After admiring the silver watch that had been a glove moments before, Tony's gaze shifted, landing on the monocle perched on Amon's face. Acting on a mischievous impulse, he extended his left hand, the Spark watch gleaming, and mimed a twisting motion, attempting to use his newfound power to steal the eyepiece. He twisted his wrist until it ached, but nothing happened.
"This thing doesn't work," Tony grumbled.
Amon chuckled softly. He raised a hand, calmly removed the monocle from his right eye, and held it out. "Mr. Iron Man, you have excellent taste," he said with a knowing smile. "This particular piece is a limited edition, one of a kind in the universe. If you desire it, I will give it to you."
He extended his hand, offering the monocle.
Tony felt a flush of embarrassment, his thieving intent laid bare. He quickly waved his hand dismissively. "No need. I don't like taking handouts."
"Oh, very well. It seems you are destined to be without this monocle, then." Amon placed the eyepiece back on his eye, then made a subtle grasping motion in the air toward Tony's chest.
A small, metallic shard suddenly appeared, held delicately between Amon's thumb and index finger. He twirled it, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Haha, Mr. Iron Man, that is how you use it. But I must say, your hobbies are rather unique. You enjoy implanting shrapnel in your own body?"
Tony's eyes widened in disbelief. He recognized the object instantly. It was one of the shards lodged in his chest from the Stark Industries shell that had nearly killed him. The Arc Reactor in his chest existed solely to power the electromagnet that kept those fragments from reaching his heart. He couldn't believe this young man had just plucked one out so effortlessly.
"How did you do that?" Tony asked, his curiosity overriding his shock. "Did you... steal it, like you said?"
"It is simple," Amon replied. "With a bit of practice, you can do it too. You can remove the remaining shrapnel yourself."
A new question popped into Tony's mind. "What should we call our company?" he asked, already thinking of himself as a co-founder.
Amon adjusted his monocle, a smile playing on his lips. "Let's call it... Marvel."
At an abandoned experimental site outside New York, a figure dropped from the sky, landing with a thunderous impact in a classic superhero pose. The Iron Man armor peeled back automatically, and Tony Stark stepped out, the suit following him like a loyal guard dog. This wasn't Jarvis, but the new Mark V armor, the product of Tony's recent collaboration with Jarvis. Together, they had created a new artificial intelligence named Friday. While not yet as advanced as the transformed Jarvis, Friday was vastly superior to Jarvis's original state.
All the Autobots currently on Earth were gathered there, along with a single member of the Rider Clan named Thunderbolt, who had been invited by Bumblebee.
"Looks like I'm the last to arrive," Tony remarked, walking over to where the Autobots were gathered around a silent, silver mechanical body—the remains of Jazz. They weren't there to mourn, but to attempt a resurrection.
The story was this: Thunderbolt, having struck up a friendship with Bumblebee, had learned of their fallen comrade. He had then volunteered, claiming he possessed a way to bring Jazz back from the dead.
Feeling all eyes on him, Thunderbolt made a show of adjusting his components before reaching into his own chest cavity. He withdrew a token-like object that pulsed with a soft, internal light.
"The Energy Token," Thunderbolt announced.
Optimus Prime's mechanical brow raised. The object radiated an energy that felt remarkably similar to the Allspark. If not for the difference in form, he might have mistaken it for their lost relic.
Thunderbolt stepped forward and placed the token on the dead Autobot's empty spark chamber. As he applied gentle pressure, the token began to glow brightly, and streams of pure energy flowed into Jazz's lifeless body.
As the energy surged, the gaping hole in Jazz's chest began to knit itself back together. Metal reformed, circuits reconnected, and soon, his body was as pristine as the day it was forged.
"Arise, Jazz!" Thunderbolt commanded.
"Ha ha!" With a sudden jolt, Jazz's optics flared to life. He took two deep, shuddering breaths of air, then slowly sat up, looking around in confusion.
Optimus Prime, who had been watching with bated breath, finally spoke. "Welcome back, my friend."
Tony, ever the scientist, was bursting with questions. "What is that token? How can it revive you Transformers? Does the energy it emits repair the special metal of your bodies? Or does it rekindle your spark?"
The good-natured Thunderbolt explained, "The energy released by this token is the source of life for us of the Rider Clan. By absorbing this energy, we can repair any injury, strengthen our sparks, and enhance our own power."
Jazz, listening to the exchange, began to piece together what had happened. He had died, and this red Transformer had saved him. The stylish Autobot stood up and addressed his comrades. "Seeing you all safe, I take it the Decepticons' plot failed!"
He then turned to Thunderbolt, his voice filled with solemn respect. "My friend, I owe you my life. May I know your name?"
"I am Thunderbolt," the Rider replied.
"I will remember it," Jazz said with a firm nod.
Tony, however, was not finished. He rushed up to Thunderbolt. "Thunderbolt, can I borrow your token? Just to study it for a bit. I'm incredibly curious about it. It might unlock the secrets of your entire race!"
At this, Thunderbolt quickly put the token away. "No. The Energy Token is a symbol of my rank as a captain in the Rider Clan, bestowed upon me by the War King himself. It is the source of our very lives. I cannot give it to an outsider."
Hearing this, Tony threw his hands up in mock exasperation. "Alright, fine. Be a good little boy who listens to his elders."
Inside S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Nick Fury was drowning in paperwork. Ever since Tony Stark had outed himself as Iron Man and broadcast the existence of aliens to the entire world, Fury had been working nonstop to clean up the resulting mess.
The door to his office opened, and Alexander Pierce walked in.
Fury looked up from his work, pausing. He had a great deal he wanted to say to his old friend.
"Hey, old man," Fury began, "what's with the monocle? Never seen you wear one of those before."
Pierce moved a chair over, sat down, and crossed his legs. "This? I'm getting old, Nick. My eyesight isn't what it used to be. Had it custom-made. High-end product, completely handmade. You know what? After putting this on, I can finally see the world clearly. You want one? I'll get one for you."
As he spoke, Pierce removed the monocle and began polishing it with a silk cloth he produced from his jacket.