The scrapyard at the edge of Queens was more myth than location.
Most kids said it was haunted. Not by ghosts—but by old tech. A place where outdated machines breathed in their last sparks and never fully died.
Ash had always assumed that was urban legend. But now, with the Corp stirring inside him and Echo whispering in his head, he wasn't so sure.
He needed components. Rare alloys. Pre-Stark arc casings. And the scrapyard? It was the only place to find tech that still carried a pre-Iron Age signature.
May warned him not to go.
"That place is dangerous, Ash. It's condemned. You'll get tetanus or worse."
But Ash had already made up his mind.
He left just after dusk, hoodie zipped to the chin, backpack strapped tight, and Echo humming softly from the HUD module hidden in his pocket.
---
The gate was easy enough to slip through. A section of the chain-link had long since fallen, giving just enough room for someone nimble to crawl under.
The moment he stepped onto the yard, the air changed.
Ash had lived in enough timelines to recognize the smell of old oil, rusted chrome, and failed circuitry. But this? This had something more.
A buzz.
A charge.
Like the whole place was holding its breath.
He walked past the collapsed husk of a Quinjet prototype—non-flyable, maybe a decoy from one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s old warehouses. Burn marks along the side. Stabilizers sheared clean off.
To most, it was garbage.
To Ash? It was treasure.
He reached out, hand brushing against the hull—and Echo reacted instantly.
> "Vibranium weave detected."
> "Thread integrity: 12%."
He blinked. "That shouldn't be here…"
> "Unregistered variant. Likely post-Hydra salvage."
Ash grinned.
He pulled out his salvager's gloves and began carefully peeling a panel off the side.
---
He worked for over an hour, assembling a small cache: thermal couplers, cracked vibranium shavings, micro-spinal joints from a busted War Machine leg rig, and an ancient arc dampener that looked half-melted.
Each piece went into his bag with care.
Echo cataloged everything automatically.
> "Inventory updated. Potential upgrade path viable: Quantum Flex Layering."
Ash paused mid-collection.
He hadn't even designed that protocol yet.
"Echo, how do you know about quantum flex layering?"
> "I remember your first failure."
That made Ash stop.
The first version of the Corp—back in his original life—had failed in its early stage because of rigidity. The frame couldn't flex around high-G maneuvers. He'd never solved it. He died before he could.
Now the solution was being offered back to him by a voice born of scrap and memory.
Maybe Echo wasn't just building him a suit.
Maybe it was rebuilding his past.
---
As Ash moved toward the last row of stacked debris, he felt it.
The hum.
Not Echo. Not tech.
Something else.
He froze.
Something was watching.
He turned slowly, scanning the shadows between heaps of crushed drones and decommissioned Sentry frames.
Then he heard it—a faint clank. Not accidental. Deliberate.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
Then a small voice—barely more than a whisper:
"You shouldn't be here."
Ash spun.
There—between the ribs of a dismantled Ultron shell—stood a kid. Couldn't have been older than ten. Skinny. Dirty. Holding what looked like a broken tablet duct-taped to a satellite dish.
"Didn't think anyone lived here," Ash said carefully.
"I don't. Not really. I listen."
The boy stepped forward.
And Ash saw the tech woven through his jacket—wires. Implants. Salvaged interface nodes sewn into the sleeves.
He wasn't just a scavenger.
He was connected.
"You're Echo-Touched," the boy said quietly, staring directly at Ash's visor.
Ash tensed. "What did you say?"
The boy pointed to his chest. "I got whispers too. Not like yours. Yours is louder. Deeper. But mine told me you'd come."
Ash stepped closer, wary.
"What's your name?"
The boy hesitated. Then:
"Riley."
"You built all this yourself?"
Riley nodded. "Most of it talks back. Sometimes I answer. Sometimes I don't."
Ash crouched. "You hear voices in the machines?"
"Not voices," Riley whispered. "Memories. Trapped in wires. The tech remembers what it wanted to be. Before it got thrown away."
Ash felt a chill crawl up his spine.
Riley held out the makeshift tablet. Static flickered across the screen, but behind the noise, Ash saw something terrifying.
A map.
Of New York.
And pulsing points.
Glowing red.
> "These are people like you," Riley said.
"All lighting up. All waking up."
"The Inheritors are moving. And they're not the only ones watching."
---
Back in the garage, Ash laid the parts out on the table.
Each piece hummed when he touched it.
They wanted to become something.
He opened the HUD interface. Echo activated instantly.
> "New alloy signature accepted. Suit adaptation: 14%."
> "Phase Two: Host Symbiosis — Initializing."
Ash watched as the schematic reformed.
And in the corner of the screen, a new name blinked.
> RILEY – POTENTIAL NODE. CLASS: LISTENER.
---
Ash didn't know what Riley was yet. Not exactly.
But he knew this: he wasn't the only one whispering to the wires.
The world was changing.
And the scrapyard?
It had just given him his first ally.