Chapter One
Greg Sanders wasn't immediately aware of what woke him. His eyes cracked open and he glanced about his room. The blackout curtains ensured all furnishings and objects were masked with a bluish-gray filter, but he could see enough to know nothing appeared out-of-place.
Then, a sound from the front of his apartment. A crash of something falling over, followed by a hushed curse.
An intruder!
Heart pounding, Greg reached to the drawer of his bedside table and slid it open. He grasped the handle of the revolver he kept there and withdrew it to his chest. His hands shook and he took a few quick breaths. He couldn't call for police because he had left his phone charging in the kitchen.
There was a fire escape located outside the bedroom window, but last he knew it was poorly maintained and may be more dangerous to navigate than facing a burglar.
A blur of motion in front of him and a happy chirp from his cat jumping up on the bed nearly made him jump out of his skin.
"I could have shot you, Tungsten!" he reprimanded in a whisper. She blinked slowly at him, purring loudly and twitching her raised tail. She chirped again, a half-meow, half-purr, as if to ask what his deal was.
Greg rolled his eyes and nudged her to the other side of the bed, then swung his legs over the side and stood silently. He grasped the gun in both hands but kept it pointed at the floor.
"Stay here," he tossed quietly over his shoulder before approaching the bedroom door, which stood open a few inches. He positioned himself so that he could peer out into the hallway and toward the front of the house, where the living room and entryway lay.
A lengthened shadow moved about, its origin just out of sight near the couch. He observed it a few seconds longer before pushing the door open and making his way into the hallway. He moved stealthily, avoiding the two creaking floorboards and the boxes he still needed to unpack from moving in a year ago.
Just as he reached the end of the hallway, the shadow halted momentarily before moving completely beyond his vision. Greg froze.
The good news? He had the intruder cornered. The person could not exit the apartment without passing through in front of Greg. The living room had windows but the apartment was on the twenty-third floor.
The bad news? He had the intruder cornered. In order to get to his phone Greg had to pass the living room to enter the kitchen. The person could be armed, and anyone cornered became vastly less predictable.
Swallowing his fear, he widened his stance and raised his gun to point at the living room.
"I've got you cornered, and I'm armed. Come out of there slowly with your hands up and I won't shoot."
He had been concerned that his voice would be weak and shrill, but was pleased when it was strong. It sounded as if he actually knew what he was doing.
A few seconds of absolute silence passed, then a heavy sigh from the other room. Greg's stomach sank; he had hoped there was a chance he only imagined the shadow and sounds.
"Exit the room with your hands up!" Greg demanded again, but this time there was a waver to his voice.
At last, the shadow reappeared and seconds later a man stumbled from the living room. His hands were initially raised but he lowered them to catch himself against the opposite wall.
"Don't shoot, okay? Calm down," the man said quickly. He righted himself and showed his hands. "This place is a huge mess. Didn't your mother teach you how to clean?"
The man wore dark gray dress pants and a casual white t-shirt under a flashy, bright blue dress jacket. His black hair was in slight disarray and dark-rimmed glasses rested crookedly on the end of his nose. He had a meticulously trimmed mustache and beard and didn't appear to be wanting for money. So why was he breaking into apartments?
"Who are you?" asked Greg.
"Before I answer that, I need to speak to Olaf."
"O-Olaf?"
"No. 'Olaf.' One 'o.' Is he sleeping? Can you wake him for me?"
Greg was confused. "My grandfather?"
"If that's who Olaf is, then yes, your grandfather. He does live here, doesn't he?"
"Papa Olaf passed away years ago."
"Well, shit. Hang on." The man held up a finger and reached down with his other hand.
"Keep your hands up!" shouted Greg, but the man ignored him and pulled a cellphone from his pocket.
"I'm eighty-nine percent sure you're not going to shoot me," he said as he casually tapped on his screen then held the phone up to his ear. His finger was still raised in a 'one moment' gesture.
Greg's jaw hung open.
"Hi, yeah, it's Tony. Remember that mission you sent me on, the one that you said only I could do, and the only way to get my suit back? Yeah, that one. Well the guy's dead!" The man shouted the last words into his phone, then listened for a moment.
Gun still leveled, Greg watched as he talked. What on earth was going on?
"Years ago, apparently. Yes. No. I mean, there's some guy with a gun pointed at me. Says he's Olaf's grandson. Yeah, hang on. What's your name?"
"I-It's Greg," he stuttered.
"What, like Prince? Do you have a last name?"
"You think you'd have the answer to that, since you broke into my apartment!" Greg started to raise his voice, frustrated. The gun might as well have been a toy with the effect its presence had, and the guy's aloof nature was getting on his nerves.
The man just stared at him expectantly.
"Sanders," Greg gave in finally.
"Sanders," the man that identified as Tony relayed into the phone, then listened again. "So he's related to Olaf. Who cares? What use is he?"
Greg scoffed. "I'm standing right here!"
Tony only hushed him and listened intently. "I see. Interesting. I guess I'll see what I can do to fix your mistake, then. We'll talk about this later."
He lowered the phone and disconnected the call before slipping it back into his pocket. "Could you stop pointing that thing at me? It's difficult to have a serious conversation like this."
He moved three steps toward Greg, who backed up the same number.
"Stay where you are!" Greg warned.
"Fine. We'll do it your way." He stepped closer still. "Greg Sanders, my name is Tony Stark, and I have a mission for you."
Finding himself within feet of the intruder, Greg's aim faltered. He couldn't shoot someone that wasn't actually hurting him.
Another chirp, and both men looked down at the cat winding its way good-naturedly around Stark's legs.
"What the—c'mon, you're getting hair on the pants." The man let out another sigh. "You know what? This is going badly. How about we try this again some other time?"
Before Greg could even consider reacting, the gun was swiped from his grasp and less than a second later something hard impacted with the side of his head. He felt only a brief flare of pain before everything went black.
A/N: I'm still working on GWS, but figured I'd spice things up a bit. I've been watching the Marvel movies lately and this came to mind. Unsure where it's headed, or if it's heading anywhere. Let me know what you think!
*Never read the comic books, didn't absorb all of the details in the cinematic universe. All mistakes are my own.