The world never expected it.
For centuries, maps painted Wakanda as poor, landlocked, backward. Aid groups wrote it off as self-isolated. Intelligence agencies placed it in their "low priority" lists. Now, in a single stroke, that illusion was shattered.
The broadcast began with King T'Challa standing before the UN Assembly in New York. The black panther insignia gleamed at his chest, the sun of Africa at his back. Alex and Tony watched from the chamber floor, Vision standing silently, his synthetic eyes taking in every heartbeat in the room.
"My name is T'Challa," the young king said, voice firm but calm. "I am the sovereign of Wakanda. And it is time the truth be known. Wakanda… is not what you think it is."
Behind him, holograms flared to life revealing cities cloaked in gold and glass, maglev trains gliding on vibranium rails, aircraft shaped like hawks and mantas streaking through invisible skies.
A collective gasp swept the hall. Delegates rose to their feet, voices overlapping in shock, disbelief, outrage.
Tony leaned toward Alex and muttered, "Called it. Big reveal moment. Somewhere in this room, a CIA analyst just had a stroke."
Alex didn't smile. He watched the politicians with the detached calm of a man counting chess pieces. Every flicker of outrage, every greedy stare, every whispered calculation.
T'Challa continued. "We chose to hide our greatness to protect our people. But no longer. The world is changing. And Wakanda will not stand by while others dictate the course of humanity."
The hall erupted again applause from some, shouts of anger from others. Russia's envoy stormed out. China's minister whispered furiously to his aides. European leaders looked stunned. The African Union delegates cheered.
For the first time in history, Wakanda was on the world stage.
Weeks later, the orbital station gleamed like a new star above Earth. Now joined with Wakandan engineers and scientists, its modules were expanding at twice the speed. Where Stark's sleek steel and Alex's gothic Mechanicus design met, Wakanda added a third aesthetic: curved architecture laced with glowing vibranium veins.
The integration was not without friction.
Shuri and Tony were already at each other's throats.
"No, no, no," Shuri said, snatching a datapad from his hands. "Your arc reactor calibration is inefficient. You waste thirty percent of its potential energy."
Tony crossed his arms. "Excuse me, princess, but I've been running clean energy grids since you were in braces."
"I've never worn braces," Shuri shot back, smirking. "But maybe you should've your tech has gaps."
Vision hovered between them, hands raised in a futile attempt at peace. "Perhaps if you considered a hybridized design"
"Not helping, toaster," they both snapped at him.
Alex ignored the bickering. Deep in the Martian colony, he oversaw the first vibranium-alloy prototypes. Vibranium allowed him to stabilize the volatile Adamantium fusion. The result was a material so strong it made conventional steel seem like clay. The bones of a planetary defense system were finally possible.
But while Earth cheered the new partnership, shadows stirred.
In the void beyond Mars, sensors picked up faint anomalies ripples, distortions, as if something was pressing against the fabric of space itself. Alex's servitors whispered binary litanies to him in the night, warning of breaches.
Thanos' shadow loomed closer.
The world's reaction was chaos. Markets reeled. Stockpiles of steel and rare earth minerals collapsed in value now that Alex and Stark were distributing asteroid alloys. Nations lined up for partnerships. Wakanda's reveal split the global order wide open:
The EU scrambled to secure joint research hubs.
The US celebrated Wakanda as a new ally, though their defense hawks panicked about vibranium falling into foreign hands.
Africa roared in pride, demanding a new role in global leadership with Wakanda at the front.
Russia and China fumed, their spies already trying and failing to breach Mechanicus servers for space elevator schematics.
For every handshake made in public, a dagger was sharpened in private.
And through it all, Alex remained still. Watching. Calculating.
The world had just been reshaped. And now the real games would begin.
Alex stood in his hidden chamber on Mars, clad in his crimson priest-mechanicus robes. Incense burned, servo-skulls circled, and binary prayers echoed. Before him stood his latest creation: the plasma reactor, glowing like a caged sun. He anointed it with sacred oils, whispering the Canticles of the Omnissiah.
"Let this be the heart of Earth's shield," he intoned. "So that when the Titan comes… he finds only silence."
The machine roared to life, and Mars trembled.