Orion's office is quiet except for the soft hum of his tablet and the occasional scratch of his stylus against the screen. Numbers fill the spreadsheet in front of him — venue capacity, staffing ratios, supply chain logistics, emergency medical stations per thousand attendees. He adjusts a figure in the New York column, cross-references it against the Metropolis projection, and makes a note to double the Poké Block inventory for Gotham.
The festival is six weeks away. The permits are filed. The volunteers are training. But the numbers still don't sit right.
He rubs his eyes and leans back in his chair. Pikachu is asleep on the windowsill, tail twitching in some electric dream. Celebi left an hour ago to check on the Sanctuary. Zygarde is somewhere in the mountain, listening.
Latias appears in the doorway. Her expression is calm, but there's a tightness around her eyes that Orion has learned to read.
"Orion. A car just pulled up."
"Which one?"
"Black sedan. Tinted plates."
Orion sets down his stylus and stands. He smooths the front of his jacket and walks to the window. The sedan is parked at the curb, engine still running. The rear door opens first, and Pepper Potts steps out, her auburn hair catching the afternoon light. She adjusts her bag over her shoulder and glances back at the car with the particular expression of someone who has already lost an argument.
The front passenger door opens. Lucius Fox emerges, straightening his cuffs with the unhurried precision of a man who has never been late to anything in his life.
Then the driver's side rear door opens, and Tony Stark unfolds himself from the back seat. He's wearing a charcoal suit with no tie, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, and the kind of grin that precedes either a brilliant idea or a significant problem.
Pepper's apologetic smile says it all.
Orion turns from the window. "Latias, please prepare the private room. And put on water for tea."
Latias nods and moves down the hallway. Orion straightens his cane and walks to the front desk just as the door chime sounds.
Tony enters first, because Tony always enters first. His gaze sweeps the lobby — the display cases, the Poké Ball replicas on the shelves, the framed photos of trainers with their partners — and catalogs everything in the time it takes to cross the threshold.
"Orion Oak," Tony says, extending his hand. "Finally. Pepper's been talking about you for weeks."
Orion takes his hand. Tony's grip is firm. A beat too long. Measuring.
"Mr. Stark. I wasn't expecting you until Thursday."
"Tony. And Thursday was boring. I moved things around." Tony releases his hand and turns. "You've met Pepper. And this is Lucius Fox, who actually reads contracts before signing them, unlike some people."
Lucius steps forward and offers his hand. His grip is warm and precise. "Mr. Oak. I've reviewed your proposal thoroughly. There are several points I'd like to discuss."
"Then let's discuss them properly." Orion gestures toward the hallway. "This way, please."
Pepper falls into step beside Orion as they walk. She leans in slightly. "I tried to keep him in the car. I want you to know that."
"I appreciate the effort."
"He saw the venue schematics on my tablet. After that, it was over."
Orion almost smiles. "Noted for next time."
The private room is small but comfortable. Latias has set out tea and water on the side table. Orion takes his seat at the head of the table. Pepper sits to his left. Lucius takes the chair across from her, already pulling a leather portfolio from his briefcase. Tony drops into the remaining chair, spins it once, and parks himself with his arms folded.
Pepper slides a document across the table. "The revised memorandum. We've incorporated your staffing numbers and adjusted the venue allocation per your last email."
Lucius opens his portfolio and produces a second copy, already annotated in neat marginalia. "I've flagged the liability clause. Section fourteen, subsection C. The language around Pokémon-related incidents needs to be more specific. My team drafted alternative wording."
Tony hasn't touched either document. He's watching Orion with the focused attention of someone who prefers to listen before he speaks.
"Before we get into the details," Tony says, "I want to know the attendance projection. Real number. Not the one you put in the proposal."
Orion meets his gaze. "Across all three cities? I'm estimating one hundred and twenty thousand over the three-day event."
Tony leans back. "Conservative."
Lucius looks up from his annotations. "Realistic, given the current public awareness curve and the permit restrictions in Gotham."
"I can work with realistic," Tony says. "But I want to know what happens if we blow past it."
"Then we adapt," Orion says. "That's why the staffing ratios have a thirty percent buffer built in."
Tony nods slowly. He picks up the memorandum and flips through it without reading. "Branding. Let's talk about branding."
Lucius sets down his pen. "Wayne Enterprises expects equal physical presence at all three venues. Banners, signage, branded zones. That was part of our initial agreement."
"Stark Industries needs digital dominance," Tony says. "Screens, interactive displays, the app integration. That's where the real engagement happens."
They both look at Orion.
Orion takes a sip of water. Sets the glass down. "Digital signage goes to Stark. Physical branding goes to Wayne. Split the main stage fifty-fifty. You each get a dedicated pavilion for your respective activations."
Tony frowns. "That's a clean split. Too clean."
"It's fair," Lucius says. "But it means neither of us gets priority placement."
"You both get priority placement," Orion says. "Just in different lanes. Stark owns the digital experience. Wayne owns the physical one. The attendees won't care who owns what. They'll care that the experience is seamless."
Tony and Lucius exchange a look. Some silent calculation passes between them.
"Fine," Tony says.
"Acceptable," Lucius agrees.
"Security," Orion continues. "I want both systems. Stark drones for aerial surveillance and crowd monitoring. Wayne ground teams for on-foot response and perimeter control."
Tony raises an eyebrow. "That's a significant budget increase."
"I'm aware."
"Neither of us is going to blink on that," Pepper says quietly. "Public safety is non-negotiable for Stark Industries."
"Agreed," Lucius says. "Wayne Enterprises will match the ground team allocation."
Orion nods. He flips to the liability section of the memorandum and turns it so both men can see. "Now. Section fourteen."
Lucius picks up his pen. "The concern is exposure. If a Pokémon injures an attendee, the current language leaves the liability framework open-ended. We need a cap."
"No cap," Orion says.
The room goes quiet.
Tony unfolds his arms. "Orion. Every event has a liability cap. It's standard."
"Pokémon are not standard." Orion's voice is level. "They're living beings with their own will. You can't cap liability for a living creature the way you cap liability for a malfunctioning ride. If something goes wrong, we address it. Fully. No ceiling."
Tony studies him. "My legal team is going to hate this."
"Then your legal team can call my legal team." Orion holds his gaze. "This isn't a negotiating position. It's a principle. Pokémon are partners, not equipment. The liability framework reflects that."
Lucius sets down his pen. He looks at Orion for a long moment, something shifting behind his eyes. Then he nods once.
"He's right," Lucius says to Tony. "If we're going to do this, we do it properly. No caps. Full accountability."
Tony exhales through his nose. He looks at Pepper, who gives him a small nod.
"Fine," Tony says. "No cap. But I want a full incident response protocol documented and signed before the event."
"You'll have it," Orion says.
Tony extends his hand across the table. Orion takes it. The grip is firm again, but this time it doesn't overstay. Lucius stands and shakes Orion's hand as well, his grip warm and brief.
"Forty minutes," Pepper says, glancing at her watch. "That might be a record for a first-pass contract negotiation."
"Everyone gave something up," Orion says. "That's how you know it's fair."
Tony stands and stretches. "Alright. I've been in this building for an hour and I haven't seen a single Pokémon. That's unacceptable."
Pepper closes her portfolio. "We have the site walk at four."
"It can wait twenty minutes." Tony looks at Orion. "You've got that lottery tablet, right? The one Pepper told me about?"
Orion glances at Pepper, who gives him a look that says I warned you.
"One pull," Orion says.
Tony grins. "That's all I need."
They walk back to the lobby. Latias is helping a customer at the front desk. Pikachu is still asleep on the windowsill. The afternoon light slants through the glass, catching dust motes in the air.
Orion retrieves the lottery tablet from beneath the counter and sets it on the surface. Tony rolls up his sleeves and cracks his knuckles with theatrical flair.
"Alright. Let's see what the universe has for me."
He presses the button.
The screen erupts into color. Silhouettes flash past — hundreds of them, a blur of shapes and sizes. The wheel slows. Tony leans forward. Pepper watches with her arms crossed. Lucius observes with quiet attention.
The silhouette stops.
It's small. Angular. A compact, four-legged shape with a horn-like protrusion and a blocky head.
Tony stares at it. "What am I looking at?"
Pepper tilts her head. "Some kind of lizard?"
"I'd guess a rock-dwelling creature," Lucius says. "The body structure suggests a dense, armored build."
None of them recognize it.
Orion looks at the screen. Something warm settles in his chest.
"That," he says, "is a Larvitar."
***
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