On a winter night in Academy City—what used to be New York before the alien invasion and reconstruction—people bustled along the streets, their footsteps brisk.
Christmas was just two days away, and this would be the first real celebration since the city's restoration.
Holiday lights sparkled overhead, and storefronts on both sides of the street were adorned with Christmas trees and festive decorations.
High above, perched on a rooftop, Ethan, Spider-Man, and Deadpool overlooked the peaceful scene below.
"Ah, Christmas Eve! Time to invite girls out for apples, then sneak under a mistletoe, then mwah, mmhhh, yamete~," Deadpool said with a mischievous grin, patting Spider-Man on the shoulder. "So, Little Spider, you got a girl you're crushing on?"
Peter recoiled slightly. "Uh, I... I mean—"
"As your self-appointed love guru, I must warn you: no more of that hopeless, starry-eyed nonsense. You like her? Your fight for her. Don't confess—claim! Don't chase—conquer! If she says no—"
"Deadpool!" Ethan cut in sharply, casting him a cold glare. "You forget who enforces order around here? You keep talking like that and the Punisher might just neuter you."
Deadpool paused, rubbing his chin. "Hmm. Fair point. But hey, if you don't fight for your love, what kind of love do you have?"
Peter stood there speechless. "...What?"
Trying to change the subject, he mumbled, "I'll just stay at home for Christmas. Please, can we not do this right now?"
"Anyway," Peter continued quickly, turning to Ethan, "can I request more mission points to leave the city? I need clearance."
Ethan waved his hand. "Focus. Something's going down."
In the city square, a man in a trench coat, clearly trying too hard to look inconspicuous, nervously glanced around. A second man approached, suitcase in hand. The first man pulled out a stack of cash.
"Looks like a deal," Ethan muttered. "That guy's buying Extremis."
"Why would anyone want that stuff?" Peter asked. "It's unstable. Dangerous."
Deadpool, surprisingly serious, replied, "Power makes people reckless. Think about your own transformation, kid. People are always ready to risk everything for a shot at power."
"And for the labs selling it? They get data, cash, and test subjects," Ethan added. "They're treating it like loot boxes at an arcade."
Without warning, Ethan vaulted off the building, landing silently in a nearby alley.
Peter followed suit with a smile. "Looks like Spider-Man is clocking in."
Deadpool stayed put, arms crossed. "Why do I always get stuck on rooftops with these guys? Maybe next time I'll chill with Logan. He's got better taste in drinks."
Down below, Spider-Man intercepted the deal.
"Hey! According to city law, trafficking in unstable bioweapons is a felony," he called out, slinging a web toward the suitcase.
"Give it back!" the man in the suit yelled, lunging forward—only to be met with a swift kick.
"Sorry, pal. This briefcase is now evidence. And unless you want more web in your face, stay down."
The other man, who had been loitering nervously, tried to back away.
"Pres., suspect secured," Peter radioed.
Ethan's eyes widened. The webbed briefcase began glowing red.
"Get out of there—now!" he yelled.
Peter didn't hesitate, launching into the air just as the web bundle exploded.
From the flaming wreckage stepped a man ablaze—literally. The Extremis had activated.
"Now this is a rush," the man grinned, flames dancing on his skin. He locked eyes on someone by the curb—not Spider-Man, but a bystander.
He dashed toward his new target. His speed blurred, far beyond human limits.
Just before his hand could close around the terrified civilian's throat, he was yanked back—by the neck.
Ethan stood calm, one arm raised. He hadn't moved much—but the enemy had.
The Extremis-powered man's body surged with heat, his skin glowing white-hot. "Let me go, freak!"
Ethan didn't flinch.
He concentrated, adjusting his vector fields—controlling motion, direction, and heat dispersion on a molecular level.
The energy from the Extremis user was being redirected—downward, into the concrete.
"You're outputting nearly 3,000 degrees Celsius," Ethan said, unfazed. "Cute. Double it next time."
A trembling voice interrupted. The first man—the buyer—pointed a warped pistol at Ethan.
"L-let him go... please!"
Ethan didn't even turn. "Get lost before you end up melted."
"You dare talk down to me?! I used to rule Wall Street! My father, my grandfather—we ran the markets! I was born for power! But now... now I'm just a Lv1 meta nobody!"
His voice cracked. His skin pulsed.
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "Something's wrong with him—his body's unstable."
The man screamed and charged.
"Everyone get down!" Ethan shouted.
The explosion lit up the street like a second sun.
When the smoke cleared, Ethan was standing. The man in the suit was alive—barely. One leg gone. An arm missing. But the Extremis virus was already regrowing them.
"How are you—how are you still standing?" the suit gasped. "That blast—it should've turned you to ash!"
"Three thousand degrees? Try me," Ethan replied coldly. He reached down and tore off the man's other limbs, disabling him completely.
Peter landed beside him, Deadpool close behind.
"We're done here. Clean-up will handle the rest," Ethan said. "Let's get this one to Dr. Stern. He'll want to take a closer look."
"Pres., still enjoying the show? Don't worry, the real fireworks are just getting started. Your graduation ceremony is coming up soon."
In a high-tech research facility, Ethan and Deadpool were lounging on a couch, watching the broadcast on a wall-mounted screen when the feed suddenly switched.
"Who even is this guy? I thought we were still watching the shopping channel," Deadpool said, tilting his head. "That scene just now had Oscar potential. If he'd dropped that last year, DiCaprio would've lost his golden boy again."
Katie stepped into the lab, holding a coffee. "You guys really don't keep up, huh? That's the Mandarin. He runs the Ten Rings. After the Battle of New York, he went public with some twisted manifesto about how the world's broken and he's going to tear it down. He's been behind a string of coordinated attacks globally."
Ethan narrowed his eyes at the screen, "At the end of the day, it's just another power-hungry lunatic using chaos to his advantage. Global instability's making it easier for guys like him to operate. A few corporate syndicates are fanning the flames too. It's actually buying us time — Academy tech projects get overlooked when people are watching explosions."
Deadpool yawned and waved a hand. "Terrorism, capitalism, lectures... Wake me up when the explosions start being funny again. Anyway, where's our friendly neighborhood Spider-kid?"
"He's home for Christmas. Took off to spend time with his aunt in a quiet town," Ethan said, stretching.
"Stern should be done with the sample analysis by now. Let's go check."
Bang!
The door slammed open. Dr. Stern, his massive green forehead unmistakable, barged in with a folder in one hand and a small vial of red liquid in the other.
"Director, I've finished comparing over 3,600 biological samples," Stern said, clearing his throat. "The subject is definitely a meta — his abilities stem from a compound we're calling the Extremis Virus. It's corrosive and aggressive."
He held up the vial. "This virus binds directly to DNA. It hacks into the transcription process at the nucleus level. With the right encoding, we could literally rewrite an organism's genetic structure."
Ethan frowned, "With that much control, there must be some serious downsides. Otherwise those shady labs would already be pumping out metas by the dozen."
"Exactly," Stern said. "First, coding it is extremely difficult. Second, the changes it makes to a person's gene are unstable. Overstimulate the subject, and cellular collapse is almost certain. I abandoned a similar project — it had a failure rate over 50%."
Ethan nodded. "That tracks. People accepted the X-Crystal because it was harmless. But even if Extremis can create superhumans, no one wants to risk a coin flip with their life."
Stern raised a finger. "One more thing. While digging through some old genetic journals, I found a paper from 1999. Some of its concepts match early Extremis design principles almost exactly. And guess who co-authored it? Tony Stark."
Deadpool raised an eyebrow. "Stark's been holding out on us? That charming diva..."
Ethan blinked, then smacked his forehead. "Can't believe I forgot about him. Azazel, think you can drop us near Tony's place? It's about time we had a little chat with Iron Man."
·······
Along a windswept cliffside, inside a sleek modern villa, Tony Stark was buried in work. Below the main level, his underground lab buzzed with automated systems.
Since New York, he'd thrown himself into upgrading his arsenal, mass-producing new suits, trying to stay ahead of whatever came next.
The moment Loki's mind control broke and Tony glimpsed alien tech, his entire worldview cracked.
Now, every time he heard the words "alien" or "New York," anxiety took hold. Building armor wasn't just a hobby anymore — it was survival.
"Testing Mark 42, batch 40. Let's run it," Tony said, stepping to the platform. The suit components shimmered on standby.
He snapped his fingers. "Jarvis, hit me with something upbeat."
"Yes, sir." Jarvis's voice filled the lab. "Semper crescis aut decrescis, vita detestabilis—"
"Whoa, hold up! That's bringing back some dark vibes. Let's go modern. Something snappy."
"Understood, sir. Cueing an updated playlist."
A new track started, its rhythm syncing with the whir of engines.
Tony smirked, dancing in place. "That's more like it."
He pointed at the components. "Alright, armor up!"
Nothing happened.
Tony tapped the motion sensors on his wrist. "What, was the pose off?"
He struck another pose. Still nothing.
"Iron Man — transform! Let's go, Mark 42! Ba la la—" Before he could finish, the sensors kicked in.
With a whoosh, the parts launched toward him. Arms, legs, torso — everything locking into place with precision.
"Through wormholes and stars I glide, armored heart, steel outside" the song played as Tony twirled to the beat, parts snapping into place.
Finally, the helmet soared toward him. "You're up, faceplate. Don't miss your cue."
Bang! The mask clicked on mid-air just as Tony leapt, landing in a dramatic kneel and slamming a fist to the ground. "I'm the King of Kings!"
Just then—
BOOM! BOOM BOOM!
Three figures fell from above, slamming into the lab floor. The impact scattered half the still-assembling armor across the room.
Deadpool groaned, dusting himself off. "Azazel, I said five feet to the left. But hey, not a bad entrance. I was ready for a dramatic monologue anyway~!"
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Word count: 1750
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