"Get out of my fucking way!"
An unruly and thunderous voice roaring over the screech of burning rubber and the rumbling of an overheated engine was the most warning any commuter on the early morning streets of Manhattan received as a hulking semi barreled down the avenues and streets. Panicked drivers swerved onto sidewalks to avoid being flattened by the rogue truck, and equally startled pedestrians leaped over each other or dove into narrow alleyways to avoid being flattened by those run off the road.
The driver of the semi, a balding ogre of a man drenched in sweat and grease, screamed incessantly as he drove westbound in a dangerously uncompromising manner. The front and back ends of any vehicle not fortunate enough to move out of the path of his rampaging steel behemoth was clipped and sent spinning onto the sidewalks, crashing against trees and poles.
Quickly joining into the cacophony were the loud whirs and beeps of police sirens. The bald driver barely acknowledged the thin herd of cruisers beginning to tail him with a grunt as he swerved around a corner, suddenly changing his course northward. With a heavy strain, the runaway driver threw all the weight he could to his right as he sharply turned, the wheels of his weaving trailer screeching against pavement as a catastrophic flip was avoided.
"We're nearing the Lincoln Tunnel!" The driver yelled into a radio as he directed the truck toward the nearest freeway ramp entrance. "You boys better be ready back there!"
"They may not be, but we are!" A stern voice crackled over the radio, confusing the driver greatly.
"Who the hell is this!?" The driver demanded as he spotted two man-like suits soaring into view in his rear-view mirror.
"This is Pro Hero Darkhawk, accompanied by War Machine, speaking!" The voice responded. "Your radio frequency was easy enough to find. We suggest you pull over and surrender immediately!"
"Bah! Stark's dogs..." The man muttered to himself as he brought the radio back to his lips, figuring it would be best to drop all pretenses now that heroes were on his tail as well as listening in. "Alright, boys! Light 'em up!"
As the truck roared up the one-lane wide entrance ramp, the back doors of the trailer swung open. Several men decked out in yellow hazmat-like suits emerged, brandishing heavy blasters of the Stark variety. Cables were wrapped around their waists, keeping them balanced as the truck tilted upwards.
"Tailgating in Manhattan?" The driver joked in the radio, addressing the heroes he knew were listening in. "Not very polite..."
The yellow-suited men opened fire on the police cruisers, fiery plasma bolts indiscriminately raining down on their hoods and roofs, burning through their metal exteriors and reducing them to molten slag. The front two cruisers were nailed in the engines and on their front tires, causing them to flip as the bolts halted them in their tracks. The entrance ramp was quickly blocked by the flipped cruisers, but the men in the semi continued firing toward the middle and rear of the pack, causing multiple cruisers to crash into one another, swerve off the road entirely, or crash into the two flipped cruisers and go barreling off the side of the concrete ramp.
The driver chortled as his eyes darted between the road ahead of him and his rearview. He watched with glee as the armored heroes broke off to aid the police officers in the flipped and liquefied vehicles. The heroes had returned diversionary fire against his cohorts when they initiated their attack, but Stark's dogs didn't dare open fire on the truck itself.
Not when it was loaded to the brim with stolen tech they so desperately wanted to retrieve.
"Nice shooting, boys!" The driver chuckled into the radio. "No wonder they call you A.I.M!"
He switched it off, not waiting for a reply as he followed the cleared and barren freeway toward the Lincoln Tunnel. As the toll entrances came into view, the driver also saw that each of the tunnels were blocked by a multitude of cruisers that had circumvented him, getting into position and setting up before he'd arrived.
They anticipated me heading this way, eh? The man thought as he floored it. No matter, this truck's been fitted with state-of-the-art grill guards that'll blast through even a wall of steel! I'll blow through anything on either end of this tunnel!
A blur of red and gold and a face full of airbag quickly left the man wishing the rest of the truck had been armored and fortified as thoroughly. An armored mass flew straight down onto the hood of the truck, halting all movement and crushing wheel and engine bits into the asphalt.
The sudden change in acceleration caused the back of the truck to jerk into the air, its trailer raising nearly 90 degrees vertically. The trailer creaked to a standstill, not having enough momentum to completely flip over the demolished tractor unit. Back down it fell, landing on and breaking its dozen plus wheels as it crashed to a jolting halt.
Blood streamed down the driver's nostrils as he flailed against the thick bag squished into his face, hardly registering the sudden halt as he struggled to simultaneously work through the pain and breathe properly. When he did finally manage to beat the slowly deflating bag out of his bloodied face, his vision was blurred and swirling, unable to properly focus on his surroundings, including the red and gold suit approaching his door.
"So tell me, does a career of villainy come with an extremely good insurance policy?" The armored man asked wittily, stepping back as the crunched door went flying off its hinges and the bloodied driver came tumbling out, trying to catch his bearings.
"Damn you, Stark..." The man groaned, falling to his hands and knees.
The gold-plated visor of the classic Iron Man suit lifted, revealing an amused Tony Stark at the helm. His irritation was still there, however, cleverly masked by his typical wry humor and quick wit.
"You knew we wouldn't open fire on a trailer full of my tech, but you didn't really think I wouldn't attack you in some way, did you?" Stark asked. "Come on, Creel, I thought you were smarter than this! Well, I never thought you were smart to begin with, but you get the gist."
Creel grit his teeth as he activated his absorbing Quirk, launching two arms laden with asphalt toward Stark's chestplate. His ferocious yell soon fizzled into a pained whimper as twin repulsor blasts struck him in the chest, sending him sprawling against the wreckage that was his escape truck.
"Huh," Stark said as he lowered his hands. "Guess you can absorb pain as well as you can physical matter. Who would've thought?"
"We're here! The officers are safe!"
Stark turned his attention to his newly arrived associates, Darkhawk and War Machine. The Stark Industry Pros landed before the trailer door, which had bent slightly out of frame when it crashed back down.
"We weren't going to blow up my tech, but I don't really give a damn if it gets banged up a little," Stark muttered as he gave a nonverbal 'go ahead' to his companions to blow open the trailer door. "I have more than a few guys back at the lab that can restore everything good as new."
Darkhawk and War Machine approached the trailer door, preparing to rip it off its hinges and secure its cargo before it was blasted off for them from the inside. The Pros took to the air with their repulsors, narrowly dodging the slab of steel as it flew past them and skidded down the road.
Several armored men emerged from the depths of the wrecked trailer, each buried beneath bits and layers of experimental armor—the crème de la crème of Stark's stolen tech. To add insult to injury (or even further insult to insult in Stark's eyes) the suits had been hastily tinkered and altered with before Stark crashed into the semi, and his latest suits had A.I.M logos sprayed over the chestplates.
"You know, for a terrorist group called the Advanced Idea Mechanics, thinking you could get away with stealing my tech was an awfully bad idea," Stark joked as the A.I.M soldiers revved up their repulsors.
Darkhawk and War Machine responded in kind, taking to the sky and launching themselves into battle against their own stolen suits. War Machine unleashed blast after blast of his state-of-the-art repulsors with pinpoint accuracy as Darkhawk unfurled his metallic wings to increase his maneuverability, cleanly slicing through enemy alloys with elongated, silver claws.
Stark's visor fell back into place as he prepared to join in and end the fray, but he was blindsided by a heavy punch to the side of his head that sent him spinning to the ground. A soft alarm sounded off as Stark quickly scanned through several display screens to assess the damage. Both arm and leg repulsors activated at once, sending Stark tumbling through the air as he prepared a counter. Years of practice helped him recover in an instant, and Stark immediately honed in on the threat: Creel's body had copied the properties of the wrecked tractor unit, and his entire body had turned a dull red to match. A crater in the ground showed he'd just barely dodged a ground pound with his repulsors.
"You okay there, Creel?" Stark jokingly asked as he kept his repulsors on minimum output, keeping him idle in the air. "You look a little woozy."
"Shut your damn trap, hero!" Creel coughed as he raised his fists. Despite his wobbliness, he still looked primed and ready for a throw down.
And who was Stark to deny a fight from a man who helped steal his own tech?
He aimed two repulsor blasts directly at Creel's face, which were summarily blocked by raised arms. He barely budged from where he stood, but a blocked line of sight gave Stark ample time to barrel straight into Creel, ramming him against sharpened bits of wreckage.
"Now, now, didn't your mother ever tell you that too much iron in your diet is a bad thing?" Stark quipped as two more repulsor blasts were fired directly into Creel's chest. It wasn't enough to significantly injure him, but it was more than enough to knock the wind out of his lungs.
"Would you shut the hell up already!?" Creel roared as he pushed back, digging reddened steel digits into the wrists of Stark's armor. He grinned as he felt the top layers crunch beneath his fingers, and he mustered more than enough strength to pry Stark's arms away from his chest.
Stark barely registered the retaliation with a bored sigh. He willed his Extremis Quirk to life with a mere thought, and the integration between his armor and body allowed millions of stored nanites to flow to the damaged chassis of his wrists. Creel's grin drooped as he felt Stark's armor literally push back against his iron fingers, as if the alloys were being inflated like a balloon. The chassis was swiftly restored and stronger than ever as Creel tried to rip into the armor again to no avail.
"Did you really think you could rip my suit apart by copying some simple aluminum alloy?" Stark asked with mock bewilderment. "Come on, Creel, you're smarter than—oh wait, I used that line already."
"Such a kidder you are, Stark!" Creel growled through grit teeth as they continued wrestling in their impasse. "But you were a fool to engage me in hand-to-hand combat! I'll tear you to pieces with your own suit's alloy!"
Creel laughed as the dull redness of his hands metamorphosed into a brighter crimson with flecks of gold; his hands and forearms were copying the same alloys that constituted Stark's suit.
"How does it feel to have your own alloy turned against you, Stark!?" Creel spat as he vigorously squeezed Stark's wrists again, digging his digits back into the armor gleefully. The repulsors on Stark's palms flickered and depowered as Creel seemingly cut off the energy flow with his grip.
"Eh, I don't really mind since you were kind enough to hold still and keep your arms apart," Stark said as he leaned back slightly, blinding Creel with the brilliantly shining arc reactor centered in his chest.
Creel realized too little too late that Stark's palm repulsors hadn't been too severely damaged—the energy was merely redirected to the central arc reactor. Too make matters worse, Creel's newest absorption hadn't spread to his chest and face yet. Only his arms were strengthened by Stark's alloys; the rest of his body still carried the weaker aluminum alloy he'd copied from his wrecked truck.
Creel's defiant screams were completely drowned out by the vibrant hum of Stark's Unibeam. The highly concentrated repulsion blast struck and enveloped Creel's entire chest and head, sending him soaring over the truck wreckage. Stark flew over the crushed tractor, assessing his remaining power levels as he landed before the metal heap that was Creel's unconscious body. His normal skin color slowly returned as his beaten body lost all metallic properties, indicating he was out of the fight for good.
Several deflected beams of concentrated repulsor energy streaked past Stark, singeing the asphalt around him. He whirled around to face the remaining armored A.I.M soldiers, analyzing streams of data as it filtered through his visor. The renegade terrorists were still fighting against Darkhawk and War Machine, indicating that Stark's newest tech could still hold up in battle, even when it was in the hands of rank amateurs.
The A.I.M soldiers operating the last four stolen suits had combined their repulsor blasts into a concentrated beam of their own, forcing Stark's companions to deflect it away with their own combined repulsors as they adopted a defensive stance.
Stark zoomed to their side, and the heroes quickly sprung back into action not even a second after the repulsor energies died down. Their superior finesse and skill allowed them to attack almost immediately while their opponents remained idle in the air, recharging from the exertion of their combined attack.
"It's fine now, Stark!" A familiar, boisterous voice called out, causing the three heroes present to skid to a halt and break off as an impossibly fast blur of red and blue blitzed by. "Why? Because I am here! Missouri...SMASH!"
All Might zoomed behind the remaining A.I.M soldiers, his blue and red cape billowing behind him as he struck each of them in the back of the head with a single, focused straight chop. The armored thieves collapsed to the ground in an instant, their stolen suits shuddering to an eerie still as nearly all their power was lost to a single, devastating blow.
"Huzzah!" All Might victoriously proclaimed as he thrust his left arm into the air. "Thought you could snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, eh, evil-doers? Not when the Symbol of Peace is around!"
"All Might," Stark said with a sigh. He and his companions depowered their suits to a minimal level as they saw the conflict come to an abrupt end. Even the police forces present, who'd maintained their position in blocking the tunnels, recognized the battle was over once All Might had arrived, if their cheering was any indication. "We had the situation under control...but I suppose I should still thank you for coming when you did, even though I was unaware you were Stateside again."
"Think nothing of it, Iron Man!" All Might said with a robust laugh, glancing down at Stark with that trademark unwavering smile he was so well known for. "I'm more than happy to help in any way I can whenever I pass through New York City! It's the least I can do for the city that helped kick-start my journey into heroism!"
"Uh-huh," Stark said in a deflated voice. "You gonna stick around and secure the crime scene, partake in a few celebratory drinks while you're here?"
All Might laughed off Stark's comments, seemingly oblivious to his acquaintance's sarcasm. "No, no, Tony, my boy! I'd hate to appear unprofessional and take away from the heroic efforts of you and your team! Besides, as the Symbol of Peace, I must always be on the lookout for the next inevitable conflict with villainy, ready to strike terror in the hearts of those who would inflict their own upon the masses!"
"I leave these scoundrels in your hands, my friend!" All Might pointed at one of the A.I.M soldiers trying to lift themselves up to no avail, the light of his visor flickering weakly as he glared at the heroes. All Might patted Stark on the shoulder and gave a wave of acknowledgement to the approaching police officers before crouching down and leaping away with a tremendous burst of energy. His iconic red and blue suit was a speck in the sky in the blink of an eye.
"Well, that just happened," Rhodes said as his grey visor lifted, revealing his face. He glanced around as the police reached the scene, securing the downed villains and locking down the area of their quick brawl. "At least the stolen tech is back where it belongs."
"Nothing the boys back at the tower can't fix," Darkhawk added.
Stark didn't appear to acknowledge the words of his allies, his eyes still firmly affixed to the sky where All Might had disappeared off to. You can't do everything alone, All Might. The weight of the world can't be carried on the back of a single man, Symbol of Peace or not. Trust me, I've tried...
"The battle might've ended, but this is far from over," Stark finally said. "There is a lot of cataloguing and damage control to do. Speaking of which..."
Stark turned as several black vans rolled up to the scene, the words 'Damage Control' written prominently on their sides. They encircled the demolished truck and their doors slid open, a coterie of workers emerging to get to the task at hand: collecting and cataloguing all the stolen tech that was present, broken or not.
As the workers dispersed among the battle site to complete their duties, one in particular caught Stark's eye: a youthful yet short and skinny young man with long orange hair and dull blue eyes, garbed in the traditional black and blue of all Damage Control employees. He moved quicker than anyone else on the scene, his disproportionally large, metal-tipped hands taking note of the individual bits and pieces of stolen equipment lying about and scooping them up to be put away. His face appeared tight and singularly focused, as if nothing outside his current task even existed. His hands, large though they may have been, were surprisingly gentle in picking up and passing on any of the tech he came across, which happened to be most of it, as Stark began to notice other Damage Control workers beginning to hang back as this one man began to accomplish more and more of the job all on his own.
"Hey, Higari, er—Sinker!" Stark called out to the man, beckoning him over once he'd snapped him out of his work-obsessed trance. "Head over here for a second!"
"Yes sir, right away, sir!" Higari said almost excitedly as he dashed over to Stark and his sidekicks. He nervously fidgeted with his giant tipped fingers, seeming as if he had a question brewing beneath his restless demeanor, but also seeming as if he were anticipating a scolding from his superior. "Also, sir, my official Pro name is no longer Sinker; I updated it to Power Loader a few months ago."
"Is that so? I was unaware," Stark said as he turned his sights on the wreckage of Creel's getaway semi-trailer truck, finding the perfect job to keep arguably his hardest worker preoccupied while the rest of Damage Control cleaned up everything he hadn't yet gotten his over-sized hands on. "I need the front of this truck pulled out of the asphalt and the road under and around it needs to be relatively flattened before the police have it towed and open the Lincoln Tunnel to the public again. Think you can handle it?"
"Oh, absolutely, sir!" Higari said. "O-oh, before you and the others head out, I was wondering if I could ask you if it would be possible to—"
"I've already pretty much made it protocol with the rest of Damage Control to give you free reign to tinker with any tech that gets acquired, and today is no exception," Stark said, trying to cut him off at the path he thought Higari was going towards. "I was doubtful at first, but allowing my head designer to also work at Damage Control seemed to make you even more productive!"
Stark and his cohorts took to the skies without another word, zooming straight back to the pillar of heroism and support tech that stood proudly near the center of Manhattan: Stark Tower. Higari had tried to correct Stark and finish the question he was actually going to ask, but his superior had departed without giving him enough time to do so, as has happened on numerous occasions since he started working at Stark Industries seven years ago.
Higari Maijima: age 25, seven year employee of Stark Industries, joined immediately upon graduating from U.A's Support Department at the top of his (or any) class. He'd been hailed as a prodigy in regards to all things electrical and technological, even in spite of his gangly and also destructive-looking Quirk: Iron Claws, which allowed him to burrow underground and rend metal apart between his fingers with relative ease. One might think at first glance that someone with hands such as his would be incapable of being savvy with tech, let alone a prized inventor, but Higari was able to prove teachers, classmates, and (more importantly) support company representatives wrong with his dexterous work ethic.
It was precisely this dexterity and nimble acuity that landed Higari more offers than he could count when graduation approached. Being as opportunistic as he was back then, there was only one logical choice: Stark Industries, the most prestigious offer he'd received out of the hundreds sent his way.
So then...why? Higari thought as he approached the red scrap heap that was a tractor unit not even a half hour ago. Why has working at the world's most reputable support-based company in the world left me feeling unfulfilled?
When he'd first moved to the States, Higari felt...out of place, to say the least. This wasn't entirely unexpected, or even surprising—Stark Industries very rarely extended internship offers to foreign students. One's best bet was usually to enroll at Shield Academy and work your way up from there, and even then, only the best of the best typically caught Stark's eye.
However, Higari's feelings of not belonging persisted throughout his years at Stark Industries, to the point where he felt like a frog in a pond in a desert. He was in his element toiling away to perfect support tech in Stark's Development Studio, yet felt out of place being in New York City, at Stark Industries to be specific.
He quickly developed a reputation as a 'workaholic' in the labs, a trait which carried over to his duties for Damage Control, too. He was regularly pushing himself to work harder than everyone else around him, to prove he was worthy to work for the esteemed Tony Stark, if nothing else.
And why shouldn't he? He was forever the black sheep within the company, the foreign exchange worker, the prodigy that didn't seem to belong despite his talents. There was a constant restlessness that afflicted his spirit and mind, one that was noticeable by others and which drove him to acknowledge his seemingly perpetual abjection.
Once he'd acknowledge it, he began to ask himself the same question every single day: why do I feel unfulfilled?
And every day, he'd reach the same conclusion: he felt unfulfilled because he wasn't doing enough. He wasn't doing what was truly needed of him.
It wouldn't be enough for him to simply make inventions for Tony Stark, the world's premier dual inventor and Pro Hero, consistently ranked No. 2 among the U.S's Hero Billboard Charts. Nor would it be enough to merely see his inventions used in the hands of another, to see the heroic possibilities of his creations ascribed to its user rather than its creator. He needed to become a Pro Hero himself and work alongside Iron Man with his technological creations, to leave his own mark on the world as the greatest dual support designer and Pro Hero the world had ever seen, a summit he saw as reached only by Tony Stark before him.
He'd climbed all this way, fought tooth and nail against the expectations of those around him, graduated from Japan's most prestigious institution and flew overseas to work under Tony Stark himself. He just had to reach the summit that he believed Stark to be perched atop of. He just had to, or else...all his work, all his struggles, all his inventions...it could all be for nothing.
Higari Maijima feared he could fade away into obscurity if he didn't succeed here. If he didn't reach the same level of recognition as Stark, what would his legacy be? Would it even be one worth remembering if he didn't constantly strive to reach the goalposts established by his predecessors? He couldn't afford to slow down now, especially not on his inventions. He needed to prove this to himself. To his coworkers. To Stark. To the entire world.
First, however, Higari would have to become a Pro Hero himself.
Having added 'studying for a provisional license' and then a 'professional license' to his already extensive workload, Higari soon realized it was easier said than done. With only a tepid blessing from his higher-ups, he only further reinforced his reputation as a workaholic among his coworkers, slaving away in Stark's Development Studio by day and studying all things Pro Hero-related at night, all in order to gain Stark's recognition for his hard work in the hope he would be elevated to official sidekick status.
It was all worth it in the end, though, Higari thought as he lifted the disconnected scrap of the tractor unit out of the hole Stark had inadvertently created after crashing down on the villains. At least, it will be...eventually.
Even after acquiring his license without much comment from Stark or his official sidekicks, Higari resisted the urge to jump straight into hero work with any of their tech, lest he somehow risk his position as Head Designer at Stark Industries. The last thing he wanted to do was give the impression that he desired to break away from the company and work independently, without Stark's support.
No, Higari would continue to devote himself to laboratory drudgery, inquiring about possible field work whenever possible. Only after a few more years was Higari granted a position on Stark's personal Damage Control squad, workers personally dispatched to scenes of battle and mayhem whenever he requested their presence. And even then, he was relegated to menial labor and cleanup duties, never being given a proper chance to show off his newly acquired skills as a legal Pro Hero or implement tech he created into field work.
He'd hoped all his efforts would gain him sidekick status, allowing him to go on patrol with Stark, Darkhawk, and War Machine, among others, but it seemed his efforts thus far had been in vain.
I wonder what else I should do in order to prove myself to Mr. Stark, Higari racked his brain as he mindlessly went to work on the trodden asphalt where the truck had been impacted into. His iron-tipped claws did wonders in scooping up and displacing the crumbled earth and broken bits of pavement, filling in the holes around him as best he could, as per Mr. Stark's instructions. He patted the ground upon completion.
I must be missing something crucial, Higari continued to stay deep in thought as he reflected on his past efforts. Questions he sent Stark's way directly were either derailed, misconstrued, or ignored entirely.
Could it be because of his Quirk? Though not probable, it remained possible. While at U.A, Higari always felt that he'd be accepted into a support company in spite of his Quirk rather than because of it. The seemingly ungainly appearance of his hands worked against him, and even though he'd landed a job at Stark Industries of all places, he was initially hired for his prodigious mind in Support and inventing, not for prospects into Heroics.
He certainly didn't seem to have a Quirk that complemented the hero work carried out by Stark and his sidekicks.
Stark's Extremis Quirk held incredible synergy with his numerous hero suits, the nano-particles exuded from his body proving capable of sustaining himself in battle for far longer than most villains would expect, along with a variety of other effects.
Darkhawk's Quirk—Android Body—allowed him to physically amalgamate various pieces of tech into his actual body. At a moment's notice he could spring into action, drawing forth bits of his suit from within his body and taking to the skies if he needed to.
Rhodes—or War Machine—possessed a Projectile Enhancement Quirk that could slightly increase the acceleration of projectiles fired from his body, something that synergized quite well with his suit's repulsor weaponry as well as the various other weapons he had equipped.
All three had Quirks that harmonized rather nicely with the repulsor-focused tech Stark was widely known for, which allowed them to patrol throughout the skies of Manhattan unabated. Higari's Quirk, Iron Claws, seemed ill-suited for the flight patrols Stark was so favorable of.
Whatever the case, whatever he was missing, whether it was related to his Quirk or not, he needed to find it out as quickly as possible. Time was almost certainly not on his side, although when was time ever on the side of someone who worked day in and day out like he did? The names of big time Pros like Iron Man and All Might would forever be immortalized, their legacies enshrined for all to remember. But sidekicks and those faceless workers toiling behind the scenes? Their years were always numbered, their legacies, deeds, accomplishments, and achievements doomed to the dustbin of obscurity.
An angry procession of grunts and defiant yells snapped Higari out of his thoughts. He turned toward the commotion, seeing a platoon of police forcibly escorting Creel and the suited A.I.M soldiers downed by All Might into police cruisers. Quirk-suppressing cuffs were slapped on each of them, with Creel receiving the most scrutiny and suspicion for his troublesome powers.
"Damn you, Stark! All Might!" Creel roared as he was directed toward the nearest cruiser. "This isn't over! I swear on my life!"
As he struggled and thrashed weakly against his bonds, he knocked his shoulder against one of Higari's Damage Control coworkers who had been helping to collect the suit pieces worn and used against Stark and his sidekicks. Various bits and pieces were dropped as the worker stumbled, and one of the helmets rolled over toward Higari, bumping against his foot.
"Hm?" Higari hummed to himself as he effortlessly scooped the helmet up with his herculean hands. He rotated it until he was staring into its unblemished grey-colored visor, his focused, contemplative face clearly reflecting off the luminous alloys.
Higari's eyes snapped wide open as he was struck with a sudden spell of inspiration. He may not have known with one hundred percent certainty what was specifically preventing his efforts from being noticed by Stark, but he did realize there was one crucial thing that distinguished themselves from him.
Higari Maijima—hero name Power Loader—did not yet have a hero suit to call his own.
How could he have been so dense!? It wasn't the Quirks or the suits themselves that distinguished Stark and his sidekicks so prominently as Pro Heroes, it was the synergy that bridged the two that made them so potent. That would be the perfect starting line for him: he would craft for himself a Pro Hero suit that would bridge the gap between his Iron Claws Quirk and his own technological prowess.
But that synergy is not all their suits have, is it? Higari wondered as he tucked the helmet under his arm, heading for the nearest Damage Control van to wrap up his work and head back to his lab—ostensibly for even more work.
No, their suits also each housed a unique A.I identity, the most famous being the Jarvis A.I that Stark implemented into his suits as well as throughout Stark Tower.
But not just any A.I would suffice, would it? Higari would have to dig deep within archives of knowledge—both in the tower and in his own mind—to brainstorm what options would be available for him. If he were to gain Stark's favor, building an A.I on the same level as Jarvis would be insufficient. He would have to surpass Tony Stark in every way imaginable in order to truly impress him.
Higari Maijima became determined then and there that he would construct the most sophisticated A.I the world had ever known, blissfully unaware that he would soon discover the dangers of unchecked and reckless ambition, and that there were just some lines that inventors like he were never meant to cross.
Author Notes
And there you have it, the first chapter (finally!) of the long-planned prequel to Of Quirks and Magic, which takes place a full 15 years before Izuku and the rest of 1-A go to U.A. More than a few people seemed to be caught off guard by the revelation at the end of Chapter 36, and it seemed to be received well enough. I hope you all enjoy this story regarding Power Loader, All Might, the birth of Ultron, as well as the formation of the Avengers! This story will only be updated occasionally, as it is mostly self-contained and I want to continue focusing on the main story, though this prequel will eventually connect with the main story in more ways than one.
I look forward to fulfilling Power Loader's character arc from being young, naive, and ambitious to the older Power Loader I have in the main storyline, who is more wise and perhaps a little more jaded.
I'm also excited to write Ultron, possibly my favorite Marvel villain besides Doctor Doom! I want to try and go for a more unorthodox approach to Ultron as opposed to how he is typically portrayed.
As always, feel free to leave your thoughts! Does a prequel setting interest you at all? Anyone anticipating what an Ultron in a My Hero Academia world is like? Any suggestions you'd like to throw my way? Any characters, Marvel or MHA, that you'd like to see appear? Feel free to tell me! No comment goes unread or unconsidered!
Until next time, whenever that may be! Plus Ultra!