For 30+ advance/early chapters : p atreon.com/Ritesh_Jadhav0869
As Alex walked the team through the Mark series evolution—the design philosophy, the technological progression, the various specialized suits—he watched their expressions gradually transform.
When he revealed War Machine, there were some nods of approval. Darker color scheme, exposed weaponry, more angular plating. It captured some of that military aesthetic they understood.
Then he showed them the Hulkbuster.
That got their attention.
The Hulkbuster still featured the red and gold color scheme, but its sheer size and power were undeniable. The modular design that let it combine with the base suit, the massive orbital deployment system that could be summoned from a near-Earth satellite platform, the battle-damage support capabilities—it was all genuinely innovative.
"Wait, so the Hulkbuster gets deployed from space?" Nathan asked, leaning forward.
"Orbital drop deployment," Alex confirmed. "Tony designs it specifically to stop the Hulk if Bruce Banner loses control. It's basically a mech designed to fight another superhero."
The subsequent Mark iterations showed the team how the technology evolved over time. Early suits required robotic assembly arms and took minutes to put on. Later versions became portable, then modular with flying components that auto-assembled around Tony mid-combat.
The progression was relentless—each generation more advanced, more sophisticated, more seamlessly integrated with cutting-edge tech.
Then Alex showed them the Mark 50 nanotech suit.
He pulled up a short combat clip from Infinity War—Tony summoning weapons from thin air as nanomachines flowed across his body, forming shields, blades, repulsors, whatever he needed in the moment. Morphing and adapting to each threat instantaneously.
The conference room erupted.
"Holy shit, that's incredible!"
"The nanomachines can form ANY weapon configuration?"
"That's not just a mech, that's like... liquid metal technology!"
"Can we actually implement that in-game?"
The energy had completely flipped. What had been skepticism and concern was now genuine excitement and enthusiasm.
People were starting to see it—beneath the sleek, beautiful exterior was genuinely groundbreaking technology. The sophistication wasn't just aesthetic, it was functional. The armor had depth, complexity, innovation that went far beyond surface-level cool factor.
It somehow managed to be both gorgeous AND powerful, stylish AND practical. Much like Tony Stark himself—the playboy billionaire who was also a genius inventor. Substance and style in perfect balance.
After seeing the full Iron Man evolution, the team's perception had completely transformed. They weren't just accepting the design anymore—they were getting genuinely hyped about it.
Emily pulled up the original Fast & Furious car designs on her tablet. "Remember when people questioned these car models? Said they looked too clean, too stylish for street racing? Then they became the most popular vehicles in the entire game."
"This could be the same thing," David agreed. "Something completely different that creates its own market."
Alex felt the tension drain from his shoulders. This was exactly what he needed—the team fully bought in, aligned with his vision, ready to execute at the highest level.
Because here's the thing about creative work: if your team doesn't believe in the project, it shows in the final product. Half-hearted execution kills great ideas. But when everyone's passionate, when they're genuinely excited about what they're building, that energy translates directly into quality.
The team wouldn't just implement his designs—they'd expand on them, contribute their own ideas, find ways to make everything even better. Just like Fast & Furious, where the creative team had added layers of depth and innovation that Alex hadn't originally planned.
That collaborative energy is what transformed good projects into great ones.
"Alright," Alex said, closing his presentation with a satisfied grin. "Let's make some kickass superhero content."
The meeting ended with everyone buzzing with renewed confidence and ambition, ready to tackle the Avengers project head-on.
The Next Day – Production Launch
Avengers development officially kicked off across all fronts. The game content team began building out the dungeon framework while Morrison Entertainment started principal photography on Iron Man and Super Soldier.
Robert Downey Jr. had arrived in New York three days ago for costume fittings and chemistry reads with the supporting cast. Early reports from the director suggested he was absolutely nailing the Tony Stark energy.
Everything was moving. Fast.
Late December – First Snow
Time blurred when you were running multiple massive projects simultaneously. Suddenly it was late December, and New York's first real snowfall was blanketing the city.
Alex stood at Stormwind's office windows watching fat snowflakes drift past the neon glow of Manhattan's nighttime skyline. Each flake caught the light, creating this beautiful cascading effect—nature's glitter bomb over concrete and steel.
It was 9:30 PM. He and several Immortal Banner guild members had just wrapped a two-hour dungeon run. Behind him, over a dozen employees were still at their desks, grinding away at Avengers development.
Tom hunched over his workstation debugging character animation rigs. Emily Watson reviewed environmental art assets. David tested gameplay mechanics in a development build.
Working late had become standard operating procedure, especially on Avengers. The project was ambitious, complex, and time-sensitive. Overtime was expected—though Alex made damn sure the overtime pay was generous enough to make it worthwhile.
"Alright everyone!" Alex called out. "You've all been killing it. I'm ordering from that hot pot place—the one with the premium broth—and we're having a late dinner together. On me."
Cheers erupted around the office.
"Hell yes! I've been craving hot pot all week!"
"Boss, can we get drinks too? I'm planning to crash here tonight anyway!"
"Thank you, Mr. Morrison!"
Snow continued falling until well past midnight before finally tapering off. Most of it melted on contact with the still-warm pavement, and New York's aggressive snow removal crews had the streets mostly clear by morning rush hour.
The Next Morning
Alex woke up to his phone buzzing with a text from his mother: Family obligation. Mrs. Worthington's expecting us at 11. Wear something nice.
He groaned, face-down in his pillow.
As a trust fund kid with his own income, Alex had thought he'd escaped the worst aspects of wealthy family life—the mandatory social events, the networking lunches, the carefully orchestrated encounters with "appropriate" families.
Apparently not.
The Worthingtons were old money—like, old old money. The kind of family that had streets named after them. Mrs. Margaret Worthington was his mother's longtime friend and occasional golf partner, and Alex had spent plenty of childhood holidays at the Worthington estate being fed expensive chocolates that his mother usually forbade.
He'd known most of the Worthington kids growing up, but hadn't really stayed in touch after high school. Different circles, different priorities.
This wasn't any special holiday or occasion, which made the sudden summons suspicious.
Worthington Estate, Connecticut – 11:15 AM
Alex understood everything the moment they walked through the door and Mrs. Worthington materialized with a warm, calculating smile.
"Emma dear, why don't you show Alex around the grounds? Sarah, you come help me check on the desserts in the kitchen!"
His mother shot him an apologetic look that said just play along before disappearing with Mrs. Worthington toward the back of the house.
"Sure, Grandma Margaret," Emma Worthington said with practiced politeness.
Oh. Oh no.
This was a setup. A completely transparent, awkwardly orchestrated matchmaking attempt by two mothers who'd apparently discussed this over their weekly golf game.
Alex and Emma exchanged a look that clearly communicated mutual understanding: This is weird and we both know it, but we have to at least pretend for the next hour.
Actually, Alex and Emma had gotten along fine as kids. They'd played together during family visits, built blanket forts, the usual childhood stuff. But Emma had gone abroad for boarding school at like thirteen, and Alex honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her.
Back then she'd been this skinny, gangly pre-teen. Now?
Now she was definitely not that.
The international school diet must've been something else, because Emma had transformed into a statuesque 5'10" with the kind of presence that turned heads. She was about Isabella's age—a year younger than Alex, just turned twenty. Dressed impeccably in that effortless way wealthy people pulled off, radiating the kind of confidence that came from never having worried about money a day in your life.
The classic "catch" by old money standards—beautiful, educated, from the right family, the whole package.
Which made this forced socialization even more awkward.
PLZ THROW POWERSTONES.