I took a sip of tea to gather my thoughts and looked Tony Stark directly in the eyes. "Nerve Rope" and "Iron Discipline" kept panic at bay.
— Before we begin, Mr. Stark, — I lowered my voice almost to a whisper, — tell me, is your home truly clean? I mean, there are no hidden ears, like from some government secret organization, for example?
Tony smiled widely, a little condescendingly, and took another sip from his glass.
— Oh, kid. In my house, only I listen to everyone. Well, sometimes Pepper, when I mess up. JARVIS, tell our guest just how paranoid we are.
— All active and passive scanning systems are operating normally, — JARVIS replied immediately. — I assure you, Mr. Vetrov, this room is one of the most secure places on the planet from external intrusion.
— Satisfied? — Stark took another sip. — Your turn. Secrets, intrigue, all that jazz. I'm starting to like this. Reminds me of a bad spy movie.
— Alright, — I took a deep breath. — You're not in the best shape right now, Mr. Stark. After that portal incident. You're plagued by nightmares and panic attacks. You're not sleeping; instead, you're… building. An entire army. Forty-one or forty-two prototypes, if I'm not mistaken?
His smirk vanished instantly. His gaze turned attentive and assessing. He slowly set the glass down on the counter.
— JARVIS? — he asked quietly but clearly.
— No, Mr. Stark. I categorically rule out any data leak from internal databases. No traces of external interference.
— Continue, — Stark locked eyes with me. There was no longer curiosity in his gaze, only wariness.
— Soon, someone from your past will come to you. And they will bring great trouble with them. Something massive. It will strike not just at you, but at someone you care about. Miss Potts. And it won't just be nightmares—it'll be her life on the line.
I saw him swallow. His hand unconsciously clenched the glass.
— Your words sound like the ramblings of a charlatan after my money. Only you're speaking with far too much confidence for a worn-out guy in worn-out jeans.
— I understand, — I nervously smirked. — Damn, if I were in your shoes, I'd have already called security to throw you out. A sane person wouldn't talk like this. But I'm not crazy. I just have access to information. A source I'm forced to believe.
— And what source is that? — he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
— That, I can only reveal once there's at least some trust between us. And it has to be mutual. Right now, to you, I'm just a strange Russian kid spouting nonsense. And to me, you're a genius but unstable man who could just as easily dismiss me as a lunatic. We're at an impasse.
Stark was silent for a few seconds, sizing me up. Then he nodded, as if making a decision.
— Fine, let's say it's true. You warned me. What's next? You didn't just come here to cheer me up with gloomy predictions.
— I have information for the Avengers. Specifically for Captain America. It's deeply personal and important to him, but I simply can't find him. And even if I did, I wouldn't be able to approach him on the street. He'd either ignore me or see me as a threat. But the information concerns his past and… his best friend.
— A friend? — Stark frowned. — Cap's friends are either old men or… in a better place.
— Not all of them, — I shook my head. — One is alive. But he's in trouble. And he can be saved. The name is James Buchanan Barnes.
I said it quietly, on purpose. Stark showed no reaction; he simply memorized it.
— And what am I supposed to do with this? Pass along greetings from a mysterious Russian kid?
— If you decide to inform Captain Rogers, — I lowered my voice again, — do it somewhere where you're guaranteed not to be overheard. And tell him the information comes from someone who knows his friend is alive but in enemy hands. An enemy hiding in the shadows of S.H.I.E.L.D.
— In the shadows of S.H.I.E.L.D.? — Stark smirked, but a spark of interest flickered in his eyes. — Are you hinting that our friendly guys at S.H.I.E.L.D. aren't exactly who they say they are?
— I'm hinting that you can't trust anyone right now. Especially not those who offer help too insistently. Upcoming events will prove that. And then… then you might believe the rest of the information I have.
Tony looked at me intently, then chuckled softly.
— You know what? You're either a brilliant con artist or… I don't even know what. But you're definitely not boring. Fine, I'll listen. About the nightmares, Pepper, this Barnes guy, and "shadows" in S.H.I.E.L.D.— — He walked to the bar counter, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from a drawer, and without looking, handed me several. — Here.
He held the money out to me. I froze, staring at it.
— This… for what? — I managed to say.
— For the show. You entertained me. And JARVIS also informed me that your life lately has been like a rollercoaster with a trip to outer space. Consider this humanitarian aid and an advance. If even a fraction of your stories turns out to be true… well, we'll definitely meet again.
I slowly took the money. It was a lot. Very much for my current situation. For Stark, this was pocket change.
— Thank you, — I said sincerely. — And remember the warning.
— Don't teach grandma to suck eggs, — he waved his hand and turned back to the bar. The conversation was over. — JARVIS, call a taxi for our Russian oracle.
— Already arranged, Mr. Stark. The car will be here in three minutes.
I left the house the same way I entered. The air hit my face again, but now it seemed to smell not just of the ocean but of possibility. I slipped my hand into my pocket, squeezing the stack of bills.
"I did it. I didn't mess up or back down. I got my point across, and most importantly, I interested him. Stark didn't believe me—that was clear. But he remembered. And when events start unfolding, he'll remember me. And that's my main ace."
The taxi arrived, and I settled into the back seat. Only when the car started moving did I allow myself to exhale and lean back against the headrest.
"Well then, first contact established. Now I just have to wait for the world to confirm my words. And for now… I have money for decent food and a gym. Heh, life is slowly getting better."
⁂
As soon as the door closed behind the strange Russian kid, all of Tony's feigned cheerfulness and relaxation vanished. His face became tense and focused.
— JARVIS, full analysis. Now, — he ordered, heading to his desk. Holographic interfaces instantly appeared on the surface.
— Already processing, Mr. Stark. The conversation recording is being analyzed. Micro-mimicry, voice timbre, galvanic skin response… Though the latter is difficult—we didn't scan the guest at that level.
— And what? Any conclusions? Was he lying? — Tony rubbed his face tiredly, feeling his shoulder ache from today's scuffle.
— Direct deception, as far as I can tell, was not detected. However, 100% certainty is impossible here. Mr. Vetrov was extremely tense, but that could be attributed to natural nerves. What's more interesting is that his speech patterns and reactions indicate he deliberately withheld part of the information. He wasn't lying to you, Mr. Stark. He said what he himself believes. But not everything he knows.
— Damn, — Stark muttered, scrolling through the holograms of Alexey's background. — Orphan, immigrant, worked as a courier. No connections, no access to information beyond the average press. Where could he have learned about… forty-two prototypes, JARVIS? Those are absolutely classified!
— Internal leaks are ruled out, Mr. Stark. External interference with my systems is also highly unlikely, close to zero.
— Highly unlikely isn't zero. After Loki and his scepter, I don't trust anything anymore. Too much weird stuff has surfaced in recent years. Mutants, gods, aliens, a soldier made of ice… — Tony trailed off, considering a sudden thought. — What if it's not nonsense? What if he really does know something? About Pepper…
— Mr. Stark, there's another fact, — JARVIS' voice was calm, but Stark caught a slight emphasis on its importance. — I conducted a cross-analysis. Mr. Vetrov is the civilian you evacuated from under a falling car during the incident with Doctor Banner.
Stark froze. The memory of a pale, terrified face with a bruise under the eye, completely paralyzed with fear, flashed in his mind.
— So that's the same… rabbit frozen in headlights? — Tony replayed the recording of today's meeting, zooming in on Alexey's face. — The bruise's gone. But it's him. Back then, he was on the verge of hysterics. And today… Today he was nervous, sure. But he spoke clearly and looked me in the eyes. Decisively. What kind of metamorphosis in just a few days, JARVIS? After an attack and that level of stress, normal people don't recover so quickly.
— This is an anomaly, Mr. Stark. His behavioral patterns have undergone significant changes in an extremely short time. I also analyzed his digital footprint over the past week. After the attack, his activity shifted sharply. He stopped looking for work and focused on freelance programming. And his efficiency on these platforms increased by 370%. He's taking on tasks that were previously beyond him and solving them quickly and unconventionally.
The new information made Tony's eyes light up with a familiar spark—the spark of a curious genius facing an intriguing puzzle.
— Alright. Let's rule out the possibility that he's a brilliant spy. Too clumsy. The idea that he's just lucky and overheard something—also unlikely. He couldn't have overheard about forty-two prototypes. So what's left? — Stark looked at the ceiling, as if speaking to himself. — Mutation? Suddenly manifested abilities? Like… clairvoyance? Nonsense, but no more nonsensical than a god from Asgard with a hammer.
— The theory has a right to exist, Mr. Stark. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database contains mentions of individuals with anomalous cognitive abilities.
— And he's looking for a meeting with Cap. Because of Barnes. — Tony pulled up the dossier on James Buchanan Barnes. — Reported dead in 1944 during a mission with Cap, but our Russian oracle claims he's alive. If that's true… it rewrites part of history. And why is this Russian kid from the outskirts of New York sticking his nose into these depths?
— His motivation is unclear, Mr. Stark. Perhaps he's hoping for a reward or the patronage of Captain America.
— Perhaps… But there's something else underlying it. He was too… obsessed. Not with money, but with the necessity of meeting Steve specifically. — Stark stood up and began pacing the room. — Fine. For now, all we have are strange hints and behavioral anomalies. But if even one of his "fairy tales" comes true, especially the one about Pepper… Then he's not a charlatan. Then he's a source. A source of information about the future. And that, JARVIS, is worth more than all the gold in my suits.
— What are your instructions, Mr. Stark?
— Set up the tightest, but most discreet, surveillance possible. All his movements, transactions, calls, search queries. I want to know what he eats for breakfast and what color socks he puts on. If he sneezes, I want to be the first to say "Bless you." Understood?
— Perfectly, Mr. Stark. Protocol "Unseen Guardian" is active. Also, I remind you that you have a video call with Miss Potts in fifteen minutes. And, if I may insist, you should treat the bruises you sustained in today's incident.
— Yeah, yeah, Mom, — Tony sighed but headed downstairs to his lab/first-aid station. As he walked, he replayed Alexey's words in his mind over and over.
"An army of suits… Pepper in danger… Barnes alive… Danger from S.H.I.E.L.D."
Nonsense. But for some reason, this nonsense wouldn't leave him alone. It was too… structured. Too precise. As if someone had pieced together a puzzle from his greatest fears and handed it to him in the form of a scruffy kid with determined eyes.
"Fine, Mr. Vetrov," he thought, sitting down so a robotic arm could treat his scrapes. "Let's see what kind of bird you are. And where you got those feathers."
⁂
The next week for me was an intense grind. The money Stark gave me was a fortune for me at the moment, but I also understood—I couldn't waste it on nonsense. This was my seed capital. First, I used the internet to find the nearest affordable but decent gym. Not some fancy fitness club, but a real gym for guys like me—with worn-out equipment, the smell of sweat, and iron. I even called to ask when it was least crowded. Early morning was perfect.
Then I spent a couple of days studying the basics of proper nutrition and beginner training plans online. My "Structural Thinking" was great at filtering out obvious nonsense and highlighting rational elements. It became clear that I didn't just need to tear my muscles apart—I needed to do it smartly. Otherwise, I could get injured and possibly even regress. Though my Development System would probably prevent that.
Parting with the money was painful, but I saw it as an investment. A bet on my future. I went to the gym, bought a membership, and then hired a trainer for a few sessions. The guy wasn't an idiot—after looking at my scrawny frame and considering my mention of a recent fight, he didn't load me up immediately. He chose a gentle program: basic exercises without heavy weights, focusing on technique and stretching. He also helped me put together a simple, cheap list of foods for proper nutrition: chicken, oatmeal, eggs, and vegetables. No frills.
The Features kept me on track. "Iron Discipline" forced me to drag myself to the gym by seven in the morning, even when my whole body ached and begged for just one more hour of sleep. "Nerve Rope" dulled the muscle pain after workouts, making it a tolerable background instead of an exhausting torment. And "Structural Thinking" analyzed and broke down every movement, helping me pick up the correct technique faster. I understood there would be no quick results, that this was a long and tedious process. But I tried to simply feel my body, to understand how it worked.
And yes, I wasn't pushing myself to the limit to earn Will Points. And to be honest, it was scary. I had only just started to pull myself together. The thought of again pushing myself to the point of being a half-dead vegetable, like with those push-ups or the park run, sparked internal protest. But I knew this moment would come soon. I couldn't put it off indefinitely. I just needed to get a little stronger first.
I also didn't doubt Stark had me under surveillance. Digital, at least. JARVIS likely saw all my search queries about gyms and proper nutrition. And I didn't see a problem with that. Let him watch. Let him see that I wasn't blowing his money on nonsense but investing it in myself. It only added credibility to my story.
And then, a week later, after my morning workout, I was getting ready for my usual run. I'd already put on my worn-out sneakers when someone knocked on the door. The knock was firm and confident.
I took a deep breath, forced myself to calm down, and opened the door.
Two people stood on the threshold. A man and a woman. In civilian clothes. But their "civilian" looked too… tailored. Simple: jeans and a bomber jacket on him, and black fitted pants with a leather jacket on her, but everything fit them like a glove. And their postures… They stood casually, but I could sense their hidden readiness for action.
The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with a straight and honest gaze. Painfully familiar from the Marvel movies. The woman stood out with red hair and sharp, slightly mocking eyes that scanned me and my modest apartment in seconds.
It was Captain America. Steve Rogers. And Black Widow. Natasha Romanoff.
She spoke first, with a light and charming smile.
— Alexey Vetrov? — her voice was calm and almost friendly.
I nodded, unable to force out a word.
— We'd like to talk. May we come in? — she glanced past my shoulder into the apartment, assessing the layout for threats.
Everything inside me clenched, but there was no panic. Just understanding. They'd come. Stark had passed on the information. And Cap hadn't come alone—he'd brought an agent from S.H.I.E.L.D.
— Yes… of course, — I stepped aside, letting them in. — Please, come in.