Coulson nodded with a sympathetic look that he hoped didn’t come off as patronizing. "Mr. Voss, I want to apologize sincerely for the distress this situation has caused you."
Orion sighed heavily, like someone who’d been forced to deal with a series of unwanted phone calls from telemarketers. “The idea of contributing to Blue Star is fine in theory, but only if your original intentions haven’t been compromised. The problem is, I can’t see how you’re not tangled up with politicians. Your department was built by the International Security Council—there’s no way you’re not under their thumb.”
He glanced at Coulson, his eyes a mix of irritation and resignation. “Look, I’m just a regular guy with some money and no need to worry about my next paycheck. So don’t bother me. If I need help, I’ll call. Otherwise, leave me alone.”
Orion parked his car, his actions a clear signal that this conversation was officially over. “I’m not interested in joining the Avengers or being anyone’s errand boy. I do what I want, when I want, for my own reasons. If people want my help, they better come with something worth my time.”
Coulson inhaled deeply, resisting the urge to counter. He could see Orion wasn’t someone who could be charmed or bullied into submission. The man valued his independence, and any attempt to force a relationship would only backfire. SHIELD’s protection was a great offer—if you didn’t mind the invisible strings. Orion clearly did.
“I understand,” Coulson said evenly, his voice calm and professional. “Thank you, Mr. Voss, for being honest with me.” With a small, apologetic nod, he stepped out of the car and closed the door gently, as if slamming it might detonate Orion’s temper.
Walking away, Coulson couldn’t help but replay the conversation in his head. Orion had made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t interested in being part of SHIELD’s orbit. It was frustrating, but Coulson knew when to retreat. For now, the best course of action was to leave the man alone and hope he’d change his mind someday.
As Coulson disappeared into the distance, Orion leaned back in his seat, exhaling deeply. He was already thinking about more pressing matters. Tony Stark’s recent announcement about halting weapons production had sent shockwaves through the market. Stark Industries’ stock was in free fall, and the internet was ablaze with rumors.
Orion glanced at his phone, where the stock app gleamed with numbers in sharp decline. The market was in chaos, but Orion wasn’t panicking. He knew this was just the first act of a longer play. Once Tony started revolutionizing the energy industry—and he would—the stock would skyrocket. That was when Orion planned to strike, snapping up shares at bargain prices.
But stocks weren’t the only thing on his mind. Orion had a plan, one that stretched far into the future. He knew Stark’s arrogance and mistrust of others would keep the man from accepting help easily. But Orion also knew that time was an equalizer. Eventually, Stark’s health would force him to seek assistance, especially when the Ark Reactor started taking a toll on his body.
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Orion smirked faintly at the thought. That was the moment he’d been waiting for. When Tony Stark needed him most, Orion would step in with a deal Stark couldn’t refuse.
For now, though, patience was key. The pieces were falling into place, and Orion was content to wait for the right moment.
Later, as he sat in the sleek comfort of his sprawling manor, Orion let his thoughts drift to the past. Before he’d landed in this Marvel world, life had been… complicated. Growing up in an orphanage as an Asian kid had been rough. The other kids weren’t exactly kind, but Orion had learned early not to let their cruelty get to him. With the mindset of an adult in a child’s body, he had adapted quickly, refusing to let the world define him.
Now, in this second chance at life, Orion’s ambitions stretched beyond wealth and influence. He wanted power—the kind that came with freedom. No strings, no compromises, no one pulling his puppet strings.
There was a long-standing joke in the Marvel world: The rich lean on tech, the poor lean on mutations.
For Orion, though, neither option was on the table. He wasn’t swimming in cash like Tony Stark or T’Challa, and genius inventions? Forget about it—his “bright ideas” were mostly limited to remembering to turn the oven off. As for mutations, well… let’s just say that every X-Men origin story started with something that could’ve turned into a tragic obituary. Orion had no plans to gamble his life away waiting for a stray gamma ray to strike him with miraculous abs or laser vision.
Nope, Orion wasn’t aiming for the superhero gig. He had a simpler dream: making bank the old-fashioned way. Investing. With just enough savings to get started, his genius plan was to take out a well-timed loan, bet big on Stark Industries, and ride those sweet profits to a life of semi-luxury. Forget billionaire yachts—he’d settle for paying rent on time and a fridge full of overpriced organic groceries.
That was before the system came knocking. One moment he was crunching numbers; the next, a mysterious voice in his head offered him something straight out of a sci-fi novel. Did Orion jump in with reckless abandon? Of course not. He was cautious, methodical, a “slow and steady wins the race” kind of guy. Step one? Liquidate his assets. Step two? Mortgage everything he owned. Step three? Pretend this wasn’t the riskiest move of his life.
Meanwhile, over at Stark Manor, Tony Stark was in the middle of one of his classic brooding sessions. He sipped his coffee—extra shot of espresso, naturally—and frowned at a holographic report hovering in front of him. The name Orion Voss glowed on the screen, highlighted in Stark’s signature bold red.
Tony squinted. “Jarvis, dig up everything you can on this Orion Voss.”
“Of course, sir,” Jarvis replied in his ever-polite British tone. “Compiling data now.”
Seconds later, a cascade of information flooded Tony’s screens. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as he skimmed through. “Huh,” he muttered, raising an eyebrow. “This guy’s not just some Wall Street wannabe.”
Orion Voss had been a brainiac since day one. Public school overachiever, skipped grades like they were optional, and somehow ended up at MIT before he was old enough to legally drink. A genius? Sure. But not exactly Tony Stark level—at least, that’s what Tony told himself as he clicked to the next page.
Then came the weird part. At eighteen, Orion’s life had taken a sharp turn. A winning lottery ticket gave him just enough cash to jumpstart his dreams. The prize wasn’t jaw-dropping—no private jets or moon mansions—but it was enough to get his foot in the door. From there, the guy had gone full underdog success story: smart investments, a bit of luck, and suddenly he was rubbing elbows with New York’s elite.
Tony scrolled further. About a year and a half ago, Orion started pouring money into Stark Industries stock. At first, it looked like blind optimism—just another fanboy betting on his empire. But then, two months ago, Orion dumped all his shares. Every. Last. One.