The world changes overnight.
One moment, Tony Stark is missing in Afghanistan, presumed dead. The next, he's alive. Rescued. Headlines explode across every screen in Stark Industries. People crowd the halls, whispering like the building itself is holding its breath.
I watch from the edge of it all, heart pounding.
Because I know what this means.
The MCU has begun in earnest.
Tony Stark is about to become Iron Man.
The whispers stir more than ever, tugging at my gut in sharp bursts, like the universe itself is vibrating with the weight of this turning point. Every time someone says Stark's name, it feels like my blood runs hotter, like I'm standing too close to a live wire.
By noon, word spreads that Stark himself is coming back to the building.
The lab empties as people swarm to the atrium. I follow, careful to keep to the back. My badge hangs heavy on my chest, my palms sweat. This is one of those moments I watched on a screen a hundred times. Seeing it with my own eyes feels unreal.
Tony walks in flanked by guards, thinner than the man I remember, a faint limp in his step. Cameras flash, reporters shout questions, but he doesn't crack a smile. His eyes are dark and sharp, no trace of the swagger that defined him.
I shiver. This isn't Iron Man yet, not fully. This is the man who just crawled out of hell with fire in his veins.
He takes the podium, clears his throat, and the atrium falls silent.
"I never got to say goodbye to my father," Stark begins, voice rough, carrying more weight than I thought possible. "So I thought, why not say hello?"
The words land like a shockwave. Around me, people murmur, confused. I already know what's coming, but hearing it in person makes my stomach twist.
"Effective immediately," Stark continues, "I am shutting down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark Industries."
Chaos erupts. Reporters yell. Engineers gasp. Executives pale. The man beside me drops his folder in shock.
And me?
The whispers roar.
It's not a sound exactly, not something anyone else could hear. It's a pressure, a pull, like invisible strings tightening around my chest. This moment matters. The timeline pivots here.
I stumble back, clutching the railing, my vision swimming. For a heartbeat, the atrium fades and I see something else: sparks bursting from forges, metal twisting under fire, a red-and-gold figure blasting into the sky. The birth of Iron Man, bleeding out of possibility into reality.
Then the vision snaps away, leaving me shaking.
Nobody notices. Everyone's too busy panicking over Stark's words.
Obadiah Stane tries to smooth it over, grinning his shark grin, assuring the press that Stark is just tired, recovering, not serious. But I catch the tension in his jaw, the flicker of rage he can't quite hide.
And the whispers press harder, as if warning me: this man is dangerous.
I keep my head down, push through the crowd, and slip back into the hall before anyone can see the terror on my face. My legs are weak. My hands won't stop shaking.
This is it. The first real domino.
And I'm standing too close to the line of collapse.
That night, I don't even try to sleep. I sit at my desk with a notebook I found in the apartment, scribbling down everything I know about the timeline. What comes next. What I should expect. Iron Man Mark II. The Gulmira attack. S.H.I.E.L.D. knocking on doors.
I write until my hand cramps, trying to wrestle the future into order. But the more I write, the less certain I feel.
Because the whispers don't stop.
Every so often, my pen jerks, scribbling a word I didn't plan. "Balance." "Fire." "Tree." "Choice."
By the end, the page looks like the ramblings of someone unraveling.
Maybe I am.
I slam the notebook shut, press my palms into my eyes, and breathe.
The MCU is unfolding. The Avengers are still years away. The universe is giving me nudges I don't understand.
And the question hangs heavier every day.
Do I stay quiet and let history play out?
Or do I risk everything by stepping into it?
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Finally getting into it…