Tony Stark groaned as his eyes fluttered open. He stared blankly at a pure-white ceiling, then realized his limbs were restrained.
His expression snapped from hangover haze to kidnapped fury in an instant.
"Hey! What the hell?! I just crawled back from death's door and this is how you treat your savior? Strap me to a lab bed? What's the plan—poke around my gorgeous brain or go for a prostate exam? I'm warning you, my legal team—"
"We're examining you, Mr. Stark."
Dr. A167 cut through the chatter, dead serious.
"Specifically, whether you're carrying anything that poses a threat to us… and whether you've been parasitized."
"Para… sitized?"
The word fit a key into the worst door in Tony's mind and turned it.
Suddenly he was back in that violet, writhing, stinking hell of vines.
He saw terrorists sucked dry, only their clothing left behind.
He remembered the pale yellow slime.
"AAAAAAAHHHHH!"
The scream shattered the calm of the entire medical wing.
Tony shook violently, face drained of color, eyes wide with animal terror.
"Is it inside me?! Did that thing crawl into me?! Hurry—get it out! Use a laser! Use a scalpel! Cut me open—now!"
Unmoved by Tony's sudden switch from motormouth to panicked fawn, Dr. A167 pushed up his glasses and spoke evenly:
"Parasitism is, at present, only a hypothesis. To confirm, we need to run a very thorough physical examination."
Watching Tony thrash on the bed, Felix Ragnell's expression softened for the first time—something almost like gentle.
Through the intercom, he said in a calm, steady voice, "Breathe, Mr. Stark. I already said parasitism is only a suspicion. And according to our full screening, you're clean—no sign of invasive anomalous organisms."
"You'll just need to stay here for a while. Once we're certain there's no latent aggressor in any of you, you're free to go."
Felix paused, then lobbed the one compliment guaranteed to snap Tony quiet.
"After all, we've no interest in harming the greatest inventor of the 21st century, do we?"
"The greatest inventor?"
Tony's screams cut off. Terror twisted off his face, replaced by that familiar, towering self-confidence.
He sucked in a breath and, as if he hadn't just begged to be dissected, declared matter-of-factly, "Well, obviously. There isn't a smarter person on this planet than me."
Felix didn't argue. He only smiled, noncommittal, and turned to Yinsen, who had silently pushed himself upright.
"Mr. Yinsen," Felix said, suddenly formal, "on behalf of the Foundation, I'd like to offer you an invitation. We admire your talent—and respect your character. We need people like you."
Yinsen went rigid. Fear and resistance flashed in his eyes.
After the Ten Rings, the word "invitation" came with a shadow. Another cage. Another master.
"I…" He opened his mouth, unsure how to refuse.
"You don't have to answer now," Felix said, reading him easily. "We don't coerce. Stay here for a bit. See what we do. If, in the end, you don't wish to join, we won't press you. Sign a non-disclosure agreement, accept a generous bonus, and go live the life you want."
Felix nodded at Dr. A167.
The doctor stepped forward and undid the restraints on Yinsen's wrists and ankles.
Yinsen blinked, flexing his hands—feeling freedom, raw and real. Disbelief welled in his eyes.
He… actually had a choice?
Tony watched all of it, gears spinning.
So this "Foundation" was secretive, sure—but maybe… not insane?
"Hey! For the record, I'm not signing up for your mystery club," Tony jumped in. "My time is expensive. Stark Industries needs me."
He pivoted smoothly, the businessman glint back in his eyes."But… I'm very interested. Maybe we talk 'investment and cooperation'? I'm more than a little jealous of your tech."
He'd use the sharpest weapon he owned—money—to keep them friendly and pry this place open.
Felix ignored the pitch and looked to the last person in the room—Sharon Carter.
"Agent Carter, your situation is… special."
His voice went cold again.
"You have two choices."
"One: join us."
"Two: we administer a Class-B amnestic and return you to S.H.I.E.L.D. You'll forget everything that happened here—us, and… the cave."
Sharon blanched.
Mind-wipe?
Worse than death.
"Wait!"
Natasha Romanoff stepped out of the observation room and put herself between Felix and Sharon.
"Sir, leave her to me," Natasha said, meeting Felix's gaze without flinching. "I know her. I know S.H.I.E.L.D. Give me some time—I may be able to convince her."
Felix looked at Natasha, then at the defiant set of Sharon's jaw. He considered, silent.
"…All right."
He nodded.
"One night. You have until morning. She does not leave the medical wing. If she still refuses at dawn, proceed with Class-B amnestic treatment."
"Yes, sir." Natasha exhaled, relieved.
With Sharon settled for now, Felix finally turned back to Tony Stark.
"All right, Mr. Stark. Let's discuss compensation."
He showed a professional, merchant's smile.
"Compensation?" Tony blinked.
"Yes," Felix said reasonably. "We deployed a crack Mobile Task Force, burned through a mountain of cutting-edge hardware, and risked a containment disaster to fish you out of that particular hell. That isn't free."
He raised four fingers.
"Since you're Tony Stark, we'll give you a discount. Forty billion dollars. Cash—or an equivalent bundle of patents. We're flexible."
"Fo—forty billion?!" Tony's eyes all but popped out. "Why don't you just rob a bank?!"
"Robbing a bank doesn't pay nearly as well as saving your life," Felix said, perfectly mild.
(End of Chapter)
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