[Task 37: Congratulatory Gift]
[Details: Tony Stark has reclaimed his throne as CEO of Stark Industries. As his dear old friend, how could you not send him a proper gift?]
[Reward: 10,000–30,000 villain points]
[Friendly Tip: Stark Industries' core facility houses a massive Arc Reactor. Blow it up for a dazzling display of fireworks—a gift worthy of your status.]
Jason's eyes locked onto the screen, rereading the 100-word task description obsessively, his mind racing.
Tony's return to Stark Industries had been all over the news, trending on socials and even buzzing in the Joker Community.
Chloe had flagged it instantly, along with media speculation about the drama behind the shake-up.
The press was in sync: Tony and Obadiah, the second-largest shareholder, were at war, a no-holds-barred deathmatch.
In Jason's past-life memories, Obadiah, hungry for control, had set Tony up during his Afghanistan Jericho missile demo, hiring terrorists to take him out.
But Tony, Marvel's golden boy, didn't die. The dumbass terrorists had him build a missile, only for Tony to craft a mini Arc Reactor and the first Iron Man suit, escaping in style.
That ordeal transformed him from a playboy to a world-saving Iron Man.
But Jason's meddling had fucked the timeline. The future was a blank slate.
Those past-life flashes? Useless now.
Where was the plot at?
The news said Tony was already in Afghanistan.
Did Obadiah seize the chance to kill him?
More importantly, had Tony built the Iron Man suit?
Jason's head throbbed.
Too little intel to piece it together.
But the task's rewards were juicy, so it was gonna be a brutal slog.
Hmm…
Tony's Marvel's chosen one. No room for sloppiness. I'll check it out myself.
Jason's eyes gleamed, decision made.
He rolled out of bed, washed up, and hit the living room.
Harley and Christine were just waking up, getting checkups from the kidnapped doctor.
"Honey! *Yawn*…" Harley mumbled, barely awake.
Pregnancy drained them—exhausted, craving 18-hour naps. Normal shit.
Jason grabbed a chair, sitting between them, watching tensely as the doctor checked their vitals.
Old-school instincts ran deep; he was fiercely protective of their unborn kids, even snatching extra OB-GYNs to rotate daily checkups, paranoid about sabotage.
All clear. Normal stats.
Jason and the women breathed easier.
The doctor left, and maids brought stacks of gourmet dishes, helping the women to the table.
Most pregnant women lose their appetite, but Harley and Christine were ravenous, packing on pounds.
The trio laughed and ate lunch. Jason shooed Chloe out and crashed on the couch with them to watch movies.
This was his empire's boom time—missions daily, raking in cash and villain points. But it left him little time at the hideout, barely seeing his women.
Post-refinery, he planned to chill for a few days, but the system dropped this bombshell task.
No penalties for skipping tasks, but this was Tony fucking Stark—the key to the Joker Organization's future. L.A. was non-negotiable.
After two family-friendly flicks, the women yawned again. Harley clung to his arm, wanting him to nap with her.
Jason killed the TV, kissed her forehead, and said, "Sorry, got a job in L.A. Gotta head out for a few days."
Harley's face fell, her chubby cheeks puffing out, pissed.
Christine, ever sweet, pulled her toward the bedroom, tossing back, "Haven't had Lang's smoked beef in ages. Grab a bunch on your way back."
"Deal," Jason said, waving with a grin.
He changed, found Chloe wandering outside, and said, "Get me an identity for L.A. Quick."
"No problem, Sir!" Chloe nodded, diving into prep.
Her skills—over a hundred at peak human levels—included disguise. Her fake faces and IDs were light-years beyond Christine's.
Besides network monitoring and community admin, Chloe now crafted disguises and forged documents. A multitasking queen.
Only downside? Jason had just one of her.
*My dumbass kid, why didn't you send more?*
A hundred Chloes wouldn't be enough.
While she worked, Jason briefed her on the system task.
Some tasks went to the community, others to elite crews, and high-stakes ones needed lieutenants.
Chloe's computing power was insane—multitasking was child's play. Before he finished talking, she'd assigned the task to the perfect crew with a detailed battle plan.
Fucking unstoppable efficiency.
An hour later, Jason, fully disguised, hopped a cab to Newark Airport.
With Stan gone to SHIELD as a mole, no more DEA jets. United's first class would do.
Chloe's disguise and flawless IDs breezed him through security.
Six or seven hours from now, he'd hit L.A.
Tony Stark.
Half a year, no see. Wonder how you're holding up?
Heh, I'm kinda fucking pumped.
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You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon.com/GreenBlue17
500 power stones.
Top 50. All time.