Earth-717: Iron Maiden Vol 1
Chapter 1: Party Time
Stane felt a small drop of sweat drip down his left temple. As it touched the rim of his glasses, he patted it away with his handkerchief, which he kept in the front pocket of his dress shirt. Placing the handkerchief back, he then looked at his watch. Exhaling loudly, Stane folded his hands and then put them back in his pocket. He started pacing up and down hallway, taking deliberate measures to not step on any of the cracks between the tiles on the stainless floor.
After a few minutes of this pacing, Stane checked his watch again. Grating his teeth, he looked back and forth down the hall. The only other items in the hall were two potted plants and a single couch. Rubbing the back of his neck, Stane pulled out his phone. Quickly typing a message, he sent his text and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. He checked his watch again. Sighing, he walked over to the door and pushed it open. He walked into the conference hall, and looked at the five people sitting at the table. Pepper was standing at the back of the room, holding her clipboard. She had a frown on her face.
"My deepest apologies, members of the board, for the delay . . . ."
"Where's Stark?" asked one of the board members.
Stane weakly chuckled.
"Um . . . . it appears that Ms. Stark is running late," replied Stane.
The board members let out a collective groan.
"However, I don't want to keep you waiting any longer," started Stane. "I know all of the information in this quarterly report, so I will go ahead and start the presentation."
Stane grabbed the remote off the table and pressed the button at the top. The blue display screen lit up across the presentation side of the room as the ceiling lights dimmed. The glow of the screen dimly lit the faces of everyone in the room. After a few seconds, a display of graphs and charts appeared.
"As of this month, stock has been steadily increasing," explained Stane. "Our early summer earnings forecast appears to be making up for our dips in May and June. While selling off major assets to Trask Industries had some of the stockholders nervous, recent gains in the energy syphoning programs and weapons divisions show that we're still on track for a very profitable year."
Stane pressed another button on the remote, causing the screen to flip to another set of charts.
"As well, recent poll coverage indicates that most of the public opinion has swayed in favour of not placing any blame on Stark Enterprises for the Tampa incident. Considering all that happened and how potentially liable we could have been, I would say that we managed to dodge a rather large bullet in that regard."
One of the other board members spoke.
"You mentioned recent developments in some of your projects. Could you tell us about those?"
"Of course, I was getting to that."
Stane, his palms sweaty, was about to press another button on the remote when he dropped it. Pepper placed her hand on her forehead.
"Uh, sorry . . . ."
Stane fumbled about as he crouched on the floor to pick up the remote. As he stood up, he bumped the back of his head against the table. Sighing, he rubbed the back of his head before hitting the button on the remote. The screen changed to a video and a set of images featuring a large scale arc reactor.
"In our joint-venture with Project Pegasus, we've managed to stabilize our arc reactor prototype. Previous models of the arc reactor were unable to properly store the energy that they syphoned from outside sources. However, our newest upgrades to the tech have managed to make the energy transition effective and manageable. Right now, our model is far too large for any kind of domestic application, but now that we've got the process down, we can work on miniaturizing it."
"What about the other one? The weapons division?"
"Right," said Stane.
Stane tapped the button again to show a large set of missiles being loaded out of a warehouse.
"Our Vindicator-class tridium missiles. We've managed to ascertain a cost-effective way to mass-produce them. After initial tests which are to be carried out in China, we're going to start making pitches to the military. They've already shown great interest, so we should be able to have these deployed in the field within eight months."
Stane tapped the last button on the remote. The screen faded as the ceiling lights turned back on. The board members sighed as Stane put his hands behind his back.
"These are promising reports, Mr. Stane, but next time, try to make sure Ms. Stark gets here on time to help you present them. You don't function very well on your own."
"Y-yes . . . . sir," replied Stane, putting his head down.
The board members got up and left the room in a single file line. After they left, the door shut, and Stane threw the remote at the wall, letting out a frustrated yell. Pepper cringed.
"Obadiah . . . ."
"I am so sick of this crap!" shouted Stane. "She does this all the time! She knows that I have anxiety when it comes to these things . . . ."
Stane exhaled and put his face in his hands. Pepper walked over and put her hand on his shoulder.
"It's alright . . . ."
"No, it's not alright," replied Stane, as he looked at Pepper. "Tasha and I have been through so much and I feel like she doesn't even care that . . . ."
"She does care," interrupted Pepper. "Obadiah, you've been Tasha's best friend since high school. She just gets . . . . carried away with her own personality. She lives larger than life. You don't. Leaving you out here to face the board yourself wasn't a nice thing to do, but I doubt she wanted to see you this upset."
Stane began to fiddle with his hands as he trembled.
"Well then where is she?"
The music that was playing was perfectly timed to the strobe lights which flickered through the club. Colours all across the visible spectrum turned on and off to the beat of the music. The disc-jockey, sporting a massive headset, bounced his head up and down with his eyes closed as he spun. Dozens of bodies stepped all over the place as they danced across the white tile floor. The disc-jockey then raised his hands as the last beat of the song echoed through the club.
"Alright everybody, let's hear some noise!"
The crowd cheered as most of the people stopped dancing and stood still.
"Alright, alright, this is DJ Mike, resident jockey for Purgatory! I got a request for Dazzler's latest hit, "Make Them Lights Move"! This one is for the only white girl I know who can actually dance . . . . the one . . . . the only . . . . Tasha Stark!"
The crowd screamed into applause as it parted to reveal Tasha at the centre of the dance floor. She whipped her long, flowing dark hair around, as she strutted forward. She was wearing a dark salmon coloured shirt, as well as similarly tinted, skin-tight pants. Her slender legs reached to the floor, capped off with black high heels. After striking a pose, she looked straight towards Mike.
"Hit it, Mike!"
The song started playing and Tasha began dancing by herself. Shaking her hips side to side, the golden rings she had on her right wrist bounced up and down her forearm. Several men whistled as other people clapped and cheered. She then turned away from the turntable. Mike's eyes widened.
"Damn!" shouted Mike. "Her booty game is off the charts!"
Tasha closed her eyes and smiled as she pumped her left fist into the air. She then gave a beckoning gesture to a nearby tall, black man, who walked up to her and grabbed her hand. He spun her around as she continued to dance. After a few moments, the crowd began to fill in the dance floor again. The scent of pheromones quickly filled the air.
Stane and Pepper walked into the club, pushing past sweaty and drunk patrons. As they approached the dance floor, they saw Tasha in the middle, her arms outstretched to her sides, drinking out of a wine bottle that was being held by the man she was dancing with. The crowd was cheering her on.
"Stark! Stark! Stark! Stark!"
After finishing the bottle, Tasha grabbed it and tossed it across the club and against a wall as people screamed in excitement. Stane sighed.
"I can't say I'm surprised."
Pepper walked up the dance floor, and saw Happy standing on the edge of it. He was wearing a clean black suit and had his hands held behind his back.
"Happy . . . ."
Happy turned to Pepper.
"Hey, Pep, what's . . . ."
"We're leaving," said Pepper. "Now."
Happy looked at Tasha, who was still dancing, and then back at Pepper.
"But . . . ."
"Now."
Happy sighed.
"Okay, okay."
Happy stepped up onto the dance floor and began to gently push the crowd apart. People moaned as they stepped off the white tiles. Mike slowly stopped playing the music as Tasha looked at him.
"Hey . . . ."
"Tasha," said Happy. "We've got to go."
"But . . . . it's not even two AM yet . . . ."
"Come on," said Happy. "Pepper and Obadiah are here."
"Oby and Peps?" said Tasha. "They should join me up here! Three's great but four's even better!"
Happy put his arm around Tasha's shoulders and began leading her off the dance floor. They walked up to Pepper and Stane. After they got off the floor, Mike began playing music again and the club's atmosphere was restored.
"Hey guys!" said Tasha.
"You didn't show up for the quarterly meeting," said Stane. "Again."
"Oh, don't worry about it," started Tasha. "I shouldn't have gone! I'm drunk! I would've looked like an idiot!"
Tasha laughed hysterically as Pepper rolled her eyes. Tasha then put on a straight face.
"Okay, okay," said Tasha. "I'm okay now. Seriously."
"Right," said Pepper.
"I don't know why you lot get so concerned," said Tasha. "Happy's here! I have my own personal guard-body."
"We're not concerned about your person, Tasha," replied Stane. "We're concerned about your personality."
"What?"
"You know that Obadiah has trouble doing these things on his own," said Pepper. "You're his business partner . . . . he needs you to care about the business."
Tasha furrowed her brow.
"Alright, alright . . . . go ahead, chastise me, whatever . . . ."
Stane rolled his eyes.
"It's not about chastising, Tasha," exclaimed Stane. "It's about you lacking any sense of responsibility when it comes to Stark Enterprises."
Stane turned around and walked off.
"Obadiah!" called out Tasha. "Obadiah! Shit."
Tasha walked off after him as Pepper and Happy followed. Stane exited the club and and started to walk down the street. Tasha ran up to him and grabbed at his arm.
"Can you just wait a second . . . ."
Tasha yanked on Stane's arm, twisting him around. He looked at her with an unimpressed face.
"Look, I'm sorry that I made you go to that meeting by yourself, okay?" started Tasha. "I . . . . completely forgot about it . . . . I never meant to upset you, okay? Come on, Oby, we've been best buds for so long . . . . don't stay mad at me, okay?"
Tasha stepped up to Stane.
"Here."
Tasha reached out and adjusted Stane's glasses, and then fixed his hair. After gently massaging his smooth face, she then grabbed both of his shoulders.
"There. You're all fixed up," said Tasha. "Are we okay?"
Stane breathed in deeply and then sighed. He took a few seconds before responding.
"Yeah," replied Stane. "We're okay."
"Good," said Tasha. "I'll see you later, buddy."
She then let go of his arms and gently slapped him on the shoulder before turning around and walking towards her car. Happy followed after her as Stane and Pepper got in their own car. As she was about to get in, a man with blond hair ran up to her with a microphone.
"Ms. Stark!"
Happy immediately blocked the man's movement. Tasha looked at him.
"Ms. Stark! Christian Everhart, with Vanity Fair. I just wanted to ask a couple of questions."
Happy looked at Tasha. Tasha nodded. Happy moved out of the way as Christian stepped up.
"Thank you."
"What do you want to know, Christian?" asked Tasha, folding her arms.
"I've been working on an exposé about the terrorist attack on Tampa back in May, trying to find out as much information I can about the back story . . . ."
"Where's your question, pal?"
"What do you say to the rumours that it was actually your employee, Walter Macken, who was responsible for the Sentinel attack?"
"Absolutely ridiculous," answered Tasha. "Macken is a good employee who was caught in a bad situation."
"So you're saying that no one at Stark Enterprises was at all responsible for the destruction caused by your creations?"
Tasha unfolded her arms.
"Look, we built the prison that's currently keeping Magneto locked away," said Tasha. "There's not much profit to be made in domestic terrorism, kid."
"Really? That seems quite odd, given that the Sentinels' main goal was the elimination of mutants, who, if I might remind you, include American citizens."
Tasha narrowed her eyes.
"You want to get into questioning my company? Fine, but you question my integrity as an American, then you're going too far. The Sentinels are no longer with Stark Enterprises anymore. You want to talk about mutant-hunting robots? Go to Bolivar Trask."
Happy looked back and forth between Tasha and Christian.
"Amazing," said Christian. "You absolutely refuse to take any responsibility for anything. Do you ever lose an hour of sleep over your lack of accountability?"
Tasha looked up and down Christian's body.
"I'd be prepared to lose a few with you," replied Tasha.
Tasha pushed Christian into her room. Her pants were already off, and she ripped off her shirt. Grabbing Christian's face and pulling it to hers, she began to unbutton his shirt. He pulled down his own pants, followed by his underwear, all without breaking lips with her. Tossing his shirt to the floor, Tasha then pulled down her panties as he undid her bra. Tasha pushed Christian onto her bed and jumped on top of him.