The Stark Industries airfield hummed with activity the next morning, engineers, soldiers, and aides moving briskly around the private jet gleaming under the desert sun. Tony Stark, immaculately dressed in a tailored suit, strutted across the tarmac with his usual swagger.
But the night before had been different.
The Tracker
Brendon had appeared at Tony's Malibu home unannounced, though "appeared" was too simple a word for how he moved. While the world slept, Brendon King had spent six hours straight in his workshop, fingers moving like a conductor over his alien-forged workstation. Circuits laced with shimmering green, barely thicker than a strand of hair, came together with lattice filaments of crystal that bent light itself.
The result: a one-use nanotech tracker, self-powered, coded to ping Brendon's custom system after a 48-hour delay. The Omnitrix had guided his hands when he'd needed insight beyond human capacity, helping him create something undetectable, virtually indestructible, and tuned only to him.
When Brendon arrived, Tony raised an eyebrow. "King, you stalking me now? Because if this is a fanboy phase, you're a little late. I've been famous for years."
Brendon smirked. "Call it… a professional courtesy. Just wanted to wish you luck before you head into the desert."
As they shook hands, Brendon's subtle gesture did the job—nano-particles sliding into place, bonding invisibly to the fibers of Tony's suit.
Tony gave his usual cocky grin. "Luck's for people without brains or money. I've got both. What could go wrong?"
Brendon didn't answer, but in his eyes flickered something Tony didn't notice—a quiet, unspoken promise.
Afghanistan: The Demonstration
The convoy rolled through the desert, armored Humvees kicking up clouds of sand. Tony, sunglasses perched perfectly, basked in the attention of the soldiers. He joked, laughed, posed for selfies, a man utterly at ease.
At the military base, his charisma shifted into showmanship. Cameras flashed as he strode to the stage, arms wide.
"Is it better to be feared or respected?" he asked the crowd. "I say, is it too much to ask for both?"
Applause thundered.
He unveiled the Jericho missile with a flourish, the earth trembling as the desert lit up with fire and destruction. The soldiers cheered, the generals clapped, and Tony grinned like a king at the peak of his empire.
But the desert had other plans.
The Ambush
On the return convoy, laughter turned to horror. Explosions ripped through the Humvees, shrapnel tearing metal like paper. Soldiers fell, smoke filled the air, and panic spread.
Tony scrambled from the wreckage, ears ringing, blood dripping. His eyes caught the gleam of a Stark missile pointed at him—his missile.
"Son of a—"
It detonated.
The world went black.
The Cave
Tony awoke to pain. A glowing car battery sat beside him, wires snaking into the crude arc reactor embedded in his chest. Across from him, a man with kind eyes and a steady hand greeted him.
"My name is Yinsen," the man said gently. "You're alive because of this. It will keep the shrapnel from entering your heart."
Tony groaned, weak but alive. "Oh, this is… just great."
The Ten Rings dragged him before their leader, demanding he build the Jericho missile in their caves. Tony's defiance sparked at once, though fear lingered beneath. He was no longer the untouchable genius in a suit.
He was a prisoner.
The Ping
Back in New York, Brendon sat at his desk, the Omnitrix faintly glowing. He'd forced himself to act normal the last two days, waiting. Watching.
At precisely the 48-hour mark, his encrypted console blinked. PING DETECTED.
A map appeared. Afghanistan. Desert. A cave system.
Brendon exhaled slowly, tension leaving his shoulders only to be replaced by grim resolve.
"It begins."
He rose, activating his private workshop. Crystal servers lit up with eerie green light, and fabrication drones whirred to life.
"Project Sentinel, online," his VI announced.
This wasn't just a tracker anymore. Brendon began designing a specialized droid—light, durable, capable of navigating cave systems and relaying live feeds. He poured alien knowledge into its framework, optimizing it for stealth.
"Tony Stark is a prisoner of his own creations," Brendon muttered, his hands flying as schematics built themselves before his eyes. "But he won't face it alone."
The Omnitrix hummed, as though in agreement.