Over the next few days, Darren officially settled into his new "job" as Tony's personal bodyguard—showing up at the Malibu mansion every morning, on time, like a model employee.
At first, Tony hadn't been too thrilled about the arrangement.
That changed two days ago.
A handful of stock traders—driven mad by the market crash—had somehow bypassed the mansion's advanced security system and stormed into the living room, screaming about chopping off "Little Tony" to make soup.
If Darren hadn't descended like divine retribution, flattening them all in seconds, Tony might have ended the night as Toni.
From that day onward, Tony stopped complaining. In fact, he insisted on keeping Darren close.
He could lose money, pride, or even limbs—but not that part of himself.
...
"Darren, we've retrieved the agents. You can continue your undercover assignment," came Coulson's calm voice through the phone.
Darren leaned back lazily, smirking. "Good job, village chief."
"I told you, it's Coulson."
"Got it, chief. No problem, chief. See you, chief."
He hung up without hesitation.
Yes—the "crazed investors" from the other night were actually undercover S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.
How else could anyone break into a billionaire's fortress so easily?
Credit where it was due, their acting had been phenomenal. Tony was genuinely traumatized.
Darren half-suspected some of those agents moonlighted as stage actors or TV extras when they weren't saving the world.
Now, Darren lounged on the massive Italian leather sofa in the living room, legs crossed, one hand flipping through TV channels while the other gripped a steaming slice of pizza.
He looked so comfortable it was hard to tell who actually owned the mansion.
Tony emerged from the elevator, exhausted and reeking faintly of engine oil after spending half a day fine-tuning the Mark III armor.
And then he saw that.
Darren, sprawled out like a lord, eating his pizza and watching his television.
Tony's blood pressure spiked.
Was this a bodyguard or a houseguest from hell?
"Give me a slice," Tony snapped, marching over.
Without waiting for a response, he grabbed a huge piece and bit into it savagely.
Darren didn't mind in the slightest. "So," he asked around a mouthful of crust, "you done with your armor?"
"Of course!" Tony wiped his fingers, his trademark smirk flashing. Then, remembering the previous ambush, he added bitterly, "If those lunatics hadn't burst in while I was suiting up, you wouldn't have had the chance to play hero."
Darren snorted. "You think putting on armor gives you invincibility? What psycho's gonna wait politely for you to finish transforming?"
Tony glared. He couldn't even argue with that. "I'll fix that problem soon," he muttered defensively.
They finished eating in silence before Tony's face grew serious. "Actually, there's something I need your help with."
"What's up?"
"Do you remember the batch of Stark Industries weapons I told you to blow up back in the Middle East?" Tony's tone dropped low.
Darren grinned. "Of course. You ran so fast that day your pants nearly fell off. Hilarious, by the way."
Tony's expression froze. He visibly restrained himself from smacking him with the pizza box. "I think someone inside Stark Industries is selling weapons to terrorists," he said tightly. "I need proof."
He reached into his pocket and handed Darren a sleek silver USB drive.
"I want you to infiltrate Stark Industries headquarters, access my private computer, and copy every recent weapons shipment record. Bring them to me."
[NPC Tony Stark has issued a new mission]
[Mission: The Mole in Stark Industries]
[Objective: Infiltrate Stark Industries HQ, hack Tony Stark's personal computer, and retrieve recent weapons logs]
[Reward: 500 XP, +10 Tony Stark Affection, 1 Random Item]
"You could do that yourself," Darren said, frowning. "Isn't it your company?"
Tony sighed. "After I announced the weapons division shutdown, the board froze me out. I can't even walk through the front door right now."
"Why not send your assistant?"
Tony shook his head immediately. "Too risky. If there really is a mole, they'll be watching Pepper. I can't let her get dragged into this."
Darren gave him a long, silent look.
So you do care about her safety. But me? Sure, let the expendable guy waltz in. Great.
...
New York City – Stark Industries Headquarters
The glass façade of the skyscraper gleamed beneath the afternoon sun. Darren strolled through the lobby, passing waves of sharply dressed employees and grim-faced security guards. The building's defenses were impressive—motion sensors, ID scanners, facial recognition cameras on every floor.
Tony's office sat at the very top, accessible only via a high-security elevator. Tony had given him a keycard, but swiping it in front of half the building was not exactly subtle.
"Too many eyes," Darren muttered. "Guess I'll have to use that."
He slipped into the men's restroom, locked himself in a stall, and pulled out a flesh-toned mask from his inventory.
[Item: Disguise Mask (Can morph into one face of your choice. Permanent once set.)]
The mask was cool to the touch, clinging smoothly to his skin as it reshaped itself. Moments later, a new face stared back from the mirror—none other than Obadiah Stane.
Next came a small bow-tie voice modulator he'd looted earlier. Darren clipped it to his collar and grinned at his reflection.
"Perfect."
Adjusting his tie, he strutted out of the restroom, confidence radiating from every pore.
"Mr. Stane, good afternoon!"
Employees paused mid-stride to greet him respectfully.
Oh, this was nice. Being the boss felt really nice.
Clearing his throat, Darren mimicked Stane's gravelly tone through the modulator. "Good afternoon, everyone. Excellent work, as always."
Several workers blinked. Something about "Mr. Stane" seemed… off today.
Still, they chorused politely, "Thank you, sir!"
Darren nodded solemnly. "Since everyone's so enthusiastic, I'm proud to announce a voluntary overtime session tonight. I can feel your loyalty and passion for this company!"
A stunned silence swept through the lobby.
Employees exchanged horrified glances.
"Voluntary... overtime?"
Someone whispered, "Why does that sound like a threat?"
Darren smiled brightly. "You're all heroes of capitalism. Don't let me down."
The entire office froze.
For the first time in Stark Industries history, cheerful tyranny had arrived.