The city looked different in the morning. Stark Industries robots patrolled the streets—not on every corner, but their presence was enough to cool the hottest tempers. It seemed Tony Stark was taking this seriously.
At school, instead of first period, there was an emergency assembly. The sociology teacher, Mr. Harrison, stood in front of the class, looking exhausted.
"I assume you've all seen the news," he began without preamble. "Mr. Stark's robots are a temporary measure. But the government's reaction will be far more long-term. First, the National Guard is being deployed to the city. There's one month until election day, and the soldiers will be here that entire time, and possibly longer, indefinitely."
He swept the class with a heavy gaze. "That's the end of the official part. Now for the unofficial part: be smart. You may be offered easy money online for 'participating in rallies.' Don't take it. No amount of money is worth your life."
He left, leaving a silence in his wake that was immediately broken by dozens of whispers. "There was a shootout right under our windows last night... I thought that was it, the end," someone from the back row shared. "Tell me about it," another replied. "Thank God those tin cans showed up."
I was exhausted from lack of sleep, so I decided to spend the rest of homeroom lying on my desk. But I wasn't allowed to rest. "How's the rib, Parr?" Thompson's voice, dripping with poorly concealed gloating, sounded right by my ear.
I had to slowly raise my head and look him straight in the eye. "It's fine. How's your finger? Does it get in the way when you wipe your ass? Or have you gotten good with your left hand?"
Physical violence, his favorite tactic, was no longer available to him—he'd learned his lesson from the broken finger. But he was incapable of coming up with a decent verbal comeback; this wasn't his territory. He had no choice but to retreat helplessly. He hissed something that sounded like "bastard" and walked away. The rest of the class, which had been watching the scene, immediately pretended they hadn't seen a thing.
I could go back to sleep.
---
On the way to the next classroom, Parker materialized next to me. "What, didn't get enough sleep?" His question sounded completely casual. "Yeah, was up all night playing a game," the answer came out almost automatically. "Which one?"
And right then, it became obvious this wasn't just idle curiosity. He was probing. My "sleepy zombie" state must have given him some ideas. "'Detroit,'" the answer was not chosen by chance. "Gotcha," he said shortly, and that "gotcha" could have meant anything.
Math class began.
The rest of the school day passed without incident, if you don't count Mary Jane's persistent stares. It was flattering, of course, but completely uninteresting. Thoughts of dates and high school romances seemed like something from another life. A normal, pretty girl from a world that no longer belonged to me. So it was best not to give any extra reasons to get closer.
Outside, hunger announced itself with a growl in my stomach. The thought of the hundred and twenty thousand that had passed through my hands just yesterday made the idea of simple fast food feel offensive. I wanted to treat myself.
I settled on a Georgian restaurant, but I didn't make it. Right in front of the entrance, a brick fell from above and slammed into the asphalt a step away from my feet. An alarmed shout immediately came from above: "Hey, kid, you alive?!" "Idiots! Put up a barrier if you're working!" I had to shout back, more out of annoyance than fear.
The GPS suggested the nearest alternative—Italian. Well, it's hard to screw up a pizza. Inside, there was a cozy bustle. Right in front of me, a hostess was seating a young couple at a table. As I passed, I managed to catch a snippet of their happy whisper: "...finally, a normal meal." I was shown to the neighboring table by the window; all the other spots were taken. The waiter took my order, a double pepperoni and a Coke.
At that moment, two more people entered the restaurant: an elegant woman and a man in an impeccably tailored purple suit. I wasn't interested, until they walked up to the couple's table, the one seated just before me. The man said something quietly to them, and something strange happened. The couple, who had just been excited to eat, stood up and left without a single question, leaving their untouched drinks on the table. They just gave up their spot.
Something about that was wrong. I had to get up, pretending to go to the restroom, just to walk past their table. And when my gaze slid over the man's face, everything inside me froze. He was older than on those recordings, but it was his face. Zebediah.
For a split second, animal fear stole my breath. What if he looked at me right now and said, "Die"? The right, the only correct action, would be to kill him right here, before he even had a chance to open his mouth. But then, another thought replaced the fear. Here it was. The answer to the question that had been tormenting me: how to get information out of people like The Hand? How to even catch them if they can just dissolve into shadows? With an ability like Zebediah's, I could just order them not to move. His ability was the perfect tool.
The order was forgotten. I had to leave. Now.
Once outside, I had to stop and take a deep breath. The idea was audacious and, at the same time, insane. To acquire or extract his abilities, if possible. But for that, I needed knowledge I didn't remotely possess. For something like that, I needed a genius. My gaze fell on the Stark Industries robot patrolling the street. Well, time to pay Tony Stark a visit.
A few hours of sleep after school brought back my clarity of thought. As evening fell and the city began to light up, it was the perfect time for a visit.
The ascent to Stark Tower was a flight to the top of the world. All the other skyscrapers below seemed like mere decorations. The media had done its job: paparazzi had caught him more than once, drinking his morning coffee while looking out over the city from this height. Everyone knew that this was where he lived, in the penthouse that overlooked all of New York. Trying to get an official meeting was a stupid waste of time. He only did what he wanted, when he wanted. Which meant I'd have to pay a personal visit.
As I approached the target, I had to strengthen the barrier to its limit. The transparent dome filled with a thick purple light, and for good reason. The tower's defense systems reacted. Projectiles began to slam into it from all sides. On contact, they burst, leaving sticky black spots on the surface that spread rapidly, merging. They didn't slow my flight, but after a few seconds, the world outside the dome vanished—it was completely coated in a viscous film.
With a sharp mental effort, the barrier was doubled in size. The black film stretched with it, thinned, and the city's outline reappeared. Dead ahead, just a few meters away, was the panoramic window of the penthouse. With a deafening crack, the reinforced glass gave way.
The barrier was dismissed once I was inside. The black liquid plopped onto the immaculate white marble floor, splattering sticky droplets onto the designer furniture. The penthouse definitely looked worse for wear. And then, a voice came from nowhere. "Respected mutant, an SOB unit has been summoned. Could you please vacate the premises?"
I had to speak to the empty air, addressing the invisible conversationalist. "Hello, Alfred. I need to talk to Tony Stark. And it's a matter that can't wait."
The voice replied without delay. "I assume you've called me Alfred in reference to Batman's butler, but I am not human. And, unfortunately for you, Tony Stark is not here."
With that, all I could do was walk over to the sofa, which probably cost more than Mateo's apartment, and sit down comfortably. "Then I'll wait."
"Your presence here is undesirable. Measures will be taken for your neutralization." In that same instant, one of the penthouse walls slid open silently, revealing an alcove from which an iron suit emerged. It moved with an unnatural, mechanical smoothness, without any of the hesitation characteristic of a person inside. It was clear this was a remotely-piloted suit.
"You know, this suit has a couple of non-kinetic toys that your little purple bubble won't even notice," Tony Stark's voice, piped through the speakers, was dripping with sarcasm and poorly hidden irritation. The repulsors on his palms, aimed right at me, hummed quietly. "So why'd you come? To kill me? Rob me? I'll disappoint you, I don't keep cash on hand."
"No. In many ways, I consider you a decent man. Actually, I need your help."
Stark froze for a moment. "Help?" He gestured around the wrecked room and the puddle of black goo on the floor. "This is your way of asking for help? You break into my house, shatter my window, and stain my Italian marble?"
An awkward cough got stuck in my throat. "I couldn't think of any other way to meet with you quickly. Though, I can pay for the damages."
A quiet chuckle came from the helmet. "A million dollars."
I had to take my words back. "Okay, I can't. Let's get down to business, then. There's a mutant in the city who's very dangerous. He can command people, and he's not burdened by morality."
The armor tilted slightly as Stark cocked his head. "Be specific." "He speaks—you do it. He tells you to bite off your own tongue, and your jaws will snap shut before you can even process it."
"That is a dangerous ability, but since you know him, you have an obvious advantage. Just kill him." He gestdured at the room. "But I doubt you broke in here, smashed my window, and dirtied my floor just to borrow a gun. Tell me why you're really here."
"You gave up manufacturing weapons," I had to start from a distance to get my point across. "You, more than anyone, understood that some tools do more harm than good. That's why I'm assuming a man like you understands the scale of the threat this ability poses. And despite that, I want you to research his abilities, to turn his power into a controlled truth serum."
"From your description, it sounds less like a truth serum and more like a 'do-what-I-say' serum. Why do you want it?"
"What do you know about 'The Hand'?"
"The upper extremity of the human arm, from the shoulder to the fingers, used for grasping..." he began in a lecture-like tone. I had to mentally roll my eyes. "I'm talking about the organization. A group of ninjas who can literally dissolve into shadows. Right now, one of them could be standing in your own shadow, listening to our conversation."
Stark instinctively glanced at his own shadow, cast by the light from the hallway. "Alright, the idea of getting a perfect lie detector is tempting, but why would I share it with you?"
"Because I know who he is. I have the information, you have the implementation."
"You know, people who get their hands on a new weapon quickly become blind to the suffering of others," there was no sarcasm in Stark's voice now. "I know from experience. And I'm not exactly eager to give you the power to command people. What's the guarantee you won't command some girl in a bar to... well, you know."
"And what's the guarantee that you, blinded by new power, won't take control of the president?" I had to answer with a rhetorical question. "Neither of us can give guarantees. Even if we swore, neither of us would believe the other."
"You're right," the suit nodded. "So I propose this. I've always been a fan of mutually assured destruction. You take off your helmet, and I learn your identity. If you start using this thing for the wrong reasons, I can destroy your life."
"Not a bad idea, but where's the threat to you in that? How can I destroy you if it comes to it?"
"You can't. Unlike you, knowing a mutant like that exists, I can find him. It'll take more time and resources, but I'll manage. So, decide." I had to click my tongue in annoyance. He was right. In his game, by his rules, I had no trump cards. But he was missing one detail. If he decided to destroy my life, nothing would stop me from killing him. So, in a way, mutually assured destruction was still on the table.
With that thought, I unclipped the helmet from my collar. "Satisfied?"
The armor's eyes flashed brighter for an instant, scanning my face. "A pleasure doing business with you. So, where did you see him? And how exactly does he command?"
"Today, around 5 PM. A restaurant called 'La Trattoria di Luca' in Greenwich Village. His name is Zebediah. Or at least, it used to be. He commands with his words. That's all I know."
"Sir, the SOB unit is entering the main hall elevator. Estimated time of arrival on this floor is forty seconds," Jarvis's voice cut in.
"Jarvis, be a dear and escort our brave soldiers back to the first floor. And maybe order them a pizza? My treat."
"I'm afraid their protocols do not allow for pizza breaks, sir. Aborting their mission will require your direct command." The suit slowly turned its helmet toward me. "Alright, kid, listen up. I'm not in the city right now. I'll be back the day after tomorrow. So leave the same way you came. We'll meet in two days. And a strong request: next time, try using the elevator."
"For that, I assume, I'd need some kind of access code or password?"
"You don't need anything. Just get in the car. Jarvis will take care of everything."
"Sir, they are on the floor," the artificial intelligence stated. No more words were needed. I had to step toward the shattered panoramic window and leave the penthouse.
---
After dealing with the SOB squad via remote access, Tony Stark removed his virtual reality helmet. The wrecked penthouse in New York was replaced by his lab in Washington. He leaned back in his chair, replaying the recent conversation in his mind.
HYDRA. A problem that had been festering at the very foundations of the world order for decades. And this kid, without even realizing it, had just handed him the solution. But there was another, more pressing problem. The Hand.
Tony had deliberately avoided saying the name out loud during their dialogue. What if, right now, in this completely secure room, someone was watching him from his own shadow? Was it paranoia, or a sober calculation after the warning? He walked to the main terminal, disabled voice commands, and brought up an encrypted text feed.
[Stark]: Jarvis, full analysis of all video recordings of my presence in the penthouse for the last hour. Scan for shadow anomalies, any distortions, movements that do not correspond to light sources. Execute in high-priority mode, no voice alerts.
[J.A.R.V.I.S.]: Understood, sir. Commencing scan.
An image of the penthouse from the security cameras appeared on one of the monitors. At first, everything looked normal, but then Jarvis began highlighting moments in red. His shadow on the floor had bent slightly at an unnatural angle. There, on the wall, in the darkest corner, a faint ripple had appeared for a split second.
[J.A.R.V.I.S.]: Analysis complete. Seventeen spatial micro-distortions detected within your shadow.
The threat was real, and it was just a few feet away. He wasn't about to be caught off guard, though. Extremis, circulating in his blood, had saved him from worse situations. But risking close combat in his own lab was the height of recklessness.
With a deliberately relaxed air, Tony walked away from the terminal and headed for the platform where his real suit, the Mark XLII, stood in its alcove. "Could use some air," he said aloud. This was intended to reassure anyone who might be listening.
The armor plates clamped shut around him. In that same instant, without the slightest hesitation, he spun and fired a repulsor blast directly at his own shadow on the floor. The focused beam of energy hit the spot where nothing should have been. Space distorted, and a body in ninja gear tumbled out of the shadow and onto the floor. "Well, what do you know. The kid was right. I'll have to remember to thank him." But it was too early to relax. A look of alarm crossed Tony's face. If they could infiltrate this place, what was stopping them from watching Pepper right now? Or Happy?