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( BONUS CHAPTER )
Moscow, Russia
Several Days After the Press Conference
The television flickered in the dim apartment, casting blue light across Anton Vanko's gaunt face. On the screen, Tony Stark stood proud and defiant, declaring himself Iron Man to the world. The arc reactor glowed through his shirt like a beacon of triumph.
"That should have been yours," Anton wheezed from his bed, each word a struggle. His eyes, once sharp with brilliance, were clouded with decades of bitterness. "The arc reactor... Howard Stark stole it from us. From our family."
Ivan Vanko sat beside his father's bed, watching the old man's chest rise and fall with increasing difficulty. They both knew this was the end—forty years of exile, of poverty, of watching the Starks claim glory that should have been shared.
"Papa..." Ivan began, but Anton's hand found his, grip surprisingly strong.
"That reactor," Anton gasped, pointing a trembling finger at the television where Tony's arc reactor glowed. "I helped create it. Howard and I... we built the future together. Then he had me deported. Erased. While he became rich, became legend."
The old man's breathing hitched, his body convulsing with the effort to continue.
"In my papers," Anton managed, his voice barely a whisper now. "The designs... the original plans. Take them. Take back what is ours."
Those were his last words. Anton Vanko died with Tony Stark's face still glowing on the television screen, a final insult to a lifetime of perceived injustice.
Ivan held his father's cooling hand, staring at that triumphant face on the screen. Rage built in his chest, cold and purposeful. Tony Stark had everything—wealth, fame, the technology that should have made the Vanko name legendary.
"I will make him pay, Papa," Ivan promised the corpse. "I will show the world that their Iron Man can bleed."
He found the papers that night, hidden in a locked drawer—yellowed blueprints covered in his father's meticulous handwriting. Arc reactor designs from forty years ago, the foundation of Tony Stark's power. Ivan spread them across his workbench, already seeing how they could be modified, weaponized.
The world had its hero. Soon, it would meet its revenge.
New York City
A Private Villa in Manhattan
Marcus stood in the center of his new living room, systematically checking every corner for the third time. The electromagnetic scanner he'd borrowed from Tony's workshop showed no bugs, no cameras, no surveillance equipment of any kind. At least, none inside the villa.
Outside was another matter.
Through the gaps in his curtains, he could spot at least two unmarked vans that had been parked on his street since yesterday. SHIELD, probably, though CIA and NSA were also possibilities. Ever since Tony's announcement, anyone associated with Iron Man had become a person of interest to every intelligence agency on the planet.
The villa itself was Tony's gift—or bribe, depending on how you looked at it.
"You saved my life twice," Tony had said, handing over the keys. "Plus, you need somewhere to live that isn't my couch. Consider it a very small down payment on what I owe you."
It was a beautiful place—three stories, private garage, Manhattan location that would have cost millions. But Marcus knew it also made him a target. He had armor. He'd been seen flying with Iron Man. Every criminal organization, terrorist cell, and rogue government agency in the world would love to get their hands on that technology.
They couldn't touch Tony Stark—he was too public, too protected, too powerful. But Marcus Reed? He was nobody. An unknown variable. Someone who could disappear without making headlines.
Which was why he needed to become something more than just a man in a borrowed suit.
Marcus pulled the curtains fully closed, blocking out any possible surveillance. He'd already disabled his phone, removed the battery, and placed it in a signal-blocking pouch. Every electronic device in the villa had been powered down or removed. If someone was using thermal imaging... well, there wasn't much he could do about that except hope they weren't.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Marcus closed his eyes and accessed his system.
[ Movie Plundering System ]
Host: Marcus Reed
Age: 20
Items: 30 capsules NZT-49, poison needles, miscellaneous supplies
Abilities: None
Source Points: 8
Two more points had been added since the Iron Monger battle. The system seemed to reward him for significant plot involvement. Eight points—not much, but enough for what he needed.
He'd researched his options carefully. The Superman worlds were out of reach—Man of Steel required 10 points just to enter, Smallville needed 15. The more powerful the world, the higher the cost.
But Chronicle—that world of teenage boys who gained telekinesis from an alien crystal—that only required 3 points to enter. And the power it offered was exactly what he needed. Not too flashy, not too overwhelming, but versatile and strong enough to give him an edge.
"System," Marcus thought, focusing his intent. "Initiate travel to Chronicle world. Location: outside the crystal cave. Time: five nights before Andrew, Matt, and Steve discover it."
The mechanical voice responded in his mind: "Confirming parameters. World: Chronicle. Location: Crystal cave exterior. Time: Five days prior to primary protagonists' arrival. Cost: 3 Source Points."
"Additional information: Time differential between Marvel Earth and Chronicle Earth is 1:365. One day in Marvel equals one year in Chronicle. Spending 1 Source Point can eliminate time differential for one year, making one year in Chronicle equal one second in Marvel."
Marcus considered this. If he stayed in Chronicle for just a few days, only minutes would pass in the Marvel world. He could gain powers and return before anyone noticed he was gone. The time differential elimination wasn't necessary unless he planned to stay for months.
"Proceed with travel. Do not eliminate time differential."
"Confirmed. Initiating dimensional transfer..."
The world went white.
Chronicle Earth
Outside Seattle, Washington
10:17 PM
Marcus materialized on scrubby grassland, his enhanced mind immediately cataloging his surroundings despite the disorientation of dimensional travel. Pine trees scattered around him, not quite dense enough to be called a forest. The air was cooler, damper than New York—Pacific Northwest climate.
Twenty feet ahead, barely visible in the moonlight, was a hole in the ground. Not large—maybe four feet across—but definitely the entrance to something deeper.
The cave. Where in five days, three teenage boys would discover a crystalline object that would grant them telekinetic abilities. Where one of them, Andrew Detmer, would eventually lose control and become something close to a villain before his death.
Marcus pulled out a small LED flashlight from his pocket and approached the entrance. He could already feel something—a presence, a pressure at the edge of his consciousness. His enhanced brain, still running at superhuman efficiency from the NZT he'd taken that morning, picked up on subtle wrongness in the magnetic fields around the cave.
The entrance was a tight squeeze, requiring him to crouch and eventually crawl through narrow passages. The rock was smooth, worn by water over millennia. As he descended, that pressure in his mind grew stronger.
Then he heard it—or felt it, rather. A sound that wasn't quite sound, a vibration that seemed to bypass his ears and resonate directly in his brain. His enhanced cognition immediately identified it as infrasound, below the range of human hearing, but somehow he was perceiving it anyway.
The passage opened into a larger chamber, and Marcus stopped, his flashlight beam catching the object at its center.
The crystal was enormous—easily fifteen feet long, partially embedded in the cave floor and ceiling as if it had grown there. Or crashed there. Its surface was translucent blue-green, like sea glass, but clouded with impurities that made it impossible to see clearly through. Thick roots from trees above had somehow penetrated the cave ceiling, wrapping around the crystal like grasping fingers.
As Marcus stepped closer, the pressure in his head intensified. His nose began to bleed—a single drop at first, then a steady trickle. But along with the pain came something else. A sensation of expansion, of invisible walls in his mind crumbling away.
He could feel it—power, raw and unformed, building in his consciousness. Not like the enhanced intelligence from NZT, but something fundamental. A new sense, a new capability, like suddenly discovering you had a third arm you'd never noticed before.
Through his pain-hazed vision, Marcus saw something that made his blood run cold. The crystal's cloudy interior shifted, and for just a moment, he glimpsed what looked like tentacles pressing against the inner surface. Not mechanical, not crystalline—organic.
The blue-green glow suddenly shifted to deep red. The entire chamber bathed in crimson light, and the pressure in Marcus's skull spiked to agony.
"The dark sequel," Marcus gasped, remembering rumors about Chronicle's unmade second film. A darker story where the crystal's true nature was revealed—not just a source of power, but something alive. Something hostile.
The tentacles pressed harder against the crystal's interior surface, as if whatever was inside was trying to break free.
Marcus didn't wait to see what would happen next. He turned and ran, scrambling through the passages as fast as he could. Behind him, the red light pulsed like a heartbeat, and he could swear he heard something that might have been screaming—or laughing.
He burst from the cave entrance, gasping in the cool night air. His nose was still bleeding, his head still pounding, but he could feel it—the power, settling into his mind like a seed planted in fertile soil. Weak now, barely there, but growing.
Looking back at the cave entrance, Marcus saw the red glow fade back to blue-green, then disappear entirely. Whatever was in there—alien, extradimensional, or something else entirely—it wasn't pursuing him. Yet.
He had what he came for. The telekinesis was his, though it would need time and practice to develop. In the Chronicle movie, the three boys had taken weeks to master their abilities, gradually growing from moving baseballs to flying and stopping cars. Marcus had his enhanced intelligence to speed the process, but he wouldn't become all-powerful overnight.
Still, it was a start. A backup plan. Because in a world where gods, aliens, and mad titans were coming, a man needed every advantage he could get.
Marcus walked away from the cave, into the Washington forest, already planning his next moves. He had days or even weeks here before he needed to return to Marvel Earth. Time to master his new ability, to push it to its limits.
Behind him, deep in the cave, something in the crystal shifted and settled back into patience. It had touched another mind, planted another seed.
It could wait to see what grew from it.
To be continued...