An Icy Iron (Editing Underway)

Chapter Two

       Apparently, I hadn't been sleeping well and required more sleep. During Mr. Stark's story telling, I had begun to fall asleep, drifting off every few minutes, and falling off of his couch at least once. And from what I had understood, I shouldn't even technically be alive. Right now, I should be dead, buried six feet under in a midgard casket and a half-blank headstone with nothing more than a description of what I had been to them, in one sentence.

       "U-Um, err, M-Mr.Stark..." I stammered, scratching the back of my hand nervously. He waved a finger infront of my face, "I thought we'd already been through this. You can call me anything but that." I flashed him a look, a hint of anger to it. I had not been raised to refer to a person I had just met by their first name. It was impolite unless it came before or after their title. But the man insisted I call him by his first name, and to do otherwise was to be impolite. "Tony," I continued, "I-I don't think I really  understand... I am sorry, I just can't believe everything that you are saying. Hell, I can barely even sit here without a feeling of awkwardness." He sighed and looked at me with slight concern, "You don't remember the rest of what happened do you?"

"No sir...I really don't remember." Of course I don't remember! I thought, Why must he repeat these questions? It's like a child asking "why" after everything. It's reduntant and utterly annoying.

     "Alright," he clapped his hands together and pointed to me,"You, little missy, were walking down the street, not giving a care as to why nearly everyone was running for their dear lives. You hopped on that, whatever thing you call it, a skateboard?" I laughed. A skateboard? Those were wooden boards with four wheels, requiring the use of one mortal to kick off of the ground repeatedly to get anywhere. "No, those are primitive compare to this 'whatever thing'. I believe you would call it something along the lines of 'hoverboard'?" He smiled, "Right, I knew that." He made me laugh again. He was supposedly a billionaire and genius. What sort of genius refers to a hovering piece of technology as a skateboard?

    "Anyways, when you actually took notice to the screaming American citizens around you, which was a stupid move, by the way." He sipped of coffee. I grimmaced. That drink smelled horrible, and just as it smelled, it had tasted. I swore I would never drink that ever again. Then again it had been no thanks to this man I had grown even more of a disliking for it. "You found yourself somewhat caught in the middle. Took a serious hit too which, apparently, didn't hurt you." He looked at me again with some sort of confusion, or concern. Then I remembered that I hadn't told him a single thing about myself. I'd only been asking questions from the start. He had not a clue my place of birth or my parents. "Now, do you remember anything from that moment on?"

        I looked down, trying to avoid eye contact as I tried to remember. It had taken a second or more, but the memory had finally emerged from the deep depths of long lost memories. I remembered. There had been a crazed, masked man who had this group, the "Avengers", at their last stand. Tony, in his suit of armor, was the only one still standing. And sadly, when I followed his deadly gaze into the sky, my own eyes met a terrible sight. At that very moment, my immortal heart was broken and fate had drawn me in. Tears streamed down my face and I had found myself frozen in place and unable to move. The only thing that snapped me out of it had been a car flying at my face. I was lucky to have just barely made it out of the way, before it smashed my body against the building behind me. I lost balance and had fallen off my board. I ran and put myself between the two of them.

       Not even a moment later, the masked man punched me in the face, nearly breaking it. I returned the favor, using my power as a technopath to take the pieces of a light pole and a crumbled car and turn them into something else. Together they made a cannon. A cannon that shot out a large laser. One that was triggered by signals from the brain--by thought. Sadly, it seemed to have done little harm, considering it had only blasted him through a building window.