The aftermath of the Stark Expo attack was a chaotic tableau of flashing red and blue lights, the wail of approaching sirens, and the hurried, panicked shouts of first responders. The Japanese garden biodome was a smoldering ruin, a testament to the brutal, localized war that had been fought there. Tony Stark and Colonel Rhodes, their armors battered but functional, stood amidst the wreckage, their minds still trying to process the sacrifice—and impossible survival—of the boy who had been their unwilling, and ultimately indispensable, ally.
Alex, in his human form, looked from their shocked faces to the growing swarm of police cars and emergency vehicles converging on the Expo grounds. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a familiar, weary annoyance.
"What's with your faces?" he asked, his voice flat. "The bad guy is a pile of ash, the bombs didn't go off, and most of the civilians are just scared, not dead. I'd call that a win."
"A win?" Tony repeated, his voice incredulous through his suit's external speaker. "Kid, you flew into a massive, contained explosion! You were at ground zero!"
"The Omnitrix has... durable forms," Alex said dismissively, which was not even a fraction of the truth. He started walking away from them, towards a less conspicuous, shattered exit. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some very disappointed high school friends to locate and a multi-billion-dollar corporation to run. This has been a spectacularly unproductive evening."
He vanished into the shadows, leaving Iron Man and War Machine standing alone in the ruins.
The scene outside the main pavilion was a media circus. Police had established a wide perimeter, but news vans with massive satellite dishes were already broadcasting live, their reporters giving breathless accounts of the attack. Justin Hammer, looking pathetic and bloodied, was being led away in handcuffs, his face a mask of blubbering terror as he was shoved into the back of a police cruiser.
NYPD Captain George Stacy, a veteran cop with weary eyes that had seen far too much of New York's strange new world, stood at the edge of the perimeter, trying to make sense of the chaos. He was surrounded by a frenzied scrum of reporters, microphones and cameras thrust towards his face.
"Captain! Captain Stacy! Who was responsible for the attack on the Stark Expo?" one reporter yelled.
"Was it Justin Hammer? Is it true he was working with the terrorist from Monaco?" shouted another.
"Captain, sources say the military's own drones were turned against them! Is it true the government is building weapons it can't even control?!"
Stacy held up a hand, his expression grim. "Our investigation is ongoing. We have taken Mr. Justin Hammer into custody for questioning."
"What about the other one, Captain?" a reporter from the Daily Bugle pressed, her voice cutting through the noise. "The horseshoe-headed thing. Our cameras caught glimpses of it. Was it a mutant? Another one of Hammer's machines? A government experiment?"
The questions came faster now, a barrage of speculation that everyone wanted answered.
Stacy took a deep breath. "At this time, we have no official identification for the secondary combatant. We can confirm it was not a Hammer Industries drone or a known government asset. The current working theory is that it is a new, undocumented mutant."
"But Captain, that 'mutant' saved hundreds of lives! It stopped the drones on the ground, it took the bombs out over the bay! Is he a hero?"
The captain's face hardened. "It's not about whether he 'saved' people," he said, his voice a stern, by-the-book growl. "The law is clear. Mutants are restricted from public use of their powers, especially in a manner that causes this level of property damage and public panic. He may have controlled his power, but that can set a bad example for others. You can't have super-powered individuals deciding on their own when to act as vigilantes. He will be found, he will be questioned, and he will be judged according to the law."
"Thank you, Captain, that's all for now," he finished, turning away as his officers formed a wall to hold the media back.
An officer hurried up to him, holding a tablet with a trembling hand. "Captain Stacy, sir. I think… I think we got a lead on the mutant."
"What have you got?" Stacy asked, taking the tablet.
"We scrubbed the security footage from the VIP reception just before the attack. The cameras are high-def." The officer pointed to the screen. The footage was grainy, taken from a high angle, but it was clear enough. It showed a young man in an expensive suit, standing on a balcony. Then, a brilliant flash of blue light, and where the boy had been, the strange, metallic, horseshoe-headed creature now floated before launching itself into the fray. "Facial recognition is running now, sir, but we got a hit off the guest list for the VIP section. The pass he used was issued to AlexCorp International."
Stacy's eyes widened. "AlexCorp? The company that deals with that mutant nation?"
"Yes, sir," the officer confirmed. "And the pass was issued to their CEO. A kid named Alex." The screen flashed with Alex's public corporate photo.
The captain's jaw tightened. "So, the CEO of the mutant nation's biggest company is a shape-shifting, magnetic-powered mutant himself. Huh." He handed the tablet back. "Well, issue a warrant. For questioning. We're going to pay a visit to AlexCorp. Now."
"Sir, are you serious?" the officer asked, his voice low, nervous. "He's a mutant with direct ties to Aethelgard. And he's powerful. We saw what he did here."
"I don't care if he's the king of Mars," Stacy growled. "This is USA soil, not his nation. There are accords, there are rules, and nobody is above the law. Don't think for a second that the CEO of a major corporation is stupid enough to resist a formal police inquiry. Now get me some backup. A lot of it."
"Yes, sir," the officer said, hurrying off to relay the orders. A convoy of NYPD cruisers began to form, their lights flashing, preparing to head into Manhattan to confront a power they couldn't possibly comprehend.
Scene Change: A Secure SHIELD Debriefing Room
The room was dark, sterile, and silent. Nick Fury stood with his arms crossed, staring at a massive screen displaying multiple angles of the Stark Expo disaster. Alexander Pierce, a senior member of the World Security Council, sat at the conference table, his face a mask of grim disapproval.
On the screen, a secure video link connected them to the Oval Office, where President Donald Trump sat behind the Resolute Desk, his expression a mixture of annoyance and shrewd calculation.
"So, let me get this straight," Pierce began, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Stark's party gets crashed by his business rival and a Russian terrorist, resulting in millions of dollars in damages, and the only reason half of Queens isn't a smoking crater is because the 'Prince' of Aethelgard decided to play superhero?"
"That about sums it up, Mr. Pierce," Fury said, his tone flat.
"This cannot stand, Director," Pierce insisted. "This… boy… used catastrophic levels of power in a civilian area. We need to increase the restraints on him, on Aethelgard. The accords are clearly not enough."
President Trump, on the screen, suddenly laughed, a sharp, barking sound. "Restraints? Alexander, what are you, an idiot? You want to put restraints on him?"
Pierce looked taken aback. "Mr. President, with all due respect, he is an unregistered, Omega-level threat who just—"
"He's a prince," Trump interrupted, leaning forward, his tone suddenly sharp, all business. "He is the de facto crown prince of a sovereign nation, on our soil, under our supposed protection. And an attack happened. Right under our noses. Who is responsible for that? Why wasn't he protected?" He stabbed a finger towards the screen. "I should be worried about Aethelgard calling me and asking why their prince was nearly blown up! Their safety is your responsibility, Pierce! It's SHIELD's responsibility!"
He leaned back, a smug look on his face. "Why do you think the American taxpayer pays your ridiculous budgets? Not only did we fail to safeguard a visiting foreign dignitary of immense importance, but that same dignitary had to save our people from our mess, made by our defense contractors! Do you have any idea how weak that makes us look? They could use this! They could be saying our government is so useless, their prince has to do our job for us! Bad for business. Very bad."
Pierce and Fury exchanged a look. They both knew, instantly, what this was really about. Trump wasn't concerned with Alex's safety or diplomatic niceties. He was concerned about the incredibly lucrative trade deals between the U.S. and Aethelgard, deals that were funneling unique resources and untold wealth into American corporations. He was spouting this rhetoric because he couldn't afford for the relationship to sour.
"No 'buts,' Alexander," Trump said, cutting off Pierce before he could speak again. He turned his attention to Fury. "Fury. Make sure this kid's identity does not leak to the press. Not a whisper. Bury it. And make damn sure our relationship with Aethelgard is not affected by this. Handle it." The screen went black.
The meeting was over.
Fury came out into the main operations center, his mind already working through a dozen different contingency plans. Maria Hill met him, her expression urgent.
"Sir, we have a problem," she said, handing him a tablet. "The NYPD has identified Alex. They got a CCTV shot of his transformation. Captain Stacy is leading a convoy to AlexCorp Tower right now to bring him in for questioning."
Fury's single eye widened almost imperceptibly. "What?" He took the tablet, saw the intel, and swore under his breath. "Stacy's a good cop, but he's about to stick his hand into a hornets' nest made of black holes and bad intentions." He looked at Hill. "Get a team there before they enter that damn building. Take all the evidence, take control of the scene, and tell Stacy to stand down. Use Level 7 clearance if you have to."
"Yes, sir," Hill said, already turning to leave, her movements swift and efficient.
The convoy of NYPD cruisers, sirens blaring, screeched to a halt as a fleet of sleek, unmarked black sedans suddenly pulled out from a side street, forming an impenetrable blockade in front of AlexCorp Tower. The lead cop, Captain Stacy, slammed on his brakes, his jaw tight with anger.
He and a dozen other officers got out, their hands on their holsters. "This is the NYPD! Do you know whose way you're blocking?!" Stacy yelled.
The doors of the lead black car opened. A woman in a sharp, dark business suit stepped out, her expression calm, her movements precise. Maria Hill. Several other SHIELD agents, all dressed in similar attire, emerged from the other cars, forming a silent, intimidating line.
"Captain Stacy," Hill said, her voice calm but carrying an undeniable authority that cut through the noise of the city. She held up a small, unassuming ID card. The SHIELD eagle gleamed. "This is now a matter of national security. This investigation, and all evidence pertaining to the unidentified combatant at the Expo, are to be immediately passed to us. By order of the World Security Council."
Stacy stared at her, then at the ID. "This is an NYPD case! That... that thing is under our jurisdiction! You can't just come in here and—"
"This is not a request, Captain," Hill interrupted, her voice turning to ice. "It's an order. Hand over everything you have on the subject known as Alex, and you and your men can leave. This is no longer your concern."
The other cops were shifting uneasily, glancing at each other, then at the silent, formidable SHIELD agents. Stacy stood his ground, his face a mask of frustrated defiance.
"You're protecting him," Stacy said, his voice a low growl. "A person, a thing, powerful enough to endanger an entire city. He broke the law. He should be judged by that law."
Maria Hill looked at the captain as if he were a particularly naive child explaining how the world should work. A faint, pitying smile touched her lips. "Captain," she said, her voice dangerously soft, "you should not poke your nose where it doesn't belong. And you should consider yourself a very, very lucky man."
"Lucky? Why?"
Hill didn't answer. She just lifted her chin slightly, gesturing with her eyes towards the gleaming, obsidian tower behind her. "We came first. Be grateful for that. Because if you and your men had actually tried to enter that building..."
Stacy followed her gaze. High up, through the tinted glass of the lobby, he could just make out several figures. They weren't human. They were tall, imposing, dressed in armor that seemed to be grown from polished wood and glowing crystal. Their eyes, visible even from this distance, glowed with a faint, internal light. And they were all watching the standoff below with a cold, predatory stillness.
A chill, completely unrelated to the evening air, went down Captain Stacy's spine. He suddenly realized he hadn't just been about to knock on the door of a corporation; he had been about to try and kick down the door of an embassy for a nation that didn't play by any rules he understood.
He swallowed hard, the anger draining out of him, replaced by a cold, professional understanding of just how far out of his depth he was. He turned to his subordinate officer. "Give the lady whatever she wants."