It didn't take long for S.H.I.E.L.D. to track down Angus. They yanked him out of the crowd like pulling a fish from the sea. A few "friendly" agents gave him a crash course on how to avoid making enemies out of the wrong people. By the time he arrived at the doors of Marvel Publishing, his face was pale, and he looked utterly defeated.
Of course, the press was already swarming the building. Every tabloid, every gossip reporter in the city had caught wind of this, cameras at the ready. They all wanted to capture the moment where Angus, the man who foolishly picked a fight with both Tony Stark and Marvel, had to eat his words—or in this case, the actual comic.
I could've let the whole thing slide. Angus was small-time, hardly worth my effort. But the timing was too perfect. Marvel Publishing was starting to build serious momentum, and every bit of publicity helped. So, I leaned into it.
"Kind" as I was, I had a red carpet rolled out in front of the building. Just a little touch of class, so when Angus had to kneel down and chow through those comics, he'd have something soft under him. After all, it might take a while.
I kept myself out of the public eye for this one. It wouldn't look good if people thought I was the one making Angus go through this, even if he deserved it. I didn't need that kind of heat.
Still, a large crowd had gathered. People pointed and whispered, mocking Angus as he sat there, tears running down his face, nibbling on the comics like it was some kind of penance.
"Isn't that the guy who accused Tony Stark of working with Chen?"
"Yeah, him. What an idiot. He went after both Tony and Marvel. This dude's got a death wish."
"You'd think he'd know better by now. Some people are just born with bad luck and worse decision-making."
Angus kept eating, his lips trembling as he ripped through the comic pages. He shot nervous glances toward the Marvel building, looking like a man full of regret. He probably wished he could take it all back. He had to know by now that messing with someone like me—someone with S.H.I.E.L.D. connections—was way out of his league.
The fact I hadn't done worse to him was probably keeping him up at night.
While Angus was outside, chewing his defeat, Obadiah Stane was sitting across from me in my office.
"So, you're really a prophet, huh?" he asked, his eyes scanning my face.
I smiled, leaning back in my chair. "What do you think?"
Obadiah's visit didn't surprise me. I knew he'd come sooner or later. The man was ambitious, always scheming. And now, with Tony back in the picture—just like the comics—Obadiah had to know something was up.
"Let's just assume you are," he continued. "You must know things that other people don't."
I nodded, leaning forward slightly. "Of course."
"Do you know things about me?" Obadiah's gaze sharpened.
"Yep."
"So, have you told Tony? Warned him?"
I shook my head. "Nope."
Obadiah raised an eyebrow. "Why not? Isn't it your job to warn him? To tell him to be careful?"
I chuckled, shrugging. "I'm in it for the fame and the money, Obadiah. What happens to Tony Stark? That's not my concern."
Obadiah studied me for a moment, then a slow smile crept across his face. "Good. That's what I wanted to hear." He clapped his hands together, clearly pleased. "You help me, and I'll make sure you're the most famous man in the world. We'll make more money than you can imagine. You and me, working together? We could own this world."
I raised an eyebrow, playing along. "What exactly do you want to know?"
Obadiah leaned in, his eyes glinting with ambition. "I want to know about my future. Me and Tony—who wins?"
I held his gaze, letting the question hang in the air. Obadiah, always looking for an edge. Always plotting. Just as I expected.