I sat down and stared at the scanner on the nightstand, which I had moved next to the bed.
It looked like a handheld device with a futuristic, ergonomic design. The main body was white with gray and blue accents. On top, the scanner had a screen or panel featuring an orange triangle and several gray symbols. The handle was black with a textured grip that looked like it was made to keep it from slipping. At the front, there was a section that seemed to be the active scanning area, with a small grille—maybe a speaker or vent—and a label that read "SCAN READY" with an orange triangle pointing down. That last part, of course, was the Alterra logo.
I examined every part of it and noticed what looked like screws, cleverly hidden in the body of the device.
Then I started thinking about how to power it down and began trying different things. It took about half an hour, but I finally figured out how to remove the battery.
Apparently, if you fold the panel on the left side of the device inward and hold it for more than five seconds, the scanner shuts off with a click. Curious about the sound, I looked at the bottom of the device and found a kind of latch sticking out slightly from the otherwise smooth surface.
I grabbed the little bump, and as I pulled it out, I felt something heavy drop—and my heart skipped a few beats.
It was the battery. A damn battery from the future.
A battery that, as far as I knew, didn't have a limited lifespan—as long as you recharged it, it would work just as well forever.
"Oh my God, how the hell did I forget about this baby?"
I set it aside and kept working on the scanner, though I could barely focus anymore, already thinking of all the possible uses for a magical piece of tech like a battery that never degrades.
I took out the screws, but the casing still wouldn't budge.
I double-checked to make sure I hadn't missed any screws. I hadn't.
Then I grabbed one of the thinnest blades I could find and slid it along the seam between the two parts of the frame.
When I applied pressure, I heard a *click*, followed by air hissing out of the device.
"Ah, positive pressure seal—shit."
That basically meant I had either ruined the scanner, or it was just a design to keep it watertight for deep dives. Hopefully, it was the latter.
I found the circuit boards and looked for the wires connected to the main board. When I saw a good spot, I connected one of the Bluetooth adapters I had bought—completely stripped down, no casing, no USB plug—using a cable. I soldered it in place with some tin and just thought, whatever happens, happens. Hopefully, the device is smart enough to recognize a new module.
I closed the frame over the internal structure, which was another frame holding all the circuits in a pretty neat way, and started screwing it shut.
I watched as the casing slowly came back together, almost sealing airtight again. Probably no longer waterproof, but it should still work.
I put the battery back in, followed by the latch, and when I opened the panel again, I heard Alterra's signature startup chime.
This time, the scanner took longer to boot. A ton of code flashed across the screen, and every now and then I caught a glimpse of the words "new module detected, installing updates…"
Apparently, whatever I had done was working.
I'm not exactly an IT expert, but back in the army, I helped fix a bunch of computers, and they basically let me mess around with them as a reward. Not every soldier has a technical diploma in computer science.
Anyway.
Once the scanner fully booted up, I noticed a Bluetooth icon in the top-right corner of the screen. I tapped it, and it lit up blue.
I plugged the other Bluetooth adapter into the crappy laptop I had bought, and once I launched the Bluetooth software, the scanner's adapter name popped up.
I right-clicked and selected "connect."
And…
Nothing happened.
"Shit." I kept waiting for another minute or two until I finally heard that familiar Windows sound—the one it makes when you plug in a mouse or keyboard.
I opened the file browser.
There you are, beautiful. Beautiful data.
I opened what I guessed was the scanner's storage unit, and in a folder called "Scans," I found a file I couldn't open. Of course. The file was several gigabytes in size. I copied and pasted it into my laptop's storage. The transfer was pretty fast—it only took about thirty minutes. I'm pretty sure the scanner's onboard AI helped speed up the process.
I connected to one of the many available Wi-Fi networks—after getting the password using the Windows command console, of course.
Tech was so behind in 2008... With a single "True" in the right spot, you could connect to any network with weak security.
I searched all over the internet for free software, and whatever wasn't free, I pirated.
Eventually, I found a program that could open the file.
It was 3D tomography viewer software.
Designed for hospitals. I knew the program because I've got a platinum rod in my left leg from an accident. The hospital doctor had me install that exact software on my laptop because he didn't bring his own to the appointment.
Very professional of him.
And finally, I found what I had stored in the scanner's data bank. The old TV.
"Ohh HELL YEAHH…"
I started opening the images one by one, and each type was basically a 3D representation of the TV—disassembled, assembled, each individual component. What goes where. Its materials, measurements, and hundreds of other little details.
With this, I could probably reverse-engineer the damn Iron Man suit.
Satisfied this time, I closed the program.
I tried a bunch of other programs and eventually found a text reader that could open the file again, this time showing all the textual data the scanner had collected on the TV—what it was for, how to use it, relevant advice, and so on.
Eventually, my eyelids started getting heavy, and with my work done, I let myself go to bed after eating the last of the loot from this morning's heist.
* A few momentos later * xD
I woke up expecting to feel the hard titanium floor of the escape pod from the world of *Subnautica*. But this time, I woke up in what was currently the real world for me.
A run-down motel in Philadelphia.
Right now, I was honestly hoping I'd wake up back in *Subnautica*, just to see what new piece of tech I might've brought with me. But that wasn't the case.
"Damn universe always screwing with my plans."
I already had a solid idea of what I might bring on the next trip — the repair tool.
According to what the PDA said during my last underwater excursion, that item used nanotechnology to fix any electronic device.
Last time, I barely had enough time to craft the scanner — the most basic piece of gear, built mainly from copper and titanium.
And even though it's the most basic, it's absolutely essential for the entire game. With it, you can scan unknown alien technology and learn from it to eventually develop a cure for some bacteria whose name I can't even remember.
I got up at 7:00 a.m. Didn't manage to wake up early this time — honestly, I was dead tired.
I got dressed in still-slightly-damp clothes and decided to head to a place that sells cheap secondhand clothing. Sorry, I'm a born penny-pincher.
I push open the glass door, and the bell overhead rings softly. The shop is small and a bit messy, but there's something cozy about it. Colors of every kind fill the racks and hangers, and there's a faint vanilla incense in the air.
Behind the counter, a girl around 26 watches me. She's got short hair, with a couple of blue-streaked strands framing her face. Tight tee, dark jeans, and a friendly smile with a hint of playfulness in her eyes.
"Hey," she says, leaning slightly over the counter as she sizes me up. "Looking for something specific, or just hoping to stumble on a hidden gem?"
"Winter clothes. Something warm and not too pricey," I answer with a casual smile.
She straightens up and gives me a once-over. "Hmm... I think I can help you find just what you need. Mind if I make a few suggestions? You never know, I might surprise you," she adds, flashing a confident little grin.
"Sure, go ahead," Edward replies, intrigued.
She guides me to a rack in the back, her movements smooth and sure. She pulls out a gray wool jacket, holds it up in front of me, and gives me a quick once-over. "I think this would look good on you," she says, tapping my shoulder as she hands it over. "And with a guy like you? A jacket like this'll definitely turn heads."
I chuckle at her tone, amused, though I can tell she's trying to sell hard. "Yeah, it looks solid. Though grabbing attention isn't exactly my goal. Got anything else you'd recommend?"
She leans toward another shelf, digs through some items, and pulls out a plaid scarf. "Something like this to complete the look. Plus, it'll come in handy if the winter's as cold as they say," she adds, looking me right in the eyes. "What do you think? Maybe I'm being bold, but I think you've got the style to pull it off."
I nod, laughing lightly as I take the scarf. "You're doing a pretty good job of convincing me."
"It's my natural talent," she replies, winking. "And hey, if I get you to walk out with the full outfit, we all win, right?"
Eventually, I bring both items to the counter. She smiles as she rings them up. "All this, just eighteen bucks. For you, I could even knock a little off... but maybe I'll save that for next time," she says, smiling and tossing in a wink that hints at more than just customer service.
I laugh and hand her the cash, amused by the exchange. "I'll keep that in mind."
She hands me the bag with my clothes and, just before I head out, she says in a soft tone, "Take care out there, handsome."
I leave the store feeling good about the purchase. That thrift shop might be worth a return visit. Good service — and the girl was clearly flirting to boost her sales. You could tell she took her job seriously.
"She should be a receptionist or something — she'd do even better at that."
Now properly dressed, I head to a bus station and check prices for travel to New York and then Virginia. It's obvious that's where I need to be. If I won't be able to travel to the world of *Subnautica* every day, like I'd originally thought, then the plan changes a lot. I won't have constant access to new tech, so I need to go where futuristic technology actually exists. And what better place than Stark Industries?
If I can scan the Arc Reactor, that's a total win in my book — even if I can't replicate it without major funding, or even with the Habitat Builder from *Subnautica*.
I'll leave that matter for later. At least until I can get back to that world, I'm stuck here with a machine that can scan anything, but without the knowledge or hardware to do much with the data.
Which brings me to my next objective.
It's 2008.
Specifically, early January.
I know of two events that'll happen this year. One is completely out of my reach: Tony's kidnapping. I don't know where they'll grab him, don't know where they'll keep him, and I can't interfere anyway — without the Mark 1, his bald uncle won't get the Iron Monger suit, which is, of course, my real target.
There's no way I'd ever get the chance to scan Tony's suit. But his uncle's? That's another story.
Besides, that one's a real war machine. Not like the Mark II that Colonel Rhodes got — Tony's best (and only) real friend.
Tony gets kidnapped somewhere between February and March of 2008, and the events of that movie unfold throughout the year.
The events of *The Incredible Hulk* also happen this year, ending in a battle with Abomination — though no one knows exactly when.
My only real path would be to go where Abomination is born — one of the heavy hitters. But I'm not after Hulk's blood.
"No way I'm injecting something radioactive. I'm not an idiot."
What I want is the enhanced Blonsky.
If I can get his blood, I might be able to extract what little's left of the super soldier serum that Howard Stark recreated.
Emil Blonsky injected himself with the serum to go toe-to-toe with Hulk. But instead of using Vita Rays, he tried to substitute them with Hulk's gamma-enhanced blood, which backfired — turning him into the reptilian beast known as Abomination.
From what I know, if I isolate the active compound in Blonsky's blood and inject it into myself, and then expose myself to Vita radiation — which, from what I understand, is artificial chi — I might become a super soldier.
"But what if instead of artificial chi, I exposed myself to real chi?
Would I become even stronger than Captain America?"
Now I know the path I need to follow.
I smile as I look at a sign marking my next destination.
*Several months of Skyptime later*
\#############
I waited patiently as Pepper Potts and her SHIELD escort stepped into the building, hidden in the shadow of a shipping container just a few meters from the main entrance. No rush—after all, a fight between Tony and Stane always promised its fair share of explosions and chaos, so why not enjoy the moment?
And as if on cue—
**BOOM!**
A blast echoed from inside, and a grin stretched across my face. Thanks, Stane. I owe you one… well, not really, because a) you're a scumbag and b) you'll probably be scrap metal in a few minutes.
Taking advantage of the chaos erupting inside, I slipped between debris for cover, heading straight for the research wing. According to what I'd dug up over the past few days (with the "help" of a janitor's coffee breaks), Stane had kept all the relevant intel in the hangar where he assembled the Iron Monger. Ironically, access to Stark's little terrorism side hustle was a bonus. If this was my path to power, this was definitely one of the more thrilling pit stops.
Inside the building, red emergency lights flickered, alarms blaring, explosions rumbling in the distance. I dodged a couple of unconscious agents on the floor, making a conscious effort not to step on any limbs. Nothing screams "rookie" like tripping over a fallen operative.
When I reached the hangar, it looked straight out of a movie: Stane's Iron Monger was fully active, firing repulsors and smashing anything in sight. Tony barely dodged the blasts. Perfect. Everyone's distracted.
"Thanks for the cover, fellas," I whispered, slipping into the shadows and heading for the table stacked with blueprints and documents. I felt like a kid in a toy store. Armor, advanced weapons, and—there it was—the reactor. Pulling out my scanner, I focused it on the main Arc Reactor and began capturing every ounce of technical data.
While the scanner did its work, I stuffed every blueprint I could find into my secondhand pink backpack. Tony may have been a tough act to follow, but it was clear Stane didn't share the same vision. Subtlety, for him, was just a word in the dictionary.
But as the bag filled up and the explosions crept closer to the hangar, a thought hit me—could I get caught? Statistically, the odds weren't in my favor. My whole plan hinged on staying off the radar. But if I pulled this off, I'd be unstoppable. Maybe not Thor-level, but definitely capable of walking away from some serious heat with a smirk.
I was just about to leave the hangar when another explosion shook the building, scattering debris everywhere.
"Damn it, Tony! You're getting paid per hit or something?" I muttered, staying low as I scanned for a quick exit.
Then came the shout of approaching SHIELD agents.
"Eyes open! The target's here!"
"Crap." I froze, holding my breath as boots pounded the floor and flashlight beams swept across the hangar. In a silent whisper, I thanked the gods of poor lighting for my dim little corner.
Eventually, they moved on. Somehow, they missed my 6'0", 220-pound frame curled up in a shadow pretending to be a corpse.
I seized the moment, slung the bag over my shoulder, and darted through the shadows, dodging flashlights and agents who clearly had no idea what they were doing.
My final challenge: get to the car without being seen. But once I slid into the driver's seat, heart still pounding, I couldn't help but smile. Stealing blueprints from one of the most advanced suits on Earth while one of the most iconic battles of all time raged just meters away? Hell of a way to start my climb to power.
Back home, I parked the Honda Civic out front and stared up at the apartment I was renting. From the outside, it looked like the kind of place where neighbors probably assumed I worked some "special" night shift. I pulled off my V for Vendetta mask and stepped out with a duffel bag full of stolen blueprints and a scanner full of classified data. Definitely not your ideal suburban neighbor.
I climbed the stairs quietly and dropped the bag just inside the door, shutting it with a loud *thud*. Still caught between euphoria and exhaustion.
"Does this count as cardio?" I muttered, unbuttoning my shirt and letting the cool air hit my sweaty chest. Running through Stark Industries dodging SHIELD agents had to be worth, what—four miles? Five? Definitely counted. Good thing I'd been working out during the little time I had to prep for Iron Man 1.
After a quick shower and a breather to let the adrenaline wear off, I decided it was time to inspect the loot. Kneeling by the bag like I was about to perform some sacred ritual, I pulled out the blueprints, the scanner, and a few random items I'd grabbed without even looking.
I spread the first blueprint across the table, eyeing it like a gallery critic studying abstract art.
"Well, Stane, you had an eye for engineering," I murmured, impressed. The Iron Monger design was massive, brutish, and a little crude—like Iron Man's suit had a one-night stand with a tank.
Still, it had a certain charm. Clearly a more savage, muscle-bound take on Tony's sleek armor. "Not everyone can be a visionary of metallic fashion," I added with a smirk.
I spent the next while scanning the documents and reviewing the Arc Reactor data already uploaded to my computer. The energy output was insane. Honestly, I had no idea how my scanner didn't fry trying to process it all.
"Well, someday I'll learn to build homemade reactors. What could possibly go wrong?" I joked aloud, though inside, the intrigue was growing. The data I'd captured was a goldmine of energy innovation. If I could decode it properly, I could change the game.
The clock read 5 a.m. by the time I finally finished organizing everything. My brain was begging to shut down, but my stomach strongly disagreed—growling in protest for food. I opened the fridge, hoping to find something that might justify my current lifestyle choice as an aspiring god in a world of superhumans.
Eggs, sandwich bread, and a tub of butter. *A true royal feast*.
I made a couple of toasts and six scrambled eggs, then sat down to eat in the dim light of the kitchen, Iron Monger blueprints spread out around me and the Subnautica scanner still humming faintly. "Here I am, eating like a champion at five in the morning, surrounded by stolen high-tech gear… my platoon commander (aka my dad) would be so proud," I mumbled with a mouthful of eggs. Because, sure, in an alternate universe, he'd definitely be proud of his recruit (son) for wanting to emulate Tony Stark by stealing his toys.
Once I finished eating, I shut down the scanner, packed up the blueprints, and dragged my feet to the bedroom. Tomorrow (or technically, later today), I'd need to lay out my plan of action, review the data, and see what I could extract from the intel I'd swiped. Maybe design my own miniaturized reactor—or at least a version that wouldn't explode if someone flipped a light switch nearby.
**Hours later**,
I woke up to the sound of the phone buzzing like a jackhammer directly into my brain. I reached out, half-asleep, and answered it without even checking who it was.
"Edward?" A familiar female voice, slightly exasperated, spoke on the other end.
"Ugh? What… yeah, that's me…" I muttered, rubbing my eyes. It was Alice, my neighbor next door—a pragmatic woman who kept herself in shape and, while she tolerated my "unusual" lifestyle, had a gift for calling me every time she needed help. Which, surprisingly, was more often than I'd like to admit.
"Could you come down? I need help with some cleaning," she said in her usual bossy-but-somehow-charming tone.
I groaned. "Alice, I'm in the middle of a high-level investigation. I literally spent the night stealing advanced tech…"
"So what you're saying is, you've got nothing better to do," she cut in, with her usual unbeatable logic. "So get down here. And don't take forever."
Dragging myself out of bed, I grabbed the first T-shirt I saw and, like some parody of a cape-less superhero, stepped into the hallway to go help Alice with her very on-brand request to move debris while she cleaned underneath it.
"Damn pretty girls and their mind tricks," I muttered as I hoisted her couch.
She huffed a laugh and kept sweeping like she hadn't just conscripted me into manual labor.
"Come on, Edward, don't give me that face," she said, tossing me a glance. "What would I do without my muscle-bound neighbor?"
"Probably be in way better shape than you are now at 25," I replied with a lopsided grin, amused by her comment.
Alice laughed again and moved on to cleaning under the coffee table. Every time she roped me into these random chores, we ended up in these back-and-forths that, oddly enough, helped me disconnect from the stress of my "secret projects." Of course, she had no idea what had gone down last night, and I wasn't exactly planning to drop a "hey-I-robbed-Stark-Industries" bomb during casual conversation.
"So tell me," she said suddenly, straightening up and raising an eyebrow at me, "what's a guy like you doing lifting couches on a Wednesday morning? Don't you have some mysterious job to be doing?"
I leaned in slightly, playing it up. "Oh, you know… a little work, a little industrial espionage…" She looked at me like I'd just said the most ridiculous thing in the world and crossed her arms with an amused smirk.
"Industrial espionage? Sure, yeah, I'm *positive* you live a double life, Edward."
"Haha, let's just say I'm considering a career in archiving. Like, you know, organizing documents. Nothing illegal, of course," I added with a conspiratorial tone. Meanwhile, I was picturing the stack of blueprints and documents now occupying half my dining table.
Alice just smiled and shook her head, picking up a couple of cleaning rags from the floor. "Well, Mr. Archivist, can you help me move this last shelf before I release you back into the wild?" she asked, giving me a playful smack on the butt.
"Yeah, yeah, but I hope this earns me points in the fan club you mentioned," I said as I picked up the shelf and moved it to the corner. I stretched a little as I set it down. "There. You've been officially liberated from the dust empire. I'm now on vacation until your next favor call."
She smiled, and for a second, I caught a spark in her eyes—something playful. "Then you better not take too long showing up next time I need help. You know… I might just bribe you with coffee and cake."
"You're tempting me. But one of these days, I swear I'll grow immune to your manipulation tactics," I said, grabbing my things to head back.
"That'll be the day you stop being so easy to manipulate," she called after me, grinning as she went back to cleaning like it was just another normal day. And she wasn't wrong.
The truth is, I always gave in because I had *zero* human interaction otherwise—half my time was spent doing odd jobs, spying on what was happening inside Stark Industries, and occasionally slipping off to commit the kind of theft that padded my wallet and fueled my ambitions.
In the three months it took to wait for Tony Stark's battle with Iron Monger, I'd managed to save a decent chunk of cash. Money I was now using to enrich myself further thanks to my meta-knowledge.
I'd bought up as many shares of Stark Industries as I could after their value tanked post-Tony's announcement that he'd stop manufacturing weapons.
Now I sat back on the couch in my modest apartment, a grin spreading across my face as the news prepared to broadcast an interview to clear up what happened last night at Stark Industries.
I opened my finance app, watching the stock ticker update in real time, just as Colonel Rhodes began to speak.
"And now Mr. Stark has a statement. He won't be taking any questions."
"Uhh, it's been a while since I've stood in front of you all (and yes, today I'll stick to the script)," Tony said, earning a few chuckles from the press.
"There's been speculation about my involvement in the events that took place last night on the street, the rooftop, and…"
"Excuse me, Mr. Stark, but are we really supposed to believe it was just some special bodyguard who happened to appear—conveniently—despite the fact that you..." interrupted the same reporter Tony had slept with at the start of *Iron Man 1*.
"I know it's a bit confusing, but there's a difference between questioning the official story and pointing fingers, suggesting I could be some kind of superhero," Tony shot back, clearly flustered.
"I never said you were a superhero," she replied, shaking her head.
"Well, thank you, because that would be outlandish and... fantastic," Tony mumbled under his breath.
"I mean, I'm not the hero type, right?" he continued, visibly struggling with the script. "With all these character flaws... and the public mistakes I've made..."
"HAHAHAHAHAHA!" I couldn't hold back a laugh watching the scene again after all these years—it was still just as brilliant. Absolutely iconic.
Then I saw Rhodes lean in, whispering something to Tony, probably begging him to *just stick to the damn script*.
"The truth is..." Tony began, and I leaned forward, eyes flicking between the TV and my phone showing the live Stark Industries stock prices, which had already started climbing.
"I am Iron Man."
The room erupted. Reporters screamed, flashes went off, and in the back of my mind, I could almost hear *Iron Man* by Black Sabbath kicking in.
And for the next few hours, I watched the stock ticker climb point by point. Minute by minute. My investment growing. My fortune multiplying.
And all I could do was smile.