Aboard the President of the United States' plane.
One of Killian's men stood inside the cabin wearing the Iron Patriot armor. He faced the President directly.
The President was crouched under the table, confused and terrified. From his point of view, it looked like James Rhodes had turned on them.
The armored figure opened fire on the security detail without hesitation. Agents went down as the cabin filled with gunfire and alarms.
The President stayed frozen in place, unable to understand why the man meant to protect him was attacking instead.
The gunfire stopped.
Slowly, the President lifted his head from beneath the table.
A new figure was standing in the middle of the cabin.
Luke.
He had one hand wrapped around the throat of the Iron Patriot armor, lifting it clean off the floor like it weighed nothing.
"You know," Luke said casually, "you guys really did a great job ruining my Christmas."
He tilted his head. "Which is funny, because I didn't even remember when Christmas was until today—so, thanks for that."
The armored figure tried to react. The suit's arm snapped back, repulsor charging.
Nothing happened.
Luke didn't even look at it. His grip tightened just enough to lock the armor in place, servos whining under the pressure.
"I'm kind of a mech lover," Luke continued. "And I really don't want to tear this thing apart."
He glanced at the helmet. "So how about you come out, and I spare you?"
"Fuck off," a voice spat from inside the suit.
Luke sighed. "Right. Forgot I had that."
His eyes flicked briefly, like he'd just remembered something trivial.
"Mind control," he said. "That'll save time."
He released the armor.
"Now," Luke said calmly, "be a good boy and step out of the suit."
The Iron Patriot froze.
The armor disengaged. Plates folded back, the helmet opening as a bald man stumbled out—moving like a puppet whose strings were being pulled.
"Good," Luke said. "Now drop dead."
The man collapsed instantly—lifeless before he hit the floor.
Silence filled the cabin.
The President stared, heart still pounding. The man's face… it was familiar.
Then it clicked.
He'd seen it in classified files. SHIELD briefings. Red-marked dossiers.
One of the most dangerous men in America.
And Luke was standing over the body like it was just another inconvenience.
The President swallowed hard.
"Now where's the President?" Luke asked, glancing around the cabin.
His gaze stopped at the table—where the President's head was still poking out.
"…President?" Luke said.
The President nodded out of pure instinct.
"Good," Luke said. "Glad nothing happened to you."
In the next instant, Luke was standing right beside him.
"I was asked by the S.H.I.E.L.D. guys to check on you," Luke added calmly. "They lost contact and wanted to be sure you were still alive. Looks like you're fine."
The President let out a long breath, tension finally draining from his body. Whoever this man was—he hadn't come to hurt him.
That was when the remaining security rushed in, weapons snapping up and aimed straight at Luke.
"Lower your weapons," the President said immediately. "He's not the enemy."
The agents hesitated, then obeyed.
Luke gave a small nod. "Alright then, Mr. President. I'll leave you to land safely."
And just like that, he vanished.
The cabin fell quiet.
The President sat back, exhaling slowly. He wasn't sure whether to be terrified that someone so dangerous could appear and disappear at will…
…or relieved that, at least for now, that person seemed willing to cooperate.
***
Luke reappeared in Kamar-Taj.
The impact was subtle—but not silent.
A sharp rush of displaced air swept through the library, rattling shelves and sending several books sliding out of alignment. Pages fluttered, bindings shifted, and then everything went still again.
Luke was already moving.
To anyone watching, it would've looked like nothing more than a blur—there one moment, gone the next. Drawing on his Avatar of Humanity trait, the collective learning potential of humanity itself feeding into him, his mind accelerated to a terrifying pace.
He skimmed, absorbed, and catalogued entire texts in seconds, knowledge layering itself seamlessly as if it had always been there.
Spell theory. Enchantment matrices. Artifact construction. Containment seals.
He wasn't just reading.
He was learning.
When he was done, the library fell quiet once more. The only sign he'd ever been there was a single tea cup resting on a low table in the hall of Kamar-Taj—now with a small note attached to it.
The Ancient One lifted the cup, already amused.
Sorry, Ancient One. Borrowed your library for a bit and may have made a mess. Hope you don't mind.
If you don't know who I am, that's perfectly fine.
If you do—please look the other way.
She smiled faintly and took a sip.
Right on cue, Wong hurried in.
"Ancient One," he said, clearly irritated. "Someone broke into the library. Books are out of order. Several wards didn't even trigger."
"I know," she replied calmly.
Wong blinked. "You… knew?"
"Yes," she said, setting the cup down. "It was someone I'm familiar with."
"Just rearrange the books."
Wong hesitated. "Should I be concerned?"
The Ancient One smiled again—small, knowing.
"Only if he comes back," she said.
And somewhere far away, Luke sneezed.
*****
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