"Well... I do need to prepare some gifts before the big meeting."
Jack Kadere scrolled through the inventory he'd picked up during his time in Hell's Kitchen—part scavenger hunt, part fever dream:
[Master Ball] – For catching regrets.
[Lightsaber] – The Force might be with you. Or not.
[Elder Wand] – Forbidden magic, 10/10 jail potential.
[Fire Kirin AK-47] – Looks cool. Sounds like war crimes.
[WayneTech Tactical Lenses] – Infrared, X-ray, the whole detective package.
[Tifa's Photo] – Uh… eternal waifu vibes?.
"...What the hell?" Jack muttered, squinting at the digital pile like it had grown legs.
Master Ball? Cool, but useless here.
Lightsaber? No way Gwen would trust him with that, let alone herself.
Elder Wand? She'd probably snap it on sight.
AK-47? That's a therapy bill waiting to happen.
WayneTech Lenses? Now we're talking. High-function, low profile. Perfect for patrol, recon, and crime scene scans. Gwen didn't need power—she needed precision.
As for Tifa's photo… well, he wasn't ready to delete it. Yet.
"Let's call it an upgrade," Jack said, already imagining her reaction—surprised, slightly impressed, and just a little smug.
"Maybe I can upgrade her web-shooters while I'm at it…" Jack muttered, rubbing his chin.
He had the tech knowledge. What he didn't have was a fully equipped lab.
Then it hit him.
Tony Stark. He was still missing—abducted somewhere in Afghanistan and presumed dead or captured. The timeline fit.
"If I save Stark," Jack reasoned, "I get access to his R&D, the ARC reactor research, maybe even some suits, and on top of that—I can short Stark Industries stock and profit on the rescue news. Win-win."
Plus, Stark owed him a favor or two from an earlier S.H.I.E.L.D. mission.
Feeling like the universe had just handed him a blueprint for success, Jack opened Skye's hacked tablet and accessed the U.S. military's surveillance archives.
Sure enough, Colonel Rhodes had been working around the clock, coordinating strikes and searching for Stark. A few terrorist strongholds had already been cleared. There were only a few places left to sweep.
...
Two days later...
In the desert expanses of the Middle East, several terrorist outposts were reporting bizarre phenomena.
Either a freak sandstorm would sweep through and bury equipment, or lightning would strike from a cloudless sky.
The organizations were panicking. Their networks were falling apart. Leaders were deserting.
Jack hadn't intended to go full divine retribution on these guys—but every time he flew in scanning for life signs, someone tried to shoot him down.
And Jack wasn't in the habit of turning the other cheek.
"I told them not to fire…" he muttered, gliding silently over the dunes.
As he scanned one final zone on his map, Jack spotted what looked like a small, battered civilian village, not a terrorist base.
He descended cautiously.
...
A young boy was digging at the sand with his bare hands, clearly searching for water. His eyes widened in horror when he saw the shadow of a man drop from the sky.
"...Are you a god?" he whispered in Arabic.
Jack's suit automatically translated the question in his earpiece. He toggled the mic and answered in kind.
"What are you doing out here?"
The boy looked at his dry, calloused hands, then dropped to his knees.
"Lord God, please! It hasn't rained in weeks. The oasis dried up. The livestock are dying. Please… send rain!"
Jack blinked. "Okay... This kid thinks I'm some kind of—what, rain deity? Am I the new Storm now?"
He checked his HUD—humidity was near zero. No wonder. The region was suffering from a record-breaking drought. Just surviving out here was a miracle.
It hit Jack then—how stark the contrast was.
Back in New York, Gwen and her classmates were attending Midtown High, going to lunch, texting each other. Here, kids were praying for water like it was divine currency.
He looked at the boy again. There was no deception in his eyes, only desperation.
"…Alright, kid," Jack muttered. "Let's see if I can borrow a trick from Thor's playbook."
Huh?"
"Just look up at the sky."
The boy did, eyes wide with confusion.
Then…
Plop.
A single raindrop landed on his cheek.
His mouth opened in disbelief.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
More followed. Then a light drizzle fell across the desert plain. Within seconds, small rivulets began trickling down the nearby rocks.
"It's… it's raining…!" The boy stared upward, arms spread wide. "Oh my God—it's really raining!"
Across the cracked sands, others began to emerge from tents and shelters, looking to the sky in awe. Some cried out in celebration. Others dropped to their knees in prayer.
Jack smiled slightly.
"Guess I'm in the miracle business now."
He paused.
"…Great. Next thing you know, I'm walking on water and getting sued by Deadpool for copyright infringement. 'Marvel Jesus' type shit."
...
After conjuring what the locals would probably call divine intervention, Jack took a moment to gather information from the villagers.
It didn't take long before a familiar name came up—though clearly mistranslated.
"They call themselves the Dah Daira," one man said, spitting into the dust.
Jack frowned. "Ten Circles?"
His translator leaned in, listening again, then corrected quietly, "I think they mean the Ten Rings. Dah Daira and Dah Khawatim sound close in dialect. Could be a mix-up."
Jack sighed.
Mystical warlords and bad translations. Never a good sign.
The Ten Rings — a terrorist group notorious for advanced weapon smuggling, black market tech, and kidnappings. In Marvel lore, they were deeply tied to Tony Stark's past… and perhaps, future.
Jack's expression turned serious.
"If they're nearby," he muttered, "then I'm right on schedule."
He took off toward the direction of the Ten Rings' encampment. As he flew, he calibrated his sensors to search for unusual energy signatures—arc reactors, explosives, or advanced suits.
And sure enough, it didn't take long before he found it.
A crude mountain base carved into the desert rock. Trucks parked outside. Guards milling about with outdated rifles. And in the distance, gunfire—coming from inside the cave network.
Jack hovered above the canyon and scanned the area.
"Looks like someone's making a last stand," he muttered.
He tapped into the local audio feed. Inside the cave, a man barked in heavily accented English, trying to hold off incoming attackers. Gunfire ricocheted off the walls. Explosions boomed deeper within.
"Wait a sec… Is that—?"
Jack magnified his view.
Dr. Ho Yinsen.
The man who once saved Tony Stark in the origin timeline by stalling the Ten Rings long enough for Stark to power up the prototype Mark I armor.
"Then that means Stark must still be inside… building it."
Jack's eyes narrowed.
"Well, can't let history go too far off track… but I can give 'em a little breathing room."
....
He dropped out of the sky.
THOOM.
The moment Jack landed, a kinetic shockwave exploded from the point of impact. His boots sank into the sand. The concussive force blasted outward in a massive ring, toppling everyone within a 100-foot radius.
The entire encampment shook as if an earthquake had struck. Terrorists were flung off their feet. Guns dropped. Screams rang out.
Nearby dunes collapsed under the pressure, forming whirlpools of loose sand. One vehicle tipped sideways and half-submerged into a quickly forming sinkhole.
Inside the cave, the gunfire ceased. Even Yinsen froze.
"What in the hell was that…?"
The men outside didn't know what hit them.
Those who had been charging into the cave were now scrambling to get up, covered in dust and confusion. Some shouted, others fired wildly into the wind.
Jack took a step forward, sand shifting underfoot as the temperature began to plummet around him. Static crackled across his fingers.
He didn't say a word.
He didn't need to.
The sheer force of presence was enough.
One of the terrorists finally shouted, "What kind of monster is that?!"
Jack's eyes glowed faintly through his visor. His voice was calm. Cold.
"You've taken too many things from too many people."
His hand rose.
Thunder rumbled in the sky again.
"And now you've taken the wrong hostage."
....
Back inside the cave, Yinsen stared at the dim glow flickering in the distance.
"…Tony," he whispered. "I think… I think we've got a visitor."
A pause.
"Friend or foe?"
"I'm not sure. But he just sank half their camp into the desert."
Tony Stark's voice came through from behind the welding mask.
"…Then let's call him a friend for now."