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[color=#982a2a]M A Y   2 N D   [color=gray]♦[/color]   S . H . I . E . L . D .   H E A D Q U A R T E R S ,   A V E N G E R S   C O M P L E X  [color=gray]♦[/color]    N E W   Y O R K   C I T Y,   N Y[/color][hr][hr][/center]
[indent]Tony Stark always had an answer.

It had always been this way. Even before he was old enough to design his own tech (eight, if he remembered correctly), he was thinking of the pathways, of the branches, of the tens of thousands of [i]millions[/i] of possibilities the future could take shape from. He’d produced concepts of a multi-touch screen smartphone a decade before Apple introduced the iPhone; he knew how to develop plastic without fossil fuels long before LG Chem and KAIST University published their findings in 2009; by the age of fifteen he’d designed the weapons that would see his company thrive for many years to come. If someone asked him now of what he thought the future looked like, he would tell them that within a year China would become home to the world’s largest megacity; that within two there would be a drug to prevent obesity; that by 2020, holographic TVs will have gone mainstream, and that in that same decade over thirty thousand drones would be patrolling America’s skies; he would tell them that by the fifties – not those gone by, but those of this century – robots would be a common feature in the households of many, and that A.I. would be as commonplace as computers are now. 

This was what he did. He observed. He calculated. Human nature was, at its very essence, predictable. All he had to do was take note of the patterns, of the details hidden within every day’s headline, and [i]voila[/i]. Just like that. 

Tony Stark always had an answer. When Pepper Potts asked him, “Why am I here?” as they walked through the crowded halls of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s Manhattan headquarters, it was no exception. 

[color=#982a2a]“You’re my Girl Friday, Pep,”[/color] he said, winking at a not-unattractive blonde as he strode past. The suitcase containing his Iron Man armour was heavy in his hand. [color=#982a2a]“I need you with me.”[/color]

“Right,” she rolled her eyes, “At a meeting for the [i]Avengers[/i]. I can see my uses here as clear as day.” 

[color=#982a2a]“Mhm. Stand there and look pretty, and glare at Hill whenever she does that scary thing. You know the drill.”[/color]

“Wouldn’t Happy be better suited for this, then?”

[color=#982a2a]“Looking pretty?”[/color]

“No, the glaring. I have looking pretty covered, [i]ass.[/i]”

[color=#982a2a]“Happy? [i]Glare?[/i] Have you [i]seen[/i] him try to be intimidating?”[/color]

“… Point.”

They entered a large conference room, a long, glass-topped wooden table at its centre. Jessica Drew and Carol Danvers sat on its left-hand side, the former tapping her nails impatiently on its reflective surface. Nathaniel Adam, on the other hand, who sat opposite them, stared straight ahead of himself; an unnerving, metallic statue. 

An unnerving, metallic, [i]radioactive[/i] statue.

S.H.I.E.L.D.’s eagle watched over them at the far end of the room, perched above a large screen which was, for the moment, blank. In front of it stood the appointed leader of the Avengers Initiative. Next to her stood a man who looked like he belonged in a nursing home. The top of his scalp shined in the light; grey patches on the surrounding area and an impressive moustache that brushed his upper lip were the only spots of hair he had left. Maria Hill scowled. “Stark. So glad you could join us.” 

[color=#982a2a]“Good to see you too, Hill. You look lovely.”[/color] He set his suitcase down, taking a seat next to Adam. [color=#982a2a]“Nate. Jess. Danvers.”[/color] He propped his legs up on the table, crossing them over. Jess looked at him in bewilderment. Nate glanced at him, expression unreadable. 

“And who’s this?” asked Hill, nodding at Pepper.

“Pepper Potts. His personal assistant, Agent Hill,” she said, all smiles, standing behind Tony with her hands behind her back.

“Lucky you,” Hill drawled. “This,” she motioned towards the elderly man, “Is Stan. He’s from the PR department.”

“Hi there,” said Stan. He even waved.

Tony raised his eyebrows.

“Stan’s here to talk to us about our public image. I expect you all to give him your full attention.” Tony didn’t have to look. He could feel Maria’s eyes dig into him. “Take it away, Stan.”

“Right, yes,” said Stan, leaping into action. He held a remote in his hand, and he clicked a button; the screen behind him came to life, displaying an array of graphs and statistics that Tony didn’t care for. “Following the Kryptonian Invasion, public opinion on superheroes has understandably dropped, eh… pretty dramatically. I don’t know why, myself, I think you’re great, but people like Superman aren’t really beacons of hope anymore. You guys (and gals, beautiful gals) are the Avengers, you’re the last line of defence, and the public needs to trust you, they need to see that you’re not just these people with powers that could destroy us if you wanted to, so the people at PR have put together this plan that I think could really help you all out here, so without further ado – ”

[color=#982a2a]“ – Yes, thank you, Stan, I’ll take it from here, if you don’t mind,”[/color] interrupted Tony, walking to stand in Stan’s place. 

“Stark…” warned Hill. He waved her off.

[color=#982a2a]“Thanks, Stan, I really appreciate your dedication. Why don’t you go to Pepper over there, leave her your address. I’ll send you a fruit basket, maybe a cheque. There you go, buddy. Thank you.”[/color]

“Stan, you really don’t have to…” Hill pinched the bridge of her nose.

Stan did.

[color=#982a2a]“Here’s the problem, people,”[/color] said Tony, clasping his hands together. [color=#982a2a]“We’re a team of superheroes. The first big-name superhero team since the Justice Society (except for Hill, don’t know what she’s doing here). But what are we doing? We’re sitting around on our asses waiting for something to happen in a facility belonging to the world’s largest intelligence and espionage organisation. When people hear ‘Avengers’, they don’t think of us. They think of scary, back-stabbing spies and a guy called ‘Deathstroke’. What we need to do is separate ourselves from S.H.I.E.L.D. We need our own base of operations, our own identity, our own brand – yes, Hill, we’ll still be S.H.I.E.L.D., but we won’t be hiding anymore. Like Stan said, after the Invasion, people don’t trust us anymore. We need to give them a reason to.”[/color]

“And where do you suggest we put this new base of operations?” asked Nathaniel.

[color=#982a2a]“Stark Tower.”[/color]

Jess threw her head back as she erupted in laughter, smacking the table with her right hand as her left clutched her stomach. By the time she finished, tears were streaming down her face, which had turned as red as a strawberry. Tony frowned. Pepper was allergic to those.

Jess wiped the tears off with the back of her hand. “Ohmygod,” she gasped, “Ohmygod. Tony. Anthony. Edward. You’re full of shit.”

[color=#982a2a]“So I’ve been told,”[/color] he agreed. [color=#982a2a]“We replace ‘Stark’ with our logo. I already have floor plans. All I have to do is give the word, and my guys will have everything ready within a month, two at most. Your own rooms, a training facility, everything the team could ever need – all out of my own pocket, at no expense to S.H.I.E.L.D. or the government. Think about it. This’ll do wonders for our publicity (well, not as much as actually [i]doing[/i] something, but I’m getting there). Hill?”[/color]

She stared at him with embers in her eyes, the gears in her head turning with considerable effort. Eventually, “… I’ll see what Director Wilson thinks, but I’ll need more information.”

[color=#982a2a]“Check your inbox. Already there.”[/color] 

“[i]Fantastic…[/i]” she muttered.

[color=#982a2a]“Alright. Now, onto the good stuff.”[/color]

At his end of the table were a series of USB ports. Reaching into his inside pocket, Tony extracted a drive, plugging it in. On the screen behind him appeared a photograph of a group of men, all carrying weapons that looked alien in design. They… did [i]not[/i] look friendly.

[color=#982a2a]“They call themselves the Bastard Sons of Wilbur Day. Y’know, Stilt-Man. That one guy the Justice Society used to fight a lot. They are anti-superhero, anti-establishment, anarchist techno-terror cell [i]wannabes[/i] that have recently come across the means to become a very real danger. The weapons you see them holding are courtesy of the Kryptonians that engineered what could have been a mass extinction event. I don’t know where they got them, but they have ‘em, and it turns out that S.H.I.E.L.D.’s had them under surveillance for some weeks now.”[/color]

Hill’s eyes widened. “How – ”

[color=#982a2a]“Later, Hill. For now, I say we go kick some terrorist ass. They’re in Red Hook. Hope you’re all ready.”[/color]

He eyed the other Avengers, a smirk working its way across his face. [color=#982a2a]“Avengers… [i]Go[/i].”[/color]

[color=#982a2a][i]No… Something about that doesn’t sound right.[/i][/color]    
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