And ever since he decided to become a superhero, little Peter had thrown himself into the ocean of knowledge.
It quickly became clear—geniuses really are different.
With no guidance at all, Peter picked up a physics textbook and began learning on his own. Not from the basics, either. He skipped several stages of difficulty because he already understood the fundamentals.
Robert observed this with genuine admiration.
Good job, my little Peter.
He nodded in satisfaction. He wasn't concerned that Peter's studies would interfere with regular schoolwork. After all, American elementary schools let out by 3 p.m., and students were rarely given homework. Unless they were in wealthy households with private tutors, kids had all the time in the world to play or study on their own.
And Peter, of course, didn't come from money.
Robert knew about his family situation. Peter's parents were gone, and he'd been taken in by his uncle and aunt. Not long after, his uncle died in an act of righteousness—you know, the classic "with great power comes great responsibility" scenario. That left only Aunt May to care for Peter.
Given Aunt May's financial limits, expensive tutoring was out of the question. Which meant Peter had plenty of free time.
Two hours of physics, two of engineering, two more grinding exercises—Robert thought this was a very healthy routine.
Satisfied with Peter's progress, Robert left him to study and walked into the garage with a soda in hand.
Now that he had a potential tech genius on the hook, it was time to hunt for a super battle suit blueprint.
And he already had a plan.
That night—Stark Group Industrial Zone, Sector 16.
A sharp-looking blonde woman led a group of men in black uniforms through the corridors of an industrial building. She moved quickly, with a tense expression. They reached a heavy steel door.
The woman swiped her badge, but it flashed red. Access denied.
She turned to the middle-aged man behind her in panic. "Agent Coulson, we're here—but my clearance isn't working."
Phil Coulson didn't say a word. He calmly pulled a small gadget from his coat and attached it to the door's lock.
Boom!
The lock blew open with a sharp explosion.
Pistol in hand, Coulson led the charge through the door, his team following in formation. They moved like professionals, scanning every angle with their weapons drawn.
Inside, they found it: a rough, hulking suit of steel armor. Assembled from spare parts and scrap, but clearly modeled after Tony Stark's design.
Coulson turned to the blonde woman—Pepper Potts. "You were right. Obadiah Stane's the man behind Tony Stark's kidnapping. And he's been trying to recreate the armor."
He motioned to his team.
They were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, members of the Homeland Strategic Defense Attack and Logistics Division. Their job was to investigate and contain emerging threats—and today, that included Stane's knockoff Iron Man suit.
But their objective wasn't just to arrest Obadiah.
Their real mission? Secure the blueprint for the armor.
And, of course, to "protect" it.
Protect it, in this case, meant seizing it for S.H.I.E.L.D. custody. Because, in their minds, there was no safer place for such tech than their own vaults. Whether or not others agreed didn't matter—they certainly believed it.
Coulson signaled, and the agents began combing the area for technical documents or data.
Suddenly—
"Ahhh!"
A scream echoed across the room.
They turned. Two glowing lights emerged from a shadowed corner, followed by the sound of grinding metal. A massive silhouette took shape—a towering steel titan over three meters tall.
Potts didn't collapse in fear like a helpless movie damsel. Instead, she screamed and ran. Somehow, she managed it even in heels.
Coulson stared at the armor. It was clearly a scaled-up knockoff of Tony's original suit.
Without hesitation, Coulson and the others opened fire.
The bullets sparked uselessly against the armor's surface.
The steel giant roared, storming forward. One S.H.I.E.L.D. agent didn't react in time and was sent flying into the wall, crumpling like a ragdoll.
Seeing the overwhelming power disparity, Coulson jumped a side railing just in time to avoid the monster's charge.
The armor didn't pursue. Instead, it blasted through the ceiling with jets of flame from its feet and disappeared into the night.
"…That was excessive," Coulson muttered, straightening his coat.
He looked at the bodies of his fallen agents and sighed. Years of field work had hardened him, but the sight was never easy. He suppressed his emotions and turned to the surviving agents.
"Keep searching for the blueprint. I'll report to the Director—"
BANG! BANG!
Gunshots rang out. Two agents dropped instantly.
Coulson spun around, drawing his pistol. His heart skipped a beat.
Out of the shadows stepped… Tony Stark?
No. Not quite.
The figure was wearing Tony's face like a mask—literally. A fake head had been sloppily attached to a body to create a disguise.
A terrible one. So bad, even an idiot would see through it.
Coulson narrowed his eyes and raised his weapon.
But the real danger? Was just beginning.
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