Chapter 1
The Gas Station, Musutafu
"Grrrr… m-must complete my m-mission!" the Nomu growled, its roar reverberating through the street. The creature's appearance sent people screaming, eyes wide with fear.
Well, this day couldn't get any worse, Tony thought, eyeing the Hulk-like creature looming in front of him. The thing spoke with an eerie tone—definitely not a "welcome to the neighborhood" vibe. Like a zombie, he mused.
It had been, what, a little over a week since he "died" and ended up in this ridiculous world where heroes and villains were commercialized commodities?
Earlier that week, he remembered defeating Thanos at the cost of his life—leaving behind Pepper, their daughter Morgan, and everyone else: Happy, Rogers, Rhodey, that Parker kid, Thor. Everything he knew. Part of the journey is the end, he had said. Though now, he wished he could just throw the whole "Time Heist"—as Scott named it—out the window. He could've walked away, lived a normal life. But let's be honest—when was that ever an option?
Not to mention Charles and Erik, Reed and his family, his one-time wife Emma, and his good old college roommate, Victor. Even Riri, his successor, was on that list too. Most of them had been snapped away during those years… For what it's worth, he hoped the people he left behind would keep fighting—for those who couldn't.
"F.R.I.D.A.Y., analyze its fight patterns. Cross-reference with Banner's."
"Scanning!" his assistant replied as Tony flew away from the Nomu's attack. The stun blaster fizzled out, so he ramped up the repulsors instead. At least those were working—sort of.
"Boss, you're not going to like this."
"Tell me then. This Hulk-a-bear isn't stopping anytime soon," Tony said, deploying his nanotech hammers and landing a punch hard enough to send the Nomu back.
"This thing exhibits extreme biological enhancements. Its musculature is significantly denser than the average human's, allowing for enhanced strength and resilience," the Irish A.I. explained.
"Great. A bodybuilder on steroids. F.R.I.D.A.Y., I'm gonna need a rain check on that."
"Yep," she replied, as the Nomu began to rise, eyes locked onto Tony like a heat-seeking missile.
Just when I thought things couldn't get weirder, Tony muttered, sidestepping as the Nomu charged again.
"Find me the nearest power grid, F.R.I.D.A.Y."
"One sec, boss."
Musutafu Highway
Tsukauchi hadn't gotten much sleep over the past few days, ever since the capture of the corrupted hero. As if the mountain of paperwork on his desk wasn't bad enough, the hero's sudden death in Tartarus only made things worse. And now, with Iron Man battling some humanoid creature live on TV, his situation was anything but improving.
Glancing at the laptop on the seat next to him, Tsukauchi reflected on the files he'd received from Iron Man. The idea that a corrupted hero had been kidnapping children right under their noses was beyond belief. And then, out of nowhere, Iron Man had shown up, revealed the corrupted hero's true face, and shocked the media.
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
The phone buzzed in his car, pulling him from his thoughts. Tsukauchi picked it up, glancing at the caller ID.
It's him he thought, eyeing the screen that flashed: YOUR NEW BEST FRIEND
With a sigh, he answered. "It better be important, Iron Man."
"Oh, it is, Commissioner Gordon." Tony's voice crackled over the line with his usual sarcasm.
Tsukauchi rolled his eyes. "Cut to the chase. I've got a city on edge and a whole mess to clean up after your little performance on live TV last week."
"Right, straight to business," Tony replied, his tone shifting slightly. "You might need to file a crap-ton of paperwork regarding electricity bills."
"What are you plann—"
Before the detective could finish, a huge power surge erupted, lightning arcing in the distance and cutting electricity across the entire district.
"Great…" Tsukauchi muttered, running a hand through his hair. "As if I didn't have enough on my plate already."
"Look on the bright side," Iron Man said, clearly grinning. "At least I've got you on speed dial."
The line went dead. Tsukauchi sighed as he continued driving, letting the reality of the situation sink in. Whatever they were dealing with… it was bigger than just a corrupted hero.
As soon as Tsukauchi arrived at the scene, the power grid was in terrible shape. Even worse, a nearly destroyed gas station, convenience store, and several residential houses were now added to the list of damages. Iron Man and the reported creature were nowhere to be seen.
While his colleagues began collecting evidence and testimonies from eyewitnesses, their reactions were filled with curiosity and disbelief. Witnesses described how the vigilante had transformed his arms into laser guns, blasters, hammers, and even launched rockets from his back. What was even more fascinating was that, according to one witness, Iron Man had saved, the suit appeared to be made of some kind of liquid metal.
As Tsukauchi was calculating the extent of property damage, a text message popped up on his phone:
"There's something you need to know about. Meet me at [Coordinates] and bring a doctor too. Trust me."
The detective's eyes widened at the message. The outskirts? Tsukauchi thought. He could call All Might, a pro hero, or even bring in a SWAT team to apprehend Iron Man and drag him into custody.
But then again, they had no real leads on this case. And as much as he disliked vigilantism, Iron Man had exposed one of Japan's rising heroes performing illegal activities right under their noses. He stared at the text for a while before finally typing out a reply. Whatever this was, he had to play it smart.
Now came the harder part—convincing Chiyo to go with him… somehow.
Musutafu Outskirts
Well, that had been easier than he expected. The drive to the location was quiet, with Chiyo just as curious as he was. She had been filled in along the way, and he was surprised at how easily she agreed to come with him.
When they arrived, the location turned out to be a junkyard. The two got out of the car and made their way toward a rundown warehouse. The door creaked open, and they stepped inside. What they saw left them both stunned.
A row of monitors was set up on a table, displaying live camera feeds. Empty fast-food containers were scattered nearby, alongside countless electronic parts, circuit boards, and even outdated support items littering the floor. At the far end of the warehouse, a heavy curtain partially concealed a corner filled with obsolete medical machinery.
They were about to take a closer look when the low roar of jet engines filled the air. Both of them turned just in time to see Iron Man standing at the entrance.
"Ah, our guests have arrived. Please, make yourselves comfortable," the red-and-gold vigilante said, stepping inside.
"Look, I went through mountains of paperwork just to get you in front of the doctor. Tell me you've got something worth my time," Tsukauchi said, his exhaustion and the pressure of recent events evident in his tone.
"Relax, Trench Coat. Just give me a sec," Iron Man replied as parts of his armor dissolved seamlessly, revealing the man underneath. He moved over to one of the makeshift machines, causing both the detective and Recovery Girl to exchange a look of surprise.
"Mark 85 charging," F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice announced.
"What kind of support gear is that, young man?" Recovery Girl asked, leaning forward with curiosity.
"It's nanotech, ma'am. Just a little something I whipped up a few years ago," Tony said casually.
"N-Nanotech? What kind of sci-fi support gear is that?" she stammered.
"Right, I forgot—nanotechnology isn't a thing here yet," Iron Man remarked, setting down the salvage he'd been carrying.
Tony gestured for Tsukauchi and Recovery Girl to follow him toward the curtained-off area. "Alright, come on. Field trip time," he said, pulling the curtain aside with a dramatic sweep.
Behind it, the space looked like a mad scientist's corner—medical machinery cobbled together from whatever junk Tony could salvage, all of it retrofitted with sleek, alien-looking tech that clearly didn't belong in this world. But what surprised Tsukauchi and Chiyo the most was the thing in the middle of the area: the big, dark purple creature that had attacked Iron Man a couple of hours ago.
Beside the creature were monitors displaying anatomical scans, and a holographic display projected from a cracked table, flickering slightly but still functional.
"Don't touch anything unless you like explosions," the vigilante quipped, tapping a screen as several diagnostic windows popped up.
Tsukauchi frowned, his sharp eyes scanning the mess. "What is all of this?"
"Medical data. Yours truly has been running scans on this thing," Iron Man said, gesturing to the Nomu. "That thing is a walking science project gone wrong, stitched together with enough Quirks and human tissue to make Frankenstein look like an amateur."
Recovery Girl stepped closer, peering at the floating hologram then the Nomu with clear skepticism. "You're telling me this creature is made of… people?"
Tony turned to her, his expression unusually serious behind the mask. "Bingo. Not just one, either. Whoever's behind this, they're harvesting Quirks and bodies and slapping them together to build the perfect attack dog. Think Frankenstein, but the kind of nightmare even pro heroes would throw up over."
Tsukauchi's jaw tightened. "And you're saying this is connected to the corrupted hero?"
"Possibly." Tony raised an eyebrow. "F.R.I.D.A.Y. pulled some of the encrypted data from his gear, and this would put the entire HPSC on red alert."
He swiped the hologram, displaying a twisted 3D model of the Nomu's internal structure, revealing an unsettling web of veins, mechanical implants, and glowing Quirk nodes.
"See this?" Tony pointed at the projection. "These are Quirk signatures. Multiple. I ran DNA tests on this Nomu and it's… not pretty." Tony sighed, tapping a few commands into the console. The holographic projection shifted, displaying overlapping DNA strands tangled together like a broken web.
"You're looking at at least six different human donors—each with their own Quirk. Whoever built this thing basically turned human beings into spare parts. They ripped them apart, merged what they wanted, and shoved it all into one body. It's a miracle this thing is even alive."
Recovery Girl's hand tightened on her cane, her expression grim. "You mean they… harvested people?"
"Harvested, chopped up, tossed in a blender—pick your favorite horror movie metaphor," Tony said, his tone cutting but laced with an undercurrent of anger. "And from the cellular decay, some of these people weren't exactly dead when the party started."
He swiped across the hologram, pulling up a series of faces reconstructed from DNA data. "Tell me, Trench Coat—recognize any of these people?"
Tsukauchi leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. It took only a moment before his face paled. "These… these are the missing persons from the police reports. Victims we never found…" His jaw clenched as he recognized the faces.
The detective turned to the Nomu then Iron Man. "Who would even attempt something this twisted?" he demanded, his voice low but laced with fury.
"Someone with resources. Someone who knows exactly how to stay off your radar," Tony replied, folding his arms. "The files I found? They all point to someone bankrolling these experiments—someone who doesn't blink at crossing every moral line in the book."
Recovery Girl frowned, stepping closer to the hologram. "And this… Nomu. It's not the only one, is it?"
Tony glanced at her, his expression turning cold. "Yep. Whoever's running this freak show isn't making just one monster. This was a prototype. A test run. There could be a whole assembly line in production as we speak."
"But you defeated him? How did you do it?" Recovery Girl asked.
"I threw a power grid at him and drove my blade straight through its heart. It was that or civilian casualties," Tony recounted. "Anyway, I've gotten everything I need from this thing. You two can have it for further research."
"You're just giving us this Nomu? No strings attached?" Tsukauchi asked skeptically.
"Of course not. I need something in return, Trench Coat," Iron Man replied as part of his armor on the right arm retracted, revealing a darkened, numb-looking arm. "I need Granny's healing Quirk to patch this up. If you don't mind, Granny."
Chiyo stepped forward, squinting at Tony's exposed arm. The skin was darkened, scarred with strange burn-like patterns that pulsed faintly, as though something deeper beneath the surface was fractured.
"My, my… what happened to this arm, young man?" she asked, her tone sharp with concern.
Tony glanced down at it, his expression briefly somber. "Let's just say I snapped my fingers and rewrote the universe. Long story. Trust me, it's not as glamorous as it sounds."
Chiyo's eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing at first, lifting his arm gently with both hands. Her fingers traced over the hardened, unnatural scars. "This… isn't just physical damage," she muttered. "Whatever you did left something behind. It's as if your cells are… burnt from the inside out. Almost like you were fighting against your own existence."
"Yeah, I'm familiar with that feeling," Tony said with a wry smile. "But you're the miracle worker around here, right? Think you can work your magic?"
Chiyo frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line. "That's not how my Quirk works, kid. This injury… it's different. It feels wrong, like it's fused into you. Even if I try, I'm not certain I can repair this without harming something vital."
Tsukauchi crossed his arms, watching the exchange closely. "If it's that dangerous, maybe you shouldn't risk it."
Tony waved him off. "Oh, come on, Trench Coat. What's the worst that could happen? It already looks like beef jerky. Besides, if I can survive an alien warlord with a jewelry obsession, I can handle this."
Chiyo sighed, clearly torn. "I'm gonna pretend that I understood what you just said. Besides, you have no idea what you're asking for, kid. This isn't like healing a cut or a broken bone."
"Then consider this your shot at upgrading your resume," Tony quipped with a grin. "C'mon, Granny. Let's give it a try."
Chiyo exhaled deeply, her brows knitting together. "Alright, young man. But don't blame me if this doesn't go as planned." She placed a kiss over the vigilante's forearm, her Quirk activating with a faint golden glow. The air around them seemed to hum, and Tsukauchi stepped closer, watching intently.
At first, nothing happened. Then the glow spread across the darkened scars, sinking beneath the surface of Tony's skin. He winced slightly. "Yikes. Feels like someone's trying to iron out my bones," Iron Man muttered. "This is normal, right?"
Chiyo didn't answer. Her face tightened, sweat forming on her brow. "This… injury. It's not healing like normal wounds. Something in it is fighting back."
"Fighting back?" Tsukauchi asked.
"It's like… the cells are refusing to regenerate," she said through gritted teeth. "There's an energy here, like a burn scar from something… far beyond my knowledge. It's embedded so deeply, my Quirk can barely reach it."
Tony tilted his head, half-amused. "Yeah, that'd be the cosmic death glove I used to dust a purple alien maniac. Guess even your Quirk doesn't play well with Infinity Stones."
Chiyo shot him a look. "I'm serious, kid. If I push too hard, I might damage the surrounding tissue. The injury isn't just physical; whatever you did burned through your nerves, your cells… it's a miracle you can even move this arm."
Tony's smirk faltered for a moment. He glanced down at the mangled skin and flexed his hand, the movement stiff and unnatural. "Yeah, well. Been living with worse. Just do what you can, Granny. If I lose the arm, I'll just build a better one. Again."
Chiyo sighed but pressed on, adjusting her Quirk. The glow intensified, and Tony gritted his teeth as sharp pain shot through him. Slowly, the blackened veins and scorched patches of skin began to fade, the color returning slightly. His arm still bore visible scars from the snap. After several long moments, Chiyo let go and stepped back, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion. "That's… the best I can do. It's still damaged, but at least you won't lose the arm."
Tony flexed his fingers again. The stiffness was still there, but the pain had dulled. He gave her a crooked grin behind the mask. "Hey, I'll take 'less crispy' over nothing. Thanks, Granny, you're a real one."
Chiyo tapped her cane against the floor, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Don't thank me yet. If you push this arm too hard, it will tear apart again."
"Noted," Tony quipped.
"So, what now? How do we get this Nomu back to Musutafu without raising suspicion?" Tsukauchi asked, glancing at the creature lying on the operating table. "For all I know, you're still a wanted man, Iron Man."
"I was just getting to that part," Tony replied.
The Warehouse (Days Later)
The warehouse was swarming with a quiet but heavy police presence. Unmarked vehicles lined the perimeter, and armed officers stood by, ensuring no curious eyes got close. As per Tsukauchi's instructions, the operation was kept under strict secrecy.
Inside, a special recovery team carefully moved Nomu's body onto a reinforced containment platform. Its grotesque form, now inert, still carried the chilling reminder of the brutal fight with Iron Man. Tsukauchi stood nearby, arms crossed, overseeing every detail.
"Careful with that," he muttered to the officers. "Not a single rumor of this gets out. If anyone asks, this warehouse is a crime scene for a smuggling bust—nothing more."
Recovery Girl, her small frame dwarfed by the heavy machinery around her, inspected the body alongside a select group of trusted scientists. "The cellular structure alone… this thing could take months to study," she said quietly, almost to herself. "Luckily, half of the problem is already solved. The other half? It'll take time."
Tsukauchi gave her a firm nod. "Only you and the people I personally approve are allowed to run these tests. Not even the Hero Commission can know about this yet."
"Keeping secrets from heroes now, sir?" one of the officers murmured.
"Not secrets," Tsukauchi said, his tone sharp. "Precautions. If whoever's behind this has moles inside our system, we can't risk them finding out what we've recovered. The fewer who know, the better."
As the team secured the Nomu for transport to an undisclosed lab, Tsukauchi's phone buzzed. A message popped up: 'Don't blow up the lab. Good luck with Frankenstein Jr.'
He sighed, slipping the phone back into his pocket.
International Flight
Tony sat slouched in an economy seat, wedged between a snoring man in a floral shirt and a teenager blasting music through cheap earbuds. This wasn't exactly the kind of travel he was used to, but after the whole "wanted vigilante" situation in Japan, a private jet wasn't the smartest idea.
"Let's hope the Big Apple missed me," Tony muttered, his eyes fixed on the faint scars still etched into his arm.
"Boss," F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice whispered through his glasses, "you do realize you're in the middle seat of row 34B, sandwiched between a man who hasn't discovered deodorant and a kid watching cat videos?"
Tony sighed, flipping open the complimentary newspaper resting on the tray table.
"You're quiet," F.R.I.D.A.Y. noted.
"Just thinking," Tony said. "Nomus, stitched Quirks, mystery mad scientists, corrupted heroes… It's giving me flashbacks to Ultron. And I hate those."
"And you think a short vacation to New York will fix this, Boss?"
"Maybe. Who knows?" Tony muttered as he grabbed the folded newspaper, shaking his head as he glanced at the front page. A headline immediately caught his attention:
"Future Foundation Expands Global Reach – Dr. Reed Richards Leads Breakthrough in Multiversal Research."
Tony's gaze lingered on the headline. He froze. His smirk faded, replaced by a quiet, reflective stare. Future Foundation… Richards, Sue, Johnny, Ben. The names hit like a punch to the chest—familiar, yet not.
He set the paper down for a moment, exhaling slowly. "You know," he said quietly, "back home, Reed was the guy I'd call when I needed someone smarter than me—which, trust me, I hated admitting. Sue could keep Johnny from blowing something up for five minutes, and Ben… big guy always acted like the world was heavy on his shoulders, but I've never met anyone tougher."
There was a pause before F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke. "Records show that this universe's Fantastic Four is significantly younger, with a different history. Would you like me to compile data?"
Tony shook his head. "No. Not yet. Let me… just sit with this for a second."
He picked up the paper again, his eyes scanning the photo: four smiling faces in sleek white-and-blue suits, standing in front of the gleaming Baxter Building emblazoned with the number 4. They looked so much like the team he'd known, but not quite.
For a moment, he allowed himself to smile—really smile. "I'd trade half my tech to hear Ben call me 'Tin Can' one more time."
"Boss?" F.R.I.D.A.Y. prompted softly.
"Yeah?"
"You're thinking of going to see them, aren't you?"
Tony leaned back in the uncomfortable seat, his eyes drifting to the dull clouds outside the window. "I don't know yet. This isn't my Reed, or my Sue, or my Ben. For all I know, these four could be completely different. But…" He hesitated, his voice quieter now. "Some part of me wants to see if they're still the same kind of people I used to trust with my life."
"Would you like me to schedule a visit to the Baxter Building?"
Tony smirked faintly. "Not yet. Let's play it cool for once, F.R.I.D.A.Y. We'll see how the cards fall when we land."
The seatbelt sign dinged overhead, and the flight attendant's voice crackled through the intercom, announcing their descent into New York.
"Big Apple," Tony muttered under his breath. "Let's see what you've got for me this time."
Chapter 2
6 Months Later - Manhattan, New York
"Ladies and gentlemen, we're interrupting this broadcast to bring you breaking news live from the United Nations Headquarters in New York City."
The screen cut to a breathless reporter standing outside the UN headquarters, chaos unfolding behind her. Sirens screamed through the city canyons, helicopters circled overhead, and UN security forces scrambled to restore order as stunned onlookers pressed against the barricades.
"Just moments ago, an assassination attempt was made on the newly elected UN Secretary-General, Victor Von Doom," a second announcer added. "Eyewitnesses report that a group of masked gunmen and Quirk users, disguised as diplomatic staff, infiltrated the summit chamber during a scheduled peace summit."
"Security forces were caught off guard," a reporter chimed in from London.
"Secretary-General Von Doom was unable to call in his Doombots, as other diplomats and civilians were being held at gunpoint. But as heroes and security forces outside the building ran out of time, the unexpected happened."
The feed switched to raw, shaky civilian footage. Gunfire echoed through marble corridors. A surge of blue-white energy flashed across the screen, immediately followed by a streak of red and gold. The armored figure of Iron Man flew into view, intercepting the blast midair. Without warning, he descended like a meteor, crashing through a fortified window on the 20th floor. The feed from nearby drones scrambled momentarily before refocusing on the breach.
"Witnesses say he engaged Quirk-enhanced mercenaries with inhuman precision, using non-lethal force and technology more advanced than I-Island's to neutralize the threat—all by himself," a reporter noted.
The screen cut to zoomed-in footage from inside the building: Iron Man, scorch-marked and sparking, stood between Doom and a collapsed section of the hallway. Doom, stunned but alive, was quickly escorted away by his Doombots while Iron Man remained, backlit by fire, scanning for further threats.
"Live from outside the United Nations," a reporter said in Russian-accented English. "Victor Von Doom's rise to power has not come without controversy. Today's failed assassination only escalates tensions worldwide. With Iron Man intervening directly to save Secretary-General Von Doom, tensions are certain to rise among nations still debating the legality of vigilantism."
The footage shifted rapidly between global networks:
WHiH World News: "Iron Man, the mysterious armored figure who recently appeared in several tech-related incidents across Europe, was seen shielding Secretary-General Von Doom from the blast radius of what appears to have been a high-grade energy weapon. This marks the 30th known international incident involving Iron Man in under six months. Earlier this week, he was spotted assisting the Fantastic Four in containing a dimensional breach in Copenhagen."
JNN: "No group has claimed responsibility, but preliminary analysis suggests rogue Quirk-enhanced mercenaries were involved. Authorities are refusing to comment."
Global Nexus Broadcasting: "Victor Von Doom, ruler of Latveria, was elected to the UN's highest office following a sweeping reform initiative. His controversial past has made today's attempt on his life all the more politically explosive."
"In a time of deepening geopolitical strain," a French anchor began, her voice steady and clear, "Iron Man appears again—not to promote a nation or endorse an agenda—but to act. With no official ties, no name, and no clear origin, the armored enigma is reshaping international security protocols one crisis at a time."
JNN cut in with their field reporter standing beside police barricades. "While the UN has yet to release an official statement," the Japanese reporter explained, "it's been confirmed that Iron Man is not affiliated with any recognized hero agency or known nation-state. He was last seen nearly knocked out by a corrupted hero four months ago in Musutafu."
The Daily Bugle Podcast showed a live press briefing being hastily assembled, with flashing images of Iron Man assisting paramedics using his droids and scanning debris with a glowing wrist-mounted sensor.
A British reporter in a flak vest, standing in front of a barricade with UN guards in the background, added, "He's appeared in several high-profile events lately, and now he's faced a direct confrontation with an organized group of Quirk-enhanced mercenaries."
The screen switched to the French news network. A poised correspondent stood in front of a tall skyscraper on the East River in New York City, its upper levels bearing the iconic 4 logo. "We're now standing outside the Baxter Building, headquarters of the Fantastic Four and the Future Foundation. Earlier this morning, Dr. Reed Richards held a brief press conference addressing the growing questions surrounding Iron Man."
The feed cut to a sleek indoor main hall. A crowd of reporters jostled for position as Reed Richards, Mr. Fantastic himself, stepped up to the podium, flanked by his wife and a holographic model of the UN skyline flickering behind him.
"Yes, Iron Man has been working closely with us," Reed confirmed, his voice calm and measured. "He's a consultant with the Future Foundation and a field collaborator with the Fantastic Four in ongoing dimensional and security-related operations."
Camera shutters clicked furiously as one reporter called out, "So you're officially endorsing a vigilante?"
Reed gave a faint smile. "He's not a vigilante—not in the legal sense. He operates under our jurisdiction in accordance with international conduct agreements and has the full support of our organizations. I understand the concerns, but I assure you—he's not acting alone."
Another reporter raised a hand. "Can you confirm his identity?"
Reed's response was immediate. "No. We respect his decision to remain anonymous. But I will say this: his commitment to the preservation of life, international cooperation, and scientific progress has proven invaluable. If he were a threat, you wouldn't see him standing between one of the world's smartest leaders and a plasma rifle."
Back to the French woman, the wind tugging at her coat. "But not everyone is convinced. The sudden spotlight on Iron Man's collaboration with the Fantastic Four has sparked debate. Is he a sanctioned ally, or an unchecked vigilante hiding behind their reputation?"
A quick montage flashed across the screen: Iron Man hovering above a flood-ravaged city in Germany, dispersing a gang of armored thieves in Tokyo, and now, deflecting energy blasts at the UN. "His technology remains a mystery," the reporter noted. "Experts say it outstrips even I-Island's cutting-edge designs, prompting speculation about its origins."
The broadcast shifted to a UN hallway, where Victor Von Doom emerged, flanked by security. His green cloak was pristine despite the chaos, his masked face unreadable. "The armored one acted decisively," Doom said, his voice a low rumble that silenced the clamor of reporters. "I owe him my survival. Yet the world must decide if such power answers to no one but itself." His words carried a weight that lingered, equal parts gratitude and caution.
"Doom's statement has only fueled the fire. Across the globe, reactions are pouring in. In the Middle East, some see Iron Man as a liberator, others as a Western tool. His anonymity only deepens the divide. Russian government officials issued stern warnings that vigilantes like Iron Man destabilize international order and demanded transparency."
A mustached news anchor from the Daily Bugle Podcast shouted, "He's flying around like he owns the sky! Independence is one thing, but this 'metal man' mystery thinks he's above the law—not a hero like America's #1, Stars and Stripes!"
The feed cut back to a podcaster offering a more reflective take: "Today, the world witnessed something remarkable. In a time when heroes are often tied to government sponsorships and profit-driven media empires, one chose to act without cameras, without fanfare, and without even a name. Whoever Iron Man is—he just saved the most controversial man on the planet. Could this be the dawn of a new class of hero—one who defies borders, politics, and profit?"
As speculation continues, one thing is clear: Iron Man is no longer operating in the shadows. He has allies, credentials, and now, protection from one of the most powerful families on the planet.
Nezu's Office, Japan
"As global headlines center around Iron Man and his involvement in the failed assassination attempt on Secretary-General Victor Von Doom, reactions are pouring in from around the world. Japanese officials remain tight-lipped, but sources within the Hero Public Safety Commission suggest internal discussions have already begun regarding Iron Man's potential impact on Japan's national security protocols and vigilante policy after the commission's biggest scandal, the corrupted hero, Kin—."
The television screen in Nezu's office dimmed as the broadcast faded to black. Silence hung heavily in the room. Tsukauchi leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "So it's official. He's got protection. Legal, political, and superhuman. Not to mention, Victor Von Doom of all people."
Nezu stood beside the display, his paws folded thoughtfully. "Not just protection—endorsement. Reed Richards isn't a man who lends his name lightly. If the Fantastic Four vouch for him, the world listens."
Aizawa, arms crossed in the back of the room, scowled faintly. "Still doesn't answer the real questions. Who is he, and why now, after all these years? He could easily have shown up earlier."
Recovery Girl sighed, adjusting her glasses. "From what we've seen, he's no threat. But that kind of power can change things. It already has."
"Speaking of which," Nezu said quietly, drawing everyone's attention, "Secretary-General Von Doom requested a prisoner transfer from Tartarus a few days ago."
The room went silent.
"Prisoner transfer?" Tsukauchi asked, taking off his hat and scratching his head, eyes narrowed in confusion. "What for? Tartarus isn't exactly the kind of place where prisoners move around lightly."
"I tried to request details," Nezu replied, his voice measured, "but the only response I received was that it falls under 'classified international security protocol.' All I know is, whoever Von Doom is interested in, they're important enough for him to personally intervene."
Aizawa's frown deepened. "Great. As if things weren't complicated enough. Do we at least know which prisoner?"
"Not yet," Nezu said with a nod. "In any case, the request sliced through the usual red tape—Tokyo approved the preliminary paperwork in under 48 hours." He projected a second file: a flight manifest for an armored U.N. transport scheduled to land at Narita in two days. "The escort detail lists Von Doom's Doombots and a small unit of U.N. peacekeepers carrying Quirk-suppression gear. Given the timing, I suspect this is tied to Iron Man's intervention—perhaps Doom thinks he owes him a favor."
Narita International Airport — Midnight
Midnight draped Narita International Airport in a hush, broken only by the distant thrum of runway lights and the hum of service vehicles. Most terminals slept behind darkened glass, but Gate 74 was ablaze with activity—blue security beacons flashing against the misty tarmac.
A matte-gray cargo jet—U.N. markings on the tail, the Latverian coat-of-arms stenciled under the cockpit—taxied to a halt. Hydraulic stairs clamped to the fuselage, and the rear ramp lowered with a metallic groan.
First off the plane came a wedge of Doombots in metallic armor, their visors pulsing with faint infrared. Behind them, a U.N. peacekeeping squad disembarked, each trooper wearing a silver suppression collar at the hip—standard issue for Quirk-containment.
Then the reason for the midnight landing appeared.
From the shadows of the cargo bay, two Doombots led a restrained figure down the ramp—wrists cuffed in a specialized Quirk-suppressing harness, ankles chained, and a reinforced collar locking her powers. Her purple hair glimmered under the harsh floodlights.
Lady Nagant.
Even in chains, she carried herself with the composure of a predator in a cage, her sharp eyes scanning the perimeter, calculating everything. The faint clink of her shackles was the only sound she made.
A Japanese officer whispered under his breath, "Hard to believe that's the Commission's former top assassin…"
The lead Latverian officer handed over a sleek, tablet-like device to a U.N. inspector. "Asset K-9, Level S—delivery as requested," he said curtly, his accent crisp and authoritative.
The inspector checked the manifest, then glanced at the restrained woman. "Confirmed. Lady Nagant is in custody."
En Route to [Redacted] — 35,000 Feet Over the Atlantic
The low thrum of the engines reverberated through the metal walls of the transport plane, a steady reminder of her captivity. Tsutsumi Kaina sat chained to a steel bench, her wrists and ankles locked in reinforced restraints. The Quirk-suppressing collar hummed faintly against her neck, a soft but constant reminder that she was a weapon with the trigger removed.
Across from her sat two U.N. Peacekeepers, tense but silent, their fingers never far from the safeties of their rifles. Flanking the bay were four Doombots—cold metal giants with green-plated armor, glowing eyes scanning the room in synchronized intervals. Unlike human soldiers, they didn't fidget. They didn't sweat. They simply watched, unblinking, as though waiting for the smallest hint of disobedience.
The air smelled of oil and cold steel. Every vibration in the hull was a reminder of distance—distance from land, from freedom, from anything familiar. She let her sharp eyes wander across the cargo bay:
- Two Doombots at the ramp, one near the sealed hatch, one at the flight deck door.
- Four security cameras, two high, two low.
- One emergency release lever, close enough to tempt but useless with the collar on.
No opening. No point.
A subtle change in engine pitch told her the plane had left Japan behind, now soaring over open water. The black ocean below was invisible, but she could feel its presence in the cool, damp air creeping through the fuselage.
Tsutsumi broke the silence with a low murmur. "Where are you taking me?"
The Peacekeepers said nothing. One of the Doombots swiveled its head toward her, its voice modulated and lifeless. "Destination: classified. You will comply."
Tsutsumi leaned back against the bulkhead, the metal cold against her spine. Classified. That meant new. Off the books. A place designed to swallow people whole. She could feel the world shifting even in her captivity. Somewhere deep in her gut, a quiet instinct whispered: Wherever I'm going, it wasn't built for people to leave.
And yet, she felt no fear. Only patience. Because she knew the world had changed the moment Iron Man appeared. Alliances were shifting. Powers were moving. And if she was being moved like a chess piece, it meant the game had only just begun.
The plane's engines adjusted again, descending. A small porthole to her left revealed a glimpse of the Atlantic under the moonlight, a vast, merciless black mirror. And there—barely visible through the mist and sea spray—she saw it.
A massive cylindrical structure rose from the water like a steel fortress, floodlights slicing through the fog. Its walls were sheer and glimmered with wet armor plating, bristling with automated turrets.
Tsutsumi's eyes narrowed. She had never seen this place before.
"Welcome to The Raft, Tsutsumi Kaina."
The Raft - Main Deck
The ramp hissed open. Cold, salty wind rushed into the bay as the Doombots moved first, stomping down the ramp with mechanical precision. The Peacekeepers gestured for her to rise. She did, letting the chains clink softly with each step, her posture calm and predatory despite the shackles.
The platform stretched into the ocean like a fragment of another world. And at the end of the ramp, two figures waited under the lights.
One was clad in green and steel, his cloak fluttering against the Atlantic wind, a mask of cold authority gleaming under the floodlights—Victor Von Doom, the new Secretary-General of the United Nations.
Beside him, armor gleaming red and gold, repulsors faintly glowing at his sides, was Iron Man. His helmet inclined slightly as she approached, unreadable behind the golden faceplate.
"Tsutsumi Kaina," Doom's voice cut through the night, deep and commanding. "We welcome you to The Raft. To your… new chapter."
She raised a brow, her voice dry. "That's one way to describe a prison transfer."
Iron Man stepped forward, his helmet tilting slightly. "Call it what you want, but this place is brand new and nothing like Tartarus. Nobody knows it exists, and nobody's breaking out."
Tsutsumi's eyes flicked between the two armored figures. "So this is it… my life in someone else's cage."
Doom spread his hands as if presenting the rising steel citadel behind him. "Not a cage. A proving ground. You were summoned for a purpose. Serve it well… and you may yet step back into the light."
The Doombots marched her down the ramp toward the illuminated platform, the ocean winds howling around them. The Raft, though she didn't know its name yet, loomed like a fortress out of another world—a place where power and secrecy ruled.
The metal ramp clanged under every step of her boots, the sound swallowed by the wind and the ocean crashing against steel walls. Spray misted the air, cold and sharp against her face. Tsutsumi's eyes swept the structure as she was escorted forward. The Raft was like no prison she'd ever seen: Towering steel walls rose straight from the Atlantic, slick with sea spray. Automated turrets tracked the convoy's movement with silent precision. Drone sentries zipped overhead, scanning her with eerie red beams.
Floodlights cast long shadows across the cylindrical deck, making the entire platform feel like a surgical stage for the world's most dangerous secrets. Even with her assassin's composure, a flicker of unease stirred in her chest. This isn't Tartarus. This is a tomb that floats.
At the base of the main gate, a pair of Doombots scanned her with a sweeping blue holographic grid. Her restraints hummed as the collar synced to the facility's suppression field, locking her Quirk into dormancy.
"Processing… confirmed," one of the bots droned. "Subject: Asset K-9, Level S."
Victor Von Doom descended the ramp behind her, his green cloak snapping in the ocean wind. Iron Man followed with a more casual gait, though his helmet's lenses never left her.
"Charming place," Tsutsumi said dryly, glancing at the turrets above. "Let me guess—no windows, no phone calls, no mail service?"
"Actually, you have windows," Iron Man quipped. "Sunlight, exercise, a library the size of New York's public library… This isn't about stuffing you in a box. It's about treating you like a person, not a malfunctioning machine. Doom doesn't believe in treating people like equipment. You're dangerous, not disposable."
Doom's masked gaze fixed on her. "Inside, you'll find medical staff, counselors, and opportunities—should you choose to earn them. Perform well, and you join a new initiative. Fail, and The Raft remains your home."
The assassin held his stare, then glanced at Iron Man. "Windows, counseling, and 'opportunities.' Quite the sales pitch."
Doom's voice resonated clearly through his mask. "This is not Tartarus, Kaina. You are here because your abilities have value—but your mind has even more. Consider this facility less a prison and more an opportunity."
Tsutsumi arched a brow, curiosity mixing cautiously with skepticism. "An opportunity?"
Iron Man nodded slowly. "A chance to show the world you're more than just a weapon. Here, you're a person. And if you're willing, you might just find something resembling redemption."
For a moment, she stood quietly as the ocean roared against the fortress walls. She studied the men before her—one encased in gleaming armor, the other a regal dictator wrapped in cold green robes. But in their words, she heard something she'd almost forgotten existed: a choice.
Her eyes met Iron Man's gaze through the gold-tinted visor. "You seem to know a lot about me."
"Oh, I do my homework," Iron Man said, his sarcasm razor-sharp. "Dirty work—eliminating anyone the government flagged, no matter how colorful the spandex. All for their 'greater good.'"
Tsutsumi's eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing.
He continued, his voice steady but sharp. "You weren't just a sniper. You were the scalpel they used when the red tape got too thick. They said jump, you didn't even ask how high. You just pulled the trigger and vanished."
Victor Von Doom, silent until now, added, "And when you stopped jumping—when your conscience woke—you were discarded like broken hardware."
Tsutsumi looked away for a beat, her jaw tight. "So what? You think I regret it?"
"No," Iron Man said. "I think you regret that it took you so long to stop."
She flinched. Just barely. But he saw it.
"You were a weapon," Iron Man continued, his tone softer now, less edge, more weight. "I've built weapons. I was one. But eventually, I got my second chance. Right now, you're standing at the front door of yours."
She stared at him as the escort paused before a final security door. The collar at her neck flickered as it synced with The Raft's internal systems.
"And if I don't choose?" she asked, her voice low.
Doom stepped past her, his metal mask reflecting the sterile corridor lights. "Then the world will decide for you," he said, his tone cold and absolute. "Again."
Victor moved forward, his green cloak snapping in the wind. "Inside, you will be treated as a person, not merely an asset. Follow the rules, and you will have privileges. Defy them, and this fortress will remind you why escape is… illogical."
The Doombots ushered her toward a reinforced hatch. Hydraulic locks disengaged with a deep clang, and the door slid open to reveal a sleek, metallic corridor. White strip lights glowed along the floor and ceiling, their reflections making the space feel like a cross between a laboratory and a luxury isolation ward.
"Charming," she said flatly. "Like a hotel room for people you don't trust."
Iron Man stepped into view beside her, leaning against the doorframe. "Trust is earned. Think of this as… a starter pack. Ocean view included."
Nagant walked inside, trailing her fingers across the cold steel of the desk. "No chains on the bed. That's… new."
"Like Doom said," Tony replied. "You're a person, not a malfunctioning machine. Don't make us regret treating you like one."
For a moment, she just stood by the glass wall, watching the endless black Atlantic ripple under the moonlight. It was beautiful. Isolating. And it reminded her, more than Tartarus ever had, that freedom was now measured in choices she hadn't made yet.
Behind her, the door sealed with a soft hydraulic hum.
Now alone, she stood by the glass wall, her gaze fixed on the dark, churning waves below. The moonlight danced across the water, casting fleeting patterns that clashed with the cold, sterile precision of her new quarters. The weight of her past settled over her like a shroud—the lives she'd ended with a pull of her rifle's trigger, the orders she'd followed until they'd hollowed her out, and that final, defiant moment when she'd turned away from it all.
Iron Man's words lingered in her mind, sharp and insistent 'You were a weapon. I've built weapons. I was one. But eventually, I got my second chance. Right now, you're standing at the front door of yours.'
She clenched her fists, the faint hum of the collar a reminder of her captivity. Tartarus had been a pit, a place designed to crush her spirit beneath its oppressive weight. But this… this room with its sleek steel and ocean view—was something else. It wasn't just a cell; it was a test. A proving ground, as they'd called it. A challenge to her will, her resolve, and whatever scraps of humanity she had left.
Her eyes darted to the desk, where a small, innocuous pen sat in a holder. In another life, she'd have sized it up instantly—a tool to jimmy a lock, disable a camera, or even serve as a makeshift weapon. Her fingers twitched, old instincts flaring briefly. But she stilled them, uncertain. Was that who she still was? Or could she be something more?
Turning from the glass, she paced the small room, her boots tapping a slow rhythm against the floor. The cameras tracked her every step, their lenses glinting like the eyes of patient predators. She knew they were watching, waiting for her to falter, to prove she was still the assassin they'd dragged out of the shadows. But there was another possibility, one she barely dared to consider: maybe they were also waiting for her to prove them wrong.
She sank onto the bed, the reinforced frame unyielding beneath her weight. The tablet on the desk flickered to life, its screen displaying a curt message: "Welcome, Tsutsumi Kaina. Your schedule will begin at 0600." She stared at it, then at the sealed door, its hydraulic hum still echoing faintly in her ears. For the first time in years, something stirred within her—a flicker of hope, fragile and unfamiliar, or perhaps just its shadow.
"Redemption," she murmured, the word tasting foreign on her tongue. "Is that even possible for someone like me?"
The ocean beyond the glass offered no answers, only the relentless crash of waves against The Raft's fortified walls. She lay back on the bed, staring at the smooth, unblemished ceiling. The weight of her past pressed down, but so did the weight of what lay ahead. This was no ordinary prison—it was the beginning of something new, a path that could either pull her toward salvation or shatter her completely. As her eyes drifted shut, the sound of the waves seeped into her thoughts, a restless lullaby for a soul caught between who she'd been and who she might yet become.
The Raft - Main Corridor
Walking through the Raft's main corridor toward the landing pad, Iron Man and Victor Von Doom moved in silence. The hum of the suppression field resonated through the walls, punctuated by the distant crash of the Atlantic against the steel fortress.
The quiet held until Iron Man's voice broke through, low enough that only Doom (and perhaps the nearest Peacekeeper) could catch it. "You know, Victor, most people would ask why the monarch of Latveria is moonlighting on a floating black-site in the Atlantic."
Doom didn't slow. "Curiosity is overrated, Iron Man."
Tony's helmet tilted. "Sure. But you and I both understand what it's like to operate in a world that… isn't exactly ours." A subtle pause. "Different physics. Different history. Different mistakes to fix."
Doom didn't look at him immediately, but his masked voice carried faint amusement. "Ah. So you admit it. I suspected as much from the moment we met."
Tony shrugged. "Not exactly a secret if you know how to read between the armor plates." After a stretch of silence, Iron Man's voice cut through, modulated and sharp through his helmet. "So, Victor, this 'new initiative' you pitched to Tsutsumi. What's the real play here?"
Victor didn't slow his pace, his tone measured and cool. "Rehabilitation and reintegration. A resource like her is too valuable to waste, provided she's properly directed."
Iron Man tilted his head, the gesture exaggerated by the armor. "Directed. Right. That's a polite way of saying 'leashed.'"
"Order requires structure," Victor replied evenly. "Chaos benefits no one, Iron Man. You've seen that firsthand."
A dry chuckle echoed from Iron Man's suit. "Yeah, I've seen chaos. Caused some too. But people? They don't bend like circuits. You can't just solder them into place."
Victor's silence lingered a beat too long, as if weighing the words. "Not easily," he conceded. "Yet The Raft you designed exists for challenges like her."
They reached the hallway's end, where reinforced doors loomed, leading to the landing pad beyond. Victor paused, turning to face Iron Man, his masked gaze inscrutable. "Your actions at the UN have ripple effects. Nations question your autonomy."
Iron Man's helmeted eyes glowed steadily as he met Victor's stare. "Good. Let them question. I'm not here to kiss rings or play their games."
"A bold choice," Victor said, a faint edge in his voice. "But boldness without allies can isolate even the strongest."
Before Tony could reply, they stepped onto the wind-swept landing pad, where a trio of UN Peacekeepers directed drone offloading operations under the harsh white floodlights. The Atlantic roared below, throwing mist across the steel deck.
Tony's visor narrowed. The doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the landing pad in the night air. Iron Man stepped forward but hesitated, glancing back. "One last thing—how sure are you that The Raft's as airtight as you think?"
Victor's posture stiffened imperceptibly. "It is impregnable. Every variable has been accounted for."
Doom then stopped in the center of the pad and lifted one metal hand. A soft chime echoed, and the Victor Von Doom beside Tony froze mid-step. Servos hissed. Then, with a hiss of hydraulics, the eyes of the armored figure dimmed to black.
The real Doom's voice crackled through the comms, deep and calm. "You've been speaking to a Doombot. I remain in New York. There are matters there only I can address."
Iron Man's helmet tilted toward the decoy, a smirk audible in his voice. "Neat trick with the double. Keeps the world guessing where the real Victor is, huh?"
"New York," Victor cut in, his voice resonating with cold authority. "I've been overseeing matters here. One must maintain appearances—and control—across all fronts."
Iron Man crossed his arms, the servos in his suit whirring. "And this Doombot? What's its play?"
Victor's gaze was unyielding through the Doombot. "A precaution. In a world teetering on disorder, I ensure my presence is felt—wherever I choose it to be."
Tony looked out at the black ocean, his thrusters humming to life. Without waiting for a reply, Iron Man lifted off, fire from his boots lighting the wet steel below, leaving the silent Doombot standing sentinel on the Raft as UN Peacekeepers watched in uneasy awe.
UA High School - After Hours
Tsukauchi stood beside Nezu in his office, watching as the connection stabilized on a secure line. The holographic screen flickered, revealing a woman in her late twenties with blonde hair that brushed just past her neck. Though they weren't personally familiar with her yet, the rest of the world certainly was. She was the head of the Future Foundation and a founding member of the Fantastic Four—the Invisible Woman, Susan Storm-Richards. She appeared calm, though her expression hinted at the weight of pressing responsibilities.
"Principal Nezu, was it?" Sue asked politely. "We received your message. I'm afraid we're swamped dealing with high-tech threats at the moment, so I can't spare much time."
"Understandable," Nezu replied with his usual charming smile. "This won't take long. I'm hoping you might pass a message along to a mutual acquaintance of ours—Iron Man."
Sue's expression softened slightly. "Oh, him… What did he do this time?"
"Nothing that I know of," Nezu said, nodding. "Could you forward a message to him? We've tried to contact him, but there's been no response. He's already familiar with our situation."
Sue tapped her communicator. "I'll make sure it reaches him. He'll respond, eventually. He's not the type to ignore a crisis, even if he pretends otherwise. Honestly… sometimes I think he and my husband are too alike for their own good."
"Much appreciated, Mrs. Storm," Nezu said with a polite bow.
"Richards," Sue corrected with a faint smile. "It's Susan Storm-Richards now."
Nezu straightened and gave a polite nod. "Of course. My apologies, Mrs. Richards."
The call ended, the holographic screen dissolving into the air. Tsukauchi glanced at Nezu, his brow furrowing slightly. "Do you think Iron Man will actually respond?"
Nezu clasped his small paws behind his back and turned toward the window, his sharp eyes glinting with quiet confidence. "He's a man of action, Detective. If the situation is as dire as we suspect, he won't stay silent for long."
Baxter Building - New York
Sue leaned against the doorway of the workshop, her eyes fixed on Tony as he tinkered with his armor. The faint clatter of tools echoed in the room. Ever since he'd taken refuge in the Baxter Building, he'd kept to himself, focusing on rebuilding his suit. Reed had tried to dig into Tony's past, but all he'd gotten was a clipped summary: MIT grad, mechanic's life by a lake, away from society—until something dragged him back.
"Reed says you just got back from The Raft, and now you're headed to Japan alone," she said, breaking the silence. "He's worried. We all are."
Tony didn't look up, his hands steady on a piece of plating. "Japan's got a mess that needs cleaning up. I'm the guy with the broom."
Sue stepped closer, her tone soft but firm. "You don't have to do it alone, Tony. We're here for you."
Tony set his tools down and met her gaze, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Sue, you've got a full house to manage. You don't need my chaos on top of it."
She crossed her arms, undeterred. "You've been locking yourself in here, fixing that armor like it's the only thing that matters. You're shutting us out."
Tony's smirk faded, his eyes drifting back to the suit. "I'm not shutting you out. I'm just… keeping things simple. I've got this handled."
Sue's voice sharpened slightly. "Handled? You won't even tell Reed where you've been, beyond some vague story about a lake house. Now you're off to Japan alone. That's not handling it, Tony—that's running."
Tony rubbed the back of his neck, his guard up. "Look, Sue, I appreciate the concern. But this is my fight. I don't need backup."
Sue softened, stepping closer. "We're not just backup. We're your friends. Let us help."
Tony's gaze lingered on the armor, his voice low. "I've lost people before. I'm not dragging you into this."
Sue's brow furrowed. "We've all lost people, Tony. Shutting us out doesn't make it safer—it just makes it lonelier."
He tapped the workbench, staring at the armor. "Lonely, I can handle. Losing more people, I can't."
Her expression shifted to resolve. "We're not your ghosts. And you don't get to decide our risks."
Tony looked at her, a flicker of doubt in his eyes, before his resolve hardened. "Maybe not. But right now, I do. Just… watch the kids for me, okay?"
Sue gave a small nod, her smile tinged with understanding. "Fine. But we're not done talking about this."
Tony managed a quiet chuckle. "Never thought we were."
As Susan turned to leave, she paused at the doorway, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Also, Principal Nezu of U.A. High School in Japan sent you a message."
Tony's head tilted, his smirk returning faintly. "The talking rat? Let me guess—he wants me to guest-lecture on heroics."
Sue's smile widened slightly. "Something like that. He said you're familiar with the situation."
Tony chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, I bet he does. Tell him I'll get back to him—after I sort out this mess."
She gave a small nod and stepped out, leaving Tony alone with the hum of the reactors. Japan loomed in his mind, a tangle of threats and a puppeteer he wasn't ready to face—but he'd be damned if he let anyone else pay the price.
Tony leaned back in his chair, the faint hum of his workshop filling the silence. The holographic interface flickered to life as he rubbed his temples, exhaustion etched into his features. He took a steadying breath and spoke.
"F.R.I.D.A.Y., reroute the 'pet project' protocol to Japan's orbital atmosphere. I want it locked over Tokyo by morning."
"Adjusting trajectory now, boss," F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied, her voice crisp. "The Fantastic Tin Can will enter geosynchronous orbit in approximately four hours. Cloaking systems are standing by."
Tony nodded absently, swiping through the interface to pull up the diagnostics on the Mark 85. The numbers weren't pretty—nanite reserves down to 13%, chassis fractures across multiple sectors, and the arc reactor flickering like a dying star. He frowned, leaning closer.
"Give me the recovery rundown on the Mark 85. How long are we looking at?"
"Full restoration's a tall order," F.R.I.D.A.Y. said. "The nano-matrix is compromised, and several core systems are offline. Nanite regeneration and structural repairs would take six weeks, minimum. That's assuming no supply chain hiccups."
His eyes lingered on the Mark 85, its nanite framework shattered beyond quick fixes. He poured everything into that suit, and now it was dead weight.
Tony exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Six weeks is five too many." He paused, his gaze drifting to the corner of the room where a small photo of Pepper and Morgan rested. His voice softened, almost to himself. "Can't afford to be grounded that long."
He straightened, refocusing. "What about the Mark 80?"
"The Mark 80's fully operational," F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirmed. "Test flights have been positive so far, and it's ready to roll. Systems are green, calibrated to your specs. It's ready when you are."
Tony smirked faintly, a flicker of his old swagger breaking through the weariness. "Transfer data and nanites from Mark 85 to Mark 80. Compile what we gathered so far onto our puppeteer in Japan, too."
"Data transfer initiated," F.R.I.D.A.Y. responded. "Mark 85 logs are syncing to Mark 80's systems. All information regarding 'puppeteer' is being uploaded to the data's core. Estimated completion: 20 minutes."
Tony nodded, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the holographic display. "Good. Let's make sure our friend in Tokyo gets the full picture. I'm not walking into another ambush blind."
He stood, stretching his arms as he walked toward the workbench. The photo of Pepper and Morgan caught his eye again, and he paused, his thumb brushing over the frame. "One more thing, F.R.I.D.A.Y.," he said, his voice quieter, carrying the weight of a man who'd seen too many battles end in loss. "Run a diagnostic on the Mark 80's failsafes. If this goes south, I want a way out that doesn't end with me as a smear on the pavement."
"Running diagnostics now," F.R.I.D.A.Y. said. "Failsafes are at 100%. You'll have an exit strategy, boss."
Tony gave a curt nod, setting the photo down gently. "One crisis at a time."
He set the photo down gently, his jaw tightening as he turned back to the holographic display. Japan loomed on the horizon—another fight, another gamble. But this time, he'd face it alone. The weight of that choice settled on his shoulders, familiar and heavy, as the workshop hummed quietly around him.
The Raft - Tsutsumi's Quarters
The faint hum of The Raft's security systems filled Tsutsumi's quarters, a constant drone underscoring her isolation. She stood by the reinforced glass wall, her sharp gaze fixed on the dark waves of the Atlantic rolling under the moonlight. The ocean was vast, unyielding—a mirror to her current reality. Her room, a sterile box of steel and glass, offered little comfort: a bolted bed, a cold desk, and the unblinking eyes of security cameras tracking her every move.
A soft chime pierced the silence, followed by the facility's AI voice, crisp and mechanical. "Visitor: Victor Von Doom. Access granted."
The hydraulic door slid open with a hiss, revealing Victor Von Doom in his full regal splendor. His green cloak trailed behind him, and the faint clank of his armor echoed in the confined space. Two Doombots followed, their glowing visors scanning the room as they stationed themselves by the entrance. Tsutsumi turned slowly, her posture relaxed yet alert, like a coiled spring. Even in captivity, she exuded the quiet danger of a seasoned assassin.
"Tsutsumi Kaina," Doom intoned, his voice resonant through his mask. "I trust you are finding your accommodations… adequate?"
Tsutsumi glanced up, her voice cutting through the silence with a dry edge. "The Secretary-General himself. Should I bow, or is a standing ovation enough?"
Doom's response was a deep, measured timbre, unshaken by her tone. "Posturing is beneath us both. I come with intent, not ceremony."
He took the seat opposite her, his gauntleted hands resting on the table, fingers interlaced with deliberate precision. The quarters had become different since Iron Man, and he was last here—subtle shifts in design or security, perhaps, hinting at unseen changes. "You endure this place well. A lesser spirit would have broken."
She tilted her head, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "It's a cell with an ocean view. Not exactly the Ritz, but I've had worse."
Doom's masked face betrayed no reaction. "Indeed. Yet, this is not a place of punishment, but of potential. How have you been occupying your time?"
Tsutsumi glanced at the desk, where a tablet sat unused. "Reading. Thinking. Wondering when the other shoe drops. And those exercises? What was that all about?"
Doom stepped forward, his presence dominating the small space. "Patience is a virtue, Kaina. Opportunities will present themselves to those who are prepared."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, searching his words for hidden meaning. "Opportunities? Like what—leading a book club for supervillains?"
(a/n: Son Lux - Thunderbolts is recommended)
A faint hum of amusement escaped Doom's mask. "Leadership takes many forms. Sometimes, it's about guiding others through turbulent times. Your skills could be… invaluable in such endeavors."
Tsutsumi crossed her arms, her tone laced with skepticism. "I'm not exactly the 'team player' type. My last gig didn't end well."
"The past is a lesson, not a life sentence," Doom replied, his voice steady and authoritative. "Prove your worth here, and you may yet shape a different future."
She studied him for a moment, her assassin's instincts kicking in. "And if I don't?"
Doom's gaze shifted to the glass wall, the ocean stretching endlessly beyond. "Then the ocean will be your constant companion. But I suspect you are not one to settle for mere survival."
Tsutsumi's jaw tightened. She'd been a weapon before, wielded and discarded. Now, something else was being dangled before her—vague, tantalizing, and dangerous. She didn't trust it, not yet.
Doom turned toward the door, his cloak sweeping the floor. He paused at the threshold, his voice dropping to a deliberate murmur. "Consider this, Kaina: storms can destroy, but they can also clear the path for something new. Choose wisely."
The door sealed shut behind him, the hiss of hydraulics fading into silence. Tsutsumi stood motionless, Doom's words echoing in her mind. Leadership. Storms. A future undefined. For the first time in years, the next move was hers to make.