Coulson smiled faintly at Tony’s blunt summary. “It’s true. Decades ago, a super-powered individual helped fend off an alien attack. Since then, Director Fury has been working on something called the Avengers Initiative—a team to protect Earth from threats like that. We’re looking for exceptional individuals to join.”
Tony processed the revelation quickly, his mind already dissecting it. “And you’re here talking to me instead of some walking science experiment because…?”
“Because people with extraordinary abilities tend to stay hidden,” Coulson admitted. “They fear being treated as outsiders. As for the God of Death, he’s… complicated. We thought he was a superhuman. Turns out he’s an alien.”
Tony leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. “What’s his deal?”
“He’s a myth come to life,” Coulson replied, his voice quieter. “People whisper about him on the dark web—about the things he’s done. Meeting him changes how you see the world.”
Tony smirked, his humor kicking back in. “Sounds like he’s a bit of a show-off. You sure he’s not just another billionaire with a flair for the dramatic?”
Coulson allowed himself a small laugh. “I’ve worked for Director Fury for twenty years. I’ve seen strange things, but nothing quite like him. It’s… humbling.”
Coulson was practically glowing when he first arrived, like a kid who’d just won the lottery. But life, as always, had a way of turning triumphs into wet blankets. The news he brought was a mix of jaw-dropping and gut-punching: the mighty god-king Odin, protector of Earth and all-around badass, might not have much time left. If Odin’s light faded, Blue Star—Earth’s affectionate nickname among cosmic circles—could be left wide open, defenseless against threats that liked to drop in unannounced from beyond the stars.
Director Fury, in all his one-eyed wisdom, decided to keep this bombshell under wraps. The last thing humanity needed was a panic attack about Asgard’s big guy running out of juice. Sure, Asgard’s warriors would still step up for humanity, but whispers of Odin’s mortality might cause Earthlings to start side-eyeing their golden-haired allies. Distrust was a luxury no one could afford right now.
“So, let me guess,” Tony said, swirling his drink. “You think I survived Afghanistan because I’ve got superpowers? That’s why you’re here?”
Coulson nodded, unapologetically straightforward. “Yes, Mr. Stark. Though, none of us expected you to survive purely on ingenuity and build armor that makes our top fighter jets look like toys.”
“Well,” Tony said, leaning back with a cocky grin, “superpowers or not, I’ve always been extraordinary. It’s just nice to see someone else finally admit it.”
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“Remarkable doesn’t quite cover it,” Coulson replied, his voice full of genuine admiration. “You’re proof that humans can achieve greatness without alien genes or magic hammers.”
Tony’s ego basked in the praise for all of two seconds before he shifted gears. “So, you’re tracking people with, what, unusual abilities? Let me guess—you’ve already looked into Orion Voss?”
Coulson nodded again. “We did. Initially, we thought Mr. Voss might have superhuman powers. He’s... unnaturally lucky. Not exactly combat material, but luck has its uses.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“Two encounters later, we concluded he doesn’t have any superpowers,” Coulson admitted, his tone tinged with disappointment.
Tony filed that away. Orion Voss. He wasn’t just lucky—he exuded a kind of calm confidence that bordered on unnerving. Tony had met him recently, and something about the guy screamed “don’t underestimate me.” He didn’t need powers to be dangerous.
Tony shrugged, shifting the conversation. “Let me guess, Coulson. You’re building a team—heroes to save the world when the aliens come knocking.”
Coulson didn’t deny it. “We believe Earth needs a united front. And while we’re hoping to earn your support, we respect that you have other priorities.”
Tony smirked. “Respect? That’s new. Look, call me if something blows up or the world starts ending. I’ll think about helping.”
Satisfied, Coulson shook his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”
Later, Pepper caught up with Tony as he made his way to the basement. She eyed him suspiciously. “So, what did Coulson want?”
“Oh, you know, the usual—state of the world, impending doom, alien invasions. Nothing major,” Tony quipped, stepping into the elevator.
“Tony,” she pressed, following him.
He grinned, deflecting with charm. “Relax, Pep. Just Coulson being Coulson. No aliens are storming the front lawn today.”
Pepper wasn’t entirely convinced, but Tony’s easy tone turned the moment into their usual banter. They disappeared into the workshop, Tony teasing her mercilessly while Pepper tried not to roll her eyes.
Meanwhile, across town, Orion lounged in his sprawling penthouse, dressed for comfort in shorts and a T-shirt. His massive screen glowed with vibrant graphics as he played yet another casual game. Tony Stark had messaged him last night—unsurprisingly, through the dark web—but Orion hadn’t bothered to respond. He wasn’t avoiding Tony; he just wasn’t in the mood for another round of Stark’s ego Olympics.
Orion had grown used to living in this universe—22 years, to be exact. His life here wasn’t what you’d call typical. Orphaned young and raised on scraps of luck, he’d clawed his way up, carving out a life of wealth and power. But companionship? That wasn’t on his shopping list. To Orion, most people were either time-wasters or obstacles.
Gaming and gourmet food filled the gaps. Orion had tried competitive gaming at first, dominating the leaderboards with his uncanny reflexes—only to get banned repeatedly for “cheating.” He’d eventually settled into more laid-back games, farming virtual carrots and raising pixelated pets. They matched his vibe better: no drama, no expectations.
After finishing a few rounds, he grabbed his keys and headed out. Meals were sacred to Orion, and he maintained a five-meal-a-day routine. Exotic dishes brought him more than just joy; they boosted his energy. A quiet smirk played on his lips as he slid into his Maserati. Maybe Tony would throw one of his flashy parties soon. The food was always top-notch, and the guests? Perfectly tolerable if you ignored their egos.
For now, though, life was calm—or as calm as New York ever got. Orion knew better than to trust that peace would last. It never did.