"Come in."
A voice, surprisingly young, echoed from within the room. Following the sound, the door creaked open on its own, as if an unseen hand was waiting on the other side.
Tony pushed the door open the rest of the way, and the scene inside the conference room unfolded before him. The space was expansive, dominated by a large, round table. Three people were seated, and another figure stood beside them—not a person, Tony realized, but a Transformer. He recognized two of the figures immediately: the young man and woman he had raced on the motorcycles. The third, he presumed, must be the Klein Moretti that Pepper had mentioned.
His eyes drifted back to the table. They were... playing cards?
"Excellent! This place really lives up to its 'ballroom' name. Is this the game room?" Tony quipped, showing no awareness that he was an outsider. With the casual confidence of a man who owned any room he entered, he pulled over an empty chair and sat down.
Never one to be silent, he directed his next comment to Klein. "Moretti, what's with the minor? Did you invite me all the way out here just to babysit?"
Ilyana, who was clearly on the verge of losing the card game, scowled at being called a child. In a fit of pique, she snatched the cards from Amon's hand, slammed them onto the table, and turned her glare on Tony. "I don't know who this old man is," she taunted, "but he's so ancient he can't even climb a flight of stairs!"
"You!" Tony's face froze, a retort dying on his lips.
With a smug look, Ilyana kicked off the edge of the table, pushing her chair back. She crossed her legs, regarding Tony with an air of absolute victory.
Amon waved a hand over the table, and the discarded cards vanished into thin air. He then stood, ceding the main seat to Amon. "When you can't win the game, you throw away the cards. At least that's progress!"
Ilyana, standing nearby, couldn't quite hide the flush of embarrassment at being found out.
Amon turned his gaze, magnified by his monocle, toward Tony. "Mr. Iron Man, you seem to have misunderstood," he said with a serene smile. "Klein was merely your point of contact. The true partnership is to be between you and me."
Tony raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expected the real power player to be the young man who looked barely old enough to drive. Still, being stared at through that monocle was unnerving. It was only then that Tony realized Ilyana and the other woman were the only ones in the room without the accessory. Even Jarvis had been compelled to conjure one for himself before entering.
"What a strange rule," Tony muttered to himself before asking aloud, "Is that so? Then tell me, what's this grand cooperation you want with me? It seems you had this planned even before I disappeared."
"Haha, Mr. Iron Man, you are a man of many distinctions," Amon began. "You've announced your superhero identity to the world, you serve as the liaison between humans and the Autobots, and you command a business empire. Based on those qualifications alone, is it not natural that we would wish to cooperate?"
Tony, whose ego was as bulletproof as his suit, accepted the praise without flinching. "Alright. What is it you want to cooperate on?"
Amon smiled. "I wonder, Mr. Iron Man, how you would feel about a company dedicated entirely to superheroes?"
This piqued Tony's interest. "A superhero theme? Go on."
Amon explained, "Imagine an organization that gathers the world's emerging heroes under a single banner. A company that not only supports them but establishes a platform to chronicle their experiences and share their stories with the world."
Tony's eyes lit up. "That's a brilliant idea! I, Tony Stark, am investing in this project!"
Hearing this, Amon slowly shook his head, much to Tony's confusion. "Mr. Iron Man, I am not seeking your investment. I am inviting you to become our company's first official superhero."
"Ah, me?" Tony balked. The idea of working for someone else was entirely foreign to him. "I don't work for anyone. And besides, you can't afford me."
"Then what if there were no salary?" Amon countered.
"Huh?" Tony was baffled. Who works for free?
Amon continued, "Our heroes will form a guild, and you would be its vice president. Furthermore, our company is not-for-profit. It is designed to provide heroes with a stable environment and a platform to grow."
Tony nodded slowly, processing the idea. "That's a great concept. I didn't become a hero for the money. But why am I the vice president? Who's the president? You?"
Ilyana, who had been watching the exchange with amusement, chimed in. "That would be me. I will be the president of the Superhero Guild, Mr. Vice President!"
This was a recent development. Amon had never intended to make Ilyana the president, but when she learned of his plans, she had insisted on forming a guild and leading it. After a relentless campaign of pestering, Amon had finally relented.
"What!" Tony exclaimed. "Are you people playing make-believe? A president who isn't even an adult yet?"
"What's age got to do with it?" Ilyana shot back, standing up. "Leadership is about strength. If you doubt it, let's have a contest. Put on that tin can of yours, and I'll cut it open with one swing of my sword."
"I don't fight with kids," Tony said, leaning back in his chair and pointedly ignoring her challenge.
"Allow me to show you something," Amon interjected. "We plan to turn this into a feature film before we announce the company."
Amon snapped his fingers, and a holographic image flickered to life above the table. It was the Decepticon invasion of Manhattan, rendered in stunning detail. There wasn't just one angle; the footage captured nearly every Decepticon, including Megatron himself. It showed Tony's appearance in the Iron Man armor, Bumblebee's meeting with Thunderbolt, and the Rider Clan's systematic annihilation of Decepticon forces across the city. The clarity was cinematic.
"Where did you get this footage?" Tony asked, astonished. "Did you have drones everywhere? I never noticed a thing."
Amon chuckled. "We have a professional photography team."
Tony murmured to himself, "Could it be those mysterious guys?" He was thinking of the agent who had inexplicably healed his wound. He pondered for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, I'm in. But I'm not taking orders from her."
"Tsk, who'd want to give orders to a middle-aged man like you anyway," Ilyana retorted. She had never liked Tony Stark, the playboy arms dealer.
"I have a gift for you," Amon said, tossing a red glove onto the table.
"What's this?" Tony picked it up. The glove was covered in complex, mystic-looking patterns. Staring at them for a moment, he felt a strange, pulling sensation, as if his very essence was being drawn into the design.
"It is called the Fire Glove. You know the myth of Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods? This grants a similar power. The ability to take. It can steal inanimate objects, life force, even the abilities of others. It can also transform into any similarly sized object you desire. You may explore its other functions on your own."
"Is it really that magical?" Tony asked, intrigued. He slipped it onto his left hand. The glove was ambidextrous and molded itself perfectly to his skin. Focusing his thoughts, he pictured a watch. The red glove flowed like liquid metal, reconfiguring itself into a sleek, silver-white timepiece on his wrist.
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