WASHINGTON D.C. - CAPITAL HILL
UNITED STATES SENATE ARMED SERVICES SUBCOMMITTEE ON EMERGING THREATS AND CAPABILITIES
“I’m sorry, are we boring you, Mr. Stark?” The question came from Senator Mullins of South Dakota. Before responding, Ethan stifled a second yawn and fought the urge to roll his eyes, “Boring me? I wouldn’t put it like that, exactly. If you want to call it unintentionally wasting everyone’s time, on the other hand….”
The Senator glared down at him from his seat. Mullins opted not to respond. Instead, Senator Wick from Virginia continued the conversation in a more diplomatic manner, “Mr. Stark, you yourself have stated that the country is vulnerable to outside threats. This statement was recently made following the events in Gotham City, in which you were a participant. Correct?”
Ethan nodded as the Senator continued, “We are trying to say that not only are we in agreement with you, but we are asking for your help in securing these vulnerabilities.”
“No, your colleagues are asking for military grade Iron Man tech to bolster the US armed forces. This is not the first time the federal government has made this ask and it’s not the first time that Stark Industries has said no. And yet, here we are. Doing the same dog and pony show that Congress has been doing with my dear old dad since he built his first set of armor in that cave.”
A commanding voice that had previously been silent responded to Ethan. It was deep and steady, seasoned in hard conversations, “Where are the Avengers, Mr. Stark? How about the Justice League or the Fantastic Four?”
Stark shifted his gaze to the California Senator, Michael Ashford. All things considered, as far as politicians went, he respected the man. Hell, he might even go as far as to say he liked him. And he brought up a valid point that Stark himself had been wrestling with since Gotham, “They’re not here, Senator. They’re not coming.”
Ashford nodded his head, “They are not coming. In fact, there are less superheroes now than ever before. In the past we put our hands in the lives of groups just like the Avengers or the X-Men. It has become apparent over the last several decades that we need to fend for ourselves. We cannot rely on an alien from another planet or a man with a magical ring. We have a duty to protect our citizens and we are asking you to help us do that.”
“I’m not unwilling to play ball with you people, but I won’t be handing over Iron Man technology to any government entity. Period,” Stark issued the statement with a hint of permanence.
**********
45 MINUTES LATER
ON THE STEPS OF CAPITAL HILL
Ethan took a long, deep breath and let the sunshine bathe his face in warm light. He despised dealing with politicians, especially the more arrogant ones. A voice came from behind him, “You know, you might get a little further with these guys if you didn’t always insult them.”
Stark’s head immediately lowered to his chest in a visible sign of exhaustion. He knew that gravely voice all too well. John Cole, Director of SHIELD, “Was this whole party your idea?”
The African American man stepped up alongside Ethan. He wore his typical blue SHIELD uniform, black eye patch across the left side of his face. His attire was in stark contrast to Ethan’s fine Italian suit. John shook his head, “No. I would have just shot you and taken the tech.”
Stark rolled his eyes, “You’re always so friendly, you know that? Anyway, I have things to do. World peace and all that.”
Ethan began walking away and John called out behind him, “We need to talk, Stark. They may be politicians, but they’re right. The Avengers aren’t coming. Gotham was just the first wave and you know it.”
Stark didn’t turn around, “Fine. I’ll get a meeting on the books.”
John Cole nodded, “See that you do.”
**********
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
The Children of the Atom Celebration was the single best day of the year. Well, maybe second to Christmas. Jake really couldn’t make up his mind which was better. It didn’t matter though. Today was Children of the Atom Day and nationwide there were parades and parties. Thirty years ago, the federal government created Mutant Day, later renamed, a national holiday celebrating a minority that had been not just persecuted but hunted as well. That was all in the past. Homo Superior and Homo Sapiens lived side by side in relative harmony now, at least for as long as Jake could remember in his fifteen years of life.
San Diego had one of the largest parties on the North American continent. Mutant powers were on display for entertainment, food vendors could be found every couple of feet, and world class musicians played soul shattering melodies. It was a great day!
He couldn’t remember exactly how many people attended this street celebration but he vaguely remembered hearing on the news that the city was expecting an additional 4 to 5 million visitors and from what he could tell, they were all here. He looked down at his phone as it buzzed. A text message from dad saying it was time to meet up near the taco truck they had agreed on as a meeting location for the family. He was the last one to arrive.
Jake saw his mom and dad standing in front of the food trailer. Dad was holding his younger sister and it looked like his older brother had just showed up with his girlfriend. Jake took a bite of his churro and waved so they could see that he was on his way over. That was the last time he would ever see his family. There was a bright flash of light and they were gone.
People screamed and started running as more lights rained down from above, snuffing out life wherever they landed. Jake dropped his churro and raised his eyes to the heavens and watched as several massive robots descended from the sky with the sole purpose of delivering death and destruction.
Iron Man: When History Repeats
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Iron Man: When History Repeats
Last edited by Cazzik on Wed Jun 04, 2025 2:17 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"I'd like to nominate Cazzik for the Sexiest Man on Earth 2010." --Balsa
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Re: When History Repeats
Stark took his welding mask off and whirled around on his stool, "Friday! Turn it up."
The volume on the television increased.
SPECIAL REPORT
LIVE COVERAGE FROM SAN DIEGO – PATRIOT NEWS NETWORK
ANCHOR: LANA CHO (PNN Nightly News)
An Asian woman with a somber expression appeared after the theme music had ended.
“We interrupt your regular programming with breaking, tragic news out of Southern California. I’m Lana Cho, and this is a special PNN bulletin.”
“Just hours ago, what began as a national celebration of peace and progress—the Children of the Atom Day festivities in San Diego—was turned into a nightmare.”
[Roll shaky footage: Screaming crowds, blasts of light, debris, and towering metal giants descending from clouds.]
“Unconfirmed reports are pouring in that multiple high-yield energy strikes targeted dense civilian populations attending the event, resulting in mass casualties. Eyewitnesses describe 'bright flashes' followed by the sudden vaporization of entire blocks. Survivors speak of towering, humanoid machines—some nearly six stories tall—raining down from the sky with mechanical precision and ruthless intent.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, what you’re seeing on the screen now are the first confirmed images of what appear to be—Sentinels.”
[Cut to archived footage from decades prior: rusty footage of original Mark I and II Sentinel models.]
“Yes, you heard that right. Sentinels—mutant-hunting machines thought to have been decommissioned and dismantled nearly three decades ago following the Xavier Accords—are back. Updated. Deadlier. And active.”
“At this time, federal and local authorities have not released an official statement, and communications with San Diego law enforcement are sporadic. S.H.I.E.L.D. has raised its global threat level to Tier Omega, and unconfirmed sources claim that the X-Men—or what’s left of them—are mobilizing.”
“The President is expected to address the nation within the hour. In the meantime, the Department of Mutant Affairs has issued an immediate shelter-in-place order for mutant communities across the West Coast.”
“We now go live to PNN correspondent Nico Gutierrez, reporting from just outside the San Diego perimeter. Nico?”
FIELD REPORTER: NICO GUTIERREZ
“Lana, we are just outside the exclusion zone that has been established by emergency responders. Behind me, you can still see smoke rising from downtown San Diego. We’ve spoken with dozens of survivors—many injured, traumatized. One fifteen-year-old boy told us he was eating a churro when a flash of light erased his entire family. The only word he could say through tears: ‘Sentinels.’”
BACK TO STUDIO: LANA CHO
“This is an evolving and deeply disturbing situation. We’ll continue to bring you verified updates as they become available. For now, PNN urges calm, preparedness, and unity.”
“This is not just a mutant issue. This is a human one.”
“We’ll be right back after this message—if we’re still here.”
Ethan stared wide eyed at the news footage. What the hell had just happened?
The volume on the television increased.
SPECIAL REPORT
LIVE COVERAGE FROM SAN DIEGO – PATRIOT NEWS NETWORK
ANCHOR: LANA CHO (PNN Nightly News)
An Asian woman with a somber expression appeared after the theme music had ended.
“We interrupt your regular programming with breaking, tragic news out of Southern California. I’m Lana Cho, and this is a special PNN bulletin.”
“Just hours ago, what began as a national celebration of peace and progress—the Children of the Atom Day festivities in San Diego—was turned into a nightmare.”
[Roll shaky footage: Screaming crowds, blasts of light, debris, and towering metal giants descending from clouds.]
“Unconfirmed reports are pouring in that multiple high-yield energy strikes targeted dense civilian populations attending the event, resulting in mass casualties. Eyewitnesses describe 'bright flashes' followed by the sudden vaporization of entire blocks. Survivors speak of towering, humanoid machines—some nearly six stories tall—raining down from the sky with mechanical precision and ruthless intent.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, what you’re seeing on the screen now are the first confirmed images of what appear to be—Sentinels.”
[Cut to archived footage from decades prior: rusty footage of original Mark I and II Sentinel models.]
“Yes, you heard that right. Sentinels—mutant-hunting machines thought to have been decommissioned and dismantled nearly three decades ago following the Xavier Accords—are back. Updated. Deadlier. And active.”
“At this time, federal and local authorities have not released an official statement, and communications with San Diego law enforcement are sporadic. S.H.I.E.L.D. has raised its global threat level to Tier Omega, and unconfirmed sources claim that the X-Men—or what’s left of them—are mobilizing.”
“The President is expected to address the nation within the hour. In the meantime, the Department of Mutant Affairs has issued an immediate shelter-in-place order for mutant communities across the West Coast.”
“We now go live to PNN correspondent Nico Gutierrez, reporting from just outside the San Diego perimeter. Nico?”
FIELD REPORTER: NICO GUTIERREZ
“Lana, we are just outside the exclusion zone that has been established by emergency responders. Behind me, you can still see smoke rising from downtown San Diego. We’ve spoken with dozens of survivors—many injured, traumatized. One fifteen-year-old boy told us he was eating a churro when a flash of light erased his entire family. The only word he could say through tears: ‘Sentinels.’”
BACK TO STUDIO: LANA CHO
“This is an evolving and deeply disturbing situation. We’ll continue to bring you verified updates as they become available. For now, PNN urges calm, preparedness, and unity.”
“This is not just a mutant issue. This is a human one.”
“We’ll be right back after this message—if we’re still here.”
Ethan stared wide eyed at the news footage. What the hell had just happened?
"I'd like to nominate Cazzik for the Sexiest Man on Earth 2010." --Balsa
Dark Lord of the Grill
Posts: 1947
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Re: Iron Man: When History Repeats
NEW YORK CITY – STARK TOWER
9:32 AM – MORGAN STARK’S OFFICE, EXECUTIVE FLOOR
The sunlight poured into Morgan Stark’s office, gleaming off the polished surfaces and casting long shadows across the minimalist decor. She sat behind her desk, fingers gliding across a holographic display when the door slid open without a knock.
Ethan Stark strolled in like he owned the place — which, technically, he still partially did.
Morgan didn’t even look up. “Sure. Come right in. Make yourself at home.”
Ethan smirked as he lowered the welding goggles from his forehead and tossed them onto the nearest chair. “You know me. Never liked knocking. Waste of a good entrance.”
She finally looked up, unimpressed. “Most people call first.”
“I’m not most people,” Ethan said, spinning a stool around and flopping onto it like a bored teenager at a press junket.
“No argument there,” she muttered, returning her attention to the glowing display before dimming it with a wave. “I watched the replay three times last night.”
“I know.”
“You’ve said almost nothing since. Not even a snide comment. That’s not like you.”
Ethan didn’t respond immediately. His gaze wandered to the panoramic window overlooking Manhattan. “It’s not like me,” he said finally. “That’s the part that’s bothering you?”
“What’s bothering me,” Morgan said, leaning forward, “is that something about that attack has you rattled. And when something rattles you, it means something big. So tell me—what aren’t you saying?”
Ethan exhaled and rubbed his face. “I don’t know anything. Not really. Just… a theory.”
“Then start theorizing.”
Before Ethan could answer, the office lights subtly dimmed, and a soft chime pinged from the glass wall behind them. Morgan turned just as the double doors slid open—unlocked remotely from outside.
John Cole stepped in without invitation, arms crossed, black eyepatch gleaming under the overhead lights. His blue SHIELD uniform looked out of place in the tower’s sleek aesthetic.
“You really need to upgrade your firewall,” he said casually. “Or maybe fire your security director.”
Morgan arched a brow. “Or maybe install a trapdoor under that spot you’re standing in.”
Cole smirked faintly and kept walking. “Stark.”
“Director Cole,” Ethan replied without standing. “If you’re here to tell me San Diego was an accident, I’ll save you the breath.”
Cole stepped in front of Morgan’s desk. “This isn’t about San Diego. This is about what comes after. That wasn’t random. It was strategic. Surgical. A message.”
Ethan stood, crossing his arms. “Let me guess. You want to form a new team. Something between the Avengers and the Suicide Squad—with you pulling the strings.”
Cole didn’t flinch. “I want something that can win. Something built to last.”
“I’ve seen how SHIELD handles ‘lasting.’ You run them into the ground and bury the bodies.”
Morgan sighed. “Okay, let’s all lower the testosterone levels by about fifty percent.”
Cole ignored her. “The next wave is coming, Stark. You know it. We don’t have the Avengers. We don’t have a Justice League. We don’t even have a backup plan.”
“I am the backup plan,” Ethan shot back.
“No,” Cole growled, stepping closer. “You’re the reminder that backup plans fail.”
The room went silent for a beat.
Morgan moved between them, calm but firm. “Director, I understand the urgency. But this—what you’re proposing—it needs more than fear and fast-tracking. We’re not handing over Iron Man tech, and we’re not building a team overnight.”
Cole looked her dead in the eye. “Then don’t build it overnight. Just build it. Before someone else does.”
Without another word, he turned and left the office. The doors hissed shut behind him.
Morgan rubbed her temples. “He’s right, you know. Even if he’s an ass about it.”
Ethan didn’t move. “I’ll consider it.”
Morgan raised a brow. “That’s all I’m getting?”
He glanced back toward the doors. “For now.”
**********
TRISKELION – S.H.I.E.L.D. BLACK LEVEL OPERATIONS WING
WASHINGTON D.C. – 8:47 PM
The lights in Director John Cole’s office were dimmed, casting long shadows over the reinforced steel and glass that made up the war room of the world’s last true spymaster. Screens lined the far wall, some playing muted news coverage of the San Diego massacre on loop, others displaying redacted intelligence streams. One corner showed satellite footage of the smoldering coast, marked with heat signatures and unknown energy readings.
Cole stood at the center of it all, a digital interface spreading across the surface of his desk. The room was silent except for the hum of processors and the faint buzz of classified systems spinning online.
He keyed in a voice code:
“Director Cole. Clearance Gamma Black.”
ACCESSING: THUNDERBOLTS PROTOCOL
STATUS: INACTIVE.
The holographic display ignited. A vault of superhuman dossiers appeared — roughly twenty candidates, each flagged for consideration under what was easily the most controversial contingency plan in SHIELD history.
Names and faces flashed by, most with warning icons attached. The deeper Cole scrolled, the more volatile the combinations became. Among them, a handful stood out — the kind that could change the outcome of a war... or start one.
FIRE ANT – Pym-tech derivative. Explosive ingenuity. Unstable.
U.S. AGENT – Jackson Davis. Super Soldier. Brutal. Loyal to the mission, not the method.
SOLDIER ONE – Sarah Bailey. Cybernetic. Strategically lethal. Mentally scarred but still standing.
HULK – Dr. David Banner. Contained. Barely. Classified as a last-resort deployment.
SHAZAM – Charlotte Cameron. Magic-based. Young, powerful, still finding her footing.
IRON MAN – Ethan Stark. Resource: unparalleled. Cooperation: unlikely.
RESCUE – Morgan Stark. Tactical, ethical, and potentially the conscience of any team.
Cole watched the files cycle, his expression unreadable.
This wasn’t about favorites. It was about necessity. About preparing for a future that was already bleeding into the present.
He cleared the display — all but one file.
QUAKE
Name: Rory Bennett
Status: Active
Affiliation: S.H.I.E.L.D. – Field Operations Division
Powers: Seismic Manipulation
Evaluation:
“She’s the one,” he murmured.
The Thunderbolts Protocol wasn’t active.
Not yet.
But it would be.
And when it was, Rory Bennett would lead it.
**********
NEW YORK CITY – UPTOWN HIGH-RISE PENTHOUSE
9:02 PM – STARK RESIDENCE
The city glittered beneath him, a sprawl of life refusing to slow down — even in the aftermath of horror. Ethan Stark sat on the balcony of his high-rise penthouse, sleeves rolled to his forearms, collar loosened. In one hand, a crystal glass of scotch. In the other, time.
He twirled the liquid slowly, letting it breathe.
He didn’t drink. Not yet. Not like his father once had. One glass was enough — and even that, he didn’t always finish.
With a soft hum of static, a blue hologram resolved into the shape of Dr. David Banner in the seat beside him.
“Always the nice view,” Banner said, looking out at the skyline.
“It keeps me from flying into space just to get some perspective,” Ethan replied dryly.
David gave a quiet chuckle. “You sure you’re not your father?”
“I’m better at pretending I’m not.”
A brief pause followed. The kind that came with trust, not discomfort.
Banner shifted his gaze from the city to Stark. “Cole’s putting something together.”
“I know.”
“Superhumans. Enhanced types. Government-approved, from what I hear.”
Ethan didn’t look at him. “It’s a bad idea.”
David didn’t argue. “Might be. But after Gotham and San Diego, no one’s waiting for the Avengers to come back. They want someone — anyone — who can hit back.”
“Hit back at what?” Ethan asked, voice quiet. “No demands were made. No manifesto. No villainous monologue. Just destruction. Efficient. Surgical.”
David nodded grimly. “Which makes it worse.”
Ethan set the glass down on the table between them. It clinked lightly.
“You think Cole can pull it off?” he asked.
“No,” David said. “Not without help. Not without someone in the room who knows how this stuff really works. The gear. The people. The politics.”
Ethan finally looked at him. “And you think that’s me.”
“I think it’s not him,” David replied. “And that’s reason enough.”
Ethan leaned back in the chair, eyes on the sky above. Planes crossed overhead like silent comets. Somewhere below, the world still moved — unaware of how close it had come to stopping.
“I hate the idea of putting capes back on just to make people feel safe,” Ethan said. “Feels like a lie.”
“Sometimes people need the lie,” David answered. “Sometimes they need someone to stand in front of them and say, ‘We’ve got this,’ even when they don’t.”
The silence returned, a little heavier this time.
Ethan picked up the glass again, gave it a slow swirl.
“To standing in front,” he said.
David gave him a small, knowing smile. “To not letting it fall behind us.”
9:32 AM – MORGAN STARK’S OFFICE, EXECUTIVE FLOOR
The sunlight poured into Morgan Stark’s office, gleaming off the polished surfaces and casting long shadows across the minimalist decor. She sat behind her desk, fingers gliding across a holographic display when the door slid open without a knock.
Ethan Stark strolled in like he owned the place — which, technically, he still partially did.
Morgan didn’t even look up. “Sure. Come right in. Make yourself at home.”
Ethan smirked as he lowered the welding goggles from his forehead and tossed them onto the nearest chair. “You know me. Never liked knocking. Waste of a good entrance.”
She finally looked up, unimpressed. “Most people call first.”
“I’m not most people,” Ethan said, spinning a stool around and flopping onto it like a bored teenager at a press junket.
“No argument there,” she muttered, returning her attention to the glowing display before dimming it with a wave. “I watched the replay three times last night.”
“I know.”
“You’ve said almost nothing since. Not even a snide comment. That’s not like you.”
Ethan didn’t respond immediately. His gaze wandered to the panoramic window overlooking Manhattan. “It’s not like me,” he said finally. “That’s the part that’s bothering you?”
“What’s bothering me,” Morgan said, leaning forward, “is that something about that attack has you rattled. And when something rattles you, it means something big. So tell me—what aren’t you saying?”
Ethan exhaled and rubbed his face. “I don’t know anything. Not really. Just… a theory.”
“Then start theorizing.”
Before Ethan could answer, the office lights subtly dimmed, and a soft chime pinged from the glass wall behind them. Morgan turned just as the double doors slid open—unlocked remotely from outside.
John Cole stepped in without invitation, arms crossed, black eyepatch gleaming under the overhead lights. His blue SHIELD uniform looked out of place in the tower’s sleek aesthetic.
“You really need to upgrade your firewall,” he said casually. “Or maybe fire your security director.”
Morgan arched a brow. “Or maybe install a trapdoor under that spot you’re standing in.”
Cole smirked faintly and kept walking. “Stark.”
“Director Cole,” Ethan replied without standing. “If you’re here to tell me San Diego was an accident, I’ll save you the breath.”
Cole stepped in front of Morgan’s desk. “This isn’t about San Diego. This is about what comes after. That wasn’t random. It was strategic. Surgical. A message.”
Ethan stood, crossing his arms. “Let me guess. You want to form a new team. Something between the Avengers and the Suicide Squad—with you pulling the strings.”
Cole didn’t flinch. “I want something that can win. Something built to last.”
“I’ve seen how SHIELD handles ‘lasting.’ You run them into the ground and bury the bodies.”
Morgan sighed. “Okay, let’s all lower the testosterone levels by about fifty percent.”
Cole ignored her. “The next wave is coming, Stark. You know it. We don’t have the Avengers. We don’t have a Justice League. We don’t even have a backup plan.”
“I am the backup plan,” Ethan shot back.
“No,” Cole growled, stepping closer. “You’re the reminder that backup plans fail.”
The room went silent for a beat.
Morgan moved between them, calm but firm. “Director, I understand the urgency. But this—what you’re proposing—it needs more than fear and fast-tracking. We’re not handing over Iron Man tech, and we’re not building a team overnight.”
Cole looked her dead in the eye. “Then don’t build it overnight. Just build it. Before someone else does.”
Without another word, he turned and left the office. The doors hissed shut behind him.
Morgan rubbed her temples. “He’s right, you know. Even if he’s an ass about it.”
Ethan didn’t move. “I’ll consider it.”
Morgan raised a brow. “That’s all I’m getting?”
He glanced back toward the doors. “For now.”
**********
TRISKELION – S.H.I.E.L.D. BLACK LEVEL OPERATIONS WING
WASHINGTON D.C. – 8:47 PM
The lights in Director John Cole’s office were dimmed, casting long shadows over the reinforced steel and glass that made up the war room of the world’s last true spymaster. Screens lined the far wall, some playing muted news coverage of the San Diego massacre on loop, others displaying redacted intelligence streams. One corner showed satellite footage of the smoldering coast, marked with heat signatures and unknown energy readings.
Cole stood at the center of it all, a digital interface spreading across the surface of his desk. The room was silent except for the hum of processors and the faint buzz of classified systems spinning online.
He keyed in a voice code:
“Director Cole. Clearance Gamma Black.”
ACCESSING: THUNDERBOLTS PROTOCOL
STATUS: INACTIVE.
The holographic display ignited. A vault of superhuman dossiers appeared — roughly twenty candidates, each flagged for consideration under what was easily the most controversial contingency plan in SHIELD history.
Names and faces flashed by, most with warning icons attached. The deeper Cole scrolled, the more volatile the combinations became. Among them, a handful stood out — the kind that could change the outcome of a war... or start one.
FIRE ANT – Pym-tech derivative. Explosive ingenuity. Unstable.
U.S. AGENT – Jackson Davis. Super Soldier. Brutal. Loyal to the mission, not the method.
SOLDIER ONE – Sarah Bailey. Cybernetic. Strategically lethal. Mentally scarred but still standing.
HULK – Dr. David Banner. Contained. Barely. Classified as a last-resort deployment.
SHAZAM – Charlotte Cameron. Magic-based. Young, powerful, still finding her footing.
IRON MAN – Ethan Stark. Resource: unparalleled. Cooperation: unlikely.
RESCUE – Morgan Stark. Tactical, ethical, and potentially the conscience of any team.
Cole watched the files cycle, his expression unreadable.
This wasn’t about favorites. It was about necessity. About preparing for a future that was already bleeding into the present.
He cleared the display — all but one file.
QUAKE
Name: Rory Bennett
Status: Active
Affiliation: S.H.I.E.L.D. – Field Operations Division
Powers: Seismic Manipulation
Evaluation:
- Former team leader
Trusted across multiple branches
Highly effective in mixed-unit operations
Recommendation: Team Command Candidate – PRIMARY
“She’s the one,” he murmured.
The Thunderbolts Protocol wasn’t active.
Not yet.
But it would be.
And when it was, Rory Bennett would lead it.
**********
NEW YORK CITY – UPTOWN HIGH-RISE PENTHOUSE
9:02 PM – STARK RESIDENCE
The city glittered beneath him, a sprawl of life refusing to slow down — even in the aftermath of horror. Ethan Stark sat on the balcony of his high-rise penthouse, sleeves rolled to his forearms, collar loosened. In one hand, a crystal glass of scotch. In the other, time.
He twirled the liquid slowly, letting it breathe.
He didn’t drink. Not yet. Not like his father once had. One glass was enough — and even that, he didn’t always finish.
With a soft hum of static, a blue hologram resolved into the shape of Dr. David Banner in the seat beside him.
“Always the nice view,” Banner said, looking out at the skyline.
“It keeps me from flying into space just to get some perspective,” Ethan replied dryly.
David gave a quiet chuckle. “You sure you’re not your father?”
“I’m better at pretending I’m not.”
A brief pause followed. The kind that came with trust, not discomfort.
Banner shifted his gaze from the city to Stark. “Cole’s putting something together.”
“I know.”
“Superhumans. Enhanced types. Government-approved, from what I hear.”
Ethan didn’t look at him. “It’s a bad idea.”
David didn’t argue. “Might be. But after Gotham and San Diego, no one’s waiting for the Avengers to come back. They want someone — anyone — who can hit back.”
“Hit back at what?” Ethan asked, voice quiet. “No demands were made. No manifesto. No villainous monologue. Just destruction. Efficient. Surgical.”
David nodded grimly. “Which makes it worse.”
Ethan set the glass down on the table between them. It clinked lightly.
“You think Cole can pull it off?” he asked.
“No,” David said. “Not without help. Not without someone in the room who knows how this stuff really works. The gear. The people. The politics.”
Ethan finally looked at him. “And you think that’s me.”
“I think it’s not him,” David replied. “And that’s reason enough.”
Ethan leaned back in the chair, eyes on the sky above. Planes crossed overhead like silent comets. Somewhere below, the world still moved — unaware of how close it had come to stopping.
“I hate the idea of putting capes back on just to make people feel safe,” Ethan said. “Feels like a lie.”
“Sometimes people need the lie,” David answered. “Sometimes they need someone to stand in front of them and say, ‘We’ve got this,’ even when they don’t.”
The silence returned, a little heavier this time.
Ethan picked up the glass again, gave it a slow swirl.
“To standing in front,” he said.
David gave him a small, knowing smile. “To not letting it fall behind us.”
"I'd like to nominate Cazzik for the Sexiest Man on Earth 2010." --Balsa
Dark Lord of the Grill
Posts: 1947
Joined: Fri Jan 23, 2004 8:41 am
Joined: Fri Jan 23, 2004 8:41 am
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Re: Iron Man: When History Repeats
NEW YORK CITY – STARK TOWER, LOWER LEVELS
STARK TECH R&D LAB 02 – 11:14 AM
The lab was quiet, the kind of silence only broken by softly blinking lights and the hum of a dozen inactive suits resting in stasis along the walls. Screens displayed diagnostic cycles, threat assessments, incomplete schematics — and one large red file labeled: AVENGERS INITIATIVE.
Ethan Stark stood at the central workstation, hands in his pockets, eyes half-focused on the holograms floating above the console.
“Friday,” he said, voice low. “Let’s run it again. Proposed roster.”
A flicker of light, and the holograms shifted.
NAME: Dr. David Banner (Hulk)
STATUS: Active – SHIELD Asset
THREAT RATING: Gamma Tier / Contained
NOTES: Trusted. Symbiotic control. Reliable when deployed carefully.
“Strong, grounded, and doesn’t hate me. That's a win,” Ethan muttered.
NAME: Charlotte Cameron (Shazam)
STATUS: Active
THREAT RATING: Omega / Mystical Tier
NOTES: New. Unpredictable. Immense power with potential moral weight.
“She’s green, but if she’s half as good as the lightning says she is... could be the heart of the team.”
NAME: Henry Wayne (Batman)
STATUS: Unknown
THREAT RATING: N/A
NOTES: Operates independently. Psych profile redacted. Resources: unlimited. Trust level: unmeasured.
Ethan chuckled darkly. “And he makes me look like an open book. That’s saying something.”
The roster ended there. Empty slots pulsed across the digital projection — stark reminders of a world missing too many heroes.
Ethan crossed his arms. “What I wouldn’t give for a Thor. Or a Wonder Woman. Hell, I’d take a Wolverine right now.”
Friday’s voice chimed gently through the lab speakers.
“I believe the Canadian government still keeps their registry redacted, sir.”
Ethan smirked. “Yeah, well, someone should tell them the planet’s falling apart.”
He reached forward to swipe the file closed when the lab lights blinked red — warning tones sounding from the overhead speakers.
“Alert. Sentinel incursion detected. Midtown Manhattan. Confirmed civilian targets. Estimated casualties rising. Multiple hostiles.”
Ethan’s heart sank.
“Put it on-screen.”
The main monitor displayed drone footage of downtown Manhattan — chaos unfolding. A peaceful mutant demonstration had devolved into panic as Sentinels dropped from the sky, landing like missiles among a sea of civilians. Plumes of smoke, screaming crowds, and flashes of mutant powers trying in vain to hold the line.
“Goddamn it,” Ethan growled, already moving. “Friday, prep the suit.”
“Which one?”
“The one that punches hardest.”
The floor beneath him opened, and the Mark XIII Iron Man armor rose into place. Sleek, reinforced, red and gold. The plating shifted and assembled around him with surgical precision.
“Route me into NYPD, SHIELD, anyone on the ground.”
“Channels live.”
The faceplate snapped down.
“Iron Man inbound.”
**********
MIDTOWN MANHATTAN – 11:21 AM
EAST 44TH STREET, NEAR LEXINGTON
The city was warping under the chaos — overturned cars, shattered windows, wounded civilians trying to crawl away. Above them, Sentinels, towering and cold, targeted mutant energy signatures without discrimination.
Iron Man’s repulsors screamed as he shot through the smoke, crashing into the nearest Sentinel mid-lunge. The impact sent the machine hurtling into a building — debris raining around them.
“Friday, give me uplinks. Crowd density. Triage markers.”
“Uploading now. You have mutants assisting in quadrant four, but they’re outgunned. NYPD is focusing on evacuation.”
Iron Man flew upward and let loose a barrage of micro-missiles at the legs of the second Sentinel. They exploded in precise bursts, destabilizing its balance before Ethan delivered a full-body kinetic slam to the chest, sending it toppling backward into the street.
He landed hard.
“Two down. Where’s the third—”
A shockwave blasted him from the side, sending him skidding across asphalt.
Three new Sentinels descended in unison, larger than the rest. Their chassis gleamed in black and red plating, accented with glowing arc reactor-style cores in the chest and palms.
They hovered for a second, scanning him.
Ethan stared.
“Friday... tell me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing.”
“They’re... modeled after you, sir. Arc weapons. Flight tech. Heat signatures match old prototype schematics.”
“They stole my designs.”
“Looks like they improved a few things, too.”
The first of the new Sentinels opened fire — twin repulsor blasts forcing Ethan into evasive mode. The other two moved in perfect synchronization, flanking him from either side.
“So they’re coordinated too. Great.”
He deployed a counter-shield just as one of them slammed him mid-flight. Another caught him with a blast to the chest, sending sparks flaring off the armor. The HUD flickered.
“Damage report.”
“Shields holding. Armor integrity at 74%. You won’t survive a full frontal on all three.”
Ethan gritted his teeth, twisting in midair, releasing a solar flare burst that temporarily blinded one of the units. He dove between them, luring one into the crossfire of the others. A repulsor cannon ripped through the shoulder of one — Ethan didn’t wait to celebrate.
“We’ve got to stall them. Long enough for evac.”
He launched EMP spikes across the block, scrambling civilian electronics but momentarily freezing the Sentinel targeting systems.
The mutants still standing took their shot — hurling energy, ice, kinetic bursts, anything they had left.
But the Sentinels adapted. Within seconds, they recalibrated and surged forward again.
The lead Iron Sentinel closed in, grabbing Iron Man mid-flight and slamming him into a taxi. The suit's chestplate cracked.
“Friday—”
“Firing counter-thrust.”
A concussive wave blasted the Sentinel off him. Ethan stumbled to one knee. Two of the Sentinels regrouped midair, scanning the damage. One’s chest core lit again.
And then—they stopped.
All three turned upward — silent, hovering. A signal, unseen, passed between them.
They disengaged.
One by one, they ascended into the sky and vanished into the clouds.
The street fell eerily quiet.
Ethan stood slowly, smoke curling off his damaged armor. Civilians and wounded mutants looked up at him — some with hope, some with suspicion.
He didn’t say a word.
Not until Friday’s voice broke the silence.
“They came for the message, sir. Not the kill.”
Ethan looked up into the empty sky.
“I got the message.”
STARK TECH R&D LAB 02 – 11:14 AM
The lab was quiet, the kind of silence only broken by softly blinking lights and the hum of a dozen inactive suits resting in stasis along the walls. Screens displayed diagnostic cycles, threat assessments, incomplete schematics — and one large red file labeled: AVENGERS INITIATIVE.
Ethan Stark stood at the central workstation, hands in his pockets, eyes half-focused on the holograms floating above the console.
“Friday,” he said, voice low. “Let’s run it again. Proposed roster.”
A flicker of light, and the holograms shifted.
NAME: Dr. David Banner (Hulk)
STATUS: Active – SHIELD Asset
THREAT RATING: Gamma Tier / Contained
NOTES: Trusted. Symbiotic control. Reliable when deployed carefully.
“Strong, grounded, and doesn’t hate me. That's a win,” Ethan muttered.
NAME: Charlotte Cameron (Shazam)
STATUS: Active
THREAT RATING: Omega / Mystical Tier
NOTES: New. Unpredictable. Immense power with potential moral weight.
“She’s green, but if she’s half as good as the lightning says she is... could be the heart of the team.”
NAME: Henry Wayne (Batman)
STATUS: Unknown
THREAT RATING: N/A
NOTES: Operates independently. Psych profile redacted. Resources: unlimited. Trust level: unmeasured.
Ethan chuckled darkly. “And he makes me look like an open book. That’s saying something.”
The roster ended there. Empty slots pulsed across the digital projection — stark reminders of a world missing too many heroes.
Ethan crossed his arms. “What I wouldn’t give for a Thor. Or a Wonder Woman. Hell, I’d take a Wolverine right now.”
Friday’s voice chimed gently through the lab speakers.
“I believe the Canadian government still keeps their registry redacted, sir.”
Ethan smirked. “Yeah, well, someone should tell them the planet’s falling apart.”
He reached forward to swipe the file closed when the lab lights blinked red — warning tones sounding from the overhead speakers.
“Alert. Sentinel incursion detected. Midtown Manhattan. Confirmed civilian targets. Estimated casualties rising. Multiple hostiles.”
Ethan’s heart sank.
“Put it on-screen.”
The main monitor displayed drone footage of downtown Manhattan — chaos unfolding. A peaceful mutant demonstration had devolved into panic as Sentinels dropped from the sky, landing like missiles among a sea of civilians. Plumes of smoke, screaming crowds, and flashes of mutant powers trying in vain to hold the line.
“Goddamn it,” Ethan growled, already moving. “Friday, prep the suit.”
“Which one?”
“The one that punches hardest.”
The floor beneath him opened, and the Mark XIII Iron Man armor rose into place. Sleek, reinforced, red and gold. The plating shifted and assembled around him with surgical precision.
“Route me into NYPD, SHIELD, anyone on the ground.”
“Channels live.”
The faceplate snapped down.
“Iron Man inbound.”
**********
MIDTOWN MANHATTAN – 11:21 AM
EAST 44TH STREET, NEAR LEXINGTON
The city was warping under the chaos — overturned cars, shattered windows, wounded civilians trying to crawl away. Above them, Sentinels, towering and cold, targeted mutant energy signatures without discrimination.
Iron Man’s repulsors screamed as he shot through the smoke, crashing into the nearest Sentinel mid-lunge. The impact sent the machine hurtling into a building — debris raining around them.
“Friday, give me uplinks. Crowd density. Triage markers.”
“Uploading now. You have mutants assisting in quadrant four, but they’re outgunned. NYPD is focusing on evacuation.”
Iron Man flew upward and let loose a barrage of micro-missiles at the legs of the second Sentinel. They exploded in precise bursts, destabilizing its balance before Ethan delivered a full-body kinetic slam to the chest, sending it toppling backward into the street.
He landed hard.
“Two down. Where’s the third—”
A shockwave blasted him from the side, sending him skidding across asphalt.
Three new Sentinels descended in unison, larger than the rest. Their chassis gleamed in black and red plating, accented with glowing arc reactor-style cores in the chest and palms.
They hovered for a second, scanning him.
Ethan stared.
“Friday... tell me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing.”
“They’re... modeled after you, sir. Arc weapons. Flight tech. Heat signatures match old prototype schematics.”
“They stole my designs.”
“Looks like they improved a few things, too.”
The first of the new Sentinels opened fire — twin repulsor blasts forcing Ethan into evasive mode. The other two moved in perfect synchronization, flanking him from either side.
“So they’re coordinated too. Great.”
He deployed a counter-shield just as one of them slammed him mid-flight. Another caught him with a blast to the chest, sending sparks flaring off the armor. The HUD flickered.
“Damage report.”
“Shields holding. Armor integrity at 74%. You won’t survive a full frontal on all three.”
Ethan gritted his teeth, twisting in midair, releasing a solar flare burst that temporarily blinded one of the units. He dove between them, luring one into the crossfire of the others. A repulsor cannon ripped through the shoulder of one — Ethan didn’t wait to celebrate.
“We’ve got to stall them. Long enough for evac.”
He launched EMP spikes across the block, scrambling civilian electronics but momentarily freezing the Sentinel targeting systems.
The mutants still standing took their shot — hurling energy, ice, kinetic bursts, anything they had left.
But the Sentinels adapted. Within seconds, they recalibrated and surged forward again.
The lead Iron Sentinel closed in, grabbing Iron Man mid-flight and slamming him into a taxi. The suit's chestplate cracked.
“Friday—”
“Firing counter-thrust.”
A concussive wave blasted the Sentinel off him. Ethan stumbled to one knee. Two of the Sentinels regrouped midair, scanning the damage. One’s chest core lit again.
And then—they stopped.
All three turned upward — silent, hovering. A signal, unseen, passed between them.
They disengaged.
One by one, they ascended into the sky and vanished into the clouds.
The street fell eerily quiet.
Ethan stood slowly, smoke curling off his damaged armor. Civilians and wounded mutants looked up at him — some with hope, some with suspicion.
He didn’t say a word.
Not until Friday’s voice broke the silence.
“They came for the message, sir. Not the kill.”
Ethan looked up into the empty sky.
“I got the message.”
"I'd like to nominate Cazzik for the Sexiest Man on Earth 2010." --Balsa
Dark Lord of the Grill
Posts: 1947
Joined: Fri Jan 23, 2004 8:41 am
Joined: Fri Jan 23, 2004 8:41 am
Location: Searching for a nursing home for Nichalus
Re: Iron Man: When History Repeats
NEW YORK CITY – STARK TOWER
STARK TECH R&D LAB 02 – 5:39 PM
The armor sat half-disassembled on the platform, blackened and scorched in places, still steaming faintly from the earlier battle. Stark stood over it, shirt sleeves rolled, bruising visible along his left jaw and ribs where the suit hadn't absorbed the full force of a Sentinel's strike.
"Friday, run a full core diagnostic on the chest reactor. That last blast scrambled more than the HUD."
"Already ahead of you, sir. Energy feedback from their repulsors matches your older Mark IX waveform. Whoever built these, they weren’t reverse-engineering you — they had the source code."
Ethan exhaled through his nose. “Perfect. Like watching someone forge your signature on a war crime.”
Behind him, Morgan Stark stood with her arms crossed, staring at a wall of tactical footage from the Sentinel battle. Each camera angle showed a different horror — fleeing civilians, injured mutants, weaponized precision.
“This is going to blow up,” she said.
“It already has,” Ethan replied, tapping a console and pulling up high-res scans of the Iron Sentinels. “Once people figure out these things were running tech that looks like mine—”
“They’ll assume it is yours,” she finished, stepping beside him.
He didn’t deny it. The bruises on his body weren’t as sharp as the ones forming in his mind. Someone had taken something from him — something he built — and turned it loose on innocents.
"Structural integrity at 61%. Microfractures in the left gauntlet. Arc reactor casing compromised. Will require a full rebuild, sir."
“Start with the gauntlet. If they’re copying my work, I want to know if they improved anything.”
“Patching in schematics now.”
Morgan placed a hand on the table’s edge. “You have to get in front of this. Publicly.”
“Too late. The connection’s already been made. Damage is done.”
Before she could answer, Friday’s voice returned, cool and alert.
“Security alert: Senator Michael Ashford and Astrid Claremont have arrived. They’re requesting an immediate audience.”
Morgan frowned. “They bypassed all appointment protocols.”
“They’re politicians,” Ethan muttered, straightening up with a wince. “That’s their superpower.”
He glanced down at the bruises on his ribs, pulled his shirt tight, and ran a quick grooming sweep through his hair via the mirrored display.
“Should I let them up?” Friday asked.
Ethan gave Morgan a sideways grin. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
**********
STARK TOWER – EXECUTIVE CONFERENCE SUITE – 5:52 PM
The room was clean, sharp, and sterile in the way only Stark-designed spaces could be — a long obsidian table, curved projection wall, no chairs unless requested. Stark preferred standing conversations when dealing with powerful people. They revealed more when uncomfortable.
Senator Michael Ashford entered first, measured and composed in his charcoal-gray suit. His eyes took in every detail of the room in a single sweep — calculating.
At his side was Astrid Claremont, as polished and poised as ever in white silk and pale heels. Cool, unblinking, and unreadable.
“Senator,” Morgan greeted. “Ms. Claremont.”
Ashford gave a courteous nod. “Ms. Stark. Mr. Stark. Thank you for agreeing to meet on such short notice.”
Ethan leaned against the far table, one arm crossed, the other holding an ice pack to his ribs. “Didn’t know we had much of a choice.”
Astrid’s gaze passed over him like a scanner, clinical and exacting. In her mind, she reached outward — quietly, subtly, like slipping a whisper under a locked door.
Nothing.
The silence in her telepathic sense was total. Stark Tower’s reinforced neural shielding blocked everything. No surface thoughts. No impressions. Not even background noise.
She blinked once, surprised, then recomposed herself instantly.
Ashford cut to the chase.
“Iron Man was seen today engaging Sentinels in midtown Manhattan. These Sentinels, according to multiple sources, used technology nearly identical to your own.”
“That footage in circulation?” Ethan asked, feigning casual interest. “Not exactly high-res. Could’ve been a bad cosplay convention.”
Ashford didn’t smile. “This is serious, Mr. Stark.”
“And I’m being serious. If you’re here to accuse me of building those things, save yourself the breath. I didn’t. Someone stole from me.”
Morgan stepped forward. “We’re running diagnostics on all proprietary systems. Ethan’s tech is secured. The files used in those Sentinels aren’t from anything we’ve deployed or sold.”
“Still,” Ashford said carefully, “the public won’t care whether it’s a forgery. They’ll see Iron Man tech killing civilians and draw their conclusions.”
Ethan’s eyes flicked to Astrid. “And what conclusion have you drawn, Ms. Claremont?”
“Only that coincidences are rarely accidental,” she replied.
“You try to read my mind just now?”
She paused, then answered evenly, “Would it matter if I had?”
Ethan grinned. “Just wondering if you usually lead with invasion of privacy, or if I’m special.”
Astrid didn’t react. “You’re certainly... unique.”
He smirked, despite the pain in his ribs. “You should see me with my shirt off.”
Morgan shot him a sideways glare. “Ethan.”
He held up a hand. “Sorry. Trying to lighten the mood before the Senate hearings start and the torches come out.”
Ashford’s tone remained level. “No one's lighting torches. Not yet. But we need to understand the scope of this. If your designs were stolen, if they’ve been weaponized, we’re looking at a security failure on a global scale.”
“You’re not wrong,” Ethan admitted. “But you’re aiming in the wrong direction. Whoever did this didn’t just steal blueprints. They’re building a message.”
Ashford narrowed his eyes. “What kind of message?”
“I don’t know yet,” Ethan said. “But I’m going to find out.”
Astrid observed him silently. She couldn’t pierce his mind, but she didn’t need to. His posture, his cadence, the subtle way he carried pain — it all told her one thing.
He was telling the truth. Or at least, he believed he was.
Ashford gave a slow nod. “Then I hope you do, Mr. Stark. Before someone else draws their own conclusions.”
He turned to Morgan. “We’ll be in touch.”
The pair exited the room without further comment. The doors slid shut behind them.
Ethan waited until they were gone before slumping back against the table.
Morgan folded her arms. “You really flirted with a telepath?”
Ethan winced. “Hey. If I’m going to be accused of building killer robots, I might as well enjoy the interrogation.”
Morgan rolled her eyes. “Idiot.”
Ethan watched the door for another second.
Then quietly: “She couldn’t get in.”
Morgan looked at him. “You’re sure?”
He nodded. “She tried. Tower held.”
They both fell silent, the weight of the day settling back in. The Sentinels were evolving. The message was only beginning. And the world had just connected Iron Man to its newest nightmare.
**********
MANHATTAN – DEPARTING STARK TOWER
SENATORIAL MOTORCADE, BACK OF ARMORED LIMO – 6:21 PM
The motorcade pulled smoothly into traffic, sirens off, the flashing lights dimmed now that the press had cleared the perimeter. Inside the lead vehicle, the hum of the city faded into a cocoon of leather and steel.
Senator Michael Ashford sat motionless in the back seat, his elbows on his knees, his fingers pressed together in a tense pyramid beneath his chin. The lines around his eyes were deeper than usual. Rage didn’t suit him, but resolve did — and it was boiling just beneath the surface.
Across from him, Astrid Claremont crossed her legs, posture relaxed, tailored white suit unblemished despite the chaos they’d just left behind. Her eyes flicked toward him.
“You didn’t say much back there,” she said.
Ashford didn’t respond right away. His jaw flexed once before he finally spoke.
“Because I was too busy watching him lie to my face.”
Astrid tilted her head. “You’re sure?”
Michael’s gaze stayed fixed out the window. “No one stammers when they’re telling the truth. He was hedging every word.”
Astrid folded her hands in her lap. “I didn’t get anything.”
At that, he turned to her. “Nothing?”
She shook her head. “Stark Tower’s psionic shielding is no joke. I couldn’t hear a single thought. Not from him. Not from Morgan. It’s more than a dampener — it’s an active maze. Designed to keep me wandering in circles.”
“Of course it is,” Michael muttered. “Because God forbid a Stark does anything without building a failsafe.”
Astrid studied him for a moment. “You think he built them.”
Michael was silent again, staring through the blur of the Manhattan skyline.
“I think he built something,” he said. “Maybe not these exact Sentinels. But his tech is in them. That’s not speculation — that’s fact. You saw the footage. Arc-based weapons. Repulsor patterning. Power core signature. No one else in the world builds like that.”
“He claims the designs were stolen.”
Michael scoffed. “And maybe they were. But I’ve sat across from war criminals and corporate liars long enough to know when someone’s keeping cards off the table.”
He turned to Astrid again, eyes sharp. “He knows more than he’s saying.”
Astrid didn’t challenge him. She didn’t need to. She knew the difference between suspicion and obsession — and this wasn’t either. It was instinct, grounded in years of navigating power and pressure. Ashford trusted his gut, and his gut was screaming.
“I wanted to believe him,” Michael said, softer now. “Hell, I liked him. Smart. Sharp. Not his father, but still dangerous. I hoped he was smarter than this.”
“He might be,” Astrid offered. “That could be the problem.”
Ashford leaned back in the seat and exhaled slowly. “We warned them for decades. Told them what would happen if they kept pushing. If they kept treating mutants like threats instead of citizens. Then San Diego happened — and they called it a tragedy. Now New York — and they’ll call it a coincidence.”
He looked out at the city passing by — unaware, indifferent.
“It’s not a coincidence. It’s a pattern. And I’ve lived through this pattern before.”
Astrid watched him. “So what do you want to do?”
Michael didn’t answer immediately. He stared out the window, the weight of memory etched across his brow.
“I was six,” he said quietly. “When my mother registered. When the men came. Took her in for ‘voluntary compliance checks.’ She came back changed. Never spoke about it. Never smiled again. Every time I see one of those machines descend from the sky, I think of her.”
He turned, voice calm but iron-edged.
“I swore I’d never let that happen again. Not to anyone. Not while I had breath in my lungs.”
Astrid leaned forward slightly. “Then we need to move. Quietly. Strategically.”
He nodded. “First, we find out who’s really behind this. Who took whatever Stark was building and turned it into a mutant execution squad.”
“And then?”
Ashford’s eyes narrowed. “Then we tear it out by the roots.”
Astrid studied him for a long moment. “And if it was Stark?”
Michael’s face hardened.
“Then I’ll burn Stark Tower to the ground with my bare hands.”
A beat passed in the stillness of the car.
“I’m done waiting for the world to come around,” Ashford said. “Done hoping for understanding. If they want war, they’ll get one. But they better understand something first—”
He pointed to the window, where a child holding a protest sign passed by on the sidewalk below, flanked by parents who watched the sky like it might explode again.
“These are my people. Every one of them. I don’t care how peaceful they are, how loud they are, how powerful or broken or young. They are mine.”
He turned to Astrid, fire behind his eyes.
“And I will make anyone who threatens them wish they’d never been born.”
STARK TECH R&D LAB 02 – 5:39 PM
The armor sat half-disassembled on the platform, blackened and scorched in places, still steaming faintly from the earlier battle. Stark stood over it, shirt sleeves rolled, bruising visible along his left jaw and ribs where the suit hadn't absorbed the full force of a Sentinel's strike.
"Friday, run a full core diagnostic on the chest reactor. That last blast scrambled more than the HUD."
"Already ahead of you, sir. Energy feedback from their repulsors matches your older Mark IX waveform. Whoever built these, they weren’t reverse-engineering you — they had the source code."
Ethan exhaled through his nose. “Perfect. Like watching someone forge your signature on a war crime.”
Behind him, Morgan Stark stood with her arms crossed, staring at a wall of tactical footage from the Sentinel battle. Each camera angle showed a different horror — fleeing civilians, injured mutants, weaponized precision.
“This is going to blow up,” she said.
“It already has,” Ethan replied, tapping a console and pulling up high-res scans of the Iron Sentinels. “Once people figure out these things were running tech that looks like mine—”
“They’ll assume it is yours,” she finished, stepping beside him.
He didn’t deny it. The bruises on his body weren’t as sharp as the ones forming in his mind. Someone had taken something from him — something he built — and turned it loose on innocents.
"Structural integrity at 61%. Microfractures in the left gauntlet. Arc reactor casing compromised. Will require a full rebuild, sir."
“Start with the gauntlet. If they’re copying my work, I want to know if they improved anything.”
“Patching in schematics now.”
Morgan placed a hand on the table’s edge. “You have to get in front of this. Publicly.”
“Too late. The connection’s already been made. Damage is done.”
Before she could answer, Friday’s voice returned, cool and alert.
“Security alert: Senator Michael Ashford and Astrid Claremont have arrived. They’re requesting an immediate audience.”
Morgan frowned. “They bypassed all appointment protocols.”
“They’re politicians,” Ethan muttered, straightening up with a wince. “That’s their superpower.”
He glanced down at the bruises on his ribs, pulled his shirt tight, and ran a quick grooming sweep through his hair via the mirrored display.
“Should I let them up?” Friday asked.
Ethan gave Morgan a sideways grin. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
**********
STARK TOWER – EXECUTIVE CONFERENCE SUITE – 5:52 PM
The room was clean, sharp, and sterile in the way only Stark-designed spaces could be — a long obsidian table, curved projection wall, no chairs unless requested. Stark preferred standing conversations when dealing with powerful people. They revealed more when uncomfortable.
Senator Michael Ashford entered first, measured and composed in his charcoal-gray suit. His eyes took in every detail of the room in a single sweep — calculating.
At his side was Astrid Claremont, as polished and poised as ever in white silk and pale heels. Cool, unblinking, and unreadable.
“Senator,” Morgan greeted. “Ms. Claremont.”
Ashford gave a courteous nod. “Ms. Stark. Mr. Stark. Thank you for agreeing to meet on such short notice.”
Ethan leaned against the far table, one arm crossed, the other holding an ice pack to his ribs. “Didn’t know we had much of a choice.”
Astrid’s gaze passed over him like a scanner, clinical and exacting. In her mind, she reached outward — quietly, subtly, like slipping a whisper under a locked door.
Nothing.
The silence in her telepathic sense was total. Stark Tower’s reinforced neural shielding blocked everything. No surface thoughts. No impressions. Not even background noise.
She blinked once, surprised, then recomposed herself instantly.
Ashford cut to the chase.
“Iron Man was seen today engaging Sentinels in midtown Manhattan. These Sentinels, according to multiple sources, used technology nearly identical to your own.”
“That footage in circulation?” Ethan asked, feigning casual interest. “Not exactly high-res. Could’ve been a bad cosplay convention.”
Ashford didn’t smile. “This is serious, Mr. Stark.”
“And I’m being serious. If you’re here to accuse me of building those things, save yourself the breath. I didn’t. Someone stole from me.”
Morgan stepped forward. “We’re running diagnostics on all proprietary systems. Ethan’s tech is secured. The files used in those Sentinels aren’t from anything we’ve deployed or sold.”
“Still,” Ashford said carefully, “the public won’t care whether it’s a forgery. They’ll see Iron Man tech killing civilians and draw their conclusions.”
Ethan’s eyes flicked to Astrid. “And what conclusion have you drawn, Ms. Claremont?”
“Only that coincidences are rarely accidental,” she replied.
“You try to read my mind just now?”
She paused, then answered evenly, “Would it matter if I had?”
Ethan grinned. “Just wondering if you usually lead with invasion of privacy, or if I’m special.”
Astrid didn’t react. “You’re certainly... unique.”
He smirked, despite the pain in his ribs. “You should see me with my shirt off.”
Morgan shot him a sideways glare. “Ethan.”
He held up a hand. “Sorry. Trying to lighten the mood before the Senate hearings start and the torches come out.”
Ashford’s tone remained level. “No one's lighting torches. Not yet. But we need to understand the scope of this. If your designs were stolen, if they’ve been weaponized, we’re looking at a security failure on a global scale.”
“You’re not wrong,” Ethan admitted. “But you’re aiming in the wrong direction. Whoever did this didn’t just steal blueprints. They’re building a message.”
Ashford narrowed his eyes. “What kind of message?”
“I don’t know yet,” Ethan said. “But I’m going to find out.”
Astrid observed him silently. She couldn’t pierce his mind, but she didn’t need to. His posture, his cadence, the subtle way he carried pain — it all told her one thing.
He was telling the truth. Or at least, he believed he was.
Ashford gave a slow nod. “Then I hope you do, Mr. Stark. Before someone else draws their own conclusions.”
He turned to Morgan. “We’ll be in touch.”
The pair exited the room without further comment. The doors slid shut behind them.
Ethan waited until they were gone before slumping back against the table.
Morgan folded her arms. “You really flirted with a telepath?”
Ethan winced. “Hey. If I’m going to be accused of building killer robots, I might as well enjoy the interrogation.”
Morgan rolled her eyes. “Idiot.”
Ethan watched the door for another second.
Then quietly: “She couldn’t get in.”
Morgan looked at him. “You’re sure?”
He nodded. “She tried. Tower held.”
They both fell silent, the weight of the day settling back in. The Sentinels were evolving. The message was only beginning. And the world had just connected Iron Man to its newest nightmare.
**********
MANHATTAN – DEPARTING STARK TOWER
SENATORIAL MOTORCADE, BACK OF ARMORED LIMO – 6:21 PM
The motorcade pulled smoothly into traffic, sirens off, the flashing lights dimmed now that the press had cleared the perimeter. Inside the lead vehicle, the hum of the city faded into a cocoon of leather and steel.
Senator Michael Ashford sat motionless in the back seat, his elbows on his knees, his fingers pressed together in a tense pyramid beneath his chin. The lines around his eyes were deeper than usual. Rage didn’t suit him, but resolve did — and it was boiling just beneath the surface.
Across from him, Astrid Claremont crossed her legs, posture relaxed, tailored white suit unblemished despite the chaos they’d just left behind. Her eyes flicked toward him.
“You didn’t say much back there,” she said.
Ashford didn’t respond right away. His jaw flexed once before he finally spoke.
“Because I was too busy watching him lie to my face.”
Astrid tilted her head. “You’re sure?”
Michael’s gaze stayed fixed out the window. “No one stammers when they’re telling the truth. He was hedging every word.”
Astrid folded her hands in her lap. “I didn’t get anything.”
At that, he turned to her. “Nothing?”
She shook her head. “Stark Tower’s psionic shielding is no joke. I couldn’t hear a single thought. Not from him. Not from Morgan. It’s more than a dampener — it’s an active maze. Designed to keep me wandering in circles.”
“Of course it is,” Michael muttered. “Because God forbid a Stark does anything without building a failsafe.”
Astrid studied him for a moment. “You think he built them.”
Michael was silent again, staring through the blur of the Manhattan skyline.
“I think he built something,” he said. “Maybe not these exact Sentinels. But his tech is in them. That’s not speculation — that’s fact. You saw the footage. Arc-based weapons. Repulsor patterning. Power core signature. No one else in the world builds like that.”
“He claims the designs were stolen.”
Michael scoffed. “And maybe they were. But I’ve sat across from war criminals and corporate liars long enough to know when someone’s keeping cards off the table.”
He turned to Astrid again, eyes sharp. “He knows more than he’s saying.”
Astrid didn’t challenge him. She didn’t need to. She knew the difference between suspicion and obsession — and this wasn’t either. It was instinct, grounded in years of navigating power and pressure. Ashford trusted his gut, and his gut was screaming.
“I wanted to believe him,” Michael said, softer now. “Hell, I liked him. Smart. Sharp. Not his father, but still dangerous. I hoped he was smarter than this.”
“He might be,” Astrid offered. “That could be the problem.”
Ashford leaned back in the seat and exhaled slowly. “We warned them for decades. Told them what would happen if they kept pushing. If they kept treating mutants like threats instead of citizens. Then San Diego happened — and they called it a tragedy. Now New York — and they’ll call it a coincidence.”
He looked out at the city passing by — unaware, indifferent.
“It’s not a coincidence. It’s a pattern. And I’ve lived through this pattern before.”
Astrid watched him. “So what do you want to do?”
Michael didn’t answer immediately. He stared out the window, the weight of memory etched across his brow.
“I was six,” he said quietly. “When my mother registered. When the men came. Took her in for ‘voluntary compliance checks.’ She came back changed. Never spoke about it. Never smiled again. Every time I see one of those machines descend from the sky, I think of her.”
He turned, voice calm but iron-edged.
“I swore I’d never let that happen again. Not to anyone. Not while I had breath in my lungs.”
Astrid leaned forward slightly. “Then we need to move. Quietly. Strategically.”
He nodded. “First, we find out who’s really behind this. Who took whatever Stark was building and turned it into a mutant execution squad.”
“And then?”
Ashford’s eyes narrowed. “Then we tear it out by the roots.”
Astrid studied him for a long moment. “And if it was Stark?”
Michael’s face hardened.
“Then I’ll burn Stark Tower to the ground with my bare hands.”
A beat passed in the stillness of the car.
“I’m done waiting for the world to come around,” Ashford said. “Done hoping for understanding. If they want war, they’ll get one. But they better understand something first—”
He pointed to the window, where a child holding a protest sign passed by on the sidewalk below, flanked by parents who watched the sky like it might explode again.
“These are my people. Every one of them. I don’t care how peaceful they are, how loud they are, how powerful or broken or young. They are mine.”
He turned to Astrid, fire behind his eyes.
“And I will make anyone who threatens them wish they’d never been born.”
"I'd like to nominate Cazzik for the Sexiest Man on Earth 2010." --Balsa
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