Chapter 2: Stark's Missing, Adam's Market, Hope's Help
The dust motes in Adam's office seemed to dance with a newfound energy, or maybe that was just his brain, still reeling from the cosmic joke that was his new life. Tony Stark was missing. The very first domino of the MCU was about to fall, and here he was, Adam Stiels, Private Investigator, with a system that promised "nanotech-based magic" and a head full of spoilers.
"Right," he muttered, pacing the cramped office, the floorboards groaning under his new, surprisingly light steps. "Tony Stark. Captured by the Ten Rings. Builds the Mark I. Comes back, makes a public announcement, builds the Mark II, then the Mark III. Obadiah Stane goes full Iron Monger. Classic. Now, how do I get in on that action without looking like a complete lunatic who knows too much?"
His phone, the ancient rotary beast, suddenly rang, startling him. He stared at it, as if it were a venomous snake. "Oh, right. Phones. They ring. What a concept."
He picked it up, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and dread. "Adam Stiels, Private Investigations. You kill 'em, I find 'em. Or, you know, find 'em before they get killed. Depends on the retainer."
A crisp, authoritative female voice on the other end cut through his sarcasm like a laser. "Mr. Stiels? This is Pepper Potts. From Stark Industries. I was given your number by… a mutual acquaintance."
Adam's eyebrows shot up. Pepper Potts. The universe was moving fast. "Pepper Potts, huh? Well, Ms. Potts, I'm honored. Not many people call a humble PI like myself when a billionaire goes missing. Usually, it's the FBI, or, you know, a very confused golden retriever."
"This isn't a joke, Mr. Stiels," Pepper's voice tightened, a tremor of desperation beneath her professional veneer. "Tony… he's been missing for three days. The military, the government, they're doing nothing. I need someone… discreet. Someone who can get results without all the red tape."
"Discreet? Results? Lady, you've come to the right place. My discretion is legendary, and my results are… well, let's just say I have a knack for finding things. Or people. Or sometimes, just really good tacos. Depends on the case." He paused, then leaned back in his squeaky chair, a grin spreading across his face. "So, what's the mutual acquaintance's name? Just so I know who to send the fruit basket to."
A beat of silence. "Mr. Pym. Hank Pym."
Adam's grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of surprise. Hank Pym. His godfather. The original Ant-Man. The guy who apparently bankrolled his new PI agency. This was… unexpected. And a little awkward, considering he'd never actually met Hank Pym in this life.
"Ah, Hank," Adam said smoothly, recovering quickly. "Yes, a man of impeccable taste. And even more impeccable connections. Alright, Ms. Potts, you've got my attention. Come on down to the office. We'll discuss terms. And bring coffee. Good coffee. My current supply tastes like it was brewed in a shoe."
He hung up, a thoughtful expression on his face. Hank Pym. That explained a lot. And it also meant… Hope.
Just as he was contemplating the implications, a knock echoed on his office door. Not a timid knock, but a firm, confident rap.
"Speak of the devil, and she shall appear," Adam muttered, walking to the door. He opened it to reveal a woman standing in the hallway, impeccably dressed, with sharp, intelligent eyes and a no-nonsense aura. Hope van Dyne. His childhood friend.
"Adam," Hope said, a hint of exasperation already in her voice. "You're actually here. I thought you'd be off chasing some phantom lead or, knowing you, trying to teach a pigeon to play chess."
"Hope! My favorite childhood friend who always had to bail me out of trouble," Adam said, leaning against the doorframe, a playful glint in his eye. "To what do I owe the distinct pleasure of your presence? Did you finally decide to invest in my burgeoning empire of… well, whatever it is I do now?"
Hope rolled her eyes, stepping inside and surveying the dusty office with a look of mild disgust. "Dad told me you actually opened this place. I thought it was a joke. And then Pepper Potts called him, asking about you. Apparently, Tony Stark is missing, and she's desperate enough to call a PI who probably gets his leads from fortune cookies."
"Hey, some of those fortune cookies are surprisingly accurate," Adam retorted, closing the door. "And yes, Tony Stark. Big case. Big bucks. I'm thinking of upgrading to a less squeaky chair if this pans out."
"You're actually taking the case?" Hope asked, a hint of concern in her voice. "Adam, this isn't some petty theft. This is Stark Industries. This is… dangerous."
"Dangerous? Hope, darling, my middle name is 'Danger.' Or it would be, if my parents weren't so tragically uncreative. Besides," he leaned in conspiratorially, "I've got a few… tricks up my sleeve. And you, my dear, are a walking, talking encyclopedia of corporate espionage and Stark Industries intel. Consider this a collaborative effort. You provide the brains, I provide the… well, the magic."
Hope snorted. "Magic? You mean your uncanny ability to annoy people into submission?"
"That too," Adam winked. "But also, you know, actual magic. Sort of. It's complicated. Nanobots. Don't ask."
He knew she wouldn't truly believe him about the nanobots, not yet. But the playful banter, the easy familiarity, it was a comfort in this strange new world. It grounded him.
Later that afternoon, after Pepper Potts had left, looking slightly bewildered but hopeful after Adam's surprisingly confident (and subtly illusion-enhanced) pitch, Adam sat at his desk, a proper cup of coffee in hand. He'd used a subtle illusion to make Pepper's expensive briefcase briefly appear to turn into a giant, fluffy bunny as she walked in, just to gauge her reaction. She'd blinked, rubbed her eyes, and then looked at him with an even more desperate plea for help. Perfect.
"Okay, Hope," Adam said, leaning back, the squeak of the chair now a familiar, almost comforting sound. "Walk me through what you know about Tony's last known movements. Every detail. And don't hold back. We're talking 'find the needle in the cosmic haystack' here."
Hope, perched on the edge of the desk, pulled out her tablet, already tapping away. "Last seen in Afghanistan, demonstrating the Jericho missile. His convoy was attacked. No survivors reported from his security detail. Just… gone."
"Afghanistan," Adam murmured, already picturing the dusty, unforgiving terrain. He knew the general location. The cave. The Ten Rings. But he needed specifics. "Any intel on who attacked the convoy? Any intelligence reports, even whispers?"
"The official line is 'terrorists,'" Hope said, her lips thinning. "But Dad's contacts are saying it's the Ten Rings. They're a shadowy organization, but they've been making moves in the region for a while."
"Ten Rings," Adam repeated, a shiver of meta-knowledge running down his spine. "Right. The guys who like to kidnap billionaires and force them to build weapons. Classic supervillain trope. They really need to update their business model."
He closed his eyes, picturing the dusty cave, the makeshift workshop, Tony Stark, the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, reduced to a desperate prisoner. He had the meta-knowledge. He had the powers. He could change things. Not drastically, not yet. But he could make it more… interesting. More him.
"Alright, Hope," he said, opening his eyes, a determined glint in them. "Time to put these 'tricks' to work. We're going to find Tony Stark. And maybe, just maybe, I'll leave a little something extra for the Ten Rings to remember me by."
He stood up, stretching his new limbs. He felt a surge of energy, a sense of purpose he hadn't known in his previous life. This was it. His New Game Plus. And the first quest was to rescue a very important, very annoying genius.