Monaco. The Grand Prix.
The VIP Paddock.
The Mediterranean sun was bright, gleaming off the polished chassis of million-dollar Formula 1 cars. The air smelled of burnt rubber, sea salt, and old money.
Ren stood on the balcony of the Stark Industries lounge.
He fit in perfectly.
He wore a tailored linen suit—light grey, no tie, top button undone. He held a crystal glass of sparkling water. To the casual observer, he was just another young, bored billionaire heir.
But behind his sunglasses, his eyes were moving at inhuman speeds.
[SCANNING AREA]
> Target: Tony Stark (Driver - Car 5).
> Status: Arrogant / Vulnerable.
> Threat: Ivan Vanko (Detected on Track Entry).
Ren took a sip of water. The timeline was on schedule.
Below him, on the track, the race was in chaos. A man in an orange jumpsuit had just walked onto the asphalt. Ivan Vanko.
He looked like a beggar, but he walked like a tank. The Arc Reactor on his chest glowed with a sickly white light.
Snap. Hiss.
Vanko unleashed his whips. Two tendrils of electrified plasma lashed out, slicing a speeding F1 car in half like it was made of butter.
BOOM.
The car exploded. The crowd screamed. Panic erupted in the stands. People scrambled over seats, spilling champagne and trampling each other.
Ren didn't move. He leaned against the railing, watching.
[LEARNING ACTIVE]
> Subject: Plasma Whips (Ivan Vanko).
> Technology: Ionized Plasma contained in a magnetic field.
> Temperature: 4000°C.
> Weakness: The uninsulated power connection at the hip.
"Fascinating," Ren whispered. "Primitive, but effective."
He wasn't stealing the tech. He was understanding the concept. He visualized his own body. Could he heat his blood to mimic that plasma? Could he generate bio-electricity?
Not yet. Needs more energy density.
"My God! Tony!"
A woman's voice gasped beside him.
Ren glanced to his left. Pepper Potts was standing there, clutching the railing, her face pale with terror. She was watching Tony's blue race car speeding toward the maniac with the whips.
She fumbled with a silver suitcase—the Mark V armor.
"He's going to die," she whispered, shaking.
Ren looked at Pepper. Then he looked at the track.
Tony's car was seconds away from impact. Vanko was winding up for a kill shot.
Ren calculated the variables.
If Tony died here, there is no Avengers. No Ultron. No Endgame.
The timeline would collapse into chaos.
Ren set his glass down on the table. Clink.
"Ms. Potts," Ren said. His voice was calm, cutting through the noise of the screaming crowd.
Pepper jumped, startled. She looked at him with wide, teary eyes. "Who... who are you?"
"Throw the case," Ren said.
"What?"
"The suitcase," Ren pointed to the track. "Throw it. Now."
Pepper hesitated. It was madness. The car was too far.
Ren sighed. "Never mind."
He reached out and grabbed the silver suitcase from her grip. It was heavy, dense metal.
"Hey!" Pepper shouted.
Ren stepped to the edge of the balcony. He looked at the track below.
[TRAJECTORY CALCULATION]
> Distance: 40 meters.
> Wind Speed: 5 mph East.
> Target: Moving Vehicle (Tony Stark).
> Required Force: Precision Throw.
Ren didn't wind up. He just flicked his wrist.
Whoosh.
The suitcase flew from his hand. It didn't tumble; it spiraled like a football, cutting through the air with terrifying accuracy.
On the track, Tony Stark's car had just been sliced in half. CRASH. Tony tumbled out onto the asphalt, vulnerable, blood on his face. Vanko raised his whips for the execution.
CLANG.
The silver suitcase landed perfectly at Tony's feet, skidding to a halt.
Tony stared at it, confused. He looked up at the VIP balcony.
He saw a man in a grey suit, standing calmly amidst the panic, looking down at him. The man nodded once.
Tony didn't question it. He kicked the suitcase.
CLICK-WHIRR-CLANK.
The Mark V armor unfolded. Red and silver plates wrapped around his body. The crowd gasped as Iron Man stood up, just as Vanko's whip cracked down.
ZZZT!
Tony caught the whip. The fight began.
Up on the balcony, Pepper was staring at Ren with her mouth open. "How did you... that throw... it was impossible."
Ren adjusted his cuffs.
"Geometry," he said simply.
He turned to leave. The fight was boring now. Tony would win. Vanko would go to jail. The Drones would be built.
"Wait!" Pepper grabbed his arm. "You just saved his life. Who are you?"
Ren looked at her hand on his sleeve. Then he looked into her eyes.
"I'm an investor," Ren said. "I like to protect my assets."
He gently removed her hand and walked away, disappearing into the panicked crowd like a ghost.
Later that Night.
Monte Carlo Police Station / Temporary Holding.
Tony Stark sat on a bench, holding an ice pack to his head. Natasha Romanoff (under the guise of Natalie Rushman) stood nearby, typing on her phone.
"Did you get an ID?" Tony asked, wincing.
"On the terrorist?" Natasha asked.
"No, on the guy with the arm. The quarterback in the linen suit. He threw a forty-pound case fifty yards and landed it on a dime. That's not normal, Natalie. That's Olympic level. No, that's beyond Olympic."
Natasha stopped typing. She pulled up a photo from the track security feed. It was grainy, but the face was clear.
Ren.
"He calls himself Ren," Natasha said, her voice guarded. "He owns a bookstore in New York."
"A bookstore owner?" Tony scoffed. "Does he sell books on how to be a ninja? Jarvis, run him."
"I already did, Sir," JARVIS's voice replied in Tony's earpiece. "No birth certificate. No academic records prior to 2008. His financial trail begins with a large cash deposit in Dubai, two days after your escape from Afghanistan."
Tony froze. The ice pack dripped water onto his expensive pants.
"Afghanistan?" Tony whispered.
He flashed back to the cave. The dark corner. The kid doing pushups on one thumb. The sound of bones cracking and healing.
You finish your suit, Stark. I'll handle the army outside.
Tony looked at the photo again. The glasses were new. The suit was expensive. But the eyes... the eyes were the same.
"It's him," Tony realized. A shiver of genuine unease went through him. "The guy from the cave. I thought he died."
"He didn't die," Natasha said, closing her phone. "He's been in New York for two years. Under our noses."
"What is he?" Tony asked. "Mutant? Super Soldier?"
Natasha looked at the door. "We don't know yet. But Director Fury wants a meeting."
Ren's Hotel Room.
Hotel de Paris, Monaco.
Ren stood on the balcony, overlooking the night harbor. The chaos of the day had settled.
He checked his interface.
[STATUS]
> TIER: 1.9 (Ready for Ascension)
> NEXT EVENT: Stark Expo (New York).
> TARGET: Hammer Drones (Explosive Resistance).
He had successfully intervened without breaking the timeline. In fact, he had solidified it. Tony was now aware of him, which meant the game was getting harder.
Good.
He didn't want a boring life.
He felt a vibration in the floor. Footsteps in the hallway. Silent. Professional.
Ren smiled.
"Knock, knock," he whispered.
A heavy knock sounded at the door.
"Mr. Ren?" A deep, authoritative voice. "This is Director Nick Fury. We need to talk."
Ren turned around. He picked up his book.
"Come in, Nick," Ren said. "The door is unlocked."
End of Chapter 4