Chapter 205 - My SI Stash #5 - A Stark Contrast by LordofAdmirals117 (MCU) (1/2)

-More SI MCU fics~ Recently published with consistent updates, and also SI as Tony Stark's son.

Sypnosis: Reincarnation is the philosophical or religious concept that the non-physical essence of a living being starts a new life in a different physical form or body after biological death. Unknown to Tony Stark, Maya Hansen gives birth to a son, who is trying to save the world because that's what a Stark does. (Iron Son Self-Insert)

Rated: T

Words: 16K

Posted on: fanfiction.net/s/13514867/1/A-Stark-Contrast (LordofAdmirals117)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 1-3 (exceptional)

Harry Hansen stared at his reflection in the dirty, cracked mirror and questioned his sanity. He wasn't shaking, and his palms weren't sweaty. He wasn't nervous. It was just a cold, calculated assessment of his abilities and his odds for survival. He went over the plan once more from beginning to end, and again concluded it was likely that he would be severely beaten, tortured, and possibly killed. Still, even in the face of such prospects, he couldn't bring himself to walk away, which brought him right smack dab back to the part about his mental health. What kind of man willingly chose to do this kind of thing? Harry thought about it for a long moment.

A hero.

While someone else might have been content to sit on their hands, it wasn't in Harry's nature to do so. His mother and Killian had already done too much damage. Chad Davis was dead, along with five others. If he let them continue, there would be more death, more destruction. All placed at the feet of a bumbling fool. A.I.M. gad without question already began creating the Mandarin to hide their involvement in the bombing. They would use Trevor and his false crusade against America as a smokescreen while they continued not only to ruin lives but take them as well for nothing more than a profit.

That was the savage truth, and if his mother could delude herself into thinking otherwise, it just meant there was something broken in her that couldn't be fixed. He wasn't going to kill her. However, S.H.I.E.L.D. had many facilities where she would be safe, contained. Not a danger to others or herself.

After months of working with the very people who handled situations like this, Harry decided to look for a solution on his own. The bureaucrats and secret HYDRA agents back in Washington might be content if Maya Hansen, one of A.I.M.'s top scientist, wasn't taken alive, but Harry was not. He might not have been a conventional son, but she was still his mother, and it didn't matter what she was involved in. He didn't want her to die.

Harry eyed his fractured reflection; his thick, uncombed head of brown hair and beard, his tanned skin and his eyes so dark that they were almost black. With the Photostatic Veil, he could hide his identity from his enemies; however, he could not change his height. To the men coming for him, he looked similar yet different enough to one of his favorite actors, Pinker Dinklage.

He thought of his training and everything he'd done so far. The short life he lived in the world would be over, and that meant Thanos would win. The Mad Titan would snap his fingers, and half the universe would cease to exist. But if he didn't, then Maya would die, and it would be his fault. He'd wake up each morning and got to bed each night with the nagging thought that he should have done something.-anything. And ultimately, he would emasculate himself by question the size of his balls for as long as he lived. Harry shuddered at the thought. He might be a little crazy, but he'd read enough Greek tragedies to understand that a life with that kind recrimination would eventually lead him to the psych ward where he would be no use to anyone. No, he thought, I'd rather go down trying to save someone.

He nodded to himself and took a deep breath before walking over to the window. Harry gently pulled back the curtains and looked down at the street. The two Extremis soldiers from A.I.M. were still positioned across the street, keeping an eye on his apartment building. Harry had left a trail in the net when he hacked A.I.M., and they had shown up days later. S.H.I.E.I.L.D. was no doubt on the lookout for him too, not that they knew what his new face looked like. He was playing a risky game, but there was only one avenue open to him, and there was no sense in delaying what had to be done.

Harry scribbled a note and left it on the small desk in the corner. He gathered his sunglasses and his coat and headed for the door. The elevator was broken, so he walked the two flights to the lobby. The man behind the front desk looked nervous, which Harry took as a sign that someone had talked to him. He continued out the front door and looked up and down the street. From behind his sunglasses, he pretended not to see Killian's lackeys. He turned right and started heading east.

Within half a block, Harry's nervous system began sending his brain alarms, each more frantic than the last. It took every ounce of control to override his training and millions of years of basic survival instincts that were embedded like code in the human brain.

Up ahead, the familiar black car was parked across the street. Harry ignored the man behind the wheel and turned down a narrow side street. Just thirty steps ahead was a well-dressed man was standing in front of a shop. His right leg was straight and firmly planted on the pavement, and his left bent up behind him and placed against the side of the building. He was resting against the building while he chewed on a stick of gum.

The man was Eric Savin, Killian's number one thug. The footfalls from behind Harry were echoing like heavy shoes on the stone floor of an empty parking garage. Harry could hear the pace of his pursuers quicken. A car engine revved, no doubt the black sedan he'd already spotted. With every step, Harry could feel them closing in from behind. His mind ran through scenarios with increasing rapidly, looking for any way out of the impending disaster.

They were close now. Harry could feel them. Literally, because of the heat they were generating. Savin spat his gum out and pushed himself away from the building. He smiled at Harry and produced a pistol from his jacket. Harry feigned surprise and turned to run. The two men were exactly where he expected them to be, guns drawn, one pointed at Harry's head, the other at his c_h_e_s_t.

The sedan skidded to a stop just to his right, the trunk, and the front passenger door swinging open. Harry knew what was next. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as Savin cracked him across the back of the head with his pistol. Harry stumbled forward and willingly fell into the arms of the two men with guns. He let his legs go slack, big arms wrapped around his c_h_e_s_t and held him upright. They dragged him the short distance to the car's trunk. Harry landed headfirst with a thump. The rest of his body was folded in on top of him, and the trunk slammed shut.

The engine roared, and the tires peeled against the pavement until they found a grip. Harry was thrown back as the car shot forward. He slowly cracked his eyes, and as expected, he found himself in total darkness. His head was throbbing a bit from the blow, but it could have been worse. There was no fear on his face or doubt in his mind, though—just a smile on his lips as he thought about his plan. The seeds of disinformation that he had spread had drawn them out just as he'd hoped. His captors had no idea of the true intent of the man they now had in their possession, and more importantly, no idea of the violence and pain he was about to visit upon them.

Inspired by the line in Iron Man 3 where Tony asks Maya if a twelve-year-old is waiting out in the car. The idea snowballed into this story.

Heavily rewritten from the original story

Reviews are welcomed and appreciated!

Chapter 2

(One Year Earlier)

Nick Fury was having one hell of a week. As the Director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, simply S.H.I.E.L.D., he'd had bad weeks before. The hostage situation in Bogotá and the alien invasion in '95 came to mind when he thought about his worst weeks.

No, Fury was no stranger to a bad week. However, this past week? It made '95 look like a vacation. He couldn't believe so much had gone wrong in such a short amount of time. General Ross had found a lead on Banner that led to the Hulk fighting Emil Blonsky, a deranged soldier-turned-monster Ross helped create by injecting him with a Super Soldier Serum that had been put on ice for a reason. Thor, the actual God of Thunder, had leveled a small town in New Mexico fighting against some alien robot called the Destroyer.

And then there was Stark.

One week earlier, Fury had been awakened by a phone call and was informed that in 72 hours, Tony Stark would be dead. When he arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters, Coulson informed him that he had picked up an atmospheric disturbance above New Mexico and requested to go and research it. Fury, however, did not believe in its credibility and instead ordered Coulson to stay at Headquarters.

Later he had been informed by a S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist that Stark had high levels of Palladium in his bloodstream, which was causing his health to deteriorate and given lithium dioxide to delay the poisoning. Fury contacted Natasha Romanoff, who had been in the middle of a duel between Colonel Rhodes and Iron Man. He told her he would be there soon and not to blow her cover.

After his birthday brawl, Stark flew away, and Fury attempted to speak to the World Security Council; however, they were not available. Coulson tried to show him the satellite readings he found, but Fury made the mistake of not listening. Soon afterward, a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent located Stark and Fury met up with Romanoff and they both went to confront Stark at Randy's Donuts.

After passing Howard's research along to his son, Fury had thought that'd be the end of his trouble with Stark. For the moment anyway. No, Hammer had to go and stage a jailbreak for Ivan Vanko and recruit the man to make Iron Man suits for Hammer Industries. Vanko hadn't made suits; he used Hammer's resources and built a small army of drones that attacked Stark at the Stark Expo.

And even after all that, the week still wasn't over.

Natasha had been in Hammer Industries when the Hammer Drones were exploding. Vanko's last-ditch effort to kill Stark. Her report showed that one of the Army Drones hadn't been destroyed and its locator deactivated. Now, someone somewhere had access to Arc Reactor technology.

”Director?”

Fury turned around. Phil Coulson, one of his most trusted agents, stood in the doorway to his office.

”We've located the Hammer Drone, sir,” Coulson said. ”It's still in New York.”

”Stark?” Fury asked.

Coulson shook his head, folding his hands behind his back. ”We do not believe so, sir. Mr. Stark doesn't legally own the building.”

”And illegally?”

”Unknown, sir,” Coulson answered.

Standing from his chair, Fury walked to the window overlooking the Potomac. From here, he had a view of D.C. some people would pay thousands of dollars for. He got if for free. All he had to do was protect the United States from threats, foreign and domestic. His job, to others, but he didn't see it as such. It was a responsibility to protect his home. To do that, he needed to stay ten steps ahead, in intelligence, manpower, and technology. Right now, he was behind in all of those but one.

S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists lacked the intelligence needed to recreate Stark's Iron man armor, and without that technology, they couldn't combat terrorists like Ivan Vanko.

The Hammer drones were the only piece of Arc reactor technology not in Stark's hands. And given that Stark was keeping his cards close to his c_h_e_s_t, they had been the only chance S.H.E.I.L.D. had to get something even close to Stark's tech.

”Take a team.” He ordered. ”Bring me that drone.”

”Yes, sir.” Coulson nodded and exited the room leaving Fury alone with his thoughts.

Every drone Justin Hammer had put on display had been destroyed when Vanko forced them to self-destruct. All but one. One out of thirty-two, and they had no clue as to who had not only been able to stop the self-destruction but steal away a man-sized robot without anyone knowing. And hide it in an American city.

Not only were the thieves smart, but they were also c_o_c_ky, and that was a dangerous combination. Whoever was working on the drone needed to be stopped.

Queens, New York City

”Let's move,” Coulson ordered, drawing his pistol as the men under his command held up assault rifles. All six of the barrels pointing at the townhouse across the street.

”Signals are coming from the bas_e_m_e_nt. Prisoners are preferable, but shoot to kill at your own discretion.”

Coulson led the team forward, glad they blocked off the street before they came in. If civilians saw seven men in full tactical gear and carrying automatic weapons, whoever was in that bas_e_m_e_nt would be alerted by their screams.

”Rumlow, you're on point. Rolin's get the door.”

Pressing his shoulder against the brick wall of the townhouse, with two men behind him and the rest of the team on the other side of the yellow-painted door, Coulson nodded as Rolin's kneeled burning through the door lock with the Mouse Hole.

One by one, they filed into the small stairway. ”Light's on,” Coulson ordered as the door closed behind them, locking the team in the dark.

At the bottom of the steps was another door.

”Break it down.”

”Yes, sir.” Rolin's tucked the Mouse Hole away in his vest and moved to the side as another agent stepped forward, holding a battering ram. Grabbing the right side, he nodded as Rumlow counted down.

”Three...two...one!”

The wooden door flew from its hinges, and Coulson entered the bas_e_m_e_nt behind Rumlow, who was already yelling orders.

”SHIELD! Get down on your knees! On your knees!”

Clearing the room as the rest of the team entered, Coulson stopped letting STRIKE do their job. He had his own job.

”Prisoner secured, sir.”

”Coulson!” Fury barked over the radio.

Staring at the drone standing in the corner, Coulson brought a hand up to his ear. ”We've got it, sir. The drone is here, and the prisoner is secured.”

”Get off me!”

Turning around, Coulson circled the workbench covered in tools so he could get eyes on the prisoner. Shit. He winced. Being held under Rumlow's knee was a small figure squirming as he tried to get free. Too small to be an a_d_u_l_t.

”Sir, we've got a problem.”

Chapter 3

Harry Howard Hansen removed the blindfold covering his face. The black BMW rocked its way down a rutted dirt road, a plume of dust corkscrewing into the hot air. The blindfold was a precaution in case he failed, which was something Harry had no intention of doing. He stared out the window at the line of trees that bracketed the lane. Even with the bright sun, he couldn't see more than twenty feet into the dark maze of trees and underbrush.

A foreboding premonition wormed its way into his thoughts and sent Harry's mind diving into a place he did not want to go. At least not this afternoon. Still, a frown creased his brow as Harry wondered how many men had died in this particular forest, and he wasn't thinking of men who had fought in the Revolutionary War hundreds of years ago. No, he thought, trying to be completely honest with himself. Death was too opened-ended a word for it. It left the possibility that some accident had taken the life of a person, and that was a convenient way to skirt the seriousness of what he was getting himself into. Executed was a far more accurate word. The men he was thinking of had been marched into these woods, shot in the back of the head, and dumped into freshly dug graves never to be heard from again. That was the world Harry was about to enter, and he was utterly and completely at peace with his decision.

Still, a sliver of doubt cut through the curtains in his mind and caused a flash of hesitation. Harry wrestled with it for a brief moment and stuffed it back into the deepest recesses of his brain. It was far too late for second thoughts. He'd be over this, under it, and around it. He'd studied it from every conceivable since the day he had woken up in this world and began his new life. In a strange way, he had known from almost the first moment he opened his eyes.

He had been waiting for someone to show up, though Harry had never told anyone that. Or that the only way he could cope with the burden that was future knowledge was to plot to save the world. That every single night before he went to sleep, he thought of the network of people who had to die so the world could live. It was all logical to him. Enemies needed to be killed, and Harry was more than willing to become the person who would do that killing. He knew what was about to happen. He was to be trained, honed, and forged into a precision weapon, and then he would begin to hunt them down—every last one of the people who were conspiring to kill millions of innocent civilians.

The car began to slow, and Harry looked up to see a rusted cattle gate with a chain and padlock. His brow furrowed with suspicion.

The man driving the vehicle glanced at him and said, ”You were expecting something a little more high tech?”

Harry nodded.

Phil Coulson put the car in park and said, ”Appearances can be deceiving.” He flipped down the visor above his head and pressed the small button on the gray box clipped to it. The gate swung open.

Coulson pulled the car through the gate. One hundred yards later, he slowed the vehicle to a crawl and maneuvered diagonally in an effort to avoid a large pothole.

”Why no security on the perimeter?” Harry asked.

”The high-tech systems...more often than not...they draw too much unwanted attention. They also give a lot of false alarms, which in turn requires a lot of manpower. That's not what this place is about.”

”What about dogs?” Harry asked.

Coulson liked the way he was thinking. As if on cue, two hounds came galloping around the bend. The dogs charge straight at the vehicle. Coulson stopped and waited for them to get out of the way. Moments later, after snarling and baring their teeth, they turned and bolted back in the direction they'd come from.

Coulson took his foot off the brake and proceeded up the lane. ”The Director,” Coulson said. ”The man you're going to meet.”