Summary: Stark Industries has developed a very specific type of security.
Characters: Tony, Bruce, Ross, and a certain special agent
Notes: Avengers movie canon up until the end of the movie. This is not AU, but there is a dose of Inception influence on how the plot flows forward. Familiarity with both The Avengers and Inception movies suggested, but if you don't know Inception, just keep in mind that people hack themselves into other people's dreams with SCIENCE, and I think you'll be able to navigate yourself through this fic okay.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count:1867
Prologue
"General."
"Stark. I'm glad that I finally managed to get a hold of you."
"Yes, congratulations," Tony praised, raising his glass of scotch to the video monitor before taking a sip. "You're talking to a very important, busy man."
"Busy trying to put me out of a job."
"Even if I do happen to successfully end all wars and need for armed forces, which I expect to accomplish by 2020, give or take a year – just in case you were wondering –, there will always be jobs in America for our honorable military leaders and tacticians. Particularly ones with resumes as packed as yours. Have you ever considered coaching rugby?"
Ross stared darkly at Tony through the display.
"I'm calling to request your response to the proposal I sent over earlier."
"Your proposal?" Tony parroted, furrowing his brows as he paused. Face suddenly brightening after a moment, he spoke, "Oh, are you talking about the one where you request production and purchase of a theoretical serum that can't actually exist? If I had realized you were serious about wanting me to assure you that pigs indeed cannot fly – not even when I pay them a whole lot –, I would have responded earlier."
"Cut the bullcrap. We know you've got it, and we've seen the results."
Ross submitted a file to the conversation, which Tony opened and perused in a moment of silence.
"J.A.R.V.I.S.?"
"Yes, sir."
"What have I told you about letting moles into R&D?"
"To not do so, sir."
"And if they manage to slip in anyway?"
"They are to be hit with a shovel when they are discovered."
"Well, hop to it then."
"Right away, sir."
Tony smiled toothily at the screen as he finally reengaged with Ross. "Don't mind us. I've been teaching my AI a little something about gardening lately, and pest control. Marketable skill, if you ask me. But to get back on topic, I still have no idea what you are talking about. You sure you've got the right guy?"
General Ross sighed heavily.
"Alright, Stark. Cards on the table. I want to use what you've got on the Hulk."
Tony quirked an eyebrow at this.
"Huh. If, hypothetically, there were such a serum to use on the big guy, you'd actually have to know where he was. So, you want a serum that doesn't exist to use on a man that's impossible to find. You, sir, are an idealist."
"Just because S.H.I.E.L.D. has had trouble locating Dr. Banner at present does not mean everyone else is experiencing the same difficulties. All I need from you is the serum; let me worry about my target."
The two men studied each other intently, each face passive and unnaturally blank.
"The last time you, Dr. Banner, and prototype serums mixed the Hulk happened. Why don't we all try learning from past experiences here and call it a day?"
"I want to use your serum to take responsibility," Ross retorted sharply, gaze fierce. "I want to use it to eradicate that beast from the consciousness of Bruce Banner."
Tony, bedecked in a causal Black Sabbath shirt and jeans, swept his arms wide from where he sat on a rather inconspicuous park bench, as he spoke, "Gentleman. Welcome to my mind. This is what I like to call a particularly well designed dream-scape."
Five men stood in front of him: four wore stiff military regalia with even stiffer expressions, while the remaining and noticeably shorter, less muscular fellow stood only a plain suit and maintained a countenance of harmless good cheer. Three of the soldiers glanced about themselves somewhat unsteadily, taking in the sights and sounds of the small, wooded environment they stood in – looking at couples passing by there, chipmunks scurrying among the trees here, and the occasional fly buzzing about their ears. The shorter man and the remaining undistracted soldier kept their eyes on Tony, seemingly unimpressed or uninterested with examining Tony's mentally constructed scenery.
"Some people can be so ungrateful for a good show," Tony commented with a light, tragic sigh.
The shorter man, in what seemed like a fit of politeness, began to calmly glance around his person, but the other soldier remained unmoving.
"Mr. Stark, a question," another soldier staring intently at a nearby tree raised his voice.
"I'll allow it."
"This tree even smells like a platanus. How do you program smells and the appropriate tactile sensation into each object? To make even a square kilometer-sized park with this level of realism seems like it would take at least on the timescale of weeks to construct."
"Well, Sanford, you've either got to be a genius, like me, or work long and hard at what you do. Isn't that always how the world works?" Tony asserted casually. "This setting took me about three hours to prepare, but since Ross doesn't want me doing shit on the mission, one of you will have to construct the dream-scapes when we actually do this for real. A waste of my talent and all of our time, I know, but what can you do?"
"Now," Tony continued, as the group of soldiers listened with severe poker faces, "let's see which of you is fit for mental architectural design. The guy who constructs the most accurately average log cabin wins the prize!"
Three of the soldiers and the shorter man quickly set about their tasks, various levels of mental strain visible in their expressions, as they tried to imagine up their cabins within Tony's consciousness. The fourth soldier did not appear willing to participate in the rampant festivities and only continued to stare silently at Tony.
"You're dedicated, I'll give you that," he solemnly informed the man, who regarded him silently. "I will call you Goober."
"My name is Smith," the man replied.
"And that's what I'll call you if you stop making googly eyes at me."
The man simply stared.
"Fine, Goober, let's take a gander at the results now, shall we? Or I will and you can watch me gander."
Tony wandered amongst the resulting cabins. Two were indistinguishable from piles of wood, but there were two others that actually had some shape and substance. Walking up to one that could have been the glossy picture on the front of a Lincoln Logs box, Tony regarded it curiously before licking it.
"So, who's the owner of this shiny baby?" he asked, and a red-headed soldier stepped forward.
"Reynolds," Tony drawled, regarding the man. "Not bad. Except your cabin tastes like chapstick."
The pale man colored heavily in the cheeks.
"If the architect of the dream is even a fraction as talented as me and doesn't screw up, you really shouldn't notice anything out of the ordinary," Tony spoke up again. "We're aiming for reality here, people. Dr. Banner is an observant, intelligent man and could be fooled by nothing less."
As he spoke, Tony strolled over to the final cabin that looked incredibly average. There was even a patch of mold growing next to the door that he poked with a finger.
'Who's responsible for this?"
"Present, Mr. Stark," the shorter man spoke up with a smile.
"Coulson. Right. Why are you even here again?"
"I am here to assist in any way I can, as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s official show of support for this mission."
"Sounds suspicious. Guys, doesn't he sound suspicious?" Tony spoke conspiratorially to the four soldiers. "I don't know if we can trust him."
"That's why we're here: to keep any potentially harmful influences in line," one of the men replied bluntly to Tony's babble. Even for soldiers, these four looked particularly muscular and battle hardened.
"Hear that, Coulson?" Tony hissed. "They're onto you."
"This includes you, Mr. Stark," Smith-Goober added, voice a deep, threatening bass.
"I find your suspicions concerning my character groundless and offensive," Tony responded with lazy indignation.
"What do you think of my work, Mr. Stark?" Coulson butted in smoothly.
"I'm not seeing any issues, which you should take as the monstrously high compliment that it is," Tony acceded, before turning back to the soldiers. "Four of you outdone by one S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. What would your boss say?"
Only Reynolds appeared at all affected by Tony's words. He bit his lipped and glared at his own work.
"I'll be practicing," the soldier muttered earnestly under his breath.
"You do that," Tony said, not appearing to care either way, as he began to stroll down a dirt path. "Let's take a walk, shall we?"
Tony guided the group out of the park and through the streets of his mental version of urban Paris, leading them towards a particularly large, well-guarded building. Five highly alert soldiers paced in front of the wrought iron gates blocking the entrance.
"The Élysée Palace," he explained offhand. "I got thrown out of here when I was sixteen after making one too many 'inappropriate remarks' to the French President's daughter. I suppose my entirely pure intentions were simply lost in translation. Let's see if any of you will fair any better. It's time to try out shapeshifting."
The men nodded shortly.
"Go off somewhere and change into some people that my consciousness would recognize as-"
It was right at this moment that the dream exploded.
The six men snapped to a state of cognizance simultaneously, as all eyes darted to the remains of the smoldering, black attaché case in the center of the table. A trembling woman in a singed lab coat stood frozen, one arm outstretched with what looked to be some type of scanner.
"Ah, yes," Tony spoke up in between yawns. "I guess I forgot to mention that if any unauthorized individual or influence comes in contact with the serum or me at any time during one of my visits to this base, the serum goes bye-bye."
Three of the four soldiers stared stonily at Tony, while the other seemed a bit too dazed to muster up aggression at this point. Coulson smiled.
"Well, this was fun," Tony broke through the silence cheerfully. "Same time next week?"
"Stark."
"General." Tony smiled with icy cordiality to the face once again on his video screen.
"I take it all preparations are finally in order?"
"That's what they tell me."
The general paused, seeming to mull over his thoughts for a moment.
"And there is no way I can convince you to remove yourself from the roster on this mission?"
"My product; my rules."
"Fine. I can deal with that – as long as you do not put yourself in the way of my goals."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Tony assured, throwing his arms out to the sides in a gesture of harmless innocence. "You paid me my money, and I've sunk months of my valuable time training your goons for this mission of yours. What reason would I have to stiff a loyal customer?"
"Do not try me. I am serious, Stark."
"So am I."
Ross stared intently at Tony through the video monitor for a long, heavy moment.
"I will see you at 0900 tomorrow."
"No you won't," Tony shot back smoothly. "I don't do early unless it's absolutely necessary – which it currently is not. We'll start at two."