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Chapter Text

1 | Team Weird in the Making

Oh, boy. Peter really didn't expect himself to be in this situation.

(Actually, he did, but he didn't really expect the stakes to be up this high).

(Okay, maybe he did set the stakes up this high, but who was he to judge? He was the good guy here).

Heart thumping, Peter gripped his tweezers, threading his way through the inner circuitry of the tech that was scattered open before him. Displayed on a small screen in bright red digits was a countdown – ticking away slowly, but steadily.

Oh, boy. Peter really didn't think he'd have forty-two seconds to deactivate a thermobaric bomb.

Torch light held in mouth, not caring there was a little bit of drool seeping its way through his teeth, Peter hurriedly picked up the wires and positioned his mayo scissors underneath them. Peter hesitated. Which wire was it again? He had done a quick schematic of the bomb – the red wire was connected to the central chamber containing the "scatter charge", but either the yellow wire or the blue wire was welded into the chamber containing the fuel.

And judging by the humidity in the immediate vicinity, there was probably enough oxygen for this thermobaric bomb to really cause serious damage to the people who were trapped in rooms all around. They would be vaporised in an intense blast wave of heat, and their lungs would shrivel up and collapse from the pressure wave, and their eyeballs would melt from out of their sockets from the ethylene and propylene oxides.

Not good.

With his goggles snug around his eyes, Peter heaved in a breath through his nose and raised his mayo scissors. He slipped them open and fed the rubber casing of the yellow wire in between the blades. Peter glanced at the timer. Oh, man – thirty-seven seconds.

Now or never, Peter thought, and he snipped through the wire.

A frantic beeping echoed.

The timer ticked faster – now it doubled in speed. Pretty soon, Peter was staring at countdown that already slid past the twenty second mark.

Back up plan, Peter's mind supplied. Remove the fuel.

Sure, it was risky – in fact, he might be the one with ruptured lungs and burn marks and molten eyeballs, but that meant the other people here might get away. They might be thrown back, conk their heads on their chairs or something, but they'll be alive.

That was all that mattered.

All of this – all of his thoughts, him running through his back up plane – it all lasted a mere second. He couldn't waste another nine.

Peter dropped his scissors and grabbed his tweezers, ripping open the fuel chamber and eyeing the small capsule with the fuel inside.

0:18 – 0:16 – 0:14—

Peter dipped his tweezers inside, feeling the small tool slide on either side of the capsule and lock in place.

0:12 – 0:10 – 0:08—

Lifting his hand, tweezers still clamped around the fuel capsule, Peter pulled back.

0:06 – 0:04—

Almost there, almost there, almost there—

0:02—

'PETER! Have you seen my torch?'

The thermobaric bomb exploded. Peter ducked as the fuel capsule whizzed from out of his grip, shooting out vinegar as it violently flew around the room. It hit the curtains, and golden sunlight poured in, lighting up the mess Peter sat in the middle of.

Baking soda was sprinkled on the carpet, and all sorts of stationary and art items and tools and equipment were littered around Peter. On the coffee table were the strangest assortment of items a five-year-old like Peter wouldn't have dared to touch – a mini portable microwave, a few bottles of the chemicals from his beginner's chemistry set, a calculator, scissors, a bedside alarm clock. At his feet was his uncle's toolbox, a long extension cord and even a fire extinguisher.

It was chaotic, but Peter loved it.

Meanwhile, the fuel capsule was still flying.

'Peter? Peter—'

Peter heard the sound of shattering ceramic. He turned, pulling his goggles up to see his Uncle Ben standing in the doorway to the kitchen, clad in his navy blue police uniform, badges and ornamental studs glinting. His rectangular glasses were propped up on the bridge of his nose, and his brown hair had started greying in small faint streaks.

His brown eyes were wide as he stared at Peter, then at the broken mug in his hand – the special mug, with a picture of their family: Aunt May, Ben, Peter's parents, Mary and Richard Parker, even a little Peter – printed on it. Ben watched as coffee dripped out from the bottom, spilling onto the carpet in a steaming, brown puddle.

Uncle Ben looked up at Peter, eyebrows cocked. Peter took the torch from out of his mouth (still dripping wet from saliva) and set it on the table. He lifted up his blue swimming goggles, squishing his curly brown hair to his forehead, and sheepishly twisted his spaceship pyjama top in his fingers. 'Did you need that mug?' he asked, grinning slightly.

After a moment of contemplative silence, Ben sighed and let out a soft chuckle. 'No, but I did need that coffee.' He reached behind the doorway and dropped the broken mug into the trashcan – where a lot of family treasures had ended up after Peter had accidentally destroyed them – and marched over to Peter. He crossed the room and sat in the green, single couch chair behind Peter.

'What'cha making, bud?' Ben asked.

Peter picked up a screwdriver and twirled it around on the small but clunky and thick watch clasped on his right wrist. 'A gadget,' he started as he tapped on the buttons, 'for you to wear on patrol.'

'Oh,' Ben said, feigning surprise and looking somewhat interested. No matter – Peter could probably make him fall head-over-heels for this.

'It's the perfect tool to keep you safe,' Peter emphasised, stretching his arm out to show Ben the device. It was made from cardboard, coated in yellow paint and a layer of cling wrap to make it durable. Two buttons sat, one an orange triangle and the other a purple circle, waiting to be pressed, on the side. A phone's motherboard chip sat in the middle, glinting green in the sunlight with small yellow circuitry running along the indented surface.

Peter pointed at the circle button. 'This button makes a really loud sound to incapacitate your enemies.' He pressed it, and the device let out a small beep. Then, Peter immediately screeched out a terrific impression of an alarm blaring in a secret, secure facility that just got invaded.

(At least, Peter thought it was terrific).

'Woah, woah!' Ben called, letting out a laugh as he tried to quieten Peter. Peter did after yelling out five EEE-YAAHHs, but the moment he did, he continued explaining his gadget to Ben.

'And this one,' Peter said excitedly, pointing to the orange triangle, 'can wrap you in an inflatable hug, so no one can hurt you.' He mimicked the action, wrapping his arms tightly around himself.

'Ah,' Ben gushed, delight spreading in his eyes. Perfect – Peter was really going to get Ben to love this!

'And this one—' Peter lowered his voice, pointing at the computer chip, narrowing his eyes to show Ben that this was it – this was the thing that was saved for last, the most important thing he's ever built '—is for when you are outnumbered. You just hold out your hand and say "STOP!"'

Peter shot his hand out again, holding it against the invisible horde of enemies that were charging towards him. 'And BAM! Glitter cloud!' shouted Peter, twirling around and throwing his hands up in the air as if he was throwing tonnes of the stuff into the air. Puffing out his chest in pride, he turned to Ben, clarifying, 'And then the bad guys will leave you alone.'

'Oh!' Ben waved a hand before his pushed up his glasses again, as if he was a kid in class ready to answer a question. 'Because glitter makes people happy?'

'Because the refracted light causes the enterochromaffin cells to produce serotonin,' explained Peter. He'd read that it one of his mum's old biology books. She was a big biology fan, and Peter was more than happy to delve into her stuff and learn more about her and dad's work.

Ben, on the other hand, looked confused, having some strange smile on his face that roughly translated to, I don't know what 'refraction' means.

Peter waited for a moment, to see if Ben caught on, then sighed and said, 'Yeah. Glitter makes people happy.'

Because yes, glitter did make people happy.

Peter folded his arms behind his back, just like his dad did, then he perked up. 'Let's try it out!' he suggested, pulling his goggles back over his eyes and running a finger across the chip in his gadget.

Then, knowing the repercussions of his actions, Peter nonchalantly stated, 'You know how you told me to not take apart your cellphone?' He pointed at Ben's flip phone, that lay disassembled on the coffee table, wires and metal filaments sticking out of the casing in odd directions, and revealing the place where the phone's motherboard had once been.

The phone's display panel squeaked, and it fell apart from the keypad, collapsing against the table. Tiny screws rolled off the table.

Ben immediately reacted. Eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, he started, 'Peter Parker, you took apart my—?!'

Peter wasn't listening. He slammed his fingers on the chip, and glitter whooshed out of the watch in a pink explosion. It washed over everything in the room, gathering in both of Ben's and Peter's curly hair, and on their neat clothes.

Peter stared up at Ben, smiling wildly as his uncle reflexively recoiled from the wave of glitter. 'Still wanna kill me?' He grinned widely at Ben, running his tongue over the gap where his tooth had fallen out a few weeks ago.

The fury melted out of Ben's eyes, and he let out a defeated sigh as he rubbed the glitter off his face and out of his hair and off his police uniform, saying, 'No, just the opposite.'

Peter's eyes widened. Oh, wow. Wow. 'Then it works!' he cried out in glee, watching as Ben chuckled at his victory. But Peter wasn't done yet, no – he had some more things to show Ben before he had to go for work. He had to show all of them, even the ones he hadn't quite finished.

'I also added some kitten visuals,' Peter added, 'to trigger the orbitofrontal cortex.' He tapped his gadget, and it let out a small meow (Yes!) when Peter heard dim crackling.

That wasn't right – Peter was sure Ben's phone's speaker wasn't damaged when he removed it. He even managed to disconnect the wires without loosening the copper filaments inside! Then why—

Another crackle, and Peter looked up at Ben. His uncle's head was cocked downward, his left ear leaning into the walkie-talkie that was clipped to his collarbone. Someone was muttering something on the other end, and a shadow passed Ben's face as he turned to look up at Peter. 'Kid, I gotta go,' he said after a moment. 'It's time for my shift.'

Ben stood up from the couch, his black leather belt gleaming and his shoes sparkling. The NYPD badge on his chest glittered proudly. Ben leaned down, resting on his knees and pulling Peter into a hug, tenderly giving Peter's glitter-covered hair a kiss.

And just like that, Peter's confidence started to crumble. Ben couldn't— no, not yet, Ben couldn't go yet, not right now. Peter had to show him, had to show him what he built, show him that it could protect him.

Show Ben before one day, he'd disappear just like his parents, on their plane trip to give the sick people in war-torn Afghanistan a cure for a disease when they were bombed up and never came back. Before one day, he'd disappear just like Aunt May, on her daily shifts to the hospital to help with the patients when she fell ill and couldn't get back up.

Before one day, people like his parents and May didn't exist anymore because they were all gone. Because the bad guys had already thrown the world into fire.

Peter couldn't let that happen to Ben.

Ben was already pulling the front door open when Peter blurted, 'I'll come with you! I can finish this on the way!' He held out his gadget to Ben. 'You won't even know I'm there,' he pleaded quietly.

After a moment, Ben knelt down next to him and was slipping the goggles off Peter's face as he said, 'What you need to do is get ready for school.'

'Aaw, Ben,' Peter moaned in dismay, turning his head slightly as Ben tried to rub the glitter off Peter's face. 'School is boring. And the kids think I'm weird.'

'Weird?' That got Ben looking at Peter, finally grabbing his attention. His brown eyes were filled with question, worry, sympathy. That look of pity Peter was so fed up of seeing from other people.

Peter turned away, shame boiling in his chest when Ben gently said, 'Hey, look at me.' He tapped Peter's shoulder, and Peter looked up. He focused on Ben's eyes, the way his mouth moved, the way the crinkles on his face weren't formed from tiredness or stress, but from the smiling whenever Peter did something cool.

'What's wrong with weird?' asked Ben. When Peter didn't answer, he continued. 'The world needs weird.' He sighed. 'Listen. I'm out there, keeping the neighbourhood safe. But one day, your ideas...your gadgets—' Ben gently plucked Peter's device from his hands and held it out like a trophy '—they're going to keep the world safe.'

Peter could feel tears brimming in his eyes, but he held them back. He had to stay strong, listen to what Ben had to say.

'And everybody will wish they were as weird as you.' Ben was smiling proudly, glasses sparkling.

'You think?' asked Peter.

'I know,' Ben replied, rubbing Peter's arm. 'You have a gift, Pete. And you have to use that to help others to the best of your abilities. I believe in you, buddy.' He paused, that smile still on his face. 'Now, give me that non-inflatable hug.'

Peter didn't think twice. He raced forward and fell into Ben's open arms. He didn't care that Ben's glasses were pressed against Peter's temple, or that the sun was literally outside the door and was going to give him a sunburn. He just embraced Ben, and that warm fuzzy feeling inside him grew tenfold.

'I promise I'll always have your back,' promised Ben, wrapping his arms tighter around Peter, his voice muffled from his mouth being pressed against Peter's shoulder. 'Team Weird?' he asked softly.

Peter smiled even wider. 'Team Weird,' he mumbled back, strong and confident.

He held onto the hope that Ben gave him that day. He carried it to school with him. He carried it to middle school, high school, university, too. He carried it with him everywhere, desperate to share Ben's words with someone else.

Thirteen years later, he still clung to the words, even when the person who spoke them wasn't there to repeat them again.

˂⁽°₍ ⁾3₎₌

Chapter Text

2 | The Iron Man, the Bowl and the Hammer

Oh, boy. Tony really didn’t expect himself to be in this situation.

(Actually, he did, but he didn’t really expect the stakes to be up this high).

(Okay, maybe the stakes weren’t that high at all, but who was he to judge? He was the good guy here, hired by S.H.I.E.L.D. to clean up all their top-secret crap).

Tony ran a hand through his quiff and scratched at his Van Dyke beard before pulling at the hem of his crisp black suit. He was never one for formal wear, but at least this one was lined with fleece.

Afterall, the Iwate Prefecture in Japan was a place where the ice and snow and the bitter cold ruled the mountains like cruel lords.

With his shiny black Oxfords clicking against the wooden floor as he walked, Tony rounded the corner just as a gust of icy air flitted around him. The arc reactor-powered nanotech housing unity sat snug against his sternum beneath the suit. He blew out a raspberry, and, rubbing his arms, mumbled, ‘Man, it’s cold. Dunno how people here can live without getting frostbite.’

He looked up, and Tony saw two Japanese men staring back at him, their guns cocked in his direction. Despite the freezing temperatures, they had their black suits buttoned up loosely, revealing their white shirts underneath and pale necks. They wore sunglasses, so Tony couldn’t be too sure what they were feeling despite their frowns.

The eyes are the window to the soul and all that jazz.

Tony coughed, letting a puff of white steam drift away from his mouth before he said, in a very loud and obnoxious voice, ‘Well hello there, fellas.’ He waved. ‘Konnichiwa.’

The men didn’t reply. Instead, they looked even more peeved. The one on the right (Spiky, Tony decided would be his name, because of his mohawk) looked just about ready to blast Tony’s brains out. Good.

Tony decided to go for the diplomatic approach. ‘S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Tony Stark. How you guys doing? Not freezing your behinds off, I hope.’

The men yelled at him, the Japanese words cutting harshly through the air. Tony’s Global Lingual Auto-Translator (or G.L.A.T., as he had dubbed it) in his earpiece immediately buzzed and provided a rough translation: ‘Who are you? Intruder! Step back or we’ll fire!’

‘Woah, woah, okay!’ called Tony, raising his hands. ‘We all good? I’m just going to take Spiky’s gun, toss it over to that snow man—’

Spiky hesitated, and so did his friend Baldy, their guns lowering an inch as they tried to make sense of what Tony was saying. Tony pointed behind them, where an armless snowman sat grinning, pebble eyes frosting slightly, as if saying, Come join me and freeze to death.

‘—and while you both are looking all confused, trying to figure out what’s going on,’ continued Tony, ‘I’m just going to go knock you out.’

That part Spiky understood. He turned, just as Tony twirled and aimed a roundhouse kick at Spiky’s gun. It soared through the air and landed in the chest of the armless snowman.

The snowman’s pebble grin seemed to widen, as if thinking, Hey, I’m armed!

Tony used the men’s surprise and kicked upward at Baldy’s gun, and it flew up into the air. Both men stared up at the gun just as Tony grabbed both of their heads and slammed them together. Spiky’s glasses slipped off, and Tony caught sight of his eyes rolling up and both men went limp. They collapsed on the floor, and Tony caught the gun in his arms.

‘Don’t want you going off,’ he muttered as he ripped the load from the gun. He let the load clatter to the ground beside his feet, and he threw the unloaded gun over the railing and down the mountain when a white drop of literal crap fell from above and landed on Baldy’s face.

Tony couldn’t help but grimace. ‘Eurgh. He didn’t deserve that.’ He looked up, and to his surprise, there was a group of pigeons huddled on the beam supporting the balcony’s roof. One of them was showing Tony its feathery butt, all googly-eyed at what it had done.

How pigeons even managed to get to a freezing mountain top, Tony had no idea. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to find out.

‘Rats with wings,’ he told them. ‘That’s what you are. Always pooping on things like you own them.’

The pigeons didn’t reply.

Of course they didn’t – they’d rather poop on everything than come to an agreement.

Tony backed himself against the cool white wall of the prefecture (far away from the pigeons, but no one needed to know that) as his fingers gripped the trio of cuff buttons that were clasped on the sleeve of his suit. He tapped each one before he yanked them off and tossed them into the air. Almost immediately, they burst open, little propellers popping out as they quickly transfigured into miniature drones.

In the most disinterested voice he could muster, Tony tapped a finger to his earpiece, letting his long-range comms whir to life as he said, ‘I’m in position.’

The comms crackled, and Tony heard the equally-bored voice of Nick Fury on the other end. Tony wondered what the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. was doing at the moment – drinking coffee? Frowning? Crossing his arms? Glowering with his one eye? Probably all four, if Tony was lucky.

‘What is your situation?’ drawled Fury.

‘I’m humbled to know that you care about me,’ Tony quipped.

‘Stark—’

‘Fine, fine.’ Tony reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of his newly-upgraded E.D.I.T.H. glasses. The original model was in the hands of some super-assassin whose name Tony forgot, but he couldn’t care less; she was on his side, there was nothing to fret about.

The black glasses were slim and looked brittle in his hands, but they were strong enough to handle the weight of a car pressing down on it. Angular around the edges and smooth towards the nose-bridge, this pair of glasses were a close second to the tinted sunglasses Tony wore on a daily basis.

‘I’m just getting a visual now,’ Tony said into his comms just as his glasses whizzed to life. The glasses’ tech system immediately brought up the heads-up display, running through lines of code regarding systems going online and running initial diagnostics. The visual feed of the small drones popped up on one side of the display. Tony made a gesture, and the drones quickly dispersed, wriggling into the small gaps between the shutters of the window that was on Tony’s right.

Tony watched as the drones began circulating a much larger room inside, one where it was filled with at least fifty other men like the two Tony had just knocked unconscious. They were frolicking, gambling, slapping and hollering, doing all the kind of things Tony had done when he was still in MIT.

It was probably a very bad example for the future generation, but hey, you’ve got to have fun when you need to have fun.

The room was long and rectangular, filled with a few dozen tables attended by the henchmen. The lighting was warm and yellow, glowing from small lanterns situated on the tops of pillars. A large obelisk-like fish tank sat in the centre of the room, filled with colourful fish and winding kelp; Tony could see the top of the tank, where it was left open.

One of the drones nestled itself at the corner of the fish tank when Fury suddenly called, ‘At your ten o’clock.’

Tony flicked his wrist, and the drone responded, twirling around and locking its camera on a blonde man sitting at the far side of the room, running his fingers along keyboards and tapping on holographic screens. The E.D.I.T.H. systems quickly initiated its facial recognition software, and Tony was left staring at an identification tab that had made itself known in the corner of the HUD.

‘Justin Hammer,’ Tony read, raising an eyebrow at the man in question. ‘Everybody’s favourite arms dealer. Second to me, of course. Wonder what that prick is doing here.’

Tony could hear Fury sigh on the other end of the comms. He was hardly surprised when the E.D.I.T.H. systems quickly zeroed in on a silver briefcase next to Hammer, indicating that Fury’s men had taken manual control over the drones.

‘The briefcase is your objective,’ Fury said. ‘Inside is—’

‘My first model of the Stark Industries Combat Drone,’ Tony interrupted. ‘Which – need I remind you – you promptly lost after I handed access to it to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s covert weapons’ lab. Oh, and anyone who has access to it can literally wipe the country clean. Not looking so good there, you one-eyed pirate.’

‘Shut it, Stark,’ growled Fury. Tony only chuckled in the way where you knew your own weapons were being traded behind your back. Tony slipped his fingers in between the shutters and pried them open a little further to view the scene before him with his own eyes.

There was a sigh on the other end of the comms, and Tony presumed it was Fury mumbling something distasteful. ‘You know the Combat Drone is one of the first semi-autonomous drones out there,’ Tony said slowly. ‘It runs on atmospheric energy, but fortunately for us, it doesn’t do well in cold conditions.’

‘Very lucky indeed,’ mumbled Fury.

Someone else spoke up in the comms, but Tony couldn’t make out their soft voice. Fury grumbled before saying, ‘Stark, listen to me: you’ve got seventy yakuza incoming. I advise you stand down.’

Only seventy? That wasn’t much. He’d faced about two hundred back in Afghanistan when someone thought it was a great idea to hijack one of his business trade routes. ‘Heh,’ Tony snickered, ‘that’s better odds than I usually get.’

‘No!’ snapped Fury, and Tony could almost visualise him raising a hand at him to push him away. ‘Do not engage! You need to wait for the backup team—’

‘Team?’ asked Tony. ‘When was there ever a team? I fly solo, Snake Plissken; you made sure of that.’

‘Stark, don’t you dare cut off communi—’

Tony barely listened. He slipped off the glasses and tapped his comms before a sad chiming sound echoed briefly; he shut down his earpiece and tucked it away into his pocket. After that, there was only silence and the quiet cooing of the pigeons overhead.

Rubbing his nose, Tony sighed. How did he even wind up with S.H.I.E.L.D., anyway? It was because of the weapons, wasn’t it? Or maybe his own father had been buddies with Nick Fury back in the glorious days of weaponry and war.

Solo act, Tony thought. That’s always what you’ve done best at.

Steeling himself, Tony took another glance at the shuttered windows before twisting the dial on his watch. It chirped, and Tony moved to have it face the window. Almost immediately, a red laser snapped out, burning away the wood and slicing through the shutters like a knife through butter. If Tony was going to retrieve that drone without alerting seventy other guards, it was through stealth, much to his own disappointment.

It took about twenty seconds for Tony to cut through the window and then manually extracting the hissing wooden shutters. He popped his head inside, feeling the immediate warmth of the building against his skin as he examined the area around the window. He found a sort of platform right underneath it, and Tony promptly folded himself inside before straightening within a jungle of wooden beams and supports.

He figured that heading towards Hammer was the best way to go. Balancing carefully and treading quietly and lightly, Tony weaved his way above the henchmen and Hammer along the wooden beams, the dark colour of his suit rendering him almost invisible in the shadows.

Below him was utter chaos. Outside the noise had been dim, but up close, the yelling and shouting of the Japanese men below rose up to octaves Tony thought would permanently damage his hearing. He spotted a guy near what appeared to be a grill accidentally sending a whole bottle of oil into it, causing a huge wave of fire to blast over a few men.

Tony looked to a different area, his eyes landing on the open-top fish tank just a few metres ahead. There was a beam that ran directly over it, and Tony figured that this was probably a good place to observe Hammer’s interactions with the other men.

He pulled his glasses on again, and double-tapped the nanotech housing unit on his chest. Now awake, the housing unit hummed as nanites rushed out of their small containment like waves on a beach, crawling over Tony’s body to form the basic skeleton of the armour Tony was so fond of wearing; they awaited the next command.

Tony waved his hand, the E.D.I.T.H. systems in his glasses following his movements and selecting the armour mode he had chosen. The nanites responded as they reshuffled and began to flatten out and sprawl outwards from the glowing arc reactor, creating the light and thin but sleek and sturdy Hydro-Armour that Tony had often used for underwater expeditions. Coloured with dark silvers and blues and highlighted with occasional golds, this armour was, comparatively, not one of the most favourited in Tony’s opinion; he itched for the Battle Armour, but he figured he might use it sometime later than now.

The glasses on Tony’s face melded into the helmet of the Hydro-Armour, filling his awareness with the soft blue lights of the HUD, highlighting every pinprick of information that could help him accomplish his mission.

With the Hydro-Armour now completely functional and online (aside from his comms; they were still disabled – much to Fury’s chagrin, probably) Tony began to shuffle across the beam, moving slowly to avoid from crushing the wooden supports with the extra weight of the suit or catching any reflective light that might give away his position.

A few moments later, he stood on the beam directly over the fish tank. The HUD began running simulations for the most discreet entrance, but Tony paid no attention; he just jumped.

The armour locked its position until Tony hit the water with a barely audible sploosh above the roar of henchmen below. He sunk like a pebble into the fish tank with barely any resistance, the Hydro-Armour immediately kicking its air tank into overdrive.

The thrusters on Tony’s feet bubbled, slowing his decent as he moved between the large kelp, seaweed and fish filling the entire tank. The edge of the tank came into view, and Tony ducked beside some large coral structure to hide himself as he tried to watched Hammer from the other side.

The Hydro-Armour’s HUD worked like magic, its cameras and sensors filtering through the water, past the glass and focusing on Hammer chatting exaggeratedly to some of his henchmen, waving his hands around like a madman. Then he hurriedly glanced at a nearby computer screen, as if checking for a notification, then he yelled, ‘Hey, the buyer is here! Go fetch him for me!’

Two of the henchmen stumbled to their feet from their drunken positions and they scrambled for the door.

Tony’s eyebrows raised; there was someone out there who wanted the Stark Drones? Of course there was; nearly every criminal mastermind and gang leader wanted to get their hands on his stuff. It was reassuring to know that some things never seemed to change.

The HUD picked up vibrations outside the Iwate Prefecture, and deduced it to be someone arriving by helicopter. Not a few moments later, the two Japanese men and a third person walked into the scene. The newcomer was nestled in between in them, confidence and purpose in every step. His grey suit glimmered in the orange glow of the lanterns, his hands and legs lost in the shadows of his upper body.

The only peculiar thing about him, though, was the odd-looking contraption nestled around his neck and head. It coiled around the base of his neck like a snake, and shapes and colours flickered around his head like a tornado made of malfunctioning pixels. The only physical attribute Tony could make out was the man’s brown hair.

Tony pressed himself closer to the tank’s glass as he watched the man exchange soft words with Hammer. The latter pushed the case with the Stark Drone inside towards the man, who grabbed it with a gloved hand equipped with some sort of touchscreen software panel.

Damn. Unless Tony could figure out what kind of glove the man was wearing, he wouldn’t be revealing himself from the cloud of mystery he was currently hiding within anytime soon.

Time to step things up a notch.

Tony placed a hand to the glass, and activated the repulsor gauntlet. He could feel the circuitry hum as power surged into such a small component, but that was all he was expecting.

The repulsor let out a bright burst of energy, shattering the glass and sending Tony tumbling out of the tank, the thrusters of the suit keeping him from flipping around like the rest of the fish. Tonnes of water cascaded downward, flooding the room and knocking surprised henchmen to the ground. Lights and wiring sparked and hissed as water short circuited them.

Tony grinned as he tapped the arc reactor three times – the piece of input that his armour automatically reacted to. Immediately, the dark colours of the Hydro-Armour lightened and shimmered to a bright red. The gold highlights lengthened and glistened down the arms and legs of the suit, turning the faceplate of the Battle-Armour a brilliant gold.

Thrusters still humming, Tony hovered over the cascading water as it crashed to the ground, sending everything in its path tumbling away. It was relatively quiet as the henchmen struggled to regain their footing but stumbling every five seconds.

The HUD buzzed, a notification popping up and alerting Tony of nearby weaponry humming to life – some of the men must have recovered a little quicker than he thought.

A gun behind Tony fired, but the nanotech surged forward from his back, hardening just as the bullets drove themselves home. Instead, the armour flattened, sending the bullets bouncing back to where they were fired from. The men went down like sacks of flour.

The HUD flickered with warning lights, but simple gestures and Tony had handled them pretty quickly. One guy had pulled out a rifle and started firing, but with an arm tucked over his face from instinct, Tony trudged forward, armour clanking, and threw a punch at the gun, snapping it in two and sending the man behind it flying. He collided with another henchmen by the grill, knocking over a huge bottle of what appeared to be liquor. The liquid tumbled into the grill, sending up a fiery explosion of heat and singing every person in a ten-metre radius.

(Fortunately, Tony wasn’t one of them; the Battle Armour made sure of that.)

Deciding to wrap up the fight quickly, Tony quickly fired a few rounds of tranquiliser darts from the dispensers on both of his shoulders. Fwit fwit fiwt!

Heat-detecting darts whizzed through the air, sinking into the necks of the henchmen. It took a few seconds for the tranquilisers to take effect, but they did their job; a few moments later, guns and weapons fell from slack hands, and the entire group of attacking men suddenly collapsed, unconscious.

The Battle Armour whirred as Tony turned around, feet submerged in the water. On the platform that stood just above the water was Hammer and the buyer, looking perplexed. Tony noted the computers Hammer had used minutes ago were now smoking – the water must have short-circuited them. Good; not a lot of options when it comes to sharing information now.

Straightening, Tony called, ‘Well, hello there.’ The Battle Armour, like all of Tony’s other suits, amplified and adjusted Tony’s voice, letting it drop an octave or two and gain a gravely sort of timbre; it did well in spooking the bad guys.

Hammer blinked from behind his glasses, then sneered. ‘Who would’ve figured that the Iron Man would show up here, eh?’ he laughed.

‘I show up when I’m most expected,’ Tony stated blatantly, reassured to know that Hammer didn’t realise that his one-time business partner Tony Stark was in the suit; of course, it was impossible for anyone to figure that out. He gestured to the case with the Combat Drone that the buyer was currently holding. ‘I’m going to need that case.’

Hammer exchanged a look with the buyer, then laughed. It was a weird laugh; like a shark laughing on land and then realising he couldn’t breathe air. Wheezing after a moment, Hammer tried his best to glower at Iron Man. ‘I don’t think so, Tin Can,’ Hammer sneered.

Tony saw what was coming before it happened, but he made himself wait until the final seconds.

He watched as Hammer reached for something behind him. The HUD picked up a slight increase in charged particles in the area, and Tony saw a gun materialise in Hammer’s hands, the nozzle aimed at his chest. Blue light buzzed in its barrel.

With a cackle, Hammer surged forward and fired a blast of blue energy.

Reacting quickly, Tony raised his arm, the nanites scrambling furiously. They spread into a thin but sturdy shield, smooth and curved. The energy from Hammer’s gun washed over it and away from Tony like a stream of water, splattering everything with bright embers of blue.

Hammer raised an eyebrow in surprise, then shrieked when Tony cocked a shoulder, a tranquiliser dart whizzing straight at his face. The dart landed in the space between Hammer’s eyebrows; he went cross-eyed looking for it.

He glanced at Tony, muttering, ‘Well, that was anti-climactic—’

Then he promptly fell and landed on his face.

Tony stared at Hammer’s prone form. He wondered if he might drown if his face was still submerged in the water, but then he shook it off; Hammer’s thugs would come running back soon anyway. He wouldn’t die anytime soon.

The flickering light caught Tony’s attention. He glanced up to see the buyer, the whirlwind of colours and pixels flashing over his face. Now that he was closer, Tony could see it resembled some form of curved screen. The grey suit the buyer was wearing was hardly disturbed by the rush of water earlier, remaining clean and dry. The software panel on his arm flickered with lines of code Tony hadn’t been able to spot earlier.

Tony set the HUD to discern who was hiding behind the screen as he stepped forward. Rolling his shoulders, the Battle Armour’s plating sliding over each other smoothly, Tony asked, ‘What brings you here to the chilly hell of Japan?’

The buyer (Tony was tired of referring to him as ‘the buyer’, so he eventually settled with Bowl Head) let out a sound that resembled a chuckle. A crackling voice emanated from the screen, muttering, ‘It’s just an errand; nothing too personal, I hope.’

The HUD beeped out an error message; seems as if finding out Bowl Head’s identity was going to be tougher than he thought.

Tony pointed to the case in Bowl Head’s grasp. ‘That is property of S.H.I.E.L.D.,’ he said simply. ‘Hand it over, and I promise you won’t get into anymore rouble necessary.’

‘I’m sure you already know that this wasn’t S.H.I.E.L.D.’s property to begin with—’ Bowl Head cocked his shoulders ‘—isn’t that right, Stark?’

Tony blinked, trying to hold back any sound that might have slipped past his slips and alerted Bowl Head of his confusion and disbelief. How…Bowl Head knew he was Iron Man? How? How was that possible? Tony couldn’t seem to figure out who this guy was, and yet…he knew the man behind the Iron Man armour?

To the public, Iron Man was a patriotic figure, a symbol of hope, even though the person in the suit remained anonymous. Only members from Stark Industries, S.H.I.E.L.D., and by extension the government, knew of Tony’s superhero double.

If people found out Iron Man was Tony Stark, a lot of things could head south really quickly.

‘Ooh, namedropping, are we?’ Tony replied. Play it cool, be nonchalant. ‘I didn’t know Tony Stark had a secret admirer such as yourself—’

The HUD was suddenly scattered with error messages and warnings, blazing red like fire in an ocean of blue. The most prominent message, the one Tony immediately zeroed on, flashed and burned like the sun:

WARNING: HACKING INITIATED AGAINST HEADS-UP DISPLAY INTERFACE. SECURITY BREACH.

Well, then.

SYSTEM OVERRIDE: EXTERNAL PLATING LOCKED.
SYSTEM OVERRIDE: MOBILITY LOCKED.

Tony looked up, looked through the haze of warnings. Bowl Head had raised a hand and was tapping his fingers along the screen of the panel against his arm. Each tap sent another warning message blazing, and Tony figured he should probably best move if he didn’t want to end up under the foot of this guy.

‘I override the system!’ Tony called, his voice no longer amplified by the suit. ‘Disconnect from available networks; operate on manual controls!’

The suit hummed as it registered its command, and with a hiss, the armour seemed to weigh a lot more than it originally did before. After all, Tony had shut off every other helpful software that made his missions so easy – he was going to have to rely on his durability and skills for now.

Bowl Head snarled when his attempt at hacking was yanked to a stop. Without hesitating, he reached down and grabbed the gun Hammer had held moments ago. Tony had to concentrate and make gestures to help the suit create its shield just before Bowl Head fired, just barely missing that scalding heat by inches.

The shield retreated, but too quickly for Tony’s liking. It dropped just as Bowl Head sent another wave, pushing Tony back a few metres. He slipped in the water, staggering around as he tried to regain his footing.

‘Give up, Stark,’ Bowl Head drawled lazily. Lights flashed and warped where the man’s face would be. ‘We both know that I’m the superior in this fight; you’ve just kicked yourself away from the help you need—’

Bowl Head’s words were swallowed by a loud whine of energy; Tony flicked up his gauntlet and fired a repulsor blast, a quick but powerful one, just enough to knock the gun out of Bowl Head’s hands. Tony must have aimed a little close to the other man’s hand because he yelped in pain, stumbling back, the case with the Combat Drone flung to the ground.

Tony straightened, whispering words to his suit to reboot his networks and strengthen temporary firewalls. Gauntlets curled around his fists as he faced Bowl Head, knowing the glower on his face would be amplified on Iron Man’s faceplate.

Bowl Head’s posture was just as hostile as Tony’s: feet spread apart, shoulders and chest broad, head bent forward. Tony could tell his eyes were focused on the case with the Combat Drone, which nestled in the space between them. Tony and Bowl Head stood on either side of the case, like they were waiting for the referee to signal the beginning of their game of tug-of-war.

There was the sound of sizzling. Tony looked up to see the lights overhead flicker and hiss, then explode in a shower of sparks. The room immediately darkened, the only sources of light being the glowing highlights of Tony’s suit, the warping images of Bowl Head’s screen…

…and the world outside the thinly-veiled doors, where Tony spotted at least more than fifty men waiting outside. Tony saw them wielding guns, already humming with energy.

You’ve got seventy yakuza incoming.

Tony cocked his head to the side, relishing the pop of the joint and the relief that came with it. The HUD flickered as it managed to initiate its temporary firewall protocols, and Tony could feel the energy surging back into his suit. His repulsor gauntlets whined with power.

Time to get the show on the road.