Tony Stark
"You do realize this doesn't really look like a date, right?" Eva Barnes greeted him as he exited Susanna's office. She was leaning against the club wall, impatiently tapping her foot and crossing her arms under her impressive chest. It wasn't an attempt to emphasize her already striking assets; her arms simply rested awkwardly and didn't meet properly due to their size. "So, what's your excuse?" she pressed, not waiting for an answer from Stark, who was lost in an extremely engaging thought process.
"Sorry, sorry," Stark raised his hands in surrender, smiling guiltily. "I just couldn't pass up the chance to improve my situation. You should understand."
"Acting like a self-confident jerk in front of my boss—that's how you 'improve your situation'?" she raised a skeptical pink eyebrow.
"Everyone has their methods; mine are just more original," Tony smirked confidently. Though he hadn't yet been accepted into the gang in a leading role, he had managed to earn a certain degree of trust, and strangely enough, his interactions with Thor and his kin helped him here.
As a highly educated man, Stark knew history well. And having befriended its living artifacts, like Thor and Captain America, he inevitably understood how crucial the environment was in shaping an individual. What does Thor have to do with it? Well, behind his arrogance, love of referring to himself in the third person, and generally wild behavior, one might forget that Odinson is a prince of an intergalactic empire of space Vikings. But a smart person, spending a lot of time with the God of Thunder, would eventually notice his character traits, simply to understand their interlocutor. It becomes even easier to understand him if one turns to the history of Earth itself, when ALL aristocrats of the early era were descendants of a clever gang leader who began to protect neighboring lands, offering them protection from wild beasts and outsiders eager for others' property. Such people valued completely different things than an ordinary 21st-century person. The same gold was valued much lower than good steel in hand, and this applied to people as well. A world-renowned writer, a scientist who discovered a new type of clean energy, a doctor who saved hundreds of lives during his career—all of them were valued lower by such people than a warrior... or a mediocre blacksmith capable of making a sword. Why? Because in the mind of a true aristocrat, one who defended his lands and subjects with weapons in hand, all of this was a result of the security that he and his retinue provided. And to continue doing this, they needed swords made by the blacksmith. The Moxes... in this regard, were as close as possible to the first aristocrats of humanity, who had their own lands, protected them from external threats, resolved internal problems manually, and stuck together due to external pressure and close, almost familial ties. And Stark, knowing what to press, presented himself as that very blacksmith capable of providing the lord's retinue with swords and armor. And to this very lord, under conditions of constant external pressure, a small number of warriors, and a perpetual shortage of equipment, it would be deeply indifferent to the true level of the blacksmith, no matter how much he boasted, as long as he forged at least poor-quality, often breaking swords. Of course, modernity imposed its specifics, and Tony didn't strive for the role of an important but simple blacksmith, but a full-fledged gang leader. Hence, he needed to show his usefulness immediately, significantly boosting the lord's and his retinue's well-being in one go. And what has always been valued by all warriors throughout the ages? Besides weapons and protection? Booze! And that's exactly what Stark planned to give the Moxes, who, thanks to it, would greatly improve their well-being... with his participation and share.
"Fine," Eva pushed off the wall and approached Tony. As a girl from the streets of Night City, she could perfectly understand her savior's position, which is why she couldn't really get angry. In her world, such a prioritization was the only correct one, and getting angry at a correct action... didn't work. "So what did you agree on?"
"For starters, I'll supply you with booze," her interlocutor smirked.
"Booze?" she asked incredulously, not believing her own ears.
"Not just any booze—elite booze!" he assured her, narrowing his eyes.
As a seasoned alcoholic with billions in the bank and high-ranking friends, Tony had tried all kinds of alcohol in his time. Some he liked, some suited certain moods, some varieties he wouldn't even recommend to a homeless drunk, and some were only found in Asgard. So he understood alcohol not just as a consumer, but also as a producer. Alcohol production is primarily chemistry, not art, and with the right laboratory, you can replicate even the most elite varieties aged for decades and centuries. "But for now, something decent will do," thought the future alcohol dealer, recalling local varieties that could hardly be called anything but swill. And for this, his filter would suffice, just slightly modified. Fortunately, he knew where to find the necessary parts.
"Want to participate?"
"In brewing?" Eva seemed to take skepticism to a new level.
"In shootouts, thefts, and possibly chases, and only then 'brewing'," he corrected her.
"Hmm. That sounds more interesting," Eva agreed.
"Great," Stark grinned. "Then let's go. We'll get dressed up, find some suitable transport, and head to the addresses."
"Get dressed up?"
"You'll see. You'll like it," Tony promised her.
Stepping outside, Eva saw Tony's still bullet-hole-riddled red-and-gold car pull up to the Lizzies parking lot. Tony immediately approached the car, opened the trunk, and pulled out two small cases, then placed them on the already closed hood. Driven by curiosity, Eva peeked over Stark's shoulder, her eyes scanning the contents, and... saw a rather interesting sight.
Tony, not being an idiot, tried not to flaunt the image in which he had stormed the Arasaka base. Even in the modern world, a solo dressed from head to toe, armed with a machine gun and a strange all-crushing hammer, was an extremely colorful and recognizable figure. Hence, Tony had to abandon such an interesting concept. In principle, it wasn't scary; the same hammer could be replaced with vibro-gloves, which were even more effective, and every third solo aspired to become a walking machine gun turret with a dot. But Tony wouldn't be himself if he hadn't learned from the assault and worked on the mistakes. His previous combat kit was... frankly shoddy. By his standards, at least. The only thing worthy of attention in it was the ammunition and the kinetic energy distribution system, which excellently protected against behind-armor damage. But at the same time, due to the materials and their composition, although Tony received excellent protection, he seriously lost in maneuverability. And Stark had always relied more on maneuver in combat, simply because many of his enemies could calmly pierce his suit along with him inside. So Stark, armed with his desires, lived experience, and genius brain, set about creating new armor for himself. He had sketched the concept with Aldecaldo on the way to Night City, along with the general milestones of the project, finally realizing it in the city. It wasn't his best embodiment; a lot was missing, even more simply didn't fit, but he achieved his goal, creating a new type of fabric that didn't restrict movement and withstood damage no worse than the previous version of the armor, albeit without the damage compensation system. But that was a matter for a future implant, whose unfinished blueprint was currently stored on Tony's computer.
"Is this... latex suits from a sex shop?" Eva asked skeptically, glancing at her interlocutor and clearly doubting his mental health. And yes, the suits did look similar. The resulting fabric was extremely elastic and clung tightly to the body, outlining the wearer's shape quite clearly, but comparing them to latex suits was still an exaggeration. They were more like leggings, tights, and other types of sportswear.
Instead of answering, Tony pulled out a shapeless suit with one hand, pressed his revolver against it with the other, fired... and showed the absolute integrity of his creation with the bullet flattened against it.
"Wow," was all Eva could comment. Looking back at the cases, she saw face masks, somewhat resembling open petals with their segmented edges. The young Mox had never seen such head protection, but being smart and generally well-versed in military equipment, she understood that this was a segmented helmet, and the petals were the edges of a full-fledged helmet part. "This is powerful."
"They're not finished, but after yesterday, I decided it's better to have them," Tony admitted honestly, casting a bored glance at the helmets. No electronics, just good old Kevlar with armor-piercing glasses in place of lenses. One could say it was a modern knight's helmet—just as bulky, uncomfortable, and obstructing the view, but providing good protection. And the suits themselves were only the basis for full-fledged combat gear, designed to protect against much more powerful weapons than those available to the street scum of Night City... even if some of them had full-fledged military-grade weapons.
"Still pretty cool," Eva honestly shared her impressions, not shy about undressing right on the street. The only thing she did was move to the club wall, hiding behind the car, where she began to pull on Stark's creation with the most concentrated expression she could muster.
"Cute," Stark thought, but sighing sadly, he also decided to change. Though in the car.
After dressing, they looked like a couple of freaks who had put on BDSM game costumes... which was quite acceptable for Night City. But that was if you removed the fully combat helmets, tactical vests with full magazines, grenade belts, leg holsters, and rifles from the overall picture. Then the image changed drastically to that of cool pros clad in high-tech gear. The only problem...
"Good thing I left my underwear on," Tony thought, feeling a certain issue below the belt. Eva had mind-blowing curves, so much so that many would think they were artificial. And the most amazing thing was their naturalness. And... Tony, having a perfectly healthy libido, reacted accordingly, even before changing, but now, with Eva dressed in his creation... let's just say Stark had a very strong and reliable foundation for fantasies.
"Hmm," a satisfied hum came from under the helmet as she crossed her arms under her chest, but this time deliberately lifting it, making the twins even bigger. Yes, the fabric Tony created clung extremely tightly to the body, but due to the size of Barnes' upper assets and its properties, it clung to them almost separately, perfectly emphasizing both shape and size.
"Natasha's were still smaller," Stark decided, recalling the former Soviet spy. "Okay, enough admiring the beauty," he shook his head, deliberately ignoring another satisfied hum from under the helmet.
"Let's go."
"And where are we going?" Eva asked, already seated in the car and dutifully buckled up... literally sinking the belt between her breasts, emphasizing them even more (though, it seemed, how much more?!).
"To the parking lot," Tony replied, shaking his head again and with a clearly audible creak of rusty hinges in his own head, averting his eyes.
"And what's wrong with this one?"
"There are no trucks here," he simply replied.
"Trucks... what?"
Eva Barnes
Surveying the surroundings with a fully satisfied gaze, inhaling the smell of gunpowder and blood, the Mox quietly hummed to herself. If there was one thing Eva Barnes truly loved in this life, it was a good shootout.
In general, the Mox no longer expected anything good from this "date" with her savior. She understood that he was simply using her, albeit without any consequences, and generally treating her courteously. The same meeting with Jackie was just an excuse to gain contacts with a good ripperdoc who could be trusted, and nothing more. Perhaps also to strengthen ties with the Valentinos through Jackie, but nothing more. Even then, during the dialogue with Vic, Eva realized that Stark was trying to extract the maximum from yesterday's situation, and he was thinking about their date last. Was Barnes sad about this? Well... a little. Not like betrayal or disappointment; she had grown up in Night City and perfectly understood the norms of this city, being an extremely down-to-earth person who preferred to receive not useless flowers or jewelry as gifts, but a good gun, a box of ammunition for it, and a bulletproof vest. Stark was just doing what he could, trying to establish connections in a new place and somehow settle in and provide for his family. She understood that. Moreover, her new acquaintance earned a couple of pluses in the eyes of the Mox fighter for this. The ability to extract benefits in any situation was valued in Night City. But there was still a slight disappointment; after all, she was going on her first date, to have fun, and finally find herself a guy, and who knows, maybe even finally part with her virginity.
Eva... wasn't quite normal; she understood that. A combat maniac with gunshots, explosions, and guns in her head, an adrenaline junkie who not only easily but joyfully threw herself into bullets, that's who she was. Was that bad? Eva Barnes thought not. Yes, she became interested in guys late and generally thought she was into girls for a while, but most likely there was just no one worthy. While all her girlfriends were either already having sex, had become whores, or had gotten married, sitting with their second or third child, enduring beatings from their alcoholic husbands, Eva became a fighter, protecting the lives of simple, unfortunate girls who had turned to selling their bodies not out of a good life, and cleaning the dirty streets of the City of Dreams from Scavengers, the worst scum of that cursed city. And it was all because of her character and love for fights. Eva didn't have a strong, incredible will to ignore the dark pleasures of the city, or any consciousness that gave her an understanding of the harmfulness and baseness of such a path. No. She was simply not in-te-res-ted. Drugs, alcohol, parties with guys, and orgies—she didn't understand what was special about them. She grew up among the Moxes; for her, all this was the norm of life, which... no one who participated in them liked. The girls at the Lizzies club were not members of the gang, nor were any of the prostitutes. The only members of the gang were the fighters and rare valuable specialists who brought benefits to the Moxes with their work. But that didn't mean that the workers and employees of their establishment couldn't have friendly ties with the gang, especially in a place like Lizzies, the main and first club that the Mox gang had taken under its wing. And Eva, growing up before their eyes, was one of their own, a younger comrade who needed to be educated, raised, protected from the dark horrors of this world... and prepared for them. Therefore, she saw that everything that so interested her peers was disgusting to her elders. Unlike them, she saw behind the glitter of cheap rhinestones, the false elitism of drugs, and the beauty of alcohol bottles the empty, burned-out souls with ruined lives, not signs of "coolness" and "maturity." And because of her elders, "cool" for her was a new gun, modified by a street craftsman, and a sign of "maturity" was a scar from a bullet wound, a personal cemetery behind her back, and the graves of friends. If someone older had been in Eva's place, they might have broken, but as is known, a child's psyche is extremely plastic, which is why she adapted, becoming who she was—a combat maniac who loved shooting at society's outcasts, inhaling the smell of gunpowder and blood, living for today.
Why is she saying this? Because the date suddenly started to appeal to her!
"This one will do," Tony said, critically examining a large truck with high suspension, wheels protected by armored plates, grilles on the windows, and a reinforced frame, patting the vehicle painted in the characteristic colors of the Animals gang. And they were also at their parking lot, where steroid-pumped muscleheads with hormones instead of blood and rage instead of brains stored their best machines.
The fight itself wasn't particularly remarkable; they just burst in, got out of the car, and shot the shocked bandits who were taken aback by such audacity. Of course, some managed to react, but the suits protected well against injuries, even when hit by something more serious than a 9mm, though they did leave bruises as souvenirs.
"Ten corpses will fit," Eva said, approaching the trunk of the car, nodding approvingly. "Plus the back seats."
"Yeah. Too bad we can't really shake down this automotive treasure trove," Stark said sadly.
Even without seeing his eyes behind the helmet, Barnes could feel the true car enthusiast's sadness, unable to take all the toys he liked for himself. Taking another look at the parking lot, Eva was forced to share Tony's sadness. There were dozens of cars modified to the gang's needs, which would have been very useful to the Moxes. Alas, although the Animals, like the Moxes, didn't have their own territory, their less scrupulous recruitment and other specifics brought their numbers to several thousand. Exactly how many, no one could say for sure, not even themselves, but it didn't make things much easier for the small Mox gang. If hiding who exactly raided their parking lot wouldn't be a problem, doing the same while driving around in their stolen cars wouldn't work.
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100 power stones= 1 Bonus Chapter
advanced chapters available on{P@treon/Anna_N1}