{I Do Not Own Marvel, Only The OCs}
AN: thank you all for the support, I might be continuing this story a bit maybe bring it to up all the way to Endgame, who knows? I sure don't.
Waking up the day after Stark Expo I had a lot to think about. In my delirious state caused by blood loss, I clearly remember that my robot, who I had named ScrapTrap, was acting a bit out of ordinary, like it was alive... such a thing isn't possible because of its simple programing, it doesn't have an AI...
staring at the newly named ScrapTrap moving things around with stiff and clanky movements, I don't notice anything out of ordinary about it. it still seems as stupid and simple as it was the day I created it.
Walking around my temporary base, I can't help but flinch at every step.
"man, high caliber rounds are no joke" whilst I had made my outfit mostly bullet resistant, it had nothing to stop high caliber rounds like the ones the Hammer Drones used on the civilians.
I take care of my morning routing, catching a glimpse of my haggard appearance once more, not much has changed except putting on some fat and muscles on my previously stick thin teenage body. my green eyes are as vibrant as ever, even with the dark bags under my eyes. my dark brown hair is in an untamed mess like usual and with a splash of water, the ever-present grin returns to my previously emotionless face.
"cheer up! happy thoughts, we got shit to do"
Finishing up, I start gathering my personal items and check up on ST to see that he has finished packing up all the equipment, all of it fitting into a camper that I have removed the insides of, to fit all my equipment better.
sighing, I get on my modified quad bike and drive it onto a small square patch of scrap metal.
with a clang my wheels drop into four slots in the center of the square patch and suddenly the scrap metal unfolds like origami around my quad bike, creating a fake truck shell that looks indistinguishable from the numerous other trucks on the road I'll be taking.
it even has decoy people inside, while I can still see and drive the truck perfectly by using small ATM screens as windows and side mirrors. now I won't get pulled over for driving without a license at 14 years old.
attaching the camper to the truck shell, I quietly drive out of my, now old, base and begin making my way towards Indiana.
It wasn't my Plan A, nor was it Plan B. but Plan C.
Plan A was the generic, inserted into Marvel scenario. 1) go to Tony Stank; 2)demand to work for him; 3) impress him with you briliant bullshit; 4) end up adopted because you pulled on his mechanical heart strings; 5)help him with his ptsd; 6)survive Endgame; 7)profit.
plan B was a bit less generic. 1)create a fake ID, 2)start a company, 3)become big rich man; 4)create your own version of SHIELD; 5)solve world hunger; 6)bring peace to the world; 7)destroy Thanos with your big rich man energy; 8)even more profit.
sadly I don't think I'm ready for either of the first two. but on my way out of New York I'll be looking into my Plan S.
around 20 minutes later I am standing on the sidewalk of what is supposed to be 177A bleecker street. you might've noticed I said "what is supposed to be", well that is because there is nothing there!
literally nothing!
Its as if someone came here with a giant eraser, erased the whole thing and then stuck the now separate two parts together.
"What the FUCK!" I can't help but shout at the unfairness of the world
"where the fuck did it go! It couldn't have just-" oof
I am unable to finish my words as a flying newspaper page hits me in the face, temporary blinding me
struggling for a moment, I take off the loose piece of paper and can't help but curse every bald person in existence-
one of the most prominent articles has a huge "NO!" as the headline...
"you have got to be kidding me! this has to be a joke-" fwum
another piece of paper hits my face
this one says "WHY YOU SHOULD LEAVE YOUR JOB NOW"
"NO! Im not leaving until I get an explanation! what the hell is all this supposed to be!? I CAN HELP GODS DAMN IT! I WANT TO HELP!" I shout into the sky, only for another piece of paper to fly at my face.
This time I manage to catch it, quickly looking at it. I can't help but curse my fate.
"COULD YOU BE THE PROBLEM? THE ANSWER MIGHT SURPRISE YOU!" and then a little below it, it said "YES"
throwing away the cursed papers, I sullenly limp across the sidewalk and enter my vehicle, silently continuing on my path to Indiana.
The drive to Indiana helped get my mind off of things, as well as messing with the few gas stations on the way there with my H4CK3R M4N(tm) phone. it was fun making the ATMs eject all their cash and watch the people there rush and climb over each other to get the money. what? there is nothing wrong with me! its you that doesn't know how to have fun.
and while I was messing around with my phone, I had spotted some new files that had been created at 3:54 am last night. when checking them I discovered that it was filled with shitpost tier Marvel memes I had handcrafted in my delirious state and then set up a simple program to connect to nearby phones, creating a gigantic jungle of proxies, this would continue for around 2-3 hours, in which thousands of phones will be connected and then send a singular meme to Tony Stank's personal number. this was set up to happen once every 4-7 weeks.
after realizing what was happening, I had a mini heart attack thinking that I had sent something world threatening on an open network that Hydra could access. but no. all the memes are absolute shitposts and I don't know if you consider a badly photoshopped picture of purple gumby with a raisin as chin and a yellow oven mitt saying this a 'spoiler':
"I am-
going to shit your self-
that is-
Inevitable"
anyway, after hours upon hours of driving, I had found the perfect spot for my base.
Yes, it's another junkyard, but this time its absolutely abandoned! there are plants growing on the old junk, I saw three different set of people come here and dump their trash, all without caring about being discreet. its perfect.
I drove around the back of the giant lot of land, which took quite some time and cut out an entryway with a torch, sealing it back up as soon as I was in.
driving around until I find a clear enough space, the facade of the truck falls away and the trailer detaches.
opening the camper's door, Scrap Trap steps out bringing my marvelous Noclunium reactor with him.
as soon as the he steps out, I enter the van and grab some other stuff, helping ST unload. as I'm about the step out of the camper's door, my injured leg gives out leading me to fall below and making me drop my equipment on the ground.
There is no sound, just silence as I lay there on the ground staring at nothing.
with a grunt, I pull myself up and look at the equipment I dropped only to find it, them being held by Scrap Trap, my suped up laptop, previously a single object now multiple pieces. Scrap Traps camera pointed at me, emotionless, yet I can't help but think that it's looking at me with pity, worry for my well being. I can't help the feeling of rage bubble beneath my skin. but, I know, there is no emotion within the robot. it is merely waiting form me to move out of the way to continue its job of unloading and storing the equipment, there is no emotion within it.
I'm merely projecting my feelings.
fwooo
with a breath, I limp over to ST and take the laptop's pieces, find a spot to sit down and begin putting it back together. I've dealt with worse, I will deal with worse.
that is the way of life.
[oof, emotions I was never too good with those. but anger is the one im most familiar with. I wonder what an alternate version of me will choose to do to deal with the ever present emotion, will he let it flow out into the world, releasing it and clearing his mind? maybe some controlled bursts of anger becoming his driving force?]
[or will he drag it into the depths and ignore it until it explodes]
[but who cares about that! we have tech to make! memes to shitpost! world to save! tags to rip off of mattresses! Titans to kill!]