The cave stank of oil, sweat, and rust. Tony Stark wiped the back of his arm across his forehead, smearing grease into the cut near his temple, but he didn't care. His hands, usually adorned with cocktail glasses or pens for billion-dollar contracts, were now blistered and raw from hours of bending metal and rerouting crude wiring.
Beside him, Yinsen worked with a calm that bordered on serenity, even in the face of death. The older man's hands were precise, deliberate, adjusting pieces of salvaged scrap that would one day become something more — something that would decide whether they lived or died.
The Ten Rings guards barked occasionally from the mouth of the cave, suspicion etched in their voices, but not enough to stop the project. To them, it was just another weapon, another piece of genius from the great Tony Stark. They had no idea what was truly being built.
Every clang of the hammer echoed like a countdown. Time was running out.
Far away, beneath the desert night sky, a lone figure stood in silence.
Brendon.
He leaned against a dune, a small holo-display shimmering faintly in his palm. The drone he had dispatched hovered invisible above the cave, its stealth systems cloaking it even from the most paranoid gaze. Through its feed, Brendon saw everything: Tony's stubborn brilliance, Yinsen's quiet strength, and the looming shadow of the Ten Rings.
He clenched his jaw. Fate wanted Tony Stark to be born in this cave. To rise as Iron Man. But Yinsen… he wasn't meant to live. Not in the MCU I know. Not unless I change the rules.
The Omnitrix pulsed faintly, as if answering his thought.
Inside, progress continued. The arc reactor — tiny, glowing, a miracle of power — hummed at the center of Tony's chest, keeping shrapnel at bay and fueling the crude exoskeleton they were piecing together.
Yinsen chuckled softly, the sound startling Tony.
"What?" Tony asked, irritation masking exhaustion.
"You remind me of my students back home," Yinsen said. His voice was wistful. "Brilliant, but always certain they can do everything alone."
Tony snorted. "Yeah, well, turns out 'alone' builds faster when you've got another set of hands."
For a moment, there was something like peace in the cave.
But it didn't last.
Raza, the leader of the Ten Rings, stepped into the shadows of the workshop, his menacing figure framed by flickering torchlight. He gestured at the half-formed armor, his eyes narrowing.
"You have until tomorrow. Finish it, or you both die."
Tony's throat tightened. He glanced at Yinsen, who only gave the faintest nod — steady, unafraid.
Brendon, watching through the drone, clenched his fist. Tomorrow. The final act is almost here.
The night of reckoning came.
Tony tightened the final bolts on the Mark I, his hands trembling with both fear and adrenaline. Yinsen stood ready, a rifle in his hands, though they both knew it was little more than a delay tactic.
"Stick to the plan," Tony muttered.
"I never planned to leave," Yinsen replied, voice quiet but resolute.
Those words cut deeper than any shrapnel.
Chaos erupted. The Ten Rings realized too late what was happening, but their gunfire filled the cave. Sparks danced in the dark.
Yinsen charged down the tunnels, drawing their fire, yelling at the top of his lungs in his native tongue. Bullets ripped through the shadows. His body jerked back once, twice, struck by gunfire.
Tony, inside the Mark I, shouted hoarsely. "Yinsen! NO!"
In Brendon's hidden perspective, time fractured.
The Omnitrix flared. His body elongated, limbs narrowing, the world stretching into streaks of motion. XLR8.
The alien speedster blurred into existence, unseen by all. He raced into the cave just as the bullets cut toward Yinsen's chest.
At the last possible moment, Brendon tilted reality in microbursts of kinetic interference, his claws flicking faster than light. The bullets still struck — but their velocity was shaved, their trajectory nudged. Instead of tearing through Yinsen's heart, they clipped flesh, slicing muscle and bone but leaving him alive.
The older man fell, blood pooling, but alive. Barely.
Tony never saw the intervention. To him, Yinsen collapsed under the gunfire, body riddled with wounds. The grief was raw, unfiltered, searing itself into him forever.
"Don't waste it," Yinsen gasped with the last of his strength, smiling faintly through the pain. "Don't waste… your life."
And then his eyes closed.
Tony roared, activating the Mark I. Fire lit the cave as the prototype armor thundered forward, its crude weapons decimating the Ten Rings. Flamethrowers bathed men in fire, metal fists sent bodies flying. It was rage given form.
Brendon, invisible in his speed, carried Yinsen's limp body out a side tunnel, moving faster than sound. He whispered to himself as he ran, voice tight.
"You're not dying here. Not like this. Not on my watch."
The desert swallowed Tony Stark whole.
The Mark I stumbled, flames scorching the night sky. Its thrusters screamed as it launched into the air, wobbling, unstable. For one glorious moment, Tony was airborne — free.
Then gravity reasserted itself. The armor plummeted into the sand, exploding into scattered metal.
Tony lay there, chest heaving, staring up at the endless night. His grief was raw, his rage deeper than any wound. To him, Yinsen was gone. A sacrifice burned into his soul.
And that was how it needed to be — for Tony.
But elsewhere, in a safehouse buried beneath layers of desert rock, Yinsen stirred.
Brendon, human again, leaned over the medical cot, his hands stained with blood. His expression was grim, but determined.
The bullets had torn through flesh, grazed bone, but none had struck the heart. Brendon had made sure of it. With advanced med-kits he'd prepped from Nirvana and his own stubborn will, he worked through the night, patching, stabilizing, keeping Yinsen tethered to life.
When the older man finally opened his eyes, groggy and weak, Brendon let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
"You're supposed to be dead," Brendon said quietly, exhaustion lacing his tone.
Yinsen gave the faintest of smiles. "Not the first time I've heard that."
Brendon leaned back, the Omnitrix glowing faintly on his wrist. His thoughts were heavy, conflicted. Tony Stark thinks he lost you. He needs that pain to become who he's meant to be. But me? I need you alive. The world will need you again, in ways even Tony can't see yet.
He looked out into the desert night, where miles away, Tony Stark staggered toward destiny.
And in the shadows, Brendon's game of altering fate had only just begun.