The sky was burning.
The scent of scorched asphalt and smoldering wreckage filled the air as plumes of black smoke twisted against the backdrop of Manhattan's skyline. Fires raged across shattered cars, and the streets were littered with crumbling concrete, broken glass, and the scattered remains of Chitauri corpses. Explosions rippled through the canyons of the city, the symphony of destruction blending with the distant screams of civilians caught in the crossfire.
High above, an enormous, gaping wound in the sky pulsed with eerie blue light. The portal—Loki's gateway—poured out endless waves of alien invaders, their grotesque, armor-plated forms riding sleek hovering chariots, swarming over the city like an infestation.
And in the middle of it all, the Avengers fought.
"I got three incoming at your eight o'clock! Eyes up, Cap!"
Tony Stark's voice crackled through the comms as he twisted in mid-air, repulsors flaring, his suit adjusting seamlessly to his movements. A trio of Chitauri riders zipped through the skyline, weapons glowing as they targeted the man on the ground.
Captain America barely had time to look before the shots streaked toward him.
"Oh, hell—"
With a shriek of metal and fire, Tony arced downward, weaving through crumbling scaffolding before releasing a pair of micro-missiles. The explosions bloomed in the air, turning two of the alien riders into burning wreckage. The third broke off, swerving erratically, and Steve took the opening. With a running start, he leaped onto an overturned taxi, hurled his shield, and caught the last Chitauri square in the chest. It plummeted from its craft, landing in a crumpled heap against the cracked pavement.
"You're welcome!" Tony quipped, banking hard left, his thrusters roaring.
"Was handling it," Cap responded through gritted teeth, already retrieving his shield from the wreckage.
"Sure you were, old-timer."
Tony barely had time to smirk before Jarvis' voice cut in.
"Sir, I'm detecting an energy spike from Stark Tower."
He twisted in the air, his golden-red armor gleaming against the fire-lit skyline. His eyes locked onto the source of the madness—the Tesseract. The alien energy pulsed above his tower, its radiant glow feeding the ever-expanding portal overhead. And standing on the platform beneath it, watching the chaos unfold like some kind of twisted conductor, was Loki.
"Thor, you seeing this?" Tony asked, climbing altitude.
Across the battlefield, Thor spun Mjölnir in a blur of silver and lightning, the crackling energy cutting through the storm of invaders around him.
"Aye, Stark. I am inbound."
Before Tony could respond, another voice came over the comms.
"We've got a problem!"
Black Widow's voice was tense, urgent. Tony flipped into a hover, scanning the battlefield.
"Bigger than the whole 'aliens invading' thing? Please tell me it's an easily fixable problem, like 'Hulk lost his pants' or something."
"It's worse," she snapped. "SHIELD just launched a nuke. It's inbound. New York is the target."
Tony's smirk vanished.
"Run that by me again?"
"They've decided we're a lost cause." There was the sound of gunfire on her end. "The missile's coming in from the east."
Tony's HUD flared to life, and there it was: a single, blinding-hot object streaking through the sky, breaking through cloud cover like an avenging god.
"Stark." Steve's voice was firm, steady. "Can you intercept?"
Tony exhaled. "Well, now's a great time to find out."
He didn't wait for a response.
With a full-throttle burst, Iron Man shot into the sky, rocketing past the Chrysler Building and twisting through incoming Chitauri fire. He accelerated, shifting his armor and plating to streamline his ascent.
"Jarvis, how much time do I have?"
"Approximately sixty seconds until impact."
Tony gritted his teeth. "Plenty of time."
The wind tore past him, the city shrinking below as he climbed higher, pushing the suit to its limits. The missile came into view, a sleek, steel death sentence hurtling toward the city.
"I got it. I got it," he muttered.
With his repulsors primed, he stretched out both hands, latching onto the missile's casing with a jolt that nearly wrenched his arms from their sockets. The sheer velocity sent tremors through his entire suit, alarms blaring.
"Sir, this is an incredibly bad idea."
"You don't say?"
The missile resisted, its momentum unrelenting. Tony fought against the sheer force, thrusters firing at maximum output. The city below grew larger again—too close.
"C'mon, c'mon…"
With one final burst of energy, he wrenched the missile upward. His vision blurred, and his muscles screamed from the strain as he redirected its trajectory. The arc shifted—just barely—toward the portal.
"Alright, next stop: ugly alien central."
The edges of the portal shimmered with unstable energy as the missile climbed toward it. Tony adjusted, keeping his grip firm as he shot through the maelstrom of blue light—
And then, everything changed.
The second he breached the other side, the chaos of New York was replaced by the vast, empty silence of space. Stars burned against the inky void, and in the distance, the enormous Chitauri command ship loomed, its surface writhing with movement.
Tony barely had a second to process before gravity disappeared.
His body, still accelerating, suddenly floated, his entire weightless form flung from the missile as it continued its death march toward the alien mothership. His thrusters sputtered, struggling to adjust. The edges of his vision darkened.
"Jarvis…"
The missile struck.
A blinding, sun-like explosion erupted through the void, consuming the Chitauri command vessel in a tidal wave of fire and shrapnel. The feedback surged back through the portal, severing its connection.
And Tony—
Tony Stark was alone in space.
No comms. No backup.
Just the stars and the last traces of a wormhole starting to collapse around him.
His HUD flickered, power systems failing.
"Not... great..."
Then, in the depths of the collapsing portal, a secondary rift yawned open—something unnatural, wrong, swirling with energy unlike anything he had ever seen.
And before he could react—
He was gone.
The wormhole swallowed him whole.
A voice echoed through the darkness.
"Sir… Sir, you need to wake up."
Tony's mind felt like it was full of cotton. Heavy. Slow. His body refused to respond. His thoughts barely processed.
"…No, thanks," he muttered groggily. "Hit snooze. Five more minutes."
"Sir, I must insist," Jarvis' voice chimed in again, calm but persistent. "You are in an unfamiliar environment."
Tony cracked one eye open—only to slam it shut immediately as blinding light seared through his skull.
"Nope," he mumbled. "That's a hard pass. Light bad. Too bright. Turning back off now."
"I'm afraid that is not an option, sir," Jarvis responded. "I need you fully conscious."
Tony groaned, peeling his eyelids open just a sliver. The world was a blur—gold, tan, and hazy. His throat felt like he'd been gargling sandpaper. His head pounded like he'd spent the last twelve hours downing tequila shots with Thor.
"Where…?" His voice came out rough, barely more than a croak. "Did I get hit by a truck, or did I go another round with Hulk?"
"You were caught in a collapsing wormhole," Jarvis corrected helpfully. "You have been unconscious for approximately three hours, seventeen minutes, and forty-six seconds."
Tony smacked his lips. Dry. Dusty. His tongue felt like it had been marinated in salt.
"That explains the headache." He swallowed thickly, grimacing. "Okay, let's get a status check. Where am I?"
There was a pause.
"That," Jarvis said, "is an excellent question."
Tony frowned, his vision still adjusting. "Not exactly the comforting answer I was hoping for, buddy."
"I am unable to pinpoint our location," Jarvis admitted. "There are no recognizable satellite networks, no GPS signals, and no Stark Industries beacons. Furthermore, celestial positioning does not match any known star charts."
That got Tony's attention. His brain was still rebooting, but that one sentence sent a spark through him.
He forced himself upright with a groan, his limbs sluggish, his muscles aching. Sand shifted around him as he moved, an unsettlingly warm and everywhere sensation. It took him another few seconds to register that he wasn't lying on pavement, or rubble, or even solid rock.
No. He was sitting in sand.
A lot of it.
Blinking rapidly, he finally got his first real look at his surroundings.
Endless dunes stretched in every direction, rolling hills of golden-brown nothingness. The sun—wait, no, two suns—blazed overhead, making the air shimmer with heat waves. Sparse rocky formations jutted out from the distance, looking as dry and lifeless as the rest of the terrain. No buildings. No roads. No cars. No helicopters or jets buzzing overhead.
Just desert.
And heat.
So. Much. Heat.
"Okay." Tony swallowed again, wincing at how parched his throat was. "So… where exactly did I miss my exit?"
Jarvis, ever the professional, responded without humor. "Based on the environmental conditions, it appears we are in an arid desert biome with extreme temperatures. Given the atmospheric composition and gravitational constants, I can confirm that this is not Earth."
Tony slowly turned his head toward his right shoulder. "Say that last part again?"
"This is not Earth, sir."
Tony stared blankly at the sand.
Then back up at the two suns.
Then back at the sand.
"…Right."
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, yeah. That tracks. Definitely not the weirdest thing that's happened to me." He opened his eyes again, shielding them with a gloved hand against the glare. "Still, I feel like this is something you could've led with, J."
"I attempted to inform you upon waking, but you insisted on hitting snooze."
Tony let out a short, dry laugh. "Alright, fair point. But you know what? I'd still like a second opinion on the whole 'not Earth' thing. Maybe we just landed in Arizona. It's got deserts, it's got unbearable heat—hell, it probably even feels like an alien planet. Got any radio towers around here? WiFi? Starbucks?"
"No detectable wireless networks, no recognizable Earth-based radio frequencies, and no signs of civilization within my scanning range."
Tony drummed his fingers against his thigh, thinking.
"No Google Maps, huh?"
"Negative."
He sighed. "Well. That's mildly inconvenient."
Another thought struck him—one that made his stomach drop slightly.
"…How's the suit?"
"Armor integrity is at fifty-six percent. Superficial external damage from atmospheric re-entry. Internal systems are stable, but we have a larger concern."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"We are critically low on power."
Tony froze.
"…Define critically."
"Arc reactor energy reserves are at seven percent."
"Seven—?" Tony blinked. "Why the hell are we that low?"
"The wormhole disrupted energy flow, and atmospheric entry forced emergency thruster deployment to prevent fatal impact. Furthermore, environmental factors are causing additional strain on cooling systems. This desert heat is accelerating internal overheating processes."
Tony exhaled, rubbing his face with both hands. "Great. So, not only am I stranded in an alien desert with two suns like I just crash-landed into a rejected Star Wars set, but I've got seven percent battery left before my multi-billion-dollar survival pod turns into a metal coffin." He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Just perfect."
He struggled to his feet, his armor's servos whining softly as he pushed himself upright. His legs felt sluggish—probably a mix of dehydration, exhaustion, and, oh yeah, the complete and utter lack of oxygen support his suit would normally compensate for.
"Alright, Jarvis, what's the plan?"
"I would recommend finding shelter to avoid further overheating. Additionally, securing a source of hydration would be ideal."
Tony squinted at the horizon. It was all sand.
"Yeah, good luck finding a 7-Eleven out here."
"I will continue scanning for potential points of interest."
He took a step forward—his boots sinking slightly into the warm, shifting terrain. He scowled. "Hate sand. It's coarse, rough, irritating…" He paused. "And it's everywhere."
Jarvis didn't dignify that with a response.
Tony sighed, rolling his shoulders. He felt like crap. His throat was dry, his body ached, and his armor was one bad battery drain away from becoming a very expensive sauna.
Still, he was alive. And if there was one thing Tony Stark never did, it was sit still and wait for things to get worse.
He tapped the side of his helmet, activating the HUD again.
"Alright, let's play a little game, J," he muttered. "It's called: 'Find Me Literally Anything That's Not More Sand.'"
"Scanning," Jarvis replied.
As Tony started trudging forward, already feeling the heat baking through his armor, he muttered to himself.
"Next time, I'm letting Thor handle the whole 'dying in space' thing."
Tony trudged through the desert, his feet sinking into the sand with each step, his armor groaning like an overworked office printer. He had barely gone half a mile, and already, he was contemplating just lying down and letting whatever cosmic deity was running this simulation take the wheel.
"Jarvis," he rasped, blinking sweat out of his eyes, "remind me again why I thought walking was a good idea?"
"Because remaining stationary in a desert with no shade, no water, and two active suns would increase the probability of fatal heatstroke within the next three hours."
"Right," Tony sighed. "So, I die slow instead of fast. What a fantastic set of options."
The heat pressed down on him like a physical force, sweat pooling at the back of his neck despite the suit's failing cooling systems. The sand reflected the sunlight like a giant heat lamp, making him feel like a very expensive rotisserie chicken.
Then, through the shimmering waves of heat, he saw it.
A giant, rust-colored, blocky monstrosity crept across the dunes in the distance, its treads kicking up thick clouds of dust as it lumbered forward like a slow-moving brick on tank tracks.
Tony squinted. "Okay, either the heat's finally frying my brain, or that is one hell of a Winnebago."
"I detect a large mobile vehicle approximately 800 meters ahead," Jarvis confirmed. "Unidentified design, but it appears to be composed of scavenged metal components, likely repurposed for trade or salvage operations."
Tony exhaled in relief. "A moving junk pile. Perfect. Let's go make some new friends."
Picking up the pace, he powered his thrusters for a brief hover—only to immediately stumble mid-air as the low-power warning blared across his HUD.
"Yeah, no," he muttered, landing ungracefully. "No more fancy shortcuts."
After another few agonizing minutes of hiking, Tony finally got close enough to make out the details of the Sandcrawler—a massive, fortress-like machine, its exterior covered in dents, scorch marks, and a patchwork of hastily welded scrap. The treads churned against the sand, grinding forward at a snail's pace.
Then he spotted the little hooded creatures scurrying around the open hatch near its base.
"…Huh," Tony mused, watching them haul pieces of junk inside. "Didn't know this desert came with gremlins."
The creatures—about four feet tall, wrapped in dirty brown robes—were busy loading their haul, completely unaware of the armored, exhausted billionaire approaching.
Tony stopped a few yards away, took a deep breath, and mustered what little charm he had left.
"Hey, uh… fellas?" His voice came out hoarse but still laced with that signature Stark confidence. "I don't know what the protocol is for desert hitchhiking, but I come in peace. Mostly. Kinda. I might be a little dehydrated, so there's a solid ten percent chance I'm hallucinating you."
The Jawas froze.
For a second, there was only silence. Then, one of them let out a startled, high-pitched "Utinni!", and all hell broke loose.
In an instant, the entire group started screaming in their bizarre, rapid-fire gibberish, flailing their stubby arms as they scattered like panicked pigeons. Some dove behind crates. Others bolted inside the crawler, their little glowing yellow eyes peeking out from the shadows.
One particularly bold Jawa pointed a blaster at him, chattering excitedly as if trying to hype himself up.
Tony raised both hands in mock surrender. "Whoa, hey! Easy there, Shortstack. Let's not do anything we'll regret."
The armed Jawa hesitated, looking between Tony and his cowering companions.
Then, slowly, they all began creeping back out, whispering frantically to each other.
"Jarvis," Tony muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "are they saying what I think they're saying?"
"One moment."
A soft humming noise pulsed through his earpiece as Jarvis ran his translation protocols.
After a few seconds, the AI spoke again.
"The closest translation would be: 'What is that shiny metal man, and how much can we sell him for?'"
Tony blinked.
"Oh, hell no."
Before he could react, two Jawas darted forward and started yanking at his armor, chattering excitedly as they inspected his suit like it was fresh merchandise.
"Hey—no! Hands off the merchandise!" Tony swatted one away, only for another to start unscrewing one of his gauntlet plates. "Are you serious right now?! Jarvis, tell them I am not for sale!"
"Attempting to communicate… translation complete."
Jarvis emitted a burst of scrambled Jawa-speak through the suit's external speakers.
The Jawas paused, listening, then immediately resumed trying to dismantle him, arguing loudly over who should keep what.
"Oh, for the love of—GUYS! Personal space!" Tony shook them off again, stumbling back.
The lead Jawa, still holding the blaster, tilted his head. Then he barked something to the others.
Jarvis translated.
"He says, 'If you are not for sale, do you have something else to trade?'"
Tony exhaled, running a hand down his helmet. "Oh, now we're negotiating? Great. Just great."
He looked down at himself, then back at the pile of scrap they were hauling into the Sandcrawler.
"…You guys like broken junk, right?"
The Jawas nodded vigorously.
Tony sighed, reluctantly unclipping a damaged micro-repulsor module from his suit's forearm and holding it up.
"This thing only has about thirty percent function left, but it's still a Stark Industries-grade power source. One-of-a-kind, very rare. And I—" he pointed to himself, "—will trade it for one ride to the nearest settlement. Preferably one with food, water, and a bar that serves something that won't kill me."
The Jawas huddled together, whispering excitedly.
Then, the leader turned back to him and held up two fingers.
Tony frowned. "What, two? No. No way. One."
More chattering. The leader insisted, jabbing his fingers forward again.
Tony groaned. "Ugh, fine! Two. But I want front-row seats, no funny business, and a no-dismantling-the-customer policy for the duration of the trip."
The Jawas cheered. One of them snatched the second repulsor component right off his hip before he could even protest.
"Jarvis," Tony muttered as he watched them scamper away, "I just got hustled by desert goblins, didn't I?"
"I believe the term is 'haggled,' sir."
"Yeah, well, I feel haggled."
With a final sigh, he followed the Jawas toward the giant, rusted Sandcrawler, preparing himself for what was sure to be the worst Uber ride of his life.
Tony Stark had been in many uncomfortable situations in his life.
He had been stranded in a cave in Afghanistan with a box of scraps.
He had been stuck in space after a literal alien army smacked him around like a piñata.
He had flown a nuclear missile into another dimension, which, in hindsight, was probably why he was in this mess.
And now, he was experiencing a brand new level of discomfort—one that involved cramped, stifling heat, the overwhelming stench of rust and oil, and about twelve tiny desert goblins crammed into a metal box with him.
The inside of the Sandcrawler was somehow worse than he had imagined.
The space was narrow, barely tall enough for him to stand up straight. Pipes and wires jutted out of the walls, which were covered in dents, scorch marks, and what looked suspiciously like piles of rusted junk duct-taped together. The air smelled like burnt circuitry, engine grease, and—because the universe clearly wanted him to suffer—unwashed Jawas.
Tony let out a slow breath.
"Wow," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "And here I thought New York subways were bad."
One of the Jawas, seated on a stack of broken droid parts, turned to him and chattered something.
Jarvis translated.
"He says, 'This is the finest Sandcrawler on Tatooine.'"
Tony snorted. "Yeah? Compared to what? A pile of flaming garbage?"
The Jawa clapped his hands together proudly and nodded.
"…Oh my god."
Tony grimaced as he tried to adjust himself, his suit groaning against the tight metal walls. The space was clearly not meant for someone his height, much less a fully armored six-foot-something guy. He was sitting cross-legged in a very awkward position, knees nearly hitting his chest, while Jawas chattered and scuttled around him like caffeinated rodents.
The Sandcrawler lurched forward, and Tony's head smacked into a low-hanging pipe.
"Ah, son of a—!" He grabbed his forehead, groaning. "Really? REALLY? This is my life now?"
A Jawa giggled.
Tony shot him a glare. "Oh, laugh it up, short stack."
Another lurch.
Tony jerked sideways, banging his elbow against the jagged edge of a broken console.
"For the love of—can we get some shock absorbers in this thing?! What is this, the off-road edition?"
The Jawa driving up front honked a horn in response.
Tony exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Oh yeah, great. Thanks. That really improves the experience."
Shifting uncomfortably, he turned his attention back to his suit, flexing his fingers.
"Alright, Jarvis," he muttered. "What's still broken, what's about to break, and what can I duct tape back together?"
"Current status: armor integrity at fifty-six percent, power reserves at six percent. Flight systems are non-functional. Repulsors are operating at a limited capacity. Internal cooling is compromised. Communications remain down. Auxiliary power cells at a critical low."
Tony leaned his head back against the metal wall and sighed dramatically.
"So basically, I'm one bad sneeze away from this thing turning into an oven mitt."
"An oversimplification, but not inaccurate."
One of the Jawas curiously poked his gauntlet, then attempted to pry it off.
Tony swatted his hand away. "Oh no, no, no. Hands off, Swiper."
The Jawa squeaked in disappointment, scampering away.
"Jarvis," Tony continued, glancing around at the piles of discarded junk, "give me some good news. Is there anything in here I can use for some quick and dirty repairs?"
A short pause. Then:
"Scanning."
Tony watched as his HUD flickered, running a scan of the miscellaneous junk scattered across the dimly lit interior.
"Analysis complete. Potential components detected: several damaged power converters, a partially functional servo motor, remnants of an outdated droid processing unit, and multiple unidentified metal components."
Tony squinted at the nearest pile. "Alright, let's see what's under the hood."
Shuffling forward, he reached out and grabbed what looked like a half-melted circuit board, examining it closely. It was charred, dented, and barely holding together.
"…This is garbage."
A Jawa, watching excitedly, nodded enthusiastically.
Tony sighed. "Well, at least we're setting expectations correctly."
Rolling up his sleeves—metaphorically speaking—he set to work.
The Jawas crowded around him, watching in fascination as he pulled off damaged plating, jury-rigged a few stray components, and reattached some loose wiring.
It wasn't much, but it was something.
The biggest win was salvaging a half-busted power regulator, which stabilized some of his suit's internal functions—meaning his systems wouldn't shut down the second he tried something mildly strenuous.
The servo motor was still partially operational, so Tony tinkered with a minor actuator in his left arm, restoring slightly better mobility.
And the best part?
He managed to squeeze out just a little more power efficiency, bumping his reserves up to a whopping…
Six point four percent.
"…That's it?" Tony groaned, glaring at his HUD. "I risked tetanus for point four percent?"
"A negligible improvement," Jarvis admitted.
Tony tossed the remaining scrap parts over his shoulder. "This is why I work with real engineers."
A Jawa immediately grabbed the discarded parts and ran off excitedly as if Tony had just given him a pile of gold bars.
Tony shook his head. "Okay, note to self—next time, barter for actual spare parts instead of getting scammed into an extended warranty plan."
The Sandcrawler lurched again, sending a small avalanche of junk tumbling onto him.
"Ah, come on!" Tony sputtered, pushing a rusted metal plate off his lap. "How do you guys live like this?! I feel like I'm sitting inside a sentient junk drawer!"
A Jawa excitedly held up a rusted, half-functional droid head.
Tony stared at it.
The Jawa shook the head like a maraca.
"…Yeah, okay, that tracks."
Another bumpy turn. Tony banged his head on the ceiling pipe again.
"For crying out loud—HOW MUCH LONGER?!"
A different Jawa leaned in and chattered something.
Jarvis translated.
"He says, 'We are almost at Mos Eisley.'"
Tony took a deep breath. "Alright. Cool. Great. Because if I have to sit in this crawling tin can much longer, I might just sell myself for scrap and call it a day."
A Jawa perked up excitedly, clearly very interested in that offer.
Tony shot him a glare. "Not an actual offer."
The Jawa groaned in disappointment.
With another grinding lurch, the Sandcrawler began slowing down, the sound of whirring gears and hissing hydraulics filling the cabin.
Tony exhaled, stretching as best as he could. "Alright, J. Time to see what kind of backwater space Vegas we just rolled into."
Jarvis hummed in agreement.
As the hatch hissed open, revealing a sprawling, dusty settlement bathed in the light of two sinking suns, Tony cracked his neck and mentally prepared himself.
"Alright, Tatooine. Let's see what you've got."
The city stretched before him like an aged, sunbaked ruin, its domed buildings, narrow alleys, and stone archways looking more like something out of a medieval play than an actual functioning spaceport. Grime-coated walls, rusted machinery, and sputtering vaporators lined the streets while battered speeders and unidentifiable alien vehicles hovered past, their drivers barely acknowledging the foot traffic.
And speaking of foot traffic…
Tony stepped forward and immediately realized he was the weird one here—and not just because he was an Earthling in a galaxy he didn't belong to.
The streets were packed with aliens.
Some were tall and insect-like, their multi-limbed bodies clicking as they shuffled past. Others were short and stocky, covered in fur, scales, or something in between. There were creatures with tusks, creatures with tentacles, and one particularly horrifying slug-like guy that Tony swore gave him a once-over like he was considering buying him.
"Jarvis," Tony muttered, trying not to make eye contact with a fish-headed man selling something that looked suspiciously like a barbecued lizard. I think I just walked into a bad acid trip."
"Sir, I would advise discretion," Jarvis responded smoothly in his earpiece. "You are already drawing attention."
"Yeah, you think?"
Tony glanced down at himself.
Golden-red Iron Man armor. Fully intact. Still glowing in places.
Yeah. He definitely stuck out.
Step One: Fix that.
He quickly ducked into a shadowy alley between two crumbling stone buildings that looked about five bad decisions away from collapsing.
"Alright, let's lose the flashy getup," he muttered.
With a hiss of hydraulics, the Iron Man suit split open down the middle, its components shifting back like a mechanized cocoon. Tony stepped forward, walking out of the armor like he was shedding an exoskeleton.
"Man, I love nanotech," he said, rolling his shoulders.
The suit remained in low-power mode, standing motionless like a hollowed-out shell.
"Alright, J, let's stash this thing somewhere inconspicuous."
"Scanning… The safest location appears to be a concealed space beneath that abandoned cargo platform to your left."
Tony turned and spotted a half-collapsed structure, its foundation forming a makeshift crawl space.
"Eh. Not exactly Fort Knox, but it'll do."
He tapped his wrist, sending a command. The Iron Man suit responded immediately, stepping forward slowly and whirring before crouching down and sliding neatly beneath the platform, blending in with the scattered junk.
With the suit secured, Tony slipped in his earpiece and activated his augmented sunglasses. His HUD flashed to life across the lenses.
"Alright. Now I just look like a mysterious off-worlder with expensive taste. How's my power level looking, J?"
"Still at six point four percent. Suit is in low-power mode and concealed."
"Good. Because if someone steals my armor, I will commit war crimes."
After one last glance at his stashed gear, Tony stepped out onto Main Street and adjusted his sunglasses.
Step Two: Get the lay of the land.
Tony walked through Mos Eisley, taking in the sights, sounds, and... smells.
Aliens bartered and argued in front of makeshift market stalls. Some traded junked droid parts, others hocked weapons, and a few were peddling food items that looked one stomach flu away from murder.
Tony sidestepped a pair of bickering Rodians who were gesturing wildly at a blaster rifle, almost knocking into a large, fur-covered brute of an alien that growled something unfriendly.
"Easy there, furball," Tony muttered, sidestepping.
The alien snorted and walked off, grumbling.
"I gotta say, J, this place has got... character."
"I believe the appropriate term is 'wretched hive of scum and villainy.'"
Tony chuckled. "Yeah? Well, I've been to Vegas. This still ranks higher on my list of places I'd rather wake up in."
He took another step forward—
And immediately, he had to dodge a Jawa trying to pickpocket him.
"Hey!" Tony swatted the little thief away. "Hands to yourself, buddy!"
The Jawa squeaked and scampered off into the crowd.
Tony shook his head. "I swear, if I ever make it back home, I'm slapping an anti-theft system on everything I own."
After a few more steps, he noticed a familiar buzzing sound in the distance—a cantina just down the street, filled with music, laughter, and some very, very shady individuals.
Tony stopped in front of the entrance, eyeing the dusty, weathered sign above the door.
He cracked a small grin.
"Jarvis, I think I just found my new favorite dive bar."
"Sir, I would advise caution—"
"Relax, I just want to look around. Maybe get a drink. Not like I'm gonna start a bar fight."
Jarvis sighed, but Tony was already stepping through the entrance.
The Cantina was loud, packed, and smelled like unwashed boots and desperation.
Aliens of every shape and size occupied the bar. Some hunched over drinks, others engaged in heated arguments, and a few just lurked in the shadows like they were waiting for the next big bounty.
A band of small, bizarre-looking musicians played in the corner, their instruments producing a catchy but oddly repetitive tune.
Tony took it all in.
"This place is fantastic. I feel like I just walked onto the set of a 70s sci-fi flick."
He strolled over to the bar counter, squeezing between a bug-eyed alien and something that looked like a sentient walrus.
The bartender, a gruff-looking human with thinning hair, glanced up.
Tony flashed him a winning smile. "So, what's a guy gotta do to get a drink around here?"
The bartender just stared at him. "You got credits?"
Tony patted his empty utility belt. "Ah, that would be a no. But listen, I am fantastic company. I promise, one drink, and you'll be telling your grandkids you once served a legend."
The bartender didn't blink. "No credits, no drink."
Tony sighed. "Wow. Tough crowd."
Before he could formulate a new hustle, a large shadow fell over him.
Tony turned.
He found himself face to face with a big, angry, tusked alien who did not look like he was there for the music.
The alien grunted something in a deep, guttural voice.
Tony frowned. "Jarvis, wanna translate that?"
A brief pause. Then:
"He says, 'You're sitting in my spot.'"
Tony slowly turned back to the bartender. "J, buddy, what are the odds this guy will just let me slide over?"
"Given his stance and demeanor, I'd estimate... four percent."
Tony sighed. "Awesome."
The alien growled, cracking his knuckles.
Tony flashed a sheepish grin.
"Hey, big guy, let's keep this civil, huh?" He held up his hands. "I'm new in town, just looking for a drink—no need for the welcome punch to the face."
The alien grunted again.
Jarvis translated.
"He says, 'I don't like your face.'"
Tony groaned.
"Well, that's just rude."
Tony had been in bars before.
Many bars.
Fancy rooftop bars. Seedy underground bars. A bar inside a Helicarrier once—that was a weird night.
But this bar? This Cantina?
This one was shaping up to be the most memorable yet—for all the wrong reasons.
The tusked alien standing in front of him had about three hundred pounds of muscle, breath that smelled like fermented garbage, and a face that looked like it had lost a fight with a land speeder.
"Alright, big guy," Tony said, raising his hands casually. "I get it. Your seat. No hard feelings. I'm happy to move. Let's keep those fists exactly where they are—preferably far away from my face."
The alien grunted, clearly unimpressed.
Jarvis spoke in Tony's earpiece. "Sir, he appears to be reconsidering whether or not to break your ribs."
"Fantastic. Let's hope he keeps reconsidering."
Then, Tony did something really unfortunate.
Not intentionally. Not maliciously.
He shrugged.
And in doing so, he accidentally smacked over the alien's drink with his elbow.
Spilled it everywhere.
Right on the guy's fur-covered vest.
The entire Cantina went dead silent.
Even the band stopped playing.
Tony slowly looked down at the spilled drink.
Then back up at Furball McAngryface, whose eye was twitching like he was about to explode.
"…So, just spitballing here, but I'm guessing that's a problem?" Tony asked.
The alien roared.
Tony sighed. "Yeah, that's a problem."
Before he could react, the massive alien grabbed him by the front of his undersuit and lifted him off the ground like he weighed nothing.
"Oh wow," Tony wheezed, his feet dangling as he felt the vice-like grip squeeze his ribs. "You work out, huh? Lifting routine? You got that strongman grip—really impressive stuff—"
The alien reeled back a fist the size of a ham.
Tony braced for impact.
And then—
"Hey, big guy!"
A new voice cut through the tension—cocky, confident, and full of swagger.
Tony turned his head as best as he could while still being manhandled.
At the entrance of the Cantina stood two figures.
The first was young, probably in his early twenties, with brown hair, a smug grin, and a blaster strapped low on his hip like he knew how to use it. He wore a beat-up jacket over a loose white shirt, a belt with an extra holster, and the kind of attitude that screamed 'smuggler with questionable life choices.'
The second figure?
Seven feet of furry walking carpet with bandoliers, sharp teeth, and a low, warning growl that made a few patrons instinctively back away.
Tony blinked.
"Jarvis, tell me I did not just get rescued by young Indiana Jones and Bigfoot."
The young smuggler, Han, swaggered forward, eyeing the tusked alien still holding Tony.
"You still owe us money, pal," Han said, leaning against the bar like he owned the place. "Remember that? Or did you spend it all on that ugly vest?"
The alien's anger flickered into hesitation.
Han crossed his arms. "We had a deal, Ugnor. You get the parts, and we get paid. But instead, you ran off, and now you're in here trying to redecorate this guy's face? That's my job."
Tony scoffed. "Yeah, no offense, but I prefer my face not rearranged."
Ugnor—the tusked alien—grumbled something in deep, guttural tones.
Jarvis translated: "I told you I'd pay when I got the credits."
Chewbacca growled in response, cracking his huge knuckles.
Han nodded. "Yeah, well, we don't like waiting."
Tony raised a hand—well, tried to while still being held. "Hey, I just want to point out that I am not actually part of this—"
Before anyone could respond, Ugnor roared and lunged at Han.
Tony, still dangling in the air, got thrown aside like a sack of potatoes.
He crashed into a table, sending drinks flying, and rolled onto the ground with a groan.
"Ow."
Then, the Cantina exploded into chaos.
The first punch landed hard.
Han ducked under a wild swing, slugged Ugnor in the gut, and immediately dodged behind a chair as his furry companion grabbed another alien and threw him across the room.
Tony pushed himself up, shaking his head.
"Oh, great. This is happening."
A bottle shattered as someone got slammed into the bar counter.
A Rodian flopped onto a table.
A blaster shot hit the ceiling, making the band scream and scatter.
Tony dusted himself off, fixing his sunglasses. "Okay, introductions are overdue. I'm Tony Stark, billionaire, genius, inventor, occasional superhero, and—"
He ducked a flying chair.
"—currently regretting every decision that led to this moment."
Han grinned as he dodged a punch. "Han Solo. Smuggler, pilot, very good-looking rogue—"
He kicked an alien square in the chest.
"—and about to win this fight."
His companion let out a thunderous roar, smashing a thug into the wall with one massive paw.
Tony pointed at the walking carpet. "And let me guess—your muscle? Your... whatever-he-is?"
Han nodded. "Chewbacca."
Tony smirked. "I like him already."
Before Han could respond, another alien brute lunged at Tony.
Tony sidestepped, using the momentum to redirect him into a support beam.
"Crash!"
"Hope you had insurance!" Tony called after him.
The fight kept going, the Cantina fully devolving into madness.
Blaster shots hit the walls.
Aliens were flying over tables.
The bartender was ducked behind the counter, grumbling to himself.
And then—just as suddenly as it started—it stopped.
Ugnor groaned, staggering to his feet.
Han stepped forward, pointing his blaster at his head.
Chewbacca growled for emphasis.
"You owe us," Han said, voice calm but firm. "Pay up, or next time, you won't be walking out of here."
Ugnor grumbled something under his breath, then tossed a small credit chip at Han.
Han caught it. Smirked. "Pleasure doing business with you."
Tony dusted himself off, rubbing his sore ribs. "Well. That was fun."
Han turned to him. "So… Stark, was it?"
Tony adjusted his sunglasses. "That's me. Tony Stark. Billionaire, genius, and, apparently, Cantina brawl champion."
Han smirked. "I like you, Stark. Let me buy you a drink."
Tony exhaled, cracking his neck. "Finally, someone with manners."
As the band hesitantly started playing again, Tony leaned back against the bar, watching Han as he casually flipped the credit chip between his fingers. Chewbacca sat beside him, taking up way more space than seemed necessary, his massive frame making the barstools look comically undersized. The Cantina was starting to return to its usual level of shady business, the band nervously picking up their tune again as if the brawl never happened.
A drink was set in front of Tony, some sort of murky amber liquid in a dinged-up metal cup. He eyed it with mild suspicion before glancing at Han.
"So, what exactly am I drinking here?" Tony asked, swirling the liquid. "Because if it's battery acid, I'd like to know beforehand."
Han smirked. "It's just some local stuff. Strong. You'll live."
"That's reassuring," Tony muttered before bringing the cup to his lips and taking a sip.
The burn hit instantly.
Tony coughed, blinking rapidly. "Oh. Oh wow. That's… something." He cleared his throat. "Is that supposed to taste like jet fuel? Because I feel like I just swallowed a reactor core."
Han chuckled. "Some people can't handle it."
Tony scoffed, setting the cup down. "Hey, I've downed drinks with Norse gods before. This is just—different. Like, 'did you distill this in a speeder engine' different."
Han grinned. "If it gets the job done, who cares?"
Tony exhaled, still feeling the burn. He set the cup aside and leaned forward. "Alright, now that we've all successfully broken at least one law in this bar, I have a question."
Han raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
Tony rested his forearms on the bar. "Do either of you know how to get to Earth?"
Han's expression shifted slightly. He glanced at Chewbacca, who gave a low grunt, then looked back at Tony with an amused smirk.
"Earth?" Han repeated as if he was making sure he heard correctly.
Tony nodded. "Yeah. Planet. Third from the sun. Blue, white, green—very scenic. Great pizza."
Han shrugged. "Never heard of it."
Tony blinked. "Come again?"
Chewbacca rumbled something.
Han nodded. "Yeah, Chewie either."
Tony frowned. "Okay, that's weird. You're human. You should know Earth."
Han gave him a sideways look. "I'm Corellian."
Tony squinted at him. "I don't know what that means."
Han gestured broadly. "Means I'm from Corellia. Not this 'Earth' place you keep talking about."
Tony rubbed his temples. "Alright, hold on. You—you're human. You look human. So logically, you should know Earth. That's, like, the flagship planet for humans."
Han smirked. "Buddy, you ever think maybe you're the one in the wrong place?"
Tony exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. "Fantastic. This keeps getting better. No Google Maps, no GPS, and now I find out I'm in a galaxy where people that look human don't even know what Earth is."
Han took a sip of his own drink and set it down. "That's rough, but hey, at least you made a couple of new friends, right?"
Tony gestured between them. "Oh yeah, totally. Bonding over bar fights and identity crises. It's great."
Han smirked. "Glad we agree." He stretched before standing up, adjusting his belt. "Anyway, drink's about as far as thanks goes. Free rides? Not really our thing."
Chewbacca let out a deep grunt of agreement, standing as well.
Tony sighed. "Right. And here I was thinking we were becoming best buddies."
Han grinned. "Sorry, Stark. We got places to be."
Chewbacca rumbled something, and Han let out a groan, rubbing his face. "Oh, right. We don't actually have places to be until we get the Falcon fixed."
Tony, still processing everything, perked up slightly at the word. "Falcon?"
Han waved dismissively. "Ship."
Chewbacca let out a low growl and jabbed a finger at Han's chest.
Han rolled his eyes. "Oh, here we go again."
Tony glanced between them. "Uh-oh. What's happening?"
Chewbacca growled something longer this time, pointing aggressively at Han, who groaned louder.
Han turned to Tony. "He says it's my fault the Falcon needs fixing. Which is wrong."
Chewbacca barked something.
Han frowned. "Oh, so now you remember how you fried the stabilizer when you panicked and swung us into that asteroid field?"
Chewbacca growled.
Han pointed a finger at him. "You did!"
Chewbacca crossed his arms and growled something lower.
Han scoffed. "Okay, first of all, I was flying because someone thought that yelling at the targeting system was going to make it fix itself."
Chewbacca huffed, shaking his head.
Tony, watching this with mild amusement, leaned back. "This is fun. You guys do this often?"
Han threw up his hands. "Every. Damn. Time."
Chewbacca barked again.
Han waved him off. "Oh, don't start. Look, bottom line—the Falcon needs work. And unlike some people, I actually know how to fix her."
Tony's mind was already clicking into gear. "Alright. Hold up."
Han turned back to him. "What?"
Tony crossed his arms. "You said you need to fix your ship. I happen to be really, really good at fixing things. Machines, engines, reactors, you name it."
Han smirked. "Oh yeah?"
Tony tilted his head. "Yeah. And I also happen to need a ride around this big, weird galaxy of yours until I figure out how to get home."
Han arched an eyebrow. "You proposing a deal?"
Tony spread his arms. "You let me roll with you, and I'll fix your Falcon. I assume it's a piece of junk based on how mad he is at you, so you're gonna want someone who actually knows what they're doing."
Han chuckled. "Hey. The Falcon's not a piece of junk."
Chewbacca snorted.
Han shot him a look. "She's not."
Chewbacca growled something under his breath.
Tony gestured. "So what do you say? You need a mechanic, and I need a way around. Seems like a win-win."
Han eyed him, considering. "And you're sure you can fix her?"
Tony smirked. "Try me."
Han glanced at Chewbacca, who let out a rumbling sigh before shrugging.
Han shook his head. "You're a pain in the ass, Stark."
Tony grinned. "Yeah, but I'm useful."
Han sighed. "Alright, fine. You're in."
Tony clapped his hands together. "Fantastic. Now, where's this so-called Falcon?"
Han smirked, gesturing toward the exit. "Docked outside town. Let's see if you're as good as you say you are."
Tony grabbed his drink and downed the rest of it in one go. He coughed again.
"Still tastes like jet fuel," he muttered, setting the cup down before following them out into the hot desert air.
Tony walked alongside Han and Chewbacca through the dusty streets of Mos Eisley, the heat from the twin suns beating down on them. The place smelled like dry sand, old oil, and regret. Speeders zipped past, and creatures Tony still couldn't classify shuffled along, minding their own business.
Tony adjusted his sunglasses and exhaled. "Before we head to your Falcon, we need to make a quick stop."
Han shot him a look. "Yeah? For what?"
Tony waved a hand. "Just need to pick up my suit."
Han frowned. "Your suit?"
Chewbacca let out a questioning grunt.
"Yeah. Left it somewhere safe. I'd rather not leave it lying around for those little robe-wearing goblins to tear apart and sell for parts."
Han squinted at him. "What kind of suit are we talking about? Some high-end noble's clothes? A fancy uniform? Because unless you're hiding a stash of credits in the pockets, I don't see why we need to bother."
Tony smirked. "Oh, it's a bit more high-end than that."
Han and Chewbacca exchanged a glance but shrugged and followed Tony through a few winding alleys until he stopped at a half-collapsed cargo platform. He walked over and knocked twice on the rusted metal before tapping something on his wrist.
With a faint whirr, the Iron Man suit came to life beneath the splatform's shadows The red and gold armor unfolded irom its crouched position, its arc reactor pulsing softly. The servo motors clicked into motion, the eyes lit up with a sharp glow, and with a final hiss of hydraulics, the armor stepped out into the sunlight.
Han froze. Chewbacca let out a low, surprised rumble.
Tony casually gestured at it. "And that's my suit."
Han blinked. "What the hell is that?"
Chewbacca took a step back, fur bristling slightly.
Tony clapped his hands together. "Gentlemen, meet my ride, my protection, my personal multi-billion-dollar flying fortress—the Iron Man suit."
Han shook his head, rubbing his eyes as if he were seeing things. "That's not a suit. That's—what even is that?"
Chewbacca growled something, leaning forward to inspect it closer.
Tony smirked. "It's a fully integrated, AI-assisted exo-armor system with flight capabilities, advanced targeting, repulsor-based weaponry, and—get this—it looks amazing."
Han scoffed, circling the armor. "I've seen a lot of tech in my time, but I've never seen anything like this."
Tony patted the armor's shoulder. "Yeah, well, you're looking at the only one in existence. Custom-made, one-of-a-kind, and trust me, it makes quite the impression."
Han crossed his arms. "I bet it'd fetch a real pretty price."
Tony turned to him, giving him a deadpan look. "Don't even think about it, Smuggles."
Han grinned. "Relax. Just saying, a suit like that? There's people out there who'd kill for it."
Tony sighed. "Yeah, I'm painfully aware of that."
Chewbacca rumbled something, and Han chuckled. "Yeah, Chewie's got a point—you sure it's safe leaving it out here?"
Tony snapped his fingers, and the suit instantly folded open, its backplate shifting like an insect shedding its exoskeleton. He stepped in smoothly, the armor sealing around him. The HUD lit up inside his helmet.
"Oh yeah," Tony said, his voice now layered with the slight electronic filter from the suit's speakers. "I think I'll manage."
Han let out a low whistle. "Okay, that's cool."
Tony grinned behind his helmet. "Glad you approve. Now, let's go fix your junk heap."
Han's smirk vanished. "Hey. The Falcon's not a junk heap."
Chewbacca let out a questioning growl.
Han pointed at him. "Not now, Chewie."
Tony chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, let's just get to your ship."
When they arrived at Docking Bay 94, Tony took one look at the Millennium Falcon and let out a slow whistle.
"…Okay, I take it back. This is a junk heap."
Han's jaw clenched. "Hey! Watch it. She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts."
Chewbacca groaned and rubbed his forehead.
Tony walked up the loading ramp, inspecting the ship's hull. "Right. Because when I look at a ship that's covered in patchwork plating and duct tape engineering, I definitely think 'high-performance machine.'"
Han scoffed. "You don't know a thing about ships."
Tony smirked. "I know a thing about machines. And this?" He knocked on the side of the hull, causing a metal plate to rattle. "This looks like it's held together by hope and wishful thinking."
Han rolled his eyes. "You gonna help or just stand there making jokes?"
Tony cracked his knuckles. "Alright, let's see what we're working with."
Han gestured toward the exposed panel Chewbacca had been working on earlier. "Hyperdrive took a hit. Stabilizers are off balance. We also got a very annoying power fluctuation issue."
Chewbacca growled in agreement.
Tony crouched next to the open panel, scanning the wiring. "I can see why. This thing's running on tech that looks like it was slapped together by a guy who only sort of understood what he was doing."
Han crossed his arms. "That'd be me."
Tony glanced up. "Yeah, that tracks."
Han scowled. "Just fix it."
Tony grinned. "Gladly."
He got to work, hands moving across the exposed wiring, rerouting circuits, and replacing what he could with the parts scattered around. After a few minutes, he looked up.
"Alright, while I'm doing this, I need access to your tools and spare parts. Also, anything that resembles high-output power sources."
Han raised an eyebrow. "What for?"
Tony jerked a thumb toward his armor. "Gotta fix my suit up. She took a bit of a beating."
Han shrugged. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Just don't go ripping out any important systems."
Tony nodded, walking over to the Falcon's small workbench. He tapped his helmet. "Alright, time to meet the team."
Han frowned. "What?"
The suit's HUD flickered, and a smooth, British-accented voice chimed in.
"Ah, I see you've made new acquaintances, sir."
Han and Chewbacca both flinched. Han's hand immediately went to his blaster.
Tony waved a hand. "Relax. Han, Chewie, meet Jarvis. My personal AI assistant."
Han blinked. "Your what?"
"AI. Smart program. My digital butler."
Jarvis spoke again. "Pleasure to meet you, Captain Solo and Chewbacca."
Chewbacca let out a surprised grunt, stepping back.
Han narrowed his eyes. "It talks?"
Tony smirked. "Yeah. And he's a lot more polite than you."
Han huffed. "Great. Another mouth to feed."
Tony shook his head. "Doesn't eat. Just helps me not die."
Jarvis sighed. "An undervalued service, might I add."
Tony grinned. "See? He gets me."
Han sighed, shaking his head. "I have a bad feeling about this."
Tony clapped his hands together. "Alright, boys. Let's get to work."
As he dug into repairs, he couldn't help but think—maybe this whole being stranded in space thing wasn't so bad after all.
The steady hum of machinery filled the docking bay as Tony worked his way through the final tweaks on the Falcon's exposed wiring. Sparks flickered occasionally, but for the most part, things were coming together a lot more smoothly than he expected.
He had been in worse conditions before.
A cave in Afghanistan? Check.
Now? Lost in a galaxy where no one had ever heard of Earth?
Still processing that one.
At least he had something to keep his mind busy.
Han sat back on a crate, arms crossed, watching with what Tony could only describe as mild skepticism mixed with reluctant admiration. Chewbacca, on the other hand, was hovering nearby, peering at the suit as Tony checked over its charging status.
"Alright, progress report," Tony muttered, stretching his fingers as he stood up. "Falcon's power flow is stabilized, hyperdrive should stop hiccuping, and, most importantly, I managed to reroute energy to charge my suit."
The Iron Man armor was connected to the Falcon's power system, with cables running from the ship's paneling to the arc reactor. The suit was currently in low-power recharge mode, and the soft glow of its chest piece slowly grew stronger.
Han shook his head, smirking. "Gotta admit, Stark, you work fast."
Tony grinned. "What can I say? It's almost like I built high-tech machinery for a living."
Chewbacca rumbled something, nodding approvingly as he studied the suit.
Han glanced at him. "Yeah, yeah, Chewie. I said he's good."
Tony dusted off his hands. "You sound surprised."
Han leaned against the Falcon's ramp, arms still crossed. "I don't exactly let strangers mess with my ship. But you? You actually fixed stuff. That hyperdrive's been giving us problems for weeks."
Tony smirked. "Well, good thing you ran into a guy who graduated top of his class in 'Miracle Engineering.'"
Han chuckled. "Right, miracle engineering. That what you call that suit of yours?"
Tony turned toward his armor, tilting his head. "It's a little more than engineering, but yeah. Had to build something to keep me alive. Kinda got attached to it."
Han nodded. "I get it. Ship's kinda the same way for me."
Chewbacca gave a gruff snort.
Han rolled his eyes. "Yes, Chewie, you too."
Tony leaned against a nearby workbench. "Alright, I gotta ask. Since we're getting all friendly now—what's the deal with this galaxy? What's the power structure? How does any of this work?"
Han gave him a strange look. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Tony gestured vaguely, "I just crash-landed in an entirely new galaxy, and I still don't know what the hell the big players are. I assume there's some government or ruling body?"
Han scoffed. "Yeah. The Empire."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "The Empire?"
Han nodded. "Yeah. Big, bad, and everywhere. You don't know about them?"
Tony shook his head. "Nope."
Han blinked. "How? You live under a rock?"
Tony chuckled. "Funny. No, I lived on a different planet entirely."
Han narrowed his eyes. "Wait, you're telling me you don't know anything about the Empire?"
Tony spread his arms. "You're catching on."
Chewbacca let out a low, confused rumble.
Han shook his head. "Okay, let's break this down real simple. The Empire? Bad guys. Giant fleet. Controls damn near everything. If you piss them off, you either get locked up, frozen or blasted into space dust."
Tony frowned. "That sounds… familiar."
Han smirked. "Yeah? Your home got its own set of tyrants?"
Tony exhaled. "Oh yeah. Not on this scale, though. We've had our share of 'bad guys trying to control everything,' but not, y'know, galactic domination levels."
Han nodded. "Well, that's the situation here. Used to be a Republic, but that went up in flames a while back. Now? The emperor calls the shots. Stormtroopers everywhere. It's a mess."
Tony frowned. "So, what—you guys just deal with it?"
Han chuckled. "Nah. You have people trying to fight back. Rebels."
Tony's interest piqued. "Rebels?"
"Yeah, a bunch of people trying to overthrow the Empire. They're making some dents, but they're outgunned."
Tony crossed his arms, thinking. "Huh. So it's oppressive dictatorship versus a ragtag resistance?"
Han shrugged. "Something like that."
Tony sighed, rubbing his chin. "Okay, see, this is why I don't do space travel. You think you've solved all the problems back home, and boom—you wake up in another galaxy with the exact same nonsense."
Han smirked. "Yeah, welcome to the Outer Rim."
Chewbacca let out a deep growl, folding his arms.
Tony glanced at him. "Lemme guess—' he talks too much'?"
Han snorted. "Pretty much."
Tony grinned. "Hey, it's part of my charm."
Han shook his head, still looking at Tony like he was some kind of anomaly. "Still can't believe you've never heard of any of this."
Tony exhaled. "Well, believe it. It's been a long day."
Han sat back on the crate again. "So, this Earth of yours. What's the deal with that?"
Tony shrugged. "Not nearly as crazy as this place. Lots of wars, a lot of politics. I mostly focus on the science side of things—or at least, I used to before I got thrown into a wormhole and spat out here."
Han smirked. "Science guy, huh?"
Tony pointed at the suit. "You don't build something like this without knowing how to use a circuit board."
Han eyed the armor again, shaking his head. "Still, I've seen a lot of tech in my time, but nothing like that."
Chewbacca grumbled in agreement.
Tony smirked. "Well then, you two just hit the jackpot. You're looking at the best engineer in the galaxy. You're welcome."
Han chuckled. "You got confidence, I'll give you that."
Tony tapped the arc reactor on his chest. "Comes with the territory."
The Falcon hummed as the systems came back online, and the power readings stabilized. Tony checked the suit's status on his HUD: Thirty-five percent charged. Not bad.
Han stood up. "Alright, Stark. You fixed my ship, got your suit charging—what now?"
Tony stretched, cracking his neck. "Well, unless you've got a magic portal that takes me home, I guess I'm sticking with you guys for a while."
Han sighed. "Yeah, figures."
Chewbacca rumbled something, and Han gave him a look.
"No, we're not charging him," Han muttered.
Tony grinned. "Aw, you're letting me stay for free? Han, I'm touched."
Han scoffed. "You're fixing the ship. That's your payment."
Tony clapped his hands together. "Fair deal."
Han shook his head, chuckling. "Alright, genius. Welcome aboard."
Tony smirked. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."
As he turned back to his suit, he couldn't help but feel it—
His day had started with him falling into a wormhole.
Now, he was fixing a spaceship with a smuggler and his Wookiee co-pilot.
Yeah. This was going to be interesting.
And that's a wrap on this chapter!
Man, writing Tony Stark is way too much fun. The guy just refuses to shut up, and honestly? I respect it. His sarcasm practically writes itself.
But let's be real—he's in way over his head. Dude goes from billionaire playboy to accidental space drifter in less than a day. Now he's stuck fixing a rusty spaceship for a cocky smuggler and his giant walking carpet of a best friend. What could possibly go wrong?
Oh, wait. Everything.
The Falcon's fixed, Tony's got a ride, but where are they going next? What else is lurking out there in this galaxy that's definitely going to make his life harder? And most importantly—will he ever get a drink that doesn't taste like jet fuel?
Guess we'll find out.
Also, I know that technically, Star Wars is a thing in the MCU, but for the sake of the plot, it's better that Tony doesn't know about Star Wars.