The cold Tennessee wind bit through Tony Stark's thin hoodie as he trudged toward the center of Rose Hill. Beside him, Harley Keener—the kid who'd become his reluctant sidekick—was practically vibrating with energy. Tony wasn't here for a scenic tour; he was hunting the ghost of an unmarked explosion that looked way too much like a localized sun had gone off in the middle of a residential street.
Back in Harley's garage, the Mark 42 was hooked up to a tangle of extension cords, humming as it sucked juice from the town's outdated power grid. Tony had spent years building high-yield arc reactors, but being stuck in the middle of nowhere meant he'd had to rewire the suit's emergency protocols to accept standard household electricity. It was slow, it was janky, and it was probably going to blow every fuse on the block, but it was all he had.
"The springs in my step are a little rusty," Tony muttered, adjusting the cheap digital watch on his wrist. It was a bright, neon-pink piece of plastic featuring a cartoon girl with pigtails. "And that sandwich was seventy percent mayo. But I gotta ask, kid—when you said this was your sister's watch, I was expecting something... I don't know, more mature? Not something that looks like it came out of a cereal box."
Harley let out a snort, skipping over a frozen puddle. "It's a limited edition, 'The Princess and the Pony.' She's only six, so yeah, it's her treasure. Wear it with pride, Mechanic. It's probably worth more than your dignity right now."
He pointed toward a charred gap between two buildings. "Explosion site is just ahead. You still gonna tell me about what happened in New York? The news said it was like a movie, but with more property damage."
Tony's pace didn't falter, but his jaw tightened. "Maybe. Don't get your hopes up. It's not exactly a bedtime story."
"Come on," Harley pressed, his curiosity reaching a fever pitch. "Can we at least talk about the heavy hitters? The Avengers? Thor? Or... what about that Golden Legend guy? The kid who supposedly punched a hole through a space whale? People online say he was a myth, but my cousin in Manhattan says she saw him fly."
The moment the words "Golden Legend" hit the air, the world seemed to tilt on its axis for Tony. His heart, already strained by the shrapnel and the stress, skipped a beat and then began to gallop. A sharp, cold needle of adrenaline shot through his chest.
"See you later, kid. Don't bother me with that right now," Tony snapped, his voice tight. He couldn't go there. Thinking about Leander Hayes—thinking about how he'd let a kid shoulder the weight of a war while he watched from the ground—made his lungs feel like they were being squeezed by a vice.
They reached the crater. It was a jagged, blackened hole in the Earth where a house used to be. Local residents had turned it into a makeshift shrine, surrounding the lip of the burn zone with flickering candles, wooden crosses, and handwritten notes for the dead.
Harley sat on the edge of the crater, his legs dangling over the scorched soil. "Do you know what this reminds me of?"
"I don't know, and honestly, kid? I don't care," Tony said, his eyes scanning the surrounding walls. He was looking at the shadows—heat-blasted silhouettes burned into the brickwork. There were five of them. But the official death toll for the Rose Hill "accident" was six. The math didn't add up, and Tony hated bad math.
"It looks like that giant wormhole from the news," Harley said, gesturing wildly at the sky. "The one in New York. That's what put you guys on the map, right? The day the world found out we weren't alone."
"Don't try to provoke me, Harley. I'm not in the mood to discuss my trauma for your entertainment," Tony grunted, but his hands were starting to shake.
"Will they come back? The aliens? The Chitauri?"
"Maybe. Can you just... shut it for five minutes?" Tony held his head, his vision blurring. "I told you, I have an anxiety disorder. It's a thing. It's happening."
"Does this topic make you uneasy?" Harley asked, leaning in.
"Yes! Please, just let me breathe." Tony's heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The world was vibrating. The snow looked too white, the shadows too dark.
"Are there bad guys in Rose Hill?" Harley's questions started coming faster, a relentless barrage. "Do you need a plastic bag? Are you on meds? Should you be on meds? Does your chest always glow like that? Mechanic? Hey, Mechanic!"
Tony couldn't take it. He stood up, staggering backward like a drunkard. "You really drove me crazy. Are you happy now? You win the prize."
He turned and bolted, stumbling ten meters before collapsing against a brick wall. His breath came in ragged, shallow gulps. He reached down, grabbed a handful of freezing slush from the ground, and smashed it against his face. The shock of the cold helped—just a little. It grounded him, pulling him back from the edge of a total blackout.
Harley caught up, looking genuinely confused. "What was that? You looked like you were seeing ghosts."
Tony leaned back, the brick cold against his spine. He threw a chunk of snow at the kid's chest. "It's your fault. You talked me into a panic attack. Congratulations, you broke Iron Man."
He wiped the water from his eyes and sat on the frozen ground, forced into a moment of raw honesty. "Alright. Back to business. Where were we? Chad Davis—the guy who turned into a human bomb. What's the story with his family? Where's his mother?"
Harley thought for a second. "Mrs. Davis? She hangs out at the bar downtown. Same stool, every day. It's her version of helpfulness, I guess."
"That's exactly what I call helpfulness," Tony muttered, the sarcasm returning as a defense mechanism. "Let's go."
The bar was a dive, filled with the smell of stale beer and regret. Tony found Mrs. Davis easily enough, but he wasn't the only one looking for her. Standing over her table was a woman who didn't look like she belonged in Rose Hill—Brandy Brandt, one of Killian's Extremis-enhanced shadows. She was there to scrub the files Chad Davis had left behind.
Before Tony could even offer a witty greeting, Brandt moved with predatory speed. She pinned him against the table and snapped a pair of heavy-duty police handcuffs onto his wrists, behind his back.
The local sheriff, seeing the commotion, stepped over with his hand on his holster. "Hey, lady, what do you think you're—"
He never finished the sentence. Brandt's skin flared with a sickening orange-red light. She punched the sheriff in the gut with the force of a steam press, the heat of her fist charring his jacket. As he crumpled, she plucked the service pistol from the deputy's belt and fired two rounds without blinking.
Tony didn't wait. He scrambled for the door, his mind racing. He needed space. "You want to start a fight? Go ahead, I'm ready! But let's take it outside, I don't want to ruin the decor!"
He burst into the street, his heart in his throat. He turned to run, only to see a sleek black car screech to a halt. A man with a buzz cut and glowing, geometric patterns under his skin stepped out. This was Seven—another Extremis hitman.
Seven drew a pistol and leveled it at Tony's chest.
THWACK.
A snowball hit Seven's forearm, jarring his aim. The bullet whistled past Tony's ear, shattering a shop window behind him. Tony looked over to see Harley diving behind a trash can. "Nice shot, kid!"
Tony dove into a nearby diner, the impact of his shoulder hitting the floor allowing him to wrench his handcuffed arms under his legs. Now his hands were in front of him—still bound, but usable.
Brandt was right behind him. She walked into the kitchen with the calm confidence of an apex predator. Tony tried to fight, but without the suit, he was just a middle-aged man with a heart condition. She threw him across the room like a ragdoll.
Finally, Tony managed to loop the chain of the handcuffs around her neck, pulling with everything he had. "How do you like the jewelry?"
Brandt didn't panic. Her body temperature spiked to over three thousand degrees. The steel links of the handcuffs turned bright orange and then simply melted, dripping onto Tony's arms like hot wax. He shoved her away, his hands now free but his skin singed.
The fight became a desperate game of MacGyver. Tony used a microwave to create a localized EMP burst, used a leaking gas line to create a flash-fire, and taunted her into stepping directly into the path of a high-voltage line he'd ripped from the wall.
The resulting explosion was massive. Brandt was thrown into the wires, her Extremis-charged body acting like a giant conductor. She was electrocuted instantly, her internal systems short-circuiting in a burst of white light.
Tony crawled out from behind a heavy refrigerator door, shaking the soot from his hair. He staggered outside into the cold air, thinking it was over.
It wasn't.
Seven appeared on the roof above him. He placed a glowing hand on the support struts of a massive, rusted water tank. The metal liquefied instantly. The tank groaned and then collapsed, hundreds of cubic meters of water slamming into the ground like a tidal wave.
Tony was caught in the deluge, pinned under a section of collapsed porch and a mountain of freezing water.
Seven hopped down, holding a struggling Harley Keener by the collar. He didn't kill the boy—not yet. He needed to know where the files were.
"Mr. Stark, I'm sorry... I tried to help," Harley choked out.
Tony, pinned and gasping for air, looked at the kid. "It's not your fault, Harley. Hey... do you remember what I said about your classmate? The bully?"
Harley's eyes sharpened. He understood. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the "Cricket's Candy Shop" stun gun Tony had given him earlier. He jammed it into Seven's thigh and pulled the trigger.
The high-frequency pulse sent Seven reeling. Harley scrambled away, vanishing into the darkness.
Seven let out a roar of fury, his entire body glowing like a furnace. He turned back to Tony, his face twisted in a mask of orange light. "That was a smart kid. He knew how to save himself."
Tony watched Harley get clear, a strange, proud smile on his face. "Yeah. He is smart. And he's safe."
As Seven lunged forward to finish him, Tony threw his right hand out. He wasn't empty-handed. He'd kept one of the disposable impact-repulsor balls from the suit's emergency kit. It hit Seven squarely in the nose.
BOOM.
The impact shattered Seven's facial structure, sending him flying backward into the snow.
Tony scrambled out from under the wreckage, his body aching and frozen. He approached Seven's motionless body, fished the car keys out of the man's pocket, and limped toward the black sedan. He needed to move. He needed to find Leander. He needed to finish this.
As the car sped away, Tony didn't see the body in the snow. Seven's disfigured face was already starting to pulse with a low, angry orange light. The repair was beginning.