Chapter 48

Arc 5 - Ch 1: Iron Man

Date: Friday, May 27, 2011.

Location: House of M, Manhattan, New York

The final act of Mirage's illusion came to its mesmerizing conclusion on the Flatiron Armory's show floor. As the lights brightened, the audience erupted into raucous applause, clearly spellbound by the fantastic visions they had just witnessed.

Tyson, Mirage, stood proudly in the stage's center. An intricate Asian fox half-mask obscured the top half of his face, leaving only his mismatched eyes, one blue, one green, and his mouth and jaw exposed. The mask lent an air of exotic mystery to the young man, whose wild hair framed its edges.

Stepping off the stage, Tyson was greeted by the sultry voice of Felicia Hardy. "Another masterpiece, Tyson," she purred. Felicia's porcelain skin and platinum blonde hair added a unique touch to the appearance of an elegant yet fierce businesswoman, an impression amplified by the sleek black dress that clung to her curves.

They entered a private room where Tyson removed the fox mask, revealing his face in full. "Thanks, Felicia," he replied, the familiar warmth between them evident in his voice.

Felicia tilted her head ever so slightly, a coy smile playing on her glossy lips. "House of M: Spiderman is a tremendous hit," she purred. "Thanks to your shows bringing in the city's wealthiest looking for something new, our reputation has skyrocketed. My galleries are now the place to be seen."

Tyson smiled, leaning in closer. "It's been a joint effort." He knew she had been using the art galleries not just for legitimate business, but for more clandestine activities as well. High-end art trade was an ideal front for money laundering, after all.

Felicia's emerald eyes glinted with mischief. "Oh, they certainly are," she said. "And they've been quite useful legitimizing our inventory, shall we say." It seemed old habits died hard for the former notorious thief. Tyson had tasked Felicia with not just running House of M, but ensuring all the money from his Federal Reserve heist all those months ago was accounted for. While she enjoyed her legitimate success, a part of her still relished the thrill of less than legal activities.

Tyson raised an eyebrow, unable to hide his amusement. "Going legit now, are you?" he teased.

"Perhaps. I am spending inordinate amounts of time around one of the city's heroes. Maybe he's rubbing off on me," Felicia purred, the corner of her mouth quirking up slyly. "But it's always wise to keep one's options open."

Changing tacks, Tyson leaned back and asked, "How is our financial setup coming along? Are we ready to move forward?"

Felicia's eyes positively sparkled at the question. "All set," she confirmed eagerly. "We can invest, play the markets, the whole nine yards. All very much above board, of course." She flashed a dazzling grin. "Our profits are about to reach dizzying new heights."

Unable to resist, Tyson leaned in and planted a soft kiss on her glossy lips.

"You're doing wonderfully," he whispered.

Tyson and Felicia had always enjoyed a comfortable, playful relationship. They had been intimate on numerous occasions when time allowed, engaging in passionate trysts together. But despite the physical intimacy, their relationship had never been clearly defined or formalized. With both still busy attending school and handling their duties for the House of M, neither had made an effort to solidify what they had into something more committed. Tyson sometimes wondered if Felicia was more interested in him or the profits they were raking in together. But he had to admit, he enjoyed being friends with benefits with the sultry Felicia Hardy. Their physical chemistry was undeniable, even if their emotional connection remained ambiguous. For now, Tyson was content to keep things casual and Felicia had made it clear they were not a couple, that she was not a house cat to be tamed. There was no need to force the issue when they were both profiting so handsomely from their current arrangement, in more ways than one.

Of course, there was the other side of their intimacy that nagged at Tyson. The Tyson kissing Felicia was an illusion. In all the months he'd been trying, he hadn't made any headway into controlling the life-absorbing power he inherited from Rogue when he arrived in this world. As Tyson found new ways to use his illusion power, and he ran the show for thousands regularly, his control over the illusions grew. It was immensely frustrating and confounding that his illusion power had improved by leaps and bounds, but his life absorption hadn't made any progress.

Tyson could experience touch through his illusions, but there was something to be said about real, physical contact.

Any further intimacy was interrupted when a soft knock sounded at the door. Tyson's private time with Felicia would have to wait.

A soft voice filtered through the door, it was one of Felicia's many assistants. "I'm sorry for interrupting, but there's a police officer here, requesting to speak with Mirage."

Tyson and Felicia exchanged a quick, tense glance. The timing was ironic considering they had just been discussing money laundering schemes. Without missing a beat, Tyson waved his hand and rendered Felicia invisible. The gesture was unnecessary, but it made Felicia aware of his deception.

Tyson swiftly pulled the Asian fox half-mask over his face. He strode to the door and opened it to reveal a police officer. But she wasn't the typical NYPD officer; he expected a mustache, short cropped hair, maybe late twenties. Instead, at the door stood a woman in a police uniform that could've been a model. Her brown hair was pulled back in a severe bun that matched the crisp lines of her uniform, which clung to her slender frame in a way that would make any model envious.

"Mirage?" she inquired, though her firm tone indicated she already knew the answer.

Tyson straightened, exuding confidence despite the unexpected visit. "That's me. What can I do for you, officer?"

Tyson stared at the folded piece of paper as the officer outstretched her hand.

"It's Marshal, actually," she corrected dryly, her eyes glinting with wry amusement as Tyson continued to hesitate.

"Pardon?" He blinked, shaken from his surprise.

"Marshal," she repeated, emphasizing the title with a raised brow.

Tyson took the paper, a knot of apprehension forming in his stomach. He unfolded it to reveal an official-looking document… His mismatched eyes widened as they quickly scanned the page.

"That's a subpoena," she explained, her voice cool and matter-of-fact. "You're to appear before the Senate Armed Forces Committee tomorrow morning."

"Is this real?" Tyson blurted out incredulously.

The marshal's lips quirked into a half-smile, "You're the one who does the illusions, not me."

Tyson struggled to process this unexpected turn. "What would the Senate want with me?"

The marshal leaned forward slightly, "Probably has something to do with the stolen military hardware you acquired."

Her blunt words hit Tyson like a physical blow. He had known there might be consequences for holding onto the Goblin's glider, but he hadn't expected repercussions at the Federal level. The enthusiasm at his show's success evaporated, replaced by a creeping dread. Unseen by the marshal, Felicia listened intently, no doubt already strategizing. But Tyson felt exposed.

Drawing a breath, he met the marshal's eyes. "Thank you, marshal," he managed, "I'll be there."

The marshal gave a single nod and turned to leave without another word. The door clicked shut behind her, the sound echoing with grim finality in the now silent room.

Tyson reached for his phone and scrolled through the contacts until he found the right one. He selected it, listening to the rings until a crisp voice answered. "Maria Hill speaking."

"Deputy Director, it's Mirage," Tyson said quickly, straining to keep the worry from his tone.

A brief silence followed, no doubt from Hill's surprise at the unexpected call. But when she spoke again, her voice softened somewhat. "Tyson? What's going on?"

Tyson let out a breath, then launched into an account of the marshal's visit, describing the subpoena and the command to appear before the Senate Armed Forces Committee. When he finished, desperation tinged his words. "Look, I could use some help. Could I bum a ride to Washington D.C.?"

Hill paused, considering his request. When she responded, her voice radiated calm competence. "Come to the RAFT. I'll arrange transport and accompany you. As Deputy Director, I have sufficient clearance level to represent SHIELD in the hearing."

Relief rushed through Tyson. The RAFT was SHIELD's impenetrable mobile submarine fortress, which had been conveniently anchored near the southern tip of Manhattan since Kraven the Hunter and Norman Osborne, the Green Goblin, had become residents.

With Hill at his side, he had a real chance to weather this crisis. Some of the dread constricting his chest eased. But uncertainty still gnawed at him. "You're sure SHIELD has my back on this?" he asked quietly.

"Absolutely," Hill replied without hesitation. "We'll get through this."

The steadfast assurance in her words finally broke through Tyson's anxiety. "Thank you."

"Just get here. I'm arranging for people to prep you with how to answer the committee's questions," Hill responded briskly before ending the call.

Tyson stared at the now silent phone, letting the conversation with Hill fully sink in. He experienced a swirl of emotions; fear at the uncertainty ahead, gratitude for SHIELD's support, and determination mixed with trepidation at having to face the federal government.

Turning back to Felicia, he approached her slowly. Their eyes met in perfect understanding.

She reached up to gently caress his cheek. He leaned into her soft touch. Their lips met in a kiss that lingered. As they finally pulled back, she whispered "Good luck," the words barely a sigh against his skin.

He had no time to reply. Even as Felicia drew her next breath, the illusionary Tyson evaporated from her arms. He was already in motion, moving with haste to his suite at the Four Seasons to retrieve the glider. The time for sentiment had passed. He had a hearing to prepare for.

Tyson rushed through the streets of New York, weaving nimbly between pedestrians and vehicles alike. The imposing facade of the RAFT soon loomed before him, its sheer walls and lack of windows indicating the high-security protocols in place within. Upon entering, he was ushered through the halls to meet with Maria Hill.

The room he entered exuded SHIELD's signature sleek, modern aesthetic. At its center stood Agent Hill, her gaze fixed on a large television screen that displayed the opening festivities of the Stark Expo. Even through the screen, the vibrant energy and enthusiasm of the crowd at the Expo was palpable.

Hill's sharp eyes flicked to Tyson as he entered, her expression neutral but assessing. "Mirage," she greeted simply. "We can head out whenever you're ready," she added, motioning towards the exit.

But Tyson paused. His mismatched eyes were drawn to the images on the screen. "No rush," he replied, genuine interest coloring his voice. "I don't want to interrupt. I was hoping to catch the Expo coverage anyway." Maria raised a slender eyebrow but settled into her seat and gave him a nod of assent. Curiosity got the better of Tyson, and he casually asked, "Have you ever actually seen any of my shows, Deputy Director?"

She shook her head, loose dark hair swaying slightly. "Haven't gotten the chance."

A playful smirk formed on Tyson's lips. "Well then, consider this a gift for helping me out like this." His mismatched eyes became serious, holding Maria's gaze intently. "But keep in mind, no matter how real it seems, it's just an illusion. Stay in your seat."

Hill nodded in understanding, steeling herself for whatever vivid illusion Tyson was about to conjure up.

Before her eyes, the office dramatically transformed into a breathtaking aerial view overlooking the Stark Expo. The grandeur of the scene was impressive, with gleaming futuristic buildings and exhibits showcasing technology and innovations not yet revealed to the wider world. Though she knew it was an illusion, Maria Hill couldn't help but feel as if she were truly soaring high over the Expo, experiencing its energy and spectacle firsthand.

Brilliant bursts of color lit up the night sky, the fireworks stoking the enthusiasm of the crowds below as they cheered and surged toward the main pavilion. The atmosphere buzzed with excitement and anticipation.

Maria Hill's eyes widened with wonder, utterly engrossed in the vivid illusion. "This is incredible," she breathed.

A sudden roar from the crowd drew their attention skyward. From above, a figure descended rapidly, wind rushing past him. It was none other than Tony Stark himself, skydiving from a jet plane in his iconic red and gold Iron Man suit. He landed smoothly on the stage amidst a blaze of pyrotechnics, the crowd erupting in deafening cheers. But Tony wasn't finished yet. In a move that showcased his confidence, the armor began to disassemble piece by piece, revealing the man inside.

The crowd chanted his name over and over, "Tony! Tony! Tony! Tony!"

Bathed in spotlights, Tony Stark stood tall on the stage as the last pieces of his suit retreated, leaving him in a stylish suit.

A man from the crowd shouted, "Blow something up!"

Tony stood confidently on the stage, bathed in spotlights, as the last pieces of his Iron Man armor retreated. "I missed you too. Blow something up? I already did that." Tony began, drawing in the audience with his charisma. "I'm not saying the world is enjoying its longest stretch of uninterrupted peace in years because of me. I'm not saying that Uncle Sam can kick back and relax with an iced tea, certain that no one alive today has the guts to challenge me on my best day." He paused, allowing the weight of his bold statement to sink in. Behind him, a large screen displayed a graph highlighting the significant global decrease in conflicts since Iron Man's emergence.

A woman's voice rang out from the crowd, "I love you, Tony!"

He continued, unfazed by the adoration. "Please, this isn't about me. It's not about any one of you either. It's not even about all of us together. It's about legacy. It's about what we choose to leave behind for future generations." Tony's voice grew more impassioned. "That's why for the next year, for the first time since 1974, the best and brightest from nations and corporations worldwide will pool their resources and vision to leave behind a brighter future. Therefore, what I'm saying, if I'm saying anything, is welcome back to the Stark Expo!"

As the cheers died down, Tony's tone grew more introspective. "And now, making a special guest appearance from beyond, please welcome my father, Howard."

Tony's late father, Howard Stark, appeared in a recording on the large onstage screen. "Everything is achievable through technology," Howard's voice boomed. "Better living, robust health, and for the first time in human history, the possibility of world peace. So from all of us here at Stark Industries, I'd like to personally introduce you to the City of the Future. Technology holds infinite possibilities for mankind, and will one day rid society of all its ills. Soon technology will affect the way you live your life every day. No more tedious work, leaving more time for leisure activities and enjoying the sweet life. The Stark Expo. Welcome."

Tony picked up from where his father left off as the recording ended, "We're here to see what can be achieved when innovation meets purpose."

With that inimitable Stark charm, he addressed the audience, "My father, Howard Stark, had a dream. He believed the Expo was a place where the best and the brightest could challenge themselves and each other, driving humanity to even greater heights."

Tony continued, passion evident in his tone, "I'm proud to announce that, for the next year, this Expo will be a beacon, showcasing human advancement, innovation, and the pioneering spirit that refuses to say 'it can't be done.'" Tony concluded, his voice almost breaking, "Again, it's not about me. It's not about my father. It's about our future, and how we shape it, together." Tony said, his voice resonating with raw emotion. The Expo grounds filled with thunderous applause.

The illusion faded away as Tyson ceased his psychic projection, the sights, and sounds of the Stark Expo dissolving until only the office of Deputy Director Maria Hill remained. She regarded the young mutant with an appraising look, one sculpted eyebrow raised in acknowledgment of his impressive skills.

"That was...intense," she commented, a note of honest appreciation coloring her typically stoic tone. Maria considered for a moment before replying, "Your power is remarkable."

He grinned, buoyed by her words. "Thanks. Means a lot coming from the deputy director."

Maria briskly switched gears, all business once more. She stood, stepping out from behind the heavy oak desk. "Alright, let's get to the jet. I'll brief you on the way." Tyson nodded and followed her out.

Back in Queens, the Stark Expo continued unfolding in its full glory. Not long after Tony Stark stepped off the extravagant stage. He pulled out a small device, checking its reading.

Blood toxicity: 19%

Afterward, Happy led Tony through the crowded expo. When they finally reached the parking area, a woman waited for him beside his flashy new sports car. As Tony approached with his signature playboy smirk, he remarked, "I didn't expect my own Expo to have models handing out business cards."

The woman gave him an cool, enigmatic smile. "I'm not here for that," she replied evenly. She extended a crisp white envelope toward Tony, who waved for his ever-present bodyguard Happy Hogan to take it.

"I don't like being handed things," Tony muttered before plucking the letter from Happy. His cocky smile faded as he scanned the contents. "To appear before the Senate Armed Forces Committee?" he asked, surprise coloring his voice.

"That's right," the woman confirmed.

Happy's eyebrows shot up in concern, but Tony casually waved away his bodyguard's worry. "Do you have a badge?" he inquired of the beauty.

In response, she produced a U.S. Marshal's badge. Tony appraised the woman. "You're a process server? You have the look of a runway model."

She winked flirtatiously. "I'm two for two today."

Tony asked, "Out of curiosity, who was the other?"

The woman leaned in, her voice dripping with intrigue. "Mirage."

Tony's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Huh. That one's a little unexpected," he mused as he processed this new information.

With that, Tony slid into his Audi R8, revving the engine. As he pulled away, he called over the aggressive roar, "The world is full of surprises, isn't it?"

From the passenger seat, Happy Hogan chuckled in agreement. "That it is, boss. That it is."

The sports car sped off, leaving behind the dazzle and clamor of the Stark Expo. Tony Stark and Happy Hogan raced on toward Washington D.C. with the subpoena stuffed into the dashboard.

— Rogue Replacement —

Date: Saturday, May 28, 2011.

Location: Dirksen Senate Office Building, Washington, DC

The spacious hearing room of the Dirksen Senate Office Building hummed with activity as staffers and attendees bustled about, settling into seats lined in rows facing the raised dais at the front. Tyson, concealed behind his alter ego Mirage, felt distinctly out of place amidst the sea of suits and skirts surrounding him. He picked his way carefully through the organized chaos, keenly aware of the curious glances and hushed whispers his presence elicited.

As he approached the long table set before the dais, Tyson surveyed those already seated. It was a veritable who's who of technology, industry, and government. To his left sat Maria Hill, her rigid posture and sharp gaze betraying her role as the no-nonsense representative of SHIELD. Further down, Harry Osborn shuffled through papers, looking equal parts nervous and eager as he prepared to speak on behalf of Oscorp Industries. The constant fidgeting and overly polished smile of Justin Hammer screamed overcompensation, a transparent attempt by the CEO of Hammer Industries to impress the committee.

And directly to Mirage's right sprawled Tony Stark, affecting an air of casual nonchalance despite the gravity of the hearing. As Tyson took his seat, Stark turned to him with a roguish grin. "So, Mirage," he began, curiosity coloring his tone, "what brings you into the lion's den today?"

Tyson tensed, acutely uncomfortable by the crimes he was accused of. "Illegally procured military technology," he replied evenly, meeting Stark's gaze. "Claimed it from a guy who stole it first."

Stark's eyes glinted with interest as he leaned forward intently. "Is it true you can create any kind of illusion you want?" he asked eagerly.

In response to Tony Stark’s question, Tyson stood up, his movement ignored by everyone in the Senate hearing room except Tony. He walked confidently to the floor, standing squarely between the table of delegates and the row of stern-faced Senators. Suddenly, the room shifted with an unexpected spectacle. Mechanical gears and devices appeared to rise from the floor, whirring and clanking as they formed around Tyson. The components seamlessly crafted a suit of armor, mirroring the iconic design of the Iron Man suit. The illusion was so convincing that even Tony Stark leaned forward, his eyes widening in surprise and curiosity. The suit now fully formed around Tyson, he raised his arms, the repulsors on his palms lighting up with an intense glow. He fired the repulsors, launching himself upward. Instead of the expected destruction, Tyson vanished without a trace. There was no hole in the ceiling, no sign of damage. The gears and machines too dissolved into nothingness, revealing the truth.

Tyson hadn’t moved an inch. It was all an elaborate illusion.

Tony Stark broke into a wide grin, clearly impressed. “Hell of a trick,” he exclaimed, clapping lightly. “You do impressions too?”

Without missing a beat, Tyson’s appearance shifted, morphing into a perfect likeness of Tony Stark himself. In Tony’s own voice, he quipped, “Nah, too cliché.” His tone was playful, perfectly capturing Tony’s characteristic charm and wit.

Tony Stark shook his head. "I've got to admit, that's pretty good," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

The demonstration had been a private showing between Tyson and Tony Stark, one that had lightened the tense atmosphere of the Senate hearing somewhat for the young mutant.

Senator Stern rapped his gavel sharply, the sound commanding the attention of all those gathered. He fixed his steely gaze on Tyson. "Let's bring this meeting to order," the senator's stern tone reverberated through the chamber as he addressed the accused. "Mirage, you stand accused here today because of your involvement with illegally procured military technology."

Tyson studied the senator's familiar face, racking his memory. The man's appearance aligned perfectly with Tyson's recollections, yet something eluded him, a nagging sense that he was forgetting some crucial detail about the senator.

A heavy silence descended upon the room as the senator summoned Harry Osborn to speak. Rising from his seat, the young heir apparent to Oscorp exuded a blend of youthful ambition and corporate gravitas. He turned to address the assembled senators. This was Harry's first public appearance as head of Oscorp, he needed to knock it out of the park. Not only were the eyes of politicians on him, he was sure the board of directors was watching, hoping for him to stumble.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

"Senators, esteemed colleagues," Harry began, his steady voice conveying both respect and urgency. "The matter at hand is of great importance not just to Oscorp but to our national security interests." He paused, ensuring all eyes rested upon him.

"The technology in question, an advanced aerial combat glider, represents the pinnacle of Oscorp's research and development, years of tireless innovation and substantial investment from the department of defense. It is the product of our collaborative efforts with the military to maintain battlefield supremacy." Harry's gaze flicked briefly toward Mirage, his expression one of disdain.

"This glider has unfortunately fallen into the hands of an individual unauthorized to possess it. Its absence has created more than a logistical issue; it has jeopardized a crucial military project."

Harry's tone grew more earnest as he continued. "The glider was designed to be a game-changer in aerial combat and reconnaissance. Cutting-edge innovations in mobility and firepower all tailored for use by our soldiers to protect our nation's interests." Turning his attention back to the committee, Harry's steady, imploring gaze met each of theirs in turn.

"The urgency of this matter cannot be understated. Each day this technology remains outside authorized hands, our nation risks falling behind in our commitment to military supremacy and national security." Concluding his appeal, Harry added, "Therefore, on behalf of Oscorp and in the interest of national security, I respectfully yet urgently request the glider's immediate return to our custody. Its recovery is imperative to continue our development program and fulfill our contractual obligations to the military."

With that, Harry Osborn resumed his seat, his bold statement hanging portentously in the air. The senators sat absorbed in contemplative silence, cognizant of the gravity of the situation. All eyes turned once more toward Mirage, waiting for his response.

Mirage had listened impassively, his face an inscrutable mask. The senator's voice rang out again, authoritative and uncompromising. "Mirage, you are hereby ordered to return the glider to Oscorp at once."

With a casual shrug, Mirage rose smoothly from his seat. The room watched him intently, on edge. In one fluid motion, he reached behind himself, astonishing the onlookers as he produced the glider as if from thin air. Its sudden appearance was surreal, the glider obviously wider than the table, yet completely concealed from view by Mirage's illusions.

He placed the glider gingerly upon the table before a surprised yet relieved-looking Harry Osborn.

Harry Osborn ran his fingers over the glider's smooth metallic surface as he inspected it for any damage. Around the room, attendees murmured among themselves, exchanging glances and hushed whispers. Tony Stark, no stranger to dramatic entrances, leaned back casually in his chair, seemingly impressed by Mirage's nonchalant display of power.

As Mirage sat back down in his seat, his movements were calm and measured despite the charged atmosphere in the room. Senator Sterns turned to Mirage, "Did you bring a military weapon to a Senate hearing?" he asked sharply. "How did you get it past security?"

Tyson's response was immediate, his tone hinting at irreverence. "My mistake, sir. I assumed since you called me here about it, you wanted me to return it. How I got it past security should be evident." He adjusted the microphone before him, ensuring everyone could hear him clearly. When Mirage spoke next, his voice was laced with a tone of sincerity that commanded the room's attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Senators, I understand how this looks," he began, his gaze sweeping across the room to meet the eyes of those gathered. "But let me assure you, my actions were not those of a thief."

The room fell silent as all ears tuned to Mirage's voice. "The Oscorp glider unfortunately found its way into the possession of the Green Goblin, someone who, frankly, had no business wielding such power," he continued. "Whether Oscorp lost it to him or created it for him, that's a distinction I'm not qualified to make. What I do know is that it was in the wrong hands, and I stepped in."

Mirage paused, letting his words sink in. "I acted to end a crisis. Many died at the hands of the Green Goblin, Norman Osborne, including the military officials overseeing its development at Oscorp. My only goal was to keep it safe, to ensure it didn't become a tool of destruction for another madman."

In the audience, people exchanged thoughtful glances, some nodding in understanding while others still seemed skeptical. Mirage leaned forward slightly, his expression earnest as he pressed his case.

"Today, by turning it over to Oscorp under government instruction and oversight, I am doing what I believe is right," he continued, his voice ringing with conviction. "This absolves me of any further responsibility for the glider and its future use. I'm not the villain here. I stopped the villain."

Mirage's words seemed to ripple through the chamber, causing a stir among the audience and prompting Senators to consult quietly with their aides as they considered his defense.

The atmosphere in the room had shifted; many attendees now viewing Mirage not as a rogue element but as someone who had taken a stand for the greater good. It was evident that Mirage's speech had struck a chord, challenging the narrative of the hearing and painting him in a different light.

Senator Stern cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the proceedings. "That settles one matter," he declared, attempting to cloak his surprise with a veneer of formality. "Let's move on with the agenda."

Shifting in his seat, Senator Stern turned his gaze toward Tony Stark, regaining his composure. "Now, Mr. Stark," he began.

Seated casually, Tony exuded a sense of superiority, clearly unimpressed by the formality and gravity of the situation.

Senator Stern's voice echoed through the spacious room as he asserted, "We believe the Iron Man technology is a matter of national security. This isn't just a piece of advanced machinery; it's a weapon, one that should not be in private hands."

Tony Stark sat casually in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, clearly amused by the senator's grandstanding. He replied, "It's a prosthesis, Senator. I hate to burst your bubble, but the suit and I are one. Turning over the Iron Man suit would be equivalent to indentured servitude, or prostitution, depending on the state."

Murmurs and chuckles rippled through the audience at Tony's cheeky response. Senator Stern's face tightened, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly as Tony's flippancy clearly aggravated him. "We will hear from an expert witness, the government's primary weapons contractor, Mr. Justin Hammer," Stern announced, unable to fully mask the eagerness in his tone to move on from the frustrating exchange with the unpredictable Stark.

As Justin Hammer, CEO of Hammer Industries, stood up from his seat, there was a noticeable shift in the energy of the room. Hammer straightened his suit jacket and approached the microphone, ready to give his testimony. "Senators, let's face it," began Hammer, his voice steady yet underlaid with opportunistic undertones. "Having one man monopolize this kind of technology is not only dangerous, it's anti-American."

"Let the record reflect that I observed Mr Hammer entering the chamber, and I am wondering if and when any actual expert will also be in attendance," Tony interrupted dryly, eliciting a scowl from Hammer.

Hammer spread his hands, the picture of deference. "Absolutely. I'm no expert. I defer to you, Anthony. You're the wonder boy. Senator, if I may?" He turned, addressing the room. "I may well not be an expert, but you know who was the expert? Your dad. Howard Stark." Hammer shook his head, as if overcome with emotion. "Really a father to us all." Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"We all know why we're here," Hammer continued, "In the last six months, Anthony Stark has created a sword with untold possibilities. And yet, he insists it's a shield." Hammer tsked, shaking his head in mock regret. "He asks us to trust him as we cower behind it. I wish I were comforted, Anthony, I really do. I'd love to leave my door unlocked when I leave the house, but this ain't Canada. You know, we live in a world of grave threats, threats that Mr Stark will not always be able to foresee." Hammer spread his hands wide, the consummate showman. "Thank you. God bless Iron Man. God bless America."

With a final smile for the cameras, Hammer took his seat. Despite Hammer's confident words, his demeanor betrayed his underlying ineptitude and transparent self-interest. His gestures appeared overly rehearsed, and his argument seemed more focused on taking down his rival than any real concern about national security. In stark contrast to Tony's easy charisma and genius, Hammer came across as a businessman looking for any angle to exploit the situation to his own advantage.

"That was well said Mr Hammer," Senator Stern replied, "The committee would now like to invite Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes to the chamber."

Tony Stark looked up in surprise as Colonel James Rhodes strode purposefully into the senate hearing room, the colonel's polished shoes clicking sharply on the tiled floor. Stark started to rise from his seat to greet his friend, a quip already forming on his lips, but Rhodes silenced him with an abrupt wave of his hand.

"Don't start, Tony," Rhodes said, his tone brooking no argument. "I'm here, let's leave it at that."

Stark settled slowly back into his chair, eyebrows raised. He opened his mouth as if to respond, then seemed to think better of it and simply nodded.

Senator Stern, who had been observing this exchange with interest, now spoke up in his reedy voice. "Colonel Rhodes, I have before me the full report you prepared on the Iron Man weapon. For the record, would you please read paragraph four on page 57?"

Rhodes turned toward the senator, his expression neutral. "You want me to read specific excerpts, sir? I was under the impression I'd be testifying in a more comprehensive manner."

Stern waved a hand dismissively. "Plans change, Colonel. Just read the paragraph, if you would."

Rhodes' jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but his tone remained polite. "With respect, Senator, reading a single paragraph out of context does not accurately convey the summary findings of my full report."

Stern's eyes narrowed. "I'm well aware of that, Colonel. Read the paragraph."

"Very well," Rhodes acquiesced after a brief pause. His gaze dropped to the report on the desk before him as he read in a clear voice, "As he does not operate within any definable branch of government, Iron Man presents a potential threat to the security of both the nation and her interests." Rhodes looked back up at the senator. "However, if you'll permit me, I do go on to summarize that the benefits provided by Iron Man far outweigh any liabilities, and recommend that it would be advantageous to fold Mr. Stark's operations into the existing military chain of command."

Stern held up a hand. "That's sufficient, thank you Colonel."

Rhodes pressed on stubbornly. "In order to fully understand my position, Senator, I believe it is important to consider my full statement on..."

"That's enough," Stern interrupted testily.

Stark, who had been watching the exchange with mounting amusement, now spoke up. "Well, I'm not really the 'fall in line' type, but I'll think about Secretary of Defense if you ask nicely." A ripple of laughter passed through the spectators. "Maybe we can negotiate on the hours a bit," Stark added with a roguish grin.

Stern's craggy features darkened at the flippant response. He ground out, "I’d like to go on and show, if I may, the imagery that’s connected to your report."

Colonel Rhodes' jaw tightened further as he responded stubbornly, "I believe it is somewhat premature to reveal these images to the general public at this time."

Stern's eyes flashed with impatience. "With all due respect, Colonel, I understand. And if you could just narrate those for us, we’d be very grateful. Let’s have the images."

Rhodes' shoulders tensed, but he nodded sharply. "Intelligence suggests that the devices seen in these photos are, in fact, attempts at making manned copies of Mr Stark’s suit. This has been corroborated by our allies and local intelligence on the ground, indicating that these suits are quite possibly, at this moment, operational."

While Rhodes was speaking, Stark had picked up a Stark Industries tablet and was tapping away, an intent look on his face.

Rhodes finished his narration with a wary glance at Stark. "That's all for now, Senator."

Stark looked up from his tablet, eyes glinting. "Hold on a second buddy. Let me see something here."

Stern's craggy features creased in anger. "What is he doing?" he spat.

Starked tapped a few more times. Before replying, "I commandeered your screens. I need them. Time for a little transparency." Stark connected his tablet to the screens displaying the classified images. "Now, let's see what's really going on."

Stark just grinned. "If you will direct your attention to said screens, I believe that’s North Korea." The screens changed to show shaky video footage of a robotic suit. It promptly fell over. The technology was clearly not operational.

Stern's face flushed an angry red. "Can you turn that off?" he barked. "Take it off."

Justin Hammer had risen from his seat during the commotion. He now stood by the screens, frantically looking for the off switch.

Stark was unfazed. "Iran," he announced, as the screens switched to show a different suit. This one managed a few seconds of unsteady flight before smoke started pouring from it. The image cut to the suit crashing in a ball of flame.

"No grave threat here," Stark commented drily.

Then the screens switched again, showing Justin Hammer himself posing with a crude robotic suit. Stark raised an eyebrow. "Is that Justin Hammer? How did Hammer get in the game?"

The video footage showed Hammer's suit attempting to move, but only managing an uncoordinated stumble. Stark called out, "Justin, you're on TV. Focus up."

The video Hammer looked around confusedly. "Okay, give me a left twist. Left's good. Turn to the right." The robotic suit twisted completely around and the pilot let out a strangled scream. Hammer could then be heard over the yelling, "Oh, shit. Oh, shit."

Stark winced theatrically. "Language, Justin."

Just then, the real Hammer managed to unplug the screens, cutting off the feed. Stark shrugged, unconcerned. "Wow. Yeah, I'd say most countries, five, ten years away. Hammer Industries, twenty."

Hammer piped up defensively, "I'd like to point out that that test pilot survived."

Stern cut him off angrily. "I think we're done is the point that he's making. I don’t think there’s any reason to continue this display."

Stark leaned forward, his expression intense. "The point I'm making is you're safe. America is secure. You want my property? You can't have it." His words brooked no argument. "I've successfully privatized world peace," he concluded, his bold declaration resonating through the room.

The frustrated senators exchanged uneasy glances, disbelief warring with grudging acceptance on their faces.

Senator Stern, having failed to corner the infuriatingly flippant Tony Stark, turned his attention back to Mirage. Stern's voice took on a prosecutorial tone as he began to question the illusionist.

"Let's discuss your powers, shall we Mirage?" Stern began, a predatory glint in his eyes. "These little magic shows of yours, how can we be sure they're safe? Shouldn't the government have some oversight on the potential danger your abilities could pose to the hardworking citizens who elected us to protect them?"

Mirage sat calmly, an air of quiet confidence surrounding the young hero. He responded without hesitation, unfazed by the Senator's attempt at intimidation. "If you truly thought I was a danger, Senator, why invite me here today? This feels more like political grandstanding than genuine concern for public safety. Your words and actions don't seem to match."

Stern, unshaken by the retort, continued his line of questioning, grasping for any thread to unravel the composed young man in front of him. "All young men are required to register with the Selective Service upon turning eighteen. Are you registered, young man? And while we're on the subject, why don't you tell us your real identity and the source of these illusory powers of yours?"

Mirage's reply came just as cool and collected as before. "I am not registered, Senator."

Stern pounced on the admission, launching into a stern lecture, wagging his finger like a principal disciplining an unruly student. "That's a felony. You could be looking at up to five years in prison and a fine of $250,000 for failure to register. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"I haven't registered because I'm not eighteen yet."

A hush fell over the room as Mirage delivered his simple, yet shocking response. Every eye in the room focused on Mirage, who sat calmly, almost nonchalantly dropping this bombshell. The attendees, from senators to journalists, began to fully comprehend the meaning behind his words. This young man, not even an adult, had single-handedly stopped a bomb-wielding madman armed with advanced military technology. He had faced down an enormous mutated lizard capable of tossing cars with ease. And he likely did all of this while still attending high school, keeping up with homework and tests. Whispers began to ripple through the crowd, a mixture of awe, respect, and disbelief. Stern glanced around, his annoyance written on his face. His line of attack had crumbled in an instant upon learning Mirage's age. In a room full of powerful adults, Mirage now revealed to still be a teen, suddenly seemed larger than life. His bravery cast the entire debate about superheroes in a new light that gave even the most cynical senator pause. Stern and his colleagues exchanged uneasy looks, some clearly reassessing their stance.

'As for the source of my powers, I'm a mutant." At Tyson's admission, the crowd began to murmur. The press in particular looked intrigued, leaning forward in their seats, pens poised over notepads.

Senator Stern plastered a skeptical, dismissive look across his face. "Mutants aren't real," he scoffed. "This is a hearing based on facts, not science fiction."

Tyson met the senator's gaze evenly. "You should know mutants are real, Senator. I was attacked by a government agency led by William Stryker. As a member of the defense committee, I'm sure you're informed of such agencies and operations."

Stern's eyes narrowed briefly before he responded, "Colonel William Stryker was killed recently, and his death and actions while in command of that defense division are under investigation. The details of that department and its investigation are classified and shall not be discussed any further as this is a public hearing."

Tyson considered how suspicious the senator's quick retort was. He stared hard at the man, noticing details that jogged his memory. Stern's face, his mannerisms; Tyson realized why the senator seemed familiar. This man was HYDRA. Why did he keep running into these guys? Tyson tamped down a flare of anger. Then there was the revelation that Stryker was dead. Tyson thought Stryker had escaped Alkali Lake, but it seemed he assumed incorrectly.

There was nothing he could do about it now. Keeping his voice steady, Tyson continued, "I have connected with S.H.I.E.L.D. If the government needs me, I'll answer the call. I'm not your enemy, Senator. I help stop those in my neighborhood who pose a threat that the police can't handle. I kept a military weapon out of the hands of the bad guys. You wanted me to give it back, and I have... but like Mr. Stark… I'm not your weapon."

As Tyson finished, the room fell into a tense silence peppered by soft murmurs.

As the hearing wound down, Tyson watched as the last of the senators filed out of the room. He was left with Tony Stark, the two heroes having a moment away from the grilling before the press closed in.

"That was nicely done," Stark said, clapping Tyson lightly on the shoulder. Though his tone was casual, there was an uncharacteristic sincerity to the words.

Tyson blinked in surprise but quickly composed himself. "I was just following your lead," he replied modestly. In truth, watching Stark stand before the hostile committee had emboldened him in his own testimony.

Stark's smile widened. "Maybe I'll stop by for one of your shows sometime," he said. "I could use a few tips on showmanship from a master illusionist."

Tyson laughed lightly. "You don't need any tips, you're already a master. But you're welcome anytime. And hey, if you ever want me to tell your story, like I do Spider-Man's, I'd be more than happy to. Though I doubt you need the money."

At this, Stark's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. For a brief moment, his smiling facade cracked, revealing a flicker of somber seriousness. "Actually, I might take you up on that," he said slowly. Though his tone was still casual, there was a sudden weight to the words that hinted at something deeper.

Tyson watched as Stark turned and walked toward the exit, mulling over the strange exchange. As Stark reached the door, he glanced back with a wave. "Catch you later, David Blaine," he called out with a flash of his signature grin before disappearing down the hall.

Tyson found his thoughts returning to that brief, serious moment of reflection on Tony's face. He knew the reasoning behind that brief glimpse of solemnity, the hidden battle the billionaire genius was facing. It was a reminder that behind the swagger there was a man facing his own private struggles… A man living on borrowed time. Stark only had days left to live from palladium poisoning, caused by the arc reactor in his chest.

Tyson sighed, lost in thought. Even if he wanted to help Tony, Tyson didn't have the scientific knowledge to solve the Palladium problem, but maybe he could drop a hint.

— Rogue Replacement —

Happy tapped Tony on the back of the head with a light punch, not enough to truly hurt the man but certainly enough to get his attention. Tony reacted quickly, kicking out and sending Happy crashing into the corner of the boxing ring. Tony stepped back, dropping his fists. "That's it. I'm done," he announced.

He turned to the woman who'd grabbed his attention when she walked in with Pepper. "What's your name, lady?"

"Rushman. Natalie Rushman," she replied smoothly.

"Front and center. Come into the church," Tony directed, beckoning her forward.

Pepper shot him a look. "No. You're seriously not gonna ask..." she began warningly.

"If it pleases the court, which it does," Tony interrupted with a roguish grin.

Natalie glanced at Pepper apologetically. "It's no problem," she assured the other woman before stepping into the ring.

Pepper shook her head in exasperation. "I'm sorry. He's very eccentric," she explained to Natalie.

Tony took another swig from a bottle filled with a strange green liquid as Natalie entered the ring. "Can you give her a lesson?" he asked Happy.

"No problem," Happy agreed readily, though his expression showed he was still smarting a bit from the kick.

Tony stepped out of the ring and sauntered over to sit by Pepper. "Pepper," he began.

"What?" she asked flatly, clearly annoyed.

"Who is she?" Tony wanted to know, nodding his head toward Natalie.

Pepper let out an irritated huff. "She is from legal. And she is potentially a very expensive sexual harassment lawsuit if you keep ogling her like that."

Tony waved a hand dismissively. "I need a new assistant, boss," he declared.

Pepper's eyes flashed. "Yes, and I've got three excellent potential candidates. They're lined up and ready to meet you."

"I don't have time to meet. I need someone now. I feel like it's her," Tony insisted stubbornly.

Pepper shook her head in disbelief. "No, it's not."

Meanwhile, Happy was sizing Natalie up. "You ever boxed before?" he questioned.

"I have, yes," Natalie confirmed.

Happy looked skeptical. "What, like, the Tae Bo? Booty Boot Camp? Crunch? Something like that?"

Natalie's face flickered with brief annoyance before Tony's voice distracted her again.

"How do I spell your name, Natalie?" Tony called out.

"R-U-S-H-M-A-N," she spelled out for him.

Pepper threw up her hands. "What, are you gonna google her now?"

Tony smirked. "I thought I was ogling her." He tapped on the table they were sitting at, bringing up Natalie's file. The table surface doubled as a high-tech computer screen. Tony had computers integrated into everything.

"Wow. Very, very impressive individual," Tony murmured appreciatively as he scanned through Natalie's information.

Pepper let out a bitter laugh. "You're so predictable, you know that?"

Tony murmured appreciatively as he scanned through Natalie's information, his eyes darting back and forth across the page. "I need her. She’s got everything that I need. Tony focused entirely on the projected file. "She's fluent in French, Italian, Russian, Latin," he mused aloud. "Who speaks Latin?"

"No one speaks Latin," Pepper said flatly, her tone brooking no argument.

"No one speaks Latin," Tony echoed absently, his mind clearly elsewhere.

Pepper gave him a withering look, her eyes narrowing in annoyance. "It's a dead language. You can read Latin or you can write Latin, but you can't speak Latin."

Tony continued on, his next question explaining his absent-mindedness "Did you model in Tokyo? 'Cause she modeled in Tokyo," he said, his gaze glued to Natalie's pictures rather than her resume.

Pepper threw her hands up in exasperation, letting out an aggravated huff. She was plainly fed up with Tony's single-minded focus on the new assistant.

Happy circled Natalie on the mat, "Rule number one, never take your eyes off who you're fighting," he cautioned. He threw a punch, but Natalie reacted instantly. She grabbed his outstretched arm and used his momentum to flip him in one smooth motion. Happy's legs flipped up and over as he crashed heavily onto his back on the mat.

Pepper's eyes went wide with shock as she watched the quick takedown. "Oh my God, Happy!" she exclaimed.

Tony's face lit up with an eager grin as he watched Natalie dispatch his bodyguard. "That's what I'm talking about!" he exclaimed approvingly.

Happy let out a pained groan from his position flat on his back on the mat. "I just slipped," he claimed unconvincingly as he struggled to catch his breath.

Tony's grin only grew wider with skepticism. "You did?" he asked, his voice dripping with doubt.

"Yeah," Happy confirmed, though the discomfort written plainly across his face told a very different story.

Tony clearly did not believe him for a second. "Looks like a TKO to me," he pronounced decisively. He rang the bell signaling the end of the match as Natalie stepped away from the mat, leaving Happy groaning in pain behind her.

Natalie turned to Tony, her expression neutral. "I need your impression," she requested briskly.

Tony considered her for a moment, rubbing his chin. "You have a quiet reserve. I don’t know, you have an old soul," he mused thoughtfully.

"I meant your fingerprint," Natalie clarified in a businesslike tone.

"Right," Tony said, looking mildly embarrassed as he pressed his thumb to the scanner she held out.

Pepper stepped over, hands on her hips, "So, how are we doing?" she inquired.

"Great. Just wrapping up here," Tony replied breezily, handing the scanner back to Natalie. "Hey. You’re the boss," he added.

Natalie's expression remained impassive. "Will that be all, Mr Stark?" she asked coolly.

"No," Tony responded immediately, his eyes trailing over her appreciatively.

"Yes, that will be all, Ms Rushman," Pepper cut in sharply. "Thank you very much."

Natalie inclined her head and exited the room. Tony turned to Pepper, an eager light in his eyes. "I want one," he declared.

"No," Pepper refused flatly, her mouth set in a firm line.

— Rogue Replacement —

The Senate hearing behind him, Tyson found the thrum of the jet's engines oddly comforting as the plane flew back to New York. The trip was blessedly short, just under an hour in the air, but his mind continued churning through the events of the past day. When they touched down, he thanked Maria Hill for the ride and for the counsel she had provided in preparation for the hearing. Though she had not needed to speak on his behalf before the politicians, her insights shared en route had contributed greatly to his success. Agent Hill graced him with the barest nod, acknowledging his words before striding from the plane.

Tyson grabbed his helmet and made his way outside, to his waiting motorcycle. He swung a leg over the machine, settling onto the leather seat. He thumbed the starter and felt the engine rumble to life beneath him. Tyson twisted the throttle, savoring the throaty roar as the bike surged forward. The wind tore at his clothes, the familiar smells and sounds of the city rising around him. It was good to be back in New York. Back home. He cruised through the streets, weaving amongst taxis and delivery vans.

Tyson strode through the lobby of the Four Seasons. He was brought up short when the woman at the front desk hurried over, "I'm so sorry to bother you, sir," she apologized profusely, wringing her hands. "But an important letter arrived for you earlier today. It was hand-delivered and marked urgent."

Tyson paused, frowning slightly. His mismatching eyes narrowed as he considered this unexpected development. Who would be sending him urgent correspondence here at the hotel? After a moment he nodded, extending a hand.

"Let's have a look then," he said, his voice a low rumble.

The woman bustled behind the counter and returned swiftly, pressing a crisp ivory envelope into Tyson's waiting palm. He noted the heavy texture of the paper, the wax seal on the back. Who still used wax seals? Tyson slid a finger under the flap and extracted the letter within. For a long moment, he simply stood, letter in hand, deaf to the flow of people around him checking in and out. Tyson focused on the meticulous script flowing across the page. It was from the Ancient One. His eyes flicked back and forth as he quickly read the contents.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Tyson Smith, Mirage,

Leader of the House of M

Dear Tyson,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. I have been keeping an eye on your recent endeavors, both the shows that captivate so many and your recent appearance at the Senate hearing. It is heartening to see someone of your unique talents engage in such pivotal societal discourses. Your ability to engage both audiences is truly admirable.

It strikes me that it has been some time since our last conversation. To this end, I would like to extend an invitation for breakfast at the New York Sanctum, tomorrow morning. I believe a face-to-face meeting would provide a conducive atmosphere for the exchange of thoughts and experiences of events that have emerged since we last spoke and those yet to come.

The Sanctum will provide an assortment of culinary delights. However, I do find myself hoping that you might bring along some of that exquisite tea you shared during our last meeting. Its unique blend and aroma were quite lovely, and I have found my thoughts wandering to its comforting warmth on more than one occasion.

I anticipate our meeting with a keen sense of expectation. Your journey, Tyson, is one that holds much promise, not just for you but for the many threads of destiny that you touch.

The Sanctum is ever a place of welcome for those who tread the path of knowledge and understanding, and your presence will be a valued addition to its halls.

In anticipation of our meeting,

Ancient One,

Sorceress Supreme

PS. On a slightly more cryptic note, I suggest you bring flowers. I realize this may sound peculiar. However, I assure you there is a purpose to this request, one that will become clear during our meeting. Let us just say, that sometimes the simplest of gestures can have the most profound of meanings.