By 10 a.m., sunlight bathed the plaza in front of Stark Industries, glinting off its sleek steel and glass facade. Streams of employees moved in and out, their brisk pace betraying the urgency of whatever business brought them here. The world kept spinning, and Stark Tower—true to its name—stood at the center of it all.
Off to the side, in front of a hot dog cart, a lone man stood chewing thoughtfully on a fresh hot dog, his eyes discreetly scanning the revolving doors of the building. Every exit. Every person.
Daniel didn't look like himself.
Dressed in a light gray checkered suit, with polished shoes, black-rimmed glasses, and a sleek black briefcase in hand, he blended seamlessly with the city's professionals. He looked less like a sorcerer or a tactician, and more like an ambitious financial analyst about to give a pitch on arc reactor stock.
Of course, it was all for show.
He had scheduled this meeting with Stark Industries well in advance. Tony Stark had agreed to a half-hour slot at 10:30 a.m. sharp. Nothing personal, just a courtesy extended through corporate protocol. Daniel knew that. He understood the machinery of celebrity and genius.
Still... it grated.
There was no indication that Stark had gone out of his way to make time forDaniel. Maybe he'd been up all night refining some new armor prototype. Or maybe he was entertaining a half-dozen beautiful women. Either way, Daniel knew where he stood on Stark's list of priorities.
Which, if he was honest, annoyed him.
He didn't need to be coddled. But a little respect wasn't too much to ask.
Still chewing his hot dog, he exhaled, then smiled faintly to himself. The irritation faded as quickly as it had come. There were more important things to focus on. When the last bite was gone, he wiped his hands clean, adjusted his glasses, and walked into Stark Tower with calmness.
There was no room for emotion in the conversation he was about to have.
Not with Tony Stark.
After signing in at the front desk, a receptionist with long black hair guided him to a private elevator. She stepped in beside him, tapped the button for the top floor, and said nothing.
Tony wanted to meet in his personal suite, not a boardroom.
Daniel took the gesture in stride. Perhaps it was a sign of respect, or just another eccentricity. Either way, the stakes were the same.
He needed to stay sharp. Stark was no fool. And behind him stood Pepper Potts and an entire team of logistical minds who had turned Tony's chaotic brilliance into a global brand. This was a test.
When the elevator reached the top floor, the doors opened silently. Only Daniel stepped out. The receptionist descended without him, leaving him face-to-face with a new figure: a blonde woman, short in stature, with red-rimmed glasses and a stiff posture.
Attractive, yes, but far from Stark's usual taste.
She lacked Natasha Romanoff's poise, and her figure didn't demand attention. She seemed professional to a fault, with a clipped tone and a rigid demeanor. In short: nothing about her screamed "temptation."
And that, Daniel realized, was the point.
After the Whiplash incident, Romanoff's true identity had been revealed to Stark and Potts. Her continued presence had become redundant, and with S.H.I.E.L.D. needing her elsewhere, her departure was inevitable.
Pepper, it seemed, had learned her lesson. The new secretary was chosen precisely because she wouldn't be a distraction.
The blonde led Daniel into a massive, high-tech suite that spanned nearly a thousand square feet, just the foyer, from the look of it. The decor was sleek and minimal: silvers, whites, the occasional dash of black or red. It echoed Stark's signature design, like a living embodiment of his Iron Man suit.
Outside the sweeping glass windows, a private landing platform stretched out. One of Stark's armors stood on it.
Stark himself was nowhere in sight.
Daniel checked the time. A few minutes early. Nothing worth fussing over.
He knew the layout well enough. The top three floors of the tower had been converted into Tony's private domain—part residence, part lab, part fortress. Though his main workshop was still in Los Angeles, the research hub here played a critical role. Jarvis, after all, ran at full capacity only within Stark Tower.
Just one level below this suite was the beating heart of his New York R&D—complete with automated assembly lines and AI-assisted design tools. Stark often slept down there, wrapped in the hum of circuitry and blueprints.
Despite being labeled a superhero, Stark rarely patrolled streets or intervened in petty crimes. When he acted, it was global. Explosive. Newsworthy. Tabloid-worthy too.
Even with Pepper as his official partner, Stark's face still graced front pages alongside supermodels and starlets. Reporters never let the truth get in the way of a good headline.
That was Tony Stark.
He loved machines. He loved beautiful women.
And somehow, he was also the linchpin of Earth's defense.
Daniel didn't know what fate had in store for this version of Stark, in this universe. But across the multiverse, one pattern kept repeating.
Tony Stark rarely got a happy ending.
A sudden boom shook the windowpanes.
Daniel turned just in time to see a golden-red blur hurtling through the sky—an Iron Man suit closing in at breakneck speed.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Don't tell me he just flew in from Los Angeles…" he muttered.
It wouldn't be impossible. Stark's suits, even in early iterations, could break the sound barrier with ease. At Mach 1, the flight from LA to NYC would take under half an hour.
Wake up by the Pacific. Grab a drink on the beach. Drop into Manhattan for a meeting. Head back to the West Coast for a party.
That was the life of a man who'd truly won.
The armor touched down on the pad with a hiss of released pressure. Plates folded away to reveal Tony Stark, dressed in a tailored navy suit and aviator shades.
"Hey, Tony," Daniel called out casually. "Be honest, did you just fly in from LA?"
Stark grinned, peering over the balcony railing as he approached.
"Daniel! Thought I saw you down there," he called. "Nah—I was at the Long Island estate this morning. Just hopped over. You should've waited downstairs, I'd have picked you up."
Daniel blinked, momentarily thrown. Right. The Long Island estate. Stark rarely used it, and it slipped his mind.
"It's fine. I just got here too." He turned back to the window, taking in the Manhattan skyline—the chaotic, living sprawl of the city.
It struck him then: in just a few years, this very tower would become the center of an alien invasion. This peaceful, glittering stretch of skyline would be scorched and battered in one of the bloodiest battles Earth would ever face.
The Battle of New York.
Daniel looked away.
Back in the suite, Stark moved to his liquor cabinet.
"Drink?" he asked.
"No thanks," Daniel replied. "I need to stay clear-headed. Alcohol dulls the reflexes, and magic requires precision. One slip, one wrong gesture... the spell fails."
Stark raised a brow. "So you're basically a high-strung surgeon with fireballs. Got it."
He poured himself a drink, then turned serious.
"Alright, let's get to it. This isn't just me reaching out. Nick Fury wants to know... can you reconstruct the rune circle? The one from the New Mexico site."
He paused, watching Daniel closely.
"If you're willing, Fury's ready to provide anything you need. Materials, facilities, support. Whatever it takes."
"Anything I need?" Daniel echoed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That's bold, even for the director of S.H.I.E.L.D."
The implication wasn't lost on him. With the right leverage, Fury could move entire nations—at least, the smaller ones. He had access to vast, untraceable resources.
If Daniel asked, he could have a throne in some obscure corner of the world.
Of course, the consequences would be his to bear.
But Fury's offer wasn't casual. It was calculated. Determined.
Daniel set his coffee down.
"To answer the question, yes. I can recreate the circle," he said plainly.
Stark's eyes brightened with interest.
"But," Daniel continued, "I can't guarantee it will work. The original array was never tested. We completed the drawing... and Loki destroyed it before we could observe any effects."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and measured.
"This kind of magic touches on dimensional mechanics. Energy conversion. Time-space manipulation. The smallest error could unravel everything. So I'll help you redraw the circle, but I won't be responsible for what happens next."
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