Tony stepped out of the scanner for the second time that day, his expression grim as he watched the readout confirm, once again, that no foreign objects had been found. The burn chamber adjacent to the scanner flared briefly as his clothes were incinerated.
He checked his phone and the data that Natasha sent him related to her qualifications. He simply typed it manually on the console and discarded the phone. Better be careful. There might be a bug in the data that she sent him, which might have escaped Hermes' scans and he won't risk it. With AI anything could happen, even a tiny slip-up is possible if one knows how.
"Hermes, status update on Legion's learning phase and the facial recognition."
"Legion is at 73% of the learning phase, sir. Current projections estimate completion within 48 hours, barring interruptions. Facial recognition on individuals from the restaurant is 42% complete."
Tony rubbed his chin. "Keep me posted. Expand the recognition algorithm to include international databases, just in case."
With the night pressing in and his thoughts swirling like a hurricane, Tony made his way to the gym room. The space was state-of-the-art, filled with high-tech exercise equipment and training gear. But tonight, he only needed the basics: a sandbag and his fists.
Dressed in simple black athletic gear, Tony wrapped his hands tightly, his movements mechanical, his mind elsewhere. The gym lights cast sharp shadows, their flickering barely noticeable as he squared up in front of the sandbag.
He started slow, throwing light jabs.
His thoughts drifted back to Natasha. The look in her eyes, the smile that didn't quite reach them. The way she effortlessly deflected his questions while steering the conversation toward him. She was good. Too good.
Right hook. Jab. Uppercut.
"Who are you, Natasha Romanoff?" he muttered under his breath.
The sandbag swayed under the increasing force of his punches. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, but he didn't stop. His mind replayed everything in his head for that day─ the crowded restaurant, her perfectly calculated responses, and how easily she fell into conversation with him. All seemed too easy, too flawless.
"Trap or coincidence?" he asked himself, throwing a powerful cross that sent the sandbag swinging wildly.
He stepped back, breathing hard. "Phew! Getting rusty." His eyes were fixed on the sandbag, but his mind was miles away. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being played. "Hermes," he called out, still panting.
"Do we have any anomalies in Malibu's surveillance feeds from the last 24 hours?"
"Negative, sir. No anomalies detected within the specified timeframe."
Tony shook his head, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat off his face. "Expand the search radius to 50 miles and include offshore activity."
He slumped onto a nearby bench, elbows on his knees. The gym was silent, except for the soft hum of the facility's systems. His instincts screamed that something wasn't right, but he had no evidence, only the nagging feeling that Natasha wasn't who she pretended to be. Then came the throbbing headache. It's been a while since the last one, he thought, grimacing.
He took out a pill bottle from his pocket. He always carries them, just in case. Popping a few painkillers, he closed his eyes and waited. After a while, the throbbing lessened to a dull ache.
"Damn!" he mumbled. Heaving himself off the bench, he tossed the towel to the side.
The sandbag hung motionless, waiting for his next blow.
Jab. Cross. Uppercut.
The next few hours were spent working out his frustrations, both mental and physical. Finally, he lay on the floor, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. After that, he stood up and went to take a shower before going to his bedroom, but he couldn't sleep and kept tossing around.
Unable to relax, Tony found himself in his workshop. The holographic interface sprang to life as he activated the main console. He called up the Legion program's progress, watching the streams of data scroll across the screen.
He tapped the table absentmindedly, his thoughts returning to Natasha. Her comment about jobs had stuck with him.
"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer," he said aloud, his gaze drifting over to a set of monitors. They showed a rotating view of the property and its surroundings. Everything looked peaceful, quiet.
Tony's brow furrowed. "I need eyes everywhere. Let's see..."
He accessed the Shield's database through the back door he created way back and he kept updating it to make sure no one found it and playing with him using a fake database. Now, over the next hour, he went through the new data, looking for anything unusual or out of place.
Finally, after two hours of searching, he found what he was looking for. The new Director of SHIELD, Nicholas Fury. There wasn't much info on him, but Tony doesn't need info on him because he already knows Fury from the comics and movies. But what caught his eye was a simple mention of the Red Room. The rest of the details didn't make much sense and seemed to be a code of some sort. And there was no mention of Natasha's name.
"It's either Fury kept her off-grid or Red Room. I hope it's not Red Room because it'll be a pain in the ass," he mumbled to himself, tapping his fingers on the workbench. "Well, time to create a job opportunity for her somewhere in Malibu." He chuckled, shaking his head. According to the info, Natasha has a degree in business management and marketing.
Tony decided to play his rich boy card this time. He called the owner of that restaurant where he and Natasha met in the middle of the night and offered the guy an amount he couldn't refuse. He had a suspicion that the owner was also a spy, call it paranoia.
Well, he bought that place.
But here's the fun twist... What if the former owner and workers turn out to be spies? Now, with Tony as the legal owner, what if he decides to keep them around, having them run the restaurant alongside Natasha? Together, they handle the cooking and management, while Tony sits back, enjoying some side income from the operation.
"I'll play with you Natasha," He said, grinning.
"Sir?" Hermes' voice rang out, breaking him out of his musings.
"What is it, Hermes?"
"You really need to get some sleep, sir."
"Yeah," He yawned. "I'll do just that. You know where to find me, Hermes. Let me know if something pops up."
He turned the lights off, making his way to his bedroom.
Victor Von Doom stood in the center of his decrepit lab, sweat dripping from his brow as he stared at the sparking remnants of his failed dimensional gate. His hands, once steady with the confidence of genius, now trembled with frustration. The machine, a culmination of two years of work, lay in pieces before him. Its mechanisms fried, the portal generator sputtering lifelessly.
"Another failure," he growled, his voice echoing through the stone chamber. "So much time and resources wasted. Reed always found a way to win, even from the grave." He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, a sharp pain grounding him in his spiraling rage.
The castle had been his only refuge after his world came crashing down. Accused of murdering Reed Richards, the man who was once his begrudging rival, Victor had been forced to flee. Disowned by his father, hunted by the authorities, and abandoned by the world he had sought to conquer, he had retreated to this ancient fortress hidden deep in the Latverian mountains. His grandfather, long dead, had left it to him in secret. It was a final gift from a man who understood the burdens of ambition.
Victor paced the room, his boots crunching on shards of glass and scattered wires. The lab, though hidden beneath the castle, was equipped with stolen technology from his father's company. Hacking into their systems, which he knew like the back of his hand, and stealing resources had been child's play for a mind like his, but even with those resources, the dimensional gate remained beyond his grasp.
In a rage, he swept his arm across the workbench, causing tools and components to crash to the floor. His eye caught a tall mirror across the room. He froze. A sneering, mocking representation of himself met him from the mirror: he was a failure, an outcast, a desperate man.
With a loud yell, he picked up a wrench and threw it at the mirror. The glass broke into sharp pieces, falling all over the stone floor. When the noise quieted down, Victor saw something strange. "What the...?!" A soft glow of light came from behind the broken mirror.
For a moment, his curiosity calmed his anger. He walked up to the mirror's frame and touched its edges with his hands. There was a green crystal on the wall. "Tsk." The sharp edge of the mirror cut his finger and as he jerked his hand back, a drop of blood fell on the crystal. Suddenly, the light became brighter, and there was a soft hiss. A hidden mechanism clicked, and the wall disappeared in the thin air.
"What the fuck is this?!"
Behind the wall was an old stairway lit by more green crystal. He looked down, but couldn't see the end.
"What did you hide in here, grandpa," He mumbled before going down without a care because he had failed over and over again and had nothing to lose at this point.
Mandarin and his Ten Rings tracked down Victor.
If you like my work, you can support me on>: www.patr eon.com/XcaliburXc
[Read over 14 advance chapters] [No double billing]
AN: I will take a little break to stockpile more chapters.