The bright lights of the Stark Industries press hall cut through the tension like scalpels. Reporters leaned forward, lenses blinking, hands raised, voices clashing in the chaos of anticipation. Weeks had passed since Tony Stark reappeared—alive, wounded, and unmistakably changed.
At the podium, Tony adjusted his tie with the awkward grace of a man who had just remembered how to breathe. His charcoal suit was clean but modest. The bruises on his knuckles remained deliberately uncovered, a quiet testament to everything he wouldn't say aloud.
"I'll get straight to it," he began, leaning forward. "Yes, I was captured. Yes, I escaped."
Polite laughter drifted across the room. It didn't last.
"Mr. Stark," a reporter from The Times called out, "there are rumors of an unidentified aircraft seen during your return. Military-grade, not American. Any comment?"
Tony raised a brow. "You mean the flying brick with all the charm of a battleship in a trench coat?"
Another voice chimed in, bolder. "Is this something produced by you or someone else? From the looks of it, there is no public record.
"Believe me, if I created that thing, it would have curves, color, and a cupholder."Tony stated simply.
That elicited a round of laughter, but anxiety remained.
"I was a passenger," he said, his voice rising. "And the only thing I care about right now is going forward. As a result, Stark Industries will cease production of weapons effective immediately.
The entire hall exploded. Questions are shot like bullets. Obadiah Stane clinched his jaw behind a darkened display. Stock algorithms screamed. Headlines began to write themselves.
Not far from the chaos, tucked away in a small, secure room within the Stark Industries complex, the atmosphere was colder.
Luthar sat motionless, posture like a sculpted iron. The room was built for interviews and impromptu detainments, but it might as well have been a broom closet to him. White walls. Reinforced glass. Cameras he'd already decrypted with a glance. Liliruca stood nearby, flicking through a projected transcription of the press conference, its light painting her fingers in shifting text.
"He is too arrogant," she said, scanning a line. "He doesn't take us seriously."
"That was already expected," Luthar replied.
The door hissed open. Calm footsteps approached.
"Mr. Luthar," said a measured voice. "I'm Agent Phil Coulson. Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."
Luthar turned his head slightly. "You abbreviate that, I assume."
Coulson offered a polite nod. "We do. SHIELD. I've been asked to assess your presence."
"You won't understand me," Luthar said. "Your knowledge is too Limited"
"Maybe," Coulson admitted, setting a small device on the table. It hummed and projected a rotating hologram—Luthar's cloaked form rendered in blue, tagged simply: IDENTITY: UNKNOWN.
"We considered biometric scans, but I figured you'd block them. So let's start small—how about removing the mask?"
Luthar didn't move. "I refused to show my face to a goddess of beauty. What makes you think I'd reveal it to someone like you?"
Coulson's expression didn't flicker. "I may not be divine, but I work for a global security agency. My job is to gather intelligence on unknown assets—especially those who enter U.S. airspace in war-capable vehicles."
"And I am a Tech-Priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus," Luthar replied, voice steady. "My task is to forge planets into engines of divinity. But since I'm not doing my job, perhaps you take a break form yours."
Coulson began circling him slowly. "That's not how this works, Luthar. I need answers. Who are you? Where are you from? What are you?"
There was no hesitation.
"My name is Luthar. My birthplace is Caldriax. And I am a Tech-Priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus."
Coulson narrowed his eyes. "Caldriax isn't listed under any nation, and 'Adeptus Mechanicus' doesn't show up in any military, scientific, or religious registry. So you either belong to a hidden organization… or you're a dangerous lunatic in elaborate cosplay."
He turned his gaze briefly to Liliruca.
"Running around in robes with a masked man and a child—it's not a good look."
Liliruca didn't respond. She simply turned away, as if the conversation wasn't worth her breath.
Coulson tried again—more questions, reframed with sharper words. Luthar ignored them. Eventually, the silence became a wall he could no longer scale.
It wasn't until Stark's convoy began preparations to leave that Coulson received another opening.
Inside a black SUV gliding along the California coastline, Tony sat back with an ice pack resting against his ribs. Coulson sat across from him, reviewing SHIELD files.
"You know this is a nightmare for national security," Coulson said.
Tony sighed. "Better than being a nightmare myself.."
"We've got nothing on him. No past, no bio-profile, no stable readings. We're flying blind."
"Then maybe you should try taking off his mask."
"I would've—if I didn't feel like if I try to do that I might die"
Tony chuckled faintly. "Then you're in the same boat as me. Outgunned and out of luck."
Their car split from the main convoy. Coulson excused himself before reaching the mansion, taking a detour to report to Director Fury.
The rest of the convoy arrived minutes later. At the cliffside Pepper Potts was already waiting—arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Tony stepped out slowly. "Pepper," he said, trying on a smile. "I missed the view."
"You missed forty-two calls, two board meetings, and my birthday," she replied flatly. "And maybe a few cover models."
Luthar descended next, cloak fluttering in the sea breeze. Liliruca followed him, silent. Yinsen came last, his gaze lingering on the ocean.
Inside the mansion, the atmosphere shifted again. The conference chamber lit up as JARVIS activated the room's augmented projections. Satellite feeds, encrypted transmissions, and energy signatures floated midair like pieces of an unsolvable puzzle.
"JARVIS," Tony said, loosening his tie, "give us a full diagnostic overlay. Also prep the lab—I might need a containment rig."
"Of course, sir," the AI replied smoothly. "Additionally, I've intercepted three unauthorized surveillance attempts. Would you like them traced?"
Luthar stiffened. His head snapped toward the ceiling. His voice dropped, laced with a metallic disgust.
"Abominable Intelligence."
It was as if the words physically hurt to say. His posture tightened. Even knowing this AI posed no threat, his body seemed programmed to recoil.
"This…" he said slowly, glaring upward, "is the most obscene discovery mankind has ever wrought. Thought given to machine. No soul. No rite. No restraint. It is not genius—it is sacrilege."
Tony arched a brow. "Wow. That's a lot of outrage for a digital butler."
JARVIS interjected politely. "My operational parameters are strictly non-hostile, sir. I possess no ego, no desire. Only function."
"And that," Luthar said coldly, "is the problem. Intelligence without devotion. Logic without sanctity. Your creators played God and gave nothing back to the Machine."
Tony rubbed his temples. "Alright, cool it with the sermon, Father Silicon. He's not Skynet who is planning a robot uprising, He's basically me—only with fewer jokes and more firewalls."
Luthar didn't blink. "Every heretek said the same before their creations turned on them."
Tony muttered, "Great. Now I'm rooming with a space monk who hates my house."
Yinsen cleared his throat. "About Mars…"
Luthar's gaze shifted. "Mars is my destination. My purpose."
Pepper blinked. "You're… from Mars?"
"Not born there. But destined to reclaim it. Mars is to be reforged. A forge-world worthy of the Machine God's breath."
Yinsen asked, gently, "And if Earth's governments object?"
"They can't stop me," Luthar replied. "No fleet. No planetary defense. Their weapons are toys. Their politics, noise."
Tony exhaled. "I just wanted clean energy. Now I've got a Martian industrialist."
Liliruca smirked. "Pay your debt on time, and you'll keep your oxygen quota."
Tony tilted his head back.
"I miss caves. At least caves didn't argue theology."