He paused. "If it were anyone else, I would have already had Jarvis activate the defense system, but his first sentence was—"
Tony looked at Mavuika. "He said: 'Tony Stark, I need to talk to you about Iron Man, about Mavuika...'
Mavuika's brow twitched slightly.
"So..." Tony continued, "I restrained myself from kicking him out and listened to him finish talking about that so-called 'Avengers Initiative'."
"Nick Fury?" Mavuika asked.
Tony raised an eyebrow. "You know him?"
"I do." Mavuika nodded, her tone as calm as if she were speaking of an acquaintance she didn't know very well.
"We met over a decade ago, during the Skrull incident. He helped Howard handle some of the aftermath."
"Oh." Tony's expression became subtle. "So he really is the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., not some imposter?"
"He is."
Tony was silent for two seconds, then muttered, "Then he's really... the complete opposite of what he looks like. I originally thought a character like that should be a villain."
Mavuika didn't pick up on that, only asking, "What did he want with you?"
"To form a team." Tony said, his tone carrying that instinctive repulsion he always felt toward being "arranged."
"He said something about Earth facing an unprecedented threat and that people like us need to unite. Something called the 'Avengers'—who came up with that name? It sounds ominous. I feel like if we form this team, nothing good will happen for the next decade."
He paused. "I refused on the spot."
Mavuika looked at him, and Tony looked at her.
"...However." Tony's tone softened slightly. "He asked me to help him ask you something."
"What?"
"About that Avengers Initiative," Tony said. "He asked if you were interested."
The lab went quiet for a moment.
Mavuika shook her head slightly.
"That is an internal affair of you Earthlings," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "I will not participate."
Tony nodded, his expression revealing a "I knew you'd say that" kind of understanding.
"That's what I told him too," he said. "Avengers, sounds like trouble."
He picked up his coffee mug and took a sip.
"Anyway..." he said, "that's what I told him."
He turned and walked toward the workbench, casually placing the empty coffee mug next to a pile of blueprints. With his back to Mavuika, his voice returned to that deliberate lightness.
"Alright, you've seen the car, go ahead and test it. Don't just stand there. I haven't slept much in three days, I desperately need a bed right now, and I also desperately need to finalize the Mark IV design plans—"
Mavuika mounted the new car and gripped the handlebars.
The feel of the metal was cool, but the pulse of the energy core transmitted through the seat was warm and steady.
"I'm leaving then," she said.
Tony waved his hand with his back to her, not turning around.
Mavuika started the engine.
The sound was low and rich, not the roar of a traditional internal combustion engine, but the sound of some more precise, quieter energy operation.
She gently twisted the throttle, and the vehicle slid silently toward the terrace exit.
Outside the terrace, the night wind of the Pacific Ocean rushed in, carrying a salty, damp scent.
Mavuika gently lifted the front of the vehicle—
The vehicle soared into the air.
The next second, the armor panels on both sides slid open silently, and two silver-gray wings slowly unfolded from the sides of the vehicle.
The wingspan was wider than Tony had described, the lines as fluid as a falcon's wings folding and opening. Along the edge of each wing surface, faint blue light pulses flowed; that was the energy of the Arc Reactor being transmitted.
Mavuika hovered in the air for half a second.
Then she twisted the throttle to the end.
A blue-white plasma stream shot out from the thrusters at the rear of the vehicle, dragging two dazzling trails of fire across the night sky.
The blue of that exhaust was completely different from her own golden-red flames.
This was the color of Tony Stark, the color of human wisdom.
The Flamestrider carried her into the sky, like an arrow released from a string, piercing the night sky of Malibu and speeding toward the eastern horizon.
In the lab, Tony walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, hands in his pockets, watching that blue-white streak of light get smaller and smaller in the night sky until it finally disappeared into the horizon.
"Sir." Jarvis's voice sounded. "You have been working for seventy-two consecutive hours. I suggest you rest immediately."
"I know, Jarvis," Tony said.
He stood there, motionless.
Outside the window, the tides of the Pacific Ocean ceaselessly battered the cliffs.
"...Tell me," Tony suddenly spoke up, "she can clearly fly much faster than I can, so why does she like this vehicle so much?"
Jarvis was silent for two seconds.
"I cannot speculate on Ms. Marvica's personal preferences, sir," the AI replied cautiously.
"However, according to records, Ms. Marvica has driven this series of Flamestrider for over 470,000 kilometers in the past sixteen years, with an average of 4.3 repairs per month, of which the repairs completed by you personally account for—"
"Alright, alright." Tony interrupted him, though the corners of his mouth lifted unconsciously.
He turned and walked back into the depths of the lab, passing the wreckage of the crushed Porsche. He hadn't decided how to deal with it yet; perhaps he should convert it into some kind of commemorative installation.
"Record new project," he said, his voice returning to that focused rhythm.
"Mark IV armor, key breakthrough areas: energy iteration, portable wearability..."
His fingers danced on the holographic projection, the complex parameters and lines unfolding before his eyes like another sky that needed to be conquered.
Mavuika flew in the sky for three hours.
At first, it was a high-speed sprint. She twisted the throttle to the end, and the speed of the Flamestrider soared until the body began to vibrate slightly.
Mavuika did not continue to push it.
She released the throttle, letting the Flamestrider slow down and cruise steadily at an altitude of seven thousand meters.
Below was the night view of the American West. The lights of Los Angeles had faded into a blur of light spots, the dark desert of Nevada shimmered with silver-gray ripples under the moonlight, and further ahead were the continuous snow-capped peaks of the Colorado mountains.
Mavuika adjusted her posture, letting the Flamestrider tilt slightly, drawing a graceful arc over the mountain ridge.
She suddenly remembered many years ago, in Asgard, when she and Hela raced on Pegasus across the Bifrost Bridge.
They were both young then, just adults by Asgardian standards, having just gained their divine powers, and just beginning to follow Odin to conquer the Nine Realms.
Hela was always unwilling to admit defeat; if she lost, she would chase, and if she couldn't catch up, she would get angry, and when she got angry, she would drag her to train more.
How many years ago was that? Over a thousand years?
Mavuika slowed the Flamestrider down, letting it glide steadily through the air currents.
The Flamestrider carried her over the Colorado mountains and into the airspace of Kansas.
The eastern horizon began to turn white, a sign that dawn was approaching.
Mavuika adjusted her course and flew toward New York.