Night, New York.
The night on Long Island was quiet and deep, the faint sound of distant waves barely breaking the silence. Stark Industries' private villa perched on the edge of a cliff. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, moonlight sprinkled across the sea, casting a fine silver sheen over the water.
In the living room, Pepper Potts glanced at the antique clock above the fireplace for the third time—2:17 a.m.
Tony Stark had been locked in the underground lab for a full forty-eight hours.
She absentmindedly traced the rim of her mug. The black tea had long gone cold, its surface mirroring the dark circles beneath her eyes.
Beside her, James Rhodes sat in a wrinkled military uniform that clearly hadn't been changed in days. Finally, he couldn't hold back any longer. "He still refuses to come out?" he asked, his voice thick with exhaustion. "The military's issued an ultimatum—tomorrow at noon. If Tony doesn't show up to explain the shutdown of the weapons division, they'll impose sanctions on Stark Industries."
He loosened his tie and drummed his knuckles against his knees in a tense, anxious rhythm.
Pepper shook her head, a stray strand of blonde hair slipping from her neat bun. "JARVIS says Tony's working and doesn't want to be disturbed."
As she spoke, she rubbed her temples and turned toward the basement entrance. The alloy access panel still glowed a stubborn red.
Rhodes let out a heavy sigh and resumed tapping his fingers against the armrest.
Three weeks earlier, Tony Stark had miraculously survived a terrorist ambush in an Afghan cave. The first thing he did upon returning was announce—before the entire world—the immediate closure of Stark Industries' weapons division.
The decision had detonated like a bomb, instantly cratering the company's stock price and shattering the military's trust. The board had spiraled into chaos, and the betrayal of Obadiah Stane—the man Tony had once called a father—had only made things worse.
"Forget it," Pepper said suddenly, standing with renewed determination. "I'll go get the spare key."
The teacup clinked softly against the glass coffee table as she set it down.
But the moment she turned, she froze—struck speechless. Three feet away stood a striking figure: tall, with fiery red hair pulled into a high ponytail, clad in a sleek black-and-red windbreaker whose hem still swayed faintly from movement.
"Aaaaaaaa!!!—"
Crackle…
A shrill scream tore through the room. Pepper stumbled backward, knocking over the coffee table. Ceramic cups thudded dully onto the carpet.
Rhodes sprang to his feet with soldier's reflexes, yanking Pepper behind him and drawing the M9 pistol from his waist. The sharp click of the safety disengaging cut through the silence like ice.
"Don't move!" he barked, the muzzle leveled squarely at the intruder's forehead. His finger hovered over the trigger, ready to fire.
In the dim light, the stranger's features came into focus. He was undeniably male—tall, poised, and calm despite the gun pointed at his brow. His windbreaker rippled slightly in the night breeze drifting through the open window.
"Wait! Wait a minute, Rhodey!"
At this time, Pepper Potts—who had recovered from her initial shock—stepped forward immediately and grasped Rhodes' wrist, explaining quickly:
"Don't shoot, Rhodey. He's the one who provided me with information about Obadiah's collusion with the Ten Rings and suggested I start investigating Tony's whereabouts from there!"
She turned to the man standing calmly in the doorway. "Good evening. Are you here to collect the balance?"
Rhodes didn't lower his gun right away. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The man before him exuded a near-tangible sense of oppression—like standing before a dormant predator.
What troubled him even more was that the villa's security system hadn't triggered a single alarm, and J.A.R.V.I.S. hadn't responded at all.
The man seemed unconcerned by the weapon. He pulled a pair of black leather gloves from beneath his windbreaker and gently pushed the barrel aside. Expressionless, he nodded and said:
"Yeah. I saw the news."
Pepper stepped out from behind Rhodes, took a deep breath to steady her racing heart, and gave a helpless look that clearly said, Thank you for showing up—I've been losing sleep over this for weeks.
"Your entrance… is terrifying," she said. "Could you at least give me advance notice next time? Or—oh, I don't know—ring the doorbell?"
Hearing this, the man crossed his arms. His face remained utterly devoid of guilt as he replied calmly:
"Oh? Was my arrival really that unusual?"
By now, Rhodes had already holstered his pistol and tucked it back into his gear bag. He eyed the calm stranger and said, exasperated:
"Of course it's unusual! Is this how intelligence operatives normally introduce themselves?"
"No."
"…Is that how your people usually show up?"
"The standard protocol for an intelligence dealer," the man said evenly, "is to never show up at all."
"…"
Watching the two of them fall silent, the man explained without inflection:
"The intelligence world is mostly made up of scammers, gamblers, addicts, and traitors. Most can't operate openly in legal society. For their own safety, dealers like me avoid direct contact."
Pepper opened her mouth—then closed it again, speechless.
After a moment, she took a steadying breath and pulled a small metal object from the inner pocket of her suit: a key engraved with the IBV Bank logo.
"As agreed, this is the final payment. It's in a private vault at IBV. Seven million in cash. The combination is 1029."
She handed him the key.
He accepted it with the smooth grace of someone receiving a glass of wine—didn't inspect it, didn't question it—just slipped it into his coat pocket and said:
"You're more trustworthy than most clients. In return for that trust, I'll offer you a complimentary service."
Though he'd put his weapon away, Rhodes remained on edge. "What kind of service?"
For the first time, the man's gaze sharpened. He looked toward the elevator leading down to the basement lab and spoke clearly:
"A piece of intelligence Miss Potts wants… or direct intervention at a critical moment to protect someone she designates. Your choice, Miss Potts."
Pepper hesitated, then made her decision. She thought of the man hidden away in the lab below—the one wrestling with guilt, grief, and a mountain of responsibility—and said lightly:
"Thank you. If things get desperate… please help my boss. I'd really rather not have to find a new job."
The man gave a silent nod. As he turned to leave, the hem of his black-and-red windbreaker traced a dark arc through the air.
Just before reaching the door, he paused—as if remembering something—and glanced back.
"That man in the basement," he said quietly. "He's naive, yes. But his mind is far tougher than you think. Give him time. He'll process it all."
With that, his figure melted into the shadows—and vanished before their eyes.