Disclaimer: I do not own any movies set up in the Marvel Cinematic Universe or Star Wars movies, cartoons, games, books, or comics. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is not created with a commercial aim. It is not for sale or rent.

Phase 5: Changing world III

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Part 1

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Hammer Industries HQ

New York, US

"Mr. Hammer, I must warn you again, it might not be wise to sue Stark Industries at this time."

Justin Hammer glowered balefully at his lead legal expert. He took a hefty mouthful of whiskey and enjoyed the burning sensation as it went down.

"Stark's trying to get us out of business, the bastard, and he might just do it if we let him!" Justin bellowed. "We're the budget solution for the world over! That's our thing, and until now, there was no shortage of people buying our guns! Now Stark is going after our market share!"

"Even if that's true, Mr. Hammer, it's clear that the US government has found reasons to support him. Trying to sue both the government and Stark…." The old fart trailed off. "We need to know more about the why of it before filing in lawsuits, is all I am saying."

"By then, it might be too late. If Stark's prototype fusion reactor works…." Justin grits his teeth. "And it will work because it's fucking Stark, then the bastard will have a license to print money. Stark Industries will use that to ruthless advantage. We're already seeing it with their ongoing negotiations! Things changed! We can't wait!" Justin smiled for the first time that day. "Think. We won't be the only ones going after Stark. If he gets fusion up and running, Coal's fucked. Once the infrastructure is in place, natural gas and oil prices will really begin to fall" He chuckled. "And not just because everyone's been speculating to raise the prices, betting on the continued increase in prices until we ran out of the stuff, and suddenly, Stark threw a wrench in that scheme too."

Justin drained his glass and pointed at the lawyer.

"Get the lawsuits filed. We won't be the only ones doing it. I feel it might help everyone threatened by Stark to bury the bastard in red tape."

=SI=

Hydra facility
Russian Federation

Machines beeped and hissed, all tied up to his father. Ivan sat on a nearby chair, staring at a nearby wall painted white. At least the painkillers still worked, even if the dose his father needed was nearly fit to kill a man.

Anton Vanko opened his watery eyes and wheezed. "No regrets, my boy. The mistake was mine, and I'm paying for it. I've made many mistakes, and my only regret is that you ended up here with me."

"It's all right. It certainly beats prison." Ivan mumbled.

Anton wheezed again. "That one was on you. Plutonium, really? You're lucky you're not stuck like me, boy."

Ivan rolled his eyes. He took precautions. His father took precautions too, but they didn't work. Even with the best available materials, there were issues with scaling up and down the Arc reactor they've been working on for nearly a decade. A large one to power up a building or a district could be reinforced, shielded, and with the proper cooling, remain stable. A small one, no larger than a car's battery, can work too. Such designs were close to the edge of what current material science allowed.

Something in between, fit to be portable, potent enough to power up vehicles, and perhaps energy weapons? The last prototype went out of control, burned through its reinforced housing with ease, and created a radiation beam that sliced right through Anton.

It killed Ivan's father then and there, just slowly. Vanko's hands twitched. He wanted to hug his father, comfort him, or shake him for fucking up. He couldn't. As close as his father was, he was behind thick transparent 'curtains' made to catch radiation.

Sooner rather than later, he would have a choice to make. One large dose of painkillers and his father would fall asleep one last time, free of pain. It was either that or watching him fall apart because of the radiation.

It was a stupid accident all around. Suppose they had used a different alloy for the experimental containment vessel. In that case, there might have been no radiation burst, just a powerful energy arch and perhaps a jet of plasma.

Then again, either of those could be lethal if they hit someone.

"Worry not, my son. You'll charge the world! I know it! I taught you everything I know!" He gave him a pained smile.

Anton's teeth were bloody.

Ivan closed his eyes. It was time. There was no need to watch his father slowly die. It wasn't like there was much left to say. He pulled out a small remote from his pocket. It could override the safety restriction on the painkillers his father had access to.

Anton looked at him, then nodded and closed his eyes. Ivan pressed the button.

=IS=

The Golden City
Wakanda

It was rare for the Tribal Council to meet in an emergency session. Wakanda might not be without issues. However, they seldom raised in importance and danger to require hasty actions.

Today was different. For centuries, War Dogs scoured the world for dangers against Wakanda. They brought back technologies and knowledge to ensure the continued prosperity of their people. These actions, alongside the incredible advances spurred by their vibranium, secured Wakanda's uncontested technological position in the most dangerous decades since the tribes first united in a single nation.

War Dog, after War Dog, reported what they learned. America and Europe stirred. They were on the edge of leading the whole world in an unprecedented technological race, one that had the potential to threaten Wakanda's position of primacy and thus endanger their security.

"This is of no concern to us!" M'Baku scoffed. "Who cares what outsiders do? Our problems are right here, in this city! You've all forgotten our roots and spit on our traditions!"

Old M'Kathu groaned at that outburst.

"We're Wakanda's first line of defense!" The leader of the Border Tribe reminded the Council. "We know what primitive outsider weapons can do! We've built our defenses on assumptions that might soon become obsolete! Our shield and holographic fields hide us and give us specific advantages. We're equipped and trained to fight in close quarters, protected by artillery. We all excel in fighting a type of war the outsiders abandoned long ago because we can force such a fight on any outsider group that attacks us. If this changes, we can lose it all."

"What do you propose, Elder M'Kathu?"

"Go on. Ask our War Dogs how outsiders fight. Let them remind us all what we might face if we're discovered. Look me in the eyes and tell me that what the Americans are working on won't greatly blunt our defensive advantages when ready and distributed among their warriors!"

T'Chaka rubbed his chin and looked at the War Dogs standing tall and proud in front of the Council.

M'Kathu's questions were largely rhetoric. The War Dogs already explained what the Americans were working on. Fusion energy, which by all accounts, they wanted to be introduced as fast as possible. Advanced alloys to better protect warriors and war machines. Stark, a name well known even in these hallowed halls, was working on energy weapons, or so the War Dogs believed.

In time, it might not matter that vibranium would still be better and give Wakanda an advantage. When all was said and done, Wakanda was a small nation. Its army, no matter how advanced and well-trained, was small. The reported changes meant that the price to outsiders for overcoming Wakanda's defenses might turn from an unsustainable one to a blood price governments might be ready and able to pay.

"Buy us time to find new ways to defend Wakanda," M'Kathu announced. "I don't care if this means unleashing our War Dogs on unsuspecting outsiders or if we use the Trade Tribe's contacts to become the ones guiding how the outside world advances! Doing nothing is madness!"

"You'll have us reveal ourselves!" M'Baku erupted. "Such madness goes against all our traditions! I will not have it! Your love for this damn technology got us here in the first place! We've wasted an incredible number of resources in your War Dogs, King T'Chaka! Use them! This is the price of all your hubris!"

T'Chaka suppressed a wince. There was no simple answer that the Council might agree to. Elements within the Merchant Tribe had been pushing for more trade and connection with the outside world for decades, ever since the outsiders began to show commendable levels of civilization and enjoyed a reasonable amount of technology in their daily lives.

M'Kathu spoke sense too. T'Chaka had visited the outside world more than a few times. Because of that and constant reports from the War Dogs, he knew that the outsiders continued to advance faster and faster. At this rate, they would have eventually caught up with Wakanda or at least come close enough to it.

However, recent developments ensured such a thing might happen in his lifetime instead of being something his son or grandson would have to worry about for decades.

It wasn't like the War Dogs hadn't assassinated people before. It happened because people knew too much about Wakanda or got their hands on vibranium. The other reason was darker. This very Council in the past authorized assassinations because someone was dabbling with sciences once upon a time deemed too dangerous for outsiders to possess. The rapidly changing world ensured such assassinations would be largely pointless and dangerous. Knowledge and progress spread like wildfire over the past century. Killing a scientist or even destroying a laboratory with everyone inside would, at best, slow things down. The War Dogs almost exclusively watched and reported for the past few decades instead of acting proactively.

The last time this Council discussed an assassination, it was another Stark. That became a moot point after someone else murdered the man. T'Chaka faced a similar decision for the second time in his life.

Should they kill Howard Stark's son to buy Wakanda more time? Would the risk be worth it? Could he afford not to act?

"I want viable alternatives!" T'Chaka put his foot down. "We're Wakanda's Tribal Council, our people's supposedly wise leaders! Act like it! M'Kathu, elaborate on your position. What do you want us to change in our defense? Why do you believe that unleashing the War Dogs might be wise? And why did you suggest risking it all through revealing who and what we are?"

The heated discussion was far from over when the sunset and artificial lights lit up the city with a bright gold shimmer.

Even if the Merchant Tribe was willing to trade more with the outside world, its leader wasn't too keen on revealing what Wakanda was. The only thing the heated discussion made clear was that no one would support showing Wakanda's technology to the world. Not even if it was in an attempt to guide it in a way that might benefit them best.

That left them with two options – prepare as well as possible for discovery and potential war while ignoring the outsiders or do the same while buying Wakanda as much time as possible.

T'Chaka himself wasn't a fan of either option. They were lacking. Yet, his request for better options fell on deaf ears. He thought about his late brother, N'Jobu's obsession with colonizers and his manic desire for war. That arrogance, that belief that Wakanda could do it all alone, he could see it in the actions and words of almost all of the Councilors.

Even M'Kathu, who warned them of outsider danger, underestimated what unleashing the War Dogs might mean. Even worse, when push came to shove, he didn't vote for sharing any technology with the outside world. How else could the Merchant Tribe even attempt to influence the world at large in a way that matters?!

T'Chaka looked at the bickering Elders, and his heart sank.

=SI=

Part 2

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Stark mansion

New York, US

Hannah pouted and poked the housing of a disassembled drone. That was the first one that heroically died under her control. Fans or not, I still wasn't sure how she managed to entangle it in two tree branches. Yanking it out of the tree top with the Force didn't favor it either.

"This one is fit

only for spare parts." I tapped the partially disassembled drone in front of me with a screwdriver.

I pushed it in front of my daughter. She sat on an expensive office chair which could r

ise quite a bit.

"Do you want to do the honors?" I asked.

My mother's eyes looked back at me. Hannah poked the drone's housing again and pushed it aside. She grabbed a small screwdriver, scrunched her nose, and tried to open the drone. After two unsuccessful attempts, she huffed at me and pushed the drone back to me.

"It's a bit tight, isn't it?"

"Bad drone!" Hannah offered her conclusion.

"Yes, they don't make it as I remember anymore." I agreed.

The small screws holding the housing together were quite tricky to get loose. I unscrewed them halfway through so they were all easy to move and gave the small machine back to Hannah.

"Try it now."

My daughter looked suspiciously at the drone. She poked it once again, then began to slowly take it apart.

Yesterday, a few hours of sun in the afternoon led to a breath of fresh air and the demise of three more drones. One turned to be flimsier than the rest, died heroically after failing to make a sharp turn, and crashed into a bullet-resistant window. Number two busted a fan after flying through the branches of the same tree that was the nemesis of Hannah's first drone.

The third one proved that this model wasn't waterproof enough after it managed to land in a pitcher with orange juice. The fact that Hannah wasn't a big fan of orange juice might have had something to do with that 'accident.' She certainly didn't look or feel as concerned as when she lost the other two drones.

A sense of triumph washed over me from Hannah. She cracked open the housing and was busy taking apart the components inside.

An integrated circuit met a screwdriver.

"Hannah, dear, that's not how you take apart this piece. Here, look." I quickly opened the casing of another drone. I carefully demonstrated how to detach the wires connecting the different pieces inside without damaging the components.

Some of them were attached in a sturdy enough way that a six-year-old was unlikely to manage it without using something for leverage, thus breaking the drone. Well, it was certainly not meant for kids to disassemble it, but at best, fly it around as a toy.

"Do you want to try with another one?"

Hannah beamed at me and waved her screwdriver happily.

"Careful with that, dear."

=SI=

That evening I finally had all parts needed to assemble a kludged-together blaster rifle. It was a large, ugly thing. A thick barrel of reinforced alloy gleamed in the lab's cold light. A large, unwieldy gas canister would provide ammunition. The compression chamber was where much of the magic happened. It had more in common with a combustion chamber for a rocket than anything else. It was also one of the most expensive and complicated to get right parts of the design.

The long stock contained a bank of the best batteries on the market, and even they would be able to power the weapon for only a handful of shots. That was all right. This blaster was a proof of concept, not a weapon anyone would use in combat.

I spent a few hours assembling the blaster and ensuring everything was correctly aligned. Only then did I put the battery rack into the stock and closed it with a loud snap. The small display to the site lit up, and internal diagnostics soon came in green. I smiled and picked up the hydrogen canister. Various gasses could be used in place of Tibana. However, they were less efficient and made for less powerful and focused bolts. That also wasn't an issue. The tech we would use in the foreseeable future would be crude enough that it wouldn't matter.

By the time I got to the backyard, almost everyone on the security detail guarding the mansion had gathered to watch the show.

Major Woods was among them and looked at me with disapproval.

"Mr. Stark, wouldn't it be better if someone else tests the weapon?" He looked critically at the contraption in my hands.

"I know better than to order others to do something I'm not willing to do."

"We're supposed to keep you alive and intact, Mr. Stark."

"You're supposed to be a backup and support for me and keep my family intact." I shot back.

Woods still felt uneasy every time I reminded him of that unusual fact.

The staff already had a folding table set up at the far end of the garden with a watermelon on it. Besides a block of synthetic cement, the trade marked market name of synthecrete.

"If it makes you feel better, get a few steps back, folks," I told them and carefully attached the gas contained to the blaster. A beep soon followed, and two more green lights came to life. "Here goes nothing." I aimed and carefully squeezed the trigger.

A loud crack echoed over the backyard just as a bright bluish bolt lit it up. A wave of heat washed over me, and the weapon in my hands warmed up a lot.

A steam explosion obliterated the watermelon and threw a thin film of boiling fruit all over the reinforced wall behind it.

"Fuck me! We've got ray guns now!" An enthusiast exclaimed.

Woods stared at the weapon with worry. Its barrel let out visible smoke due to the cool night.

I aimed again and shot at the synthetic cement block. The second shot made the weapon in my hands uncomfortably hot. Smoke and dust obscured the table.

I removed the gas canister and put the blaster on a nearby table, letting it cool down.

"That's not a practical weapon, even if it has some punch," Woods noted.

"It's not supposed to be. This is merely a technology demonstrator. We need better materials science, ways to focus the beam and to insulate and cool it safely." All in small enough packages to be wielded by regular infantry.

Either that or energy weapons would be exclusively vehicle mounted or wielded by people wearing armored and insulated exoskeletons.

We walked to the table, and I smiled at what we saw. The blaster bolt left a relatively shallow but large crater blown in the synthetic concrete. This stuff was harder than steel-reinforced concrete used in bunkers.

A better compression chamber and focusing system would allow for more effective firepower.

I took out my phone. "Jarvis, inform our friends in the military that we have a working proof-of-concept particle weapon."

=SI=

Informational: Technological limitations and the reasons behind them

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First, general tech limitations with Earth's overall technology level. Materials science, power generation, and storage, related to them, ways to channel and dissipate heat, industrial capability, and capacity, among other things.

These are the core limiting factors in getting more of either the SW tech Tony MK Sith is developing, the Ark reactor, repulsors, and any other tech created on this MCU earth.

Materials that aren't good enough limit what you can do safely or at all with either fusion or Ark reactors, as I mentioned or implied in the story.

Heat dissipation and insulation are other significant issues. Even if small Arc reactors can produce the same amount of power we saw them trivially generate in the first IM movie, this causes other problems. The heat produced as a side effect of not frying Tony or outright melting the reactor housing is an issue in this story. The implications of the tech and metallurgy needed for such feats are staggering unless we write off the Arc rector as magic. That obviously doesn't work for this story.

The same goes for making tiny repulsors as deadly and valuable as we saw in the movie, while they don't fry Tony or outright blow-up.

Surviving the punishment, we saw IM MK 2 OTL tank trivially, or Tony not dying from breaking himself while flying the way he did? Those things look great on screen.

However, the implications of the technology allowing for such stunts are incredible. When we consider the small package such tech has to fit, the implications are beyond staggering.

Don't get me started on IM 2, where Hammer's budget suits implied that some of the critical parts of the IM suit tech were relatively easy to develop. Even without Stark doing anything to uplift the planet, Earth should have been transformed by the techs in Hammer's budget's suits alone.

We're talking about the kind of tech that interstellar societies thousands of years old would find more than impressive, built on a 21 century Earth.

Taken at face value, the tech demonstrated in the first two IM movies alone, Earth should be somehow a heavy hitter mostly on par technologically with the big players across the Milky Way Galaxy.

Ignoring these issues doesn't work, especially in a story where the implications and limitations of the available tech are one of the big plot threads. Taking the tech we saw in the movies as something that just one man working with Earth's tech level and understanding of the universe can build in short order at face value is beyond story-breaking. It doesn't matter how much of a genius Tony is. It gets even worse when we know that, according to the movies, Hammer and Vanko alone could recreate the critical components of the tech.

In a different kind of story, ignoring those issues and implications can work. That would be true for a story that doesn't focus on technological limitations and the problems of uplifting Earth, for example, but instead more traditionally focuses on the Avengers and their adventures.

I am explicitly not writing that kind of story.

What I'm doing, for what I believe is a good reason, is bringing the setting in general down to the ground. Tony, Vanko, Pym, Banner, and others are still geniuses. They, however, have to work within the limitations of Earth's technological base and understanding of the universe.

What does this mean in practice? Anything resembling mass production of IM suits and other power armor with performance close to what we saw in the first two movies would be a long-term goal for Earth and its militaries. That's endgame stuff, to use a pun.

Alien materials, like vibranium, can solve some of these issues. At least mitigate and sidestep problems allowing for limited production numbers of equipment that would be otherwise impossible due to critical supporting technologies not being there.

For example, with vibranium, Stark can build much better Arc and fusion reactors. He can get much more potent and smaller energy weapons, even shield systems. However, due to material scarcity, this would generally be bleeding-edge prototype technology demonstrators. While very useful in combat, they wouldn't have the numbers to make enough difference in a real war if the rest of the military backing them is not advanced enough.

That's likely how we'll see this story's first proper IM suits. They'll incorporate alien materials and possible alien tech to sidestep issues that would make them impossible for the time being. Even then, unless everything in it is made from vibranium in one form or another, heat from repulsors or the Arc reactor would be hazardous. If somehow not to the user, then to the various components of the suit itself.

Vibranium armor shouldn't help the person inside if they try maneuvers at high acceleration or have to suffer deceleration beyond what the human body can tolerate unless they're enhanced. The suit would be mostly fine in that case, the pilot not so much.

Another example of limitation: without inertial dampening tech, is if Hulk picks up someone and throws them hard. A vibranium armor might negate the impact effect of crashing into something. The sudden deceleration could still be lethal.

Now, for the reasons why I am bringing the story down to Earth, so to speak. Taking at face value, the feats of a handful of people in the MCU make everyone else useless. In the fights against Thanos before the snap, almost everyone who wasn't Asgardian, Tony in his super armor, or the Vision should have died as collateral damage. The rest of the crew and their efforts shouldn't have even registered to the other combatants going all out. It should have been like ants finding themselves in a fight between gods. And if the other participants mattered, then everyone else had to be slower, hit with less power, and be less durable. Otherwise, they would have smeared Thanos all over the landscape without an issue.

Instead, durability and other capabilities of everyone acted as the plot required them instead of being more consistent.

I'm going to square this and make most characters, including whole armies, relevant, by bringing the entire setting down to Earth in one regard or another. Thor, Asgardians in general, Thanos – they will vary from extreme, incredibly tough threats for the cream of the crop while giving more down to Earth feats to regular Asgardians.

However, they will not be in a position to make armies and militaries with good enough equipment across the board irrelevant. This isn't a story where just a handful of heroes can decide the fate of the universe or the world when the time comes. It will be a clash of titans supported by whole armies that will matter.

On the one hand, this means that a handful of Avengers can't do it all. They can't shine anywhere as brightly as in the movies. On the other hand, the rest of Earth, and the universe, so to speak, will be very relevant in stopping Thanos or failing to do so.

=SI=

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