I was back in Queens after that wild quest in Los Angeles. I'd pulled off 100 sales and survived the chaotic night when Tony Stark clashed with Iron Monger's hulking armor on Arcadia Boulevard—still couldn't wrap my head around it. Staring out the Greyhound bus window at endless highways on the way back to New York, I thought, "This system's absurd, but it's taking me somewhere." By the time I set up my cart again at Central Park's south entrance near 59th Street, the calendar read September 2008. Just days ago, Tony Stark had stunned the world at his Malibu press conference, declaring, "I am Iron Man!", this was right after Iron Man 1's finale—mere days following Tony's defeat of Obadiah Stane and the Arc Reactor's explosion. News channels were losing it, anchors debating, "Is Iron Man real? What's next for Stark Industries?" Meanwhile, I was at my cart, slicing döner, flipping köfte, and plotting what to do with my new Ice Cream Vendor (Master) profession. "We're broke, brother," I muttered to myself, "but tough times breed inventors."
I also had Electrical Engineering Mastery (Rare) now—thanks to the system, I was a wizard with circuits and wires. The idea of tinkering with scrap hit me. "I'll build an ice cream machine," I decided. "I've sold Turkish döner and köfte—time for another Anatolian gem." A plan took shape: Kaymaklı Kahramanmaraş ice cream, creamy and authentic. "Let the people taste real dondurma," I said with a grin. I scoured Queens' junkyards, scavenging an old washing machine motor, a rusty metal drum, and a cooling coil from a car AC unit. Back at my apartment, I turned my table into a scrapyard. Electrical Engineering Mastery kicked in; I soldered wires, fixed the motor, and rigged a simple but effective cooling system. Days passed in a haze of grease, rust, and sweat—my clothes were a mess, but I got it working. When I hit the switch, the motor growled to life, the drum humming with vibration. "Handcrafted, heart and soul," I said, beaming at my creation. With my Ice Cream Vendor (Master) skills, I blended milk, cream, and sugar into a perfect Kahramanmaraş dondurma—thick, chewy, and bursting with Anatolian flavor.
I added ice cream to the cart. One morning at Central Park, as I spun the döner skewer, I scooped some dondurma to test it. My first customer was a kid strolling with his mom. He spotted the cart, eyes gleaming, and asked, "What's that?" "Turkish ice cream," I said, sliding a scoop into a cone. His first bite lit up his face. "Wow, this is awesome!" he said, sprinting to his mom. She tried it, nodding. "Really unique," she said. By day's end, I'd sold 25 ice creams alongside döner and köfte. "I'm liking this gig," I told myself. The aroma drew crowds—tourists dropped their maps to ask questions, joggers stopped mid-run, sweaty and panting, saying, "Gimme one." I scrawled "Ali Usta—Döner, Köfte, Ice Cream" on a scrap of wood above the cart. Business was growing. Central Park was lively even in 2008—per, Peter Parker was still a regular high school kid in Queens, not yet Spider-Man. But in my little corner, I was sparking a flavor revolution.
One afternoon, with the sun blazing overhead, I noticed a stir around my cart. People were gathering, whispering, some snapping photos with their phones. "What's going on?" I said, keeping my knife in hand as I eyed the crowd. Then I heard an engine—a sleek black limousine rolled up, screaming money. The door opened, and out stepped Happy Hogan, broad shoulders and stern face, scanning the area like he was hunting for threats. Next came Pepper Potts, elegant in red heels, looking hurried. And then… Tony Stark. Yeah, the Tony Stark—no Iron Man suit, just a sharp gray suit, goatee, and that trademark charismatic smirk, striding toward my cart. "No way!" I thought, my heart racing. "It's them…"
Tony cut through the crowd, his eyes locking onto my jury-rigged ice cream machine. "Did you build this thing?" he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and playful mockery. My hands shook, but I played it cool. "Yup," I said, "cobbled it together from scrap." He leaned in, inspecting it, fingers brushing the motor, eyeing the cooling coil. "This motor's from an old washing machine, right? And the cooling's from a car AC unit?" He raised an eyebrow, turning to me. "Spot on," I said, chuckling. "Poverty breeds ingenuity." Pepper cut in, "Tony, we're late for the S.H.I.E.L.D. meeting," but Tony waved her off. "One sec, Pep—this guy's onto something." Happy, meanwhile, loomed by the cart, sniffing the döner like a hungry bear— he was Tony's driver and bodyguard, but right now, he looked ready to devour my stock.
Tony ordered an ice cream, pulling $5 from his wallet and setting it on the cart. I scooped kaymaklı dondurma into a cone—my hands steady, but a storm raging inside. "The MCU's nosiest genius just bought my ice cream," I thought. Tony took a bite, squinting. "Hmm," he said. "This is… legit good. Turkish dondurma, you said?" "Yeah," I replied, "Kahramanmaraş style, creamy as it gets." Pepper chimed in, "I'll take one too," delicately handing me $5. Happy growled, "Make me a döner," his voice heavy. I served them all—Tony licking his cone, Pepper daintily holding her spoon, Happy chomping his döner. "This guy's a gem," Tony said, grinning at Pepper. Then he pulled out a wad of cash—$500!—and slapped it on the cart. "Incentive tip," he said, winking. "I love this machine. Maybe one day you'll tinker with me in my garage."
Right then, I heard Ding! A blue screen flashed in the air:
"Achievement Unlocked: Sale to Tony Stark!"
Followed by:
"Reward: New Skill: Herbal Medicine Mastery (Rare) and New Profession: Barista (Master) acquired.
Customer Satisfaction Tokens (CST): +50."
My jaw dropped. "No way!" I thought. Tony's CST haul was massive—50 points! Normally, I'd get +1 or +5 from regular folks, but this? "Damn!" I muttered, keeping my voice low. Herbal Medicine Mastery (Rare)? The screen explained: "Expertise in identifying, harvesting, and using medicinal and aromatic plants—specialized in healing and herbal applications." "What's that got to do with anything?" I wondered, but then came Barista (Master): "Mastery in crafting coffee, tea, and traditional beverages—perfection in flavor and presentation." "Huh," I said. "Turkish coffee, tea, salep, maybe some orangeade… that works."
As Tony, Pepper, and Happy headed back to the limo, Tony turned to me. "I like you, Ali Usta," he said. "Maybe we'll do something together—set up a cart at Stark Industries." He smirked, then shut the door. The limo pulled away, the crowd dispersed, and I stood there, stunned. "Didn't see that coming," I said to myself. "I've never seen a reward system this weird, not even in video games." Packing up the cart, I was already scheming: Turkish coffee, tea, maybe a salep stand… "I sold to Tony Stark," I said, laughing. As the sun dipped behind Central Park's trees, I walked home with $500 in my pocket, new skills, and new professions. The MCU was nuts, but I was keeping pace—with Tony Stark's endorsement, no less. Business was booming!