Tony Stark stared at his phone like it had just insulted him.
"Criminal reserves?" he repeated slowly.
On the other end, Noah Vale sounded perfectly relaxed.
"Yeah. How many death row inmates are still sitting around waiting to be executed?"
Tony pulled up the data without thinking, JARVIS already compiling the numbers.
"…Roughly seventy thousand," he said after a moment.
Recent crackdowns had filled prisons faster than they could process cases. The system was backed up.
Noah clicked his tongue softly.
"Only seventy thousand? That's a bit underwhelming."
Tony's stomach tightened.
"…Why are you asking?"
Noah's answer came easily.
"I'm bored. Figured I'd put together a live global event."
A pause.
"A survival-style tournament. Let them compete before they die. Might as well make it entertaining."
Tony went very still.
"That's not funny."
"I'm not joking," Noah replied. "Three days from now. Multi-category tournament."
His tone carried the weight of a decision already made.
"Groups of a thousand. Different fields. Combat, strategy games, racing, cooking, music, art—whatever they're good at."
Tony blinked.
"…You're serious."
"Each group gets one winner," Noah continued. "The rest… don't make it."
Tony felt a cold wave roll down his spine.
"And the winners?" he asked.
"They get their sentence reduced," Noah said. "From death row to life. Maybe better if they behave."
Silence stretched between them.
Tony leaned back slowly, pressing a hand to his temple.
"What exactly are you trying to prove?"
"Nothing," Noah said. "Just passing the time."
Then, with a faint edge of amusement:
"Don't tell me you're not at least a little curious."
Tony didn't answer.
Because that was the problem.
Part of him was.
It was brutal. Twisted. Completely insane.
And yet…
There was a strange, undeniable pull to it.
High stakes. Real consequences. A spectacle unlike anything the world had ever seen.
A part of him—the same part that once thrived on chaos and adrenaline—recognized the appeal immediately.
Tony exhaled sharply.
"…You're unbelievable."
Noah chuckled lightly.
"Just pass it to Wilson Fisk. He'll handle logistics."
Tony closed his eyes for a second.
"…Fine."
The call ended.
Tony sat there in silence, heart still beating faster than it should.
A minute later, on a distant beach, Wilson Fisk's phone rang.
He answered—and instantly sat upright.
"Mr. Vale's request?" he said, voice sharpening. "Absolutely. Consider it done."
He was already moving, pacing along the sand.
"Three days? No problem. I'll have Rodriguez coordinate. We'll build the arenas somewhere isolated… Antarctica should work."
A pause.
"Only prisoners?" Fisk frowned slightly. "Might be a little tame."
He thought for a moment, then added eagerly:
"We could always… upgrade the lineup. Bring in higher-tier assets, increase the stakes—"
He stopped, listening.
"…No? Pity."
Another pause.
"Understood. We'll keep it clean. And we'll need Stark's AI to oversee the event. Referee, monitoring, fairness protocols."
He smiled.
"Leave everything to us."
The call ended.
Fisk turned toward a nearby lounge chair, where Rodriguez had been enjoying the sun.
"Up," Fisk said.
Rodriguez blinked. "What's going on?"
Fisk's grin widened.
"We've got work."
"What kind of work?"
Fisk adjusted his suit slightly.
"The kind people will never forget."
Far from the beaches and boardrooms, inside a prison in the southern hemisphere, a man sat alone in the corner of his cell.
Unshaven. Hollow-eyed.
Waiting.
The metal door slammed open.
A military officer stepped inside.
"Alexis," he said. "You can manipulate electromagnetic force, right?"
No response.
Alexis didn't even look up.
"What does it matter?" he muttered.
He was already dead.
Everyone in this place was.
The officer didn't seem bothered.
"Your file says you nearly leveled a city block before you were stopped," he continued. "If not for Professor Xavier stepping in, you might've escaped."
Still nothing.
Then the officer smiled slightly.
"Want a way out?"
That got his attention.
Alexis's head snapped up, eyes sharp despite everything.
"…What?"
The officer didn't answer directly. Instead, he tossed a stack of papers toward him.
Alexis caught them easily.
Even in the dim light, he scanned the contents quickly.
A title stood out.
Global Criminal Tournament
Below it, categories stretched down the page.
Superhuman division.
Firearms combat.
High-speed racing.
Strategy games.
Music.
Art.
Cooking.
Dozens of paths.
Alexis frowned.
"…What is this?"
"A competition," the officer said. "Winners live. Everyone else… doesn't."
Alexis's grip tightened on the pages.
"And you're offering me a slot?"
"With your abilities?" the officer said. "You've got a real shot in the superhuman bracket."
Alexis studied him.
"…Why help me?"
The officer's smile widened slightly.
"Because it's not just about you."
He folded his arms.
"Winning brings benefits. Resources. Influence. The region that produces champions gets priority for the next few years."
Alexis raised an eyebrow.
"So this is a team effort?"
"Call it that," the officer said. "There are over two hundred regions competing. Only a handful will come out on top."
He leaned forward slightly.
"And we intend to be one of them."
Alexis looked back down at the document.
A chance to live.
Not freedom.
But time.
Time was everything.
"You'll be trained," the officer added. "Every advantage we can give you."
A pause.
"And if you win… your sentence changes. After that, good behavior can take you even further."
Alexis let out a slow breath.
For the first time in a long while…
He felt something stir.
Not fear.
Not despair.
Something sharper.
Hope.
"…When do we start?" he asked.
...
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