The desert was relentless. Hours melted into dust and shimmering heat. The SHIELD transport—an unmarked, black armored truck—felt like a mobile coffin. Alex stared out the heavily tinted window at the empty Mojave landscape, the silence broken only by the low growl of the engine and the constant, internal hum of the Arc Core.
The contrast was maddening. Inside his mind, his grandfather's legacy—the RUNE Protocol Zero file and Maria Stark's name—was a screaming chaos of betrayal and destiny. Outside, there was only beige nothingness, a perfect, desolate peace.
Alex tried to focus on the PROJECT FATHER TIME schematics displayed on his PDA. He was using the long trip to refine the code for the Liquid Mesh application of the nanites, making the suit lighter, more flexible, and nearly seamless.
"Stop reviewing the code," Romanoff commanded from the seat across from him. She wasn't driving; two anonymous agents handled that. She was just watching Alex. "You haven't looked away from that screen in three hours. You'll burn out your retinas."
"I'm not running simulations of my suit, Romanoff," Alex said, not looking up. "I'm running scenarios of Stane's next move. He sold railguns to the people who attacked us. He's planning something bigger than just black market sales."
"We know what Stane is planning," she countered, her voice low. "He wants to put his weapons on a scale that rivals a small country. We also know why you're here, Alex. It's not about Stane. It's about Howard."
Isolation and Internal Walls
Romanoff picked up a bottle of water, twisting the cap slowly. "Isolation is a tool. We keep you in this truck, then in that remote desert facility, because it strips you down. It removes the distractions—the money, the fame, the expectations. It leaves you with just the core problem: control."
"I'm in control," Alex scoffed, finally meeting her eyes.
"No, the System is in control," she corrected immediately. "The System tells you when to heal, when to optimize, when to survive. The nanites are rewriting your body and mind based on code you didn't write. You are the perfect genius, but you're a slave to your own tech."
Alex felt the familiar spike of defensiveness. He touched the skin over the Arc Core. "It's my tool. My invention. My survival."
"It's Howard's safety net," she pressed, her tone softer now, almost empathetic. "He engineered you to be the solution to his own failure. He hid you, he trained you, and he gave you the RUNE Protocol Zero as your birthright. He did all that because he wanted to control the future. You think that's power? That's a cage."
Alex dropped the PDA, the clatter echoing in the quiet cabin. He stared out at the passing canyon walls—ancient, scarred, and silent. He realized the desert wasn't empty; it was a mirror. It reflected his own desperate, controlled isolation.
"I need to know why," Alex admitted, the admission feeling heavy on his tongue. "Why me? Why not Tony? Why this deep, dark secret about Maria?"
Romanoff leaned back, her face unreadable. "Tony was always fire. Unpredictable, volatile, obsessed with the immediate glory. He was perfect for the public face. You," she paused, her eyes tracing the lines of exhaustion on his face, "you are ice. Precise, meticulous, obsessed with the foundation. Howard realized Tony would never fully commit to the foundation of RUNE. He needed someone he could mold in the shadows."
"He built a spare," Alex whispered, the pain of the revelation finally hitting him.
"He built the true heir," Romanoff countered. "One who wouldn't be distracted by the public spotlight. One who needed the guilt of being forgotten to stay focused on the mission."
The Footprint of a Rival
The transport finally ground to a halt. They were at the base of a desolate mesa. The Stark Industries Research and Storage facility was half-buried in the sand—a single, low-slung concrete structure with a rusted SI logo barely visible over the main entrance.
They disembarked. The hot air hit Alex like a physical force. He stood beside Romanoff, scanning the environment.
[System Scan: Area Thermal Anomalies Detected. Residual heat signatures suggest recent, heavy vehicle traffic (within 48 hours).]
"We're too late," Alex muttered, pointing to the barely visible tire tracks near the perimeter fence. "Someone beat us here."
Romanoff pulled her rifle. "I was afraid of that. Stane is fast. Or maybe it's H.Y.D.R.A. using his blueprints."
"The tire tracks are too light for a full armored vehicle," Alex noted, his genius immediately shifting to forensic analysis. "And the tread is unusual. Not military, not commercial. Highly specialized. They came here to haul something small and valuable."
He walked toward the main access door, which was sealed with decades of rust. He activated the Nano-Tech, directing it to the metallic surface. The nanites, now functioning as a microscopic cutting tool, quickly dissolved the rust around the lock mechanism.
"I'll breach the lock. You cover the corridor," Alex said, strapping the kinetic gauntlet on.
Romanoff took her position, her eyes scanning the desolate peaks above. "Wait."
She pointed to a faint, almost imperceptible line in the dust, leading away from the access door and into the rocks. It was a single, small footprint.
"A second set of prints," Romanoff noted, her voice flat. "Too small for the mercenaries, too shallow for a SHIELD operative. Not military. Not a rival, Alex. This is a civilian. Someone who shouldn't be here."
Alex looked where the print led—straight toward the oldest, most remote part of the mesa. A civilian, deep in the desert, at a highly classified Stark facility. This wasn't Stane. This was an entirely new, unpredictable element.
"I'm not fighting two fronts," Alex said, his heart rate picking up. "I need to know who that is. Alone."
"You need to slow down and think," Romanoff warned, but Alex was already moving, following the small, delicate footprint into the vast, unforgiving silence of the desert. He was desperate for a connection that wasn't coded, or a name that wasn't Stark.
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