The Iron Man armor was already unfolding from the case on the sidewalk by the ti Smith pushed through the restaurant door. Tony stepped into it piece by piece, the suit locking around him with its familiar sequence of clicks and seals, and then he was just a man in a tal shell, kneeling on one knee on the pavent because his legs hadn't quite held.
"JARVIS. Run a diagnostic. Heart and brain."
"No abnormalities detected in either."
Tony stared at the inside of his visor. "Then I'm poisoned. Check for toxins."
"Negative. Current diagnosis is acute anxiety response."
A long silence.
"," Tony said. "Anxiety."
"The indicators are consistent, sir."
Smith crouched in front of him, close enough that his reflection showed in the visor. He tapped the faceplate once with two knuckles. "Co back to the compound. We can help with this."
Tony was quiet for a mont. Then he shook his head. "I need to go." He got his feet under him, the suit compensating smoothly for the unsteadiness he wouldn't admit to. "Thanks for lunch."
The repulsors fired and he was gone, cutting a clean line into the sky above the street.
Smith straightened and watched him shrink to a point.
Smith shook his head, watching Tony Stark fly off. He knew Tony's anxiety was a personal hurdle the man would have to clear on his own, yet he couldn't help but feel curious.
Given that Tony hadn't yet faced a nuclear threat or a truly hopeless situation, Smith wondered why the panic was already setting in—and hoped he wasn't the cause of it.
anwhile, Wenwu reached out to his daughter, Xu Xialing, commanding her to commit fully to the mission while seizing the opportunity to restore the Ten Rings' reputation.
At S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in the Triskelion, Coulson laid the file on Fury's desk and stood at ease.
"Two confird developnts, Director. First — energy readings consistent with Bifrost activity, cross-referenced with Dr. Selvig's docunted Asgardian signatures. The Rainbow Bridge has touched down on Earth again. We don't yet have an ID on who ca through." He paused. "Second — Dragon Ball acquisition offers have resurfaced online. Starting at three million, negotiable on authentication. Combined with the one-year window since the last event, we assess the next collection cycle is active."
Fury absorbed this without visible reaction. He leaned back and looked at Coulson the way he looked at problems he'd already half-solved.
"You're handling more than one person should handle," he said. "I'm giving you a team."
Coulson kept his expression neutral, but sothing shifted behind it. A team ant authority, resources, and a classification level that ca with its own kind of weight. Anyone in the building who paid attention knew what leading a team ant for a career trajectory.
"I'm grateful for the confidence, Director. Who's available for selection?"
Fury slid a folder across the desk. "Your call on the mber. But don't spend two weeks on it — the situation's already moving."
"Understood." Coulson picked up the folder. "I'll have a roster to you within forty-eight hours."
"Good." Fury straightened. "While you're building the team, get out to the Bifrost landing site. Figure out who Asgard sent down and why. Given the timing, I'd bet on a Dragon Ball connection."
"I'll make it the first assignnt." Coulson moved toward the door, then stopped. "If we can locate the balls before the collection phase closes—"
"That's exactly what I want you thinking about," Fury said. "Go."
One floor below, Sitwell locked his office door.
He'd heard the Bifrost report filter through channels ten minutes ago, and the Dragon Ball reactivation news not long after. Both pieces of information had landed on him with a weight the rest of the floor wouldn't understand, because the rest of the floor didn't know what was sitting in his bottom desk drawer.
He pulled it open.
The stone he'd recovered— the one that had rolled out from under the bed, unclaid, while two civilians were zip-tied to a mattress — had stopped being a stone. At so point in the past few hours it had crossed over into sothing else entirely. Three orange stars floated in its amber interior, clear as glass, unmistakable.
Sitwell's mind ran the calculation fast. Seven balls. One wish. Whatever that wish could be.
He thought about what Alexander Pierce would say if Sitwell walked into his office and put a Dragon Ball on his desk. He thought about what HYDRA would do with a wish that carried no restrictions.
The thought was intoxicating for about thirty seconds. Then the operational reality settled in after it. Sitwell was not a fighter. He had no path to the championship through combat. If HYDRA wanted this, it needed to be Pierce's problem — Pierce's resources, Pierce's strategy, the full weight of the organization behind it.
He retrieved a hard-sided case from his closet, set the Dragon Ball inside with careful hands, and latched it shut.
In the corridor, he ran into Coulson heading the other direction with a file folder under his arm. Coulson glanced at the case, gave Sitwell a brief nod, and kept walking.
Sitwell kept his pace even all the way to the elevator.
By the ti he reached the top floor and knocked on Pierce's door, his palms were damp. He'd walked past a dozen colleagues without incident, but so part of his brain had spent the entire trip imagining the case being knocked out of his hands by a careless elbow in a hallway.
Pierce opened the door himself and looked at him with the asured attention of soone who had learned not to waste energy on anything that turned out to be minor.
"You said it was important."
Sitwell stepped inside and waited while Pierce closed the door and locked it. Then he set the case on the desk, released the latch, and opened the lid.
Pierce looked at what was inside for a long mont without speaking.
"Sit down," he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. "Tell everything."
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