Chapter 3: The Ghost and the Hammer
[Time – Night – Stark Industries Docks]
The rain was a cold, relentless drumbeat on the corrugated steel roof of the warehouse. Adam stood in the shadows of a container, the damp chill seeping into his clothes. The air smelled of salt, diesel, and rust. It was a bleak, miserable place, a perfect setting for a shady deal. He had received the coordinates from the System, a pinpoint on a digital map, a location for a weapons shipment that was supposed to go unnoticed.
Adam took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs, and prepared for his first true infiltration. He wasn't a soldier. He was a ghost.
[SYSTEM: F-Rank: Phasing (Limited) initiated. Target: 'Warehouse Office Door'.]
He reached out a hand, feeling a strange, ethereal vibration spread through his palm. He pushed. His hand didn't meet the resistance of wood and metal; it passed through the locked door as if it were a shimmering curtain of water. He pulled his body through, a surreal, tingling sensation washing over him as he moved from one physical state to another. A moment later, he was inside, standing in the cramped, dark office.
He could hear the muffled, angry voices from the main warehouse floor, just beyond the thin walls. He peeked through a small slit in the window and saw them. Stane's goons, beefy men in slick, dark suits, stood face to face with a small group of nervous men in cheap windbreakers. At the head of the nervous group was a man Adam immediately recognized from a thousand tabloid photos and a dozen cringeworthy TV interviews: Justin Hammer. He was a weasel of a man, with a slicked-back haircut and a perpetually shifty gaze.
"I don't like this, Obie. This is my client. You can't just… just muscle in on my deal,"
Hammer stammered, his voice laced with a whine.
"My client is your client, Justin,"
one of Stane's goons, a particularly burly man, replied, his voice a low growl.
"He requires a… a more direct approach to his acquisitions. Your… finesse, shall we say, is no longer required."
"But I built the missile silos! The… the tech! It's mine!"
"It was never yours. It was always his,"
the goon said, gesturing to the shadowy corner of the warehouse.
"Now, give us the manifest. We'll take it from here."
This isn't just about terrorism. It's about a hostile takeover. Stane is consolidating power. He's taking out his competition, one weasel at a time. Justin Hammer is just collateral damage.
Adam felt a sudden, chilling realization. He wasn't just here to stop a weapons deal. He was here to witness the birth of a super-villainous monopoly. He had to act fast.
[Time – Moments Later – Warehouse Main Office]
Adam slipped into the main office, a small, cluttered space with stacks of crates and a single, flickering lightbulb hanging overhead. He found what he was looking for on a grimy, oil-stained desk: a System-granted datapad, a sleek, black device that looked utterly out of place in the grimy warehouse. He activated it, and the screen lit up with a familiar, blue glow.
[SYSTEM: D-Rank: Data Siphon initiated. Target: 'Weapons Shipment Manifest #77B'.]
He connected the datapad to a nearby computer, its screen displaying a jumble of lines of code. The datapad whirred, a quiet, efficient sound. Files began to copy, a list of illegal transactions, shipping manifests, and encrypted communications flowing onto the sleek device. He felt a sense of triumph. This was real intel. This was solid proof.
He was almost done when a notification popped up on the datapad.
[SYSTEM: Corrupted File Detected. File Name: 'Iron Monger Project.v2.encrypted'.]
The file was a jumble of meaningless symbols, a digital mess. But next to the computer, half-hidden by a stack of paperwork, was a single, rolled-up blueprint. Adam unrolled it, his breath catching in his throat. It was a crude, but detailed schematic for a massive, heavily armored suit of power armor. It was huge, bulky, and menacing, its chest cavity left blank, waiting for a power source.
Iron Monger. He wasn't just a code name. It's a suit. A terrifying suit. And the power source is the same one that's in Tony's chest. The Arc Reactor.
A cold dread settled in his stomach. He wasn't just a prankster anymore. He was a spy. He was in the middle of a conflict that would define the next decade of this universe. He rolled up the blueprint and tucked it into his jacket, his hands shaking slightly. He had what he came for. Now he just needed to escape.
He heard the heavy footsteps of the guards coming down the hallway, their voices growing louder. He had to be quick. He looked at the datapad, its screen displaying a single, triumphant message. He wasn't a hero, not yet. But he was a player. And his game was just beginning.