning people's health and well-being have always been pursued by Steele Enterprises. My transformation is proof of that."

"Mr. Steele!" a reporter shouted above the murmurs. "Are you saying this is a result of your company's research?"

I smiled faintly. "I'm saying I'm the fittest I have ever been, and that Steele Enterprises will keep on pushing the edge of what it means to innovate. If you would excuse me now, I have a company to run."

I had turned and walked off the stage before I could get pressed with more questions.

Of course, it wasn't quite that smooth. My own company and especially the government started snooping around wanting to know where Steele Enterprises' billion dollars went. I fixed it, however-hush, an "investment in classified R&D." The right favors were pulled, high-level hands shaken, and in the twinkling of an eye, it appeared the Department of Defense was satisfied.

Not that it halted the rumors.

Even within Steele Enterprises, people acted… well, different. The beautiful young woman who brought my coffee & schedule to me every morning—Anna, her name was—used to barely give me a glance. Now, her eyes hung on a fraction of a second too long. Her disinterest was replaced with something… else. Curiosity? Admiration? Lust? Probably all three.

I didn't mind. It was nice to be admired.

I finally allowed myself to fall back, for the first time in weeks. I'd ridden the media circus, placated the government-even managed to stabilize the company after its sudden financial hit. On my penthouse terrace with my glass of whiskey in my hand, for the first time since waking into this nightmare, I was content.

Simon Steele had it all: wealth, power, and now youth. I could, if I wished to, hire a stream of escorts to wine and dine models, flashing my cash in front of the most beautiful faces that money can purchase. In actual fact, I'd already done it—last week when I was still old. A Monte Carlo private suite, a string of gorgeous women, one of those nights most only read about.

But as much as it satisfied me, it felt… empty.

I looked out at the city, the lights twinkling in my eyes like stars, and wondered what was my purpose now? I didn't need more money. I did not need more women. And I wasn't stupid enough to think that the sins Steele had committed would just magically clean themselves with charity donations and goodwill.

And that is when it dawned on me: the Wealth System.

I reopened the interface and began scrolling down through the catalog. Powers, artifacts, and abilities—things to make me something else, anything but human. If money could buy youth, it could buy power, right? Real power. Something tangible, something undeniable, no one could take from me.

My goal was clear as crystal: the more money, the merrier. Not because I needed it, but it was my ticket to supremacy. Why stop there if I'd be able to have all of the Marvel Universe goodies thrown in?

First: Expand Steele Enterprises; the larger the empire, the easier and more that could be sunk into the system. Second, secure a presence within the heroic and villain world. Ultimately, power is one of the more useful denominations in such places, and playing with the big boys takes far more than mere money.

And number three? Ah, let's just say there were some Marvel characters I would not mind getting… acquainted with.

Soon enough, I was ready to enact my plan. I sat at the head of the long mahogany table, the shining surface reflecting the twelve faces sitting opposite me. They were the big guns of Steele Enterprises--men and women who clawed their way to power through ruthlessness, deceit, and cunning. None trusted or liked the other, and even less liked me. But they respected power, and they could not deny that transformation made me powerful.

So," I began slowly, leaning back in my chair with my fingers steepled in front of me. "Let's talk about the future."

There was a pause. Silence fell upon the room, with some looking exchanged, clearly not sure what I meant.

The CFO, came forth with, "Future? What on earth are you talking about, Mr. Steele?" sly and wiry, and with sharp cheekbones and an even sharper tongue, he was the kind of snake who long thrived in this company.

This question hung for a few moments, while I watched the tensions play throughout the room. Then I stood up and began pacing around the table.

"I mean expansion, Marcus," I said, calm yet commanding. "Steele Enterprises has been cruising through comfortable years. Safe and predictable. And, yeah, you all know what it means." I stopped to regard them. "It means we are dying."

There were muted cries of protests, but I raised my hand to stifle them.

"But don't fool yourselves," I continued. "Yes, big. Yes, powerful. But in this world, if you're not growing, you're shrinking. I for one am not going to let this company shrink."

"Ambitious," said the head of PR, with her crimson lips curled in a smirk even as her eyes disclosed that she was somewhat uncomfortable. "And what exactly do you have in mind, Mr. Steele?"

"That's what this meeting is for," I answered while I again took my seat. "I want ideas. Suggestions. How do we take Steele Enterprises from a powerhouse into an empire?"

The room went dead still. They weren't used to this--me asking for opinions. The old Simon Steele is a micromanaging tyrant, dictating every decision and punishing dissent. This new Simon Steele? He--me--was an unknown quantity.

The CFO spoke. "Here's what I think. We could expand our logistics branch. We already have a tightly knit distribution net, so more expansion would mean new sources of revenue for us."

"Solid. What else?"

The head of PR leaned forward. "We've been tiptoeing into tech development. Why not leap? AI, robotics, even defense contracts. It pays and it positions us as forward thinkers."

"Interesting," I said, tapping my fingers rhythmically like in some 80s fast-food commercial. "And?"

The director of R&D, cleared his throat. "We've got, uh, unconventional projects lined up. Things lurking in the not-so-moral shadows. We could score big with them."

I raised an eyebrow. "Unconventional, huh?"

He hesitated, looking shifty. "You know… weapons. Things we don't talk about."

Another silence. Nobody wanted to say out loud what was obvious.

I let the silence go on for a while longer, watching them. These folks weren't keen on being innovators or visionaries; like they were feeling the urge to set foot on something good. They were crooks, honest and all, and not even charming. But one thing did hold a little water: this company was great in the shadows.

"Good ideas," I said, finally breaking the tension. "But here's the deal. We stick to what we know-how-logistics, tech, and, yes, the unconventional! But we're not merely blowing up. We're going big here-with great courage. For example-on a global scale."

They nodded, though to varying degrees. A few seemed eager.

"And one last thing," My voice hardened. "We're cleaning the filthy acts. I don't care what else happens behind the scenes, but Steele Enterprises has to be seen as an honest-to-goodness force. Nothing breaking news, and no scandals from here on out. Understood?"

It drew murmurs in agreement. They knew what the game was-hide the filth, let the funds flow.

When they moved into the boring routine stuff—the finances, supply chain talks, quarterly projections-I just sank into my chair and let their words wash over me, pitching in when it was necessary. This company was scummy to the core, but that didn't bother me. It wasn't about morals or redemption—it was about power. To me, Steele Enterprises was a means to an end, a tool I could use to build myself into something great.