Chapter 3: The Case of the Missing Engineer
POV: Clark
The ramen had gone cold an hour ago, but Clark kept stirring it anyway. Each rotation of his plastic fork bought him another few seconds before he'd have to face the stack of overdue notices on his desk. Rent. Electric. Phone. The triumvirate of adult responsibility that his PI business couldn't quite cover.
"Maybe I should have taken that insurance fraud case," he thought, watching noodles clump together like his mounting problems. "Sure, the client smelled like old fish and had 'definitely going to stiff me on payment' written all over him, but money is money."
The phone rang, its shrill cry cutting through the afternoon quiet of his Hell's Kitchen office. Clark stared at it, debating whether answering would bring salvation or another debt collector. The caller ID made the decision easy.
STARK INDUSTRIES HR.
Clark's hand trembled slightly as he picked up the receiver. "This is it. The system detected those B-tier artifacts for a reason."
"Collins Investigations."
"Mr. Collins? This is Virginia Potts from Stark Industries. I understand you specialize in... unconventional cases?"
Her voice was crisp, professional, with the kind of authority that came from juggling a thousand moving pieces daily. Clark could picture her: power suit, perfectly arranged hair, the exhausted competence of someone who kept Tony Stark's life from imploding.
"Depends on your definition of unconventional," Clark said, trying to sound like he had choices.
"We have a missing person situation. Standard investigators have failed to produce results. My employer believes we may need... abnormal approaches."
"Abnormal. If she only knew."
Clark pulled out a notepad, more for show than necessity. "When can we meet?"
"How quickly can you be here? Stark Tower, forty-eighth floor."
Clark looked at his empty ramen cup, his unpaid bills, and the system interface hovering at the edge of his vision like a promise of purpose.
"I'm on my way."
Stark Tower rose from Manhattan like a steel and glass monument to impossible wealth. Clark stood on the sidewalk, craning his neck to see the top, feeling every thread of his thrift store suit. The jacket pulled slightly across his shoulders—too small, but it was the only professional clothing he owned that didn't have visible stains.
"Fake it until you make it," he told himself, adjusting his tie for the third time. "You've infiltrated terrorist cells. You can handle a corporate meeting."
The lobby was a cathedral of marble and chrome, filled with people who looked like they belonged there. Clark's reflection in the polished floor seemed shabby by comparison, a street-level PI playing dress-up in billionaire territory.
"Mr. Collins?"
The woman approaching him was exactly what he'd imagined, but sharper. Virginia Potts moved with the focused efficiency of someone who treated time like a finite resource. Her handshake was firm, her smile polite but measuring.
"Thank you for coming so quickly," she said, leading him toward the elevators. "I apologize for the urgency, but our situation has... escalated."
They stepped into an elevator that smelled like expensive perfume and corporate ambition. Pepper—he'd seen her called that in tabloids—punched the button for the forty-eighth floor with the kind of practiced motion that spoke of routine.
"Tell me about your missing person," Clark said.
"David Chen. Senior engineer in our weapons development division. Forty-two, married, two kids. He was supposed to attend a conference in Las Vegas last week."
"Supposed to?"
"He never arrived. No hotel check-in, no rental car pickup, no airport security footage of him boarding the plane. It's like he vanished between his apartment and JFK."
The elevator climbed through the tower's steel spine, numbers ticking past like seconds on a countdown. Clark felt the familiar itch that came before system notifications, a tingling at the base of his skull that meant important events were converging.
"What makes you think the police can't handle this?"
Pepper's reflection in the elevator doors showed a micro-expression of frustration, quickly suppressed. "David had access to sensitive technical specifications. The kind that certain parties would kill for. Standard investigators look for missing persons. We need someone who understands that David might not want to be found."
"Or someone made sure he wouldn't be found. Someone like the Ten Rings."
The elevator dinged softly as they reached their floor. Pepper led him through corridors lined with abstract art that probably cost more than Clark's annual income. Everything was clean lines and muted colors, the aesthetic of a company that built weapons but wanted to look respectable doing it.
"Mr. Collins," Pepper said, stopping at a conference room door. "Before we discuss specifics, I need to know—what exactly makes your methods... abnormal?"
Clark had prepared for this question during the elevator ride. The truth—that he used magical artifacts to solve cases—wasn't exactly an option.
"I see patterns others miss," he said. "I find things that stay lost. And I have a very high success rate with cases the police consider unsolvable."
"Success rate?"
"Ninety-seven percent."
It wasn't technically a lie. The system made success almost inevitable, assuming you could survive the missions it assigned.
Pepper studied him for a moment, her eyes sharp with evaluation. Whatever she saw there must have passed some internal test, because she opened the conference room door.
"David's file is on the table. Everything we know about his disappearance, his access levels, his personal life. The police have copies of most of it."
Clark picked up the folder, feeling its weight. Photos of a nervous-looking man with thinning hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Bank statements showing modest financial habits. Performance reviews marking him as competent but unremarkable.
"What's your fee structure?" Pepper asked.
"Two hundred a day plus expenses," Clark said automatically, then caught himself. "This is Stark Industries. They probably spend more than that on coffee."
"Mr. Collins," Pepper said, and something in her tone made him look up. "David Chen has access to arc reactor specifications. If he's selling them, or if he's been taken, the implications go far beyond one missing engineer. What would you charge for a case that could affect national security?"
Clark's mind went blank. National security cases probably cost thousands. Tens of thousands. Maybe more.
"Don't blow this. Don't sound desperate. Think like someone who has options."
"Ten thousand," he said. "Plus bonuses for specific outcomes."
Pepper didn't blink. "Ten thousand upfront, another ten when you find him. Bonuses for speed and discretion."
Clark's vision actually blurred for a moment. Twenty thousand dollars. More money than he'd made in the past year combined. Enough to pay rent for eight months. Enough to buy a car that didn't leak oil. Enough to eat something other than ramen for the rest of the decade.
"Don't faint. Professional investigators do not faint during fee negotiations."
"That sounds reasonable," he managed.
Pepper was already pulling out a checkbook. Corporate account, Stark Industries letterhead, the casual authority of someone who signed checks for more money than most people saw in a lifetime.
"We'll start with the ten thousand retainer," she said, writing with swift, efficient strokes. "David's been missing for six days. The trail is getting colder."
Clark took the check, staring at the number written in neat black ink.
"I'll find him," he said.
And as the words left his mouth, the system chimed to life.
[MISSION DETECTED]
[PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: LOCATE DAVID CHEN]
[SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: PREVENT WEAPONS TECHNOLOGY THEFT]
[WARNING: HOSTILE FORCES ACTIVE]
[RECOMMENDED ARTIFACTS: HAWK EYE MONOCLE, SWIFT STEP BOOTS]
[ACCEPT MISSION? Y/N]
Clark focused on "Y" while maintaining eye contact with Pepper.
[MISSION ACCEPTED]
[ADDITIONAL OBJECTIVE UNLOCKED: RETRIEVE THE ECHO STONE]
[ARTIFACT TIER: C]
[LOCATION: QUEENS WAREHOUSE DISTRICT]
[WARNING: HIGH COMBAT PROBABILITY]
"C-tier. First C-tier mission. And it's connected to David Chen somehow."
"Mr. Collins?" Pepper was watching him with concern. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," Clark said, folding the check carefully. "Just thinking about where to start. Do you have David's last known movements?"
Three hours later, Clark stood outside a dingy apartment building in Astoria, David Chen's home address according to the file. The Tracking Compass in his pocket hummed with warm certainty—David had been here recently, but not in the past seventy-two hours.
The building superintendent was a tired-looking man named Rodriguez who spoke in the universal language of people who'd learned not to ask too many questions. Clark's fake NYPD consultant badge and fifty-dollar handshake had bought him access to David's apartment.
"Police already been through here twice," Rodriguez said, unlocking the door. "Didn't take nothing, just looked around. Guy was quiet, you know? Kept to himself, paid rent on time. Good tenant."
The apartment was small, neat, and completely unremarkable. IKEA furniture, family photos on the refrigerator, a computer setup that looked standard for an engineer who worked from home occasionally. But the Tracking Compass was practically vibrating now, leading Clark toward the bedroom.
Under the mattress, his fingers found what the police had missed—a USB drive wrapped in plastic, hidden with the paranoid care of someone who knew they were in danger.
Clark pocketed the drive and continued his search. In the kitchen, the Echo Stone guided him toward the trash, where he found something that made his blood freeze.
A business card. Stark Industries embossed in silver lettering. But written on the back in careful handwriting: "Warehouse 47, Queens. Midnight. Come alone."
The handwriting matched David Chen's signature from his file.
"He didn't disappear. He was lured somewhere. And whatever happened there, it happened six days ago."
Clark thanked Rodriguez and left the apartment, his mind already working through possibilities. David Chen had access to arc reactor technology. Someone had convinced him to go to a warehouse in Queens at midnight. He'd never come home.
Either David was selling secrets, or someone wanted everyone to think he was.
The Echo Stone pulsed warm against his ribs, like a heartbeat counting down to something inevitable.
Warehouse 47 sat in an industrial stretch of Queens that urban planners had forgotten and most humans avoided. Chain-link fences topped with razor wire protected buildings that looked like they'd been abandoned since the Carter administration. But Clark's artifacts told a different story.
The Hawk Eye Monocle, fitted over his right eye like a steampunk affectation, revealed details that normal vision would miss. Fresh tire tracks in the gravel. Security cameras that were definitely functional despite their run-down appearance. And in the windows of Warehouse 47, the warm glow of human activity.
Clark crouched behind a shipping container two blocks away, the monocle's enhanced vision letting him study the building like he was standing on the front step. Guards walked perimeter routes with the casual alertness of professionals. Vehicles came and went with purpose. And through one unshuttered window, he caught a glimpse of something that made his stomach turn.
Weapons. Lots of them. Stark Industries logos clearly visible on crates and equipment.
"Ten Rings. Has to be. They have David, and they're using him to access Stark tech."
But as Clark adjusted the monocle's focus, he heard something that changed everything.
Voices. Carried on the night wind, amplified by the artifact's enhanced hearing. Two men talking in accented English, their words drifting from the warehouse's loading dock.
"—Stark's Afghanistan trip next week—"
"—perfect opportunity while he's isolated—"
"—Chen gave us the specifications, but we need the man himself to—"
"—demonstration will convince the buyers—"
Clark's hands clenched involuntarily. Afghanistan. Tony Stark was scheduled for a weapons demonstration in Afghanistan. These weren't just criminals stealing technology—they were planning something bigger. Something that would happen when Tony was vulnerable, isolated, and surrounded by his own weapons.
The Echo Stone suddenly blazed to life, its warmth spreading through his chest like liquid fire.
[C-TIER ARTIFACT DETECTED: ECHO STONE]
[MISSION ACTIVATED: RETRIEVE INTELLIGENCE WITHOUT VIOLENCE]
[OBJECTIVE: OBTAIN TEN RINGS OPERATIONAL PLANS]
[TIME LIMIT: 6 HOURS]
[FAILURE CONSEQUENCE: PERMANENT ARTIFACT LOCK + STARK EXPOSURE]
[WARNING: FIRST C-TIER MISSION - INCREASED DIFFICULTY]
"Without violence. The system specifically wants me to avoid a fight. Which means there are enough people in there to make violence a very bad idea."
Clark studied the warehouse again, this time looking for infiltration routes instead of combat positions. The building was large, industrial, with loading docks on multiple sides. Security focused on the perimeter, but the rooftop looked accessible from the adjacent building.
He had artifacts that could help. The Swift Step Boots for enhanced movement. The Ever-Full Canteen for sustained operations. And somewhere inside that warehouse, the Echo Stone was waiting—a C-tier artifact that could make this whole thing possible.
But first, he needed to know exactly what he was walking into.
Clark activated the Hawk Eye Monocle's maximum zoom, scanning the warehouse windows systematically. Loading dock: six men with automatic weapons. Main floor: twenty or thirty people working around pallets of Stark technology. Upper level: what looked like a command center, maps and communication equipment visible.
And in a corner office with reinforced windows: David Chen, very much alive, working at a computer terminal while two guards watched him.
"He's not selling secrets. He's being forced to crack them. Which means I need to get him out along with the intelligence."
The system's mission parameters echoed in his mind: retrieve intelligence without violence. That meant stealth, infiltration, and the kind of precision work that could get him killed if he made even one mistake.
Clark checked his watch. 11:47 PM. The warehouse would be busiest now, with people coming and going for the night shift. More chaos to hide in, but also more eyes to spot him.
He pulled out the Smoke Pellet—E-tier, but reliable—and the Swift Step Boots from his kit. The Echo Stone would have to wait until he was inside, but once he had it, the real mission could begin.
"Six hours to infiltrate a terrorist cell, rescue a hostage, steal their operational plans, and do it all without killing anyone. The system really doesn't believe in starting small."
Clark stood, checked his equipment one final time, and began moving toward the warehouse. Behind him, Manhattan glittered with the lights of eight million people who had no idea their world was about to change.
In six days, Tony Stark would board a plane to Afghanistan.
Clark intended to make sure he came back.
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