Days blurred together in a haze of training sessions and intelligence gathering. Smith maintained his routine at the Fraternity headquarters, combat drills, marksmanship refinement, the endless pursuit of incremental power gains that his Scouter diligently tracked. But his mind kept returning to the larger pieces moving across the board.
His phone lit up mid-afternoon, pulling him from a particularly brutal sparring session. The caller ID displayed Tony Stark's name alongside that insufferably confident profile picture. Smith wiped sweat from his brow and answered.
"Hi, Tony."
Tony's voice carried barely contained excitement through the speaker. "Hey, man! Remember how I've been locked in my workshop for the past few weeks? Well, I've got something to show you. The armor is finished, actual finished, not 'explodes when I test it' finished."
Smith could practically hear the grin in Tony's voice. The genius was still smarting from that first failed flight demonstration, desperate to prove his engineering prowess wasn't just theoretical.
"We agreed I'd let you see the final product," Tony continued. "Time to witness some real scientific power."
Smith's interest sparked genuinely. Watching Iron Man in a movie was one thing, witnessing the birth of that legend in person was something else entirely. The transmigrator part of him practically vibrated with anticipation, while his assassin's instincts appreciated the tactical applications of powered armor.
"Where are we meeting? I'm definitely curious about this new toy of yours."
"I'll have JARVIS send you the address. Just come to my place, the workshop's here anyway." Tony's enthusiasm practically crackled through the connection. "Trust me, you're going to be blown away."
The call ended, leaving Smith staring at his phone as the location pinged through. He could imagine Tony standing in his basement, admiring the sleek lines of the Mark II, probably talking to it like a proud parent.
Smith headed to the Fraternity's garage, a collection that would make most car enthusiasts weep with envy. Mercedes-Benz Maybachs, Rolls-Royces, Ferraris, an Audi R8 that gleamed like a predator waiting to pounce. The Fraternity's coffers ran deep, centuries of assassination contracts funding a lifestyle most could only fantasize about.
His hand settled on a 1955 Mercedes-Benz 300 SLR Uhlenhaut Coupé, its lines sleek and refined yet carrying a quiet promise of speed. Fitting for a visit to a weapons manufacturer, or rather, a former one, he reminded himself. The engine came alive with a deep, resonant growl, and Smith guided the car out into the streets of New York.
The Pacific Coast Highway stretched before him, ocean spray glittering in the afternoon sun as he approached Malibu. Tony's cliffside villa rose like something from an architectural magazine, all glass, steel, and audacious wealth.
The 1955 Mercedes-Benz 300 SLR Uhlenhaut Coupé purred softly as Smith eased it up the circular drive. Its long silver body caught the afternoon light, smooth and aerodynamic, more like a predator at rest than a car. The driver's side door lifted upward with elegant motion, gullwing frame arching overhead as he stepped out. The front door of the house slid open with perfect timing, and JARVIS's calm British voice greeted him, "Welcome, Mr. Smith Doyle."
Tony appeared from inside, arms spread wide for a hug that Smith returned with the awkwardness of someone whose Fraternity training emphasized killing embraces rather than friendly ones.
"Hey, man! Finally!" Tony practically bounced on his heels. "I can't wait to see your face when you see what I've built."
Smith allowed himself a genuine smile. Tony's boyish enthusiasm was infectious despite everything. "You seem pretty confident about these. What's got you so excited?"
He gestured casually toward the interior. "By the way, I saw the news about shutting down the weapons division. That's a pretty dramatic move."
Tony's expression sobered slightly as they walked deeper into the house. "Yeah, that's happening. You know where I was held. I saw our weapons everywhere. Stark Industries ordnance in terrorist hands, killing American soldiers, destroying villages." His jaw tightened. "Those weapons were supposed to protect people, not murder them. That wasn't my intention. It was never my intention."
He paused at the bar, grabbing two bottles of water and tossing one to Smith. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. About our arrangement."
Smith caught the bottle smoothly, raising an eyebrow. "Our arrangement shouldn't be affected by your moral awakening. If anything, your announcement helped me make a killing in the stock market. Shorted Stark Industries the day before you made the press conference, easiest money I've ever made."
Tony's laugh came out half-amused, half-exasperated. "No wonder Obie told me we dropped fifty-six and a half points instead of the forty we projected. You were shorting us the whole time, you bastard."
"Business is business." Smith took a drink, his transmigrator knowledge giving him an unfair advantage he felt zero guilt about exploiting. "Though I think the stock will keep falling for a while. Eventually, though..." He glanced at the arc reactor's glow beneath Tony's shirt. "I believe you'll take Stark Industries to new heights. When the time is right, I'll close my short positions and buy in long-term."
"Smart money's always on Stark Industries," Tony agreed, then his expression shifted to something more serious. "But we need to discuss the contract. When Pepper asked you to rescue me, the third condition gave you access to Stark weapons as a licensed distributor. Problem is, I've shut down weapons manufacturing. That contract's basically void now."
He held up a hand before Smith could respond. "I've got two solutions. First option: I can connect you with Hammer Industries. Justin Hammer's a poor imitation of me, hell, he's a poor imitation of most competent engineers, but he's technically an arms dealer. I could pull some strings, get you set up as a light weapons distributor through his company."
Tony's nose wrinkled slightly, as if the mere mention of Hammer Industries left a bad taste. "Second option: I heard through Pepper that you've been trying to acquire scientific research equipment and materials, but you keep hitting walls because of qualification and licensing issues."
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "I can have Stark Industries make those purchases for you. We'll even use our priority access to get restricted materials, the kind that normally require government contracts or advanced credentials. You'd pay cost, of course. I'm trying to be a better person, but I've still got shareholders to answer to."
Smith considered both options, his mind working through the implications. Hammer Industries was a joke, weapons that jammed at critical moments, armor that failed under stress, technology that looked impressive until you actually tried to use it. In a world where he might face gods, monsters, and cosmic threats, substandard equipment could mean death.
But scientific equipment? Now that had potential. The Dokkan Battle System gave him power, but proper research facilities could help him understand and optimize that power. Maybe even reverse-engineer some of the more exotic tech he'd eventually encounter.
"Skip the weapons channel," Smith said decisively. "You're right about Hammer, I don't want gear that'll fail when I need it most. Let's go with option two. Having Stark Industries handle procurement would solve a lot of headaches."
Tony's grin widened, genuine pleasure crossing his features. "Smart choice. I'll have Pepper contact you with the details. Just send her a list of what you need, and we'll make it happen."
Smith nodded, then let his own anticipation show. "Now that business is settled, show me what you've built. I've been patient long enough."
The basement workshop opened before them like a temple to engineering genius. Smith's eyes immediately locked onto two distinct figures dominating the space.
Mark I stood in the corner, crude, brutal, a weapon forged from desperation and scrap metal. Seeing it in person sent a chill through Smith's spine. This thing had kept Tony alive, had been both prison and salvation. Without this prototype, would Obadiah have ever built the Iron Monger? Would Tony become Iron Man?
Smith's transmigrator knowledge warred with the reality before him. In the movie, Tony had left the Mark I in Afghanistan. But here it stood, brought back to America. That changed things. The butterfly effect rippled outward from that single decision in ways Smith couldn't fully predict.
And there, gleaming under the workshop's lights like a chrome deity, stood the Mark II.
"Smith, you're about to be the first person besides me to see this baby in action." Tony practically skipped to the armor platform, his excitement palpable. "JARVIS, suit me up with the Mark II."
"Commencing automated assembly, sir."
The robotic arms came alive with mechanical grace. Piece by piece, the armor locked into place around Tony's body, leg actuators, torso plating, arm assemblies, each component fitting with precision engineering that would make watchmakers weep with envy.
"Activate HUD," Tony commanded, his voice slightly muffled now behind the faceplate.
"Importing all optimizers," JARVIS replied smoothly. "Systems nominal, sir."
Smith circled the armored figure slowly, his assassin's eye cataloging every detail. The Mark II was beautiful in a way weapons rarely achieved, form and function merged into something transcendent. Polished silver-white plating caught the light, each surface smooth and purposeful. This wasn't crude scrap metal held together with hope. This was art.
It looked almost exactly like the Iron Man from Smith's memories, except for one detail: the color. No red and gold yet, just that pristine silver-white finish that somehow made it look even more otherworldly.
A sudden thought struck Smith as he examined the armor's sleek lines. Tony had built this masterpiece, debugged the systems, prepared for test flights. But had he solved the icing problem? In the movie, Tony's first real flight in the Mark II had nearly killed him when the suit iced over at high altitude.