INT. SPACE-TIME CONTINUUM – UNKNOWN DIMENSION – ETERNAL NIGHT
Silence.
Not the silence of peace, but the aching, infinite quiet that comes after destruction.
A single dimensional cradle floats through the void — small, metallic, elegant in design, glowing faintly with residual energy. Its surface reflects the shifting hues of the space-time continuum — rivers of light, fractured constellations, floating debris from shattered realities. Time flows here like mist, curling around the pod in ribbons of blue and gold.
Inside the cradle: a child sleeps.
FRANKLIN RICHARDS, no more than a year old in form, lies nestled within padded layers of synthetic fiber and stasis gel. A transparent dome shields him from the chaos outside. His tiny face is still, peaceful—but not truly calm. His brow twitches. His fingers curl occasionally, as if reaching for something that no longer exists.
His body rests.
But his soul does not.
We move in closer—
Beneath closed eyelids, a flicker of light.
A dream, perhaps. Or a memory refusing to die.
FLASH:
Susan Storm, glowing with maternal warmth, humming.Reed Richards, panicked, slamming the escape pod launch.A planet consumed in white fire.The last heartbeat of Earth.
BACK TO SCENE—
The stasis pod pulses once, as if reacting to his mind. A soft ping. A low hum. Then silence again.
Outside, the void shifts.
A galaxy implodes in the far distance. Time reverses for a moment, then collapses forward. Worlds flicker in and out of existence like dreams dissolving at dawn.
Franklin floats through it all, untouched. A ghost in the cradle of eternity.
The stars do not speak.
But something watches.
Not yet a figure. Just a presence.
Watching.
Waiting.
For the moment when this sleeping child — this fallen god — will wake.
INT. COSMIC VOID – SPACE-TIME CONTINUUM – TIMELESS DIMENSION
A vast, infinite blackness.
No stars. No gravity. No past or future.
In the center of it all, a lone stasis pod glides silently. Smooth. Egg-shaped. Metallic, yet warm with residual energy. Its surface glows faintly, casting a halo of light around it as it floats — like a tear lost in the sea of the cosmos.
Inside: Franklin Richards.
Still in stasis. Still asleep.
A breath.
A flicker.
Nothing more.
The pod drifts endlessly.
Until—
CRAAACK.
A jagged rip slices across the void — sudden and violent — like glass shattering across the fabric of reality.
Light bursts from the tear — blinding, unstable, leaking strange energy pulses into the emptiness.
The pod's path shifts.
Subtly at first.
Then — faster.
Drawn toward the crack.
The pod begins to accelerate, pulled by a force it can neither resist nor detect. Inside, warning lights flicker silently. Pressure readings spike. The outer shell vibrates, reacting to the dimensional disturbance.
Franklin stirs slightly — a twitch of fingers. A subtle shift of breath.
But he doesn't wake.
He doesn't know.
The crack grows wider.
Its center warps, spinning like a vortex. Inside — not light, not shadow, but a world between. Impossible shapes. Colors that don't exist. Fractured pieces of time spinning like broken clock gears.
And the pod — it crosses.
Through.
Into the crack.
Into the unknown.
As it vanishes into the rupture, the space behind it begins to close.
SLAM.
The crack seals shut with a thunderous silence, leaving the void untouched once more — as if it never happened.
No trace.
No sound.
Just emptiness.
But on the other side — wherever that may be —
The child has arrived.
EXT. AFGHAN DESERT – EARTH – 1995 – MIDDAY
The sun is merciless, beating down on a vast sea of golden dunes. Heat ripples off the sand like waves, the air shimmering with distortion.
Dragging one foot through the dust, half-collapsed, TONY STARK limps forward.
His makeshift suit — the charred remains of the Mark I armor — has been stripped and abandoned miles behind. What remains of his undersuit is torn, blackened, soaked in sweat and dust. His face is bruised, smudged with oil and ash. Blood crusts one temple. His right arm clutches his ribs.
Every step is a fight against gravity.
Every breath — dry fire in his lungs.
TONY STARK (muttering, cracked voice):
"Ten rings… ten miles… ten gallons of sand in my boots…"
He stumbles, catches himself, keeps going.
The desert stretches forever. No roads. No rescue. Only sand.
Then—he stops.
Breathing hard.
Something feels wrong.
The wind dies.
The sky pulses — just once — like a heartbeat.
And then…
CRRRACKKK.
A fracture splits open midair, several hundred feet away — like a mirror shattering sideways across the fabric of space.
Tony stares, mouth open.
"...What the hell?"
From the rift, a single object descends slowly:
A pod.
Metallic. Smooth. Glowing faintly. Silent.
It lowers itself gently to the sand, sending out a burst of fine dust as it settles.
Then — the crack seals shut behind it, vanishing as if it never existed.
Silence.
Tony doesn't move at first. Blinks. Shakes his head.
TONY STARK (to himself):
"Okay. Either I'm hallucinating… or alien delivery just became a thing."
He staggers forward, step by step, toward the mysterious object that just fell from the sky.
His body is broken.
But his curiosity?
Still very much alive.
TONY STARK trudges forward, sand shifting under his boots with each unsteady step.
The pod sits silently in the dune basin — half-buried, sleek and silver, shaped like a tear frozen mid-fall. Its surface reflects the blistering sun in soft pulses, as if breathing. No engines. No seams. No visible origin.
TONY (half-laughing, half-delirious):
"You're either the weirdest drone I've ever seen… or this desert heat's finally cooked my brain."
He stops a few feet away.
Warily.
His survival instincts — sharpened by days of captivity and escape — kick in. He circles the pod slowly, keeping his distance, eyeing every surface.
CLOSE-UP: The pod emits a low hum — steady and faint. Its base glows with soft golden rings, rotating gently like a gyroscope. There are no markings. No language. No indication of how it got here.
TONY:
"No USAF tag. Not Stark Tech. Not even Russian."
He crouches — painfully — and brushes sand away from the pod's lower edge.
Nothing.
Not a hatch. Not a door.
Just smooth, alien design.
He leans in closer, peering through a translucent section near the top.
And freezes.
Inside—a baby.
Tiny. Pale. Sleeping.
Wrapped in thin, glowing fabric. Chest rising and falling slowly. Eyes shut. Peaceful.
TONY (stunned):
"What the hell…"
He stumbles back a step, blinking in disbelief.
"There's a kid in there?"
For a moment, the desert seems even quieter than before.
Tony looks around instinctively. No one.
Back to the pod.
Back to the child.
His genius mind races — tech analysis, worst-case scenarios, alien contact protocols (which, if he's honest, he never paid much attention to).
"Okay. Okay. Let's think this through…"
He circles again, eyes locked on the baby inside.
"Either you're some kind of deep-space orphan... or the galaxy just dumped its problems on me."
A flicker of light runs across the pod's surface.
Tony tenses, stepping back—
But it fades.
The child doesn't stir.
Still asleep.
Still dreaming.
Tony exhales slowly.
Then, mutters to himself:
"Whatever you are… I really hope you're not hungry."
The desert wind howls louder now, as if sensing the end of something.
TONY STARK lies in the sand beside the sealed pod — pale, trembling, his strength nearly gone. His eyelids flutter. His breaths are short, uneven.
The heat has done its work. So has the exhaustion. He's holding on by instinct alone.
In the distance—
CHOPPER BLADES.
Faint at first. Then louder.
Black silhouettes crest over the dune — a rescue team, U.S. military-issue vehicles and a transport helicopter descending fast.
Boots hit the sand.
Soldiers sprint toward him.
Leading them—COLONEL JAMES "RHODEY" RHODES, clad in desert camo, panic etched into his face.
RHODEY:
"Tony?! TONY!"
He drops to his knees beside him, grabbing his shoulders.
TONY (barely whispering):
"Took you… long enough…"
RHODEY (relieved but sharp):
"You look like crap."
TONY (dry smirk):
"You should see the other guy…"
Rhodey gestures to the medics, who rush in and begin stabilizing Tony.
But Tony lifts a weak hand—pointing toward the pod lying just feet away in the sand.
TONY (urgent):
"The pod… that thing… you need to take it. Take it with us…"
RHODEY (confused):
"What is it?"
TONY (strained):
"I don't know… but it's not from here… and there's a kid… inside. Breathing. Sleeping…"
Rhodey glances toward the pod — seeing it clearly for the first time. His brows furrow.
RHODEY:
"Is this some kind of Stark prototype?"
TONY (fading):
"I built missiles… not babies from space…"
MEDIC:
"He's crashing—his vitals are dropping!"
Tony grabs Rhodey's sleeve one last time.
TONY (whispered):
"Promise me… take it with you…"
RHODEY (firmly):
"I got you. And I got it."
Tony's hand slips away.
His eyes roll back.
He goes limp.
MEDIC:
"He's unconscious—load him up now!"
As the medics carry Tony to the chopper, Rhodey turns back to the pod.
He stares.
The faint golden glow pulses along its base.
Inside… the child still sleeps.
Silent.
Untouched.
Unknowing of the man who just saved him from being left behind.
RHODEY (softly):
"Okay, little guy… let's find out what the hell you are."
He signals the team.
TWO SOLDIERS approach with a reinforced crate and carefully begin lifting the pod.
As the chopper engines roar to life, the camera pulls back—
Tony.
Rhodey.
The pod.
All lifted out of the dunes…
INT. U.S. MILITARY BASE – HANGAR BAY – 1995 – LATE AFTERNOON
Massive doors grind open as a transport chopper touches down in the center of a heavily guarded airfield. The sound of boots on concrete, orders being shouted, and engines humming fills the air.
MEDICS rush out, wheeling an unconscious TONY STARK on a stretcher — oxygen mask over his face, hooked to IV lines.
Close behind, COL. JAMES RHODES marches alongside two soldiers carefully unloading the pod, which is now sealed in a shock-absorbent transport case glowing faintly from within.
Military technicians, officers, and armored guards gather instantly — something big is happening, and everyone knows it.
As they enter the hangar, the massive sliding doors begin to close behind them, sealing them inside.
INT. HANGAR – CONTINUOUS
Inside, under harsh lights and concrete walls, the air is tense.
GEN. THADDEUS "THUNDERBOLT" ROSS stands waiting, arms crossed, flanked by uniformed soldiers.
Next to him—two SHIELD agents, both in black suits and sunglasses. Their demeanor is cold. Calculating.
ROSS (gruffly):
"What the hell is this, Colonel Rhodes?"
RHODEY (nodding to the medics):
"First, we get Stark to the med bay. He needs immediate care."
ROSS:
"And the… object?"
The pod.
Still humming softly, resting in its case like an egg guarding something precious. Technicians keep a safe distance, unsure if it's a bomb, tech, or worse.
The SHIELD agents step forward, expressionless.
SHIELD AGENT 1:
"That pod is now under our jurisdiction. Director Fury will want it secured and studied immediately."
RHODEY (sharply):
"Negative. That pod came back with Stark. It's under Air Force protection until I get orders otherwise."
ROSS (stepping forward):
"You don't get to decide that, Colonel. Stark's father built weapons. Now his son's bringing alien tech back from the desert? Doesn't look good."
RHODEY (standing firm):
"Tony found that pod out there. Risked his life to make sure we brought it in. He gave me the order to protect it. And until he's conscious or I hear from the President himself, it stays with me."
The pod hums louder — a soft pulse of energy rippling through the floor. Everyone flinches. Lights above flicker once.
SHIELD AGENT 2 (tense):
"We don't even know what's inside that thing. It could be dangerous."
RHODEY (quietly):
"It's a baby."
A beat of stunned silence.
Ross blinks.
The SHIELD agents exchange glances.
ROSS (incredulous):
"You're telling me that thing contains a child?"
RHODEY:
"That's exactly what I'm telling you. Human or not, Stark saw a life worth saving. That's enough for me."
Another hum.
This time deeper.
The pod glows — faintly, but noticeably. As if responding to the tension.
SHIELD AGENT 1 (cold):
"Then it's even more important we take it now. Before it becomes something we can't control."
RHODEY (stepping between them and the pod):
"You'll have to go through me."
A long pause.
The tension hangs thick — soldiers tighten their grips, technicians freeze, and the pod emits one final pulse, sending a gentle shockwave across the hangar floor.
Not violent.
Just a warning.
ROSS (to SHIELD):
"Let it go. For now."
SHIELD AGENT 2 (grim):
"This isn't over."
They turn and walk away, already pulling out satellite phones and encrypted communicators.
Rhodey exhales, turning to the two airmen at his side.
RHODEY:
"Lock it down. I want eyes on it 24/7. And no one touches it unless I say so."
He looks toward the med bay doors, where Tony is being wheeled out of sight.
RHODEY (softly):
"Don't worry, Tony. I've got him."
INT. SHIELD HELICARRIER – COMMAND BRIDGE – NIGHT
Dark clouds swirl outside the massive Helicarrier floating thousands of feet above the Earth, cloaked in silence. The city lights below flicker faintly, unaware of the secrets orbiting above them.
Inside, the lights are dim. Consoles hum softly. Agents move with quiet urgency.
In the command center, NICK FURY stands alone at a reinforced briefing table, arms folded behind his back, his iconic eye-patch gleaming beneath the overhead monitors.
A door hisses open.
SHIELD AGENT KELLER steps in — lean, sharp-suited, face tight with urgency. A digital data tablet glows in his hand.
AGENT KELLER:
"Director Fury. We've confirmed the Stark extraction. He's stable. Recovering."
FURY (without turning):
"And the object?"
Keller pauses.
Then steps forward, placing the tablet on the table. A 3D hologram flickers to life — showing the pod, now secured in a high-tech vault within the Air Force base.
AGENT KELLER:
"It arrived with him. No clear point of origin. No propulsion system. Material scans come back unreadable. The Colonel says Stark recovered it in the desert — after a spatial anomaly appeared."
Fury narrows his eye.
FURY:
"You're telling me Stark found alien tech... and just dragged it home?"
KELLER:
"Not just tech, sir. There's something inside."
He taps the hologram. The image zooms in — revealing the faint profile of a sleeping infant inside the pod.
KELLER (carefully):
"A child."
FURY (low):
"Say that again."
KELLER:
"Approximately one year old in human appearance. Male. Vital signs stable. No response to external stimuli. Stark insisted on bringing it back. Colonel Rhodes is guarding it personally."
Fury turns slowly, his expression unreadable.
FURY:
"What do we know about it?"
KELLER:
"Nothing conclusive. But sir—there was an energy spike at the moment the pod arrived. Gravitational distortion. Localized rift. Space-time disruption... consistent with multiversal interference."
Fury's eye narrows.
FURY (quietly):
"We've had breaches before. But never a delivery."
He steps closer to the hologram, staring at the sleeping child.
FURY (to himself):
"What are you, kid?"
He stands silent for a long beat.
Then turns to Keller.
FURY:
"Start a file. Designate the object: PROJECT STARCRADLE. I want full surveillance on that pod. Passive scans only. No direct contact. Not until Stark wakes up."
KELLER:
"And Rhodes?"
FURY:
"Let him think he's calling the shots. For now."
He stares back at the floating image of the pod.
FURY (grim):
"Something crossed the void to get here. And if it sent a baby… it won't be the last thing coming."
INT. STARCRADLE POD – DEEP STASIS – UNKNOWN TIME
Darkness.
Total, peaceful black.
Then—
A flicker of light.
INT. DREAMSCAPE – EARTH, A MEMORY – SOFT, SURREAL
The air is golden.
Warm sunlight pours through tall windows as wind brushes gently through white curtains. Somewhere, birds sing.
A familiar living room, cozy and strange — furniture floats just slightly above the floor, defying gravity in small ways. Objects shimmer as if painted by memory.
On a soft rug, a much younger Franklin Richards — toddler-age — giggles as he stacks glowing toy blocks. The colors pulse with his emotions.
From behind him:
SUSAN STORM walks into view. His mother. Radiant. Hair glowing in the light, face full of quiet love. She kneels beside him.
SUSAN (smiling):
"You're getting stronger every day, Franklin."
He turns to her — eyes wide, sparkling.
FRANKLIN (childlike, dreamlike):
"Mommy… will the blocks fly forever?"
She chuckles.
SUSAN:
"Not forever. Just long enough to make you smile."
She leans in and kisses his forehead.
A voice calls out from deeper in the house.
REED RICHARDS (O.S.):
"Franklin! Come see this—your gravity wave pulse just folded three dimensions!"
Franklin giggles again and runs toward the voice.
The house warps slightly as he moves, the hallway stretching longer than it should, dream rules bending.
He bursts into his father's lab.
REED RICHARDS stands at a console, surrounded by holograms and equations that swirl around him like living threads.
He turns and kneels.
REED:
"You're not just a boy, Franklin. You're a miracle."
Franklin beams.
Then—
A rumble.
The walls crack slightly.
The light shifts from golden to deep red.
The birds stop singing.
SUSAN (suddenly anxious):
"Reed…?"
The house begins to tremble.
Franklin turns around. The hallway is gone. Replaced by empty sky.
Through the lab windows—fire.
The planet burns.
The sky rips open as Galactus descends like a god of death.
REED (panicked):
"Get him out! Susan, NOW!"
SUSAN:
"Franklin, baby, look at me—run to Mommy—"
But he's frozen.
Watching it happen again.
His parents' last moments—
The light.
The sound.
The love.
Then—white.
INT. POD – STASIS CHAMBER – NOW
Franklin's eyes twitch behind shut lids. A small tear rolls down his cheek.
A faint pulse of golden energy ripples through the interior of the pod — soft, harmless, like a sigh of sadness.
Then stillness.
The glow fades.
And the child sleeps on.
But now…
he remembers
INT. MILITARY BASE – MEDICAL BAY – NIGHT
The room is dim. Clean. Quiet.
A slow, rhythmic beep echoes from the monitors beside the bed.
TONY STARK lies unconscious, an oxygen line under his nose, IV in his arm, his chest rising and falling steadily under a thin hospital blanket.
CLOSE-UP: His fingers twitch.
A flicker of movement beneath his eyelids.
Then—
His eyes snap open.
He gasps, sitting up too quickly. Machines beep in alarm.
A nurse rushes to his side.
NURSE:
"Mr. Stark, you need to lie—"
TONY (raspy):
"Where is it?"
NURSE:
"Please, you've just regained consciousness—"
TONY (urgent):
"The pod. The thing I brought in with me. Where is it?"
The nurse hesitates.
TONY (grabbing her wrist):
"Listen to me. That pod is not just tech. There's a kid in there."
The door swings open.
COL. JAMES RHODES steps in, looking relieved but tense.
RHODEY:
"Easy, Tony. You're safe. You made it."
TONY:
"Yeah, well, the desert tried its best. Did we bring it? The pod?"
RHODEY (nodding):
"Yeah. It's here. Locked down under my authorization. You weren't dreaming."
Tony falls back against the bed, breathing out slowly.
TONY:
"Good… 'cause for a second there I thought I dragged a space baby out of a heatstroke."
RHODEY (dry):
"You did."
A long pause.
Tony stares at the ceiling, expression turning serious.
TONY:
"I saw inside it, Rhodey. He's… not normal. Not tech. Not alien in the way we know it. There was something about that pod… like it was protecting him from more than just space."
RHODEY:
"SHIELD's already sniffing around. Ross too. They're waiting for you to pass out again so they can move it."
TONY (firm):
"No. No one touches that thing. Not until we know what it is — or who he is."
He tries to sit up again, slower this time.
TONY:
"That kid didn't come from nowhere. That pod… that crack in the sky... it was targeting something. Or escaping something."
RHODEY:
"What do we do?"
Tony looks toward the window. Outside, lightning flickers far in the distance.
TONY (quietly):
"We find out where he came from… before whatever he's running from finds us."
INT. SHIELD BLACKSITE – STRATEGIC OPERATIONS ROOM – NIGHT
Monitors glow across a darkened chamber deep beneath a secure SHIELD compound. Surveillance feeds. Energy readings. Heat maps. All focused on one location:
The Air Force base housing the pod.
The camera feed zooms in on PROJECT STARCRADLE, pulsing faintly inside its containment vault.
Around a circular war table, several high-level SHIELD analysts and operatives sit in silence. At the head of the table—
MARIA HILL, arms crossed, focused, calculating.
She presses a button.
A 3D hologram of the pod flickers above the table. Around it, red-ringed readings spin: unknown energy signatures, dimensional harmonics, genetic irregularities.
HILL:
"We still have no match on the material. Radiation readings are consistent with interdimensional traversal, but the technology is beyond anything we've encountered — Kree, Skrull, even Asgardian."
She taps the control pad. The image shifts — showing the faint outline of Franklin Richards sleeping inside.
HILL (grim):
"And there's a child inside. A human... or something like one."
The room shifts in tension.
SHIELD SCIENTIST:
"Preliminary biometric scans show his neural activity is off the charts. His vitals are... too perfect. It's like he's genetically stabilized against time, heat, decay — everything."
OPERATIONS LEAD:
"Then why is he still dormant?"
SCIENTIST:
"Unknown. He's in some kind of stasis loop. We can't access his consciousness — but it's active."
Hill leans forward, voice low.
HILL:
"Director Fury gave explicit orders: passive scans only. No interaction. No attempts to breach the pod."
SECURITY LEAD:
"But how long do we wait? Stark and Rhodes are sitting on something world-changing. Worse — it's not just tech. It's a weapon. Or a bomb."
The scientist hesitates.
SCIENTIST:
"Or a beacon."
Silence falls.
Everyone looks up.
HILL (quietly):
"Begin remote fallback protocols. Prep a mobile transport rig. I want a recovery team ready to move within twenty-four hours. If Stark slips, if Rhodes gives us an opening — we take the pod."
She shuts the console down, and the room plunges into dim red emergency light.
HILL (walking out):
"We don't know what it is yet. But if something sent it here… something might come looking.
INT. MILITARY BASE – SERVICE TUNNELS – LATE NIGHT
The base is quiet.
Too quiet.
A pair of footsteps echo down a maintenance tunnel, low and steady.
TONY STARK, now dressed in a borrowed base uniform with a security badge he clearly wasn't authorized to have, walks briskly. Beside him, COL. JAMES RHODES, far less sneaky but just as determined.
RHODEY (whispering):
"This is insane. You just got out of the med bay."
TONY:
"I built a prototype arc reactor in a cave, remember? I don't really do rest."
He checks a small tablet hacked into the base's schematics.
A red dot blinks.
TONY:
"Vault's just ahead. Two doors, three locks, motion sensors, thermal scans. Cute. They think that's going to stop us."
RHODEY (dry):
"It should. It's supposed to."
TONY (grinning):
"Exactly. That's why I brought this."
He pulls a small handheld disruptor from under his jacket — Stark tech, compact and glowing faintly blue.
RHODEY:
"You built that in a med bay, didn't you?"
TONY:
"No. This one I built in the infirmary hallway… while faking a limp."
They reach a reinforced steel door marked:
AUTHORIZED ACCESS: LEVEL 8 CLEARANCE ONLY – PROJECT STARCRADLE
Tony kneels at the control panel.
TONY (quietly):
"Let's open the egg."
He plugs in the disruptor. A soft hum rises.
The lights in the hall flicker once.
The vault's locking bolts disengage with a deep CLUNK.
Tony stands as the door slides open with a hiss.
INT. CONTAINMENT VAULT – CONTINUOUS
Cold air spills out as they step inside.
At the center of the room — the Starcradle pod, suspended above the floor in a magnetic field. Soft light pulses from its core, casting golden reflections across the walls.
For a moment, Tony doesn't speak.
He just stares.
The hum of the pod echoes with the faint sound of a heartbeat.
TONY (softly):
"He's alive."
RHODEY:
"Still sleeping. Still no sign of change."
TONY:
"Not yet. But I've been around energy like this before… Not this pure. Not this controlled. Whatever's keeping him stable, it's doing more than protecting him. It's teaching him. Prepping him."
Tony walks around the pod slowly, examining the subtle ridges in the casing, the shifting light inside. He places a hand gently on the smooth surface.
Suddenly—
The pod pulses.
A golden wave of light flashes across the walls.
TONY and RHODEY reel back.
TONY:
"Whoa—okay. That's new."
The pod's outer casing ripples like liquid metal. Just for a moment.
Then settles.
A faint, muffled cry is heard.
Tony leans in.
TONY (softly):
"He's dreaming."
RHODEY (nervous):
"You sure we should be doing this?"
TONY (serious now):
"No. But if SHIELD takes over, we'll never see this kid again. He becomes a weapon, or a case file, or worse—classified into a cage."
He stares at the pod a long moment.
TONY:
"I'm not letting that happen."
Behind them, security cameras blink.
Elsewhere in the base…
Someone is watching.
INT. SHIELD OBSERVATION BUNKER – CLASSIFIED LOCATION – NIGHT
Dozens of monitors line the walls, each flickering with real-time security feeds from the Air Force base. Most show nothing but corridors, hangars, and guard patrols.
But one feed—
CAMERA 14A – CONTAINMENT VAULT – LIVE
Shows Tony Stark and James Rhodes inside the vault.
Clear as day.
Examining the Starcradle pod.
SHIELD TECHNICIAN (urgently):
"Sir. Unauthorized breach of Vault 07. Stark and Colonel Rhodes are inside."
The camera feed zooms in.
The pod flickers with golden light. A subtle pulse spreads out across the vault — visible even on the black-and-white surveillance screen.
TECHNICIAN (grim):
"We're getting energy surges. The pod just responded to them."
FOOTSTEPS approach.
AGENT MARIA HILL enters, arms folded, eyes locked on the screen.
She exhales.
HILL:
"I knew Stark wouldn't wait."
She walks to the intercom panel, slaps a button.
HILL (to operations):
"Initiate Contingency Echo."
SHIELD AGENT (off-screen):
"Echo? That's a secure lockdown protocol."
HILL (calm):
"Exactly. We seal the vault from the outside. Let's see what the pod does when it senses real pressure."
TECHNICIAN (hesitant):
"Director Fury's standing orders were to avoid triggering a response—"
HILL (cutting him off):
"Director Fury isn't here. I'm not going to sit on my hands while two military assets poke a dimensional artifact with a wrench."
The lights dim to red as an automated lockdown signal is initiated.
INT. VAULT – CONTINUOUS
TONY and RHODEY hear it.
An alarm blares.
Steel doors begin to slide closed again — this time, locking with reinforced magnetic seals.
TONY (sarcastic):
"Well, that's not ominous."
RHODEY (grim):
"We've been made."
TONY:
"Yeah. But so has he."
He looks down at the pod.
It's glowing again.
Brighter.
INT. SHIELD BUNKER – CONTINUOUS
Back in the observation room, Hill narrows her eyes.
HILL (quietly):
"Let's see what happens when the Starcradle wakes up."
Behind her, the screen flickers.
Franklin's silhouette shifts.
Just for a moment—
His tiny hand moves.
INT. STARCRADLE POD – STASIS CORE – UNKNOWN TIME
Silence.
Then—
A heartbeat.
Soft. Echoing. Slow at first... then stronger.
Inside the pod's core, surrounded by layers of stasis fields and golden liquid light, FRANKLIN RICHARDS floats, curled slightly like an unborn star.
His fingers twitch.
His chest rises… and holds for just a second longer than before.
INT. VAULT – CONTINUOUS
TONY STARK and RHODEY stand frozen as the lights inside the pod begin to shift.
Golden pulses become steady waves, flowing across the smooth surface in rhythm with something deeper. The hum of the pod turns melodic — harmonic — like a voice beginning to sing without words.
TONY (awed):
"Something's happening."
The surface of the pod ripples, and through the translucent top, the silhouette of a tiny hand presses against the inside wall.
Inside—
INT. POD – STASIS CORE
Franklin's eyes slowly open.
Not cloudy like a newborn.
But clear. Deep.
And glowing faintly blue with cosmic light.
He stares upward.
Not at Tony. Not at Rhodey.
But at something far beyond the pod walls — as if sensing the world for the first time, and remembering everything he had lost.
Suddenly—
FLASHES OF MEMORY
His mother's face.
His father's hands.
A planet in flames.
A voice in the void: "You are not just a remnant… you are chosen."
Franklin blinks slowly.
A tear escapes his eye, floating weightlessly in the stasis field before dissolving into light.
His hand closes into a tiny fist.
INT. VAULT – CONTINUOUS
The pod glows brighter, its light casting long shadows against the sealed vault walls.
The hum grows louder — filling the chamber like a chorus of stars.
RHODEY (tense):
"Tony… he's waking up."
Tony doesn't speak.
He just stares.
Because for a moment—just a moment—the light inside the pod flares…
…and he sees the child's face.
Awake.
Calm.
But behind those eyes—a storm.
A mind too vast for its age.
A soul far older than the body that contains it.
INT. CONTAINMENT VAULT – MOMENTS LATER
The light inside the pod intensifies, golden and radiant, until it becomes almost blinding. The humming stops—cutting into absolute silence.
Then—a soft hiss.
Tiny vents open along the pod's seam.
Steam coils outward.
Metal plates fold away, one by one, like petals of a flower blooming in reverse.
And there—cradled in a shimmering cocoon of glowing energy—Franklin Richards lies awake.
His eyes open wide. Blue. Bright. A galaxy in miniature.
He does not cry.
He just looks up… at Tony Stark.
TONY (frozen):
"You're just a kid…"
Franklin's gaze is calm. Almost knowing. He reaches out—tiny fingers stretching, not in fear, but in silent trust.
Tony takes an unconscious step forward.
FLASH — MEMORY (TONY'S POV):
A young Tony at his father's lab table, ignored.
Yinsen's dying words: "Don't waste your life."
The shrapnel. The cave. The fear.
Himself, alone, building something to survive.
BACK TO SCENE—
Tony kneels.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He places a hand under Franklin's, gently lifting him from the pod.
The baby rests against his chest without resistance. The glow around him fades, retreating into his skin.
TONY (softly):
"You've lost everything, haven't you…"
Behind them—the vault doors SLAM OPEN.
SHIELD AGENTS and MILITARY TROOPS pour in.
COL. ROSS:
"Step away from the child, Stark."
SHIELD AGENT:
"He needs to be secured. You've breached every protocol—"
TONY (standing, firm, holding Franklin):
"You're not taking him."
ROSS (hard):
"That thing is an unknown threat. For all we know, it's a time bomb!"
TONY (sharper):
"He's not a thing. He's a child. One that fell out of a crack in space, alone, terrified, and probably with more power than anything you've ever pointed a gun at. And he's not going into a lab."
AGENT:
"It's not your decision, Stark. SHIELD will handle this."
TONY (steely):
"Funny. That's what SHIELD said when Hydra was building nukes under your nose."
The room stiffens.
ROSS (growling):
"You don't have the authority—"
TONY (interrupting):
"I don't need it. Because this kid isn't a weapon. He's a survivor. And until I know who or what is coming after him... I'm not letting him out of my sight."
Franklin presses his face to Tony's chest — quiet, glowing faintly under his skin.
RHODEY steps forward, calm but resolute.
RHODEY:
"You want to start a fight with the guy who just escaped a terrorist cell and carried a literal alien baby through the desert to save its life? Be my guest."
A long silence.
Then—
SHIELD AGENT (into comms, reluctantly):
"Director… Stark has the child."
A beat.
Then Fury's voice — clipped, distant, coming through the agent's earpiece.
FURY (V.O.):
"Let him go."
The agents lower their weapons, tension reluctantly draining from the room.
Ross glares at Tony.
ROSS:
"This isn't over."
TONY (turning away):
"No. It's just beginning."
He cradles Franklin tightly, walking past the soldiers, through the vault doors, and into the hallway beyond — carrying the future in his arms.
TONY STARK holds Franklin Richards close to his chest, his body angled protectively between the child and a wall of armed soldiers and SHIELD agents.
Red alert lights flicker overhead. The vault hums with static from the pod's energy. The silence is thick.
COL. ROSS steps forward, jaw clenched.
ROSS (stern):
"Stark. This isn't your decision. That's a potential extraterrestrial threat in your arms."
TONY (sharp):
"It's a child. One who didn't ask to crash-land on our doorstep."
ROSS (ignoring it):
"You're not qualified to handle containment, analysis, or high-risk anomalies. You're not even enlisted."
TONY (dry):
"Yeah, and yet here I am — the only one who didn't point a gun at a baby."
A few soldiers shift uncomfortably. The tension ratchets higher.
SHIELD AGENT 1:
"The longer he remains unmonitored, the greater the danger. You saw the pod react. If he activates again—"
TONY (cutting in):
"He did activate. And what did he do? Cry. Sleep. Glow a little. If that's your threat profile, your bar's pretty damn low."
ROSS (frustrated):
"This isn't about sentiment. This is about security."
TONY (serious):
"I've lived in a cave. I've been tortured, bled, wired with a car battery to the chest. And I've seen what real threats look like. This kid isn't one of them."
SHIELD AGENT 2:
"You don't know that."
Tony takes a step forward, holding Franklin tighter.
TONY:
"You're right. I don't. But I also don't put guns in a nursery just in case the baby might explode."
ROSS (coldly):
"You're playing god."
TONY (without hesitation):
"No. I'm protecting one."
That stings.
The room goes dead still.
The baby shifts in Tony's arms, his skin glowing faintly gold. A soft, low pulse radiates from his body — gentle, not threatening. Calming.
TONY (softening slightly):
"Look at him. He's not just power. He's someone. Someone who lost everything and still found a way to reach out. We don't throw that into a box and forget it."
Ross looks to the SHIELD agents, then back to Tony.
Still tense.
Still tempted.
ROSS:
"If something goes wrong—"
TONY (interrupting):
"—Then I take responsibility. Me. Not SHIELD. Not the Air Force. Not your next black-ops committee."
SHIELD AGENT 1:
"We could classify this right now. Take the pod. Wipe the feeds."
TONY:
"Go ahead and try. But be prepared to explain how your classified subject just showed up in my next press conference."
A long silence.
Then—a comm device beeps.
SHIELD AGENT (listening in):
"…Director Fury says let Stark walk."
Everyone freezes.
ROSS:
"You're kidding."
SHIELD AGENT (grim):
"Word is... he wants to see where this goes."
Tony smiles faintly.
TONY:
"Smart man."
ROSS (warning):
"You're not untouchable, Stark."
TONY (turning away):
"I know. But right now? He is."
He walks past them slowly, each step deliberate, cradling Franklin like something fragile and sacred.
As the vault doors slide open again to let him out—
Franklin stirs.
Eyes still glowing faintly.
And for a brief moment—
Every electronic device in the vault flickers. Lights dim. Guns click. Radios buzz with distorted whispers from another world.
Everyone freezes.
And then—
Silence.
TONY (under his breath):
"Yeah… I thought so."
He steps into the hall and disappears into the shadows.
Behind him, the vault seals.
A child is loose in the world now.
And the people who tried to control him…
just saw the first reason why they never will.
INT. SHIELD HELICARRIER – PRIVATE STRATEGY ROOM – NIGHT
The room is dark. Sleek. High above the clouds, the Helicarrier hums in near silence.
A large digital display shows live satellite footage of the military base — a red dot tracking a vehicle leaving the perimeter. Inside that vehicle: Tony Stark and Franklin Richards.
Standing with his back to the screen—
NICK FURY, arms folded behind him, his single eye fixed on the desert horizon.
Behind him, Maria Hill enters the room briskly, tablet in hand.
HILL:
"He walked out of the base twenty minutes ago. Rhodes ran interference. No resistance. But they're headed off-grid."
FURY:
"Stark's always been a problem. Now he's a problem with a cosmic rattle."
HILL (flatly):
"You let him walk."
FURY (turns slightly):
"I let him choose."
Hill approaches, flipping through files on her tablet — grainy stills of Franklin, energy readings from the pod, sensor distortions.
HILL:
"We still don't know what that child is. He's not listed in any database. His DNA has human markers, but… something else too. It's like he's engineered, but not artificially."
She stops on a thermal scan: Franklin in Tony's arms, glowing like a sun.
HILL:
"He's not just a baby, sir. He's a battery wrapped in a blanket. A power source that rewrites every rule we thought we understood."
FURY (quietly):
"He's also alive. And if Stark's right… alone."
Hill lowers the tablet.
HILL:
"If he loses control—"
FURY:
"Then we make sure someone's watching."
He turns to the table and presses a button.
A holographic map appears, tracking Stark's vehicle moving toward the California desert — the direction of a hidden Stark Industries compound.
FURY:
"Put a permanent drone on his location. No interference. No contact. We let Stark think he's off the leash."
HILL:
"And if he disappears?"
FURY (coldly):
"Then we start Phase Two."
He stares at the glowing map.
FURY (to himself):
"The universe sent us a child wrapped in cosmic fire… and put it in the arms of a man who learned empathy in a cave."
He exhales slowly.
FURY:
"Let's hope that's not the beginning of a warning
EXT. CALIFORNIA DESERT – STARK PRIVATE COMPOUND – SUNRISE
A sleek Stark Industries SUV bumps along a dusty road. In the distance, a low, metallic facility rises out of the rock — all sharp lines, camo plating, and solar panels. No signs, no guards. Hidden. Secure.
The vehicle pulls into a covered bay. The doors slide shut.
INT. STARK SAFEHOUSE ALPHA – LOADING BAY – MOMENTS LATER
TONY STARK steps out of the vehicle, still sore but moving like someone running on caffeine and adrenaline.
In his arms — swaddled in a Stark-logo blanket — Franklin Richards, eyes wide and quietly observing the world.
The lights flicker on automatically.
JARVIS (V.O.):
"Welcome home, Mr. Stark. You appear... mildly scorched and surprisingly paternal."
TONY (grinning):
"You should see the other guy, Jarvis. Oh, wait. He's a baby."
He looks down at Franklin, who gurgles softly.
TONY (to Franklin):
"Okay, kid. I don't know what you eat. I don't know what language you speak. And frankly, I don't know if you accidentally sneeze antimatter."
They walk through the corridor into the main living area — a hybrid of lab, lounge, and tech command center.
TONY:
"But good news — I've got a fully stocked kitchen, top-tier AI support, and at least a 40% chance of not emotionally scarring you before lunch."
Franklin makes a tiny fart sound.
Tony blinks.
TONY (deadpan):
"Okay, I deserved that."
He sets Franklin gently on a plush, Stark-designed cradle-bed that scans vitals and adjusts cushioning automatically.
TONY:
"This, my shiny-headed friend, is the world's most advanced crib-slash-nap-throne. Patent pending."
Franklin stares up at him.
Then — giggles.
Just once.
A soft, high-pitched sound — real, human, innocent.
Tony freezes.
Then slowly smiles.
TONY (quietly):
"Yeah… You're gonna break my heart, aren't you?"
He sits beside the cradle, leaning back.
TONY:
"You know, I didn't sign up for this. I was supposed to build rockets, make money, crash parties in Monaco…"
He pauses.
TONY (murmuring):
"And yet, here I am. Hiding in the desert with a space baby. Just another Tuesday."
Franklin reaches toward him, placing a small hand on Tony's arm.
The contact is warm. Gentle.
Tony looks down.
And for the first time in days — his expression softens, no sarcasm.
Just… something like peace.
TONY (smiling):
"Alright, kid. You win. Let's figure this out… together.
Franklin point of view
Darkness.
Not sleep.
Not unconsciousness.
Something deeper.
A liminal space where a soul floats — between what it once was, and what it has become.
Then—
Light.
A sudden burst. Gentle but absolute.
And with it—
Memory.
I remember the void. The stars. The end of my world. The voice of a god made of galaxies.
I remember my mother's hands. My father's eyes. Fire falling from the sky.
I remember being… not this. Not small. Not helpless.
His eyes open.
But not like a newborn.
They open with awareness.
With weight.
The ceiling above him is smooth, silver-white — alien to this soul, but familiar to the body it now occupies.
His vision stutters as two realities overlap in his mind:
This room, sterile, lit by artificial lights…And the memory of another sky, burning, collapsing… stars screaming as the universe died.
His small body shifts. Muscles unfamiliar. Movement is slow. Awkward.
But his soul is not.
It remembers freedom.
It remembers power.
I was more. I was light shaped into thought. A thread of destiny woven into time. I was… Franklin Richards.
The name echoes inside him like thunder underwater.
Sound.
Footsteps.
He turns his head.
He sees Tony Stark.
Not with fear.
But with a curious, detached recognition.
This man... he's loud. Fire inside. Not cosmic, but still brilliant. Lost, like I was. Like I am.
Franklin watches him speak. The words don't matter yet.
But the tone does.
Protective.Tired.Trying.
Franklin reaches — not physically — but with the strands of memory only his soul still holds.
He remembers dying.
The pod. The launch. His mother's kiss.
"Forgive us… for not giving you more time."
A sharp ache forms in his chest — not from pain, but from the weight of remembering love that cannot be reached again.
And suddenly — this man's face softens in his vision.
Not just a stranger.
Not a father.
But a second chance.
Tony leans over him.
His voice echoes strangely in Franklin's mind, filtered through memory and intuition.
TONY (muffled):
"What are you, kid?"
Franklin doesn't answer — not yet.
But inside…
I am the last soul of a broken Earth.
I am a god inside a child's heartbeat.
I am the hope they buried in the stars.
A flicker of gold ripples under his skin.
His heart beats stronger.
His mind—clearer.
His fate?
Still unwritten.
But now he knows…
He is awake.
And the universe will never be the same again.
INT. STARK SAFEHOUSE – LIVING AREA – NIGHT
The room is quiet.
Too quiet.
TONY STARK sits at a nearby desk, poring over projected readouts from Franklin's pod — energy patterns, molecular scans, dimensional echoes — all beyond even his advanced understanding.
He runs a hand through his hair, frustration in every breath.
TONY (to himself):
"Kid's built like a power reactor with a bedtime."
Then—a sound.
A low hum, not from any machine.
It vibrates through the floor like a tuning fork struck against the world.
Tony turns.
The cradle glows.
TONY (alarmed):
"Uh-oh…"
He stands quickly, backing toward Franklin as monitors across the room begin to flicker. The walls ripple faintly, not physically — spiritually.
A golden light flares out from Franklin's small body, a pulse that spreads across the room like a wave of gravity.
A coffee mug lifts. Tools clatter to the ground in slow motion.
Tony's chest arc reactor flickers for half a second.
TONY:
"Okay, that's new."
He rushes to the cradle, looking down. Franklin lies still — awake now — eyes open, glowing blue with soft golden veins of light running across his skin. Not chaotic. Just… present.
Tony freezes.
The look in the child's eyes…
He's not looking at Tony.
He's looking into him.
For a long, silent moment, neither of them moves.
The air feels thick. Charged. Sacred.
Tony lowers his voice.
TONY (softly):
"Hey… kid…"
Franklin blinks.
The light fades.
The monitors return to normal. Gravity settles. The mug drops and shatters on the floor.
Franklin yawns.
TONY:
"You just... rewrote my physics lab like it was a jazz solo."
He sits slowly, stunned.
Then leans closer.
TONY (quieter now):
"What are you?"
Franklin reaches up with one tiny hand.
Touches Tony's chest — right over the arc reactor.
The pulse that comes is subtle this time. Warm. Comforting. A ripple of recognition.
Tony exhales sharply.
For once, he has no words.
Just… understanding.
This kid isn't a threat.
He's not even scared.
He's just awake.
And Tony Stark, for all his genius, has never felt more unprepared.
TONY (quietly):
"Alright, space god baby. Lesson one: no more surprise energy bursts before coffee."
Franklin smiles.
Just a little.
And for the first time…
Tony does too.
INT. STARK SAFEHOUSE – NIGHT
The soft glow in the room fades.
The hum that filled the air after Franklin's awakening… quiets.
Now, only the sound of Tony's breathing and the distant buzz of flickering machinery.
Tony kneels beside the cradle, staring down at Franklin, whose tiny body now lies limp — asleep again, or maybe something deeper.
His eyelids flutter faintly.
His face is pale.
His glow is gone.
TONY (softly):
"Kid?"
No response.
Tony checks his vitals — a Stark-patched sensor display lights up on the side of the cradle.
Heart rate: Normal.
Brain activity: Fluctuating. Spiking. Dropping.
Cosmic radiation signature: Unstable.
TONY (murmuring):
"Burned too hot... too fast."
He brushes a hand through his hair and stands slowly, pacing.
TONY (thinking aloud):
"You woke up… dumped enough energy to short out a substation… and now you're out cold again. That's not sleep. That's crash."
He turns toward the lab console, pulling up every scan, every frame of energy data from moments before.
Golden spikes.
Dimensional signatures.
Brainwave patterns not found in any known species.
He zooms in on the waveforms—sine waves overlaid with fractal patterns. Organic... but impossibly complex.
TONY (quietly):
"You weren't just remembering something."
FLASHBACK (brief visual burst from Franklin's POV):
A star imploding.
A woman calling his name.
"Franklin, go!"
A pod. A tear in space.
The world ending.
BACK TO SCENE
Tony slowly sits.
Rubbing his temples.
TONY:
"You saw it. You lived it."
He looks back at Franklin.
Peaceful again.
Small.
Still just a child.
TONY (to himself):
"So what do I do with a walking supernova who cries and naps between flashes of godhood?"
He stares at the ceiling.
TONY:
"SHIELD'll want him back. The government? Even worse. I could dump him in another dimension, but that's how horror movies start."
He glances at Franklin again.
He doesn't glow anymore.
He just… breathes.
Soft and steady.
TONY (softly):
"Okay, think, Stark. You've got a cosmic baby with PTSD and memory overload… and the most powerful energy signature you've ever recorded. He needs rest. A way to regulate his powers. Safety. Somewhere secure…"
He pauses.
Then—
TONY:
"He needs you to stall."
He exhales.
TONY (deciding):
"No calls. No labs. Not yet. First thing's first — keep him breathing. Keep him calm. And whatever happens next… don't screw it up."
Tony looks one more time at the sleeping child.
A spark of resolve flashes in his eyes.
TONY (quietly):
"Don't worry, Franklin. You're not going back in a box. Not on my watch."
He kills the lights.
The room falls into silence.
Only the sound of a child's steady breathing…
…and the quiet hum of the stars above.
INT. STARK SAFEHOUSE – EARLY MORNING
The light of dawn filters in through narrow, dust-covered windows. The quiet hum of power echoes faintly from deep below.
Tony Stark sits in the corner of the room, elbows on his knees, face lit only by the soft glow of a monitor. His beard is rough. His clothes are wrinkled from two sleepless nights.
He hasn't touched the coffee beside him.
His eyes are fixed on the small cradle-bed in the center of the room — where Franklin sleeps.
Peacefully.
Still.
A child not of this world.
Tony leans back slowly. Exhales.
TONY (softly):
"You crash out of a hole in space… land in my arms… and now you're snoring like you've been through more than I have."
He pauses, rubbing his face.
TONY:
"And that's saying something."
He glances toward a nearby wall — a whiteboard where he's scribbled half-formed theories:
Dimensional energy pulseNon-terrestrial DNAMemory response triggers?Stabilization needed — too young, too powerful?
Tony throws the marker aside.
Stands.
Walks over to the cradle.
He looks down at Franklin — and something unspoken shifts in his expression. The usual smirk is gone. Replaced by quiet confusion. Maybe guilt.
Maybe something deeper.
TONY (quietly):
"You didn't ask to be here. And I'm probably the worst guy in the world to be the first face you see."
He kneels down slowly.
TONY:
"I'm not a soldier. Not a hero. Not your dad. I'm a guy who got rich building bombs for people I don't respect."
He shrugs.
TONY:
"But I saw what they were gonna do to you. The way they looked at you — like a weapon. Like property."
He looks Franklin in the eyes as the baby blinks, half-awake.
TONY (firm):
"That's not gonna happen. Not on my watch."
He pulls a small StarkTech tablet from the floor, flips it open, and opens a private protocol.
TONY (muttering as he types):
"Project: Starcradle. Subject: Franklin. Status: protected. Custody claimed by: Anthony Stark, CEO, Stark Industries."
He pauses.
Then adds one more line:
TONY (out loud):
"Guardian… and unofficial dad, until you start shooting lasers out of your eyes. Then we'll negotiate."
Franklin yawns.
Tony watches him quietly for a moment.
Then pulls a blanket up around him, careful, deliberate — like he's done this before, even if he hasn't.
TONY (soft):
"You're stuck with me now, space boy."
He stands.
And for the first time since escaping the desert...
He doesn't feel alone.
INT. STARK INDUSTRIES PRESS ROOM – DAY
The room buzzes with energy. Dozens of reporters, photographers, and media crews are packed shoulder-to-shoulder.
A STARK INDUSTRIES banner hangs behind a sleek podium.
It's Tony Stark's first public appearance since his rescue from the Afghan desert.
The doors swing open.
Tony Stark steps onto the stage.
He looks thinner, rougher, less polished — no sunglasses, no showboating.
But there's something new in his arms.
A baby.
The crowd falls into stunned silence.
Tony steps up to the podium.
He looks out across the sea of shocked expressions.
TONY (softly):
"Good morning."
Flashbulbs begin to pop. Whispered questions ripple through the room.
TONY:
"Yeah, I know. You're all wondering about two things. First — am I okay? And second — is that a baby?"
NERVOUS LAUGHTER.
Tony nods.
TONY:
"Let's get the hard part out of the way first."
He pauses. Looks down at the child in his arms.
TONY:
"This is Franklin Stark. My son."
Gasps.
MURMURS ERUPT.
"Your what?"
"When did—?"
"Since when—?"
TONY (raising a hand):
"No follow-up questions. No tabloids. No scandal. This isn't a secret experiment, a surrogate rumor, or a PR move. He's my kid. Mine."
He looks up. Voice firmer.
TONY:
"I didn't know I had a son until recently. But I do now. And that changes everything."
Silence again.
He shifts Franklin gently, resting the child against his chest.
TONY (more serious):
"Which brings me to the second thing."
He takes a breath.
TONY:
"Effective immediately… Stark Industries is shutting down its weapons manufacturing division."
The room erupts in shouting.
REPORTERS (overlapping):
"Are you serious?"
"What about defense contracts?"
"How will this affect the military?"
Tony stands his ground.
TONY:
"I've seen what our weapons do. Firsthand. I saw it in the hands of the wrong people. In war zones. In places my company was never supposed to be."
He looks down at Franklin again.
His voice softens.
TONY:
"I don't want my son growing up in a world built on something I created to destroy."
He looks back to the press — eyes steady, no arrogance, just truth.
TONY:
"From today forward, we build something better. Something cleaner. Something worth leaving behind for him."
Tony steps back from the podium.
TONY (quietly):
"That's all."
He turns.
Walks offstage.
Leaving the press in a storm of shouts, cameras, and panic.
But he doesn't look back.
Because for the first time in his life—
Tony Stark knows exactly what he wants to build.
INT. SHIELD MONITORING HUB – CLASSIFIED LOCATION – SAME TIME
Dimly lit. Walls lined with monitors and holographic displays.
Every screen is locked on one feed:
TONY STARK'S PRESS CONFERENCE.
The room is dead silent.
On the main monitor, Tony is mid-speech:
TONY (ON SCREEN):
"…Effective immediately, Stark Industries is shutting down its weapons manufacturing division."
CLOSE-UP: Nick Fury's face.
Expression unreadable.
Beside him, Maria Hill stands with her arms crossed, eyes narrowing slightly.
A few junior agents exchange stunned glances in the background.
No one dares speak.
TONY (ON SCREEN):
"I don't want my son growing up in a world built on something I created to destroy."
Hill leans forward, pausing the feed on a frozen frame: Tony holding Franklin protectively.
HILL (quietly):
"That's not just any baby."
FURY (low):
"Nope."
HILL:
"He went off-script. Ignored the media protocol, dodged the debrief, and now he's holding a cosmic unknown on live TV — and calling it his son."
Fury's eye remains fixed on the screen.
FURY (calmly):
"He made a choice. And a big one."
HILL:
"Sir… you think Stark knows what that child really is?"
Fury doesn't answer immediately.
He watches Tony walk offstage on the screen.
FURY (finally):
"No. But he's about to find out."
He turns from the screen and walks toward a secure terminal.
FURY:
"Pull everything we have on unexplained cosmic energy surges in the last 72 hours. I want background on every lab that might've detected that pulse — quietly."
HILL:
"And Stark?"
FURY (flatly):
"We let him play dad."
He taps a control panel. Franklin's glowing pulse signature overlays the screen — bright, expanding like a sun.
FURY (grim):
"For now."
INT. STARK SAFEHOUSE – PRIVATE WORKSHOP – EARLY MORNING
The sun filters through dust-coated glass panels. The safehouse is still.
Tony Stark stands alone in his underground workshop — a space built for genius, cluttered with tools, metal parts, and glowing sketches hovering in the air like projections of thoughts.
He's in a plain T-shirt, hair still a mess, dark circles under his eyes — but his hands are moving. Focused. Fluid.
On a floating holographic display:
A new design is forming. Not a weapon. Not quite armor.
Something different.
JARVIS (V.O.):
"Sir, you've received thirty-seven voicemails. Eleven from General Thaddeus Ross, six from the Pentagon, and one marked 'extremely angry' from Christine Everhart."
TONY (without looking up):
"Ignore them all. Except Christine. Send her a fruit basket. With lasers."
JARVIS:
"Noted. Would you also like me to block Agent Coulson's latest contact attempt?"
TONY:
"Already did. Tell him I'm busy parenting the end of reality."
He zooms in on a section of his design — a smooth, curved shell resembling a containment harness, infused with flexible energy stabilizers.
He mutters as he adjusts it.
TONY:
"Lightweight. Non-invasive. Adaptive to fluctuations. If he glows again, I want him glowing in the safe direction."
Footsteps behind him.
Tiny ones.
Tony turns.
Franklin, now wrapped in a warm hoodie, toddles sleepily down the short ramp into the lab, dragging a blanket behind him.
TONY (mock stern):
"Whoa there, little supernova. I thought you were sleeping till lunch."
Franklin just blinks up at him.
Then sits on the floor with a dramatic flop.
Tony chuckles.
He crouches down and slides over a small circuit cube that glows softly — a toy he built the night before.
Franklin grabs it. It lights up golden in his hands.
JARVIS (quietly):
"His energy levels appear stable this morning, sir."
TONY:
"Good. I don't need my entire lab melted before breakfast."
Tony walks back to the display, but glances back at Franklin every few seconds.
TONY (to himself):
"They think I'm crazy. Maybe I am. But they're not the ones looking into his eyes when he dreams."
The design shifts again.
He draws out a second piece — a bracelet, this one meant for monitoring Franklin's pulses in real time.
TONY (to JARVIS):
"If he's gonna grow up with this… spark, we need to give it structure. Something he can wear. Not some prison collar."
JARVIS:
"Parental guidance with biometric stabilization. A first in Stark Industries' product line."
TONY:
"You mock, but I might trademark it."
Franklin babbles something incoherent.
Tony turns and raises an eyebrow.
TONY:
"Was that approval? Or a challenge?"
Franklin smiles.
A small, familiar glow builds in his hands — just enough to make the lights flicker.
Tony looks up at the ceiling, sighs.
TONY:
"Alright. Fine. I get it. No coffee while I'm designing containment tech for a toddler made of starlight."
He kneels beside Franklin again, ruffles his hair gently.
TONY (quietly):
"We're gonna figure this out. Together. Me and you, kid. And no one's taking you away."
The two sit on the cold workshop floor.
A man rebuilding his purpose.
And a child rediscovering his place in the world.
After press conference
INT. STARK SAFEHOUSE – ROOFTOP DECK – SUNSET
The sky burns gold over the California desert. The wind hums gently across the steel deck of the safehouse.
Tony Stark sits on a folding chair, a cold drink in his hand, staring out over the horizon.
The sliding door behind him opens.
RHODEY (O.S.):
"You're a lunatic, you know that?"
TONY (without turning):
"I've been called worse."
RHODEY:
"Weapons shutdown. National security meltdown. And oh yeah — surprise baby reveal? You went full soap opera."
TONY (finally turns, half-grinning):
"Hey, at least I didn't drop it in a TikTok."
Rhodey walks over, standing beside him, arms crossed.
They sit in silence for a moment, watching the sun dip lower.
RHODEY (calmer now):
"Is he really yours?"
Tony doesn't answer right away.
He swirls the drink in his hand, watching the light catch it.
TONY (quietly):
"I didn't know he existed. Didn't ask for him. But yeah. He's mine."
RHODEY:
"And… the mother?"
TONY (softly):
"Don't know. Maybe never will."
Rhodey sits beside him, trying to process.
RHODEY:
"You don't even know where he came from. You barely made it out of that cave. You've got the military breathing down your neck, SHIELD snooping in your trash, and the first thing you do is announce a kid to the world?"
TONY (shrugging):
"Could've waited. Hid him. Called it a 'personal matter.' But that's not how I wanted to start this."
He pauses, looking down at his hands.
TONY:
"The old man built a company that made billions off war. I inherited that. Sold destruction wrapped in chrome."
TONY (firm):
"I don't want Franklin growing up in that shadow. I want him to see something different."
RHODEY (watching him):
"You sure you're ready for this? Diapers, bottles, cosmic meltdowns—"
TONY:
"Already got thrown up on twice. He glows when he's gassy."
RHODEY (deadpan):
"That's not normal."
TONY (grinning):
"Neither am I."
A beat of silence.
RHODEY:
"You really love him?"
TONY (looking straight ahead):
"Don't know what it is yet. Not love like people expect. It's not Hallmark and lullabies."
He leans back in the chair.
TONY:
"But I looked in his eyes, and I saw someone like me. Alone. Scared. Too much weight in something so small."
Tony finally looks at Rhodey.
TONY (honest):
"I'm not letting him go through what I did. Not if I can help it."
Rhodey stares at him for a moment.
Then nods.
RHODEY (quietly):
"Alright then. If you're in, I'm in."
TONY (mock suspicious):
"Wait. You volunteering to babysit?"
RHODEY:
"Hell no. I'm just saying — I got your back. Whatever comes next."
They both smile.
The sun slips beneath the horizon.
Inside the house, a faint glow flickers from Franklin's room.
Tony glances back.
Then forward.
Resolved.
INT. SHIELD HIGH COMMAND – STRATEGIC OPS ROOM – NIGHT
A secure, windowless conference room bathed in soft blue light.
Multiple holograms float in the air — Franklin's energy readings, Tony's press conference footage, stills of the pod, Stark facility schematics, and a detailed cosmic radiation map.
Around the table:
Nick Fury — standing at the head, arms behind his back, silent but watchful.Maria Hill — seated, flipping through a datapad, lips pressed tight.Agent Coulson, calm as always, observing rather than speaking.Three senior SHIELD analysts — tense, alert, whispering among themselves.
The room is thick with tension.
FURY (breaking the silence):
"So. Stark's got a kid. A glowing, energy-pulsing, possibly extraterrestrial kid. And he just handed that information to the world."
HILL:
"Not possibly. The energy spike from the pod matched off-world signals we've never seen before — except one."
She taps a command.
A new projection appears — a cosmic rift scan.
HILL:
"This matches readings from deep-space events reported by the Xandar Nova Corps two years ago."
COULSON (quietly):
"So he didn't just come from another place. He might've come from another reality."
Fury doesn't flinch.
FURY:
"And Stark is sitting on this kid like he's a normal baby."
ANALYST 1:
"Sir, if that child has even half the power this data suggests—"
ANALYST 2:
"—he could level a city. Or worse. And Stark doesn't exactly have a record of good judgment."
COULSON:
"He made a choice. One we didn't expect. But he hasn't harmed anyone. Yet."
HILL (to Fury):
"So what's our move?"
Fury steps closer to the main display.
The image of Franklin Stark, in Tony's arms during the press conference, flickers.
Fury stares at it.
Then speaks low and deliberate.
FURY:
"We don't take him."
The room goes still.
FURY (turning to face them):
"Not yet. We monitor. We observe. We make Stark believe we're giving him space."
HILL (skeptical):
"And if the boy loses control again?"
FURY:
"Then we'll be ready."
He presses a command. Another hologram appears: PROJECT OMEGA – STATUS: STANDBY.
COULSON:
"You're preparing a failsafe."
FURY:
"I'm preparing for possibilities. One of those possibilities is that Stark just adopted a god."
He shuts off the display.
FURY:
"Keep your eyes open. No pressure. No raids. And nobody makes a move unless I say so."
He starts to leave, then stops at the door.
FURY (without turning):
"He's a Stark. That means trouble follows. But maybe… just maybe… he deserves a shot."
INT. STARK SAFEHOUSE – MAIN LAB – MORNING
The lab is quiet — early light streaming in through ceiling panels. Tools hang neatly on walls. Screens flicker gently. A prototype gauntlet arm whirs softly on a workbench.
The camera is low, from Franklin's point of view.
Tiny feet patter on the metal floor.
Franklin, now dressed in a loose Stark Tech toddler hoodie and soft-soled shoes, wanders into the lab, eyes wide.
There's no one else in the room.
Tony is upstairs — coffee in one hand, multitasking like usual.
But here, in this place full of wonder, Franklin is alone.
And curious.
He reaches up to the nearest workbench — too high. He tilts his head and squints.
A faint golden shimmer pulses in his hand.
And suddenly—
The nearby stool slides toward him on its own.
Franklin blinks. Tilts his head. Then climbs up onto it with surprising balance.
From his perch, he now sees:
A mini-reactor glowing in a containment jarA floating drone partially disassembledA screen running blueprints of something new: Project Cradle Guard
He touches the screen.
It changes — flicking through designs with the lightest touch of his finger.
Not random.
Intentional.
INT. STARK SAFEHOUSE – UPSTAIRS – CONTINUOUS
Tony (offscreen) is speaking to JARVIS while pouring coffee.
TONY:
"If he tries to eat any wires, I need an alert, JARVIS."
JARVIS (V.O.):
"He has not chewed on anything today, sir. Though he appears to be reprogramming your auto-drone interface."
TONY (freezing mid-sip):
"…He's what?"
INT. STARK SAFEHOUSE – MAIN LAB – SAME TIME
Franklin sits on the stool, tapping lightly on the screen.
The drone beside him sparks to life — without its power source connected.
It lifts slightly.
Wobbles.
Then stabilizes — hovering in perfect balance, glowing faintly gold at its core.
Franklin smiles.
A little proud.
A little confused.
He raises his hand toward it.
The glow in his palm resonates with the drone's arc pulse.
They vibrate together — like tuning forks in harmony.
Then—
TONY (O.S.):
"Whoa, whoa, whoa—!"
Tony rushes in, nearly spilling his drink.
He skids to a stop.
TONY (carefully):
"Okay. First off — not bad. Honestly impressive. Second — maybe don't pilot unstable drones without a helmet."
Franklin just giggles and lets the drone float back down.
It shuts off.
Tony walks over, kneels beside him.
TONY:
"You're not just glowing now. You're syncing with machines."
JARVIS (V.O.):
"Telemetry confirms low-level electromagnetic communication, sir. He's not controlling it. He's speaking to it."
Tony sits back, a little stunned.
TONY (quiet):
"Okay… we're past baby genius and deep into alien tech whisperer."
He looks at Franklin, who's already turned to look at the blueprint of a reactor core — eyes scanning it like a puzzle he almost understands.
Tony watches him.
Then smiles.
TONY (teasing):
"You know you're gonna have to start paying rent if you keep out-inventing me."
Franklin gives him a blank stare.
Then points to the coffee cup in Tony's hand.
TONY (nodding):
"Right. You want juice. Noted."
They both laugh.
And for just a moment, the world feels simple.
But behind that laugh…
Franklin's eyes flicker gold again.
The screen pulses.
And something deep in the far corners of space echoes back.