Alex didn't stop running until the Arc Core was screaming at him. He landed hard on a rarely used service platform two levels above the labs, the unfinished FATHER TIME chassis biting into his chest. He was bleeding from the railgun graze on his arm, and the nanites were struggling to keep up with the repair demands.
[System Warning: Nano-Tech Repair Capacity at 65%. Continuous operation is unsustainable without external power. Immediate risk of systemic overload.]
He collapsed against a metal bulkhead, the heavy flight stabilizer module clattering onto the grate beside him. He wasn't safe. The vertical shaft was an obvious route. He had to hide the evidence.
He aimed the kinetic gauntlet at the section of the wall where he'd hidden the broken window. He fired a soft, precise kinetic pulse, causing the outer shell of the wall to collapse into the shaft, burying the evidence of his escape path.
Then, a harsh, synthesized voice cut through his internal comms—not Romanoff, but Fury.
"You blew a hole in a classified SHIELD facility, Stark," Fury's voice crackled, devoid of patience. "You exposed classified research, and you let four highly trained, armed hostiles escape. That's my mess, not yours."
"They're using stolen SI railguns and they're not Stane's thugs, they're something worse," Alex countered, panting. "They were after the RUNE data and the Core. And they almost tagged Romanoff."
"They were after you," Fury corrected, a dangerous edge in his voice. "And now they know where you are. Your legacy is becoming a global security risk."
The Fury Intervention
Romanoff appeared moments later, rappelling down from a service hatch above. She was calm, but her suit was scorched, a sign of a fierce, close-quarters fight. She ignored the wreckage, focusing entirely on Alex's pale face.
"They had clean extraction," she reported to Fury over her comms. "But they were heavily focused on the core's energy signature. They knew what they were looking for."
Fury addressed Alex directly: "Your problem is that your genius is predictable. Every piece of hardware you build is tied to Stark Industries IP, which means Stane's network can develop countermeasures faster than you can build."
Alex felt a cold wave of realization. He had built his escape using his grandfather's secret, but the tools of his brother's company were his biggest weakness.
"I need to decouple the RUNE data from all existing SI hardware profiles," Alex declared, his mind already racing ahead. "I need to build a software shield that neutralizes anything running on Stane's stolen blueprints."
Fury paused, then agreed. "Fine. You have two hours. You will design a kill switch that targets the specific operational algorithms of Stane's tech. If you can cripple his hardware network, you'll buy us time."
The Moral Crossroads
Alex retreated to a secure corner, Romanoff standing silent guard. He plugged his PDA into the module he'd salvaged—the FATHER TIME flight stabilizer—and began to code.
This was his moral crossroads. He was being asked to create a weaponized virus that would disable thousands of pieces of commercial and military-grade hardware worldwide. It wasn't about saving a life; it was about mass sabotage.
He worked with a focus bordering on mania, pouring his resentment toward Stane and his love for Tony into the code. He targeted the specific instability signature of the pre-Iron Monger power regulators—the same weakness the H.Y.D.R.A. attackers used. The resulting software was a hyper-efficient, self-replicating virus designed to cause a cascade system failure in Stane-era components.
After ninety minutes, the code was compiled: Stark Legacy Countermeasures Protocol (LCP-1).
Romanoff watched him finish, the ambient light reflecting off the code displayed on his screen. "You have your kill switch. Now the choice: keep it, and retain control over your own survival, or give it to Fury, and bet your life on SHIELD's protection."
If he gave it to Fury, he lost his leverage. He became just an asset. If he kept it, he risked being hunted down by the entire SHIELD organization as an uncontrolled terrorist.
Alex looked at the PDA, then at the kinetic gauntlet. The gauntlet gave him power. The code gave him control.
With a final breath, he encrypted the virus with a key known only to him, compiled it into a secure package, and routed it to Fury's encrypted SHIELD inbox.
"I gave him the tool," Alex stated, his decision heavy and absolute. "But I made him pay the price of my genius. The decryption key is locked to a satellite orbital trajectory I haven't finished calculating. They can't deploy it until I give them the coordinates."
Romanoff smiled faintly—a rare, almost approving gesture. "You just bet your life on your own brain, Stark. That's a true Stark move."
The Surveillance Assignment
The comms crackled again. Fury was back. "LCP-1 received. You're a damn problem, Alex, but you're my problem now."
"What's the next step, Director?" Alex asked, strapping the flight stabilizer module to the FATHER TIME chassis.
"The virus is good, but it's a stopgap," Fury said. "We need the source. The Stane network isn't building these weapons out of thin air. They're mining something old. Something they shouldn't have access to."
Fury paused, the sound of the SHIELD headquarters heavy in the background. "Your first official assignment as a SHIELD asset is surveillance. We've tracked the source of those railgun alloys to an abandoned Stark Industries Research and Storage facility in a remote corner of the Mojave Desert. It's been offline since the 80s."
"You're sending me out alone?" Alex asked, testing the weight of his newly reinforced chassis.
"You're not alone," Fury corrected, a chilling finality in his voice. "The Widow is your escort. But the facility is off-grid, dangerous, and likely holds the key to Stane's entire operation. Find the source of those blueprints, Alex. Find out what your grandfather hid there. It's time to find the fragments of the true legacy."
Alex nodded, feeling a mix of dread and exhilarating purpose. He had survived the trial by fire, and now he was heading into the desert—a landscape of forgotten secrets and dangerous relics. He was done running.
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