Cameras flashed one after another as everyone attempted to get a good shot of the man of the hour, Tony Stark himself. The news of his miraculous survival had shocked the world, and now everyone wanted a look at him.
Thankfully he had arranged for a press meeting as soon as he landed back in the USA. So every media company able to get in had sent their best to hopefully ask some of the questions everyone wanted answers to.
"Would it be alright if everyone sat down? Why don't you just it down?"
"That way, you can see me, and I can. A little less formal and…" Tony shocked and confused everyone with his request. But given what he had apparently been through, everyone allowed it and slowly sat down.
Eating his burger, he said something in a low voice to Obadiah Stane. Before saying something louder for the rest of the room to hear. "I never got to say goodbye to my father." He began.
"There's questions that I would have asked him. I would have asked him how he felt about what his company did." He paused.
"If he was conflicted, if he ever had doubts."
"Or maybe he was every inch the man we all remember from the newsreels."
There was much confusion in the crowd. No one knew where he was going with all this, but none dared to say anything, not seeing such a rare, more emotional side of the famous playboy Tony Stark.
"I saw young Americans killed, by the very weapons I created to defend and protect them. And I saw" everyone held their breaths; the feeling of something big about to come filled the room.
"That I had become part of a system that is comfortable with zero accountability."
At this, the people gathered couldn't stay silent any longer and started to ask questions, trying to get his attention."
"Mr Stark, what happened over there?"
"I had my eyes opened. I came to realize that I have more to offer this world than just making things that blow up." He said as he stood up, sounding ever more like the old confidant Stark the longer he spoke.
"And that is why, effective immediately, I am shutting down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark International." He hadn't even been able to finish before the crowd rushed to their feet and shouted over one another for comments and clarifications and a hail of other questions.
Yet he ignored them and continued. "Until such a time that I can decide what the future of the company will be." Even as Obadiah tried to stop him, he refused to back down.
"What direction it should take, one that I'm comfortable with and is consistent with the highest good for this country, as well." By the time he finished, he had been pushed down from the stage as Stane tried to calm down the crowd and fix the mess he caused.
…
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On the television, the annoying voice of Jim Cramer was combined with his stupid face as he came with his newest recommendation for the stock markets. "Stark Industries. I've got one recommendation!"
"Ready? Ready?"
With a stupid laugh, he hit a button, and his own voice sounded. "Sell, Sell, Sell"
"Abandon ship!"
"Does the Hindenburg Ring any bells?" He said loudly and continued to call Tony raving mad.
"I want someone to check if that man isn't an SCP object, surely someone can't be wrong as much as he is without something anomalous going on." Alexander Ricci said as he turned off the television.
For a while, in many homes around the United States of America, many were probably listening and selling their stocks. In the home of the world's greatest crime lord, one of the richest people on the planet, a man who was supposed to have died months ago had very different plans.
"And buy, buy, buy! I want as much of Stark's stock as possible; no need to be sneaky about it. In fact, make sure to recommend O5-3 to buy as well. The Foundation shouldn't lose out on this."
As someone familiar with the plot of the Ironman movies, Alex knew very well that soon enough, the stocks of Stark would explode in value, far over even his former high. Making Tony the richest man in the world, and if Alex played his cards right, his own fortune would swell as well.
The mass buying of stocks using both his considerable assets and the Foundation's tipping in would surely lessen the fall, and it would also make it more difficult for Stane to make any power grabs.
After all, he was aware that Tony had done something big, something that would change the market soon enough. The only reason he allowed the market to lose its mind like this was that he wanted to benefit when things reversed.
"Now…. Should I let Stane get his hands on the blueprint… or should I fully crush his little scheme and prevent even the events of the first ironman…" He mused to himself as he drummed his fingers against the armrest.
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[Medical centre Foundation SITE-009]
While Alexander, O5-1 remained in the luxurious living quarters of his mansion, working hard on making money and getting some power over the world's newest up-and-coming superhero. Down in the bowls of SITE-009, it was an entirely different story.
As an important Foundation SITE it naturally had its own medical facility, one that had recently undergone a major upgrade.
Including the upgrade to the facility itself, there had also been a surge in personnel. One by one beds were wheeled inside a large room. Each containing an unconscious person dressing in all kinds of different styles.
A dozen people were moving into the room. With each placed at a fully stocked workstation, with everything one could possibly need for surgery.
Stephen Vincent Strange, a skilled Doctor, woke up feeling groggy. He was confused, not remembering falling asleep. "Wha?" He squinted his eyes as he sat up, the bright light painful.
All around him, he heard the sound of others waking up, groaning as they did so. This made him very quickly realize that he had indeed not just fallen asleep at home.
He looked around, trying to make sense of the situation and his surroundings. He was in a massive room, on a medical bed. All around him were other people on medical beds, waking up.
Next to each bed, he spotted medical equipment, good stuff as well, top-of-the-line, full surgery setup. He did a quick count and figured that this place must have cost a huge fortune, each workstation costing at least a million if not more.
He suddenly remembered the secret job he had just agreed to. He remembered some men, early in the morning. He got in their car, and then… nothing.
He wouldn't have been stupid if he couldn't figure out what had happened by now. 'They drugged me, kidnapped me!" He panicked sightly in his mind. Though from the loud shouts around the room. He knew he wasn't the only one who realized the truth of the situation; only he didn't shout about it.
As he pushed down the panic he was feeling, he took another look around. There were no windows or high ceilings, and the only people around seemed to be others like him who had just woken up after getting kidnapped.
Taking a deep breath. He stood up and went over to the nearest person, hoping to get some answers if at all possible.
"Excuse me, Miss." He called out, to which the person turned around. As he saw her face, he couldn't help but gasp in surprise.
"Dr. Maria Siemionow!" He exclaimed; she was someone he knew, or at least someone he knew of. Last year, she gained quite some fame in the field of plastic surgery for performing a near-total face transplant in the U.S.!
"You!? You know what is doing on here?" She asked, suspicious about him since he knew who she was.
"Oh no, no, I just recognized you; I'm Dr Strange, a neurosurgeon. I was invited to for a very well-paying job, but then I just woke up here just now." He quickly defended himself, explaining what he knew.
He answer did seem to calm her down at bit. "So you as well? I wonder who is behind this." She said as she looked around.
"Over there!" she said, pointing towards two men who stood together. "That's Dr. James Andrews! And next to him is Dr. Peter J. Knechtel!" She said, and Strange did recognize their names.
He remembered the agent who invited him here. He said that they were inviting the best and brightest, and looking around the room, he saw more faces he knew to be skilled or famous surgeons.
Whoever was behind this had some serious clout to dare something like this. This wasn't a few small-time doctors going missing. These were famous, and many of them were also very rich people. If they just all disappeared at once, it would cause a huge storm in the media.
Realizing the gravity of the situation, Dr. Strange felt a mix of fear and curiosity. As he continued his conversation with Dr. Siemionow, they both agreed that the first step was to gather everyone together and share information. They needed to establish a common understanding of what brought them to this unusual and clearly well-funded facility.
"Let's try to get everyone to group together. We need to figure out what's common among us, beyond our professions," Dr. Strange suggested, taking on a leadership role. His experience in handling crises, though usually in the operating room, gave him a calm demeanor that was infectious.
Together, he and Dr. Siemionow moved from one bed to another, gently waking those who were still groggy and introducing themselves to others who were already trying to make sense of their surroundings. They gathered the group in the center of the room, where Dr. Strange addressed the crowd.
"Thank you all for gathering. I know this is a confusing and potentially frightening situation. My name is Dr. Stephen Strange, and this is Dr. Maria Siemionow. We're trying to understand what's brought us all here, and we believe it starts with what we have in common."
One by one, the doctors introduced themselves and shared their last memories before waking up in the facility. Many had similar stories of being approached for an extraordinary opportunity related to their field, followed by an abrupt blackout.
Dr. James Andrews, a prominent sports medicine specialist, spoke up, "It seems we were all targeted because of our specific skills and reputations. The question now is, what does whoever brought us here want with us?"
Dr. Valerie W. Rusch, another famous person in their field, spoke up. "Well didn't they say they needed someone to do an operation? And they spoke of tests as well. Clearly, we are all here to take those so-called tests. The real question is, will they let us go once we are done."
That caused another fierce discussion about what they should do to start. One that wasn't stopped until the doors at one end of the room suddenly opened, and a group of heavily armed men in full combat gear entered the room.
Everyone grew quite and nervous as the group made their way over.
"Good morning everyone, and sorry for the confusion, but we couldn't let you know where this facility is." The man in the front began.
"I'm sure you are all scared and confused, but there is no need to be that. You are just here to do what you are trained to do, perform surgery." He continued.
His words did somewhat calm down their fear, but they also allowed discontentment with their treatment to take its place.
Dr. Robert Montgomery. A leading figure in kidney transplantation was the first to speak up. "Didn't we already agree to help you? Surely all this shouldn't be necessary, surely there was no need to kidnap us all like this."
His words were met with murmurs of agreement and nodding heads from the other Doctors around.
"As we informed you, the patient is very important, so a few extra security measures had to be taken in use, but you have nothing to worry about. You are all safe here, we might look scary, but as long as you don't try anything, we will be keeping you all safe and sound until we return you back home, with a fine paycheck as well."
He calmly explained to everyone, and while the large group of kidnapped doctors still had some muted complaints, most seemed to take his words well.
"And where is the patient? I would like to see them and see if my skills might be useful in curing them," someone from the group said. And it was a reasonable answer. After all, there were all kinds of surgeons here.
Everyone looked towards the person who spoke, including the armed guards. Strange wasn't any different, looking over. What he saw shocked me. The person was dressed in a large black cloak, wearing, of all things, a plague doctor mask.
A/N
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