"Jarvis, immediately replay the footage from a moment ago—confirm that person's identity!"
Tony barked out an order.
"Sir, the individual we recorded just reached Mach 7—and was still accelerating…"
"What the hell? You're saying that was a person?" Tony yelped in disbelief.
"And it's someone we know—Mr. Aaron from Oscorp."
Tony's expression instantly soured.
Sure, call him a "person" if you want, but Aaron? That really got under his skin.
"So, he can fly—and he's faster than me?"
"What armor was he wearing? Wait, how's he even surviving at such speed without his body tearing apart?"
The Mark IV suit Tony was using had a speed cap around Mach 3. The limit wasn't just about thrust or materials; it was about his fragile human body. But Aaron was going at twice that, or more!
He wouldn't stand for this.
Jarvis pulled up the recent footage and slowed it down to a hundredth of normal speed. "Mr. Aaron isn't wearing any armor at all."
The video showed Aaron flying through the sky without any mechanical aids. Tony fell silent.
"Jarvis, are you sure there's no mistake? Could the system have glitched?"
"I have checked thoroughly—there's no malfunction."
"Then is it possible he developed some next-gen optical stealth tech, letting him sustain Mach 7 flight without disintegrating?"
Tony wasn't giving in.
"Scans indicate no traces of flame propulsion or similar."
"So you're telling me Aaron is basically a Superman from Krypton, here to lead humanity's evolution and become a god among men?"
Tony's voice shot upward.
Jarvis: "We cannot rule out that possibility."
"Mother—! …" Tony sputtered, wanting to say more, but was cut off by a distant, echoing shout.
"Nutcase!" Tony muttered reflexively. Then a dark figure swiftly approached from afar.
Tony froze, then hurried to meet it. "Hey, let's have a race!"
Aaron glanced over at the tiny "tortoise-speed" Tony and abruptly accelerated again, leaving Tony in the dust.
"Wait! I meant go higher, see who flies the highest and sees the farthest!" Tony called out as he soared skyward.
Aaron's ears twitched slightly, but he never turned, continuing his flight off into the distance.
"That jerk!" Tony snapped, hovering in midair. "Did he just say something?"
"…" Jarvis cross-referenced audio and produced an English translation on Tony's HUD: "Idiot."
"Idiot? You heard that, right? He called me an idiot! Me—Tony Stark, the world's greatest genius!"
Tony's eye twitched. "I hate Aaron!"
…
Meanwhile, at the Triskelion…
"What on earth is Aaron's objective?"
Nick Fury was pondering that question, staring at the pile of recent intelligence on his desk—everything S.H.I.E.L.D. had gathered on Aaron so far.
Before he appeared on Day One, the real, reliable info on him was zero.
"These records—where'd they come from?" Fury asked, pointing at Aaron's "official" identity.
They included his gun permit, social security card, New York driver's license, birth certificate, legal documentation, bank statements, utility bills, tax records—everything. Far more thorough than even a typical American-born citizen. It was all verifiable in the databases, enough to pass any checkpoint—border, customs, air travel. And it all carried a faintly familiar vibe.
Fury suddenly had a bad feeling. Agent Hill, standing beside him, pulled a sheet of paper from the file.
"Director, these documents cross multiple departments, with a very complex web of connections. I advise against a deeper probe."
From the odd look in Hill's eye, Fury felt something off. He examined the file in detail.
No wonder it seemed familiar—they had a mole on the inside.
At the top of the list was one of their own employees, who specialized in forging IDs!
"Mother—f**er!" Fury cursed. That explained why everything was so perfectly done. Of course it was legitimate—someone in S.H.I.E.L.D. did it for side money. And apparently, they'd pocketed the money without giving Fury a cut. So other conspirators from Immigration, the IRS, the FBI, the CIA, and so on had all chipped in, forging an identity for Aaron that was so flawless he looked more American than real Americans. Talk about collaboration.
Fury fumed, veins popping. Professional, indeed—letting pros do their thing. They'd prepared the whole set, leaving not a single gap—nobody could prove it fake. "Mother—f**er!!"
Hill stayed silent. She'd been shocked herself when she saw the list. But facts were facts. Multiple departments had worked together, and an Asian man ended up with a better U.S. identity than most Americans, ironically.
"Kick him out immediately!" Fury roared. "Doesn't he like our agency benefits? He had to go moonlighting? And not even cut me in on the profit? That's way over the line—my money, dammit!"
Hill nodded, about to speak, when Fury's phone rang. He glanced at it—the President's private line. He waved Hill off and began talking to the President. Partway through the conversation, Fury's face went rigid. His alarm bells were going off.
"Damn… Aaron is aiming straight for me!!" he hissed.
~~~
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