Chapter 5
FFC (Japan Division), Tony's Office
Tony leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on the armrests, and stared across the desk at Keigo Takami—Hawks. The hero's golden eyes locked onto him in return, the air between them crackling with unspoken questions. Keigo, dressed in civilian clothes—a leather jacket, no wings visible—sat rigid, his usual nonchalance replaced by a probing intensity. He couldn't read Stark, and it was fraying his nerves. This guy's a locked vault Keigo thought. What's his play?
Kaina Tsutsumi lounged in an armchair in the corner, her dark blue hair loose, the civilian disguise discarded. She crossed her arms, watching the standoff with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You two gonna talk, or am I breaking the ice here?" she asked, her voice dry, the edge sharp after dismantling Keigo in the alley.
Tony's smirk flickered, but his eyes stayed fixed on Keigo. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., activate Barn Door Protocol. Cut all comms—nobody's eavesdropping."
A low hum filled the room as security shutters sealed the windows and external signals flatlined, turning the office into an isolated bunker. Tony leaned forward, his voice laced with sarcasm. "So, Hawks, you tail my associate through Musutafu, then waltz into my office. Their idea, or are you just that curious?"
Keigo's smile twitched, his respect for Kaina warring with his mission. "Senpai here—" he nodded at Kaina "—handed me my ass without a Quirk. Impressive. But you, Stark? You're the real mystery. The Commission thinks you're Iron Man, running some game with Doom. Care to enlighten me?" His tone was light, but his eyes were sharp, searching. Kaina's out of their system, but Stark's pulling strings. What's he hiding?
Kaina snorted, shifting in her chair. "Told him to ask you directly, Stark. He's got questions, but he's barking up the wrong tree with me."
Tony chuckled, his gaze steely. "Questions, huh? Okay, here's one—how long are you planning to fetch sticks for the Commission before you start thinking for yourself? Kaina's out of their cage. I don't play by their rules either. So what's it gonna be—file a report, or deal with me directly?" He leaned back, fingers steepled, the smirk never leaving his face. The humor was there, but beneath it, the vigilance weighed heavily.
Keigo's eyes narrowed, weighing his options. "I'm here because Senpai's back, and you're too slippery for a counselor. They want answers—me too. But I'm not your enemy. Yet." His voice held a hint of respect for Kaina, curiosity for Tony. She warned me about the HPSC. Is she right?
Kaina's lips quirked. "Keep digging, Takami. You'll find more than you bargained for."
The room hung heavy, the standoff unbroken, but the ice was cracking.
Tony broke the silence first, his tone shifting from sarcasm to something sharper, more accusatory. "You know, Hawks, I've seen a lot of messed-up systems in my time, but this hero-villain circus takes the cake. It's corrupted to the core—heroes and villains alike just go along with it, no second thought. And everyone buys into it like it's the natural order. Why? Because it's easier than admitting the whole thing's a sham designed to keep people in line."
Keigo leaned forward, his casual facade cracking into a flash of irritation. "Oh, listen to the almighty Stark, swooping in from who-knows-where like you've got all the answers. You don't know jack about us—our sacrifices, the greater good we fight for every day. You talk big, but have you ever put it all on the line for something bigger than yourself? Or is it just ego?"
Tony's smirk faded, his eyes hardening with a flicker of old pain. "Ego? Kid, you have no idea what I've sacrificed. Worlds have burned because of systems like yours—blind loyalty, no questions asked. Heroes, villains—they're all pawns in the same game, too scared or too comfortable to flip the board."
Keigo shot back, his voice rising. "And you're the one to flip it? Some outsider playing god with Doom's backing? You think you're above it all, but you're just another player pretending to be the referee. At least we know what we're fighting for—people, not some high-and-mighty ideal."
Kaina cleared her throat, her amusement fading. "Enough. This isn't helping. Hawks, if you're here to talk, talk. Stark, dial it down."
The two men held each other's gaze a moment longer, the air thick with unresolved tension, but the barbs had hit their mark. Whatever came next, the lines were drawn.
Tony sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose before standing up, his chair scraping against the floor. He signaled Keigo with a tilt of his head. "Come on, bird boy. Let's take a walk. Kaina, you too—this concerns you."
Keigo exchanged a glance with Kaina, curiosity overriding his irritation, and rose to follow. Kaina stood as well, falling in step behind them as Tony led the way out of the office and down a set of stairs toward the lower levels. The hallway they entered was a gallery of relics and replicas, lined with glass cases displaying items from another world—Tony's world.
As they walked, Keigo's eyes flicked to a circular shield made of a rare, indestructible metal, painted in concentric circles of red, white, and blue with a central star symbolizing unyielding defense. Next was a compact suit in red and silver, designed for size-shifting, its helmet featuring glowing visors for enhanced vision. Keigo's gaze lingered on the following item: a set of mechanical wings with a red and white design, equipped for high-speed aerial maneuverability and combat, complete with thrusters and retractable blades. "Nice hardware," he muttered, his interest piqued by the flight tech that echoed his own abilities.
Kaina, walking beside him, noticed a metallic helmet with intricate wiring, designed to enhance psychic powers, alongside a red helmet etched with magnetic field symbols. Further along were a compound bow and sets of specialized arrows. But what caught Kaina's eye was the final display: a black tactical suit with wrist gauntlets, a utility belt stocked with gadgets, and collapsible batons, all in a sleek design optimized for stealth. She paused briefly, a flash of recognition in her eyes—tools of a spy, a survivor.
Tony glanced back, noticing their reactions but saying nothing as he unlocked the workshop door. "Welcome to my playground. Let's see if we can find some common ground before you fly back to your bosses."
The three entered, the door sealing behind them with a heavy click. The workshop was a sprawling lair of innovation, cluttered with half-assembled gadgets and glowing screens. Crates labeled "Nanites" were stacked in one corner. Nearby sat a prototype vehicle with a reinforced hull and thrusters, designed for rapid deployment in high-altitude emergencies.
Keigo paused, eyeing the vehicle with a raised eyebrow. "Expanding into the roller coaster business, Stark? That thing looks like it could give Tokyo Dome a run for its money."
Tony chuckled, waving it off as they continued. "Nah, that's for when things go sideways. Saved lives once—long story."
In the opposite corner, a red and gold suit hung on display, spider-like limbs and web-shooters integrated into its design. Keigo tilted his head, curiosity piqued by the suit's mechanics. "What's with the spider getup? Looks like it could crawl up walls and swing through the city—some kind of pest control gear?"
Kaina crossed her arms. "Or a trap for flies. What's the story behind it? Doesn't look like standard armor."
Tony paused, his smirk deepening into something enigmatic. "That one? Let's just say it's for when you need to spin a web without getting tangled in it yourself. Eight legs, infinite possibilities—but only if you're ready to hang by a thread. Some stories are better left swinging in the shadows."
He turned away, leaving them to puzzle over his words. The trio gathered at the center of the workshop, where a large table had been refitted into a holographic workstation. Its surface projected a sprawling map of Musutafu, glowing blue lines marking patrol routes, anomaly hotspots, and fragments of encrypted data pulled from Kingdom's belt—the corrupted hero's files now decoded and scattered across the display like a web of secrets.
Keigo leaned forward, his leather jacket creaking as his golden eyes scanned the shifting data with a mix of intrigue and suspicion. This is bigger than the HPSC's briefings. What's Stark not saying? Tony tapped the table, zooming in on the city's outskirts before swiping the hologram to isolate a jagged fragment—a list of Musutafu locations tied to Quirk trafficking. His gaze was sharp despite his casual slouch. "Alright, Hawks, you wanted in. Look at this. Kingdom wasn't just a bad egg—he was wired into a network of heroes dipping their hands in the dirt. Your system's leaking, and these files prove it." His words cut through the hum of the machines, edged with challenge.
Keigo's wings twitched under his jacket, his usual easy grin replaced by a hard stare. "Big talk, Stark. You drop in with Doom's clout and a fancy map, expecting me to swallow your story? Those aliases could be smoke—or your own game to smear us. Give me a reason to trust you."
Kaina stepped closer, her voice low but firm. "I've lived their lies, Takami. The HPSC burned me out—Kingdom's just another casualty of their machine. Those locations are real; they're moving Quirk amplifiers. You've seen enough to know it's not clean." Her eyes met Keigo's, a flicker of shared history softening her resolve.
Tony glanced at Kaina, raising an eyebrow. "She's not wrong. You're still here, poking around instead of running to your bosses. That's not loyalty—it's doubt. So, how deep do you want to dig?" He zoomed in on a warehouse district marker.
Keigo's jaw tightened, fingers tapping the table. "Okay, say I'm curious. You're planning to hit these spots, right? You and what army, Stark? Even if you're Iron Man, you're one guy. And you—" he turned to Kaina "—you're done with their game. Why jump back into the fire?"
Kaina's lips curled slightly. "Because letting it burn unchecked is worse. I'm not their puppet anymore, and I'm not sitting idle while people like Kingdom wreck things."
Tony leaned back, arms crossed. "You want to fix a broken system, Hawks, you start where it's weakest. These files are our map—question is, are you following it or flying back to the HPSC's nest?"
Before Keigo could answer, F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice sliced through, urgent but steady. "Sir, critical alert: a power plant in a district just outside Musutafu is overloading. Core instability detected—potential explosion within an hour."
The map flared, a red pulse marking the location. Tony's smirk vanished, his eyes narrowing as he grabbed a sleek, compact device from a nearby crate—a nanite-powered arc reactor labeled "Mark 80." Without a second thought, he pressed it to his chest, nanites surging over his body, forming a red and gold suit with glowing repulsors.
Hawks' eyes widened. "So you just admit it? Just like that?"
Tony's faceplate snapped into place, his voice sharp through the suit. "Talk later, bird boy. F.R.I.D.A.Y., keep Barn Door Protocol active while we're gone. Open crate B-7—give our guest here the prototype flight suit."
A robotic arm whirred, unsealing a crate to reveal a sleek, mechanical winged suit with thrusters and retractable blades. Hawks approached it, running a hand over its gray frame. "Why should I use this? I've already got wings—natural, reliable. What's the catch?"
Tony glanced back, his suit glowing as he headed for the exit. "Why not a change of pace? Gesture of goodwill—free trial, no strings. Plus, it might help you see parts of Kaina's point of view. Sometimes, relying on what you're born with isn't enough; you need tools to break free."
Kaina grabbed a tactical vest and headed for a side door. "I'm taking the Quinjet," she called, pausing to glance back. "You two, be nice."
Tony and Hawks exchanged a glance, the winged suit humming to life as Hawks strapped it on. "Let's move, before half the district disappears." Tony said, his suit glowing as they rushed to keep up, the plant's countdown ticking down.
Musutafu Skies, Japan – Evening
The power plant loomed like a ticking bomb against the darkening sky, its massive silos humming with unstable energy, sparks arcing from the main reactor building like veins of lightning. Alarms blared in the distance, red lights flashing across the industrial yard, while local heroes cordoned off the perimeter. Smoke billowed from vents, the air thick with the scent of ozone and overheating metal—the core was seconds from meltdown.
Tony dove in first, his Mark 80 suit cutting through the wind like a red-and-gold arrow, repulsors flaring to slow his descent. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., give me a readout—how bad is it?"
"Core temperature at 1200 degrees Celsius and rising," F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice responded. "Systems failing across the grid. Local heroes have been alerted, Endeavor's team is en route, but they won't make it in time. Estimated time to critical failure: twenty minutes. Veronica is inbound and hovering outside the plant—ready for deployment."
Tony's faceplate visor scanned the horizon. "Copy that. We'll be the experts tonight. Kaina, status?"
Kaina's voice came through, crisp over the Quinjet's engines. "Systems green. I'll swing ahead and secure the perimeter—keep civilians clear and watch for any surprises."
Keigo banked left, testing the Exo-7's maneuvers, the wings responding with a smooth whir. He couldn't hide the grin in his voice. "This suit's not bad, Stark. Handles like a dream—responsive, lightweight. Feels almost natural."
Tony's repulsors adjusted mid-flight. "Glad you approve. Figured you'd like the upgrade."
Outside the power plant, reporters huddled behind barricades, broadcasting live about the escalating fire. First responders watched in stunned silence as Iron Man landed before them, dust kicking up from his thrusters, with Hawks beside him in the sleek Falcon suit—its gray mechanical wings extended, a surprising new look that drew gasps from the crowd.
"This is JNN live! Iron Man has just arrived! And beside him—Hawks, in an unfamiliar winged suit! Is this a new alliance?"
Tony's helmet tilted toward the lead firefighter. "Anyone left inside?"
The firefighter nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "Two in the main office on the west side—they couldn't evacuate in time. Debris and heat blocked us."
Tony turned to Keigo. "Hawks, get those two out. Use the suit's thrusters to cut through. Move!"
Keigo nodded, the Exo-7 wings extending as he launched upward. "On it." He dove toward the west side, dodging sparks, his new gear responding with precision. Not bad for borrowed tech. Might even give my feathers a break.
As Keigo disappeared, a low rumble filled the air. Veronica descended—an orbital armory unfolding like a mechanical beast, releasing massive armored components that clamped onto Tony's Mark 80 with a series of metallic clanks. The Hulkbuster Mk 2 formed around him, its towering frame dwarfing the scene.
"Incredible! Iron Man's just equipped a massive new suit!" a reporter shouted.
Tony charged forward, headbutting through a reinforced wall with a deafening crash, debris exploding outward as he barreled toward the building.
West Side of the Power Plant
Keigo soared toward the west side, the Exo-7 Falcon suit's mechanical wings slicing through the smoke-filled air. The main office loomed ahead, its windows cracked from the heat. His HUD flickered to life, overlaying thermal scans that highlighted two faint heat signatures inside. "Got eyes on them," he muttered into comms. "West office, corner room."
Tony's voice crackled back, muffled by the roar of the Hulkbuster. "Copy that. Get 'em out quick—core's spiking."
Keigo nodded to himself, the suit's wings folding slightly for a controlled dive. He experimented with the controls, flexing his arms to activate the retractable blades. They extended with a sharp snikt, vibrating faintly as he slashed through the debris blocking the door. Okay, that's handy.
With the door cleared, he burst inside. The two civilians—a middle-aged engineer and a younger technician—coughed from their makeshift barricade. "Hawks? That you?" the engineer rasped. "What the hell's with the getup?"
Keigo flashed a quick grin under the visor. "Long story. Come on, we're getting out." He activated the thrusters for a short burst, hovering in place while deploying the grapple lines from his wrists. Grapples? Nice touch, Stark.
"Hold tight—this might feel like a roller coaster." He flared the wings wide, thrusters igniting with a low roar that propelled them upward through a shattered skylight. They burst into the open air, smoke trailing behind as Keigo carried them to safety, depositing the pair gently near the firefighters' line.
"Civilians secure," he reported over comms, wings cutting through the wind as he headed for the roof vents. "Heading to scout those overload hubs. This suit's a beast, Stark—might keep it."
Tony chuckled amid the clanking of the Hulkbuster. "Flattery won't get you ownership, bird boy. Mark the hubs—I'm breaching the core now."
Reactor Room
Tony barreled through the final corridor in the Hulkbuster Mk 2, the massive suit's hydraulic limbs pounding against the reinforced floors. The reactor room loomed ahead—a cavernous chamber dominated by the glowing core, its surface rippling with unstable plasma.
"F.R.I.D.A.Y., full diagnostic," Tony commanded as he approached the control panels.
"Core integrity at 15% and dropping," F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied. "Overload cascade in progress—manual shutdown required."
Tony extended the Hulkbuster's arm, releasing a swarm of nanites to stabilize the field. With a grunt, he smashed through a locked access hatch, exposing the auxiliary controls. "Alright, big guy—time to play mechanic." He gripped the main coolant valve, twisting it open with a screech of protesting metal. The plasma flickered, dimming slightly, but a secondary surge crackled through the systems.
"Kaina, Hawks—core's stabilizing, but I need those vents cleared now. Any interference out there?"
Rooftop Vents
Keigo had just pried open the first vent access when a burst of flames erupted nearby. He spun, blades retracting as he faced the source: Endeavor, landing on the rooftop with a heavy thud, his muscular frame wreathed in flickering flames.
"Hawks," Endeavor growled, his voice a low rumble. "Where the hell have you been? And what's with the new suit? Explain yourself."
Keigo straightened, the Falcon suit's wings folding slightly. Great, the big guy's here. He kept his tone casual. "Endeavor, perfect timing. Been... handling some off-the-books stuff. This suit? Borrowed it from a friend. But hey, we've got a core about to blow—mind if I finish up here first?"
Endeavor's flames flickered higher. "A friend? Like that armored vigilante down there? The Commission didn't authorize this."
From her overwatch in the Quinjet, Kaina's voice whispered in Keigo's comms. "Stall him if you have to, but get those hubs marked. Tony's buying time."
Keigo nodded subtly. "Respectfully, Number Two, save it. People are counting on us." He cut him off, yanking the third vent open and diving in. The HUD highlighted the hubs—three overloaded circuits. He extended a wrist-mounted marker, firing nanite beacons that latched onto each hub.
"Hawks, hubs marked—nice work," Kaina confirmed.
Back in the reactor room, Tony's HUD pinged. "That's my bird boy." He diverted power from the marked circuits. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., lock it down—full override."
"Override complete. Core temperature dropping. Shutdown successful."
Tony exhaled. "Hawks, Kaina—core's down. Get clear, now."
The power plant shuddered one last time as Tony emerged from the crumbling entrance. With a hydraulic whir, the Hulkbuster suit began to disassemble—armored plates detaching and ascending toward the hovering Veronica pod.
As soon as Tony reverted to his sleeker suit, reporters swarmed him. He ignored them, striding toward the firefighters. "Everyone okay?"
Keigo landed beside Tony, the Falcon suit's wings folding. "Easy there—I'll handle this," he said, stepping in front of the reporters. "Team effort, folks. Crisis averted."
Endeavor landed behind Tony, flames simmering. "Enough games," he growled. "You—vigilante. What's your game here? I demand answers."
Tony spun, his voice firm. "Touch me, and you violate the agreement between the Future Foundation and the Japanese government."
The Quinjet descended nearby, Kaina at the controls. "Get on—both of you," she ordered over the comms. "We're out."
Tony and Keigo boarded, the ramp sealing behind them. Inside, Keigo settled into a seat. "Stark, how'd these wings even fit? My real ones are growing back."
Tony smirked from the co-pilot chair. "Did a bit of homework. Suit's frame adapts around them. No conflict."
As the jet lifted off, leaving a fuming Endeavor and a frenzy of reporters below, the immediate crisis was over. But the questions—and the heat—were only just beginning.
Power Plant Aftermath
Endeavor stood rooted amid the fading chaos, his flames simmering low as the Quinjet vanished into the night sky, leaving a trail of speculation in its wake. The reporters buzzed like agitated hornets, their cameras still flashing at the empty space where Iron Man and Hawks had stood moments before. He clenched his fists, the heat of his Quirk mirroring the frustration boiling within—unauthorized tech, vigilante interference, and now Hawks entangled in it all. This reeks of something bigger he thought, his analytical mind already dissecting the events. The Commission would hear about this, but first, he needed answers from the site itself.
Ignoring the lingering crowd, Endeavor strode toward the plant's entrance, his heavy boots crunching over debris. Local heroes and firefighters parted for him, their expressions a mix of relief and awe at the averted disaster. He ducked under the caution tape, entering the smoldering interior where twisted metal and charred wiring hung like defeated foes. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt electronics and ozone, residual heat waves shimmering off the walls. He scanned the corridors methodically, his flames casting flickering light on the damage—overloaded panels, melted conduits, a testament to how close the meltdown had come.
As he ventured deeper, a voice called from behind. "Boss!" Burnin, his fiery sidekick with her wild green hair and unyielding energy, leaped onto the scene, landing with a dramatic flourish despite her soot-streaked uniform. She carried a tablet crammed with hastily scrawled notes and a bundle of witness statements, her eyes sharp behind her perpetual grin. "Sorry we're late—traffic was a nightmare, and the alerts came in patchy. But hey, looks like we dodged a bullet."
Endeavor grunted, not breaking stride as she fell in beside him. "Report."
Burnin flipped through her notes calmly, her tone professional despite the underlying excitement of a near-catastrophe. "Testimonies from the workers and first responders: the core spiked out of nowhere—overheating faster than any drill they've run. Even though we were late, Iron Man showed up in the nick of time. Stroke of luck, really—the plant could've gone up in an enormous blaze, over 1500 degrees easy. Would've killed everyone on site, no survivors. Hawks in that weird suit pulled two out from the west office; Iron Man bulldozed straight to the core with some giant armor thing. Witnesses say it disassembled mid-air after. No casualties, minimal structural loss beyond repair."
Endeavor's jaw tightened, processing the details. "Iron Man... and Hawks' involvement. This wasn't coincidence." They turned a corner into a maintenance room, where emergency lights cast long shadows over scattered tools and fried equipment. Something caught their eyes simultaneously—a small, charred device half-buried under a toppled console. Endeavor knelt, his flames illuminating the object: a burnt Quirk amplifier, its casing warped and blackened, circuits melted into slag. The telltale design—sleek, illegal enhancements meant to boost Quirks beyond safe limits—was unmistakable, even in its ruined state.
Burnin's grin faded, her voice dropping. "That's no standard gear. Someone tampered with the plant—pushed the core deliberately?"
Endeavor's flames surged briefly, casting a hellish glow on the amplifier. "This changes everything. Get it to forensics—quietly. And find out who had access." As they pocketed the evidence, the weight of corruption settled heavier; this wasn't just a malfunction—it was sabotage.
In the cluttered confines of her support lab, a young inventor with wild pink hair bounced on her heels, tools clattering as she scribbled furiously in her notebook. The TV blared in the background, replaying footage of the power plant crisis: Iron Man's dramatic arrival, the Hulkbuster's thunderous charge, and the sleek Mark 80 suit gleaming under the lights. "Babies! So many beautiful babies!" she exclaimed, her magnifying goggles perched on her forehead as she mocked up prototypes.
The Veronica system's orbital deployment earned frantic scribbles—pod-like precision, components assembling mid-air like a puzzle from the stars. "Self-linking armor pods... genius for rapid response!" The Hulkbuster Mk 2 earned a full page: massive hydraulics, reinforced plating that shrugged off extreme heat, headbutting through walls like a living battering ram. "Power output must be insane—arc reactor core? Gotta replicate that bulk without the weight!"
But the Mark 80 stole the show—this was its debut on Japan's news, a nanotech marvel that shifted seamlessly from standard to enhanced modes. "Nanites! Adaptive, self-repairing... first public sighting here? I need more information!" Her eyes sparkled with invention fever, the young inventor—none other than Mei Hatsume—already dreaming of upgrades.
All Might sat in his dimly lit private quarters at his agency, his true skeletal form slumped in a chair, gaunt frame casting long shadows under the desk lamp. His sunken blue eyes fixed on the screen replaying the rescue, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the exhaustion etched into his hollow cheeks. Iron Man's tech dominated the footage: the Hulkbuster's raw power, the Mark 80's elegance, Veronica's seamless support. "Impressive," he murmured, reflecting on the vigilante's actions—swift, selfless, turning disaster into victory without a Quirk in sight.
"That armor... it's like nothing we've seen. Pure ingenuity." He thought of his own fading power, One For All's burden, and felt a spark of hope. Iron Man wasn't just a fighter; he was a builder, a protector unbound by Quirks. "We could use more like him." All Might nodded to himself, the crisis averted a reminder that heroes came in many forms.
Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi slumped on his couch, nursing a coffee as the news looped the power plant footage. His sister, Makoto, paced excitedly, her eyes glued to the screen. "Nao, did you see that? Iron Man just... wow! That giant suit, the way it took apart the walls—and Hawks in that new gear? The outcome's a miracle—no deaths, plant saved. He's a game-changer!"
Tsukauchi rubbed his temples, impressed but weary. "Yeah, solid work. Tech like that... it's beyond anything we've got."
Makoto spun on him, hands on hips. "Then get an interview! You're the detective—pull some strings! The public's dying to know more about him. Come on, for once, use your connections!"
He sighed, chuckling despite himself. "It's not that simple, sis. Iron Man's slippery. But... maybe." As the footage replayed Veronica's ascent, Tsukauchi's mind whirred—alliances shifting, secrets unfolding.
On the gleaming shores of I-Island, David Shield leaned over his workbench in the quiet lab, holographic displays flickering with dissected footage of the crisis as he worked overtime into the wee hours. His daughter, Melissa, was already asleep in their nearby quarters, tucked in after a long day of studies, leaving him alone with his thoughts and inventions. Iron Man's arsenal captivated him: the Hulkbuster's brute force, Mark 80's fluidity, Veronica's orbital ingenuity. "Remarkable," he muttered, zooming in on the nanites' dance. "This tech... it's leaps ahead. Adaptive, self-sustaining—could revolutionize support gear."
Interest piqued, David straightened, his inventor's mind racing. "I need to learn more. Reed and Sue—they're tied to the Future Foundation. If anyone's got access to Iron Man, it's them." He tapped his comm device, drafting a message: old friends, a request for insight. The stars above I-Island twinkled, mirroring the spark of curiosity in his eyes.
FFC – Tony's Workshop – Later That Evening
The hangar doors hissed shut behind them as Tony, Keigo, and Kaina stepped into the workshop, the Quinjet's engines still winding down in the adjacent bay. Fluorescent lights flickered on automatically, casting a sterile glow over the cluttered space—half-finished prototypes dangling from overhead rigs, holographic interfaces pulsing with idle data streams, and the faint scent of ozone lingering from recent tests. Tony peeled off his gauntlets, tossing them onto a workbench with a metallic clatter, his posture relaxing now that the adrenaline of the power plant crisis had ebbed. "Home sweet chaos," he quipped, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Nothing like a near-meltdown to work up an appetite. F.R.I.D.A.Y., run a full diagnostic on the Mark 80—make sure that heat didn't fry anything critical."
"Affirmative, boss," F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimed in, her voice echoing from hidden speakers. "Diagnostics initiating. All systems nominal so far, but I'll flag any anomalies."
Keigo, still clad in the Exo-7 Falcon suit, flexed his shoulders experimentally, the mechanical wings whirring softly as they adjusted to his movements. He circled the crate where the suit belonged, his golden eyes reflecting a mix of admiration and reluctance. The mission's intensity replayed in his mind—the seamless boosts during the rescue, the precision blades carving through debris—like an upgrade he hadn't known he needed. "Man, Stark, that was a rush. Suit held up better than I expected. Felt... different, not relying on my feathers the whole time. Kinda liberating, actually."
Tony smirked, leaning against a nearby console stacked with circuit boards and energy cells. "Told you it'd grow on you. Tech like that? It's all about adaptation. Your Quirk's impressive, but sometimes you need a backup plan that doesn't tire out."
Keigo nodded, finally unlatching the suit's harness and carefully folding the wings before placing it back into the crate. The gray frame settled with a satisfying click, and he ran a hand over it one last time, almost wistfully. "Gotta admit, this thing's a game-changer. Handles like a dream, no Quirk drain. But... maybe one of these days, when I can't rely on my own wings anymore—when the feathers just... give out for good—I'll come knocking for a favor. You know, something to keep me in the sky."
Tony crossed his arms, his expression turning thoughtful beneath the sarcasm. He knew the weight of that kind of vulnerability—losing parts of yourself in the fight, piecing together what's left with tech and sheer will. "Flattery noted, bird boy. I've been there—staring down the end of the line. Keep it in mind; I've got a soft spot for flyers. Door's open, but favors come with strings. Usually the exploding kind."
Keigo chuckled, straightening up as his natural wings rustled faintly under his jacket, already regenerating from the day's strain. His golden eyes sharpened, glancing around the high-tech lair with a mix of curiosity and calculation. The HPSC would demand a report—something tangible to justify his absence and the unauthorized tech. "Can't leave empty-handed, though. Commission's gonna grill me for details—need something to toss 'em. Can't just say 'classified' without backup."
Tony chuckled, tapping his temple as if summoning an idea from thin air. "Smart move. F.R.I.D.A.Y., pull up some old schematics. Something flashy but not classified—give 'em a bone to chew on without handing over the whole skeleton."
"Accessing archives," F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied, her voice warm and efficient, laced with that familiar Irish lilt. A holographic display flickered to life above the workbench, projecting a sleek data packet that rotated slowly, diagrams of neural interfaces and projection arrays unfolding like a digital flower. "Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing, or B.A.R.F. Holographic memory reconstruction—impressive enough for the HPSC, boss. Non-lethal, therapeutic applications for trauma recovery, but packs a wow factor with its realism. Could be spun for training sims or interrogation reviews."
Tony nodded approvingly, swiping through the hologram to refine the files before transferring them to a compact portable drive, its surface etched with a subtle Future Foundation logo. He handed it to Keigo, who turned it over in his palm like a newfound treasure. "There you go. Tell 'em it's cutting-edge illusion tech—perfect for recreating scenarios without the risk. Should keep 'em off your back for a while, or at least distract 'em with shiny holograms."
Keigo pocketed the drive, his eyebrow arching in genuine appreciation. "Appreciate it. This'll buy me time—maybe even impress the higher-ups enough to loosen the leash a bit."
Nearby, Kaina packed her gear into a duffel, her dark blue hair still tied up, scarf and sunglasses discarded but ready for her return to anonymity. She moved with practiced efficiency, slinging the bag over her shoulder as she headed for the Quinjet parked in the hangar. Tony intercepted her, dragging a small, unmarked crate toward the jet's ramp. "Before you go, Tsutsumi. Got something for you. Open it when you're back at The Raft."
Kaina paused, eyeing the crate suspiciously. What is this, another gift? It's still too early for Valentine's, Stark.
Tony's smirk deepened as he hefted the crate onto the Quinjet, securing it with a nod. "You earned it. And she'd approve too."
Kaina's expression shifted, a faint idea dawning as she glanced at the crate, then back at Tony. "I'll make sure I live up to her name." She turned to Keigo, who was still lingering near the crate he'd returned, and gave him a rare, faint smile. "Take care, junior. Don't let them clip your wings." With that, she boarded the Quinjet, the ramp sealing behind her as the engines roared to life, carrying her back to The Raft.
Keigo's eyes widened slightly, processing the name as the Quinjet's ramp closed. "The Raft? What's that—a prison? Some kind of facility? Sounds ominous."
Tony turned back, his expression shifting to something more cryptic, a faint smile playing under the shadows of the workshop's lights. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Great question—for another time." He clapped Keigo on the shoulder, steering the conversation away. "Now, you heading out, or sticking around for pizza? I've got a replicator that does a mean New York slice—extra cheese, no Quirks required."
Keigo chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at the door. "Tempting, Stark—real tempting. But duty calls, and the Commission doesn't do delivery. Rain check? I'll bring the beer next time." He gave a casual salute, wings rustling under his jacket as he turned to leave the workshop.
HPSC Headquarters, Days Later
The conference room at the Commission headquarters was a sterile sanctum of power, all polished mahogany tables and reinforced glass walls that overlooked the sprawling skyline of Musutafu. The air hummed with the low whir of climate control, a subtle reminder that even in the heart of Japan's hero bureaucracy, nothing was left to chance. Keigo Takami—Hawks—stood at the head of the long, oval table, his usual laid-back vibe dialed back just enough to pass for professional. His red wings were neatly folded against his back, feathers rustling faintly like they were itching for action, but he kept them in check. In his standard hero attire—a sleek red jacket over black tactical pants—he looked every bit the Commission's golden boy, but inside, his mind was a whirlwind of calculated risks. Play it cool, Keigo. Give 'em the shiny toy, dodge the hard questions. Stark's counting on this smoke screen.
Chairwoman Keiko Sato presided from the center seat, flanked by Director Hiroshi Tanaka and Officer Aiko Mori, all of them reviewing preliminary reports on the recent power plant incident. The room's massive screen flickered with data: charred schematics of the Quirk amplifier, eyewitness accounts of Iron Man's intervention, and blurred footage of a mysterious teleportation device vanishing into thin air. The board members leaned over their own devices, murmuring in low tones as they dissected the chaos—another layer of the growing enigma that was Tony Stark and his armored alter ego.
Keigo cleared his throat, drawing their attention with a casual flick of the wrist. He activated the portable projector he'd smuggled in—a compact, matte-black device loaded with the B.A.R.F. schematics, courtesy of Tony's "goodwill gesture." The room dimmed automatically, the overhead lights fading to a soft blue glow as holographic projections sprang to life above the table. Vivid recreations unfolded in mid-air: a simulated training scenario where holographic villains—hulking brutes with crackling energy Quirks—clashed against ethereal heroes in a recreated urban battlefield. Explosions bloomed in pixel-perfect detail, heroes dodging blasts and countering with precise strikes, all while overlaid analytics highlighted optimal paths, error margins, and alternative outcomes. It wasn't just a replay; it was an immersion, pulling viewers into the fray like a high-stakes video game crossed with a therapy session.
"Here's what I found," Keigo said, his voice smooth and effortless, like he was pitching a casual patrol route rather than revolutionary tech. He paced slowly around the table, letting the hologram draw their eyes. "This is B.A.R.F.—Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing. Pulled it straight from Iron Man's contacts in the Future Foundation. Think of it as holographic memory tech on steroids: it recreates events from raw data—body cams, witness statements, even Quirk residue scans. But it's not just playback. It augments the memories, lets you step inside past events, analyze mistakes in real-time, and rehearse alternatives without breaking a sweat. No Quirks needed—just plug in the data, and boom, you're reliving the fight with tweaks. Spot a weak flank? Rewind and try a new angle. Train rookies on worst-case scenarios? Simulate it safely. Hell, it could even help with therapy—process trauma without the real-world fallout."
The board leaned forward as one, the murmurs swelling into a chorus of intrigue. Sato's eyes narrowed in that calculating way of hers, her mind already spinning the political angles—how this could shore up the Commission's image after the Kingdom scandal. Tanaka jotted notes furiously on his tablet, his glasses slipping down his nose as he muttered about integration protocols. Mori's expression softened from rigid skepticism to genuine fascination, her fingers hovering over her own device as if itching to test it herself. The hologram shifted seamlessly: now it showed a debrief of the power plant crisis, with a virtual Hawks (wings blazing) redirecting a collapsing beam, the system highlighting how a split-second decision could have saved an extra civilian.
"Impressive," Sato admitted finally, her voice measured but laced with the rare approval that made underlings sweat. She steepled her fingers, leaning back just enough to command the room. "This could revolutionize hero training—cut down on field errors by 30%, enhance psychological prep for high-stress ops. Imagine deploying it across agencies: no more guesswork in simulations. But how did you acquire it, Hawks? And why share something this advanced without strings?"
Keigo shrugged, keeping his grin easy and disarming, the picture of nonchalance even as his feathers twitched under the jacket. Bingo—they're hooked. Time to reel 'em in without giving away the line. "Perks of the op, Chairwoman. Iron Man handed it over as a goodwill gesture after the plant mess. Figured it'd keep things balanced—show we're all on the same side against whatever shadow network's brewing. No strings that I saw; guy's more interested in results than red tape." The board exchanged glances, whispers of "game-changer" and "budget reallocations for R " rippling through the room like aftershocks. Tony's trick had worked like a charm—they saw the value, the potential headlines of "HPSC Adopts Cutting-Edge Tech for Safer Heroes," without probing deeper into the alliance. Keigo suppressed a mental smirk; Stark owed him a beer for this one.
Tanaka cleared his throat, steering the conversation back to the thorns with his trademark pragmatism. He adjusted his glasses, pulling up a grainy still from the incident footage on the main screen—the faint shimmer of the teleportation device mid-activation. "And the teleportation device? Reports from the ground team mentioned something advanced—possibly tied to Reed Richards and the Fantastic Four. We need details, Hawks. Schematics, energy signatures, anything. If it's proprietary, fine, but this could be a game-changer for rapid response... or a security risk if it falls into the wrong hands."
Keigo's expression didn't falter for a millisecond, his lie slipping out as seamlessly as a feather in the wind. He spread his hands in mock helplessness, playing the uninformed operative to perfection. "Wish I had more, Director. Mister Fantastic scooped it back to New York before I could get a good look—said it was proprietary Foundation tech, top-secret stuff for dimensional ops or whatever. From what I glimpsed, no single idea what it was beyond a quick evac tool: zaps you in and out like a bad dream. Didn't get the specs; guy's cagey about sharing the crown jewels." The board exchanged more glances—Sato's brow furrowed in mild frustration, Tanaka sighed and noted it down, Mori tilting her head thoughtfully—but they nodded, filing it away without immediate pushback. For now, the B.A.R.F. demo had bought breathing room, a shiny distraction in the Commission's endless game of shadows. Keigo felt a twinge of guilt—lying to his handlers wasn't new, but this felt bigger, like poking a hornet's nest tied to someone's web. One step at a time, bird boy. Fly straight... for now.
As the meeting wrapped, Sato dismissed them with a curt nod. "Good work, Hawks. Integrate this into our protocols by end of quarter. And keep eyes on Stark—something tells me this is just the tip." Keigo saluted casually, wings unfurling slightly as he headed for the door, the weight of divided loyalties settling on his shoulders like an invisible harness.
Endeavor's Agency – Private Office – Afternoon
Across town, in the fortified heart of Endeavor's agency—a towering bastion of flame-retardant steel and unyielding ambition—the air was thick with the scent of controlled inferno. Enji Todoroki, the Number 2 Pro Hero known as Endeavor, sat at his massive oak desk like a king on his throne, the room around him a fortress of accolades and strategy. Walls lined with framed commendations from the Commission gleamed under harsh fluorescent lights, while tactical boards scribbled with patrol routes and villain profiles loomed like war maps. Behind him, a controlled hearth crackled softly, flames dancing in a contained blaze that mirrored his own simmering rage—beautiful, destructive, always on the edge of escape. But today, the fire in his turquoise eyes burned hotter than the hearth, fixed on the recovered Quirk amplifier laid out on a sterile tray before him. Its charred remnants—twisted circuits and shattered vials—mocked him with unanswered questions, a puzzle piece from the power plant sabotage that refused to fit.
For days, it had wrapped his mind in knots, pulling at the threads of his ironclad discipline. Illegal gear like this wasn't new in the underbelly of hero society, but this? Deliberate sabotage at a civilian site, ties to a shadow network that reeked of the same rot that had birthed the Kingdom scandals months ago. Endeavor had pored over forensics reports late into the night, cross-referencing with Commission databases until his eyes burned. The amplifier's origins pointed straight to black-market dealings: custom circuitry etched with proprietary seals, residue traces of experimental Quirk enhancers that could turn a low-tier villain into a walking apocalypse. Who supplied this? And why now, when the system's already cracking under its own weight? His fists clenched involuntarily, flames flickering along his beard and shoulders, singeing the edge of a report. He was the Symbol of Peace's rival, the man who'd clawed his way to the top through sheer force of will, but even he couldn't ignore the cracks forming in the system he'd sworn to uphold.
The door burst open with Burnin's characteristic energy, a whirlwind of green hair and unbridled enthusiasm that cut through the tension like a sparkler in the dark. Moxxie—real name unknown to most, but her fiery spirit as unmistakable as her wild emerald locks—strode in, her hero uniform crisp despite the grime of a full day's patrols. She clutched a fresh forensics folder, her eyes wide with that mix of excitement and loyalty that made her indispensable. "Boss! Got the latest from the lab—amplifier's a dead ringer for those underground Quirk boosters we've been hearing whispers about. No fingerprints, no DNA traces, but the circuitry? Screams custom job, high-end stuff. Whoever built this knew their tech—probably modded it for industrial sabotage, overload the core and boom, chain reaction."
Endeavor grunted, a low rumble from deep in his chest, pushing the device aside with a gloved hand as he rose to his full, imposing height. Flames licked higher along his shoulders, casting flickering shadows across the room. "It's a lead, Burnin, but we need more than whispers and scraps. This isn't some street-level punk's toy—it's engineered chaos, tied to the same filth that corrupted Kingdom. And that Iron Man... he's at the center of this web, flitting in like a ghost with his toys and vanishing before questions stick." His voice was gravelly, laced with the frustration of a man who'd spent years chasing All Might's legacy only to watch outsiders like this armored enigma steal the spotlight. He paced to the window, gazing out at the bustling streets below, where civilians went about their lives oblivious to the gathering storm. If the Commission's blind, I'll burn through the lies myself.
His gaze drifted to a glossy flyer on his desk, half-buried under reports—a promotional piece for a small tech expo at the Future Foundation Compound on the outskirts of Musutafu. Organized by the Fantastic Four themselves, it promised "Tech Showcases and Hero Collaborations: Bridging Quirks and Innovation for a Safer Tomorrow." Holographic previews danced on the paper: sleek gadgets, dimensional portals, and armored suits that screamed Stark's influence. Endeavor's lip curled in a mix of disdain and intrigue. A chance to get close. Grill the man behind the mask, expose whatever game he's playing.
Burnin tilted her head, her green hair flopping wildly as she grinned, sensing the shift in his mood like a loyal hound. "You want in on that expo, boss? Sounds like a goldmine—open to pros, full access to the demos. We could corner Iron Man, grill him proper about that teleportation gizmo and the amplifier links. Imagine the headlines: Endeavor Uncovers Foreign Tech Ties!"
Endeavor nodded sharply, his decision crystallizing like cooled magma. "Do it. Book spots for both of us—I'll handle the heavy questions, you keep eyes on the crowds. If he's hiding something, we'll expose it, layer by layer." As Burnin saluted with a flamboyant flourish and dashed out to make the calls, Endeavor turned back to the window, the amplifier's shadow lingering in his periphery like a bad omen. The expo wasn't just an event; it was an opportunity to unravel the veil, to strike at the heart of the corruption threatening everything he'd built. Flames crackled higher in the hearth, mirroring the inferno building in his chest—Japan's top rival to the Symbol of Peace wasn't about to let some vigilante rewrite the rules without a fight.
The RAFT – A Few Days Later
The sterile hum of The Raft's undersea corridors faded as Tsutsumi—or Black Widow, as she'd begun to think of herself—pushed open the reinforced door to her quarters. Another brutal training session with Doom had left her muscles screaming, her body a map of bruises and sweat-soaked exertion. Doom's regimen was unrelenting: holographic foes calibrated to exploit every weakness, electric batons pushed to their limits, and his masked gaze dissecting her form like a specimen under glass. "Adapt or perish," he'd intoned, his voice a metallic echo in the arena. She'd adapted, of course—landing strikes that would have felled lesser opponents—but the toll lingered, a dull ache in her limbs as she stepped inside.
What greeted her was no longer the cold, confined cell of her early days. Half the entire floor had been reworked at Tony's insistence, transformed into a sprawling complex that felt like a mansion suspended in the ocean's depths. Floor-to-ceiling reinforced glass walls offered panoramic views of the Atlantic's abyss, where schools of fish darted through the blue void and distant submersibles patrolled like silent guardians. The space was redecorated to her preferences—subtle, functional luxury with a touch of edge: polished dark wood floors warmed by underfloor heating, a minimalist kitchen with high-end appliances (granite counters, a professional-grade stove she'd requested for stress-relief cooking), a training nook equipped with holographic projectors and reinforced punching bags, and a lounge area with plush seating overlooking the waves. Soft LED lighting mimicked natural sunlight, banishing the prison feel, while hidden vents circulated fresh, ocean-scented air. It was isolated opulence—a gilded cage turned sanctuary, vast enough to pace without feeling trapped, yet a constant reminder of her "rehabilitation."
Tsutsumi shrugged off her emerald green Thunderbolts suit, hanging it on a charging rack that hummed to life, restoring its systems. A hot shower in the en-suite bathroom—tiled in sleek black marble—washed away the grime, the steam fogging the glass as she let the water pound her sore shoulders. Emerging in comfortable loungewear—a simple tank and pants—she moved through her daily chores with mechanical efficiency, a routine that grounded her amid the uncertainty. In the kitchen, she chopped vegetables with precise knife work honed from her assassin days, simmering a simple miso soup infused with herbs she'd requested from the facility's commissary. The aroma filled the space, a small act of normalcy. After eating at the counter, overlooking the endless blue, she transitioned to practice: shadowboxing in the training nook, her electric batons crackling faintly as she drilled forms Doom had critiqued. Footwork, strikes, counters—each motion a step toward reclaiming control.
It was mid-afternoon by the facility's clocks when she paused, wiping sweat from her brow, her gaze drifting to a corner of the lounge. There, tucked against the glass wall like an afterthought, sat the unmarked crate Tony had handed her before her departure from Japan. "Earned it," he'd said with that infuriating smirk. "And she'd approve too." It had slipped her mind amid the travel and training grind, but now curiosity tugged at her. She approached, the floor cool under her bare feet, and knelt to examine it. The crate was sturdy, sealed with biometric locks that scanned her thumbprint—Tony's touch, no doubt—and popped open with a soft hiss.
Inside, nestled in protective foam, was gear she recognized instantly—the same black tactical suit from the hallway display en route to Tony's workshop back at the Future Foundation Compound. Form-fitting with reinforced panels, wrist gauntlets that fired electric stingers, Widow's Bites as he called it, a utility belt stocked with gadgets, and collapsible batons—all in a sleek, espionage-optimized design. It screamed stealth and precision, the kind of outfit built for shadows and high-stakes infiltrations. "Black Widow's mantle," she murmured, fingers tracing the fabric. It wasn't just a suit; it was a symbol, a nod to the legacy Tony had hinted at. She'd seen glimpses of it in the files he'd shared—tools for a survivor, a fighter who'd clawed back from the brink.
But the crate held more. Beneath the gear lay a stack of files—thick manila folders, some redacted with heavy black bars obscuring names and dates, the kind she'd pored over during her HPSC days. Classified dossiers on Quirk trafficking networks, corrupted heroes beyond Kingdom, encrypted leads on the "puppeteer" Tony obsessed over. Whispers of this guy's tendrils extending internationally, cross-referenced with UN intel courtesy of Doom. Her jaw tightened as she flipped through them, the familiar bureaucratic red tape stirring old resentments. "Stark, you sly bastard," she whispered, a faint smile creeping in. This wasn't just a gift—it was ammunition, a toolkit for her next move in the shadows.
As she took out the files and a hard drive containing evidence and a box with a pair of glasses, she plugged the hard drive into her holographic workstation while trying on the new suit. As she tried it on, she looked at herself in the mirror with her hair braided on the side this time, feeling great, not knowing she was a spitting image of the greatest spy Tony had known.