Chapter 4
FFC, Musutafu outskirt
Sir Nighteye lingered as All Might, Aizawa, and Tsukauchi made their way toward the exit, the echo of their footsteps fading in the vast hangar bay. The revelations about All For One's network still hung heavy in the air, a storm cloud of uncertainty. As the three reached the door, Sir Nighteye cleared his throat.
"Wait a moment. I'd like to speak with Iron Man privately."
All Might paused, his massive form turning with a nod. "Of course. We'll be outside if you need us."
The doors hissed shut behind them, leaving Sir Nighteye and Iron Man alone in the cavernous space. The holographic displays flickered dimly, casting blue shadows across the armored figure. Sir Nighteye adjusted his glasses, his sharp suit immaculate despite the late hour. His analytical gaze fixed on the suit before him.
"Iron Man," Sir Nighteye said, his voice measured but insistent. "A moment, if you would. Privately."
Iron Man paused, his repulsors dimming as he turned fully toward the hero. The suit's visor glowed faintly in the low light, concealing any expression. "Sure. Everyone else is gone—shoot."
Sir Nighteye waited until the hangar's doors sealed with a soft hiss, ensuring no eavesdroppers. His posture was rigid, the weight of his Quirk—Foresight—evident in his tense shoulders. "My Quirk allows me to glimpse the future. I've seen glimpses of what's to come for All Might… for his successor in One For All. For hero society as a whole. Battles, losses, a fragile balance tipping toward chaos."
Iron Man's helmet tilted slightly, his modulated voice carrying a note of curiosity laced with caution. "Sounds like a heavy burden. What's that got to do with me?"
Sir Nighteye's eyes narrowed behind his glasses, his voice dropping to a grave whisper. "Everything. Those visions were clear—until you entered the picture. Ever since Iron Man appeared, the futures I see have shifted. Entirely different paths, ones that involve you heavily. You're not just an ally; you're a pivot point. Why? How?"
The suit shifted, repulsors humming faintly as Iron Man crossed his arms—a gesture that felt almost human despite the armor. "Maybe there's a reason for that. Futures aren't set in stone—people change them. Actions, choices, and the people we meet."
Sir Nighteye stepped closer, his gaze piercing. "Who are you, really? Under the mask. You speak like a man who's carried the weight of worlds. What drives you?"
Iron Man paused, the visor reflecting the hologram's dying glow. His voice softened, edged with the weary reflection of someone who'd lost too much. "Someone who understands the situation All Might is in. The burden of being a symbol, the toll it takes… I've been there. Let's leave it at that."
Iron Man's suit shifted slightly, the repulsors dimming as he leaned against a nearby console. His voice took on a quieter, more introspective tone, the words carrying the scars of battles long past. "Back where I'm from, I made choices that defined everything. Sacrifices that cost me more than I can say—friends, time, pieces of myself I'll never get back. I chose to step up when the world was ending, to protect what mattered, even if it meant losing everything else. It wasn't about glory or power; it was about doing what had to be done, no matter the price."
Sir Nighteye's eyes widened slightly, his analytical mind racing to piece together the fragments. "You've fought wars beyond our understanding. Tell me more—what kind of sacrifices? What drove you to that point?"
Iron Man straightened, the suit's systems whirring softly as he shook his head. "It's a story for another time. Right now, we've got All For One to hunt. Let's focus on that."
Sir Nighteye held his stare a moment longer, then nodded slowly, stepping back. "Very well. For now." He turned toward the exit, his footsteps echoing in the vast bay. "But remember, Iron Man—the future I see now… it's brighter. Don't make me regret trusting it."
As the doors sealed behind him, Iron Man stood alone, the suit's systems whirring softly. He waited until the four exited the building before stepping out of the Mark 47 armor, the mechanical plates unfolding and retracting with a series of precise clicks as it powered down into its compact form.
En route to Musutafu
The two unmarked police cars rolled away from the Future Foundation Center's gates, tires crunching on the gravel drive as they wound toward Musutafu's city lights. The sprawling compound, a fortress of glass and steel, faded into the wooded darkness behind them.
In the first car, Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi gripped the steering wheel, his mind still grappling with Iron Man's revelations about the puppeteer. Beside him, Aizawa Shota slouched in the passenger seat, his dark attire blending with the shadows, his eyes sharp despite his relaxed posture.
In the second car, All Might—now in his gaunt, true form—sat beside Sir Nighteye, whose precise driving matched his analytical demeanor. The comms earpieces crackled faintly, linking the two vehicles.
Aizawa's voice cut through the hum of the engine, low and gravelly. "So, about that Nomu thing... Why keep it under wraps? You didn't tell a soul—not even us. And where'd you get the funding? Research like that doesn't come cheap."
The question carried over the comms, reaching All Might and Sir Nighteye. All Might shifted uncomfortably, his skeletal frame casting a faint silhouette against the window, while Sir Nighteye's grip tightened on the wheel, his glasses catching the glow of passing streetlights.
Tsukauchi glanced at Aizawa, then spoke clearly into the comms for all to hear. "It's complicated. Seven months ago, when Iron Man handed me the Nomu, he warned me about a potential mole in the Hero Public Safety Commission or among the pro heroes—someone leaking information, covering tracks. We couldn't risk exposure, so I kept it under wraps. Just me, Recovery Girl, and a small team we trust working on it quietly."
All Might's voice came through the comms, thin but resolute. "A mole? In the Commission? That's… troubling news."
Sir Nighteye's tone was measured, his analytical mind already dissecting the implications. "Indeed. But the funding—how did you manage that without drawing attention?"
Tsukauchi sighed, his eyes fixed on the road as Musutafu's skyline loomed closer. "Iron Man handled it. He's got resources—Future Foundation grants, private tech funds, you name it. He insisted on keeping it off the books until we had solid answers, saying it was too important to let bureaucracy slow it down. The Nomu's biology is unnatural—multiple Quirks fused, engineered tissue. Chiyo and I are making progress, but it's slow. Whatever this thing is, it's tied to All For One's network."
Aizawa grunted, his scarf twitching slightly as he processed the information. "Convenient. Iron Man's got his hands in everything. You sure we can trust a guy who plays his cards that close?"
Tsukauchi's jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady. "He's delivered results. Saved those kids, took down Kingdom, spotted the mole first. That's enough for me—for now."
Silence settled over the cars, broken only by the faint hum of the engines and the crackle of the comms. All Might's voice emerged softly, tinged with resolve. "If there's a mole, as he said, then how do we know who to trust?"
Aizawa leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Tsukauchi. "Exactly. A mole means anyone could be compromised—heroes, police, even the Commission's top brass. Iron Man's intel might be solid, but he's an outsider. What's his endgame?"
Tsukauchi's grip on the wheel tightened, his voice steady but weighted. "He's risking as much as we are. That Nomu research—he's funding it to protect people, not to play games. But I hear you. We keep our eyes open, check his leads ourselves."
All Might's thin frame shifted in the second car, his voice crackling through the comms. "Detective Tsukauchi is right. We can't let doubt paralyze us. If All For One's network is as big as Iron Man says, we need every ally we can get."
Sir Nighteye nodded, his eyes fixed on the road, glasses glinting in the city's approaching lights. "Agreed. But we proceed with caution. Iron Man's involvement has already changed the game, and people aren't going to like it."
The city lights grew brighter, casting fleeting reflections on the cars as they drove on, the weight of secrets and alliances pressing down like the night itself.
The RAFT, 1 Month Later (Late December)
The faint hum of The Raft's security systems echoed through the sterile corridors, a constant reminder of the facility's unyielding isolation. Snow flurries danced against the reinforced glass windows overlooking the churning Atlantic, their white specks a rare touch of seasonal whimsy in an otherwise grim fortress. Christmas lights—subtle strings of warm LEDs—had been strung along the common areas by the staff, a half-hearted nod to the holidays, but in Tsutsumi Kaina's upgraded quarters, the atmosphere felt a touch less oppressive. The room, now more livable with its softer lighting and added amenities, carried a quiet air of progress amid her ongoing rehabilitation.
Kaina sat at her desk, flipping through a tactical manual on the tablet, her emerald green Thunderbolts suit folded neatly nearby. The electric batons from her training sessions rested on a charging dock, their faint glow pulsing like a heartbeat. She'd adapted to the routine—grueling sessions under Doom's watchful eye, incremental freedoms earned through discipline—but the weight of her past still lingered, a shadow no amount of tech could fully erase.
A soft chime interrupted her reading, the AI voice announcing, "Visitor: Iron Man. Access granted."
The door slid open with a hydraulic hiss, and Iron Man stepped inside, his red-and-gold armor gleaming under the room's lights. The suit's repulsors hummed softly as he entered, the helmet's visor remaining firmly in place. He carried a small, wrapped package under one arm, its metallic paper catching the light.
"Tsutsumi," Tony said, his voice casual but warm, nodding as the door sealed behind him. "Or should I stick with Lady Nagant? Figured I'd drop by for a holiday check-in. How's the ocean-view penthouse treating you?"
Kaina looked up, setting the tablet aside with a faint smirk. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms—her posture relaxed but alert, the assassin's instincts never fully dormant. "Iron Man. It's… adequate. Better than Tartarus, that's for sure. The upgrades help—books, the mat, even the lighting doesn't feel like an interrogation room anymore. Doom's training keeps me sharp, but it's not exactly festive."
Tony chuckled, setting the package down on the desk and leaning against the wall, his armor whirring faintly with the movement. "Yeah, well, Doom's idea of holiday cheer is probably a monologue about world domination. Glad the tweaks are working out. How about you? Well-being check: sleep okay? Food not tasting like cardboard? Any complaints I can relay to the management?"
She tilted her head, studying him for a moment—his easy banter masking a genuine concern she'd come to recognize. "Sleep's fine, when the waves aren't crashing like a reminder of how trapped I am. Food's improved—actual meals now, not slop. The training's brutal, but it's building something. Redemption, like Doom keeps preaching. Or maybe just survival skills for whatever's next." Her voice softened slightly, a rare vulnerability slipping through. "It's… better than I expected. Thanks to you, I suppose."
Iron Man nodded, his expression turning more serious as he glanced around the room. "Good to hear. You're making progress—Doom's reports say you're acing those sessions. Batons suit you better than a rifle, huh? Less distance, more control. And the cuffs—any issues there? I can tweak the inhibitors if they're chafing."
Kaina shook her head, her fingers drumming lightly on the desk. "They're bearable. Keeps me honest, forces me to rely on skill over power. But enough about me." Her gaze shifted to her folded tactical suit, curiosity sparking in her eyes. She leaned forward, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "What about this suit you made for me? The emerald green one—Thunderbolts emblem and all. It fits like it was tailored for more than just combat. What's the story behind it? Some kind of gift, or just another tool?"
Tony's smirk softened, his eyes distant for a moment as he glanced at the suit. He pushed off the wall, stepping closer to the desk. "Yeah, it's based on a friend's old setup. She was… a force. Deadly precise, adaptable in any fight—could go from shadows to spotlight without missing a beat. You remind me of her in some ways: the grit, the way you turn a bad hand into a winning play, that quiet fire that says you're not done fighting. Didn't want to name it after her, but let's just say it's a nod to someone who knew how to rebuild from the ground up."
She leaned forward, taking the wrapped package from him and eyeing it curiously for a moment before setting it down on the ground beside her chair, prioritizing the conversation. "And this? The gift you made for me? Didn't peg you for the sentimental type. Or is this another 'tool' for my rehabilitation?"
Iron Man regarded the package for a moment, his helmet's visor reflecting the soft glow of the room's lights. He straightened up, the suit's servos whirring quietly as he reached up and initiated the retraction sequence. With a series of mechanical clicks and hisses, the armor began to dissolve, nanites flowing like liquid metal back into the arc reactor embedded in his chest. The process revealed a man in his late twenties to early thirties, dressed in a simple black shirt and pants—Tony Stark, his face lined with the subtle scars of old battles, his eyes sharp but weary, a faint five-o'clock shadow adding to his disheveled charm.
Kaina's eyes widened slightly, her smirk fading into genuine surprise as she leaned back, processing the revelation. "Well, that's a face I wasn't expecting. No more hiding behind the tin can?"
Tony flexed his fingers, adjusting to the absence of the suit, and gave a half-smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "My name is Tony Stark. Former Avenger, genius billionaire—though that's debatable in this world—playboy philanthropist, father, husband... or at least I was, before everything went sideways. The list goes on, but let's not bore you with the resume. Point is, it's time I expanded my circle of trust. Doom knows, the Fantastic Four know part of it, and a few others in Japan are starting to piece it together. You've earned it—handling the training, the suit, not cracking under this whole redemption gig. Figured if we're building something here, might as well drop the mask. Literally."
Kaina crossed her arms tighter, her gaze appraising him anew—not as an armored enigma, but as a man carrying invisible weights. "Tony Stark. Suits you better than 'Iron Man,' somehow. Trust, huh? That's a big word in a place like this. Why now? And why me?"
Tony leaned against the desk, his half-smile fading into a more serious expression. "Why now? Because we're at a turning point."
Kaina's brow furrowed, her arms still crossed as she studied him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Turning point? For you, or for me?"
"For all of us," Tony replied, his voice dropping lower, laced with the weary conviction of a man who'd stared down gods and monsters. He pushed off the desk, pacing the small quarters with that restless energy he'd never quite shaken, even after all the battles. "Look, I've been digging into this world's setup since I got here—heroes, villains, Quirks defining everything. It's... sickening. A society where your worth is tied to some genetic lottery? Kids getting snatched because their powers fit someone's agenda? Heroes playing politics while villains like All For One pull strings from the shadows? It's broken. Reminds me too much of home—of systems that chew people up and spit them out."
Kaina eyed him for a beat longer, then reached down for the package, unwrapping it carefully. Inside was a sleek, compact device—a holographic projector, etched with subtle designs that hinted at advanced tech. She activated it with a tap, and a small, floating display flickered to life, projecting a customizable interface for simulations, comms, and even entertainment feeds. "Fancy. Not bad for a gift. What's the catch?"
"No catch," Tony replied, his tone lighter. "Just something to make the downtime less monotonous. Now, about that long conversation... you asked about the suit's inspiration earlier. But if we're diving in, let's go back further."
Tony leaned back, his eyes distant as memories surfaced. He began with the basics—the place he came from, a world without Quirks but rife with its own chaos: mutants, experiments, gods, and tech-born heroes. He described building his first suit in a cave from scraps to escape captivity, joining a team of Earth's defenders—a ragtag group of remarkable people who became family. The stories flowed: battles against alien invasions, a civil war that fractured the team over questions of accountability, quiet interludes at his lake house with his family after unthinkable losses. "We fought, we bled, we rebuilt," he said, his voice steady but heavy. "Every time we thought we'd won, something bigger came knocking. But the people—my team, my family—kept me going."
Tony's gaze dropped to his hands, flexing the scarred one absentmindedly. "Pepper—my wife—she's a fighter in her own right. Morgan, our daughter... four years old when I 'died.' Smart as a whip, loved cheeseburgers and bedtime stories. Left them behind, along with the team. The super-soldier, my sometimes-friend, sometimes-rival. The god, off ruling his realm. The Hulk guy, trying to balance brains and brawn. And the friend I mentioned. Spy, assassin, hero. She sacrificed herself for a cause bigger than any of us. Red hair, sharper tongue, could take down armies with a glare. You remind me of her—not just the skills, but the way you've been used, discarded, and still claw your way back. She started as a killer too, reprogrammed by bad people. Joined us, became family. Saved the world more times than I can count."
Kaina nodded slowly, tracing the edge of the projector. "She sounds like someone I'd have respected. This world chews people up the same way—Quirks define you, heroes glorify it, villains exploit it. I was a hero once, then the Commission's tool. Killed for them, lost myself. Now here, with Doom preaching order and you handing out second chances. Your world's mess makes ours look small. Aliens, gods... how'd you keep going?"
"Stubbornness, mostly," Tony admitted with a wry chuckle. "And the people. The team wasn't just a team; they were family. Fought like hell, but when it counted, we had each other's backs. Lost some—an AI I accidentally created; a god's brother who flip-flopped sides; others who fell to a cosmic threat. But we rebuilt. That's what I'm trying here—rebuild, expand the circle. Japan's got its own apocalypse brewing with All For One alive and scheming. I've got tech, experience; you've got insight into the shadows. Together? We might tip the scales."
The conversation stretched on, the holographic projector casting faint blue light across the room as Tony shared more—stories of battles that shook cities, the cost of choices that split his team, the quiet moments at the lake house with Pepper and Morgan after clawing back from despair. Kaina offered fragments of her own story—her fall from grace, the Commission's manipulations, the hollow victories as Lady Nagant. Hours passed, the snow outside thickening, as barriers crumbled in the isolated cell. For the first time, trust felt less like a risk and more like a bridge between two broken worlds.
Kaina leaned back in her chair, the holographic projector now dim, its faint glow mirroring the quiet intensity of their exchange. She glanced at the emerald green Thunderbolts suit, then back at Tony, her voice steady but probing. "You're betting a lot on me. This suit, this talk—it's a leap. What's your real play here? You don't strike me as someone who does this out of charity."
Tony's half-smile returned, tinged with the weight of experience. "No charity, just strategy. All For One's network is a hydra—cut one head, two more grow. I need people who know the game, who've played it from the inside. You've been in the shadows, Kaina. You know how to navigate them. That's worth more than any tech I can build."
She held his gaze, her fingers tapping the desk thoughtfully. "And if I fail? If I'm not the redemption story you're hoping for?"
"Then we pivot," Tony said, standing and stretching, his casual demeanor belying the gravity of his words. "But I've seen enough to know you won't. You're not just surviving—you're fighting. That's enough for me." He moved toward the door, the nanites of his suit beginning to reassemble around him, flowing like liquid metal. "Get some rest. We've got a long road ahead, and I'm not carrying you through it."
Kaina's lips curved into a faint, defiant smirk. "Wouldn't dream of it, Stark."
The door hissed shut behind him, leaving her alone in the quiet of her quarters. The snow outside continued to fall, a silent promise of challenges yet to come, but for the first time, Kaina felt a spark of purpose—a chance to redefine what it meant to be a hero.
Baxter Building, New York – Christmas Evening
The skyline of New York glittered under a fresh blanket of snow as Tony's suit cut through the crisp winter air, repulsors leaving a faint trail of ionized mist in his wake. The flight from The Raft had been uneventful—save for the swirling thoughts in his head, replaying the conversation with Kaina like a looped holographic recording. Trust was a fragile thing, especially when built on shared scars, but it felt like a step forward. As the Baxter Building came into view, its iconic "4" emblem standing proud against the holiday-decorated streets below, Tony slowed his descent, landing lightly on the rooftop helipad. The nanites retracted seamlessly, leaving him in civilian clothes: a wool coat over his black shirt, hands stuffed in pockets against the chill.
The door to the interior hissed open, and Sue stepped out, her blonde hair catching the evening light, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. She wore a casual sweater, but her eyes held that sharp, knowing look she'd honed from years of balancing family, heroism, and Reed's endless experiments. "Tony. Back already? Reed just came out of the lab and is helping Ben in the kitchen, while Johnny's watching the kids tear through presents before dinner. Coffee?"
Tony managed a grin, though it carried the weight of the night's revelations. "Black, no sugar. And yeah, short trip. Needed to check on a... project at The Raft. Victor's playing warden, but it's progressing."
Sue handed him the mug as they walked inside, the warmth of the building a stark contrast to the snowy rooftop. The Baxter Building's halls were alive with holiday cheer—garlands strung along the high-tech corridors, a massive tree in the common area flickering with holographic ornaments. From the kitchen, the sounds of dinner echoed: Franklin and Valeria, the Richards kids, laughing as their powers sparked minor chaos—a toy floating mid-air or a brief illusion of Santa—while Reed's stretched form helped set the table amid the clatter of plates. Sue led him to a quieter side room, a lounge overlooking the city, where Reed's holographic displays hummed softly in the background.
She sat across from him, her expression turning serious. "It's about Lady Nagant, right? Reed mentioned you were investing time there. How'd it go?"
Tony sipped his coffee, staring out at the snow-dusted skyline. "Better than expected. Had a heart-to-heart with her. Dropped the mask—literally. She's handling the training, the suit... figured if we're building alliances, starting with trust is key."
Sue nodded, her force field subtly shimmering as she leaned forward—a habit when discussions turned personal. "Sounds like progress. Reed's been worried about you isolating yourself. Locking away in the workshop, fixing suits like they're the only thing left. But this... expanding your circle? It's a good step. We've all lost people, Tony. Shutting everyone out doesn't fix it."
Tony set the mug down, his scarred hand flexing absently. "Yeah, well, isolation's my default setting. But you're right. Look, Sue... I haven't been entirely honest with you guys. The Fantastic Four took me in, gave me a base, credentials—no questions asked. But my past? It's a long story, messy. I promise, when I get the time, I'll lay it all out. The full Stark saga. You deserve that much."
Sue's smile was warm, understanding. "We'll hold you to it. Family doesn't pry, but we're here when you're ready." As Tony turned toward the door, pizza already on his mind, Sue noticed and placed a hand on his shoulder, her tone shifting to something lighter. "Hold on—not so fast. It's Christmas evening. Reed finally emerged from the lab, Johnny's attempting to 'flame-broil' the turkey without setting off the sprinklers, and Ben's telling stories to the kids. Join us for dinner first. The world can wait a few hours."
Tony hesitated, the pull of duty clashing with the warmth in her invitation. Holidays had been a sore spot since... well, since everything. But looking at Sue, he saw echoes of the family he'd lost—and the one he'd found here. "Alright, you twisted my arm. But if Johnny burns the bird, I'm ordering pizza."
Sue laughed, leading him to the dining area. The room was a lively chaos: Reed Richards stretched across the table to adjust a floating ornament, his elastic form making the kids giggle. Johnny hovered near the kitchen, flames flickering playfully as he monitored the oven. Ben sat in a reinforced chair, his rocky orange hide contrasting with a ridiculous Santa hat, regaling Franklin and Valeria with tales of "clobberin' time" against villains past. H.E.R.B.I.E., the quirky humanoid robot Reed had built as a family assistant, buzzed around the table on its hover thrusters, decked out in tiny reindeer antlers and a blinking LED bow tie, efficiently serving appetizers while chiming in with cheerful factoids. "Did you know, Mr. Grimm, that the average clobbering force in your stories equates to approximately 50 tons of pressure? Quite impressive!"
"Look who decided to grace us with his presence," Johnny quipped, tossing a flame-shaped snowball illusion at Tony. "Tin Man joins the party. Hope you brought your appetite—Sue's stuffing is legendary."
Ben grunted a welcome, his gravelly voice warm. "Pull up a rock, Stark. We don't bite—much."
Tony slid into a seat, the aroma of roasted turkey, cranberry sauce, and fresh pies filling the air. Reed passed him a plate, his mind already half in the lab. "Thanks for perfecting that time platform device, Tony. Easy teleportation between points—it's revolutionized our operations."
Tony nodded, piling food onto his plate. "No problem. Test runs between Japan, The Raft, and New York have been helpful. Smooth transitions, no glitches. Saved me a ton of flight time."
As dinner unfolded, the conversation flowed easily—Johnny boasting about recent flame stunts, Ben sharing old Yancy Street anecdotes, the kids demonstrating minor power tricks with wide-eyed excitement. H.E.R.B.I.E. zipped between them, refilling glasses and offering trivia to keep the mood light. "Master Franklin, your telekinetic lift on that spoon rivals the gravitational pull of a small asteroid! Shall I calculate the exact velocity?" Tony found himself laughing genuinely, the banter reminding him of Avengers gatherings before the snap: Thor's booming tales, Clint's dry wit, Nat's sharp retorts. But beneath it, a pang lingered—Morgan's absence, Pepper's steady presence he'd never feel again. This Earth was his now, permanent, no portal back. Yet here, amid the Fantastic Four's warmth—and H.E.R.B.I.E.'s enthusiastic commentary—it felt less like exile.
Valeria tugged at his sleeve, holding up a drawing of a suited figure fighting aliens. "Uncle Tony, is this like your armor?"
Tony ruffled her hair, his voice soft. "Close enough, kid. But yours has better style."
As plates cleared and dessert was served—pumpkin pie and Valeria's attempt at holographic cookies—the room grew cozier, the snow outside casting a soft glow through the windows. Franklin challenged Johnny to a mock power duel, levitating a spoon while Johnny countered with a tiny flame ring, making Sue roll her eyes and Reed chuckle. H.E.R.B.I.E. hovered nearby, projecting a mini light show to enhance the fun, its antlers bobbing. Ben leaned over to Tony, passing him a second slice of pie. "Ya ain't half bad for a guy in a fancy tin can, Stark. Stick around more, yeah?"
Tony grinned, taking a bite. "Careful, Ben. Keep talking like that, and I'll think you're going soft."
Sue caught his eye across the table, her smile warm and grounding. "Merry Christmas, Tony. You're family now—deal with it."
Tony raised his coffee mug in a mock toast, the weight of the evening settling into something warm, almost familiar. "Merry Christmas. Guess I'm stuck with you." For the first time in years, the holiday didn't feel like a reminder of loss—it felt like a new beginning.
Somewhere in the Swiss Alps, Europe – Early January 2 years before Sludge villain incident
Snow fell relentlessly over the rugged peaks of the Swiss Alps, blanketing the remote valley in a thick, unforgiving white. The air was biting cold, carrying the distant howl of wind through the pines that dotted the mountainside. Nestled in a hidden compound—camouflaged as an abandoned research facility but buzzing with illicit activity—a black-market operation thrived. Stolen military weapons, enhanced with experimental Quirk amplifiers smuggled into multiple countries, including Japan, were being auctioned to the highest bidder: rogue villains, corrupt heroes, and shadowy syndicates tied to All For One's expanding network.
It was a perfect test for Tsutsumi—her first mission since Victor had granted her provisional freedom from The Raft. Prove her worth, he'd said, his masked gaze unyielding. Retrieve the amplifiers, neutralize the key players, and return. No loose ends.
Kaina moved like a ghost through the storm, her emerald green Thunderbolts suit blending seamlessly with the shadows. The fabric, engineered by Tony Stark, hugged her form with adaptive camouflage, its reinforced panels absorbing the cold while enhancing her agility. No rifle this time; Doom's training had drilled reliance on close-quarters precision. She crouched behind a snowdrift, electric batons humming faintly in her gloved hands, their tips crackling with suppressed energy.
Ahead, three guards patrolled the compound's perimeter, their breaths fogging in the frigid air. Bundled in heavy coats and armed with Quirk-enhanced rifles—stolen tech that could fire plasma bolts—they scanned the whiteout with thermal visors. Kaina's heart rate stayed steady; the inhibitors in her cuffs were dialed back for the mission, but she didn't need her Quirk for this. Not yet.
She waited for the wind to gust, masking her approach, then struck. A silent dash forward, batons extending—first guard down with a precise jolt to the neck, his body crumpling silently into the snow. The second turned at the faint thud, but she was already there, sweeping his legs and delivering a stun to his chest before he could raise an alarm. The third managed a half-shout, fumbling for his radio, but Kaina's baton cracked against his wrist, shattering the device, followed by a follow-up strike that sent him sprawling unconscious.
She dragged their bodies into the drift, covering them with snow for concealment. Her breath came in controlled puffs, the suit's internal heaters warding off the chill. "Three down," she muttered into her comms, the encrypted channel linking directly to Doom. "Perimeter clear. Moving to the main building."
Doom's voice crackled back, resonant and authoritative. "Efficient, Tsutsumi. Remember—this is not mere retrieval. Disrupt the operation. Show them the cost of meddling in affairs beyond their grasp."
Kaina smirked faintly under her mask, flexing her fingers around the batons. The mission brief had been clear: the amplifiers were prototypes, capable of boosting Quirks to unstable levels—perfect for All For One's Nomu experiments if they fell into the wrong hands. Doom saw it as a threat to global order; Tony would call it another thread in All For One's web. For her, it was redemption in action—proving she could be more than the Commission's assassin.
She advanced toward the compound's entrance, a reinforced door half-buried in snow. A quick hack with the suit's embedded tools—courtesy of Stark's nanotech—overrode the lock, and she slipped inside. The interior was a stark contrast: heated corridors lined with crates of weaponry, guards chatting idly, unaware of the intruder. Kaina's eyes narrowed, mapping the layout from the shadows.
Before she could reach the control room, movement caught her eye—a patrol of four guards rounding the corner into the hallway ahead. They were armed with Quirk-enhanced rifles, their casual banter masking the tension of high-stakes dealings. Kaina pressed against the wall, activating her batons with a soft hum. The first guard spotted her shadow, eyes widening as he reached for his alarm trigger.
She exploded into action, closing the distance in a blur. A sweeping strike disarmed the lead guard, her baton cracking against his rifle before jolting him unconscious. The second lunged, firing a wild plasma shot that scorched the wall—Kaina dodged, countering with a precise thrust to his midsection, sending him crumpling. The third backed away, yelling for backup, but she flipped over a crate, delivering a knee to his chest and delivering a stun to silence him.
The fourth, farthest back, fumbled for the facility-wide alarm on his belt, his finger inches from the button. Kaina hurled one electric baton like a javelin, the weapon spinning through the air and striking him square in the head with a crackling impact. He dropped like a stone, the alarm untouched, his body twitching from the residual charge.
Breathing steady, Kaina retrieved her baton, wiping it clean on a guard's coat. The hallway fell silent again, save for the distant echoes from the auction room below. She dragged the bodies into a side storage room, concealing them behind crates. With the path clear, she ascended a nearby stairwell to the control room perched above the auction area—a glass-walled overlook filled with monitors displaying bidder feeds, security cams, and transaction logs.
Slipping inside undetected, she interfaced her suit's tools with the main console, initiating a rapid download: transaction histories revealing buyer identities, shipment routes into Japan, and encrypted files linking back to All For One's operatives. The data streamed into a secure drive embedded in her suit, compressing in seconds.
"Download complete," she whispered into her comms. "Transaction logs, buyer lists—it's all here. The amplifiers are in play below."
Doom's voice responded, calm and approving. "Well done. Interpol is en route. Ensure the amplifiers are secured—then extract."
She was about to slip out of the control room and head for extraction when a massive force slammed into her from behind—a villain enhanced by one of the stolen amplifiers, his strength Quirk amplified to monstrous levels. The impact hurled her through the glass wall, shattering it in a cascade of shards as she plummeted down into the auction room below. Kaina yelped in pain as she crashed onto the central platform, rolling to absorb the fall but feeling a sharp twinge in her ribs.
Groaning, she pushed herself up, batons still clutched tightly, her eyes widening at the scene around her. The auction room was a cavernous hall filled with startled bidders—shady figures in suits and masks, villains with glowing Quirks half-activated, and crates of amplifiers stacked like trophies. Guards scrambled, rifles raising, while the buyers froze in shock, their high-stakes deals interrupted by the intruder crashing through the ceiling.
Before she could fully recover, the enhanced villain leaped down after her—a hulking brute with bulging muscles rippling under his skin, veins glowing from the amplifier's effects. "Intruder!" he roared, charging with earth-shaking steps.
Her comms crackled to life, Doom's voice sharp. "Tsutsumi, report. I heard the crash—what happened?"
"Change of plan," Kaina replied through gritted teeth, still on the ground. "I've been compromised. How long until Interpol gets here?"
"Five minutes at best," Doom answered, his tone steady.
"That's more than enough," Kaina said, pushing herself up despite the pain, her eyes locking on the chaos around her.
Kaina dodged his first swing, the force cracking the platform where she'd stood. She countered with a baton strike to his knee, the electricity crackling but barely slowing him—the amplifier made him resilient, his strength Quirk turning him into a tank. Guards swarmed in, firing plasma rounds that she deflected with agile flips, using crates for cover. One guard got too close; she disarmed him with a sweep and stunned him mid-fall. Another lunged—she hurled a baton, catching him in the chest and dropping him.
The villain swung again, grazing her shoulder and sending her skidding. Pain flared, but she gritted her teeth, retrieving her baton and analyzing his pattern—overconfident, reliant on brute force. As more guards closed in, a low whir filled the air: a Doombot crashed through a side wall, its metallic frame gleaming, optic sensors locking on targets. "Assistance deployed," its mechanical voice intoned, laser arrays firing precise shots to neutralize two guards in seconds.
Interpol agents stormed in from the main entrance, shouts of "Freeze! Hands up!" echoing as they breached with flashbangs and Quirk-suppressors. Chaos erupted—bidders scrambling, villains activating powers in panic. Kaina seized the moment, teaming with the Doombot: it provided covering fire while she took down the remaining guards one by one—a stun to the throat, a sweep to the legs, an electric jolt to the back. The final villain charged, but she sidestepped, using his momentum against him with a baton-enhanced throw that slammed him into a crate of amplifiers, shattering them in a burst of sparks.
The Doombot pinned him with a restraint field as Interpol rounded up the rest, securing the site. Kaina stood amid the wreckage, breathing heavy but victorious, the amplifiers' remnants neutralized. Her comms crackled: Doom's voice, approving. "Mission accomplished. Return for debrief."
Kaina adjusted her half-face mask, the sleek emerald green material sealing over her lower features with a soft click, concealing her identity amid the swirling snow and chaos. The auction room was now a hive of controlled pandemonium—Interpol agents swarming in, securing bidders with Quirk-suppressant cuffs and hauling out crates of smuggled amplifiers, weapons, and encrypted data drives. Shouts in multiple languages echoed off the walls as the operation unraveled, the black-market elite reduced to cuffed suspects.
She nodded to the Doombot, its metallic frame whirring as it followed her lead toward the exit. "Perimeter secured," it droned, its optic sensors scanning for stragglers. Together, they stepped out into the blizzard, the cold biting even through her suit's insulation. Interpol officers trailed behind, lugging sealed crates stamped with hazard warnings—evidence destined for secure vaults, far from All For One's reach.
Eyes turned toward them immediately: wary agents pausing mid-haul, captured villains glaring from their restraints, and even the storm seemed to hush in judgment. Doom's presence—projected through the Doombot's unyielding stance—drew particular scrutiny, his reputation as Latveria's iron-fisted ruler casting a long shadow over the international takedown.
Before they could advance far, a local hero, Avalanche—a woman with a Quirk that manipulated seismic waves and earth, her white-and-gray uniform blending with the alpine terrain—stood near the compound's entrance, already on-site and conferring with an Interpol agent. The agent was briefing her on the takedown, gesturing to the secured crates and cuffed suspects. "It was a coordinated strike—black-market Quirk amplifiers headed for multiple countries. We had inside support to disrupt it cleanly."
The local hero nodded, her stance firm against the wind, but her eyes sharpened as she spotted Kaina and the Doombot moving through the snow toward the cloaked ship. "Wait—who's that? And a Doombot? Secretary-General Doom's involved in this? This is Swiss jurisdiction; unauthorized operatives need clearance."
Kaina tensed, her batons still humming faintly in her hands, but before she could respond, the Interpol captain stepped forward, badge flashing under his tactical vest. "Stand down, Avalanche. This is a joint operation—authorized at the highest levels. She's with us."
The Doombot's voice boomed in support, its frame positioning between the hero and Kaina like an impenetrable wall. "Interference is inadvisable. She operates under diplomatic protocols. Proceed with your duties elsewhere."
Avalanche hesitated, her Quirk rumbling faintly underfoot as a warning tremor, but the combined authority—and the Doombot's implicit threat—held her back. Kaina didn't wait for further debate; she moved onward through the snow, toward a secluded clearing where a cloaked ship awaited. The vessel was a sleek, angular craft with matte-black hull plating that shimmered faintly under the cloak's distortion field, its design compact yet formidable: dual thrusters for vertical takeoff, reinforced armor etched with subtle energy conduits, and a cockpit canopy that hinted at advanced avionics. Stark's engineering shone through in its agile lines, while Doom's modifications added an aura of menace—upgraded shielding and weapon ports disguised as vents.
As she boarded, the ramp sealing behind her with a hydraulic hiss, Kaina glanced back at the compound one last time. The mission was a success, but the local hero's question lingered—a reminder that trust, even in victory, was never fully granted.
Kaina sat down in the pilot's seat and slotted the secure drive into a port on the Doombot's chassis, which had followed her aboard and now stood sentinel-like beside her. The robot's systems hummed as it interfaced, lights flickering along its frame. She leaned back, mask removed, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow as the ship's thrusters warmed up for takeoff.
The holographic projector on the console activated unprompted, Tony's face materializing in crisp blue light. He was in a dimly lit workshop—likely the Baxter Building—tools scattered behind him, a half-eaten cheeseburger on a plate nearby. "Kaina," he greeted with his signature smirk, though his eyes scanned her for injuries. "Mission logs say you took a dive through a window. How'd it go? You in one piece?"
Kaina glanced at the Doombot, which projected Doom's masked visage alongside Tony's in a split-screen hologram. She crossed her arms, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite the lingering ache in her ribs. "I'll get used to it. Close calls, but the data's intact. Auction disrupted, amplifiers smashed, bidders in cuffs. Interpol is mopping up the rest."
Tony nodded, pulling up the data feed on his end, screens mirroring across the holograms. "Solid work. Let's see what we pulled." He swiped through the files, highlighting transaction logs. "Buyer lists—looks like half these names trace back to Japanese shells. Yakuza fronts, maybe? And these shipment routes... straight into Musutafu undercuts. All For One's fingerprints all over it."
Doom's hologram leaned forward slightly, his voice a low rumble. "Indeed. The amplifiers would have accelerated his Nomu production exponentially. Tsutsumi, your improvisation was adequate, but the compromise—sloppy. Explain the breach."
Kaina met his gaze without flinching, her tone even but edged. "Big guy with a strength Quirk jacked on one of the prototypes. Ambushed me from behind before I could extract clean. Turned it into an advantage—drew the guards out, made the takedown messier but faster."
Tony chuckled, zooming in on an encrypted file. "Messy works. Got us extra intel here—looks like comms logs to multiple handlers."
Doom's mask remained impassive, but his voice carried a note of calculation as he scanned the files. "Several aliases here—'Shadow Hand,' 'Decay Master,' 'Phantom Heir'—all tied to the same set of transactions. These could point to a key operative in All For One's circle, names he's using to mask his proxy."
Kaina leaned forward, her brow furrowing. "Those handles? First I've heard of them. What's the connection?"
Tony paused, cross-referencing on his end. "New to me too. Looks like they're coordinating shipments—could be All For One's right hand operating under these covers. I'll relay this to Tsukauchi for surveillance checks in Musutafu; if this proxy's operating there, we'll need eyes on the ground."
Doom nodded slightly. "Agreed. I'll handle the political front—the Swiss Hero Commission is already complaining at UN HQ about our involvement. Diplomatic immunity has its limits, but I'll ensure it holds."
Kaina leaned back in her seat as the ship's autopilot engaged, charting a course back to The Raft. "Understood. Wrapping this up, then."
Tony interjected, overriding the navigation with a quick command. "Hold that thought— I'm shifting the Quinjet's course to the Future Foundation Center in Japan."
Kaina sat up, surprised at the sudden change in trajectory displayed on the console. "Japan? What's the idea?"
Tony smirked through the hologram. "You need a breath of fresh air once in a while, Kaina. Debrief there; Raft can wait."
The holograms faded, leaving her in the quiet hum of the cockpit, the Alps shrinking below as the ship cloaked and vanished into the night sky.
Tony's Workshop, Baxter Building, New York – Early January (Concurrent)
In the dimly lit workshop beneath the Baxter Building, Tony Stark tinkered with a Mark 85 weapon, the hum of arc reactors and welding sparks filling the air. The Christmas dinner had been a warm memory, but the new year brought a sharper focus—All For One's network was tightening, and Kaina's mission data from the Alps would need analyzing soon. He wiped grease from his hands, muttering to F.R.I.D.A.Y., "Run sims on those amplifier schematics again. If they're boosting Quirks like that—"
The door slid open with a whoosh, interrupting him. Reed Richards entered, his elastic form stretched to carry a small, bulky device: the Time Platform—a sleek, square pad etched with glowing runes and lined with energy conduits, designed for instantaneous spatial teleportation across vast distances. Reed's face was alight with that manic inventor glee, his arms extended like rubber bands to balance the load. "Tony! Perfect timing. I've calibrated the platform to the nanometer for a full test run. Linking New York to the Future Foundation Center on the outskirts of Musutafu—stable wormhole bridge, no temporal bleed. Should cut travel time to zero."
Tony raised an eyebrow, setting down his tools with a clank. "Reed, it's barely January. You sure this thing won't turn me into a pretzel? Last test fritzed the coffee machine."
Reed chuckled, setting the platform down in the center of the room with a thud, his body snapping back to normal proportions. "Improvements made. Quantum anchors are solid—your input on the stabilizers was key. We'll test it now: me first, then you. Data logs will confirm safety."
Tony crossed his arms, smirking. "Human trials already? Bold. Alright, professor—show me."
Reed stepped onto the pad, tapping a control panel on his wrist. The platform hummed to life, rings of blue energy spiraling upward like a mini portal. "Activating in three... two... one." A flash of light enveloped him, and he vanished in a swirl of particles.
Seconds later, the workshop's comms crackled—Reed's voice, clear but with a faint echo. "Success! I'm in Musutafu—daytime here, crisp and clear, no anomalies. Your turn, Tony. Coordinates locked."
Tony hesitated for a beat, then stepped onto the pad, the energy tingling against his skin like static. "If I end up in the Negative Zone, tell Sue it was Reed's fault." He activated the sequence, the world blurring in a rush of light.
He rematerialized in the Future Foundation Center—a modern facility on the outskirts of Musutafu, bathed in the crisp glow of a snowy January morning streaming through massive windows, the distant city skyline sharp against a clear blue sky. Reed stood waiting, grinning like a kid with a new toy. As Tony stepped off the platform, a group of Foundation employees—researchers and analysts in lab coats—entered the room, carrying tablets and coffee, clearly starting their shift. Their eyes widened at the sight of Reed Richards, his elastic frame unmistakable as Mr. Fantastic, followed by Tony, whom they knew only as a counselor representing the center.
One employee, a young woman with a clipboard, stammered, "M-Mister Fantastic? And... Counselor Stark? How did you—when did you get here?"
Reed stretched a hand to wave, his grin widening. "New tech, courtesy of our collaboration. Instant transport—quite efficient, yes?"
Tony dusted off his coat, flashing a disarming grin to ease their shock. "Human test succeeded—no scrambled eggs for brains. Just dropping in to check on things. Carry on, folks." He shot Reed a sidelong glance, muttering, "Gotta work on that low profile, stretch."
The employees exchanged bewildered looks but nodded, returning to their stations as holographic maps of Quirk anomalies flickered on the walls. Tony turned to Reed, voice low. "Let's get this thing set up permanently. I hate long flights."
HPSC Headquarters, Tokyo – Late January (Daytime)
The conference room at the Hero Public Safety Commission headquarters was a sterile fortress of glass and steel, its long table flanked by high-backed chairs and screens displaying hero patrol schedules and Quirk anomaly reports. Musutafu's skyline gleamed under a crisp January sun, oblivious to the tension within. Chairwoman Keiko Sato, stern with a steel-gray bob, led the meeting, her gaze sharp. Director Hiroshi Tanaka, a pragmatic analyst, scanned data with calm intensity. Officer Aiko Mori, a staffer clutching her tablet, offered measured input.
Sato's voice cut through the room's hum. "This 'Iron Man' is a problem. He's consulting with our heroes, possibly tied to rumors of a dark blue-haired operative disrupting a black market in Europe. Whispers point to Lady Nagant, vanished after Tartarus. And I suspect this 'counselor' Tony Stark is Iron Man himself. Thoughts?"
Tanaka adjusted his glasses, scrolling a report. "The rumors are thin—talk of a woman with dark blue hair, no confirmed sightings. Could be Nagant, could be coincidence. Stark's involvement is more concerning—his tech expertise, his sudden presence in Musutafu, screams Iron Man. Reports mention a transport device letting him move undetected. We need its specs."
Mori nodded, gripping her tablet. "The Future Foundation Center's security is tight, but Stark's actions don't add up. He's advising Nighteye, linked to Europe's hit. If he's Iron Man, he's playing a bigger game, possibly with Latverian ties."
Sato's eyes narrowed. "Latveria. Victor von Doom's diplomatic immunity shields Stark at the UN, blocking our inquiries. It's infuriating—he's untouchable."
Tanaka leaned back, cautious. "If Stark's Iron Man, his moves—possibly linked to Europe—could benefit Japan's security. But Nagant's rumored return and that device suggest coordination. We need to confirm his identity without sparking an international incident."
Mori interjected softly. "The Center's reports hint Stark's targeting Quirk amplifiers. If Nagant's back, she's a wildcard. We need hard evidence on both—Stark's too cunning for a mere counselor."
Sato's jaw tightened. "We need Stark's motives and Nagant's status. If she's active, she's a threat—or an asset we can reclaim. Doom's immunity limits us, but we'll press our UN contacts."
Tanaka frowned. "Press Doom? Risky. His influence is ironclad, and that tech gives Stark an edge. Focus on confirming he's Iron Man—track his movements at the Center."
Sato stood, her voice resolute. "Enough debate. We're not waiting for answers. Bring Hawks in—he needs to be briefed."
Mori nodded and tapped her tablet, sending a quick summons. Moments later, the door slid open, and Hawks strolled in, his red wings folded casually behind him, a lazy smile on his face. His feathered hair ruffled slightly, and his golden eyes scanned the room with that trademark nonchalance, though they sharpened as he sensed the tension. He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. "You rang? What's the fire this time?"
Sato gestured to the screens, her tone clipped. "Hawks, we're dealing with a potential threat to Japan's hero system. Iron Man—possibly this 'counselor' Tony Stark—is meddling in our affairs, consulting with pro heroes and linked to rumors of a dark blue-haired operative disrupting a European black market. We suspect Nagant's back. Victor von Doom's diplomatic immunity is shielding Stark at the UN, and there's an unknown transport device involved. We need eyes on the Future Foundation Center in Musutafu—monitor Stark, confirm if he's Iron Man, and track any sign of Nagant."
Tanaka added, "Be discreet. The Center's tight, but Stark's moves are suspicious. Get us intel on that device—it could change everything."
Hawks tilted his head, his smile fading into a thoughtful expression as he processed the brief. Nagant, huh? Senpai's rumored back in the game... interesting. Could be worth checking out personally. And this Stark guy—mysterious type, linked to Doom and all that tech? Sounds like a puzzle I wouldn't mind piecing together. "I'll get on it—wings in the sky, eyes on the ground. Anything else?"
Sato fixed him with a stern look. "No risks. Report directly to me. This stays internal until we have proof."
Hawks pushed off the wall, wings rustling slightly as he headed for the door. "Understood. I'll be your bird in the hand." He exited, leaving the room in heavy silence, though in his mind, the investigation had already taken on a personal edge—Nagant's return stirred a quiet respect for his former senior, while Stark's enigma sparked genuine curiosity.
Sato turned back to the screens, where a Musutafu map pulsed with anomaly alerts. "Stark's playing a dangerous game, and we're not letting him win."
Musutafu
The streets of Musutafu bustled with midday energy, shoppers weaving through the crisp winter air, bundled against the chill. Tsutsumi blended seamlessly into the crowd, her dark blue hair with pink highlights tucked under a beanie, her face partially obscured by a scarf and oversized sunglasses. Civilian clothes completed the disguise: a simple coat, jeans, and boots, nothing to draw attention. It was her first taste of freedom in Japan since Tartarus, a brief "breath of fresh air" courtesy of Tony's reroute to the Future Foundation Center. Debrief complete, she had a few hours before the ship would whisk her back to The Raft for more training under Doom's watchful eye. She intended to make the most of it.
But she wasn't alone. From the moment she'd stepped off the ship and into the city, a prickle at the back of her neck told her someone was watching. Subtle—professional—but there. She didn't glance back, didn't alter her pace. Instead, she played the tourist, stopping at a street vendor for a bag of warm taiyaki, the fish-shaped treats steaming in the cold. "One red bean, one custard," she said casually, paying with cash as her eyes scanned reflections in shop windows. There—a figure in a hooded jacket, red feathers peeking from the collar, keeping distance but matching her turns.
Hawks—Keigo Takami—trailed her from a rooftop perch at first, then dropped to street level, disguised in civilian gear: a beanie hiding his hair, a mask over his mouth, wings folded tight under a bulky coat. The HPSC had briefed him thoroughly: monitor the Future Foundation Center, keep tabs on Tony Stark, and investigate rumors of Lady Nagant's return. When he'd spotted the woman with the distinctive hair color leaving the Center, his instincts kicked in. Nagant? Or a lookalike? Either way, worth tailing. He kept his distance, blending with the crowd, a feather detached and floating high for an aerial view.
Kaina continued her charade, dipping into a bookstore next. She browsed the shelves, picking up a novel on tactics and a light mystery thriller, paying at the counter with a polite smile. The tail was good—very good—but predictable. She felt the subtle shift in air when he moved closer, probably to confirm her identity. Time to flip the script.
She exited the store, bag in hand, and turned into a narrow alleyway between buildings, the kind littered with dumpsters and forgotten crates—out of sight from the main street. Her steps echoed softly, then stopped as she vanished around a corner.
Hawks quickened his pace, feathers quivering with alertness. Lost visual. She's onto me? He rounded the corner, hand slipping to his pocket for a concealed blade—just in case.
The alley was empty. No sign of her. He scanned the walls, the rooftops—nothing. Then a rustle behind him. He spun, but it was too late. Kaina dropped from a fire escape above, her leg sweeping low to trip him. Hawks stumbled, wings flaring instinctively but constrained by the coat. He rolled, getting up fast, feathers hardening into blades as he faced her.
"Nagant," he said, voice low, a mix of surprise and respect. "Senpai. Didn't expect to run into you like this."
Kaina stood, scarf unwound, sunglasses off, her expression cold but not hostile. "Takami. Hawks. You're a long way from your usual perch. HPSC send you?"
Hawks grinned, though his eyes were sharp. "You know how it is—rumors fly, heroes investigate. But hey, if you're back, that's... interesting. Not necessarily bad."
She didn't reply, lunging instead. No batons, no Quirk—just hands and feet, testing him. A palm strike to his chest—he blocked with a feather blade, countering with a wing sweep. She dodged, grabbing his arm and twisting, forcing him to flip or break it. He flipped, landing on his feet, feathers shooting out like darts.
Kaina weaved through them, her movements fluid from Doom's training, closing the distance. A knee to his midsection—he blocked, but the force pushed him back. He sent a feather to slash at her leg—she caught it mid-air, crushing it in her grip. "You're holding back," she said, breathing steady.
Hawks chuckled, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip where her elbow had grazed him. "So are you. Not looking for a fight, Senpai—just answers."
She didn't give him time, pressing with a series of strikes—fist to jaw, elbow to ribs. He parried most, but one landed, knocking the wind out of him. His wings unfurled slightly for balance, but the alley was too narrow for full flight. He countered with a feather barrage, forcing her back, then charged, aiming a punch.
Kaina sidestepped, grabbing his wrist and using his momentum to slam him against the wall. A quick chop to his neck followed, not lethal but enough to stun. Hawks gasped, sliding down, vision blurring. "Not... bad," he muttered, getting up slowly, but she was already there, a knee to his gut dropping him again.
She stood over him, expression unreadable. "Stay down, final warning."
Hawks gasped, clutching his side as he got to one knee, the alley's shadows closing in around him. Kaina's stance remained relaxed but ready, her dark blue hair with pink highlights tousled from the fight. As she bent down to pick up her scattered items—the bag of taiyaki and books—and began putting her disguise back on, pulling the beanie low and wrapping the scarf around her face, Hawks demanded, his voice hoarse but steady, surprise flickering in his eyes.
"What the hell's Tony and Doom's plan for you?" he asked. "What do they know that the HPSC doesn't? You even bested me without using your Quirk—that's not the Nagant I remember."
Kaina paused, straightening with her items in hand, her eyes cold. "If you want to know, come clean with Stark. He's the one you should ask, not me."
Hawks reached for his comms, about to report in, but Kaina interrupted, her voice low and warning. "If you trust the HPSC so much, you'll regret it one day." She finished adjusting her disguise, slinging the bag over her shoulder, and turned to leave.
Hawks pushed up, wincing but determined. "One more thing… Is Lady Nagant back?"
She paused at the alley's edge, glancing over her shoulder with a faint, defiant smile. "No. She's Black Widow now." With that, she vanished into the shadows, leaving Hawks alone in the narrow space, the city oblivious to the brief clash.