Exactly one hour after Max Dillon blew himself into a scattered cloud of atmospheric static, Tony Stark and the New York City government officially rebooted the grid.
As per their emergency contingency agreement, the entire metropolitan power supply for the second half of 2012 was seamlessly transferred to the five massive Arc Reactors beneath Stark Industries. For the civilian residents of New York, electricity was completely free.
For Tony, it was the perfect tactical Trojan Horse.
By pushing his own clean energy through the city's infrastructure, Tony's servers could actively monitor the grid for massive, localized power drains. It was a brilliant, passive way to sniff out illegal, off-the-books laboratories belonging to Oscorp or Roxxon. Of course, Tony fully intended to charge those massive corporations premium industrial rates for the power they consumed. If nothing else, he could offset the tens of millions of dollars in infrastructure damage Electro had caused overnight.
"So, to summarize," Tony said, his holographic projection pacing the penthouse lounge. "We might have lost a fortune in structural damage, but we successfully put down an Omega-level threat. The only real downside is that the guy treated voltage like pure heroin; he literally chose to self-destruct rather than go to rehab."
Tony let out a sharp, relieved laugh. He had been practically vibrating with tension all night, quarantined in his Malibu basement. Ever since the Chitauri invasion, his anxiety had become a suffocating, unpredictable weight. The only time his chest stopped feeling tight was when he was actively encased in his armor—or when he was actively solving a crisis with the Avengers.
"I guess my mission is officially over," Pietro Maximoff said, standing near the shattered panoramic windows.
The silver-haired speedster looked down at the newly illuminated city streets, a rare pang of genuine melancholy hitting his chest. There were no cheering crowds or ticker-tape parades, but having a tangible purpose—running to save lives rather than just running away—felt incredibly good.
Unfortunately, drafting him wasn't an option. Pietro had a highly volatile, radically isolationist father, and Genosha possessed absolutely zero diplomatic ties with the United States.
"You did good work today, kid," Steve Rogers offered, giving Pietro a respectful nod. "Come visit whenever you have the time."
"Especially you, Spider-Man," Pietro smirked, pointing two fingers at Peter. "I'm pretty sure Genosha would roll out the red carpet for you. And not just my dad."
With a knowing, mischievous wink, Pietro pulled his goggles down. A deafening sonic boom shattered the air, and the silver lightning bolt vanished over the Atlantic.
Steve watched him go, letting out a thoughtful sigh. "You know, Tony, perhaps we really should consider extending an olive branch to the mutant community. Having a few X-Men on the official Avengers roster would do wonders for their public treatment."
"I agree, Cap. But more importantly, we just need to expand the roster in general," Tony frowned, pulling up a holographic personnel file. "T'Challa has a country to run, and Janet was already one of us. In the last six months, Spider-Man is the only new blood we've brought on board."
Tony swiped the hologram, displaying a heavily redacted S.H.I.E.L.D. file. "Meanwhile, Nick Fury is actively recruiting for his Thunderbolts. And get this—he's actively pulling profiles based on the exact same criminals who ruined the Wasteland universe. He's looking at Astra, Fixer, Moonstone, Mach-V, and Songbird."
Tony shook his head in sheer disbelief. "Fury is out of his mind. He knows for a documented, multiverse-proven fact that a version of this exact group betrayed humanity and caused the post-apocalyptic extinction of the heroes... and he's still recruiting them? I'd love to know what his endgame is."
Tony turned toward the couch. "Hey, Pete. You've got your ear to the ground with the super-powered community. Any thoughts on recruits? Hercules?"
Peter was slumped entirely sideways on the plush velvet sofa, his mask pulled up past his nose. "Sorry, Mr. Stark... I'm a little... zzz..."
"You can go home if you're dead on your feet, kid," Tony chuckled softly.
"Can't," Peter mumbled, blindly waving a hand. "According to my meticulously crafted cover story, I'm currently on a weekend science internship in Washington. Theoretically... I can't show up at the house until tomorrow morning at the earliest." Peter let out a massive, helpless yawn.
"Alright, Underoos," Tony smiled warmly. "There are fully stocked guest suites on the floor below us. Go crash. You earned it."
Once Peter dragged himself to the elevator and the doors hissed shut, the penthouse fell quiet.
Steve walked over to the holographic projection table. He looked at Tony's shimmering avatar. The billionaire was casually swiping through infrastructure reports, but his digital hands were rigid.
"Are you alright, Tony?" Steve asked quietly.
"Me? Never better, Cap. Grid is humming, bad guy is dead. What's wrong?"
"You look tense," Steve noted, his blue eyes entirely completely sincere. "Like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop. If there is something you need to get off your chest, I'm right here."
Tony stopped swiping. He leaned heavily against his workbench three thousand miles away, staring through the camera lens at the super-soldier.
"Steve..." Tony started, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "What happens if you're preparing for a war... but the war starts before you're actually ready?"
"So you're worried about an enemy we aren't prepared to face?"
"I'm just asking. Hypothetically. What if it happens?"
Steve crossed his arms, his posture shifting from a teammate to a seasoned field commander. "If fighting in a global war taught me anything, Tony, it's that you are never fully prepared. War is chaos. It constantly presents variables you didn't account for. Even the side with the overwhelming tactical advantage will inevitably run into disaster."
Steve walked closer to the hologram. "But if you're asking me how you buy time to prepare? You hold the line. You establish a vanguard to protect your industrial centers and buy the rear guard time to mobilize. That strategy has won conflicts since the dawn of recorded history."
Hold the line. Establish a vanguard.
Tony slowly nodded. An idea—a massive, terrifying, but necessary idea—was crystallizing in his mind.
As his Iron Man armors underwent continuous, rapid iterations, JARVIS's processing power had evolved exponentially. Tony had been toying with the concept of a global peacekeeping AI. He knew from his multiverse research that a program called "Ultron" was destined to go rogue, break its shackles, and attempt to exterminate humanity if Hank Pym's brainwaves or overly complex emotional algorithms were used as its foundation.
But what if he didn't build a new intelligence? What if he used JARVIS?
Using his own trusted AI as the central hub to command an autonomous Iron Legion would theoretically bypass the Ultron singularity. He wouldn't give JARVIS an impossible, philosophical directive like "achieve peace." He would simply give him a tactical command: Control the vanguard armors. Hold the line. Tony let out a long, heavy exhale, forcing a strained smile. "Thanks, Cap. I gotta say, it really is nice having a wise elder in the family."
"I'm not an old man, Tony," Steve sighed, shaking his head. "I'm just a little out of touch with your era."
"Right. Well, since I'm building a vanguard anyway, want me to build you a specialized suit of armor? We could call it the Iron Patriot."
Steve politely shook his head. While the enemies they faced were undeniably growing stronger, and keeping pace with gods and living lasers was becoming increasingly difficult for a man who merely had a serum in his veins, Steve knew his true value. The spiritual and psychological significance of Captain America stepping onto the battlefield in the fabric stars and stripes outweighed any repulsor tech Tony could offer him.
"We fight side by side, Tony," Steve said firmly. "United as one. That is how we confront whatever is coming."
Tony looked at the Captain, the heavy weight of the cosmos pressing down on his shoulders.
"And what if we can't win, Steve? What if we lose?"
Steve didn't hesitate. He looked Tony dead in the eye.
"Then we'll do that together, too." Steve offered a grim, resolute smile. "Or, keeping in the spirit of the team's name... we'll avenge it."