Chapter 5: The Consultant Contract
POV: Clark
Tony Stark's workshop existed in a dimension where physics was more of a friendly suggestion than an actual law. Holographic displays materialized and dispersed like digital ghosts, robotic arms danced through assembly sequences with inhuman precision, and the air itself hummed with the barely contained energy of arc reactor technology. Clark stood in the doorway, briefcase clutched in hands that had stopped trembling somewhere between the elevator and this moment, staring at a workspace that made his collection of magical artifacts seem quaint by comparison.
"This is what sixteen billion dollars buys you," he thought, watching a robotic arm paint microscopic circuitry onto a component no larger than his thumbnail. "No wonder the system detected B-tier artifacts here. Tony's building magic and calling it science."
"Impressive, isn't it?" Tony's voice came from somewhere deeper in the workshop, where sparks flew from what looked like a metal suit being constructed piece by piece. "Most people's first reaction is something between awe and existential crisis."
"I'm leaning toward crisis," Clark admitted, stepping into the workshop proper. His artifacts were still humming with harmonic resonance, particularly the Echo Stone, which felt warm enough to brand him through his jacket.
Tony emerged from behind the partially assembled armor, acetylene torch in one hand, safety goggles pushed up onto his forehead. He looked younger here, in his element, surrounded by the tools that transformed abstract concepts into reality. The careful corporate persona from their first meeting had been replaced by something more authentic—genius at work, unfiltered and unashamed.
"Crisis is healthy," Tony said, setting down the torch and wiping grease-stained hands on a rag that probably cost more than Clark's monthly rent. "Means you're smart enough to recognize when you're looking at something revolutionary."
"Or something that could end the world if it falls into the wrong hands. Which, if I don't prevent Afghanistan, it will."
Clark approached the suit, noting details that his artifact-enhanced perception picked up: stress fractures in the metal that suggested rapid assembly, burn marks that spoke of weapons testing, and a chest piece designed to house something that glowed with arc reactor energy.
"You're building a weapon," he said.
Tony's expression shifted slightly, became more guarded. "I'm building a solution."
"To what problem?"
"Choose your words carefully. Test his motivations without revealing too much."
"The problem of being Tony Stark in a world full of people who want to kill me, steal my technology, or use both against innocent people." Tony gestured toward a wall display showing news footage—explosions, conflict zones, the kind of chaos that weapons manufacturers both created and profited from. "Look around, Clark. The world's falling apart. Traditional solutions aren't working."
"So you're building a better weapon."
"I'm building armor. Personal protection scaled to the threats I face. The difference matters."
Clark studied Tony's face, noting the micro-expressions that spoke of sleepless nights and moral wrestling matches. This wasn't the cavalier arms dealer the media portrayed. This was someone trying to solve an equation that had too many variables and not enough time.
"He's already changing. Afghanistan will solidify it, but the process started before his capture. Which means my mission isn't just about saving his life—it's about ensuring the transformation continues."
"Show me," Clark said.
Tony's grin was sharp and pleased. "I was hoping you'd ask."
The workshop tour became a masterclass in applied physics and creative problem-solving. Tony explained propulsion systems that could lift a grown man into sustained flight, targeting systems that could track multiple threats simultaneously, and defensive measures that could stop bullets while maintaining mobility. Each component was a marvel of engineering, and together they formed something that would fundamentally change warfare.
Or heroism, depending on who wore the suit.
"Impressive," Clark said when the tour concluded. "But you didn't hire me to appreciate your engineering skills."
"No, I didn't." Tony led him to a conference table where a manila folder waited, thick with documents and photographs. "I hired you because Pepper says you think differently about problems. And I've got problems that need different thinking."
Clark opened the folder, immediately recognizing the format: threat assessments, background checks, the bureaucratic machinery that surrounded anyone with enough money to make enemies. But these were different from standard corporate security reports. More personal. More targeted.
"Threatening letters," Tony explained. "Started about six months ago. Standard corporate security thinks they're from disgruntled employees or angry protesters. Everyone sees words on paper and assumes it's the usual hate mail."
Clark spread the letters across the table, his investigation skills automatically categorizing and analyzing. The handwriting was consistent across all samples—educated, controlled, suggesting someone comfortable with written communication. The paper quality was good but not exceptional, available at any office supply store. But the content...
"These aren't random threats. They're intelligence probes."
"Everyone else sees words," Tony continued. "What do you see?"
Clark picked up one of the letters, holding it to the light. "Questions disguised as accusations. Someone's fishing for information about your security protocols, your travel patterns, your personal relationships."
"Go on."
"This one—" Clark held up a letter dated three weeks ago "—mentions your 'guilty conscience about overseas contracts.' That's not common knowledge. Whoever wrote this has access to board meeting minutes or someone who attends them."
Tony's expression grew more focused. "And?"
"This letter references your workshop schedule with enough accuracy to suggest surveillance. Not just of you, but of your facility security rotations." Clark set down the letter and looked directly at Tony. "These aren't threats. They're reconnaissance."
"For what?"
"For Afghanistan. For the perfect time to take you somewhere your money and technology can't protect you."
"For an operation," Clark said. "Someone's planning something that requires detailed knowledge of your movements, your security, and your psychological profile. The threats are designed to make you either increase security—which would reveal your defensive capabilities—or dismiss them as harmless, which would make you an easier target."
Tony was quiet for a moment, studying the letters with new eyes. "And who would want that kind of intelligence?"
"Anyone who benefits from Stark Industries being destabilized. Corporate rivals, foreign governments, terrorist organizations looking to acquire advanced weapons technology. Or someone inside the company who knows exactly what information to request and how to use it."
"Someone like Obadiah Stane, who's probably feeding information to the Ten Rings right now."
"I need you to find out which," Tony said. "Standard investigators would run background checks and install more cameras. I need someone who can think like the people trying to hurt me."
The weight of the mission settled onto Clark's shoulders like a familiar coat. Not just the system mission to save Tony's life, but the human responsibility of protecting someone who was trying to change from weapons manufacturer to something better.
"What's the timeline?"
"As fast as possible. I'm scheduled for a weapons demonstration in Afghanistan in three weeks. If someone's planning something, they'll probably make their move when I'm most isolated."
"Three weeks. The system countdown matches exactly. Tony's handing me the perfect opportunity to investigate while staying close enough to protect him."
"I'll need access to employee records, security footage, and communication logs," Clark said. "And I'll need to operate with some independence. If there are moles inside Stark Industries, I can't trust official channels."
"Done. Pepper will set you up with everything you need. Just..." Tony paused, and for a moment, the confident genius looked almost vulnerable. "Don't tell me who I can't trust until you're absolutely certain. This company is all I have left of my father. I'd rather not poison it with paranoia unless I have to."
"He still trusts Stane. Still sees him as family. This is going to destroy him when the truth comes out."
"I understand," Clark said. "I'll be discreet."
[MISSION ASSIGNED: CORPORATE ESPIONAGE INVESTIGATION]
[PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: IDENTIFY STARK INDUSTRIES MOLES]
[SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: PREVENT INFORMATION LEAKS]
[TIME LIMIT: 21 DAYS]
[RECOMMENDED ARTIFACT: ECHO STONE]
[ACCEPT? Y/N]
Clark focused on "Y" while maintaining his conversation with Tony.
[MISSION ACCEPTED]
[STEALTH BONUS AVAILABLE FOR NON-VIOLENT SOLUTIONS]
[WARNING: HOSTILE FORCES MONITORING STARK INDUSTRIES]
"Multiple missions running simultaneously now. Find the moles, save Tony from Afghanistan, and keep the system secret from someone smart enough to figure it out if I'm not careful."
"There's something else," Tony said, reaching for his tablet. "I know you're good at finding patterns, so I want your opinion on this."
The tablet displayed a series of financial records—wire transfers, account balances, the digital paper trail that followed money through increasingly complex webs. But these weren't standard corporate transactions.
"Unauthorized payments from Stark Industries accounts," Tony explained. "Small amounts, spread across multiple divisions, but they add up to significant money. Standard accounting missed them because they're buried in legitimate expense reports."
Clark studied the patterns, his system-enhanced perception immediately spotting the anomalies. "Same bank routing numbers across different departments. Someone's using multiple accounts to hide the total amount being siphoned."
"How much total?"
Clark did quick mental math, his investigation skills providing the computational framework. "Roughly two million over the past eight months. Enough to fund a small military operation."
"Or pay for terrorist cells, weapons purchases, and infiltration operations. The Ten Rings have been planning this for almost a year."
"Jesus," Tony muttered. "Two million dollars. Someone's been robbing me blind to fund... what?"
"That's what I'm going to find out," Clark said. "Give me access to your communication systems and forty-eight hours. I'll have names."
"And I'll use the Echo Stone to impersonate whoever's coordinating this operation. Time to see how well I can play corporate spy."
Tony stood, extending his hand for a shake that felt like a contract written in trust and mutual respect. "Welcome to the team, Clark. Fair warning—working for me tends to get complicated."
"You have no idea."
"I can handle complicated," Clark said, gripping Tony's hand with the kind of firmness that suggested reliability. "It's the simple jobs that make me nervous."
As they shook hands, Clark felt the Echo Stone pulse against his ribs, and the system whispered a new notification into his awareness:
[ARTIFACT RESONANCE DETECTED]
[STARK ARC REACTOR TECHNOLOGY COMPATIBLE]
[ENHANCEMENT POSSIBILITIES AVAILABLE]
[INVESTIGATION REQUIRED]
"The arc reactor can enhance artifacts? That's new. And potentially game-changing."
"One more thing," Tony said, releasing Clark's hand. "I'm curious about your methods. Most investigators rely on databases and interviews. How do you plan to identify moles in a company this size?"
Clark smiled, already planning how to use the Echo Stone to impersonate buyers in arms deals and extract confessions from suspicious employees.
"Trade secrets," he said. "But I will say this—people reveal more than they realize when they think nobody's listening."
"Especially when that somebody can perfectly mimic their voice and trick them into revealing everything."
Tony's grin was sharp with anticipation. "This should be interesting."
Clark left the workshop with fifty thousand dollars in annual salary, access to resources that most PIs could only dream of, and three weeks to prevent one of the most pivotal moments in human history.
No pressure at all.
The Stark Industries communication center hummed with the quiet efficiency of corporate surveillance. Clark sat at a workstation that could monitor every phone call, email, and data transfer in the building, wearing headphones that fed him a constant stream of internal corporate chatter. To anyone watching, he looked like another security contractor doing routine monitoring.
In reality, he was using the Echo Stone to build a library of voices.
"Let's see... accounting department, executive board members, department heads. Each voice carefully recorded, ready to be played back when I need to impersonate them."
The artifact pulsed warm against his chest as it absorbed sound after sound: Obadiah Stane's oily baritone, Pepper Potts' crisp professionalism, various department heads discussing budget allocations and project timelines. Within two hours, Clark had recorded enough voices to impersonate half the company's leadership.
His first target was Marcus Webb, a mid-level logistics coordinator whose expense reports showed suspicious patterns. The man was currently in his office, alone, reviewing shipping manifests. Perfect.
Clark activated the Echo Stone, feeling the familiar drain on his stamina as the artifact came to life. "Marcus? This is Obadiah Stane."
The voice that emerged from the stone was perfect—every inflection, every subtle accent that made Stane's speech distinctive. Through the surveillance feed, Clark watched Marcus Webb straighten in his chair.
"Mr. Stane! I... uh... how can I help you?"
"I need an update on those special shipments we discussed. The overseas project. Are we still on schedule?"
"He's nervous. Good. Nervous people make mistakes."
Webb's face went pale. "Sir, I... we agreed not to discuss those arrangements over the phone."
"Bingo. There are arrangements. Plural. This isn't a single transaction."
"Of course, you're right," Clark continued in Stane's voice. "My apologies. When is our next face-to-face meeting scheduled?"
"The same as always, sir. Wednesday evening, Warehouse District. But shouldn't you know that?"
"Wednesday evening. Warehouse District. Webb is meeting with someone regularly, and he thinks it's Stane. Which means either Stane is running this operation, or someone's using his name."
"You're absolutely right. I've been juggling too many projects lately. I'll see you Wednesday."
Clark ended the call and immediately began cross-referencing Webb's activities with the financial records Tony had shown him. The pattern was clear: every suspicious transaction corresponded with a Wednesday evening when Webb stayed late at the office.
"One down, two to go. But I need more than financial evidence. I need to know who they're selling to and what information they're trading."
The next target was Sarah Kim from the engineering department, whose access logs showed her downloading technical specifications that didn't match her current projects. The Echo Stone made quick work of her as well, this time using Pepper Potts' voice to request a "routine security review" of her recent file accesses.
Within minutes, Clark had confirmation that Kim was copying arc reactor schematics to external drives during her lunch breaks.
The third mole was harder to crack—Dr. James Morrison, a senior weapons engineer with legitimate reasons to access most of the information he was stealing. But Morrison's mistake was his careful scheduling. Every time he downloaded sensitive files, he immediately called in sick the next day.
"Pattern recognition. He's passing information to handlers who need time to analyze it before the next exchange."
Using the Echo Stone to impersonate Tony Stark himself, Clark called Morrison directly.
"Jim, this is Tony. I need you to expedite the Afghanistan demonstration specs. Security wants them reviewed by an outside consultant before I leave."
"Of course, Mr. Stark. Should I use the usual secure channel?"
"Usual secure channel. He's been sending information somewhere on a regular basis."
"Actually, I want to try a different approach this time. Email them directly to my personal account."
Morrison hesitated. "Sir, that seems... less secure than our normal procedures."
"Normal procedures that involve sending weapons specifications somewhere they shouldn't go."
"I know. But I want to test our internal security measures. Consider it a controlled leak to see if anyone notices."
"I... understand, sir. I'll send them within the hour."
Clark ended the call and immediately contacted Stark Industries' IT security. "This is Clark Collins, security consultant. I need you to monitor all outbound emails from Dr. James Morrison for the next two hours. Don't intercept them, just track where they go."
"Three moles identified, their methods exposed, and their handlers about to be revealed. Not bad for a day's work."
But as Clark prepared to wrap up his investigation, the Echo Stone pulsed with an unexpected resonance. Someone was approaching his workstation—someone whose footsteps the artifact recognized from the voice samples he'd been collecting.
Obadiah Stane was coming to see him.
Clark quickly closed his surveillance windows and pulled up a routine security report, trying to look like he'd been doing standard monitoring all day. The artifact's warnings grew more urgent as Stane's footsteps came closer.
[HOSTILE INTENT APPROACHING]
[SUBJECT: OBADIAH STANE]
[THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: MAINTAIN COVER]
"He knows. Somehow, he knows I'm onto him."
Stane rounded the corner with his usual paternal smile, but Clark's enhanced perceptions caught the subtle tells—the too-tight grip on his coffee cup, the slight tension around his eyes, the way his free hand stayed near his jacket pocket.
"Clark! Making progress on Tony's little security concerns?"
"Some," Clark said carefully. "Still analyzing patterns in the data."
"Don't let him see the investigation files. Don't give him any reason to suspect I've identified the moles."
"Excellent. Tony tells me you have some unconventional methods. I'd be very interested to hear about them."
The words were casual, but the undertone was pure predator. Stane was fishing, trying to determine exactly how much Clark knew and how he'd learned it.
"Just good old-fashioned pattern recognition," Clark said. "Amazing what people reveal when they think nobody's watching."
"Indeed." Stane's smile never wavered, but something cold flickered behind his eyes. "I hope you'll keep me informed of any significant discoveries. As Tony's business partner, I have a vested interest in company security."
"Partner. Not mentor, not father figure. Partner. Someone who sees Tony as an asset to be managed, not a person to be protected."
"Of course," Clark lied. "I'll make sure you're briefed on anything important."
Stane left with the same casual demeanor he'd arrived with, but Clark's artifacts continued their warning vibrations long after he was gone. The Echo Stone was practically singing with alarm, as if it had detected something in Stane's voice that Clark's conscious mind had missed.
Clark pulled up the building's security footage and tracked Stane's movements after leaving the communication center. Instead of returning to his office, Stane went to the parking garage and made a phone call from his car.
"He's reporting to someone. Right now. About me."
Clark couldn't hear the conversation, but he could read lips well enough to catch fragments: "Collins... investigating... suspicious... may need to accelerate timeline."
"Accelerate timeline. Whatever they're planning for Afghanistan, they're moving it up because I'm getting too close."
Clark immediately called Tony, who answered on the second ring.
"Collins. Please tell me you have good news."
"Mixed news. I've identified three moles in your company and tracked their methods. I can give you names and evidence."
"That's the good news. What's the mixed part?"
"I can't tell him his father figure is planning to have him killed. Not yet. Not without absolute proof."
"Someone's been monitoring my investigation. I think they know I'm onto them, which means they might accelerate whatever they're planning."
Tony was quiet for a moment. "How much time do we have?"
"I don't know. But Tony... about the Afghanistan trip. I've got a really bad feeling about it."
"Clark, I appreciate the concern, but I can't cancel a major weapons demonstration because of a feeling. Too much is riding on this deal."
"He won't listen to warnings. He has to see proof. Which means I need to give him evidence that will save his life without revealing the system."
"What if I told you I had concrete evidence that someone inside Stark Industries is planning to use that trip against you?"
"I'd ask to see the evidence."
Clark looked at his surveillance screens, his artifact-enhanced investigation results, and the growing certainty that time was running out.
"Give me forty-eight hours," he said. "I'll get you proof."
"You've got it. But Clark? Be careful. If someone's willing to kill to protect their secrets, you might be in danger too."
"I'm already in danger. We all are. But at least now I know who the enemy is."
Clark hung up and began planning the next phase of his investigation. The moles were identified, but he needed to expose their handler—the person coordinating this operation from within Stark Industries.
And he was becoming increasingly certain that person was Obadiah Stane.
The Echo Stone hummed against his chest, ready to help him impersonate anyone necessary to uncover the truth. But as he prepared to dive deeper into the conspiracy, one thought kept echoing in his mind:
Tony Stark was three weeks away from a trip that would either kill him or transform him into Iron Man.
Clark's job was to make sure it was the latter.
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