Chapter 8: Blade Prototype
After three days of observation, endless check-ups, and far too many needles, the hospital finally caved and discharged Ethan Miles. They claimed it was for "his safety," but Ethan suspected it was more about keeping their beds free for actual patients instead of one healthy-ish teenager who kept charming nurses and stealing extra pudding cups.
What he didn't know was that on the day he left, S.H.I.E.L.D. biochemist Jemma Simmons reluctantly closed the thick file labeled Miles, Ethan – Subject Observation. She'd made it very clear to her colleagues that if she could get her hands on just a single vial of his saliva, it could help confirm a certain hypothesis she was itching to publish. Whether that meant for science… or curiosity… was anyone's guess.
Completely oblivious to all that, Ethan found himself sitting in the back of a sleek Stark Industries sedan. Behind the wheel was Happy Hogan — Stark's long-time driver, bodyguard, and professional deadpan machine. On-screen, Ethan had always liked Happy: a man who radiated blue-collar pride while casually ferrying billionaires around.
"Mr. Stark couldn't make it in person," Happy said, watching Ethan in the rearview mirror like he was trying to gauge whether the kid understood how rare this ride was. "So, he'll be waiting for you at his villa. Said he's got a surprise for you."
Ethan arched an eyebrow. "A surprise?"
"Yeah. You know, my boss is loaded. Could be anything. Maybe… latest game console?"
That earned a short snort from Ethan. "Game console? Nah. If it's Stark, it'd be the console plus every new game… plus a holographic coffee table to play them on."
Still, the idea made his brain itch. A bold, borderline ridiculous theory popped into his head — something that would explain why Stark was being so mysterious. Then he dismissed it immediately. Nah… too soon. Not possible.
Unfortunately, the more he told himself that, the more the idea dug in and refused to leave. The result? Twenty minutes of silent brooding that Happy mistook for rudeness. By the time they boarded Stark's private jet, the man had mentally filed Ethan under impolite teenager who doesn't appreciate small talk.
"Where exactly are we going?" Ethan finally asked as they settled in.
"California," Happy said, giving him a look. "And don't touch anything on the plane. It's all expensive."
Ethan slowly withdrew his hand from the glass panel he'd been poking and wiped it on his jeans. But his eyes kept roaming like a kid in a candy store. This wasn't just a plane; it was a flying luxury lounge. Plush custom Dima leather seats, fur rugs that probably cost more than his entire apartment building, and flight attendants who looked like they'd been hired straight from a high-fashion runway. The food selection alone could've stocked a boutique restaurant.
Truly corrupting luxury, Ethan thought, leaning back into the sofa with the kind of comfort he'd usually reserve for his own bed. Completely inconsistent with my hard-working, self-reliant life philosophy.
Which was, of course, exactly when his hands wandered to the nearest touchscreen minibar menu.
Meanwhile, in a much less glamorous part of New York, another story was unfolding.
"Benny… rent's due," Claire said softly, wrapping her arms around her boyfriend's waist from behind. She had a voice made for persuading people to agree with her — and curves that made it hard to say no even if you wanted to. Benny wasn't a bad guy. Smart, talented even. But he had the kind of luck that made Vegas slot machines look generous.
That was before the Battle of New York.
Now? Luck had rolled him something rare — an alien energy rifle, courtesy of one stray Chitauri drop right into their building. It sat on a jury-rigged workbench, wires and adapters running to a small battery array.
"Don't worry, babe. Just need to finish this experiment and we're set," Benny said, voice full of the kind of conviction that sounded more dangerous than reassuring.
Claire's eyes sparkled. "First thing we do when it works? Buy a yacht. California road trip. Then Hawaii for diving."
Benny managed a smile. "Sure. Promise."
Back in California, the ride from the airstrip to Stark's estate took almost an hour. Stark's Malibu villa was exactly what Ethan expected — sprawling glass walls, ocean views, and the faint aura of yes, I am richer than you, thanks for noticing.
"Welcome to my home, Miles," Tony said the moment Ethan stepped inside, pulling him into a hug so firm Ethan swore he felt his ribs shift. "Seriously, thank you. For taking that shot for me. Really."
Ethan, slightly winded, smirked. "Don't mention it. Though honestly? I regret it now. Figured it out on the way here — you probably could've blocked it yourself."
Tony froze for half a second… then burst into laughter. "Ha! Kid, you might be my favorite person this week. Come on. Got something to show you."
He led Ethan down to the underground lab — the one Ethan had only ever seen in movies. The moment the lights came on, Ethan's eyes went wide. Luxury cars lined one wall. Mechanical arms the size of motorcycles clicked and whirred. Even Dummy, the clumsy little fire-extinguishing bot, was there, nodding a greeting before promptly knocking over a nearby tool rack.
Tony sighed. "He's shy around strangers. You know how it is."
But then Tony's tone shifted, just slightly. "Anyway… this is the real reason you're here."
With a snap of his fingers, a spotlight illuminated the centerpiece of the room — a full suit of armor. Sleek, angular, and painted in unfinished gunmetal. On its left shoulder: M1.
Ethan's jaw dropped. No way. No freaking way. His earlier crazy theory had been right. Tony Stark had made him a suit.
"For… me?" he managed.
"Yeah. Who else?" Tony said, as casually as if he were handing over a bag of groceries. "You saved my life. And I reviewed the battle footage — you've got real close-quarters skill. So I designed this Blade Prototype for you."
He gestured, and a holographic schematic appeared in the air. "Extra thrusters for rapid bursts. Aerospace-grade laminated plating for durability. And I figured you could use more range — so I built that in too. The Chitauri saber you scavenged? Melted it down, reforged it."
A slender katana appeared in the projection, about seventy centimeters long. "Weighted heavier than normal. Balanced for someone with enhanced strength. And since you're going to be in the thick of it…"
The left forearm of the armor shifted, unfolding into a circular shield about the size of Cap's. On the right forearm, dual rifles with forty-round mags. Mini-missiles on the shoulders. Twin alloy daggers strapped to each thigh.
Ethan stared at it all, stunned. "You… could've just given me money, you know."
Tony smirked. "Where's the fun in that?"
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