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Midtown Manhattan, New York City, New York, August 23, 2010

For Stan

ARC I: A HERO TO ONE IS A HERO TO ALL

+1 Month after the Attack on Stark Expo

She had been running for her life for approximately an hour.

Not that she actually knew that, having scrambled, dashed, sprinted, hopped, and stumbled through the concrete maze with its metal conveyances known as New York City, a place she had heard of but had never really seen before. The streets were a mess of people walking to and fro whatever destinations that they had while the car, metal contraptions that rolled along the middle of the concrete paths in between huge buildings, seemed to go wherever they wanted, whenever they wanted. She hadn't quite learned the art of crossing intersections safely yet, dashing across the wide lanes in a mad scramble to stay ahead of her pursuers. Always they came, catching up to here whenever she leaned against a building to catch her breath, or when she ducked in an alley to avoid being seen. They followed in cars of their own, large black things with black mirrored windows that always seemed to be just behind her. She had no idea where she was going, who she should go to, or how much longer she could keep this up.

The girl running around in the obvious medical smock was on her last legs.

She continued to run, her labored breathing and clammy skin all signs of her exhausted state, her feet fueled by fear. Adrenaline kept her going, but even that biological support of fight-or-flight had been overtaxed, not to mention the pinch in her side was more like a stab wound that never seemed to go away. She panted as she ran past pedestrians, skirting along by men in business suits and women in dresses, people in street clothes, even police officers in uniform. She never stayed still, continuing to run blindly without a real destination in mind, heading south as she passed a large intersection dominated by advertisement and a huge television monitor, marking it the most recognized intersection in the world. She ran by it without a glance, heading down Forty-Second Street where the road ended several blocks away with the presence of a Neo-Romanesque building known as Grand Central Terminal. Not that the girl knew of this, recognized this, or even that the building in question was a transportation hub for the city's many subways. She was merely fleeing in that general direction towards a large marble building styled in the classical look of Roman architecture.

And a ninety-three story behind it that had been recently purchased by a billionaire tech tycoon rather famous for shutting down the weapons division of his own company following being rescued from a kidnapping in Afghanistan.

She ran, the pinch murderously painful as her labored breaths were drowning her ears with her own huffs, her skin slick with sweaty and almost hot to the touch from exertion while her face was cool, almost chilly. Biologically, any number of professional athletes could have told the girl on the lam that she had ran past the point of no return; she had exhausted everything she had, and then the back-up, and now was merely running on fumes and desperation. Every stop she made took her longer to recover, and shrunk the distance she could make before she was forced to stop once more. Anyone that ran as a hobby or as a profession would have congratulated her on her performance if they had known she had never ran a day in her life, not once until today. The fear kept her going, to be as far away as possible from where she had escaped, to be away from the men that chased her in their big black car with its black polished windows that reflected everything, nearly impossible to see within. Fear fueled her, but like any other source of power, it was finite.

And she was at the very end of her biological tank.

Had she ran upon any other street, had been a little bit slower, or had ducked down a side alley to avoid detection and recovered, she would have missed the sight; one that even she recognized, along with others around her. It was of no small notice that when the MetLife building had been bought by a world-famous weapons developer who turned his company around to create more efficient energy sources and better technological marvels with the intent to help mankind, people noticed. It didn't hurt that the man in question could, in fact, come and go as he pleased, in a much more laissez-faire way than even his super-wealthy contemporaries, forced to used something so mundane as elevators and even helicopters. The man in question didn't need to.

Not when he could fly whenever he wanted, wherever he wanted, while telling the Federal Aviation Administration where they could stick their complaints.

A streak of fire that came from a sight colored crimson-and-gold appeared in the skies above, the sound of a sub-sonic boom echoing down the streets of New York as the pilot slowed down to be noticed; he was like that, after all. The pedestrians on the streets stopped to look up in the sky, not to see a bird or a plan, but the Iron Man, a technological marvel that was a man-sized, man-shaped suit that could propel a man into the air and fly with more grace and agility than even a military jet fighter. The sight of the suit was infamous worldwide, everyone knowing the identity of the man whom the suit encompassed.

Anthony Edward 'Tony' Stark. Billionaire. Philanthropist. Genius. Engineer.

Superhero.

Like everyone else around her, she looked up in the sky to see that figure of crimson-and-gold streaking down Forth-Second Street to his own personal tower, flying low and slow to the adulation of the crowds on the street, like a returning king on parade to the peasants. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of him, flying forward like an angel. Despite the fear, the exhaustion, the sharp pain in her side, how much her legs ached and her lungs hurt, a brief moment of hope filled her chest as she ran towards the middle of the concrete path without looking.

Right into traffic.

The first two cars missed her due to sheer timing, one too far away as she dashed across the first lane, and the second passing by before she reached the second. The helpful double yellow lines that seemed to be an indicator of which direction the cars traveled became her life line as she stood in that river of concrete whose current was quite treacherous, the blaring of horns and the sound of squealing tires on pavement as brakes were slammed echoing in the great canyon of Midtown, cars screeching to a halt as motorists avoided the girl who had just ran out onto a busy street and stood in the middle of it. And there she stood, her feet planted upon the two solid yellow lines that were an invisible barrier two the two opposing directions of travel, holding her hands up high to be seen by the man flying in a suit of crimson-and-gold, decked out in a medical smock colored white, a cry upon her lips, one of recognition and desperation.

As she did so, a small fleet of five black Sport Urban Vehicles turned onto Forty-Second Street at a higher rate-of-speed than necessary, their tinted windows reflecting back to prevent what was within from being seen.

Anthony Edward 'Tony' Stark, the philanthropic billionaire inventor known throughout the world as the Iron Man flew low and slow down Forty-Second Street as he took a causal fly-by down the busy street from where Times Square began and the last stretch that would take him to Stark Tower, the upper ten floors being his personal fiefdom; the kingdom for the King of Machines. He had purchased the MetLife Building right after the Stark Expo Attack, partially to generate good press, and partially because he wanted to keep an eye on his 'baby'. Not that he didn't love flying along the Californian Coast in his multi-million dollar suit whenever he wanted (and he did) but Point Dume was far enough away from prying eyes that people got to miss the opportunity of seeing him, or only from a distance. Right here, in the heart of Midtown? He could fly lower than helicopters and planes, in plain sight of the public. Yeah, it got him good press and a legion of fans, but it also reminded the public that he was looking out for him, the whole Superman thing going on for him.

Seriously, it was worth every dollar the Tower cost plus its renovations showing off and enjoying the publicity as the worlds' only superhero, living right in the open in the Big Apple. It was proper alchemy, really.

So when he was doing a slow fly-by down Forty-Second Street, heading towards Park Avenue, JARVIS began to speak.

[Mr. Stark, there is a young girl standing in the middle of Forty-Secod], a PiP popped up displaying the event, [and a cursory scan shows that she is trying to seek your attention] Well, that wouldn't be the first time someone had done something rash to catch his eye. [Vital signs indicate she is in great distress]

"She is standing in the middle of the street in rush hour traffic in Midtown." Tony quipped, though his brain was already running the numbers (his brain was always running the numbers). Swoop in, pluck child from dangerous location, place her on the sidewalk, perhaps find lost parent, lots of photo ops of him saving a child. Good press, good cause, good opportunity to be a little bit more than just a technological marvel. Being a hero had its good days and its bad days, and while he couldn't stoop to help every person who wanted it or needed it, this was a pretty cut-and-clear win-win situation for both himself and the girl in the middle of the road, Tony already orienting his suit via his feet, hands, legs, arms, and the curve of his spine to direct his flight to intercept in a causal manner. His suit weighed in at over four-hundred pounds, and a gentle landing was highly recommended.

[Sir, her blood pressure, heart rate, body temperature, widen pupils, and excessive perspiration indicates that she has been in a state of fear for some time. I genuinely believe she actually needs assistance more than just her physical location], JARVIS showed a preliminary graph next to the video enhancing the girl's image. No, not girl. Not a girl, not yet a teenager. Perhaps twelve to thirteen years old, waving at him in the classic 'save me' motion, both hands moving vertically at her sides to gain as much attention as possible. The graph showed that her heart rate was through the roof, as was her blood pressure. Adrenal response; fight-or-flight. Tony had a thought; this girl had ran into the middle of the street filled with moving vehicles to catch his attention because the sidewalks were clogged with people taller than she.

An act of desperation?

Tony was only meters away as he righted himself, the stabilizers in his hands and feet lowering him to the ground in a calm manner before cutting them off very nearly at the pavement, dropping the last few inches where the suits' gyroscopic inertia dampeners took the shock of the landing beautifully, his knees hardly noticing the landing as he stood in front of a tweenager dressed in… a medical smock? Tony noted that there was no medical bracelet on either wrist, just a very young woman in a hospital gown… no, that wasn't true. This was a one piece that didn't have any print on it such as flowers, and it didn't seem to open up in the back either. This was odd.

"Kid, I don't why you thought to go in the middle of the street-"

"They're after me!" The girl's young voice cried out, her words filled with fear and desperation, her green eyes filled with fear. This wasn't an act or some fangirl trying to get his attention by running into the middle of a very busy street. "I've been running for so long, and I don't know where I'm at!" The audio processors in his suit transmitted her words, and her biometric data was all over the place; her heart was going at a whopping two-hundred beats per minute, her blood pressure was near heart attack levels, and Tony couldn't help but notice how pale she was. Not just frightened pale, that was generally only the face. No, the girl really was almost as white as the garment as she wore. Like a ghost. It was a stark contrast to her fiery hair and green eyes, but he could swear that this girl had never been hit by the light of day before. Ever. "Oh no! T-They're here!" The girl rushed to him and clutched at his armored leg, practically kneeling at his feet and using him as a human shield. But there had been no mistaking that tone of voice; sheer terror had filled her words.

Tony turned to where the girl had been looking behind him, and he noted that five blacked-out SUV's now occupied Forty-Second Street where traffic had been stopped due to the girl and himself, and the occupants were letting themselves out of the vehicles.

That wasn't a good sign.

During moments of interest, most people in vehicles would rubberneck a scene, usually causing traffic jams. If traffic were stopped, perhaps a few more aggressive people would open a door, take one step out and stand up t o see what the fuss was all about, sometimes being vocal about it. But to see someone physically leaving their vehicle and walking towards something? Cops did that. Government agents did that.

Tony had a feeling these yahoos weren't either as his Heads-Up Display began marking the fifteen men in professional-looking attire stepped out of their vehicles and started walking towards him in a manner he would describe as nonchalant.

"JARVIS? Get me captures of faces and license plates from traffic cameras, CCTV's, and anyone streaming this." Tony told his Artificial Intelligence Program, already knowing that his suit would be recording everything anyhow. He wouldn't be able to see everything due to the amount of cars clogging up the street, but he noted that none of the drivers got out of the SUV's, only the passengers. The way they strode forward suggested a keen level of professionalism; gorillas in suits with prior experience that probably equaled law enforcement or military. None of them seemed wary or perturbed approaching him, either. Perhaps they were Government agents of some kind, but a PiP display of the lead vehicle didn't show any extra antennas that one saw on official government vehicles belonging to the Federal Bureau of Investigations or the Department of Homeland Security, the two more obvious agencies. Something said private security, no matter what they might claim.

Tony turned to face the men approaching him, pivoting on the leg the girl was wrapped around, hiding behind it in sheer terror. That was all he needed to know.

"Stark, hand over the girl. This doesn't have to get complicated." The lead gorilla said when he was within twenty-five feet or so of him, well within pistol range as if that mattered. Lead Gorilla was slightly older than the others, Stark noted, his head completely shaved, a little bit of wear-and-tear upon a weathered face that said this wasn't the man's first rodeo. Probably ex-Special Forces that got gigs doing private corporate security as high-level asset protection agents, usually supervisors or managers. The guy just looked the part of a leader of villainous henchmen in an action movie.

"Of course it doesn't. All the cell phones with the record option and connectivity to the internet via wifi will ensure you play nice." Tony replied flippantly, well aware of the crowded street and sidewalks, where at least a hundred motorists were within fifty feet of where he stood and hundreds if not over a thousand pedestrians now stood watching what was unfolding before them. A few smaller PiP screens to the side of his main view showed him the accuracy of his statement. "You don't have to take me for my word if you wish; I invented the camera phone, after all." Actually, he invented the selfie, too. While drunk at a party arm-in-arm with a pretty lady.

The fourteen other gorillas were slowly circling where he stood, keeping a safe distance (relatively speaking) from him while slowly surrounding him while he faced Lead Gorilla. The way Lead Gorilla and the other men held their jackets where they parted at the middle was a pretty clear indication that they were all armed, and their hands were itching for their firearms.

Not that he had to worry about it, but bullets did ricochet off of metal, and he was surrounded by bystanders.

"So tell you what… John Tanner of St. Paul, Minnesota," Tony replied fully, getting the man to do a slight enough double-take to realize that Stark had the ability to do facial recognition while in his suit, "so this doesn't get complicated, I'm going to tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to fly out of here with a plus one. And you're going to watch with your dick in your hand while I find out why some girl deserves to have a circus act of suited assholes chasing her down, terrifying her so much that running into the middle of a busy street to flag me down was actually an option."

"You're going to regret this, Stark." The Lead Gorilla leveled the threat, obviously knowing that he was going to come up second place. Tony looked down to where the girl was, kneeling in the street with her thin arms hugging his armored leg desperately. She was looking up at him, and he could see the fear and desperation in her eyes. But something else was there, too; hope.

Help me, those eyes begged, rimmed with tears, that face wild and scared. Please.

"No, Tanner," Tony turned his helmeted head back to the Gorilla, letting him see the gold-titanium alloyed mask with its hot-rod red paint and glowing ocular sensors, a sight that gave most hope and some dread, "I don't think I will." He reached down with an offering hand towards the girl, whose own hand tentatively took it. He then abandoned propriety by scooping her up in a bridal carry, his suit very easily taking her weight (barely a hundred pounds, according to the biometrics) as her arms went around his armored neck. Hundreds of cell phones were recording the event, and a small marquee came up at the bottom of his field of vision indicating that the local news was now breaking into segments for a special report. "Oh, Tanner?

"I'll catch you later." Pity the man couldn't see Tony's shit-eating grin. Let him eat that implication.

With that, he took to the sky with a child in his arms, leaving her pursuers in his wake.

Just like a superhero.

Author's Note: This was a spontaneous idea I had while working on The Avengers: Disney Princess Edition. Ten minutes of planning had me banging out a 3,500 wood chapter in less than an hour without my usual research. But unlike most stories that introduce OC's, this one is eighteen months prior to the Battle of New York, set right after Iron Man 2.

I didn't name the girl. On purpose.

I wanted to make Tony Stark a little… different. He's a technological hero, and everything that he is is an invention, a modification, a lesson learned, or a prototype. So some of his retorts were aimed right at that (such as the cell phones being used to record what was going on ensuring no one would do anything stupid, and then labeling the man's name through facial recognition). And Tony always has the final word.

And I wanted it to be a good one.

The name of this first ARC: A HERO TO ONE IS A HERO TO ALL, I think perfectly sets the mood for what I have in mind over the next few chapters. Tony, after all, pretty much abducted a very young woman from off the street in front of thousands of witnesses (and cell phones).

Tony inventing both the camera phone and the selfie? That was just for fun!