Tony Stark's Malibu Residence
Tony sprawled across his leather sofa, a glass of whiskey balanced on the armrest, watching the sunset paint the Pacific Ocean in shades of orange and gold. The view was spectacular—one of the reasons he'd bought this particular property—but his attention was fixed on Pepper Potts as she delivered her status report.
"The Universal Capsule Company has confirmed attendance at the Expo," Pepper said, consulting her tablet. "They've also confirmed they'll be announcing two products during their presentation slot."
Tony nodded, unsurprised. "I knew Smith wouldn't refuse. He understands spectacle as well as I do."
He stood abruptly, setting down the whiskey and spreading his arms wide in a gesture that encompassed everything—the house, the ocean, the future. "This time, I'm going to hold an unprecedented Stark Industries Expo. Not a weekend event. Not a month-long showcase."
He paused for dramatic effect. "A full year. Twelve months of continuous innovation, with top companies from around the world rotating through to display their breakthrough technologies."
Pepper's eyes widened. "Tony, we've never held the Expo for longer than a month. A year is... that's an enormous undertaking. Do we even have enough participating companies to justify that duration?"
She didn't know about the palladium poisoning slowly killing him, couldn't see the dark veins spreading across his chest beneath his shirt. Couldn't understand that he was running out of time to find a solution, and this Expo represented his best chance to inspire a breakthrough—either from his own work or from seeing what the world's brightest minds could create.
Tony had two paths forward. He could abstain from using the armor entirely for the next year, letting his body recover while waiting for the Dragon Balls to reactivate. Then he'd enter the second tournament with improved armor, win, and wish away the palladium issue.
But that meant a year without the suit. A year vulnerable. A year unable to develop and test new designs. For Tony Stark, that wasn't living—it was existing.
No. He'd push forward, keep innovating, and hope he found the answer before his time ran out.
"We're inviting companies from every continent," Tony explained, his tone becoming more businesslike. "But instead of cramming everyone into the same month, we're giving each company substantial time to present. Rotating showcases, themed weeks, specialized demonstrations."
He turned to face Pepper fully. "A year gives companies time to develop new products specifically for the Expo. It lets smaller firms participate without getting overshadowed by the giants. And it's never been done before, which makes it historic."
Pepper studied him for a long moment, clearly seeing something beneath his enthusiasm that worried her. But she knew better than to push when Tony had decided on something.
"Okay," she said finally. "We'll do it your way. I'll coordinate with the participating companies and work out the rotation schedule."
"Excellent." Tony's smile was genuine now, the showman mask firmly in place. "For the opening ceremony, I'm planning something special. I've already reached out to Smith about it."
His mind was already racing ahead, visualizing the spectacle. The perfect way to launch a year-long celebration of human innovation.
Tony pulled out his phone and dialed Smith's number. The call connected after two rings.
On the other end, Smith Doyle had been in the gravity training room, pushing through reps at 15 times Earth's gravity. Puar floated outside the chamber, monitoring his vitals on the control panel.
"Master Smith, your phone is ringing. It's Tony."
Smith powered down the gravity field and stepped out, accepting the phone from Puar's small paws. "Tony. What can I do for you?"
"Smith, I have a concept for the Expo opening ceremony," Tony said, his enthusiasm audible. "Picture this: you and me, starting at fifteen thousand feet, flying down together onto center stage. Synchronized descent, maximum visual impact."
Smith could practically hear Tony's hands gesturing as he spoke.
"I'm arranging two groups of dancers," Tony continued. "Twenty total—ten in modified Iron Man suits, ten in whatever aesthetic you prefer. Choreographed routines, pyrotechnics, the works. What do you want your dancers wearing?"
Smith considered briefly. "Martial arts uniforms. Traditional style, but tailored for performance. I'll send you reference images."
"Perfect," Tony agreed immediately. "I figured you wouldn't go for spandex and capes—not really your style. I'll have the costume department work with your specifications. These will be professional dancers, by the way. Beautiful, talented, and they'll make us both look good."
The plan was pure Tony Stark—spectacular, slightly excessive, and designed to cement the image of both men as larger-than-life figures. One representing humanity's technological peak, the other representing human physical potential pushed beyond normal limits.
"Sounds good," Smith said. "Send me the flight path coordinates and timing. I want to make sure we don't collide mid-descent."
Tony laughed. "Always the tactician. I'll have the details sent over. This is going to be legendary, Smith. People will remember this Expo for decades."
They exchanged a few more logistics details, then disconnected. Tony immediately received the martial arts uniform reference photos and forwarded them to his costume department with detailed instructions.
Smith, meanwhile, returned to his training, though his mind was partially elsewhere. Tony was running out of time—the palladium poisoning would be reaching critical levels soon. In the original timeline, Nick Fury had swooped in with his father's research, positioning SHIELD as Tony's savior.
But Smith had no intention of letting Fury claim that victory. This Expo would provide the perfect opportunity to point Tony in the right direction without Fury's manipulative theatrics.
As for Ivan Vanko—the Whiplash who'd attacked Tony at Monaco in the original timeline—Smith hadn't seen any sign of him. The man hadn't appeared during the Dragon Ball tournament, hadn't made contact with John Wick despite their shared history. Either the timeline had diverged significantly, or Vanko was planning something more elaborate.
Smith made a mental note to have Fox increase surveillance on known associates of Anton Vanko. Better to identify the threat before it manifested than deal with it reactively.
Opening Night - Stark Expo
The evening air buzzed with anticipation. Thousands of attendees filled the Expo grounds—corporate executives, government officials, media representatives, and civilians who'd won lottery tickets for opening night access. The main stage dominated the center plaza, surrounded by massive screens broadcasting to the overflow crowds.
Backstage, Bulma adjusted her dress and checked her tablet one final time. "The hover car is secured in the display area. The second-generation scouters are ready for the demonstration. We're good to go."
Fox nodded, her own attention divided between security feeds and the timeline for their presentation slot. "Perimeter is secure. No threats detected. Though I'm seeing a lot of industrial espionage types in the crowd—everyone wants to know what we're announcing."
"Let them look," Bulma said with a confident smile. "They can't reverse-engineer what they don't understand."
15,000 Feet Above the Expo
Smith stood in the open bay of the military transport aircraft, the wind whipping past at a hundred miles per hour. His enhanced hearing picked up Rhodes's voice through the aircraft's communication system.
"Winds thirty knots, altitude fifteen thousand feet. You are cleared to enter the landing zone."
Tony's armor gleamed in the aircraft's interior lighting, his faceplate reflecting Smith's image. "Ready to make an entrance?"
"Always," Smith replied.
Tony grinned behind his helmet—Smith could hear it in his voice. "Then let's give them a show."
The bay door opened fully, revealing the night sky and the glowing Expo far below. Tony took three running steps and launched himself into the void, repulsors igniting as he accelerated into a controlled dive.
Smith followed a heartbeat later, ki propelling him forward without any visible means of thrust.
They descended in tandem, two figures cutting through the night sky. Below them, the Expo's pyrotechnic display began—massive fireworks launching upward in cascading waves of color and light.
Smith weaved through the ascending fireworks, his movements precise and effortless. The explosions of color illuminated him from all angles, turning his descent into a balletic display of superhuman agility. He spun, dove, and rolled through the aerial display, each movement timed to narrowly avoid the explosive charges.
Tony had less grace—several fireworks detonated against his armor, sending him spinning. But he recovered with practiced ease, using the tumbling momentum to add flourish to his descent. His repulsors flared brighter, stabilizing his approach, and he landed center stage in his signature three-point stance—one knee down, one fist pressed to the ground, head bowed.
Smith touched down on the opposite side of the stage, landing upright with his arms spread wide, as if embracing the roaring crowd.
The audience erupted. Thousands of voices screaming approval, the sound washing over the stage like a physical force.
Behind them, twenty dancers emerged—ten wearing stylized Iron Man-themed armor that managed to be both protective and revealing, the other ten in elegantly tailored martial arts uniforms that accentuated rather than concealed. All twenty moved with professional precision, their choreographed routine beginning as the opening music swelled.
Tony's armor began its automated disassembly. The stage beneath his feet unfolded like a mechanical flower, revealing four robotic arms that lifted away each armor piece in sequence. Within seconds, Tony stood in an immaculate Tom Ford suit, not a hair out of place, looking like he'd just stepped out of a boardroom rather than free-falling from three miles up.
He strode forward to center stage, arms spreading wide, drinking in the adulation. He pointed to one section of the crowd, then another, acknowledging their cheers with the easy confidence of someone born to command attention.
Smith remained at his position, allowing Tony his moment. This was Stark's show, after all. Smith's role was supporting act—impressive enough to elevate the whole production, but not overshadowing the host.
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