A week. It had been a week since Monaco, a week since the world had tilted on its axis, since a name – Stark – had been branded onto Alex's understanding of himself. A week of forcing down a maelstrom of emotions so potent they threatened to unravel the cold, controlled facade he presented to the world, and to Aethelgard. The World Tree's avatar had been… surprisingly understanding, if infuriatingly cryptic, about his need for "processing time." Which apparently translated to shoving him back into the mundane torture of Midtown School of Science and Technology.
The final bell, a screeching banshee of adolescent liberation, finally echoed through the crowded halls. Alex moved with the anonymous flow, his backpack slung over one shoulder, expression carefully neutral. He just wanted to get to the car, to the silent sanctuary of his AlexCorp office, to anywhere but here.
"Alex! Dude! Finally!"
He didn't need to turn to know it was Mark Chandler, his self-appointed best friend and Midtown's resident golden retriever in human form. An arm, far too enthusiastic for a casual greeting, slung around his neck. Alex sighed internally but didn't bother to immediately untangle himself. It was easier, sometimes, to just let Mark happen.
"Hey, man, where the heck have you been all week?" Mark babbled, easily keeping pace as Alex continued towards the lockers. "You weren't picking up calls, texts, smoke signals… I was so bad at 'Galaxy Annihilators' without you, dude. Got totally pwned by some seventh-grader with a hacked Zorgonian controller."
Flanking Mark were two other familiar faces: a shorter, dark-haired boy named Leo, who was usually more sensible than Mark, and a girl with vibrant pink streaks in her black hair, Maya, whose sharp wit often kept both boys in line.
"Yeah, Alex, what gives?" Leo chimed in, a genuine note of concern in his voice. "You just vanished. We were actually starting to think your 'mysterious international business' finally involved, like, an actual alien abduction."
Maya nodded, her arms crossed, an eyebrow arched. "You know, you've always been the quiet, brooding type, Alex, we get that. But this week? Even for you, you've been like… super-brooding silent. Like, 'staring into the abyss and the abyss is getting uncomfortable' silent. What's up?"
Alex finally extracted himself from Mark's friendly chokehold as they reached his locker. He spun the combination with practiced ease. "Had some work to take care of. Urgent. Out of town." He kept his voice even, betraying nothing of the internal earthquake that had been rumbling since Monaco.
"Work? For a whole week? No calls?" Mark persisted, leaning against the adjacent lockers. "Come on, man, not even a 'hey, still alive, not eaten by interdimensional bad guys' text?"
Alex sighed, pulling out a textbook he didn't need. "I was quiet because I was thinking. You guys are just reading too much into it." He slammed his locker shut, a little harder than necessary. To deflect, he asked, "So, what's new and exciting in the thrilling world of high school while I was gone? Did Mr. Harrison finally achieve cold fusion with a Bunsen burner and a piece of chalk?"
Leo perked up, the previous concern momentarily forgotten. "Oh, dude, you missed it! The biggest uproar since, well, since that mutant attack on the White House last year. Iron Man! There was this insane fight downtown a couple of days ago. Some crazy Russian dude in an electric whip-suit, apparently with an arc reactor just like Stark's!"
Alex froze, his hand halfway to his backpack strap. Iron Man.Stark. The names now hit differently, a jolt that went deeper than just superhero news.
Mark, oblivious, whipped out his phone – a slightly battered but still functional iPhone 4, the cutting edge of mobile tech in 2011. "Yeah, man, I got footage! Some dude live-streamed it before the cops shut everything down!" He fumbled with the screen, then held it up. Grainy, shaky video showed Iron Man battling a figure wreathed in crackling electrical whips, the Monaco Grand Prix circuit a backdrop of chaos and destruction. Alex watched, his expression unreadable, as his… father… duelled another madman in a weaponized suit.
"And now," Leo continued, his voice filled with the excited gravity of a news junkie, "there's this massive debate all over the news. Stark claimed for ages that no one could replicate his arc reactor tech for decades, and then this Whiplash psycho shows up with basically the same thing! People are freaking out, saying the government needs to take over Stark Industries, that his tech is too dangerous to be in private hands."
Maya scoffed. "Please. It's Tony Stark. He always makes a comeback. He probably wanted this to happen just to show off how he can still save the day and then invent something even crazier next week." She looked at Alex. "Right, Alex? He's Tony Stark. He'll be fine."
Alex felt a strange, complicated pang at her casual confidence in the man. "Right," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "It's Tony." He needed to get out of here.
As if on cue, his own phone vibrated in his pocket. He glanced at the caller ID – Elara. "Gotta go," he said, already turning away. "Board meeting actually is happening."
He left his friends amidst their renewed chatter about Iron Man, striding towards the school exit where Anya, his driver and head of his personal security detail, waited with the Maybach. The weight of the name 'Stark' felt like a physical burden, a secret identity far more complex and terrifying than any alien form the Omnitrix could offer.
Hours later, the scene shifted from the mundane chaos of high school to the opulent, high-tech anxiety of Tony Stark's Malibu mansion. Tony, looking dishevelled and pale beneath his usual confident swagger, was pacing his workshop, a half-empty glass of scotch in his hand. Lieutenant Colonel James "Rhodey" Rhodes, in full Air Force dress uniform, stood with his arms crossed, his expression a thundercloud of anger and worry.
"…and you didn't think to tell me, Tony?" Rhodey was saying, his voice tight with controlled fury. "Your best friend? The guy who has literally flown into battle with you? That you're dying? That the palladium core in your chest, the thing keeping you alive, is also poisoning you inch by inch?"
Tony waved a dismissive hand, though the gesture lacked its usual conviction. "Dying is such a dramatic word, Rhodey. I prefer 'experiencing a temporary and somewhat aggressive systemic degradation with a potentially fatal endpoint.' See? Sounds much better."
"It sounds like you're an idiot!" Rhodey exploded. "A selfish, arrogant idiot who was going to let his best friend find out from a damn autopsy report!"
"Alright, alright, point taken!" Tony snapped, then winced, pressing a hand to his chest. "Look, I was working on it, okay? I just… hadn't cracked it yet. Didn't want to worry you until I had a solution. Or, you know, a really killer eulogy prepared."
Suddenly, JARVIS's calm, disembodied voice filled the workshop. "Sir, I regret to inform you that there appears to be an unauthorized presence within the facility."
Tony and Rhodey both froze, their argument instantly forgotten. "What? Where, JARVIS?" Tony demanded, his eyes darting towards his Iron Man armor displays.
"The individual is currently located in your private laboratory, sir. Scans indicate… it's the young man you met in Monaco. Mr. Alexander." A live security feed shimmered into existence on one of Tony's large holographic displays, showing Alex, dressed in his simple dark clothes, strolling casually through Tony's hyper-secure lab, looking around with an air of mild, critical curiosity.
Tony stared, slack-jawed. "Alex? How in the ever-loving hell did he get in here? JARVIS, I have security protocols that would make Fort Knox look like a garden shed! How did he bypass them without you even noticing until he was in the lab?"
"His method of entry appears to be… unconventional, sir," JARVIS replied, a hint of what might have been AI surprise in his tone. "He did not trigger any external or internal sensors. He simply… appeared."
Rhodey, his military training kicking in, had already drawn his sidearm, a standard issue M9, its safety clicking off with an ominous sound. "Mutant. Teleporter, maybe. Tony, stay behind me."
They moved swiftly, silently, towards the lab entrance. Tony, despite Rhodey's caution, pushed slightly ahead, his mind racing. The kid from Aethelgard. Here. In his lab. After their bizarre, abrupt conversation in Monaco.
They burst into the lab, Rhodey taking a combat stance, weapon leveled. "Freeze! Don't move!"
Alex, who had been examining a half-finished gauntlet component on one of Tony's workbenches, turned slowly, an expression of almost bored amusement on his face. He didn't raise his hands. He just looked at Rhodey's gun, then at Rhodey, then at Tony, who was standing just behind his friend.
"Hey, man," Tony said, trying for casual, though his heart was hammering. "Nice to see you again. Love what you've done with the place. Just kidding, this is my place. How'd you get in here? Secret knock I don't know about?" He knew Alex was powerful, but this level of infiltration…
Rhodey ignored him, his gun steady on Alex. "Shut up, Tony! You don't know who this kid is, what he's capable of!"
Alex chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "Actually, Tony, your friend here is right. You really don't know who I am." He met Rhodey's gaze, his eyes glinting with something cold and sharp. "Well, Captain Rhodes, is it? Impressive. You know, the last time a military man pointed a gun at me with that much conviction, he and his entire platoon ended up as abstract art spread across a Siberian wasteland. And trust me," Alex's smirk widened, "your little peashooter isn't going to do a damn thing except make a loud noise before I turn it into a very expensive paperweight."
"Are you forgetting the treaty you yourself signed, kid?" Rhodey growled, though a flicker of uncertainty now touched his eyes. "The Aethelgard Accords. You use lethal force, you use powers deemed… excessive… against citizens of signatory nations, and you violate international law. Your little ice kingdom gets sanctioned into oblivion."
Alex's smirk didn't falter. "Oh, I remember the fine print. Very tedious. But who said anything about killing anyone? I'm not here for a fight, Captain. Surprising, I know, given my reputation." His gaze shifted to Tony. "I came because your friend here, Mr. Stark, practically begged me for help in Monaco. Said he needed something only my people could provide. Something about… 'magic tree water'?"
Rhodey's head snapped towards Tony, his expression a mixture of disbelief and betrayal. "You went to him? For help? After everything—"
Tony winced, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. "What? I mean, I heard things, okay? Rumors. You know me, I explore all options. And he seemed… knowledgeable." He looked at Alex, a new spark of hope, warring with annoyance, in his eyes. "So, after ditching me like I had the plague that day in Monaco, for God knows whatever damn reason, you finally decided to show up and grace me with your teenage angst and a potential miracle cure?"
Alex's expression hardened slightly at the mention of Monaco. "Let's just say I had some… personal matters to process." He pushed the memory of the DNA scan, the name 'Stark', deep down. Not now. "And yes, I can save you. That arc reactor in your chest? The palladium core? It's a brilliant piece of engineering, Stark. A masterpiece of miniaturization. It's also poisoning you, breaking down your cellular structure with every beat of your heart, even as it keeps the shrapnel from turning that same heart into shredded meat. Quite the paradox."
Tony's bravado faltered. "Yeah, well, I don't know how you know the specifics of that, kid, but you're not wrong." He took a deep breath. "So, what's the catch? What do you want? Name it. Schematics for my suits? Unrestricted access to my R&D? My vintage wine collection? It's yours. Just give me that… that water. The stuff from your World Tree."
Alex shook his head, a flicker of something almost like pity in his eyes. "That, I can't give you. The World Tree decides who is worthy of its direct gifts, not me. Its essence is… not for casual use. And frankly, Stark, your problem, while inconveniently fatal for you, isn't big enough to warrant that kind of intervention. It's too precious a resource to waste on something so… mundane."
Tony actually recoiled, genuinely hurt. "Mundane? Precious? Are you saying I'm not precious enough? That I'm not worthy?" The billionaire ego, bruised, was a sight to behold.
Alex sighed. This was going to be more exhausting than he thought. "Look, Stark, it's not about your 'preciousness'. It's about scale. What ails you is a complex engineering and biological problem. The Tree's gift is more for, shall we say, existential-level crises." He paused. "I can save you. Easily. But the World Tree, in its infinite and often annoying wisdom, was… reluctant. It insisted I verify that you genuinely needed help, that you weren't just looking for another power-up, another way to stroke your ego."
"And how are you gonna do that, kid?" Tony asked, suspicion warring with desperation. "Give me a pop quiz on humility?"
Alex's lips curved into a small, almost invisible smile. "Something like that. I'm going to bring in a consultant. Someone who actually understands this kind of mess." He raised his left wrist, the blue faceplate of the Omnitrix glowing softly. "Now, I can't guarantee this particular guy will want to help you. He's got… strong opinions. And frankly, his bedside manner makes mine look like a saint's. But if anyone can figure out your little palladium problem, it's him."
He tapped the Omnitrix, the dial scrolling through alien silhouettes too fast for human eyes to follow, then slammed his palm down.
A brilliant flash of blue light filled the lab, momentarily blinding Tony and Rhodey. When their vision cleared, Alex was gone. Standing in his place, on one of Tony's pristine workbenches, was a tiny, grey-skinned, froglike alien, no more than six inches tall, with huge, intelligent green eyes, wearing a simple green and black tunic. He looked incredibly old, incredibly irritated, and incredibly out of place.
Tony and Rhodey just stared, speechless.
"Wha… what in the…?" Tony finally managed, his scientific mind struggling to process the instantaneous biological transmutation he had just witnessed. "How did he… who… what is that? That's impossible!"
The tiny alien glared up at them, his jowls quivering with annoyance. "Well, don't just stand there gaping like a pair of lobotomized LGM-1s! And stop staring at me like I'm some kind of… of novelty!" Azmuth, First Thinker of Galvan Prime, creator of the Omnitrix, and arguably the smartest being in at least five galaxies (a fact he was always happy to point out), huffed.
Rhodey finally found his voice, though it was laced with disbelief. He gestured with his still-raised gun. "So… this little thing is going to help Tony? Seriously? It looks like something you'd dissect in a high school biology class, if it didn't dissect you first."
Azmuth's massive green eyes narrowed into slits. "Silence, you oversized, organically-challenged weapon platform! Just because your cranium is disproportionately large does not imply a corresponding increase in intellectual capacity! In fact, in your case, I suspect an inverse correlation!"
Tony, despite the gravity of his own situation, couldn't help but let out a surprised laugh. "Whoa there, Kermit! Big words from a little guy. You think you're smart? Buddy, you're looking at the smartest, most innovative mind on this entire planet. There's no one smarter than me."
Azmuth puffed out his tiny chest, his jowls vibrating with indignation. "Smarter than you? You primitive, carbon-based, emotionally-driven egomaniac? Hah! What's your current assessed IQ, primate? Two hundred? Three hundred, on a good day, with a tailwind and a cheat sheet?"
Tony, though taken aback by the sheer audacity, listed his officially tested IQ, a number that was indeed stratospherically high by human standards.
Azmuth just waved a dismissive, three-fingered hand. "Bah! A rounding error! Even if you lined up a thousand of your so-called 'geniuses', their collective intellect wouldn't amount to a flicker in the shadow of my cognitive capabilities! I designed the very device that allowed that… that other insufferable young Galvan-wannabe to bring me here! I comprehend technologies that would make your entire species' understanding of physics look like cave paintings!"
"Are you serious?" Tony said, a mixture of amusement and genuine offense in his voice. "You really think you're—"
Azmuth didn't let him finish. His huge eyes scanned the workshop, taking in the half-finished Iron Man suits, the holographic displays, the complex arc reactor schematics. He hopped off the workbench, landing with a soft pat, and waddled over to the Mark V armor, which was currently disassembled, its chest plate open, revealing the intricate workings of its repulsor system.
"This… this is your 'genius'?" Azmuth scoffed, poking a critical finger at a particularly complex relay. "This power coupling is inefficient! The energy bleed-off from this tertiary focusing lens alone must be in the range of 12.7%! And this pathetic attempt at a stable cold fusion core? It's leaking exotic particles like a sieve! Are you trying to irradiate yourself into an early grave, you blithering idiot?" He began rapidly pointing out flaws, design inefficiencies, and potential catastrophic failure points in Tony's most advanced armor, his voice a rapid-fire torrent of condescending, highly technical corrections. He didn't just look at it; he understood it, on a level that made Tony's head spin.
Tony, who had never been talked down to by anyone regarding his own technology, stood there, his mouth slightly open, as the tiny alien frog systematically, and with brutal accuracy, dismantled years of his most prized work with nothing more than a cursory glance and a series of witheringly disdainful comments. Rhodey, for his part, was struggling very hard not to laugh out loud.
Azmuth finished his critique, then glared up at Tony, who looked like he'd just been verbally assaulted by a particularly articulate and well-informed badger. "Frankly," Azmuth declared, "it's a miracle this walking deathtrap hasn't already exploded and taken half of California with it! You call this 'armor'? I call it a lawsuit waiting to happen! Now, about this palladium poisoning… let me see the patient. And try not to contaminate my diagnostic field with any more of your… Stark-level thinking."
Tony, for perhaps the first time in his adult life, was utterly speechless. The little green… whatever it was… had just out-geniused him. Effortlessly. And with extreme prejudice. This was going to be a very interesting consultation.
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