Morning came like a hangover wrapped in a migraine.
The arc reactor was still there, humming away in my chest like an expensive pacemaker that could double as a nightlight. Floating above my bed was the same glowing blue text from last night:
[GOOD MORNING, MR. STARK.]
I groaned. "Oh, you again."
The events of yesterday came rushing back — Pepper not hearing me, the suits, the Mark I in the lab, me in the news… and the horrifying realization that I was living in a world where an alien invasion was basically penciled in on the calendar.
Nope. Nope, nope, nope.
I did what any sane, non–Tony-Stark fan would do: I decided to run.
---
Step one: See if I'm still Tony.
I shuffled into the bathroom. Still the same face in the mirror, same goatee, same hair I could never grow in my real life. I even tried making that smug Stark smirk.
Nailed it... Hated it.
Step two: Check the wallet situation.
The man's credit card was heavy enough to qualify as a blunt weapon.
Name: Anthony E. Stark.
Limit: probably "yes."
Step three: Garage reconnaissance.
The elevator doors slid open, and my jaw hit the floor. Rows of gleaming sports cars in colors I didn't know existed. It was like a car magazine had exploded.
"Okay," I said to no one. "This is… fine. Totally fine."
I picked a sleek silver Audi because it looked the least likely to explode.
---
The drive to the airport was surreal. Every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror, it was Tony Stark's eyes looking back.
Of course, Stark being Stark, there was no waiting in line at LAX. No, sir. There was a hangar and in that hangar? A jet.
A private jet.
The pilot greeted me like I was a regular. "Morning, Mr. Stark. Where to?"
I froze. Where do you run when your problems involve intergalactic tyrants?
"…Europe," I said. "Surprise me."
---
Half a world away, I started to feel… okay.
Paris cafés. Italian beaches. Tokyo sushi bars.
I ate until I was full, drank until I was dizzy, and slept in a penthouse suite that made my old apartment look like a broom closet.
For the first time since waking up in Stark's body, I almost convinced myself this could work.
Stay gone. Stay out of the way. Let the Avengers handle it.
---
Then I woke up.
Not to an alarm. Not to sunlight streaming through expensive curtains. To the sound of waves outside the window.
Except… my bedroom didn't have waves outside the window because this wasn't Paris, or Rome, or Tokyo... It was Malibu.
The Stark mansion.
I sat up so fast I got lightheaded. "No. No, no, no—"
The system's holographic interface hovered in front of me, calm as a robot butler could be.
[TRAVEL RESTRICTIONS ENABLED.]
[YOU CANNOT LEAVE YOUR PRIMARY OPERATIONAL ZONE.]
I stared at it. "Primary operational…? Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
Somewhere, J.A.R.V.I.S. was probably smirking.
---
To be continued...