A few months in Queens had somehow fallen into place. Since Tony Stark's infamous "I'm shutting down the weapons division" bombshell in May 2008, I'd been slinging döner and köfte from my mobile cart at Central Park's entrance. Business started slow—just a handful of curious customers—but by late August, I was "Ali Usta," a local name. The spicy aroma of Turkish döner wafted over the park's grass, and the smoke from my köfte curled into the air. That initial $250 system bonus was long gone, but I'd upgraded the cart: a second-hand canopy for shade, a small grill setup to keep the meat hot. The weird thing I called the system—the Super Mobile Vendor Profession System—had made it all easier. With Knife Mastery (Rare), I was practically an artist with a blade; it danced in my hand, slicing meat with pinpoint precision. My Butchery (Master) profession let me prep meat so well that customers whispered, "This guy's got something special." Of course, no one knew about the system. Spilling a secret like that in the MCU? That'd bring everyone from Hydra to S.H.I.E.L.D. crashing down on me. So I kept my mouth shut.
That morning, I set up the cart at my usual spot near Central Park's south entrance, close to 59th Street. It was late August; New York had that last-breath-of-summer heat, softened by a light breeze that made it bearable. The park was buzzing: tourists wandered with maps, kids kicked balls on the grass, dog walkers chatted on benches. I was stacking döner on the skewer and flipping köfte on the grill when that familiar sound hit my ears: Ding! I snapped my head up, glancing around. "Not again," I muttered under my breath, a knot of unease tightening in my gut. A glowing blue hologram appeared right in front of me:
"Iron Man 1 Main Event Quest Activated!"
"Main Event Quest?" I said, my voice louder than I meant. "What kinda quest?" A few people nearby shot me looks, but I ignored them. The text faded, replaced by a new screen:
"Battle of the Iron Giants".
"What the…?" I started, but my words trailed off as details popped up:
"Make 100 sales to civilians during the 'Iron Man VS Iron Monger' showdown in Los Angeles and survive! - Time Limit: 48 Hours - Reward: ???"
My jaw dropped, and for a second, I forgot to breathe. "Make sales and survive…" I said slowly, then my voice exploded. "Are you screwing with me, you stupid system? Selling döner and köfte in the middle of a war zone?" I punched the air, hitting nothing, naturally. A tourist couple nearby gave me a "Is this guy nuts?" look. I spun back to the cart, burying my face in my hands. "Alright, Ali, calm down," I told myself, taking a deep breath. I remembered it from Iron Man 1's climax, Tony Stark facing off against Obadiah Stane's Iron Monger armor in Los Angeles, near Stark Industries' headquarters. In the movie, it happened late 2008—around August or September, right where I was now. The system gave me 48 hours, meaning the fight was two days away. "Los Angeles?" I thought. "How the hell am I getting there from Queens?"
The system stayed silent, offering no hints. "100 sales and survive," I repeated, a bitter laugh escaping me. "What kind of quest is this? Funny, messed up, and… terrifying." But then I paused. "Reward: ???" it said. "What could that be?" I wondered, curiosity creeping in. In the MCU, anything was possible—maybe a superpower, more cash, or even a piece of Tony's armor. Who knew? "Fine," I said, steeling myself. "If this is the quest, I'm doing it. But how?" I had to get to Los Angeles, no question. I'd saved about $350 over the past few months, and I'd need to bring the cart. "Bus it is," I decided. "I'll shove the cart in the luggage hold and make it in two days."
I sprang into action. I packed up the döner and köfte, folded the cart, and bolted home. In my tiny apartment, I stuffed a backpack with a few clothes, a water bottle, and my diary—I wanted to jot down notes for this universe's Ali. From Queens, I headed to Manhattan's Port Authority Terminal and found a Greyhound bus to Los Angeles. The ticket was $160; it stung, but "Worth it to stay alive," I told myself, and bought it. The cart barely fit in the luggage hold—the driver raised an eyebrow, asking, "What's this thing?" I shrugged it off with, "Family heirloom, not for sale." The trip would take 40 hours—just enough time to get there. On the bus, I planned: "The fight's in Los Angeles, near Stark Industries' Arcadia Boulevard HQ. I'll set up the cart nearby, sell during the chaos. Maybe even catch a glimpse of Tony." I smirked, but a flicker of fear lingered. Iron Monger was a beast of a suit—explosions, destruction, rockets… "Gotta survive," I muttered, staring out at the endless highways.
I rolled into Los Angeles the next afternoon. The city was roasting; palm trees lined the streets, and the sun melted the asphalt. I hauled the cart off the bus and headed toward Arcadia Boulevard, near Stark Industries' headquarters. The fight would go down here, around the main building. The area was packed: workers on lunch breaks, tourists snapping photos, street vendors shouting. I set up the cart in a corner, skewered the döner, and threw köfte on the grill. The aroma drew the first customers. A guy sniffed the air, saying, "What's that smell?" He bought a döner for $5. "Not bad, something new," he said, mouth full. Second, third—the sales picked up. "Ten down," I counted silently, "ninety to go."
That night, I dragged the cart to an alley and slept on the hard ground; my back ached, but I managed. At dawn, I set up on the boulevard again. As the hours passed, the air grew tense—news reports mentioned "security alerts at Stark Industries." "It's coming," I thought. By noon, I'd hit 50 sales—halfway there. While flipping köfte, I heard a distant boom. People around me started shouting, some dropping to the ground. "Is it starting?" I said, looking up. A red-and-gold streak flashed across the sky—Tony Stark, soaring in his Mark II armor! Then a massive shadow rose: Iron Monger, Obadiah Stane's monstrous suit, launching from the headquarters' roof. "Holy crap," I muttered, "right on time."
Explosions closed in; cars crashed, windows shattered, people screamed and scattered. But I held my ground at the cart. "Döner! Köfte! Five bucks!" I yelled, my voice cutting through the chaos. A few people froze, stunned. "What?" a woman said, but the smell pulled her in. "Quick, hand it over!" she shouted, tossing me $5 and grabbing a döner before bolting. "Sixty-one," I counted. Iron Monger fired a rocket, shaking a nearby building as dust and smoke billowed upward. Tony weaved through the air, repulsor beams lighting up the sky. "Keep going, Ali," I urged myself. A guy yelled, "You're selling in the middle of this?" but snatched a köfte and ran. Eighty… ninety… The explosions grew louder, but so did my sales—like chaos made people hungrier. Iron Monger hurled a car; it crashed 15 meters from my cart, the ground quaking. "Damn it!" I cursed, but kept slicing. Finally, I hit 100—right as Iron Monger's fist cracked the street in half.
Ding! The sound rang out, and a blue screen appeared:
"Quest Completed! Reward: New Skill: Electrical Engineering Mastery (Rare) and New Profession: Ice Cream Vendor (Master) acquired."
"Electrical Engineering Mastery?" I said, floored. A Rare skill—it meant top-tier expertise in fixing circuits, building, and tweaking electrical systems. Maybe I could even poke around Tony's armor someday. "Ice Cream Vendor?" I laughed out loud. "Man, I'm really a street hustler now." Master level meant I'd churn out ice cream like a pro with years of experience—thanks, system, guess I'd be selling cones soon. Up above, Tony slammed Iron Monger onto the Arc Reactor, ending the fight with a massive explosion. Pepper Potts and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents appeared below, cleaning up the mess.
I packed up the cart and slipped to a safe corner. "One hundred sales, and I'm still breathing," I said, grinning. "System, you're insane, but I'm not far behind." Los Angeles was choked with smoke, but I felt a strange sense of triumph. This universe was nuts, but I was keeping up—with döner, köfte, and soon, ice cream. "What's next?" I said, dragging the cart along. As the sun set, I walked through the rubble of Arcadia Boulevard, ready for whatever came my way.