*Cue soft, rising orchestral music, the sound of distant waves lapping against a harbor.*
---
**Narrator (warm, steady voice):**
The freight train screeched to a halt at the Port of New York. Steel containers towered like silent monoliths, their rust‑stained sides bearing the faded logos of shipping lines that have long since vanished from the world's memory.
Isaac steps onto the dock. The night air is tinged with the salty bite of the Hudson and the faint hum of distant crane motors. A massive cargo ship looms ahead, its hull painted a sleek, gun‑metal gray. The **Stark Industries** insignia glints on the bow, that familiar arc of a stylized "S" catching the first pale rays of dawn. The ship's name—*SS Enterprise*—is etched in bold letters across the side, a subtle nod to the future hero who will soon command it.
*Sound effect: a faint, rhythmic pulsing.*
Inside Isaac's mind, a silent dashboard pulses softly, reminding him that the Infinity‑like reservoir still hums with untapped potential. He slips his hand into the pocket of his coat and feels the cold metal of the broken arc‑reactor fragment. The fragment vibrates faintly, as if recognizing a kindred energy. He tucks it back away and moves toward the gangway, his steps silent on the wet concrete. Dockworkers, half‑asleep, mutter in low tones, unaware that a being with god‑like power is about to walk among them.
*Transition music—subtle, curious.*
Inside the ship's cargo hold, rows of crates are stacked like a city of boxes. Among them, a sleek, silver case catches Isaac's eye. Its surface is etched with a faint, pulsing circuit pattern that seems to breathe. He lifts the lid, revealing a **prototype Iron Man suit**—the Mark I, still raw and unfinished.
The helmet is cracked, repulsor cores exposed, wires dangling from the chest plate. Beside it lies a battered notebook, its pages filled with frantic sketches and equations. The name **"Tony Stark"** is scrawled across the cover in a bold, confident hand.
*Soft rustle of paper.*
Isaac feels a surge of recognition. In his past‑life memories he devoured every Marvel film, every comic, every interview with the real‑life inventor‑philanthropist. He knows the arc of Stark's story: a genius billionaire who will become a symbol of hope, a man whose ego will be both his greatest weapon and his deepest flaw. He slips the notebook into his coat, the pages rustling softly. The suit itself is a treasure trove—arc‑reactor schematics, nanotech armor plating, a prototype flight stabilizer. Isaac's mind races, calculating possibilities.
*Electronic whine, then a soft hum.*
Back in the hidden compartment of the freight car, Isaac spreads the suit's components on a makeshift workbench. The broken arc‑reactor fragment glows faintly, its energy field resonating with the suit's dormant cores. He places the fragment into the suit's chest cavity, aligning its crystalline lattice with the arc‑reactor's magnetic coils.
The Infinity‑like reservoir within him flares—a silent surge that transfers a fraction of his limitless power into the fragment. A soft hum fills the cramped space as the suit's systems flicker to life. The heads‑up display lights up, projecting a holographic interface that hovers above the workbench.
- **Power Level:** 12 % (boosted)
- **Stability:** Enhanced by 27 %
- **Flight Capability:** Operational (prototype)
Isaac smiles, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He has just given the Mark I a **secret upgrade**—a hidden reservoir of power that will let the suit exceed its original specifications without drawing attention.
He records the modifications in the notebook, writing in a shorthand only he can decipher:
> *"Integrate external quantum flux (Isaac's reservoir) → increase arc‑reactor output by 3×. Maintain stealth field to mask energy signature."*
The notebook's pages crackle as he closes it, the ink drying instantly under the faint glow of the suit's internal lights.
*Music swells, hint of anticipation.*
By the time Isaac slips back onto the dock, the sun has risen fully, painting the sky a brilliant cobalt blue. He positions the upgraded Mark I beneath the ship's gangway, the hull's steel walls providing a natural shield from prying eyes.
He steps into the suit; the interior lining conforms to his body like a second skin. The helmet's visor seals with a soft hiss, the world outside disappearing behind a reflective sheen.
He feels the familiar surge of the Infinity‑like reservoir, now partially channeled through the suit's arc‑reactor. The thrusters ignite—a low, resonant roar that vibrates through the metal floor.
With a controlled push of his thoughts, Isaac directs the suit upward. The thrusters flare, and the Mark I shoots into the air, a streak of silver against the morning light. He rises above the dock, the city sprawling beneath him like a living circuit board.
Below, workers stare upward, mouths agape, eyes tracking the impossible sight of a lone figure soaring on a suit that should not yet exist. No alarms blare, no security drones swarm—Isaac's hidden stability field keeps the suit's energy signature below the detection threshold of any S.H.I.E.L.D. scanners.
He performs a series of maneuvers: a tight barrel roll over the cargo containers, a rapid ascent to the rooftop of a nearby warehouse, a graceful glide back down to the dock. Each movement is fluid, the suit responding to his thoughts as if it were an extension of his own will.
When he finally lands, the thrusters power down with a soft sigh. The helmet's visor retracts, revealing Isaac's face—eyes bright with triumph, a faint scar from his previous life still visible on his cheek.
A lone dockworker, his hands still stained with oil, approaches cautiously.
**Dockworker (gruff, surprised):** "Yo, you… you just flew that thing? Who are you?"
**Isaac (low, slang‑heavy, a smile in his voice):** "Just a kid who got lucky, fam. No need to spill the tea."
He turns, the suit's servos whirring as he walks away, the upgraded Mark I hidden beneath his coat.
*Transition music—subtle, modern beats.*
A week later, the *SS Enterprise* docks for a routine cargo exchange. Captain Rhodes, a grizzled veteran, oversees the unloading when a sleek black car pulls up to the gangway.
The driver's door opens, and a man in a crisp, tailored suit steps out. His hair is a perfect, glossy black; his eyes are sharp and calculating. The name tag on his lapel reads **"Tony Stark."**
Stark surveys the dock, his gaze flicking over the crates, the cargo, the bustling workers. He pauses at the spot where the Mark I had been hidden, his brow furrowing.
**Stark (half‑smile, muttering):** "Someone's been tinkering with my toys."
Isaac, still cloaked in his own secret, watches from the shadows. He feels the familiar hum of the Infinity‑like reservoir, a quiet reminder that he could intervene at any moment.
Stark turns, his eyes scanning the perimeter. He catches a glimpse of a figure moving with purpose—a silhouette that seems to blend into the background.
**Stark (calling out, tone curious, a hint of challenge):** "Hey. You there? If you've got something to say, step out. I'm not afraid of a little… ghost."
Isaac steps forward, the edge of his coat catching the morning light. He keeps his hands visible, the pocket watch glinting faintly on his wrist.
**Isaac (slang‑heavy, natural):** "Yo, Tony. I'm just a fan who liked your suit. Thought I could… help a bit."
Stark raises an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his mouth.
**Stark:** "Help, huh? You've got a lot of nerve walking up to me with a watch and a suit you didn't build. What's your story?"
Isaac hesitates only a heartbeat before answering, his voice steady.
> **Isaac:** "I'm… someone who knows a lot about this world. I've seen the comics, the movies, the whole shebang. I'm here because… I got a chance. A chance to make things right."
Stark's eyes narrow, the gears in his mind turning. He senses something off‑kilter, a faint energy signature that doesn't belong to any known tech.
**Stark (serious now):** "Alright, kid. If you really want to help, prove it. Show me what that 'upgrade' does."
Isaac nods, slipping his hand into his coat and pulling out the notebook. He opens it to the page where he'd recorded the modifications, the ink shimmering faintly under the dock's fluorescent lights.
Stark leans in, curiosity piqued. The two of them stand there—billionaire genius and mysterious newcomer—while