The air reeked of melted circuitry and scorched metal. Tony Stark lay motionless on the broken tile floor of his mainframe chamber, armor shredded and his chest exposed, blood smearing across cracked arc reactor housing. Lights flickered overhead. J.A.R.V.I.S. had gone silent.
Then the ceiling split open with a high-pitched shriek of metal, and a StarkTech emergency drone slammed into the room, its chassis gleaming silver. Mechanical arms deployed instantly, stabilizing Stark's vitals as a glowing blue cylinder hissed into place over his chest. The temporary arc reactor sank in with a heavy click, wires burrowing into muscle and bone.
Tony's eyes fluttered open. He gasped as air flooded back into his lungs. The pain was immediate, but so was the fury.
"Those bitches…" he muttered hoarsely. "They'll pay for this."
The steel doors burst open as security forces finally arrived, armed and scanning for targets too late. Two guards rushed to Tony's side, helping him to his feet. He winced as he stood, clutching the synthetic core now embedded in his chest.
Around him, the devastation was total—mainframes destroyed, walls cracked, sentry turrets ripped from the ceiling, and most damning of all… the central terminal was empty. The USB port flickered where the data had been sucked clean. His armor's schematics, the arc reactor blueprints, and—worst of all—J.A.R.V.I.S.' raw code, gone.
Tony stared at the hollowed-out console. "No more games," he growled. "It's time for Iron Man Mark II."
Across the ocean, under the moonlit skies of the Empire of London, a very different scene unfolded.
The capital city gleamed like a crown of midnight obsidian. Spires of jet-black stone rose into the air, etched with glowing veins of lava. Turrets turned in slow, deliberate arcs, tracking the skies. From the lava moat surrounding Buckingham Citadel to the towering gun batteries posted at every high point, the city was a fortress—and a monument to villainy.
Inside, Kara Zor-El reclined on her throne of razored obsidian, one leg draped lazily over the armrest. The newspaper in her hands shimmered with gold-foil ink, the headline reading: "Tony Stark Attacked at Stark Industries—Arc Reactor Prototype Stolen."
Her lips curled into a satisfied exhale.
The portal behind her flared open with crimson light.
Natasha Romanoff stepped through first, twirling one of her gold-plated, diamond-encrusted Desert Eagles. The barrels still itching to kill kindness one bullet at a time. Wanda followed, red energy flickering along her fingertips like embers refusing to die.
Kara glanced up. "Ah, girls. How'd it go?"
Wanda reached into a side satchel and casually lobbed the stolen arc reactor across the room.
Kara caught it mid-air. Its blue glow illuminated her face as she sat up straighter, eyes gleaming. "Ooh. That's definitely going in the trophy case."
She stood and marched to a side wall where a brand-new display alcove had been installed—pure black crystal with velvet inlay and rune-etched glass. It was empty. Not for long.
"We need a trophy display. Like, now," Kara declared. "For every evil milestone we conquer."
Natasha holstered her pistols and nodded. "That's the first of many."
Wanda eyed the reactor proudly. "We'll need a plaque. Something poetic. How about: 'Stolen from Tony Stark's chest by Wanda and Natasha—because we could.'"
Kara laughed. "Yes! Villain history, immortalized."
The arc reactor clicked into its stand. A shimmer of light activated a forcefield around it. Kara tilted her head, admiring it.
The others gathered behind her.
Wanda sipped from a mug of dark tea. "So what's next?"
"What about Wakanda?" she asked casually.
"Stealing from Atlantis might be fun," Rogue added from the shadows, her voice dry.
Kara's eyes twinkled with ambition. "Oh, I'm doing Atlantis personally. I hear they've got good fruit."
The women laughed, the soft sound of villainous confidence echoing through the throne room.
In the background, a Juggernaut—the Empire's elite armored female soldiers—stepped forward silently, her boots clinking on the stone floor. She bent to collect scorched robotic parts near the portal for disposal from Natasha and Wanda's battle.
Wanda tilted her head in question. "Are we still dumping bodies into Sokovia?"
Natasha shrugged. "It's convenient. No one's watching that place. Everyone just thinks it's a radioactive dump. We just make it worse."
The Juggernaut raised a hand, signaling completion, and the debris vanished through the chaos portal like it had never existed.
Kara turned serious, her expression sharpening.
"Did you get the schematics for J.A.R.V.I.S.?"
Wanda stepped forward. "We did. The whole AI core. And don't worry… the Red Queen's gonna be a holographic demon when I'm done. I'm fusing chaos magic into her code. Just a few more tweaks to the neural lattice."
Kara's posture straightened with anticipation. "Excellent. I want her sassy. Deadly. A dominatrix of doom with lasers. And a British accent, because why not."
Natasha chuckled. "Red holographic death-lady with sass. Sounds like our brand."
Outside, lava plumes lit the horizon. In the eerie glow of the empire's eternal moon, the city cast no morning shadow. London had not seen sunlight in six years—and no one questioned it.
Kara stood up from her throne and said to her harem.
"We've made our mark on Stark," she said. "The Red Queen's next. Then the heroes. Then the world."
Around her, her harem gathered—Wanda, Natasha, Jean, Rogue, Mystique, and Storm. Each of them draped in obsidian robes and evil themed weapons, eyes glowing with power and conviction. They stood like sentinels, their figures casting long shadows across the lava-lit floor.
Beyond the throne room, across the gem-encrusted walkways and molten battlements, the Empire of London pulsed with menace.
Kara gazed out through the jagged stained obsidian windows.
"Time to have fun."
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