Arc 1 - Makeshift Hero (6 - 8)

"Guns are not allowed on the premises, you must know," Pym said distractedly, but you had known the answer before you asked - it made too much sense. Of course nobody had guns around here - considering how many of the local geniuses were critical of your military connections, it was no real surprise.

Freaking liberals.

You slipped one hand into your pocket even as you grasped Pym by the shoulder, not too subtly dragging him along. Paranoia or not - you weren't taking any chances with a repeat performance of your own capture. "We get out - now. No waiting, no maybes. When I was taken, everyone else there died. I'm not allowing that again - not here, not ever."

Pym didn't answer verbally, but his quick and nervous nod was quite enough.

"Hank - for pity's sake, stay behind me," you added after a moment. "We've got to work ourselves back outside. If whoever is after you is nasty, then we need to get you out - you're the target here. Everything else is secondary."

"Mr. Stark -" Peter said nervously, rubbing his wrist as he glanced behind him. "Shouldn't we raise an alarm or something, then? With all these people here, things might get hairy."

The boy didn't question your fear, however illegitimate it might be - in fact, he seemed to take it every bit as seriously. Neither had the boy stepped aside to let the probably paranoid people run off - instead, he was sticking around, looking ready to punch somebody if need be. Heh. You were beginning to like the twerp already. He reminded you a little of Rhodey.

"I know you mean well, Peter, but a panic would just make people run around and get hurt. As long as we don't know what we're dealing with, keep things quiet."

The boy nodded in understanding. "...I know kung-fu. If we need it. I can totally kick ass."

"...Good to know," you said, grimacing to yourself when you realized that a sixteen-year old probably had more to offer than you did on that front. "Keep an eye out, will you? I'm gonna try and get us some recon," you muttered under your breath as you flipped open your phone. The holographic display came to life without even a flicker, and it took mere moment to type out a basic message, something pithy. You knew just who to call.

' JRVS - got trouble - listen in & alert auth'

You didn't get a response beyond the briefest blinks of a LED, but that was quite enough - you'd designed the system to be covert. Getting a text to Jarvis was a little hypothetical you'd brought up in a lazy hour, just a week or two before - it was paying off far sooner than you'd expected. Of course, you hadn't expected a kidnapping scenario again so soon.

Seconds after you'd pressed send, the screen of your phone changed, and vague red text appeared, barely visible from more than a few inches away. 'I am linked in. Currently analyzing venue for escape routes, alerting local authorities.'

You nodded confidently, knowing that Jarvis was probably already hooked into every security camera around - he knew exactly where you were, after all. Judging from the crappy art style and the hideous paintings on the walls, the building had probably once been a museum - its security system had to be of some quality.

Pym didn't protest as you pushed him along through a throng of party-goers that clearly had no idea that anything might be wrong, and Peter dutifully made pictures, even though it was plenty clear that he wasn't paying attention to it in the slightest. His eyes kept focusing on the hallways that led deeper into the building.

'All infrared sensors have been deactivated or uncoupled, sir - most of the security system has been physically disabled outside the main hall,' Jarvis reported, and you cursed under your breath. There went most of your reconnaissance. 'I am currently listening in on chatter - several people have mentioned a 'man in red' that was seen in one of the side-corridors.'

"Hank -" you said, and Pym started. "Did you get a look at who was stalking you? What was the guy wearing?"

"I don't know," Pym admitted. "I didn't see - it was dark…"

You frowned. "Right - that makes me wonder. What were you doing back there? Anything beyond the main hall was cordoned off for a reason. There's not even any displays left, I'm guessing, if all the cameras are off…"

"...I don't suppose you'd accept curiosity as an answer?" Pym inquired a little sheepishly, before he looked away. "Alright… it was just, I thought I saw -" The man colored. "I thought I saw Janet, alright? She told me she didn't want to come with me, said she'd be bored, but then I saw her. I figured she was playing a joke on me, and slipped away into one of the back rooms to lure me over there. I thought she was trying to - um." He coughed nervously, his embarrassment briefly overpowering even the tinge of fear that wouldn't leave. "Well…"

"Lure you into doing unspeakable things in the strangest of places?" Peter said with a tiny smile. "I wouldn't know what that's like."

You would have told the boy off, but honestly your mind had landed in the exact same gutter.

"I'm guessing that just when you thought you'd be getting off, you were attacked," you concluded wryly. "That's low. Someone lured you in with the promise of booty, then just toyed with you instead..." You gestured vaguely to your neck as you stepped around a rather loud crowd. "It sounds like you've got some real crazies after you, you know. A proper assassin would have just killed you - and a proper kidnapper would have taken you in right then."

Pym gulped nervously as he nodded. "...It doesn't make sense."

Peter frowned. "Um, I don't suppose you happened to notice any - game show elements out there?" he inquired lamely. "Arcade type stuff? Funny hats and bright colors?" He quieted, scratching his head. "Ah. No, I suppose not…"

"Why would you even think…" you started to ask, mystified, but your phone buzzed in your hand and you gave up on figuring out the weird teen for the moment.

'Transportation has arrived at the front of the building, sir. LVPD seems to be coping with DDOS attack and phone problems - likely intentional. It is doubtful they will arrive within ten minutes, even if I use alternative means of communication.'

"They got to the cops already," you said in realization, and a shiver ran down your back in recognition. That meant the attack was now. You glanced over the crowd to find Pepper, but you didn't have to look hard. She was already heading towards you, apparently keeping her word about keeping an eye on you. She had to have noticed his odd behavior. "That was quick," you murmured.

"Tony? What are you doing, stalking across the floor like that? There's still ten minutes until the first talk, you know." Her annoyance seemed to fade away into vague alarm, then, probably because she noticed Pym's blood-spattered neck, or Peter's nervous glances. "Um… Is something wrong here?"

"Everything." You turned. "We're leaving. Now. No questions." You didn't wait for her answer before you set off towards the exit, straight for the leftmost doors, closest to the parking lot. You strained to see any familiar faces, but even punchable Reed was nowhere in sight. You could hear Pepper asking you for an explanation, but you ignored her - right now, getting her and the others out was more important than playing nice.

"Hank," you said sharply. "You're being targeted here. Do you know why?"

Pym hesitated momentarily, glancing to Peter and Pepper who were following closely behind you. "It's - that is, I invented something recently, something big, so it might have something to do with that," Pym started. "My old boss tried to steal the formula, but he got sent to jail after he tried to kill me with my own tools..." He shook his head. "I didn't think he'd try that, honestly."

"That's probably not a coincidence," you said dryly. "I'm guessing he's back to finish the job, and this time he's taking his sweet time to play around first. Wonderful."

Pym shrugged helplessly. "He's supposed to be locked up."

"What are you talking about?" Pepper demanded. "Who is targeting who?"

"Whom," you corrected. "Are you carrying pepper spray? Anyway, to bring you up to speed - assassins might be here, and we have to get the hell out. I need to know if you have pepper spray, since it seems so appropriate for you. Or a taser - whatever. Something nasty."

She looked flustered as she dug into her little purse, which seemed entirely too tiny to hold anything of note. "I have - hairspray?" Pepper suggested distantly, holding up a unicorn-imprinted bottle. "That's it, though. This is a convention, Tony - why would I have anything dangerous…?"

"Well, at least we'll look stylish when we die," Peter contributed distractedly with such a blank expression that for a moment you thought he was serious. "...What? I get quippy when I'm nervous. Like right now. Duh."

Well, it was a better reaction than that of some people, you reckoned. Your own version wasn't much more helpful - all you could think of was the frozen faces of the people who'd breathed Pyre, and you had a hard time ignoring the prickling in your side. Fun reminders.

You were utterly unarmed, and that was terrible news when nobody around had a gun either; not even a stun gun. For crying out loud, you didn't even have the benefit of firecrackers.

"Jarvis, got anything for me, here? Because Daddy needs some good news right about now."

'I can be of very little assistance, sir. Some of the cameras in the main hall have infrared settings, and I am reading signals of what might be a person moving behind the walls on rare occasions - but they are faint and hard to track. I cannot be precise without detailed schematics."

"Which you don't have, because, let me guess, they recently tore up this place to make room for a convention," you observed dryly. "Thanks anyway." You slipped the phone into your suit's pocket, sighing. "Well, we're pretty much on our own. If we can't make it out before they decide to screw the bystanders and make their move -"

"Then I'm dead," Pym said in a whisper as you reached the outer doors that led towards the outside. "I really -"

He didn't get to finish the sentence. You didn't even hear the detonation before the shock-wave slammed into you, and someone dragged you to the ground, out of the path of the explosive wave of debris that followed an instant later.

There was a brief, horrified silence as you felt Pepper besides you, thankfully moving.

Pym was on the floor on the other side, clasping hands to his ears.

Vaguely, you realized that Peter was the only one still upright, and that he had to have tossed you bodily away from whatever had exploded. That wiry build was hiding a lot of muscle. Kung-fu indeed.

Then the reporter slowly toppled backwards, blood gushing from everywhere as his clothes smoldered. The thin stream of smoke joined a huge pillar of black soot that was billowing out above you.

Finally, at long last, seconds after the blast, something like reality returned to your senses.

Then the screams started.

The air was filled with ash.

You didn't know how long it took before you were conscious again, but it couldn't have been very long, as you were still on the ground, still knocked silly. Someone stood near you, over you even, but your head spun too much to get any kind of directions.

"Well, howdy there!" That loud cry pierced through the screams of hundreds of party-goers as they made their way in a mad dash towards the other exits, fleeing for their lives. You were trying to focus on the here and now, still, but your sense of balance was entirely gone. You distantly realized that someone was firing a gun - or guns - but you had no idea who.

"Yes, run! Run!" someone cried. "Makes it more fun!"

Peter was still on the ground, you noticed, but that told you nothing. It didn't help you make sense of what was going on. You could see a dozen people on the ground, perhaps dead - some of them were guards. Others - you didn't recognize them, but they had to be guests. A few people were still upright, but you had no clue who they were. Everything blurred together.

For a brief moment, you were back in the cave, back among the unknowing dead. God damn it. This was twice in as many months that you'd gotten blown up. You didn't know if it was bad karma catching up to you, but it sucked. The world turned off for a few moments - and when you came back, you felt something sticky on your forehead, and a dull pain. You'd smashed your face on the floor, then, and cut open your scalp.

But I'm still alive. We're all still alive. Right?

"Pepper," you whispered as you blinked the stars away, and thankfully you felt her squeeze your hand, even though she stayed perfectly still on the floor. Either she'd been knocked for a loop like you had, or she was playing dead - which was not a terribly bad idea. You'd just ruined your own chances by moving, of course.

It was only then that you realized someone was speaking. Yammering, even.

"- really think that you're gonna get anywhere with those stupid little pop shooters?" the person standing in front of you asked loudly, gesturing with his over-sized gun. "Seriously, I could be fighting people with MAC-10's and other badass gear, and I have to deal with My First Second-Hand Glock? I was hoping for a bit of a challenge, here."

Oh, fuck - it was just getting through to you. There'd been a bomb, and the bomber was right there, right in front of you. You'd failed.

The bastard was wearing red - that was the first thing you noticed. Then you saw the weapons hanging on his belt, and you gaped. For fuck's sake, the asshole was carrying huge bloodied swordswith him. You recognized it as weeaboo crap, katanas - but far too realistic to be fake. Now you knew what had cut Pym - even if it didn't make a lick of sense...

The man leaned down a little to look at you. "Well, lookie here - my colleague in kill-count is making googly eyes at me," the man commented from behind his face-covering mask, with two black circles around the eyes, surrounded by all the red.

Right at that moment, a bullet tore through the top of the assassin's shoulder with a spurt of blood - and the man didn't even flinch. In fact, he smiled. He looked up, his gaze focusing on somewhere behind you, probably looking at the shooter. "Well, that was awfully rude, wasn't it? Hold on for a minute."

He loosed a single shot from his oversized hand cannon, and there was a solid thud somewhere behind you. A body.

"There. That's much better, right? That makes eighteen dead cops now, nice and symmetrical, don't you think? This is something like a museum, so I gotta keep with the artsy theme, I suppose. All the red really brings out everyone's - well, organs I suppose? Fits my suit."

"What the…?" Peter mumbled confusedly, still on his back. You could see blood all over him - he'd been hit bad, even if he'd kept standing in the blast. The boy looked up at the assassin with fury burning in his eyes, but his hands seemed to cramp up as he tried to move, his fingers twitching without effect. You grabbed him by the arm, shoving him down, knowing he would only get himself killed.

The masked figure rubbed his neck as he waved his gun around in slow arcs. "Anyone else wanna try anything like that? No? Excellent! Because I've still got a lot of bullets to spread around like candy." He gave a thumbs up. "Got the message?"

There was a silence that lasted for seconds, but seemed far longer. The hall was mostly empty now of guests - you had no idea if any security guards were still alive. If police were on their way, they'd take minutes to arrive given Jarvis's estimates, and the assassin probably realized that. And even if there were other people trying to help out, you couldn't rely on that.

Well, time to keep him busy then.

"Hey, bastard," you managed to blurt out. "What do you want?!" It sounded clearer and more challenging than you thought you could manage. You pushed yourself up, slowly, your ears still ringing loudly. You managed another sentence, then: "Who the hell are you?"

Some of the pieces fell into place slowly, given your addled brain, even as you stared at the clown in front of you. This man had gotten full access to Hank Pym before, at least long enough to toy around with him in the abandoned corridors of the museum. Yet, he had set up explosives at the exit, probably to cause as much collateral damage as possible. If not for Peter's reaction, you might well have all died.

This had to be about causing fear, making the assassination as public as possible. So, this guy was another straight-up terrorist wannabe.

You were getting awfully tired of those.

The red figure smirked below his mask, you could tell. "Ah, you want to know who I am? Well, I'm just the hired gun here, Starkypoo! Haven't come for you, of course. Us mercy types like you. You give us all our best toys, after all!"

You didn't know what to say to that. Something inside shriveled up in shame.

The mercenary drew up his mask a little, exposing a malicious grin in a pockmarked face. "Example Uno. See this? This is what the good old US of A did to me - or Canada, but who cares about the details? Military experiments, you know, ever since the Forties. Fun stuff, making human weapons! I hear that your daddy had a lot to do with it…"

A shiver ran down your back as you remembered the stories of the Second World War, and the projects that spun off from there. Vibranium, its alloys, the illegal experiments with super-formulas that were stopped not long after, when HYDRA got eradicated. This was about Weapon Plus, the attempts to remake Captain America. Fuck.

"I see that you know what I'm talking about," the scarred man said jovially. "There were a lot of failed upgrades from that little horror-zone your dad inspired. We had a betting pool, see who would die first out of us failures… but I didn't." He grinned. "That's how I got my nickname, y'know. Seemed fitting."

"Whatever," you muttered distractedly as you stared at the man.

"Ah…" The mercenary said. "I see not everyone is paying attention…" The man's foot shot out and you cringed, but his kick landed squarely in Pepper's ribs, and she cried out in pain. "Well hello, sunshine - yes, I knew you were awake. Hi! My name is Deadpool." He licked his lips, smiling, and then turned to Pym, drawing one of his swords. "And 'ello there, Henry - or should I say Henrietta, after I'm done with you? Won't matter in a few minutes, I suppose. But sheesh, the man who hired me is one sick puppy..."

"You - won't -" You managed to get to your knees, panting, and Deadpool paid no attention to you except a sort of passing interest, perhaps curious to see what you would do.

Best not to disappoint - or you were very dead.

The moment seemed to freeze, and the world slowed.

You knew you needed to stall for time in order to allow the others to get away, even if it meant risking the assassin's attention onto yourself. Deadpool wasn't after you, but you could not let him take another life without protest, not when you could stop it. You had saved Yinsen's life before, after all - this was no different.

When the moment came you made your decision, you didn't hesitate. You were not sure quite when you'd grasped the lighter in your pocket, but it was already in your hand, clasped between your fingers so tightly that it hurt. Your other hand crawled away from Pepper, who trembled at the loss, and it dove into the purse that was right beside her.

You prayed her hairspray was the flammable kind.

With his focus mostly on Pym, Deadpool said something - probably an inane comment again - but you weren't really listening to him. You were still on your knees, breathing heavily as dust clogged up your throat, but that changed quickly. with a single painful movement you dragged yourself upright onto painful feet, and in the same instant you lashed out.

The assassin grasped your wrist before you could even reach his face. The man stared at your lighter with a baffled expression that swiftly turned into a grin.

"Well, that's certainly… something. You're gonna flick your bic at me?" Deadpool asked mirthfully as he shook his head. "This is a no-smoking area," he noted gleefully, grinning from below his mask. "Didn't you see the signs everywhere? Such a deviant..."

You didn't know if the asshole had simply missed the little spray can in your other hand, tiny as it was, or if he'd dismissed it as mere pepper-spray, ineffective against his face-covering mask, but that didn't really matter. One of Deadpool's hands was occupied holding yours, and the other was still aimed at Pym - neither could protect him now.

Your free hand darted up, and you pressed the tiny button on top with a grim satisfaction.

With a burst of bubbling gas, and the briefest of hisses that sent shivers of recognition down your back, a liquid wave of fire ballooned outwards from the lighter, past the hand that still held your wrist and bursting outwards against the red-and-black of the assassin's mask. For a fraction of a second the flame seemed suspended in mid-air, impossibly wild and hot for coming from such a tiny source, pure fury. For an instant, it was blue-white like unleashed Pyre.

Then Deadpool's face was on fire.

"What the f-" The assassin cried out in a mixture of surprise and shock, as the white-hot flames licked at his mask, biting into the fabric even as he pulled it off his face, exposing what was beneath. The rest of him wasn't any prettier than his previously revealed jaw - he looked like a slab of meat, cooked jerky, even without burns. He glared as he slapped out the fire on his own face, his original target forgotten.

The distraction had only been short, but it was enough - Peter was there, and his fist landed on the assassin's wrist with surprising force, knocking the man's arm away from you. The next of Peter's punches was considerably nastier, landing on the bastard's throat with a sickening crunch, and judging from Deadpool's expression, that had been a bad decision. The red-clad killer twisted away, his gun flinging around to face a new target, and he fired.

You weren't sure you'd seen it right, as Peter ducked so quickly that it seemed impossible. It was as if he knew what to avoid before it even happened. The bullet went wild, burrowing itself into the crumpled remains of the wall. The reporter - who seriously knew his kung-fu - took immediate advantage, slapping the assassin's hand aside with enough force that his gun went flying.

Barely more than twenty seconds had passed since your original assault, and in the instant of silence that seemed to follow the clatter of the gun on the floor, you glanced down to Pepper. She had rolled out of the way, thankfully, but where she had been you noticed something else. Crushed and broken, the remains of Peter's camera gleamed up at you. The broken glass and high-quality straps jumped out at you, and you had no time to rethink the spur-of-the-moment excuse for a plan that occurred to you. You only had seconds to spare.

Whatever it was that Deadpool had expected, it clearly wasn't Peter - the boy's vicious moves, despite his bruised body, had caught the man completely off guard. The assassin was disoriented, in pain, evidently quite incapable of speaking - a smell blessing - and utterly furious. A perfect blend for making mistakes.

There was no holding back, now. No time to do this nice and calm. Kill, think later. Just as Peter got hit in the side of the head with a meaty fist that rattled bones, you flung yourself back at the brute. "Hey, ugly!" you barked, and the man glanced at you out of reflex - just in time to receive a rain of shards and razors-sharp glass dust into his face.

The killer's agonized scream was horrifying, but you didn't stop for a second. Before he could recover, before he could grasp a gun or a sword and run you through, you wrapped the strap of Peter's camera around his neck, and twisted.

It seemed to work for a split second - but then it fell apart. Deadpool was impossibly strong, and his hands came up and ripped yours away as if they were nothing. He snapped the thick straps around his neck with a single harsh tug that tore into his skin, but it was nothing on top of the bleeding he was already doing. He turned towards you with pure hate in his eyes, and it was clear that he'd forgotten all about Pym, now. He'd even forgotten about Peter, who was nursing his head with a dazed expression.

Right now, he was totally focused on you, and you were unarmed. You were screwed.

"That wasn't very nice... Let's see how you like pain," he hissed from a tortured throat, and he grasped you by the neck, squeezing until your breath refused to come, and spots began to appear in the corners of your eyes as your heartbeat hammered in your ears. You tried to struggle feebly against him as it seemed something in your throat gave way, but his grip was too strong.Superhuman. Weapon Plus, you remembered.

You mouthed the foulest curse you could think of, even as everything began to wobble. You did not want to die - but it hardly looked like you got much of a choice. You tried desperately to kick, to hit Deadpool in some vulnerable place -

And then there was blessed release. An influx of air rushed through your protesting throat, and you let out a pained sob that was echoed by Pepper's from somewhere nearby. Deadpool stared at you in mute incomprehension, blinking slowly at his own quivering arm. Very calmly, his other hand raised up towards his face.

The assassin touched something on the side of his head. Something that was in the side of his head, you realized dazedly. From his temple sprouted an arrow. The man mouthed something, and then grimaced. "Not again," he whispered hoarsely, with an expression of such outrage that it was almost funny. Then his eyes rolled into the back of his skull.

You fell with him to the floor, and everything was red for a while.

Distantly, you heard a voice, an older man's call. "I am a licensed physician!" he stated, and you felt fingers on your throat. "Don't worry - this won't take long at all," he said, and a spreading woolly warmth emanated from his grip, until it engulfed everything and dragged you under.

You'd woken in surprise under the glare of bright lamps, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, and for an instant you'd imagined yourself back in the cave, back in captivity. But instead, as you'd gazed around, things resolved into a luxurious hospital room, all things considered - but still a hospital room. It was slightly better than the alternative, but not by much.

Peter lay in the bed next to yours, bandaged up the wazoo, but he hadn't woken yet. You were sort of unwilling to wake him from the rest that he certainly deserved, but judging from the thick bandages on his ears he wouldn't be hearing much for a while, anyway.

"This makes twice in as many months," you said softly as you rubbed your throat, glaring with a dejected expression into the mirror at your side. You looked like hell - your face was covered in cuts. Peter, by the virtue of youth, was probably recovering twice as fast as you were, and you were rather jealous. "I really need to stop doing these things…"

The form on the other side of the room moved slightly, his face appearing from the shadows for only a few moments. He had been there since the moment you woke, keeping an eye out even in the peace of the sterile room. "It happens to the best of us," the man said. "This whole - trouble thing. You're hardly unique."

"What are the odds?" you inquired dryly.

"Those who put themselves in harm's way can expect harm," the dark shape said lightly. "You went to Afghanistan - it's not exactly the world's great tourist spot. And this time, you went out of your way to escort a man that you had good reason to believe had killers after him. It seems to me it was your own decisions that led to all this."

"Don't I know it," you muttered, thinking back to the moment you'd first seen your guest - holding the bow that had saved you from suffocation. "Look, you've been standing there for an hour. Are you going to shoot things again, if some new madman starts shooting in here? Who actually uses a bow anymore? What are you, Twenty-first Century Robin Hood?"

The archer snorted at that. "Nah. I think I'd be robbing you if that were the case, right? I've done worse, believe me," he noted. "Just call me Hawkeye. It's a - professional nickname, if you will. I don't usually do things like this, but when needs must…" He shrugged. "I tend to handle the difficult situations."

"You're an assassin too, I'm guessing?" You conjectured. "So, are you some kind of security, then? Somebody put us in a room with a killer of killers?" You frowned as you thought back to the convention hall with a shiver. "And - you came rather late to the party, didn't you? At least eighteen people died before you arrived!"

"Sixteen, actually," Hawkeye corrected morosely. "Two of the guards are expected to pull through. They were hit by the original detonation - because Deadpool does tend to be rather accurate with his gunfire, unfortunately."

"Make that past tense," you corrected. "You killed the bastard, remember?"

Hawkeye shrugged lightly. "Eh, he used to, whatever. Anyway, we were alerted when it became clear that you'd become involved in something problematic. We have certain classified sources of information that helped warn us of the problem. Unfortunately, I was some distance away, and Deadpool was well-prepared."

"We?" you inquired slowly. "Who is that? FBI, NSA?"

"Psh. I'm not an amateur," Hawkeye said, pulling a face. "I'm with S.H.I.E.L.D. - stands for something or the other, it's a mouthful. We tend to do the tough stuff that nobody else can handle, the nasty things. We get all the cool James Bond gadgets."

You nodded. "So, let me guess - you do spying, assassination, and sweet accents?"

"Among other things," the archer agreed. "We've been keeping an eye on you, Mr. Stark. Your recent rumble in Afghanistan raised some eyebrows, and this little affair certainly hasn't helped matters." He shifted a little. "Let's be frank here. We were tapping into local cameras at the old museum to keep track of your activities, in case you exhibited any - troubling allegiances."

You stared at him blankly. "Like what, exactly?"

Hawkeye frowned. "There have been some troubling dealings of late by supposed suppliers of Stark Industries materials - and the doctor you rescued has been connected to certain less than savory elements. We have been watchful, needless to say."

You blinked in surprise, hardly believing your ears. "You're talking about Yinsen being a traitor? No way."

"Way. Something interesting happened when we were observing you, though," Hawkeye continued. "Just when things started heating up, and you seemed to display classic signs of anxiety, fear and subterfuge, our cameras cut out." He narrowed his eyes. "Someone took them over, and we didn't know it was you at the time. Given that the local law enforcement had to deal with major problems as well, we naturally assumed the worst."

"You thought those things were connected," you decided. "That's why you came?"

The man nodded distractedly. "Deadpool had preemptively covered a lot of his tracks, and made sure we would be delayed - but he didn't anticipate someone else mucking about besides him. As it turns out, that was a lucky mistake. We got the bastard before he even realized we were on-site, and his target remained alive. So did you, obviously."

"Score one for Jarvis," you muttered under your breath.

"Hmm. The problem now, of course, is that everyone who saw that little struggle is a witness to some sensitive details, and whoever hired the mouthy mercenary is still out there. Thankfully, the few guards that were on the outside when the bomb went off evacuated the lion's share of attendees, and Deadpool let a lot of people go. That limited the exposure by a large margin."

You nodded slowly. "Right. Weapon Plus and all that, I'm sure. And you're telling me this, because…"

"Can't you guess?" The SHIELD agent smirked. "As of right now, you are getting one of our operatives stationed within your vicinity whenever you leave home. No debates about that. Whether or not this attack is related to your kidnapping or not, you are in definite danger. Until we can be certain that you are safe, we cannot afford to slack off. We were already nearly too late, this time."

"Great. And I'm guessing I'll always be in danger by some definition," you observed dryly.

Hawkeye smiled. "Hey, now you're getting it. Chin up - I did save your life back there."

You reluctantly nodded. "True. Thanks for that - even if it was a bit close for comfort." You looked over to your side, to the sleeping Peter, and frowned. "Is the boy going to be alright? He took quite a beating back there - and I think I owe him a camera or twenty after what he did. Jumped in front of a bullet, that one..."

The archer nodded. "Yeah, he's fine. More than fine. Strong constitution, killer stamina - he'll be back up and running soon." Hawkeye paused, narrowing his eyes at you for a long moment. "...This is something that you'll have to keep to yourself: Doctor Pym's been escorted to a safe location, along with his wife. SHIELD will be keeping an eye on those two. I have taken the liberty of handing a copy of his number to your charming assistant. Please keep in mind that it's a SHIELD number."

"Pepper's okay?" You demanded, but the agent's relaxes mile said enough. "Right. Of course she is." Despite your words, you were uncomfortably aware how close things had come, how very near to death she might have been. The flip of a coin - alive or dead.

"Well, now that you're up to speed - time for the problematic stuff." The man smiled. "There's a few papers you'll have to sign - and they're non-negotiable. They're nothing big, all things considered - but you can consider them tasters."

You sighed tiredly. "Oh, joy. Bureaucracy."

"You know, Pepper - I suddenly feel uncomfortably old," you said pensively as you hobbled towards the exit on legs that were still recovering from the strain of your rough tumble, when the explosion has briefly removed all ups and downs. A little ways ahead of you, looking entirely unruffled by the same blast that had caught him far more directly, Peter showed no hint of strain or pain.

"Well, you really are not a spring chicken anymore," Pepper said with a small smile. "Old man."

You grunted with begrudging acknowledgement, but your gaze lingered on the boy. You hadn't had nearly enough time to consider things in the fight with the assassin, as it had been such a hectic and fast moment that you'd barely kept up with yourself. Afterwards, though, lying in your bed staring at the ceiling, you realized something strange - something amazing.

Deadpool had been an experiment of the Weapon Plus program, by his own admission - some illegal offshoot of the same project your father had been a part of, the creation of Captain America. He had been enhanced, even if the same experiments had ruined him as well. You'd felt his grip, his vicious self-control that bit through even the toughest pain in mere seconds. A bullet had barely phased him, and he had shown no signs of tiring yet.

And Peter had disarmed him with a slap.

You hadn't mentioned it to the young reporter, keeping yourself to gratitude and an offer for reparations, but you couldn't stop thinking about that moment. If Deadpool was superhuman, an enhanced soldier, then what was Peter? And what would he do, if you were to bring it up? Would he freak? Would he even know what you were talking about?

You had a pretty good idea what the government might think, given your own history. The concept of an arms race was not new to you, and anyone would kill for another Captain America.

"Jarvis," you muttered, bringing your phone to your ear. It had cracked somewhere in the fight, but it still worked. "Are you there?"

"Of course, sir."

"I think it's time to remove yourself from the system here - we're all leaving," you said, hesitating. "...You have access to all the video footage, right?"

"I have made backups, sir."

"Yeah…" You glanced at Peter again, and nodded to yourself. "Right. For now - delete all the footage here, and save the backups on my private server. Encrypt them with my personal pass code."

"Are you certain? That will likely lead to difficult questions…"

You sighed. "Yeah. But right now, hardly anybody knows how you work, so I can get away with things. I need time to think about what to do with all this stuff."

"Understood. Deleting remote video feeds, and any remote backups."

"Thank you."

It was a disquieting notion, to realize that the stories you'd heard in your youth might be spilling into the modern world. Tales of Cap and Bucky, of the super-soldiers that had fought a shadow war against Nazi and USSR counter-agents, has seemed so terribly distant just a day ago. Now, the whole mess was in your face again - and those same super soldiers might be after you, and walking besides you without even a hint as to their nature. Wonderful.

But at least, you reckoned, you were alive. You knew now what was out there, at least in part. It was time to get back to the Garage - because it was high time to change the stakes in your favor.

As you walked out into the atrium, a few people looked at you when you entered, meeting your gaze. Reed was there, looking subdued, and the doctor who you vaguely recognized from before, still wearing his flamboyant cape. The red-haired woman that you'd seen was also present, now alone, her eyes downcast.

"Do you think…?" you asked to Pepper, unsure how to finish the sentence, though the point came across. You weren't sure if you were up for trying to make sense of what happened just yet. About what you'd done, to save another. Doing nasty things for justifiable purposes was becoming an uncomfortable theme of your life, lately.

Your secretary glanced at you slowly, rubbing the bandage on her arm nervously as she looked at you with tired eyes. "This has all been - too much, Tony. Just… let's just go home..."

You knew Happy was waiting outside, ready to drive you back to Malibu, back to familiar places, and safe beds, and the ring of a hammer on a workbench. Whatever you'd hoped to find here among your colleagues and adversaries, you weren't sure if you'd found it. There had been no discussions, no presentations, no drunken debates - the entire affair had scarcely moved past its first act before it was cut short. But perhaps you'd learned something.

This was not how you'd imagined things, at all. Not even last steps to the door seemed lengthier than they were, and you noticed the people looking in your direction. Not judging - but that scarcely made things better.

Reed bore an expression that betrayed his own uncertainty, and you had a fair grasp of why he was feeling so conflicted. He'd seen in you a coward - someone who hid behind his creations and not his convictions, a person who bragged, but did not act. Perhaps he had seen his mirror image in you. And maybe he had even been right - until that cave. Until the moment you had claimed the necessary evils as your own.

Now he saw you as you were. Foolish, perhaps - but at least not a coward. You braved assassins to rescue a man you scarcely knew, assaulted someone who had all possible advantages, who held your death in the palm of his hand. If not for sheer luck, you would have sacrificed yourself without even thinking twice, to save another. Many things could be said about your split-second decisions - but none could dismiss that they had been made.

A little further along, the caped Doctor smiled at you, and you nodded back at him with something like gratitude, though you were sure he knew what you wanted to say. The man had an air of sophisticated mystery about him, and you rather thought he intended it that way. Who were you to mess with a good thing? You looked away, content to know that you had his approval, though you didn't know why that mattered.

There was others there, other faces, but only one weighed on your mind, one person that you hadn't spoken to yet beyond mere platitudes. If you did not speak now, that would be all - and you knew that would be too hasty. "Can you wait for me for a few minutes, Pepper?" you asked then, your eyes sliding to the last face that was on your mind. "I have something to say - to Peter."

The boy turned as you spoke despite his bandaged ears, and you had a suspicion that he had played up his deafness and hoodwinked the nurse. It seemed to fit in his peculiar pattern, though you brought no attention to it among so many witnesses. This was not the place to get into such things. Peter seemed utterly calm under your gaze, but you could tell that he was tense below that feigned serenity. Like you.

"I suppose that's alright," Pepper said besides you, her worried frown making way for something like compassion. She glanced to the doors. "Five minutes, then. You know how Happy dislikes waiting..."

Five minutes. You had no idea what you could really say in such a short time, such an eternity - you were speechless, and at the same time you had too many things to say. You couldn't bring up your suspicions, of course, and the boy was in truth still a stranger, if not for the brief shared horror of the previous days. Did you have anything to say at all?

Four minutes. Think fast.

"I suppose you'll be heading home without photos," you observed at last, looking at the small bag that Peter held to his chest. It was filled with the remains of the boy's expensive camera, now a pile of parts and broken plastic - certainly a setback for someone of limited means. But you knew what the boy would say before you even offered your help. You had tried before. "...Just let me buy you a new one. Please?"

Peter shook his head. "Nah, don't worry about it. It was a loan from the paper, anyway - I think I can excuse its loss given what happened. Besides, I'm pretty sure the memory card's okay, so I should have pictures." He smiled tiredly. "I can take care of myself."

You nodded, frowning. "Yeah, you keep saying that. I get it. But you saved my life, and that kinda thing is not something I let slide. See, I can only repay you in a few ways - and money is easy. Money is something I have a lot of." You slipped a hand in your pocket, retrieving a little card with your address and number. "And if that's not to your liking… Well, if you don't mind a teeny-tiny detour before you head home, I'd like you to come by the company. I'll pay for your transport and broken equipment, and in exchange you - humor me. How does that sound?" You hesitated. "I've got a little - proposal for you."

That very proposal was still rattling around in your skull, constructing itself as you spoke. You hadn't really thought about offering anything substantial before just now, but you knew you couldn't let the opportunity slide now that it had occurred to you. The company would question things, of course, if you hired an unknown in any sort of official capacity, or paid out a scholarship - but you had the money and control to offer it, and there was no telling if Peter would even accept. You had a feeling it would be worth it, though.

You had done crazier things for worse people.

Asking whether or not Peter was clever enough hadn't been something you'd worried about since you'd seen that piercing stare back in the convention hall, when Pym's plight became clear. You'd recognized understanding in that gaze, a shrewdness that could not be trained or feigned. Judging from Peter's expression in the present, the boy was just as quick on the uptake this time. He had recognized your implication for what it was.

"...Really?" he asked curiously.

"Yes. A kid like you should have options. Think about it, would you?" you offered. "Don't constrain yourself too much with that humility. Just - consider things. That's all I can ask."

Peter was silent for a long moment. "Yeah… I will," he responded at last, nodding confidently. "And thank you, Mr. Stark."

You scoffed as you stepped back towards the doors. "I don't tolerate formality from people who saved my bacon. Call me Tony - but never Anthony, unless you're my mother. Or Pepper. Eh - same difference, really."

Pepper's huff was audible from clear across the room, and you couldn't help smiling.

"Were you serious back there?" Pepper asked more than half an hour later, as you cruised down the highway towards home, the wind whipping through the small slit of the window by your side. You'd almost dozed off for a moment, though your mind had still been as active as ever. A pencil that had been precariously balancing between your fingers almost slipped away.

"...About what?" You wondered, blinking.

"That - reporter. I've never…" She frowned, her troubled expression all too common in the last few days. "I thought you hated kids, Tony? You always skip out on visiting schools, and you're perpetually whining about colleges…"

You raised an eyebrow as you turned to glance at her. "Were you listening in back there? That's bad form, Miss Potts…" You slipped the pencil behind your ear, and smiled. "I don't hate kids, Pepper - I just loathe ignorance. And you won't believe how much of that goes around in schools, let met tell you... It's why I skipped out on going any further than I did. I'd learned all I could from MIT - all my doctorates are honorary."

"Ignorance, huh?" Pepper grimaced. "And yet you will gladly share a table with a politician."

"Yes, well, one does have to make sacrifices," you said lightly. "An ignorant man in power, I've found, is a malleable target. Nothing is as effective at getting a few good bills passed in my favor than taking advantage of a man's shortsightedness and greed." You shrugged. "But - that was not what you were going for, was it? It's not about the young - or the ignorant. You were wondering about Peter himself."

"Yes." She shook her head. "You call him by his first name - a teen. A penniless one, from what you've told me, who struggles to make ends meet by making photographs. By his own admission, this was probably the poshest place he's ever been - and it's a boring yearly convention that barely gets the news unless something terrible happens. Like now."

You nodded. "You're absolutely right."

"So… what could you possibly have in common with someone like that?" She cocked her head to the side curiously. "I don't get it. I might have attributed it to the bomb, to that madman with the guns - but I saw you talking with the boy like you'd met him years ago, before all that. I saw you speak to him like you do with Rhodey. You were - less standoffish than I remember. It's… like you're a different person."

"I was never very standoffish with the women," you reminded her playfully, but she didn't react. You looked away, shrugging. "Am I different after Afghanistan? Maybe. Maybe I saw my own reflection out there in the desert, and perhaps I didn't much like what I saw. Peter might remind me of other days." You turned back to her. "Or maybe it's something else entirely, and I'm talking out of my ass. It doesn't matter."

She rolled her eyes. "As usual, you're not making much sense."

You smiled. "I know. But as long as it makes sense to me, that's fine." You nodded to yourself. "I've invited Peter over - if I'm right, he'll be there tomorrow, or the day after. I'll take him to the company, show him around. Give him a sneak peek into my works in progress, so he can take a scoop home. And maybe…" You smiled. "Well, we'll see."

"...I really don't get this."

"I think you will," you murmured as you turned back to the sketch that was propped up on your knee, something you'd been working on since you left. You grasped your pencil again, and got back to sketching dimensions, listing possible materials.

On the paper, a figure took shape, an artificial star as its heart. An image of the future.

"Daddy's back from near-death and probable PTSD - again," you said as you clapped twice. The lights blinked on as you descended the stairs. "Jarvis, it's freezing in here. Get me some warmth and a cold beer, would you?" You sniffed at the metal-tinged air, and smiled. "You've finished the next reactor, then? You've been using that newfangled printer again, haven't you?"

"You are correct - and welcome back, sir," Jarvis replied. "I am - glad that I could be of assistance, however limited, in the events that occurred."

"Yeah - if I died, who would keep you running?" You joked as you strode into your workshop, glancing over the whiteboards on the walls, relics from a time before holographs. They would serve a new purpose, you reasoned, as you pulled out some of the sketches you'd made on your way back. "Pepper's been hounding me to get sleep - so I think I'll make this an all-nighter. I've got ideas aplenty, and a double-duty sick leave to abuse."

Jarvis let out a noise that might well have been a sigh. "Of course, sir."

Though you had shaken off the tremors of shock that had persisted in the wake of Deadpool's violent attempt on your life, you didn't feel properly safe until you'd returned here, to the garage, with your things around you. It was no different from Afghanistan - just another violent episode in your crazy new life. The whiteboards and holographs, workbenches and hammers, they were the furniture of your real house, a proper sanctum.

This was where you could see the future. Not literally - or not supernaturally, at any rate - but in your own work, in the plans you drew up and the ideas you had. The garage had been where Jarvis had been born, where your first integrated circuit had been soldered together, when your father wasn't using it. That was technically another garage, of course, but the principle was the same. This was where the magic happened.

"Well, what do you reckon I should work on?" you murmured, not really expecting an answer from the AI. You removed your sketches from your pocket, and one by one stuck them onto the whiteboards with little refrigerator magnets. Crude - but it reminded you of the old days, when you'd gotten started. Some of the pictures were of arc reactor parts, of new designs - others were guns, or inspired by them, though turned towards a new purpose. Repulsors, a lost concept that might be reborn - new holographic technology, new computers architecture.

The last picture was still in your pocket, but you weren't sure if it'd been a serious idea. You'd been napping, almost, when it had popped up. You remembered considering the concept in the cave, swept aside by an idea that had turned out to be far from ideal. You'd made a sketch then, too, but it had gone onto the pyre just as much as everything else.

"There is someone at the door, sir."

You glanced up, as you still tended to do out of reflex whenever Jarvis surprised you. "Really? Pepper's still out, isn't she?"

"It is a gentleman in a suit - he is holding up an identification to the camera." One of the screens to your side switched on to an image of the visitor. He seemed a rather stiff fellow in a suit, though he was smiling in a friendly manner. The badge he was showing carried the insignia of a bird in black on white. S.H.I.E.L.D.

Well, you'd expected them to come by at some point - the man you'd met, Hawkeye, had certainly implied it. You weren't really expecting them less than ten minutes after you'd returned to the house, though. Still - there was no sense in keeping the agent waiting, however amusing it would be to watch him squirm.

"Let him in, Jarvis," you said, turning back to your workshop. "Leave the rest to me."

"Sir? Do you wish me to escort the gentleman downstairs?"

"Yeah. I'm not going to adjust my schedule because of an impromptu visit - I'm just going to get to work," you said distractedly as you picked up the half-finished repulsor prototype that had been on your wall for nearly a decade now. A quick puff of breath dislodged a small cloud of toxic-looking yellow dust, the remains of degraded plastics. "...Ugh, this is gonna be a total redo, I think."

Cleaning out and adjusting the repulsor prototype was complicated and intricate enough that you found yourself moving between several different tools, all of which were spread around your basement - some elements required micrometer precision, others were much more fiddly. You switched from sintering some metal together to reorganizing the wires that had decayed, and that took some doing in itself.

It didn't occur to you until almost half an hour later that someone had been at the door.

You looked up, and blinked in surprise at the sight of the suited man from before, sitting not ten feet away from you at the side of the room. He was sipping on a cup of coffee that Jarvis had doubtlessly supplied. "Ah… Hello there," he said awkwardly as he rose, still with that smile that seemed altogether too genuine to be false. He stuck out his hand. "You were - rather busy. Seemed like it'd be a shame to bother you. I'm Agent Phil Coulson with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

"Quite a mouthful indeed," You muttered, bemused, as you ignored his hand. "You know who I am, I would hope. Otherwise, get out of my house you scoundrel." You turned to your bench, and frowned. "Anyway, you're a patient man. More than me, anyway."

"Is it patience to watch the master ply his trade?" Coulson said, raising his eyebrows. "It was enlightening, actually - and your robot brews remarkably superb coffee." He looked to the side, to the wall, and nodded. "You also have intriguing artwork."

There, behind him on a shelf, an unfinished replica model of Captain America's shield was propped up next to some other half-finished products.

"That's not art, though it might as well be," you admitted. "Half a lifetime ago, when I made that thing, I had some wild scheme that I'd recreate the material that the old shield was made of. I figured that it wouldn't be proper without recreating the look, too. I never got close to the real stuff, of course." You looked away. "Maybe I'll get around to it."

The agent nodded. "I would appreciate that. I am a bit of an enthusiast." He coughed. "That is, of course - not why I'm here. Though it's interesting." He turned back to his coffee. "The assassin known as Deadpool isn't a new face. Not where I'm from, anyway. He's been in and out of hiding for years, but he's been keeping a low profile of late."

"...Really now?" you said calmly. "He blew up a convention hall and killed sixteen people. You call that hiding?"

Coulson shrugged. "Well, every pattern gets broken sometime. My boss has reason to believe that Deadpool was hired to make that scene, since he's so very good at that. Pym was the target, but he was meant to be a message to someone else. His death was to function as a threat, or at the very least a sadistic statement of intent." He nodded to you. "Given your own recent kidnapping, a connection is - likely. Even probable, given some information we have obtained."

You paused. "So you're telling me someone went after Pym to send a message to me? What, they somehow knew about his little invitation, and they figured - why not shoot the guy to prove a point?" You shook your head. "Why not just kill me right there? Not that I'm particularly fond of that idea, but you gotta admit..."

"That's the question, isn't it? We don't know yet." Coulson leaned back in his chair, sipping at his drink. "Regardless of that, there's only a few ways this kind of thing tends to go from here. One option is to put you in witness protection, but we both know that's not a likely option in your case. Option two is putting more security up, and hoping that it'll be enough to handle whoever comes after you for real. Option three…"

"Yes...?"

"You wouldn't much like option three, I'm afraid," Coulson said mildly. "We're sweeping every network we have access to - and that's pretty much all of them - but we can't catch everything. So you'll have to be ready to evacuate quickly, when we say so. No complaining."

"Hey, who's complaining around here?" You said, arms up in surrender. "If you want to shoot assassins in the face, that's entirely your prerogative. In fact, if you need the guns to do so, I'm sure I can arrange a few. I would like to stay unshot, thank you."

"Good. Then you won't mind cooperating. The Director was worried that you'd, well…" His smile faded. "You have a reputation, suffice to say." The agent grabbed the briefcase by his side, and offered it to you.

"...I don't like to be handed things," you muttered, gesturing to the table. The agent obliged, flipping it open and turning it towards you.

"This is a contract proposal. If you were amenable to reason, I was told to offer certain - incentives to get you to play along. I have an offer from S.H.I.E.L.D. here - to supply the eye in the sky, and in return gain access to the best protection money can't buy. And a whole lot more, of course."

"...You want to be a customer?" You said after a long moment. "Secretive spy organization with archers and crap in service, and you want my toys? Can't you just get them from the army, like everyone seems to these days, whether they pay or not?"

Coulson tapped the briefcase. "No sarcasm. Please, read this first. If the writing seems familiar - that's because it was written by one of our founding members. A certain Howard Stark."

You froze. "What? Founding member, you said?"

The agent nodded shortly as you read a few loose passages of the contract, the grime on your fingers staining the paper. You'd never really know what your father got up to, beyond running the business. You hadn't pegged him as being the kind of man to start a spy organization. Then again, you had not really known him that much at all.

"...It says here that S.H.I.E.L.D. would have influence on… Yeah. The company." You looked up, eyes narrowed. "See, that's not going to happen. Dad might have included that because he was a founding member or whatever, but I'm not going to let that count. And I expect some info on that, because it's news to me."

"I'm sure that negotiations can be made," Coulson said calmly. "It is only a first draft. Written by monkeys on typewriters, I'm sure."

"Make a better one, and I'll consider it," you replied, closing the suitcase. "I'm working on changing things around here, and in my company - and I can't have you waltzing in here and demanding I change what I'm doing, just because it doesn't fit with whatever your boss wants. Whoever he is. I can protect myself if need be."

Coulson looked skeptical, but nodded. "I will pass that along."

"Good. Now - if you don't mind, I was working. Seeing as I've spent the last few weeks getting tortured, blown up and generally being assaulted, I could use a break from all this crap." You stood up. "I've got to make up for lost time - and I have got some good ideas. Proprietary ones. That means get out."

"...Understood," Coulson said as he picked up the contract. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Stark."

You ignored the man's hand again, and felt like he was someone you could tolerate, far more than the guy with bow and arrows. "Same to you, Agent."

As the agent's footsteps faded, you turned back to the whiteboard. The last sketch, the humanoid figure, joined the rest.

Interlude - Obadiah

You weren't sure when things had gone sour; when a relative peace had turned into this cold and distant void, this terrible nothingness. You'd never really liked the boy, of course - he was vain, self-important, and egocentric like his father, but with added unpredictability and a startling lack of foresight. But at the same time, you'd assumed that the guarded agreement between you would last, even if there was no love lost.

You moved the knight forward on the board, then sideways a step - in reality, it seemed more like that step had been backwards - if not for one thing. Far from continuing the game you'd been playing, it seemed as if the boy had forgotten it altogether, and started a new one. His head was in the clouds, caught up in plans and dreams that you'd long thought he'd abandoned. Perhaps - perhaps there was a chance.

"I have reconsidered our arrangement," you said slowly, frowning at the board as your competitor's slim fingers picked up a pawn to move it. "I do not want you to continue. I don't know that the solution you offered me is - required anymore."

She didn't answer, her face a mask as she stared at you.

"Are you even listening to me?" You demanded. "I need time. Time to make sure of some things, of what I want." You gestured at the board, scowling. "The game has changed. I can't predict the moves anymore, and that means trouble. But at the same time, there's no guarantee that when he chooses his steps, they'll be bad ones. I have already seen signs that he might have had - an epiphany. I have to wait it out."

The lady sighed, shaking her head slowly. "Ah, Mr. Stane… You seem to be under a misapprehension about what I do, and more importantly, why."

"I know enough," you answered bluntly. "Three months ago, you told me that it would all be over soon. You told me it would be quick and clean! Instead you posture, and you dawdle, and make everything harder than it needs to be. I have problems to deal with, people to handle, and this is still hanging over my head." You scowled. "I am beginning to doubt how serious you are about delivering."

"Really?" She chuckled, leaning back in her chair languidly. "If you do not know whether you want someone dead or not, why did you come to me in the first place? Why hesitate now, after you have gone so far already? Guilt?"

You scowled, refusing to think about the things that haunted your nightmares, the terrible sights that played behind your eyes, every time you thought you were safe. "You don't need to know the reason. It's not something I will discuss with assassins," you said sharply. "I've told you that before, and I will say it again - you are just hired to do a job."

"Hired?" She shook her head. "Ah, silly man. You did not hire me. The money is merely to weed out the undeserving, the destitute; the true price of my work is much, much steeper." She cocked her head to the side curiously. "You may have reconsidered your decision, of course - but some things cannot be retracted, some things must come to pass. I am not the one you made a deal with, Stane. That would be my boss, who thoroughly savors every kill."

You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Is that so? Consider our contract void, then. You will not get the rest of your money unless you deliver me the target's head before he returns from his little exile, and complicates everything further," you stated. "Is that clear?"

She merely laughed as she stood. "Descending to mere threats now, Obadiah? I think not. You came to me, little man… and you will reap the price. The price of pain." She turned slowly, sighing. "Rethink your decisions, next time, or the price will be steeper still. Good night."

It was a silent minute later, as you sat alone in the dark, that you slammed your hand down onto the board, flinging chess pieces everywhere. Only a white knight remained upright.

Author's Note: Arc 2 is currently ongoing, but I'll likely post the first part of it soon. Spider-Man and Iron Man team-up! New company plans!