Afghanistan was the same as always: war-torn, chaotic, and crawling with danger. Terrorists strutted around with AK-47s like they owned the place, grenades dangling from their belts like morbid accessories. Mercenaries came here for the thrill or the money—or both. It was a paradise for the violent, a hell for everyone else. In contrast, back in New York’s Hell’s Kitchen, the chaos was at least reined in by military oversight. Here, there was no such thing. It was survival of the nastiest.
In less than two hours, Orion descended over Gumila. From the sky, it looked like a painting of despair: smoke coiling from blackened ruins, the acrid scent of gunpowder tainting the air. This was humanity at its worst—a tableau of destruction.
Orion had long outgrown his childhood admiration for superheroes. Once, he’d idolized them for their powers and their penchant for saving lives. But now, he saw through the facade. Superheroes didn’t save people because they had to; they did it because they chose to. Over time, that choice became an expectation, a burden they couldn’t shake. Orion wanted no part of it. To him, “With great power comes great responsibility” was just a guilt trip for the overpowered. True strength, he believed, was freedom—the freedom to act or not, without obligation.
As he surveyed Gumila, his attention snagged on a gleaming figure in red and gold armor battling a gang of terrorists. Tony Stark. The man moved with determination, but there was an awkwardness to his movements, a rookie’s lack of finesse. Stark’s tech, however, more than compensated. Explosions lit up the scene as Tony dispatched the terrorists with a mix of ingenuity and brute force, saving a huddled group of civilians in the process.
Just as Tony stood surveying his work, the air shifted. A cold wind swept through, carrying a chill that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“Sir, I’m detecting a life form approximately one hundred meters southeast,” Jarvis’s smooth voice broke the silence.
Tony’s gaze snapped to the location. Hovering just above the ground was a cloaked figure, their form wreathed in an eerie, cold aura. The figure was motionless, watching. Observing.
“Jarvis, can you identify him?” Tony asked, a hint of tension in his voice.
“Scanning… Unable to identify. No matches found in the database,” Jarvis replied. For once, the AI sounded uncertain.
The cloaked figure’s voice cut through the air, low and unsettling. “Not bad for a human. Creating something like that… takes a sharp mind.”
Tony ascended into the air to meet the stranger, his tone laced with his trademark sarcasm. “If that’s a compliment, I’ll take it. But let’s not pretend you’re here just to admire my brain.”
The figure chuckled softly, the sound carrying an edge of condescension. “Impressive, yes, but limited. You’ve barely scratched the surface of what’s possible. Compared to the broader universe, you’re… weak.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Tony narrowed his eyes behind the mask, equal parts intrigued and irritated. “Weak? You’ve got a funny way of introducing yourself.”
The figure tilted their head, the shadows of the cloak concealing their expression. “Next time we meet, I hope you’ll have something more… interesting to show me.”
Before Tony could respond, the figure disappeared. One moment there, the next, gone. Not even a shimmer of light or sound to mark their departure.
“Jarvis, what just happened? Where’d it go?” Tony asked, scanning the area frantically.
“Sir, I’m detecting no life forms in the vicinity,” Jarvis replied, baffled. “It’s as if they were never here.”
Tony Stark stood at the precipice of something big, his mind swirling with questions faster than a coffee-fueled brainstorm session at 3 a.m. He’d just unlocked a door to… well, something. Was it a blessing? A curse? A universal prank on his already overloaded plate? He wasn’t sure, but one thing was crystal clear—he hadn’t signed up for it.
The nagging voice of a mysterious visitor echoed in his head Weak? Him? Excuse me,’ Tony thought with a scoff. But the idea clawed at his ego. Was this cosmic know-it-all just showing off, or did they actually have front-row seats to the great galactic circus? And how the hell had Jarvis, his ever-watchful AI, completely missed the presence of this uninvited guest until the big reveal? That left Tony with an unsettling question: had this thing just shown up, or had it been stalking him, taking creepy notes on his every move like some interstellar paparazzo?
Whatever the case, Tony felt like he’d accidentally stepped through a portal into uncharted territory. The whole encounter was both exhilarating and deeply unsettling, like being handed the keys to a sports car without knowing if it came with brakes. Who—or what—was this being? An Earthly anomaly? An alien tourist? And, more importantly, what the hell did it want with *im?
He shook the thought loose and redirected his focus. Sure, this mystery was a priority—but not right now. He had a slightly more pressing issue to deal with: Obadiah Stane, the backstabbing corporate overlord trying to play Tony like a cheap fiddle. First things first: take down Stane. Then, he’d circle back to the cosmic creeper.
Meanwhile, hovering invisibly in the air, Orion observed Tony with a knowing smirk. The man of iron’s curiosity had been piqued, and that was all Orion needed. His work here was done—for now. He could afford to bide his time, knowing Tony’s insatiable thirst for answers would eventually lead him back to the cosmic unknown. And when it did, Orion would be waiting.
Tony snapped out of his daydream and got to work. He instructed Jarvis to compile a greatest-hits playlist of Obadiah Stane’s worst moments—treachery, terrorism, and all the juicy stuff in between. Then, he called an emergency board meeting at Stark Industries, inviting the company’s power players to gather for what promised to be a showdown for the ages. As a backup, Colonel Rhodes stood by, ready to swoop in with the kind of righteous firepower only a military man could bring.
While the Iron Man suit wasn’t quite ready for its big public debut, Tony wasn’t about to leave himself defenseless. Stane wasn’t the type to play fair, and Tony wasn’t about to wait around for the inevitable sucker punch. If Stane wanted a fight, Tony would bring the gloves—and the brass knuckles.
By 5 p.m., the boardroom at Stark Industries was packed with a mix of curious shareholders, nervous executives, and a few folks who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. The energy in the room was electric, though one person seemed conspicuously absent: Orion. Tony figured the enigmatic billionaire wasn’t the type to meddle in corporate soap operas, which was just as well. This was Stark’s turf, and he planned to own the stage.
Tony strolled into the room like he was headlining a Vegas show, all cool confidence and just a hint of mischief. Obadiah Stane sat near the head of the table, his signature smarmy grin firmly in place. Tony knew that grin well—it was the kind that said, ‘I’m up to no good, but I dare you to prove it.’