Reading Time: 79 Minutes

Title: Even Perfect Strangers
Author: enigmaticblue
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action Adventure, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Science Fiction
Relationship(s): Bruce Banner/Tony Stark
Content Rating: NC-17
Warnings: *No Mandatory Warnings Apply.
Author Note: Inspired, in part, by the What If…? episode where Tony Stark lands on Sakaar.
Beta: thomasina75
Word Count: 83,104
Summary: Tony falls through a rip in space; two years later, he runs into someone both familiar and strange. Together, they might just find their way home—and save the universe in the process.
Artist: Twigen
Artist Appreciation: Many thanks to Twigen for the gorgeous cover art!

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Part I: Strangers in a Strange Land

Sakaar – Earth Year circa 2014 (Don’t worry about the exact date. Time has no meaning on Sakaar, so get used to it.)

Tony rolls off his bed, hitting the floor with a thud, the familiar hangover pounding in his temples, the garish red and white stone floor hurting his eyes. He turns over onto his back, staring at the high ceiling above him.

In a few moments, Tony will lever himself up from the floor and head to the shower, where he will once again be grateful that his position on this desolate planet comes with a few luxuries, like hot water.

He’s heard that the best of the gladiators get hot tubs, but Tony isn’t quite that well-regarded. No, Tony just makes increasingly complex machines for the weekly games, and when he’s not tinkering or building, he’s fucking or drinking.

One thing he will say for the Grandmaster—whatever-he-is—he has excellent taste in alcohol—assuming you’re attending one of his orgies, and not drinking the swill that’s widely available to keep the masses happy.

Gathering his resolve, Tony pushes himself up to sitting, then clambers to his feet, plodding to the ensuite bathroom.

No one on Sakaar seems to believe in underwear, so Tony sleeps in a pair of loose trousers. One of Tony’s perks as the chief engineer is unlimited clean clothing as well as three meals a day. So, he has clean trousers and a tunic waiting for him after his shower, as well as a light breakfast.

He dries off and dresses, and then eats the fruit, cheese, and bread that gets delivered every morning, the food helping to settle his roiling stomach.

Tony heads out to his workshop, stopping when he sees Scrapper-142 in the hallway, leaning on the wall across from his door.

“Good morning,” Tony says dryly, securing his door behind him and beginning to walk down the hall. 142 falls in to step next to him. He does actually know her name—she revealed it when they’d been drinking one night—but she’s forbidden him from using it.

Since she promised to gut him if he so much as thought her real name, Tony thinks of her solely as Scrapper-142.

He’s not an idiot, and the last couple of years have taught him caution.

“Caught a prize,” 142 comments, the black leather she wears creaking just a bit as she walks. She tosses her braids over her shoulder in a gesture that might speak of pride or indifference, it’s hard to say.

Tony’s only response is a raised eyebrow. There’s no getting away from the gladiatorial games on Sakaar, but Tony does his best. “And I care because?” he asks, scratching the side of his neck where the obedience disc had briefly been attached.

“You might know him,” 142 replies, her tone slightly needling.

Tony grunts. “I doubt it.”

“Big, green, angry?” 142 prompts. “I doubt there’s more than one of them like that.”

“It’s a big universe,” Tony replies dismissively, ruthlessly squelching the emotion rising in his chest.

142 raises her eyebrows. “You’re not even going to check?”

Tony thinks about the man he’d briefly met what seems like a lifetime ago, and asks, “Just green? He didn’t shrink down at all?”

142 shakes her head and swigs from a paper-wrapped bottle. “No, I remembered what you said. I just asked if he wanted to go smash things, and he followed me, no problem.”

“I doubt an obedience disc would have an effect on him,” Tony says with a snort.

142 swigs again. “So, you going to go see him for yourself?”

Tony shakes his head. “I doubt he even remembers me.”

“You remember him,” 142 points out.

Tony shrugs. “You know I don’t get involved in the games unless it’s the races. You see what he arrived on?” Because that would be interesting, and maybe useful, depending.

“Some kind of ship,” 142 replies. “The other scrappers were already taking it apart when we left.”

“Too bad,” Tony says. “I probably could have used the parts.”

142 gives him a highly unimpressed look as they turn the corner that leads them into a lesser used area of the Grandmaster’s tower. There’s a large, secure door, and Tony quickly enters his access code. He knows the Grandmaster and his people have access, but the security at least keeps out the riffraff.

“And this is where I leave you,” Tony says. 142 might be the closest thing he has to a friend on this godforsaken planet, but he’s not interested in having anyone watch him while he works.

142 isn’t offended. She just salutes him with her bottle and wanders off.

Tony shuts the door and faces the cavernous room that makes up his workshop. There are vehicles in various stages of disrepair, and a ton of pieces and parts. Tony will sometimes go out to the trash heaps himself, but most of the time, he’ll go to the marketplace, or the scrappers will bring him materials in exchange for favors.

Not Scrapper-142, of course. She mostly collects prospective champions for the Grandmaster.

Tony knows he needs to get at least two vehicles finished today to complete his order for the next race. He’d been lucky enough to find an off-brand mp3 player loaded with music from Earth, although it’s mostly alternative and punk. Still, it’s recognizably from Earth, so it’s a little taste of home.

It seems as though the detritus of a thousand worlds winds up on Sakaar, but for an engineer, that just means he has a lot of material to work with.

Tony puts in his ear buds and starts on the vehicle closest to completion. He’s added a few new bells and whistles that should wow the crowd.

Who doesn’t enjoy smoke bombs and spinning razors that pop out unexpectedly during a race to the finish line?

And, since Tony doesn’t drive anymore, he can make the vehicles as deadly as he likes. Maybe he should feel guilty about that, but he’s come to realize that there are no heroes on this planet.

There’s food, there are fighters, and there are those who can make themselves useful in some way.

Tony knows which category he falls into, and he’s worked hard to get there.

Earth/Sakaar, Earth Year circa 2012

Tony doesn’t remember much, all things considered. He remembers the harsh realization that someone would need to redirect the nuke to prevent New York City from turning into a smoking hole. He can feel the sick twisting of his stomach, knowing that it will have to be him, and that he’s not likely to survive.

Tony tried to call Pepper, but had to leave a message, and he saw the Chitauri armada through the rip in space—and then he’s falling, and he knows nothing more for a long time.

When Tony blinks his eyes open, it’s because he hears a clanking noise. After a moment, he realizes that someone is using something metallic to hit his armor.

“What?” Tony groans.

“Are you food or a fighter?” comes the question.

Tony flips up his faceplate and looks at the woman staring down at him. She has dark eyes, braids, and light brown skin. She also has white markings on her face, and is wearing black leather.

Tony can’t help but quip, “I’d call myself a lover, actually.”

“And you probably consider yourself a comedian, too,” she replies, her expression impassive.

“If the shoe fits,” Tony replies.

The woman stares down at his armored body. “Can you get out of that suit?”

“Depends who’s asking,” Tony says as he clambers to his feet, starting to look around, seeing a sea of junk. Well, junk and a tower. “What is this place?”

“Sakaar,” she replies. “Are you going to come with me?”

“Are you going to try to make me?” Tony counters.

Her eyebrows go up, and there’s the hint of a smile. “You should probably at least meet the Grandmaster,” she finally says. “He’s the one who runs the place.”

Tony already knows that he’s going to hate anyone calling themselves “the Grandmaster.” It just screams pretentious blowhard.

And yes, Tony will admit that it takes one to know one.

“Fine,” Tony finally says. He’s a stranger in a strange land here, and looking around, he’s not seeing a way off this planet. Hell, he doesn’t even know where the planet is relative to Earth. “Let’s go see the Grandmaster then.”

He keeps his tone light, shoving down the panic threatening to crawl its way up his throat. Later, he tells himself. Deal with the current circumstances, then you can panic.

The woman doesn’t bother introducing herself, just gets into a small ship and flies off towards the tower. “Okay,” Tony says slowly. “Not big on manners, I take it.”

Tony flies after her, not really seeing that he has any other choice. Thankfully, the suit is powered by the arc reactor, and he can fly it without access to Jarvis, even if he’d prefer not to.

He’s low enough over the trash heaps that he can identify certain items—old IBM computers, alien consoles, old shoes and clothing, and other kinds of garbage. When Tony turns his gaze to the horizon, he sees a series of holes in the sky.

Tony assumes that he fell through one of those portals, and he wonders which of them might spit him back out on Earth. Or if there is one. Maybe they only go one way—here, to Sakaar.

He adds that to the list of things he’ll need to figure out if he wants to go home.

The woman lands her ship on what looks like a designated landing pad, and Tony alights next to her. He has no intention of getting out of the suit until he has no other option.

Tony keeps his faceplate down as he follows the woman down a hallway decorated with what looks like polished stone in a garish red and white. Everything is wide, clean, and spacious, in sharp contrast to the trash fields outside. Tony is getting a picture of how this planet is run, and he doesn’t love it. It also means that he needs to tread carefully.

Priority one: getting off this rock and returning to Earth without getting himself killed. Anything else will have to wait until he has a better understanding of what’s going on, and what that’s going to take.

At the end of the hallway, there’s what can only be described as a throne room with a gilded chair, and the man—being?—seated on that chair has blue face paint, and brightly colored robes. He’s lounging in a way that Tony recognizes—this is the Grandmaster, and he rules his domain in a way that says he doesn’t fear a challenge.

“Well, well, Scrapper-142,” the Grandmaster says. “You do find the most interesting things. If it isn’t Mr. Metal Mojo Man himself.”

Tony flips up his faceplate and blinks at him. “I’m sorry, do you know me?”

The Grandmaster waves a hand. “Time passes differently on Sakaar. We saw your exploits against the Chitauri.”

Footage from what has to be the battle over Manhattan appears on a screen, and Tony blinks in surprise. He suddenly wonders just how long he’d been falling, and how much time he’s lost.

“Right, well, always happy to meet a fan,” Tony says cheerfully. “But I really do have to be getting back, seeing as how I’m one of Earth’s greatest heroes now.”

The Grandmaster raises his eyebrows, waving a hand airily. “But you just got here! And clearly, Earth wasn’t taking very good care of you. Lost things tend to find their way to Sakaar, you know.”

Tony rarely takes anything or anyone seriously, and the Grandmaster is no exception to that rule, especially with his garish robes and the turquoise face paint.

“I appreciate the warm welcome, but I really should be going,” Tony says. “If you could help me with that, I’m sure we could work something out.”

There’s a hint of steel in the Grandmaster’s voice as he says, “Topaz, would you demonstrate what happens when someone tries to leave before Sakaar is ready to let them go?”

The guard standing to the Grandmaster’s right is a slightly heavy-set woman wearing gold-plated armor, her dark hair pulled back from light brown skin in a severe bun. Her mouth is set in a thin line, and Tony would honestly be surprised if she’s ever smiled once in her life. She’s holding a tall staff with a golden orb on the end, and she touches the orb to the foot of a nearby statue. The statue immediately starts to melt, and Tony doesn’t need a great imagination to picture what that would do to his suit, and probably him.

Tony has to make a decision. He could try blasting out of here, but he doesn’t know what he’d do after that. He doesn’t have Jarvis, he doesn’t have an easy way to get in and out of his suit (yet), and the Grandmaster clearly has a little more going on than the robes and face paint.

Tony takes a deep breath and pastes on a smile. “What do you all do for fun around here?”

The Grandmaster claps his hands together. “Now, see? That’s the spirit right there. I knew you were a reasonable, uh, a reasonable man.”

“I aim to please,” Tony replies with a tight smile.

“Well, if you aim to please, maybe you could take that suit off.” The Grandmaster waves a hand at Tony’s suit, and Tony realizes that he has another choice to make. He can use the quick release on the suit, but he’s not going to be able to get back into it.

But that’s always going to be true, especially without access to Jarvis, and he can’t stay in his armor forever. He needs to get on the Grandmaster’s good side, so he can get off this rock.

Or maybe find a way to build a new suit that isn’t dependent on Jarvis.

“Right,” Tony says slowly. “When in Rome…”

He hits the quick release, knowing he’s crossing the Rubicon, but he doesn’t have a choice. As far as Tony’s concerned, this is a lot like being back in Afghanistan, surrounded by enemies, and without a lot of options. If he has to play along for now, until he can build a better suit, a spaceship, whatever—then that’s what he’s going to do.

The suit falls away, leaving him exposed and vulnerable, but Tony knows he can’t show any weakness. He squares his shoulders and offers a devil-may-care grin.

Tony has the arc reactor, at least, and he’s seen what’s in the trash heaps. Assuming he can get to it, he won’t lack materials. With a few tools, Tony can build just about anything.

The Grandmaster’s smile is approving, and Tony hopes that’s bought him some goodwill. “Now, you’re more appropriately dressed for the Grand Prix. I hope you like car racing.”

“Love it,” Tony replies. “Can’t wait.”

He just hopes that the Grandmaster doesn’t catch the underlying sarcasm.

Earth, circa May 2012

Bruce winds up staying in the Stark Tower for a few days after the battle upon Pepper’s invitation. It’s long enough to see Thor and Loki off to Asgard, long enough to attend the memorial service for Tony Stark, long enough to see the outpouring of affection for Iron Man.

Long enough to start hearing people ask why the Hulk had been present, given how much property damage he caused.

Bruce isn’t going to wait around for the Army to show up to take him into custody—well, try to take him into custody. He doesn’t think they’d be any more successful now than they had been in the past, but he doesn’t want to find out differently either.

He doesn’t have much money, but the day before he leaves, Steve comes to the Tower to see him. Miss Potts had offered him a room for as long as he needs one, but Bruce isn’t going to take the chance. Maybe if Tony—

No, better not to think about that almost-connection. Better not to think about what might have happened had Tony survived.

He’s packing the few things he has when Jarvis says, “Captain Rogers is here for you, Dr. Banner. Are you available to speak with him?”

Bruce sighs. He’d been hoping to get out of town without anyone trying to stop him, but if he has to see someone, Steve isn’t the worst option. “Sure. I’ll meet him in the Penthouse.”

There’s plastic sheeting covering the broken windows, and there’s still a dent in the marble floor where the Other Guy had apparently slammed Loki. Bruce’s memories are fractured at best, covered in a green haze, but he has a vague recollection of swinging Loki through the air like a rag doll and a sense of satisfaction when he’d been done.

It’s been ten days, but no one has started repairs yet. Bruce isn’t sure whether they’ll even try to fix the Tower—either the damage to the Penthouse or the sign on the building. Still, Bruce has access, and it’s the only private place he knows of where he and Steve can speak that isn’t his small, borrowed apartment.

Steve emerges from the elevator two minutes after Bruce does, looking much the same as he had when they’d sent Loki off with Thor and the Tesseract. He’s wearing khaki pants and a blue button down that stretches across broad shoulders, and hugs his biceps. His dark blond hair falls across one eyebrow, and he holds out a hand in greeting.

Bruce shakes his hand, feeling Steve’s grip—firm, but not too hard. “Good to see you again, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce thought they had moved past formalities by now, and it immediately puts his back up. “You’re looking well, Captain Rogers.”

Steve ducks his head, his expression growing bashful. “Sorry. Bruce. I—I figure you’re probably heading out, huh?”

“How did you know?” Bruce asks suspiciously.

Steve raises his eyebrows. “I’ve seen the news, and all evidence to the contrary, I’m not an idiot.”

That self-deprecating comment puts Bruce more at ease. “I’d rather leave before they find a reason to take me into custody.”

Steve snorts. “I’ve seen the Hulk. I doubt anyone could hold you.”

“And I don’t want to find out,” Bruce replies. “Besides, the powers-that-be nearly nuked the city, and I know for a fact that there are those who look at me like I’m a nuclear weapon.”

Steve nods slowly. “That’s what I thought, and I wanted you to know that I’m not interested in participating in anything like that.”

“That doesn’t mean the rest of the team won’t,” Bruce counters.

Steve shakes his head. “No, I spoke with Natasha and Clint, and we’re all on the same page.”

He pulls a folded envelope from his left back pocket and holds it out to Bruce.

Bruce takes it reluctantly. “What is this?”

“Something to get you started,” Steve replies. “From what Natasha said, you might need the cash.”

Bruce grimaces and looks out over the skyline, distorted as it is through the clear plastic. “I shouldn’t take this.”

“No strings attached,” Steve says immediately. “Non-sequential bills. Natasha’s suggestion.”

Bruce takes a deep breath. He still remembers the terror on Natasha’s face as he fought the transformation on the Helicarrier, only to fail. “I can’t believe she’d want to help me.”

“I think we all know that you’ll be better off not being used as a weapon,” Steve counters. “And we’ve been in a foxhole together.”

“For a certain definition of the word,” Bruce murmurs. He doesn’t look inside the envelope, knowing that if it feels like too much, he won’t take it. He also knows that he needs every little bit of help offered.

Finally, Bruce says, “Thank you. Maybe I’ll be able to return the favor someday.”

“Or maybe you’ll pay it forward and help someone else,” Steve counters. “I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

“You’ve already done more than most,” Bruce replies.

Steve just shakes his head. “Apparently, me being declared KIA and then defrosted means I was entitled to 70 years worth of back pay. I have money to spare, but I don’t have that many friends left.”

Bruce takes a deep breath, because that comment—maybe they’re not friends, but the potential is there. And that potential is going to die on the vine.

Still, it’s a kind gesture, and Bruce suspects that he’s not going to experience much kindness in the future. “Good luck, Steve,” Bruce manages to say, putting the envelope in his own pocket.

“You, too,” Steve replies, and he makes a move that clearly indicates that he’s willing to give Bruce a hug.

Bruce finds that he’s willing to accept it, and Steve’s strong arms tighten around him.

“I know it’s going to be difficult, but if you need me, and you can call, do that,” Steve murmurs. “If I can help, I will.”

“What? You want to take on the entire Army?” Bruce counters.

Steve snorts as he pulls back. “It probably won’t be the last time. It might not even be the first time if you count me disobeying orders and rescuing my friend, Bucky.”

Bruce manages a smile. “Thanks.”

He can’t help but feel that he’s never going to see Steve Rogers again. Maybe that’s for the best.

Sakaar, Earth year circa 2014

Tony’s face isn’t well-known on Sakaar, even though his name and his machines are. When he goes to the market, he wears a cloak and pulls the hood up, not wanting to risk being noticed.

No one wants to be noticed on Sakaar; no one sane, that is.

Tony is looking for a very specific component for the vehicle he’s working on, about three weeks after Scrapper-142 announced that she’d found a new champion for the gladiatorial games.

The market is hot and crowded with a variety of beings, some of which Tony recognizes and others he doesn’t. Most of them are dressed the way Tony is, with cloaks or hoods that cover their heads and faces. The stalls are so close together as to almost touch, with barely enough space to squeeze between.

The first sign Tony has that things might be changing is seeing a stall with pennants and hand-painted signs with a large green face on them.

Tony could hope that it’s not actually the Hulk, but he’d recognize that visage anywhere, even if crudely drawn. He approaches the stall hesitantly and asks, “Is that the new champion?”

“Undefeated so far!” the alien says enthusiastically. The red skin marks her as a Krylorian, and Tony hopes that he hides his discomfort. “Have you been?”

“I prefer the races,” Tony admits.

She clasps her hands together. “Oh, I love the races! The Metal Mojo Man is truly a genius.”

Tony forces a smile. He hates that the Grandmaster’s nickname stuck, but he also knows it offers cover. The fact that he’s known as the Metal Mojo Man, and the fact that people love him even if they don’t know him on sight, is protection. “The races have become a lot more exciting.”

“Almost as thrilling as the games!” she replies. “Did you want to buy a banner?”

Tony really doesn’t, but he wants to maintain his cover. “Yeah, sure. I have to support the champion, right?”

He buys a banner and rolls it up and tucks it under his cloak, then goes back to looking around the market stalls for the item he actually needs. People bump into him, whether on purpose or by accident, and Tony can occasionally feel hands grasping for his money pouch—or what they think is a money pouch.

Tony doesn’t want to get ripped off, so he’s built something to hold his coins that’s made out of metal, and responds only to his biometrics. That doesn’t include the credits he can use as the Chief Engineer to build the vehicles the Grandmaster demands.

He finds what he’s looking for an hour later and in that time, he sees a lot of banners and signs with the Hulk’s green face.

Tony curses under his breath, knowing that he’ll probably wind up talking to Scrapper-142, to see if he can visit the big green guy.

But Tony is going to put it off for as long as possible.

~~~~~

Tony rolls under the vehicle, finally able to put the finishing touch on the fifth vehicle for the race. The Grandmaster pays him for a certain number of machines, depending on the desired outcome. The others Tony builds are either purchased once finished or built on commission.

This one has been built for the Grandmaster, and Tony knows that Scrapper-142 is driving, so he’s ensured that she’ll win.

He has his earbuds in with Green Day playing when he rolls out from under the vehicle, only to find Scrapper-142 standing there with her arms crossed over her chest.

Tony hits pause on the mp3 player and yanks the earbuds out. “Excuse you. I thought we had a deal.”

“I came to check on my vehicle,” she replies, sounding amused. “Which is within the clearly established parameters.”

Tony sighs, knowing that she’s right. Checking on the progress of her vehicle within three days of the date in question does allow her to enter Tony’s garage without express permission.

She’s one of the few that Tony trusts around the other vehicles, even without him present. She might be on Sakaar, but she’s not of Sakaar. He understands the difference.

“Fine. It’s done. You’re welcome. Do you want a tour?” Tony asks, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Her eyebrows go straight up, and he notices that her white face paint is a little different today. The lines under her eyes are made up of a series of small, connected circles, rather then solid lines. “Problem?”

“Your prize seems to be drawing some attention,” Tony remarks, clambering to his feet, tucking his earbuds into a pocket.

“He’s the Grandmaster’s champion now,” she replies, and now her mouth twists in amusement. “And he’s been moved into a better suite than what you have.”

“Good for him,” Tony says, and he means it. He has no idea what had brought Bruce—or the Hulk, or whoever he is now—to Sakaar, but no one comes here for funsies. So, if the Hulk has landed on his feet, he deserves to live his best life.

142 snorts. “Really? That’s all you’re going to say?”

“Look, I have my thing, and he’s the Grandmaster’s champion,” Tony says shortly, setting aside his earlier thoughts of trying to visit the Hulk. “I don’t need someone from my past life showing up, and I’m sure he doesn’t either.”

Tony takes a breath, pushing aside his emotions. “Let me show you the highlights. Unless you completely fuck the pooch, you should win handily.”

“Same deal applies,” 142 says easily, apparently letting the thing with the Hulk go for now. “You get thirty percent.”

“You think the Grandmaster knows?” Tony asks.

She hitches a shoulder. “I’d be surprised if he doesn’t. One of these days, he might ask you to help me throw the race.”

“If you agree to it, then whatever,” Tony says. “But I’ll have to hear that from your lips.”

She smiles. “And that would be why you’re my favorite engineer.”

Tony goes over the various tricks he included in the build, and what she can expect from the other competitors’ vehicles, at least the ones Tony built. Of course, there are a few people who will enter with those of their own make, but Tony is pretty sure that no one can match his work.

“Tony,” she says at the end of the tour, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I think you should go see him.”

Tony just nods tightly. “What am I supposed to say? He’s green. Bruce and I were the ones who spoke a common language.”

“You might be surprised,” she points out. “You’ve both figured out how to survive here.”

“Survive, sure,” Tony says sourly. “That’s all there is, isn’t there?”

Scrapper-142 gives him a look that might almost be sympathetic. “That depends on you. I’m doing great.”

Tony doesn’t contradict her. He knows just how much she drinks, how much she wants to forget, but she drinks no more than he does, and she wants to forget as much as he does.

“Let me know if he wants to drive a vehicle,” Tony says. “I’ll talk to him then.”

Tony knows the words are a lie as soon as they come out of his mouth, though.

Sakaar, Earth Year circa 2012

Tony will never forget his first Grand Prix on Sakaar as the guest of the Grandmaster. The stadium is huge, rivaling the biggest on Earth, with a track set up around the perimeter, although Tony can see that it isn’t limited just to the stadium. There’s a tunnel across from the Grandmaster’s box, and it’s clear that the track goes outside, and then back inside to cross the finish line.

The Grandmaster’s box is large and open with clear glass that protects those inside from the rabble, as well as comfortable chairs and couches for people to lounge.

“Come in, come in,” the Grandmaster says as he leads Tony inside, with Topaz and another guard taking up positions on either side of the entrance. “Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you a drink?”

Tony doesn’t remember the last time he’d had anything to eat or drink, so he says, “Love one, thanks.”

A few days ago, Tony hadn’t even known that aliens existed, and now he’s on an alien planet, being handed a drink by someone Tony is certain isn’t human.

And as much as he’d love to lose his shit right now, he can’t.

The Grandmaster smirks as he watches Tony take a sip of the bright blue drink. “Good, isn’t it?”

It’s surprisingly good, tart and a little bit sweet, and while Tony tends to prefer his alcohol undiluted, he gives a mental shrug and thinks, when in Rome. “It’s very good.”

The Grandmaster’s expression is smug. “You know, I really thought you were going to be a more difficult guest.”

There’s a hint of cruelty, and Tony is reminded of Raza, the head terrorist who had ordered him to build a Jericho missile. Tony is a long way removed from the man who’d been trapped in a cave with Yinsen—at least in some respects. He’s learned a few things over the years, including how to pick his battles, and how to keep his cool.

The Grandmaster is waiting for a reason to use that melting stick—or some other sort of technology that would put Tony even more firmly under his thumb.

Tony takes another, deliberate sip of his drink. “I do tend to annoy most people, sometimes on purpose.”

The Grandmaster laughs, sounding delighted. “Tell me, Mr. Mojo Man, I heard you built your own suit.”

“I’ve built a lot of things,” Tony counters.

The Grandmaster smiles. “Then I hope you’ll enjoy the race tonight, and that you’ll consider how you might contribute.”

Tony remembers what the woman had asked him when he’d first woken up: are you food or a fighter?

Several people—aliens—enter the Grandmaster’s box just then, wearing robes or diaphanous gowns similar to the Grandmaster’s—brightly colored and loose. Tony realizes that he stands out like a sore thumb in his black cargo pants and Black Sabbath t-shirt.

The skin tones are similarly bright—red, and blue, and a deep yellow. Several others enter on their heels, but they’re dressed similarly to the guards, and are carrying trays of food and drink, beginning to circulate among the guests.

Tony is relieved that no one seems to take much interest in him. He supposes that he hasn’t done anything to attract attention yet, and maybe that’s for the best. Surely, he can figure out a way to steal a ship and make his way off the planet if he can go unnoticed.

Tony watches everyone else, slowly sipping his drink and grabbing food from the circulating trays. Eventually, the lights in the stadium dim, other than those in the Grandmaster’s box.

“Welcome to the Grand Prix!” the Grandmaster intones, his voice amplified to reach every corner of the stadium. “You may place your bets on the outcome! We have some favorites racing tonight!”

On the large screens lining the top of the stadium, pictures of the drivers appear, along with their statistics. A picture of the woman who brought him to the Tower is there, under the moniker “Scrapper-142.” She has a lot of wins under her belt, and based on her odds, is clearly one of the favorites.

“Care to make a wager?” the Grandmaster asks as he sidles up to Tony.

Tony has been known to gamble in the past, but he suspects that it’s a bad idea to gamble with the Grandmaster. Still, Tony senses that he’s not going to take no for an answer. “Depends on the wager,” Tony replies carefully.

“How about, if you pick the winning driver, you get a pass on competing in the next race?” the Grandmaster suggests. “And if you lose, you drive.”

Tony blinks. That’s not what he’d been expecting. “Only if I can build my own machine,” he counters.

The Grandmaster grins, clearly delighted, and Tony knows he’s been outmaneuvered. He claps his hands and rubs his palms together. “Perfect. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

“You haven’t won yet,” Tony says with a sinking heart.

There’s that smirk again, with its hint of cruelty. “Don’t you have a saying on your planet? The house always wins?”

Once again, Tony shoves any fear he feels down deep. “We do have that saying.”

The Grandmaster laughs. “Well, here we have a saying, uh, that I always win.”

Tony is more than a little worried about that.

It turns out that he should be. He bets on Scrapper-142, but she narrowly loses to someone named D’San. The Grandmaster claps Tony on the shoulder cheerfully as the crowd lets out a mixture of boos and cheers, probably depending on whether they’d lost their own bets.

“You see?” the Grandmaster says. “I told you that I, uh, I always win. I look forward to seeing you race. The guards will show you where you can work.”

Tony almost wishes he were back in that cave in Afghanistan.

~~~~~

That night, Tony gets dragged to his first soiree on Sakaar. He’s hosted a few raucous parties in the past, but this is a lot even for him. The Grandmaster strides into a large room where there are trays of drinks and food circulating.

There are also a few trays of pills and other substances, and judging by the state of undress of some present, there are probably some performance-enhancing drugs on offer.

The Grandmaster claps his hands together. “Enjoy! I do love a good party, and you strike me as a guy who, uh, loves to have a good time.”

“You’ve got that right,” Tony replies, not missing the fact that Topaz is standing right there with the melting stick, staring at him threateningly.

The Grandmaster wanders off, leaving Tony on his own, and Tony grabs another drink and something that looks like a mini-cake. When he takes a bite, it turns out to be savory, not sweet, and it just whets his appetite for more.

At least the alcohol will help him mask his growing anxiety, which keeps threatening to overwhelm him.

Tony has no idea how he’s going to obtain food or anything else on this planet—clearly, he’s going to be competing in a race, but he doesn’t know anything beyond that, not even when it’s taking place, or how long he has to build something that will allow him to survive, if not win.

He grabs another nibble and sees Scrapper-142 swigging from a bottle. Since she’s the only person he knows, even a little, Tony heads in her direction.

She fixes dark eyes on Tony. “I’m not your friend, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Did I ask you to be my friend?” Tony counters, although the words sting. “I’ll apparently be racing against you soon enough. I bet on you tonight and lost.”

She snorts. “D’San was supposed to win. Might as well get used to it now: the Grandmaster always chooses the winners.”

There’s that warning again. “And nothing on this planet happens without the Grandmaster’s approval?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t say that.”

“So, what do you do to earn money around here?” Tony asks.

Scrapper-142 takes another swig. “How do you think?”

“Does he pay you to lose?” Tony asks.

She doesn’t respond, just wanders off, and Tony mutters, “Right. No help there.”

Tony makes sure he gets enough to eat, and he’s maybe a little drunk when a guard materializes by his side. “Come with me.”

He follows the guard out of the party, deciding that cooperate for now. He’s outnumbered, and Scrapper-142 isn’t a friend or an ally, at least for the moment.

The leather-clad guard leads Tony through hallways of gleaming red and white. There are glowing lamps lining the walls, which cause Tony and the guard to cast long shadows. The guard stops in front of a door. “These are your quarters.”

The door opens automatically, and Tony steps inside. The door closes behind him, and the lights in the room flicker to life. There’s a window immediately opposite the door that looks out over the trash heaps, the light from the arena illuminating it.

There’s a low bed to his left, and what looks like a bathroom to his right, with shelves on the wall on either side of the bed.

All things considered, it’s a nice enough room, suggesting that Tony is being treated more like a guest than a prisoner.

With a deep breath, Tony takes off his shoes and socks, then removes his belt. He throws himself down on the bed and puts his hands behind his head.

How the hell did I wind up here? Tony muses. One day ago, he’d been on Earth, getting ready to stop an alien invasion. Now, he’s on a fucking alien planet, apparently going to be forced to participate in a race that could kill him, and he’s somehow going to have to build a vehicle that can compete in an unknown timeframe with unfamiliar materials.

He’d felt alone in Afghanistan, but nothing like this, and he has no idea how he’s going to get home.

But at least the alcohol allows him to sleep.

Earth, July 2012

Bruce has made his way to London by way of a slow freighter to Liverpool, then a train. Other than needing to find a place to hide, he isn’t sure what his next move will be.

India is out; it would be too easy to find him there. The Middle East is still rife with American military. Central and South America are out for the same reason as India, which leaves Africa.

But where? It’s a big continent, and Bruce wants nothing more than to disappear entirely. He’s not sure how he can do that when he needs to make money, but maybe heading to the most chaotic location he can find will help him hide.

Bruce doesn’t have an umbrella to guard against the rain that’s coming down steadily, so he flips the collar of his jacket up in a futile attempt to stay dry. Out of desperation, he ducks inside a pub. He can nurse a drink until the rain slows or stops, then find a cheap room for the night.

He orders a beer and sits at a table in a dark corner. He’s rather put out when Fury sits down in the chair next to Bruce that allows both of them to see the rest of the bar.

Fury has his own drink, and he reaches into the inside left breast pocket of his leather duster, producing an envelope, much like the one Steve handed him a month before.

“What’s this?” Bruce asks reluctantly.

“Clean ID,” Fury replies. “A little money to get you started, maybe help you hide. They were most displeased that you got yourself out of New York before you could be detained.”

Bruce remembers Steve’s comment about the difficulty of containing the Other Guy. “Do they think they can?”

“I think we’d both rather not find out,” Fury says grimly. “They want a weapon; I don’t think we should give them one.”

Bruce grimaces. “I would agree with that. What am I looking at, Director Fury?”

Fury sighs, and he looks weary. “Had Tony Stark survived, the balance of power would have been different. He had the money and the public support to forge an independent path, and probably to protect you. I’ll do what I can, but…”

He trails off, and Bruce understands. He’s seen the footage of Tony Stark squaring off with the Senate over ownership of his suit, and the truth is that Tony had the money, the power, and the chutzpah to pull it off. Had Tony lived, he’d be giving a press conference about all the things the Avengers could do, and would probably be taking the piss out of the people who had fired the nuke in the first place.

But Tony Stark is dead because those in the World Security Council are a bunch of cowards, and they didn’t give the Avengers a chance to save the day.

If they’d been given a chance, a real chance, Tony Stark would still be alive. Bruce wouldn’t be on the run.

But if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

“I should be able to hide for a while,” Bruce finally says. “I was thinking Africa.”

“It’s a big continent,” Fury comments. “I won’t ask for specifics.”

“I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew,” Bruce admits. “But thank you. This—will help.”

“I’ll do what I can for you, Dr. Banner,” Fury says. “I just can’t make any promises.”

“Do you ever?” Bruce asks.

Fury hitches a shoulder. “No, I suppose not. Keep your head down, and your stress low.”

“I’ll do my best,” Bruce replies.

The clean identification is the missing piece to the solution. That had been his main concern; it would be too easy to trace him if he uses his own ID to get there. The fakes are good, and Bruce makes a resolution to burn his own documents as soon as he can.

“That phone number will connect you to someone at SHIELD you can trust if you need help,” Fury says.

Bruce raises his eyebrows in surprise. “That sounds like a promise.”

“It’s the only one I can make,” Fury says.

It’s also the only promise that Fury breaks, but Bruce will later find that he can’t exactly hold it against him.

Sakaar, Earth year circa 2012

The guards lead Tony to a cavernous room the morning after the party, and he sees a bunch of trash, including the remains of a number of vehicles, probably from the race the day before.

That at least gives him a place to start, and the bare bones of a vehicle of his own. Tony now knows he has less than a week to build something that will keep him alive, and maybe let him win.

Winning is the aim, of course. And maybe he’ll figure out a way to build a suit of armor along the way.

Tony had been provided a tunic and pants, and there’s a workbench with tools on one side of the room. He quickly assesses what he has to work with, what can be salvaged, and what needs to be scrapped entirely.

He wishes he had music to fill the silence, but there’s nothing, at least not right now. If Tony is going to be stuck on this planet for any length of time, he’s going to need to figure that out.

Tony works all day, and when he pokes his head out of the room, he finds a guard standing there. “Would it be possible to get something to eat?”

“Dinner will be brought to your quarters,” the guard replies. “This way.”

Tony is getting the distinct feeling that he’s not free to roam, and probably won’t be anytime soon, until he earns some trust. Since leaving the planet is going to require stealing a ship—and probably finding a pilot, Tony thinks he’d better get used to the idea that he’s going to be here for a while.

The guard leads him back to his quarters and says, “Your meal will arrive shortly.”

Tony’s dinner arrives about thirty minutes later, and it’s simple—bread, some kind of smoked meat and pickled vegetables. It’s nothing to write home about, but it satisfies his hunger.

He falls into bed and wakes up the following morning to find a set of clean clothes and a breakfast that’s mostly bread and fruit.

The rest of the week is similar. Tony wakes up, eats breakfast, gets a new set of clothing, then works all day, only to be escorted back to his quarters, where he eats dinner and falls into bed.

Tony hasn’t been this immersed in his work in ages, but he knows that’s mostly survival instinct. He’s seen one race, and there had been casualties; Tony doesn’t want to be one of them.

He also knows that he’s using work as a defense mechanism to guard against panic and despair, but he’d done that in Afghanistan, too. He knows how to use it.

Of course, he’ll have to build in safety features, ones that will protect him if his vehicle gets run off the track. He doesn’t have the components to build—or recreate—the programming for the suit, which has found its way to a corner of the room. The best he can do is to use parts from the other vehicles to build the best one he can.

By the day of the race, Tony has something he thinks will work. He wishes he had a little more time, but he thinks this will at least keep him alive.

He has some inkling that if he does survive, there will be another race, another trip to the track.

Tony’s workshop is connected to the arena by a short tunnel that has been locked until today, and Tony pushes the vehicle through that to the starting line. He’d used the principles of a gyroscope to stabilize the two-wheeled vehicle. It doesn’t weigh much, which should help him go faster even with the limited power he has at his disposal.

But that’s this race. Tony could probably figure out how to utilize the arc reactor given more time.

Tony looks around at the other drivers, and he sees Scrapper-142 with her own vehicle. She glances over at him, but doesn’t acknowledge his presence otherwise.

He climbs into the driver’s seat when everyone else does, putting his hands on the steering wheel. He remembers the exhilaration of driving in Monaco, and he feels some echo of that emotion now, but it’s mostly trepidation.

Tony isn’t dying, except in the way everyone is dying at every moment. He wants to live; he wants to go home. And to do both of those things, he needs to survive this.

The Grandmaster’s image appears in the middle of the arena, probably at least ten stories tall. “Welcome, welcome! It’s a big night here. It’s our first race with Mr. Metal Mojo Man competing. Let’s, uh, let’s see if he survives!”

“But no pressure,” Tony mutters to himself.

Like the race Tony attended, this one starts off with the sound of a gun or a cannon, and Tony hits the accelerator. He knows that the outcome is going to be more than just speed. There’s gamesmanship, too, and Tony doesn’t want to pull ahead too early. He needs to stay near the front of the pack, but still hide among the other racers so he doesn’t paint a target on his back too early.

Tony immediately has to dodge a spinning saw blade from one of the other drivers, putting on a burst of power to slide past another, putting them in the path of the blade.

He watches as that driver goes off the track and flips his vehicle, and then drags his attention back to the race. Tony can’t worry about the others. They’ll survive or they won’t.

The track goes up and around a curve, and here is where Tony’s vehicle has an edge, because the gyroscope allows him to hug the wall, leaping ahead of two more cars.

That puts Tony in third place, and he tries to keep his speed steady, staying away from the racers immediately ahead of and behind him. The track moves out of the arena and into the trash heaps, but Tony focuses only on the path ahead and the other drivers.

Tony glances in his rearview mirror and sees another driver approaching rapidly with a spike extending from the front of their vehicle.

“Shit,” Tony says, and he hits the accelerator again. He’s coming up behind the second place vehicle, and he can see when the car behind him speeds up.

He twists the wheel to the right, and the car behind him hits the car ahead of him with the spike.

Tony feels both guilty and grimly satisfied at that, and now he’s approaching the back of Scrapper-142’s vehicle. He’s still a little irritated at losing his bet, and at her refusal to help by giving basic information.

He remembers what the Grandmaster had said, what Scrapper-142 said: the house always wins. It’s entirely possible that if Tony wins it won’t be about his engineering ability, or his skill as a driver. It will be because the Grandmaster wanted it for reasons of his own.

Tony decides that he doesn’t care. Winning gives him leverage, and Tony doesn’t have much leverage at the moment.

Scrapper-142 puts on a burst of speed, and Tony can see that the finish line is approaching. Now is the time to capitalize on the advantages of his vehicle, and Tony flips the switch that puts on a final burst of power that’s going to fry the motherboard.

Tony turns the wheel to the left, and his vehicle just slides past Scrapper-142’s, and he crosses the finish line in first place.

He can hear the crowd cheering, but Tony just rests his head on the steering wheel for a moment before he exits the vehicle and waves. He’s still a showman, and Tony is starting to get the measure of this world. Popularity is power, and Tony needs to find a way off the planet.

And to do that, Tony might just need to win the hearts and minds of the people of Sakaar.

“Good race,” Scrapper-142 comments when she stands next to him.

“What? You didn’t let me win?” Tony asks.

She shakes her head. “You were an unknown, and the house was always going to win big either way.”

Tony looks around at the arena, at the cheering crowd, at the detritus littering the track. He’d stayed near the front, but the drivers behind them had been cut-throat. “Is this place just bread and circuses?”

She raises eyebrows and says, “Now you’re getting it. I’ll see you in the next race. Think about betting on yourself next time, or selling vehicles to other drivers.”

Scrapper-142 strolls off, leaving Tony standing next to his vehicle, wondering what his next steps will be.

Although maybe Tony is getting ahead of himself. Maybe his next step is to win the next race, to create an unassailable position, and then make a move.

Maybe, this time, Tony has to start small, even though that goes against every fiber of his being.

Sakaar, Earth year circa 2014

Tony takes a breath as he makes his way to where he knows the Hulk is being housed. He’s familiar enough with the tower to know where the champions typically live, and he confirmed with Scrapper-142.

He has no idea what to expect. From everything he’s heard, it’s just the Hulk; there’s no sign of Bruce Banner, no indication that Banner is somewhere in there either. Tony has absolutely no idea what to do with that.

Part of why Tony has been so hesitant to see him is that he doesn’t know what to do. He still has no way off Sakaar, and it’s undeniable that the Hulk is better treated here than Bruce would be.

Here, the Hulk has a privileged place as one of the Grandmaster’s champions, as the champion. He’s invincible—or nearly so—since they haven’t found anything that will hurt him yet.

Sakaar might just be the best place for the Hulk, but Tony doesn’t know what that means for Bruce.

He presses the call button on the side of the door and waits. The door slides open after a few long seconds, and Tony steps inside, feeling a little trepidation.

“Metal Man comes,” Hulk rumbles. He’s standing right there, large and green, but he doesn’t seem to be all that angry. He’s wearing a pair of loose, off-white shorts that seem to have been tailored just for him. “Angry Girl said you would. Hulk thought Metal Man dead.”

“Well, I flew through a rip in space and didn’t come back, so I can understand why you’d think that,” Tony replies. “Instead, I landed on Trash Planet, and here we are.”

Hulk turns away from the door and retreats further inside, and Tony decides to take that as an invitation. Tony has been around the Grandmaster’s tower long enough to immediately recognize that the Hulk is highly favored.

He’s been given one of the larger suites, which matches his size, instead of one of the cells under the stadium. A lot of the gladiators are kept there, at least initially, until they’ve proven their ability or their willingness to bend to the Grandmaster’s whims.

More than just the size of the room, though, there’s a large, steaming pool, which is a mark of high favor.

“Nice place you got here,” Tony comments. “The Grandmaster must like you.”

Hulk bares his teeth in what might be a grin. “Grandmaster lets Hulk smash. He likes Hulk smash.”

“So did I,” Tony reminds him. “We were all very happy that you smashed the alien invasion.”

That comment doesn’t go over well, the bared teeth turning into a low roar. “No one likes Hulk!”

Tony blinks, and reminds himself that he hasn’t been on Earth in years, and he has no idea what happened between him redirecting the nuke and the Hulk arriving on Sakaar.

But something had happened to have Hulk land here without any sign that Bruce is still somewhere inside.

Although, Hulk does sound slightly more coherent than he had in the past.

“Well, I liked it when you smashed,” Tony says, trying to calm him down. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get back to Earth to tell you that.”

Hulk grunts at that, and then drops his trousers, demonstrating absolutely no body shame.

Not that he has anything to be ashamed of. He’s definitely proportional.

And call him crazy, but it’s been a long time where he’s had nothing but meaningless sex, and Tony had an instant connection with Bruce. He’s not interested in the Hulk—he’s not a masochist—but he finds himself craving that kind of connection.

Hulk sinks into the hot water, and Tony really has no idea what he’s supposed to do next. He’d had a connection with Bruce, not the Hulk.

And then Hulk looks at him with ill-concealed impatience. “Metal Man stay?”

Tony realizes that Hulk is inviting him to join him, just not in so many words. “Yeah, sure, why the hell not?” Tony mutters.

He shucks off his clothing and sinks into the heated pool, and he can’t help but the long sigh of relief. The hot water acts on knotted muscles Tony didn’t even know he had, and he tips his head back against the side.

“Hulk sorry he didn’t save Metal Man,” Hulk says softly.

Tony opens his eyes, not realizing that he’d closed them. “Hey, it’s not your fault, Jolly Green,” Tony replies. “Let’s blame it on those assholes who sent the nuke in the first place.”

There’s a rumbling sound from Hulk’s chest, and he says, “assholes,” like he’s trying out the word, and Tony wonders about that.

He wonders how long the Hulk had been the Hulk without reverting to Bruce. Or is it a reversion? Is this what the Hulk was always meant to be?

And then Hulk lets out a sound that Tony realizes is something like a laugh. He says, “Assholes.”

Tony grins. “Yeah, just a bunch of fucking assholes.”

There’s another one of those laughs, and Hulk’s grin is a little more than just the baring of teeth, a little more like happiness.

Earth, March 2014

Bruce’s clean identity gets him a job with an NGO in Burkina Faso, and he floats around West Africa for the next six months. From there, he goes to Uganda, to a displaced persons camp. His resume matches that of his faked persona in India, which makes it fairly easy to float from job to job. It helps that he doesn’t need a lot of money.

He needs reasonable shelter, enough clothing to keep him protected, and enough food to keep body and soul together. And given what’s living under his skin, he requires less than most.

He’s in Accra in Ghana, a stable democracy and a good place to find work. As is his wont, Bruce has developed contacts among the local populace—at the food stands, the marketplace, at the small shop where he buys second-hand clothing. He’s looking for a new shirt—one of his old ones had been stained with blood when he helped treat the wounded after a road accident.

The woman who runs the shop wears colorful, traditional clothing, and she beckons him to the back, interrupting his browsing. “Doctor,” she says quietly, using the form of address he’s grown accustomed to. “There are men looking for you.”

She pulls a crumpled piece of paper from the pocket of her smock, and Bruce grimaces. There’s a newer photo of him, probably from his time in Uganda, as well as his alias and his legal name.

“Thank you for the warning, Mrs. Owusu,” he murmurs. “Were these men wearing uniforms?”

She shakes her head. “Suits and ties, sunglasses, looking like very important—“ The term she uses is not English, and is from a dialect unfamiliar to Bruce. From her tone, it’s not complimentary. “They drove black SUVs. Government types.”

Bruce doesn’t love the sound of that. It means the U.S. government is on his trail, and he hasn’t heard from Fury since he saw him in London. He nods slowly. “I still need a new shirt, Mrs. Owusu.”

“You will pay me here, and I will find one for you,” she insists. “I know your size, and what you usually wear, no?”

He isn’t sure he likes the sound of that, but he has no graceful way to reject her offer. “Thank you.”

When she returns with a bag, Bruce pays her in cash, and then slips out the back, using the exit normally reserved for employees. Once in the alley, Bruce peeks inside the bag, and he has to admit that she might have a point. He normally wears button down shirts, but she’s put three t-shirts in his bag: dark purple, dark green, and black. Not great in the sun, but also not likely to show stains, and unlike what he normally wears.

“Thank you, Mrs. Owusu,” Bruce murmurs, knowing she won’t hear him, but needing to say the words regardless.

There’s a lot about this world that he finds disappointing, but he still finds the kindness of strangers in the most random corners.

Sakaar, Earth year circa 2014

Tony has a standing invitation to the Grandmaster’s box at the gladiatorial games. He’s fairly certain that the Grandmaster would love it if Tony built a suit and chose to participate, but their deal was for toys, and Tony has to draw the line somewhere.

Sakaar will erode even the staunchest of morals, but Tony refuses to be put in a situation that might require him to kill another being. At least he knows that the drivers are all participating willingly—for a certain meaning of that word.

But something compels him to make his way to the arena now that he’s made contact with the Hulk, when he knows the Hulk will be fighting. Tony wears dark blue trousers and a matching, loose-fitting tunic that’s open at the neck.

He’s also wearing a pair of metal bracelets that will form gauntlets, complete with repulsers when he makes a particular gesture. Tony tries not to be without a weapon on Sakaar, something Scrapper-142 taught him.

“If it isn’t Mr. Metal Mojo Man himself!” the Grandmaster exclaims as Tony enters the box. “I didn’t think you were interested in the games.”

Tony hitches a shoulder as the Grandmaster gestures to the hanger-on seated next to him, signaling that she should vacate it in favor of Tony. “I’ve been seeing all kinds of merchandise advertising your champion in the marketplace, and I got curious.”

“Hm, yes, curiosity is a trait I’ve noticed in you,” the Grandmaster says, his dark eyes glittering with power and avarice. “Funny this is the champion that would pique yours.”

Tony has learned by now that hiding just about anything from the Grandmaster is difficult at best. The Grandmaster had known about the battle against the Chitauri before Tony even landed on Sakaar; there’s absolutely no chance that he doesn’t know what the Hulk’s role in that battle had been.

He takes the offered seat and slumps down, affecting nonchalance. “I had the chance to see the Hulk in action on Earth,” Tony admits. “And my curiosity finally got the better of me.”

“What?” the Grandmaster asks. “You’re, uh, you’re not old friends?”

The Grandmaster obviously knows he’d visited the Hulk in his quarters. “Barely met him, but I did stop in to see him recently. As I said, I got curious.”

“Grandmaster,” one of the guards calls. “It’s time. The crowd is growing restless.”

The Grandmaster nods. “We can, uh, we can take this up later.”

“At your convenience, Grandmaster,” Tony replies.

The Grandmaster stands up, and the hologram appears in the middle of the arena, several stories tall. “Welcome! Welcome! Look at all of you, come to cheer on our champion! What a great night!”

Tony has heard the spiel before, since the Grandmaster says pretty much the exact same thing before every race.

He tunes out the speech about the other fighter, knowing that no one is going to beat the Hulk. Tony isn’t sure if the Grandmaster could field a real challenger, but even if he could, the Hulk will always win as long as the Grandmaster wishes.

“Let’s give a round of applause for Korg the Kronan!” the Grandmaster calls.

Tony sees what looks like a moving pile of rocks stride out into the center of the arena, hefting a sledgehammer.

“And now, our champion!” the Grandmaster calls.

There’s a semi-familiar roar, and the Hulk bursts out from where he’d been waiting. He’s wearing a helmet and what can probably only be termed as war paint, and is carrying a Hulk-sized axe.

Tony can immediately see why Hulk has become such a popular fighter. He seems to know what Korg can take, and how to draw out the battle.

In other words, the Hulk knows how to play with his opponent, and how to entertain the masses.

“Isn’t he, uh, magnificent?” the Grandmaster asks. “I mean, merchandise sales alone have increased a hundred fold. As a business man yourself, I know you’ll—you’ll understand the significance.”

“Oh, I get it,” Tony mutters. He also understands that the Grandmaster sits in his tower and gets rich while so many others are starving.

Blood and circuses, Tony thinks. It’s all just blood and circuses.

Hulk finally delivers the “killing” blow—Tony understands Kronan physiology well enough to know that Korg will eventually regenerate—and the crowd roars its appreciation.

“How about that?” the Grandmaster says. “Now, that’s a showman, although I’m really hoping that Scrapper-142 can find a real challenge for him soon. Gotta keep the uh, the crowds happy, and they’re gonna get, hm, gonna get kinda bored with Korg.”

Tony senses the trap in his words. “That definitely sounds like a problem for Scrapper-142,” he says, having no problem throwing her under the bus.

Obtaining champions is her gig, not his.

“You couldn’t build a machine that might give him a workout?” the Grandmaster suggests.

Tony pretends to think about it. “I’m not sure. It’s not going to be a quick thing, though, not with my current orders for the races.”

“Well, do what you can,” the Grandmaster orders. “But I’ll honor our bargain.”

There’s not much else the Grandmaster can say. Tony’s life is a bit constrained on Sakaar, and he has to give deference to the Grandmaster, but he’s already proven that he can throw off an obedience disc, so they’re at a bit of an impasse.

Tony just has to keep the Grandmaster happy enough. That’s all he has going for him here.

Sakaar, circa Earth year 2013

Tony thinks he’s been on Sakaar about six months now, long enough to have learned the access codes for the Grandmaster’s hangar and his ship. He’s been to enough orgies on the pleasure cruiser to have some idea how the controls work, although he has no clue how he’s going to get back to Earth. If the Grandmaster has star charts, Tony hasn’t been able to find them.

Still, he’s been here long enough—too long, even. He has to get off Sakaar before he loses what’s left of his mind.

He dresses in the clothing left out for him, grateful that it’s a rather nondescript brown. Tony pulls on the cloak he purchased with his winnings from the races and pulls the hood up over his head.

Tony moves down the hallway towards his workshop, as though it’s just another day. Just before that door, there’s another hallway, and Tony takes a sharp right.

He’s figured out a shortcut to the hangar, one that’s used mostly by the servants.

Tony quickly enters the access code and slips inside the hangar. He crosses to the cruiser and boards, silencing the alarm with the other access code he’d stolen.

He doesn’t have much of a plan. Tony is going to point the nose of the ship at one of those portals in the hope that it will spit him out somewhere else, somewhere that will allow him to make his way back to Earth.

Tony starts the engine, and the party lights immediately come on. He shuts them off with a curse, hoping that he can get out of the hangar before anyone raises the alarm. He’s not taking the Grandmaster’s favorite ship, just in case this harebrained idea doesn’t pan out. He’s hopeful, but while plenty of people have landed on Sakaar over the last few months, he hasn’t heard of anyone leaving.

Dying, sure. Leaving? No. And the Grandmaster seems to control any ship that might be able to make it off this rock.

Tony pulls the controls back, and the ship lifts off from the ground. “All right,” Tony mutters. “All right. Let’s see if we can get out of here. Just have to point it in the right direction.”

He makes it out of the hangar without any alarms going off by some miracle. Tony puts on some speed as soon as he’s free. He’s been studying the portals for the last few months, and he’s noticed that there are a couple that seems to suck things in, rather than spitting anything out.

The biggest one in the center is going to chew this cruiser up with the amount of force it appears to be exerting. Tony thinks his best bet is to go for the smaller one.

He puts on a burst of speed and points the nose of the ship toward the center, flying straight up. Tony can feel the ship shudder around him, and the colors through the screen blur and streak, and then everything seems to go weightless.

The next thing Tony knows, the ship appears to be flying straight down, its nose pointed at a trash heap.

With a yelp, Tony pulls back hard on the controls, and the ship levels out so that he hits the trash heap with the belly instead.

The ship skids to a halt with a series of bumps, like a stone skipping across a lake—if the lake was made of trash.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Tony mutters. “Go in the portal, fall out of the portal, land right back where I started. Great.”

If he thought he could slip the cruiser back into the hangar with no one being the wiser, Tony would try that, but he doesn’t have the piloting finesse for that. When he opens the back hatch and steps out, he spots Scrapper-142 standing there with her arms tightly crossed.

“Is there any way we could just agree to forget all about this?” Tony asks hopefully. They’re not friends, but he’s built her a couple of vehicles that allowed her to win.

She doesn’t respond verbally, instead tossing something in his direction. It finds purchase on his neck, digging in, and then Tony feels a painful jolt of electricity that drops him to the ground.

Scrapper-142 stands over him, the controller in her hand, and gives him another jolt. “Sorry,” she says insincerely. “The Grandmaster’s orders. He is angry. If you’re lucky, it’ll be the melting stick, or maybe you’ll just die in the arena.”

Tony tries to stand up, but she hits him with another jolt from the obedience disc.

“I’m supposed to bring you in,” she says. “He promised a big reward if I caught you.” She reaches down and grabs Tony by the front of his tunic, dragging him onto her ship and dropping him on the floor.

Tony really doesn’t want to get hit with another jolt of electricity, so he stays right where she left him.

When she lands inside the tower, she looks at him. “Do I need to put you in a chair?”

Tony has seen a few people come into the Grandmaster’s presence strapped to a floating chair, and he knows he doesn’t want that. “No,” he grinds out.

She hauls him up by his shirt again and marches him down the ramp, right into the presence of the Grandmaster, tripping him so he falls flat on his face. A booted foot between his shoulder blades ensures he stays there.

“Well, well, Mr. Metal Mojo Man,” the Grandmaster says silkily. “That didn’t go quite how you’d hoped, did it?”

“Can’t say it did,” Tony admits with his cheek pressed to the floor.

“Didn’t I tell you that Sakaar doesn’t give up lost things easily?” the Grandmaster asks, his voice growing closer, and Tony sees a pair of feet appear next to his face.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying?” Tony hazards.

A foot nudges his face. “Oh, I can certainly ‘blame a guy for trying.’ The question is whether you get the melting stick or the arena.”

Tony knows that it’s a trick question. If he enters the arena, the Grandmaster is going to ensure that he doesn’t leave it alive.

Still, where there’s life, there’s hope, and if Tony’s alive, he might be able to find a way.

“I’ll take my chances in the arena,” Tony mutters.

“You have five hours until the next race,” the Grandmaster says. “Let’s see what you can do in that time.” He moves away. “Lock him in his workshop.”

As the guards pull him off the floor and start to drag him off, someone hits Tony with another hit from the obedience disc, preventing him from getting his feet under him.

The pain is just starting to wear off when the guards open the door of his workshop and toss him inside. He lands hard on the polished floor, and just lays there for a minute. He doesn’t have the time to spare, but he needs to breathe.

“Fuck,” Tony says, finally allowing himself to feel the disappointment of an unsuccessful escape. There were only two portals that seemed to take things away from Sakaar, and the fact that one of them had spit him right back out here… “Fuck.”

Tony rolls over on his back, letting himself feel the panic that’s been an ever-present companion, even if he can usually fend it off with alcohol and work. “Fuuuuuuuuck.”

He closes his eyes and speaks the words out loud. “You’re not getting off this fucking planet, so you’d better figure out how you’re going to stay alive, Stark.”

Tony pushes himself off the floor and touches the obedience disc that’s lodged in the side of his neck. He can’t find a purchase, can’t get his fingernails under it, and it stubbornly stays where it is.

“Fuck,” Tony mutters again, and shoves the fear down hard.

He looks around his workshop to see what he has on hand. He does have one vehicle he’s been tinkering with that might keep him alive, but he’d ideally have at least 12 hours to finish it.

“Time to work miracles,” Tony says to himself.

And yes, he knows he’s talking to himself, but he has no one else to talk to right now.

He has no one he can talk to, period.

Tony puts aside his misgivings, his disappointment, his homesickness, and he focuses on his vehicle. He knows the Grandmaster wants him to die, so it’s his job to stay alive.

That’s all he has to think about right now, getting through this next race, and then the next day. It’s just one moment at a time, one foot in front of the other.

He has to stop thinking about going home. He has to focus on the present.

Survival is everything. It’s the only thing.

Tony maneuvers himself under the vehicle, connecting the controls as well as a couple of surprises. He has something that might work by the time the door to his workshop opens.

He’s not expecting them to activate the obedience disc, but maybe he should have. They incapacitate him and drag him out by his arms, another couple of guards pushing the vehicle towards the arena.

Tony can see the dirt of the track as his head hangs, trying to hold himself together. He’s pretty sure that many hard shocks in one day aren’t good for his heart.

He doesn’t resist as they shove him in the vehicle and close the door behind him. Other vehicles pull up next to him at the starting line, and Tony focuses, putting his hands on the controls.

He’s raced this track before, but unlike the first time, he knows the Grandmaster not only wants him to lose, but to die.

Tony sees the multi-story hologram of the Grandmaster form in the center of the track. “Welcome, welcome! Our very own Mr. Metal Mojo Man is racing! I’m sure we’ll all enjoy seeing him do his thing.”

There’s an edge to his voice that tells Tony that he’s looking forward to seeing Tony crash and burn.

And he knows how true that is when the starting horn sounds and the obedience disc gives him another jolt.

“Fuck.”

Tony realizes that if he’s not going to die, he has to get rid of the disc. Gritting his teeth, Tony wills the arc reactor to power up, feeding the power he would normally put into the suit through his own body, overloading the obedience disc until it falls off his neck.

“Wish I’d thought of that sooner,” Tony mutters, and he floors it. The process had taken just a few seconds, but that’s enough time to have allowed everyone else to move way too far ahead.

Tony knows that he not only needs to survive this race, he needs to win it if he’s going to avoid the melting stick.

He floors it, remembering Monaco, and what it had felt like then. He’d been dying at the time, and felt like he had nothing left to lose.

He has his life to lose now, and he wants to keep it, even if his life on Sakaar doesn’t mean much.

Tony pours on the speed, knowing that he’s got some time to make up. The engine is only going to be good for one race, but he can rebuild it after he wins.

He passes the first vehicle lagging behind the pack, and Tony recognizes it as one that had been struggling in the last two races. In fact, a razor blade pops out from the side, but it’s not spinning, and Tony dodges it easily. He doesn’t even bother to unleash one of his own surprises, because it would be a waste.

He pulls ahead of another struggling racer, dodging the projectile the back of it spills onto the track. Tony is getting closer to the main pack now, and he knows that he’s going to start facing some real competition.

Tony pulls into the middle of the pack, and he presses the button that deploys a bunch of spikes at tire level. It doesn’t hit all of them, but it sends three vehicles spinning out of control.

“Hell, yes,” Tony says. He still has a little more speed he can squeeze out of the vehicle, but he’s saving that for the end.

There are now only five vehicles ahead of him, and Tony grits his teeth. They’re two-thirds of the way through the track, so he really needs to pull out all the stops.

Tony sees Scrapper-142’s vehicle, and she’s settled into the third place like she does when she’s about ready to break out and move into first.

He’s not going to let her. Tony would have never used it unless she asked him to, but there’s a backdoor into her vehicle he’d built. There’s a backdoor in all of the vehicles he’s built—for just this reason.

All’s fair in love and war, and she’d used that fucking obedience disc on him besides.

He presses the stop button to shut her engine down, and her vehicle skids to a halt. Tony flips her off as he passes.

It’s the last 100 yards now, and Tony pushes the button that sends a torrent of fuel that will provide the speed he needs. He then releases another barrage of flash bangs to disorient the other drivers, sending two more spinning out of control and slowing the last one remaining.

He shoots over the finish line, winning the race, hearing the roar of the crowd.

Tony knows the value of putting on a show, so he vaults out of the vehicle and raises his arms in victory. The cheers of the crowd redouble.

He turns slowly, basking in their adulation.

Tony has this, at least. He has this protection, the protection of his inventions, of the arc reactor, of the man he’s made of himself. If the Grandmaster wants to use his melting stick, he can, but he’ll be melting one of his best assets.

Scrapper-142 walks up to him. “Good race,” she says begrudgingly. “Well played.”

Tony shrugs. “Good thing I kept something back.”

“Where’s the disc?” she asks.

Tony had grabbed it and put it in his pocket before leaving his vehicle, and he pulls it out now. “Turns out they just don’t stick to me.”

Scrapper-142 glances at it. “Well, that’s helpful. For you. If the Grandmaster decides to find it entertaining.”

Tony waves a hand at the track. “Were they not entertained?”

142 rolls her eyes. “Come on. The Grandmaster said he wanted to see you if you survived.”

Tony follows her to a hidden elevator that takes them from the arena floor to the Grandmaster’s box. Scrapper-142 folds her hands behind her back.

He doesn’t try to talk to her, just steels himself for his conversation with the Grandmaster, knowing that he has to play his cards right. Tony has to play the long game.

The Grandmaster is waiting for them in an empty box as they walk in. “You were supposed to die,” he says.

Tony shrugs. “I’m a lot harder to kill than it would appear.”

“I activated the obedience disc,” the Grandmaster says, his eyes glittering with menace.

Tony holds out the disc. “It didn’t stick.”

He can see the indecision on the Grandmaster’s face, and then sees it resolve. “No fewer than five vehicles per week. You build them, and others use them. You remain Mr. Metal Mojo Man, and I don’t use my melting stick.”

Tony suspects that means the Grandmaster knows he has enough charisma to sway the crowds in his favor if he were to put himself front and center.

But there’s also the melting stick, and if Tony can fly under the radar, he might yet find a way off the planet—someday. Maybe.

He and the Grandmaster are at a stalemate: the Grandmaster can’t control him, and Tony can’t leave, so they have to rub along somehow.

“Deal,” Tony says.

Because the only thing left is to live. He can survive here. It’s not what he wanted, or what he’d wished for, but at least he’s alive.

Earth, May 2014

Bruce feels hunted—there’s really no other word for it. He’s been in so many countries, changing locations every other week. The money from the other Avengers and Fury has long since run out, as has his ability to take jobs with various NGOs. Much like in India, Bruce has managed to barter his services as a healer for food and shelter since fleeing from Accra.

He’s in Lagos now, knowing that it will be easier to disappear in a city that size. It’s also a port city, and he has a variety of options for travel, including hopping a freighter if necessary.

It’s there that Bruce spots an English-language newspaper with a headline that causes his heart to sink.

HELICARRIERS CRASH INTO THE POTOMAC RIVER

Bruce has a few coins, and he purchases a newspaper, heading to a nearby park in order to read the article. He sits on a bench and quickly skims it. The news is fresh, so there aren’t many answers as to why the helicarriers crashed.

One thing is clear, though: SHIELD is deeply compromised, which means that Bruce can’t rely on Fury. The article also says that Captain America is currently in the hospital, and that Natasha Romanoff is wanted for questioning.

Bruce feels more alone than ever. The thought that had resided in the back of his mind—that he might be able to call one of them or Fury for help—dies at that moment. He slowly folds the newspaper and tips his head back to look at the blue sky overhead.

He’s felt despair before, of course, but this is worse. It’s not as though he’d ever lost the wariness he had from being on the run all those years, but there had been a moment—one, brief moment—where hope had flickered to life.

There’s no one who can protect Bruce, and if the Army does manage to take him into custody, there’s no one who will get him out.

How long can I run? he asks himself, slowly standing. He’s running out of places to hide. Not for the first time, he wishes he could find a way to disappear completely.

“At this point, about the only place I could go would be another planet,” Bruce mutters to himself as he puts the paper in a nearby trashcan.

He has no idea how right he is.

Sakaar, Earth year circa 2013/2014

Tony is fucked up, and he knows he’s fucked up. The alcohol isn’t really doing the job anymore, so he’d taken something else, something his companion insists will enhance the experience.

Tony certainly feels enhanced, and the whole world is bright and sharp. The alien is kissing their—his? her?—way down his neck, and Tony has stopped asking for names or species at this point, because it doesn’t matter.

People come and go from the Grandmaster’s tower, here one day, then disappearing without a trace. All Tony needs to know is that they’re willing to fuck him, and he’s good to go.

He’s already sticky with sweat and bodily fluids, and he’s not paying attention to anything other than the hint of sharp teeth on his skin as his companion sucks a mark.

Suddenly, someone yanks him back by the waist of his trousers, which causes the fabric to become uncomfortably tight against his dick.

“What the fuck?” Tony snarls, twisting to see Scrapper-142. “What are you doing?”

Scrapper-142 glares at him, then looks at his companion. “Get lost.”

“Hey!” Tony protests even as his companion wanders off to find another willing party. “What the hell was that about?”

“The secretions of that species tend to be dangerous to humans,” Scrapper-142 snaps, releasing him. “You’re welcome.”

She turns on her heel, but Tony is—well, fucked up, which is why he tries to make a grab for her arm.

Scrapper-142 grabs his hand, twisting it behind his back, then taking him down to the floor. She holds him there for a long moment, and Tony thinks she might break his wrist. He’s pretty sure she’s thinking about it anyway.

“Next time, at least ask if fucking them is going to make your dick rot off,” she finally says as she releases him. “And lay off the drugs. They’re just going to make survival that much harder.”

Tony stays where he is on the floor for a long moment, and then slowly sits up. Her intervention has effectively killed both his buzz and the mood, and he stumbles back towards his quarters to get a shower and clean clothing.

~~~~~

Another day, another orgy. Tony isn’t allowed anywhere near the Grandmaster’s ships, but he’s frequently asked (read: commanded) to attend one of the many parties taking place around the tower. After the night Scrapper-142 yanked him off the Xrb, probably saving his life, he’s been staying away from the pills. Not asking for names is one thing, but she had a point about not asking about the species.

Tony has no idea why she’d saved his life. It’s not like they’re friends.

He grabs a drink, though, and tosses it back, then grabs another. He’s not really in the mood for company tonight, but maybe if he runs into the right person, they can go back to his quarters.

Tony spots Scrapper-142 swigging from her usual bottle and wanders over that way, knowing that with her nearby, he won’t be bothered. He has no problem using her as a meat-shield.

“What do you want, Stark?” she asks as he sits down next to her.

“Maybe I want to know why you cared enough to pull me off the Xrb,” Tony replies.

She takes another drink. “Maybe I like the vehicles you design. The races are a lot more interesting now.”

“Even though you always know who’s going to win?” Tony counters.

She shrugs. “But not the how. On Sakaar, you take what you can get.”

Out of the blue, Tony is struck with homesickness, with a desire to connect with someone—with anyone who speaks his language.

Scrapper-142 gives him a look. “What?”

“Just—missing someone I shouldn’t be missing,” Tony admits.

“Who?”

Tony is surprised at her interest, and he narrows his eyes, waiting for the punchline.

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

“Someone I met shortly before I landed here,” Tony replies. “Cute scientist half the time, and the other half of the time, he’s an enormous, green rage monster who just wants to smash.”

Scrapper-142 cocks her head. “So, why shouldn’t you be missing him?”

Tony isn’t sure how to answer that, so he just says, “It’s not like I knew him long.”

Really, he should be thinking about Pepper, but that hurts, whereas thinking about Bruce Banner and the Hulk just awakens a sense of wistfulness for something that might have been but never was.

“Sometimes, that doesn’t matter,” she replies, getting up and wandering off, and Tony doesn’t follow her.

A beautiful Krylorian sidles up next to him. “I thought she’d never leave you alone.”

Tony wants to tell her to get lost, but she’s gorgeous, and fucking her would help him forget for a little while anyway. “Why don’t we go back to my quarters?” he suggests. “We can really get this party started.”

~~~~~

Tony is in the Grandmaster’s box, having been invited. The race is going on below them, and Scrapper-142 is competing. Based on her report, she’s been told that she’d better win—or else. Tony had built her vehicle with that in mind, but the Grandmaster had decreed that everyone had to switch vehicles at the last moment “just to keep things interesting.”

“What do you think of my little surprise, hm?” the Grandmaster asks, watching Tony carefully.

Sometimes, Tony can’t see anything but a preening dilettante playing at being a despot. Other times, like right now, Tony understands that the Grandmaster holds the power of life and death.

And he knows full well that the Grandmaster would greatly prefer it if Tony had an obedience disc on his neck.

That’s why he’s doing this, to remind Tony of who really holds the power. Tony can build an amazing machine, and the Grandmaster can ensure that his—well, friend, for lack of a better word—can’t use it.

The only defense Tony has is to pretend to be unruffled.

“It’s quite entertaining,” Tony says lightly. “I guess we’ll find out if it’s the vehicle or the driver that ensures a win. You just leveled the playing field.”

The Grandmaster looks slightly disgruntled at that. “I suppose you have a point.”

Tony motions to one of the servants, who brings him a drink. “I’m sure you have money on one of the racers,” he says.

The Grandmaster is pouting slightly now, probably because he didn’t get the reaction out of Tony that he was looking for.

Tony takes a sip and watches the race, keeping an eye on the Grandmaster at the same time. He knows better than to let his guard down around the man. All it would take is one gesture, and Topaz will come running with the melt stick.

Scrapper-142 does win by some miracle—probably because the driver who took over her vehicle didn’t know about the goodies Tony installed.

Tony keeps his sigh of relief purely internal, and then gracefully excuses himself. He’s definitely not interested in company tonight, and Scrapper-142 will probably be off getting drunk.

As for him, Tony is going to go back to his lonely bed and be grateful for another day that he’s alive on this shit hole of a planet.

Sakaar, Earth year circa 2015

Tony glances around the market, seeing the proliferation of banners and other merchandise advertising the Hulk, who has so far reigned supreme.

He’s getting a lot of pressure from the Grandmaster to get a machine built that might present a challenge, and Tony has been working on it, but it’s a big job.

In the meantime, Scrapper-142 is still bringing in prospects. The most recent was some sort of tentacle monster that hadn’t presented much of a challenge, but had annoyed the Hulk enough to amuse the crowd.

Right now, Tony is looking for something that will help him control the giant robot he’s building.

He’s going through the bins of junk at one of his favorite stalls, the one who almost always has the parts he needs, and the vendor, a Krylorian named Marjeet, asks, “Can I be of assistance?”

“It’s one of those things that I’ll know when I see it,” Tony replies absently.

“Have you seen the champion?” Marjeet asks.

Tony glances up. “Hasn’t everyone?”

“It’s difficult to get tickets these days,” Marjeet replies. Her pink skin is distinctive of her species, and she leans in close.

Tony’s nose is deadened to body odor at this point. Those who live at the tower and have access to soap and water don’t smell bad, but the rest of the planet? Well, it’s a trash heap, after all.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t notice it.

Still, Marjeet combs through the trash heaps for treasure, and Tony reaps the benefits of that, so he’s grateful for that much.

“Are you angling for something?” Tony asks.

Marjeet smiles. “You could get me in.”

“And what’s in it for me?” Tony asks. He knows how Sakaar works, and no one gets anything for free, nor does anyone ask for anything for free. It’s always best to establish the boundaries of the deal early on.

“I kept this aside for you,” Marjeet replies, pulling something from under her table.

The box holds high quality electronic components, better than what he normally finds, including the very thing he needs to help him control the robot, an RFID tag and reader that he’s very familiar with.

And yes, the Grandmaster has good tech, but it’s a trash planet, and part of their deal is that Tony sources most of what he needs himself.

On Sakaar, the Grandmaster keeps everything good and the people in his favor. Everyone else has to scrounge.

“I’ll get you tickets to the next three events,” Tony says. “In exchange for this box.”

“Three events of my choosing,” Marjeet counters. “I want to make sure it’s not the same old match ups.”

Tony shrugs. “Fair. Send me a message, and I’ll make sure you can get in.”

She hands him the box. “I will.”

Tony tugs his hood up over his face and heads back to the tower, deciding that he’s had enough success for the day. He has an order to finish before the next race, and he needs to keep working on the robot.

Hopefully, he can get it done in the next couple of weeks, and the Hulk will enjoy the challenge.

Tony hauls the box to his workshop, his passage through the halls going mostly unnoticed. On Sakaar, if you’re not the Grandmaster or one of the champions, that’s the best path to take.

Really, if you want to survive, it’s about the only path to take.

Tony puts the finishing touches on the last commissioned vehicle he needs to finish, and then starts to work on the robot. He’s creating the coding that will allow him to control it from the sidelines, since Tony isn’t going to stick anyone inside, including himself.

Once he has that done, he can build the chassis, and then the body with all the bells and whistles. Tony has no intention of building something capable of defeating the Hulk—if that were even possible—but he does need to put on a good show.

He should probably mention something to the Hulk the next time he stops by. The Hulk is only in the arena twice a week now, since they have to hype up his fights, and true opponents have been next to impossible to find.

“Is that the robot for the Grandmaster?”

Tony had his earbuds in, and he startles at the question. “Make a little noise next time,” he tells Scrapper-142 with asperity. “Also, what are you doing here?”

“I took over for D’San in the race,” 142 replies. “He got himself killed last night.”

Tony grimaces. “Who killed him?”

“Newcomer,” she grunts. “I brought him in last week. The Grandmaster is calling him Death Fist.”

Tony rolls his eyes. The Grandmaster’s nicknames still drive him crazy, but it’s not like he’s can do anything about it. “Good for him.”

Scrapper-142 shrugs. “Is it finished?”

“It’s finished,” Tony confirms. “You’ll probably want to take it for a test drive, though, because I built the controls to D’San’s specifications, not yours.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” Scrapper-142 asks. “There’s a reason the Grandmaster is giving me worse odds.”

Tony’s eyes narrow. “How much worse?”

“Five to one I lose,” 142 replies.

Tony drums his fingers on his workbench and considers the situation. It’s maybe a little unethical, but every little bit counts on Sakaar. “I might be able to give you an edge.”

Scrapper-142 smirks. “You’re going to bet on me, aren’t you?”

“I never bet against you, not unless I know you’re throwing the race,” Tony counters. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

There are a few simple adjustments he can make to give her an easier time; that way, Tony can ensure her success and a nice payday for himself.

Tony adjusts the controls, changing the connections to make the vehicle a little more similar to what Scrapper-142 typically uses, without making it obvious. “I’ll demonstrate if you want,” Tony offers.

She squeezes in closer so that Tony can demonstrate the controls D’San had commissioned. “Stupid of him to get himself killed right before a race.”

Scrapper-142 grimaces. “He didn’t have a choice. He managed to piss off the Grandmaster, so he was given the option of the arena or the melting stick.”

Tony doesn’t quite fear the melting stick the way some do. There’s no one on Sakaar who can build what he can, and that gives him a bit of leeway.

But he’s under no illusions that he’ll escape the Grandmaster’s wrath if he gets caught trying to escape the planet again.

“Thanks,” Scrapper-142 says quietly. “Big Green says you’ve been visiting regularly.”

Tony shrugs that off. “I like his pool.”

She smirks at him. “It’s pretty great.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Tony says. “I’m not that much of a masochist.”

“Never said you were,” Scrapper-142 counters. “I wouldn’t blame you for using his quarters as an escape, though.”

Tony will admit that he’s tired of his life on Sakaar, with the endless drinking and orgies. He doesn’t mind it too much when he’s deep in his work and the latest engineering project, or when he’s in the market, hunting for materials.

But the parties are just the same old thing over and over—alcohol and drugs and people fucking, and Tony never thought he’d get tired of that, but he has.

He’s going to get back to Earth and immediately buy a private island for a retreat. Tony won’t say that he’ll never throw another party again, but he wouldn’t mind a long dry spell.

“He’s good company,” Tony finally replies. “Much like someone else I could name.”

She gives him a mild glare. “Shut up.”

“You really can’t take a compliment, can you?” Tony asks, teasing.

“Seriously, I will hurt you,” she threatens him.

Tony just grins. Giving 142 a hard time is practically a hobby at this point.

Sakaar, circa Earth year 2013

Tony has no idea how long he’s been on Sakaar. Long enough to get an idea of the lay of the land; long enough to make one ill-fated escape attempt.

And long enough to know that it’s in his best interests to show up to these shindigs every so often.

Tony snags a glass from a tray that’s circulating, and then he makes a beeline for Scrapper-142. He won’t say she’s a friend, but he sometimes thinks she might be the only sane person on this planet.

Tony isn’t going to proclaim his own sanity, but he isn’t worshipping at the Grandmaster’s altar, and neither is Scrapper-142. She’s very firmly in the survivors’ camp.

As in, do whatever you have to do to survive on Sakaar, and don’t think about it too hard.

Scrapper-142 is swigging out of her usual bottle when Tony settles beside her on a low couch.

“Catch anything recently?” Tony asks.

“New potential yesterday,” she confirms. “Not that I think they’ll last long, or maybe the Grandmaster will put them to a different use.”

“And what use is that?” Tony asks, taking a sip of his drink, which seems to be stronger than usual.

“Galbian,” 142 says in a flat tone, and Tony knows exactly what she means. Galbians aren’t typically big or strong, but they do give off powerful pheromones that can distract their opponents. Or put to other uses.

Tony grimaces. “Yeah, I don’t need to see that in action.”

There’s nothing on Sakaar that can’t be turned into a game, and that includes fucking. If the alien survives their first time in the arena, they’ll likely be slated for the other sort of spectacle.

Tony avoids those like the plague. He’s not a fan of anything other than the races, but the consent of those who participate in the sex spectacles is questionable at best.

That’s where Tony has drawn a line.

He hates the gladiator contests, too, since not everyone participates of their own free will, but at least they’re handed a weapon and have a fighting chance. The same can’t always be said for the live porn shows.

“You and me both,” 142 says, holding up her bottle, and Tony clinks the rim of his glass against it.

They sit in somewhat morose silence as 142 gets drunker, and Tony snags a few more glasses from the circulating trays. They’re probably at least two sheets to the wind when Tony asks, “Why the hell are you still on this planet? I know you’re a good enough pilot to leave.”

“Where the fuck else would I go?” she asks. “The world I knew is gone, and I’m the last woman standing.”

“What world is that?” Tony asks.

“Asgard,” she replies. “I doubt you’ve heard of it.”

Tony snorts. “Are you kidding me? I met one of your so-called princes, Thor.”

“Don’t really know him,” she replies. “I was a Valkyrie.”

Tony blinks. “That’s your name?”

She leans in close. “The only name you know me by is Scrapper-142, and that’s the only name you need. I catch you even thinking anything else, and I’ll kill you. Slowly. It will make the melt stick look like a fucking picnic.”

Tony holds up his free hand. “Got it.”

The party has hit the point where people are shedding clothing, and that’s Tony’s cue to leave.

Well, that and the death threat.

“Have a good night, Scrapper-142,” Tony says, sketching a slight bow in her direction. He puts special emphasis on her moniker.

She smirks at him, and Tony is reminded of Natasha. “Good call.”

Tony stumbles to his quarters, happy to have avoided the Grandmaster.

And he has a piece of information that he can file away for the future.

Earth, August 2014

Bruce is at the end of his rope, and he knows it. He thought he’d shaken his pursuers in Lagos, and he’d taken a freighter from Lagos to Cape Horn, bartering passage for his services as the ship’s doctor.

They made several stops along the way, and that had taken him off the grid for months, but it hadn’t taken more than a few weeks for the authorities to find him again once he hit dry land.

And once they do find him, Bruce quickly realizes that it’s the end game, and they aren’t willing to lose him again.

Bruce finds himself in an alley without a lot of options and at a dead end, and he watches as a Quinjet lands at the alley entrance, and nearly a dozen soldiers disembark.

As hard as Bruce has tried to avoid transforming, he doesn’t think he has another option. He has to get through the soldiers in order to—what?

To escape? Escape to where? They can’t kill him. He’s not sure how they’re going to subdue him.

Bruce takes a deep breath, and he decides that he has to let the Other Guy take over. Bruce Banner can’t escape the Army, but maybe the Hulk can.

For the first time, Bruce doesn’t just let go, he surrenders. In his mind, he whispers, “Do whatever you have to do in order to survive.”

And the green rage takes over, and Bruce is gone.

Sakaar, Earth year circa 2015

“So, look, I should tell you that the Grandmaster asked me to build a robot, and it’s finished,” Tony says as they’re soaking in the Hulk’s pool.

It’s not as though they have scintillating conversations, but Tony is kind of in love with the soaking pool. Plus, the Hulk doesn’t ask him for sex, doesn’t offer alcohol—although there are bottles in his quarters—or drugs. Tony can just soak in the hot water and bask in the quiet.

The Hulk, no surprise, isn’t much of a conversationalist.

Tony gets a grunt. “Beat Hulk?”

“Doubt it,” Tony says, “but I’m hoping it can give the crowd a good show and keep the Grandmaster off our backs.”

“Metal Man in suit?” Hulk asks.

Tony shakes his head. “No, I’ll be controlling it from a distance. The programming is done, and that’s the cornerstone. After this, as long as I have the materials, I can keep building more. Just let me know what would be most entertaining for you.”

The Hulk makes a rumbling sound that’s hard to parse. “Metal Man likes Hulk.”

“You’re one of my favorite people on this planet,” Tony admits freely. “And when I say ‘one of,’ what I actually mean is that I like two people, and you’re one of them.”

The Hulk grunts, as though he’s processing that information. Tony has no idea what the Hulk does or doesn’t understand, so he just talks to Hulk the same way he’d talk to anyone else. The Hulk isn’t exactly sentimental, but eventually he says, “Hulk likes Metal Man.”

“Good to know,” Tony says nonchalantly.

In truth, Tony is touched. He has the connection with Scrapper-142, but the Hulk is a remnant of his old life, a stranger in a strange land just as much as Tony is, although he seems to revel in it.

He’s found some small oasis of peace in the Hulk’s quarters, some measure of what he’d lost. Maybe he’ll never be able to leave Sakaar, but at least he has a couple of friends.

Once he’s pruned and very relaxed, Tony climbs out of the pool. “I’ll see you for the fight in a couple of days, Big Guy. Let me know what you think of the robot, okay?”

The Hulk grunts his assent, and Tony quickly dries off and pulls on his clothing. He heads for his own quarters and finds a couple of guards outside his door.

Tony keeps his sigh purely internal. “What can I do for you?”

“The Grandmaster would like to see you,” one of the guards says.

Tony has never bothered to learn the guards’ names, other than Topaz. They’re a rotating cast of characters, and no one stands out, which is probably deliberate. He knows better than to argue, so he just says, “Lead the way.”

They actually do lead the way. No one follows behind Tony at least, and Tony swallows his trepidation. He’d sent a message to the Grandmaster earlier about the robot finally being ready, and he has to assume that this meeting is related.

The Grandmaster is in one of the rooms that Tony knows well. If he’s not using the Commodore, this is where he holds his orgies. Sure enough, when the guards lead the way into the room, there are people in various states of undress, and there’s someone on their knees in front of the Grandmaster, their head under his robes.

Tony swallows his distaste, and puts on an insouciant smile. “You wanted to see me?”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Metal Mojo Man,” the Grandmaster says. “I hear you have good news for me.”

“The robot is done,” Tony says. “It will be ready for the next match, and since the coding is complete, I can recreate it easily enough given sufficient materials.”

“You don’t think your robot can beat my champion?” the Grandmaster asks, and there’s an edge to the question that Tony doesn’t like.

“I did my best, but I’ve watched the Hulk punch a Chitauri cruiser in the face without taking any damage,” Tony says, keeping his tone polite with some effort. “You’ll have a good show, though, I can tell you that much.”

He tries to ignore the fact that someone is currently giving the Grandmaster a blow job.

“We all like a good show,” the Grandmaster replies. “So, hm, that’s good to hear. Do you think you could convince our green friend to throw the fight?”

“I think it would be ill-advised to try,” Tony counters. “He’s a bit volatile, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, and I kind of want to stay alive.”

The Grandmaster hums, and Tony holds his breath. He knows that the Grandmaster could order him to convince the Hulk to throw the fight, to lean on their relationship in order to do so. Tony honestly has no idea what he would do with that order.

He might be able to explain it to the Hulk, and then he has an idea. “Of course, when the Hulk destroys the robot, you can tell everyone that I built it, and they might start to question my builds, which could give the house an edge in the races.”

The Grandmaster claps his hands together. “You make an excellent point! Great idea. Keep up the good work.”

Tony keeps his sigh of relief purely internal and leaves the room, this time unaccompanied. If Tony had been ordered to convince the Hulk to take a dive, Tony’s neck would have been on the line if the Hulk hadn’t complied.

Given the amount of money generated from betting on the fights, the Grandmaster stood to lose quite a bit, and he wouldn’t take kindly to being deprived of that profit. Tony has seen him use the melt stick for less.

Tony gets back to his quarters and lets the door slide closed behind him, feeling as though he’d narrowly dodged a bullet.

He really hopes that his robot and the Hulk provide a good show, because the Grandmaster is going to be expecting it now.

~~~~~

Scrapper-142 stands next to Tony in the small antechamber under the arena where Tony has been stationed in order to control the robot. He’s a little surprised she wanted to be there, but he’s not complaining.

She has her arms tightly crossed over her chest, and she asks, “Does Big Green know what’s coming?”

“I told him about the robot,” Tony replies, hearing the roar of the crowd as the opening act gets them pumped up. “No idea how much he understood.”

“Any issues with the Grandmaster?” Scrapper-142 asks.

Tony glances at her. “How did you know?”

“Because I’ve been on Sakaar longer than I want to admit,” she replies. “And he always has an angle.”

Tony snorts. “He asked if the Hulk would throw the fight.”

“No chance,” she says immediately. “Although if you’d asked and the Hulk didn’t…”

“That was my thought, too,” Tony admits. He can just see the arena, and the opening act involves a melee between a dozen new fighters, all of whom are just out to survive. “I pointed out that if the Hulk destroys my robot, it might undermine confidence in my other builds.”

Scrapper-142 nods. “Smart, offering him another edge.”

“Don’t know what it’s going to do for me long-term, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” Tony admits.

The small antechamber is meant to keep Tony hidden, a way to suggest to the crowd that the robot is moving on its own, or is controlled by someone inside it. Normally, Scrapper-142 would be watching from above, but she’s decided to join Tony.

“Can I ask why you graced me with your presence?” Tony asks. The melee is down to just three people, which means Tony is up soon, and he’s nervous. He knows there’s a lot riding on this.

She glances at him. “I wanted to see how you performed. I’ve seen your vehicles; this is something different. You realize that if it’s a hit, you’re going to be building more of them.”

Tony shrugs. “I have the programming done now, which means I just need the materials. Depending on how destructive the Hulk is, I might even be able to just repair it. The chassis should be fairly hardy.”

The melee is over, the winner having three arms and waving several knives. Tony takes a deep breath, knowing that he’s going to be up next.

The Grandmaster’s voice fills the arena. “Let’s give it up for our new champion, Three Knives! It’s his first time here, so let’s show him—them? not exactly sure on that—some appreciation.”

The crowd goes wild, cheering the new champion. He—or they—will continue to make their way up the ranks, or they’ll be killed.

Tony can’t worry about that. He has to control the robot to offer a satisfying spectacle.

“You’re up,” Scrapper-142 says. “You’re going to be concentrating on the robot, but I’m going to be looking at the crowd and giving you feedback.”

Tony suddenly realizes why she’s actually there, and he says, “I didn’t know you cared.”

“You’re the only half-sane person on this planet, other than Big Green,” she says grimly. “And you’re sometimes entertaining.”

It’s almost a declaration of love, coming from her, but Tony puts that aside. If she wants to help him live through this, it will be more of a help than she’s been in the past.

“And now, for the feature fight!” the Grandmaster says enthusiastically. “For your entertainment, Mr. Metal Mojo Man himself has built a robot to challenge your champion!”

The crowd goes crazy, cheering for the upcoming battle. Tony puts on his headset and activates the heads-up display. He then activates the gauntlets and boots that are connected to the robot. Tony is glad that no one other than Scrapper-142 is going to see this, because he looks ridiculous.

Tony maneuvers the robot out of the bay where it had been stationed, and he hears the crowd go crazy. It’s at least a couple of feet taller than the Hulk, so it looks impressive, and it has the tricks Tony has become known for, but that’s not going to be enough.

“And now, your champion!” the Grandmaster crows, and through the display, Tony can see the Hulk appear. He’s wearing his usual battle gear, and he’s roaring, but when he turns to Tony, the bared teeth turn into a bit of a smirk.

Maybe he’s imagining things, but Tony spreads his arms wide in invitation, and then the funnest, most challenging hour of his life begins. The Hulk clearly got the message that Tony needs this to work, because he—well, he plays with the robot, is the best description Tony can come up with. They trade blows, the Hulk throws the robot around, and he allows the robot to punch him.

Tony hadn’t been a wrestling fan in the past, but it’s not that different from a WWE match where everything looks real, but is mostly faked for the cameras.

Once Tony realizes what the Hulk is doing, he gets into it, too. He swings with abandon, forcing the Hulk back towards the stands, causing the crowd to gasp. The Hulk sweeps the robot’s legs, and Tony manages to kip up with a muttered command because he expected that he would need to get up quickly.

The Hulk pretends to take damage, and Tony thinks that the Hulk is enjoying the pretense. In all, they duke it out for nearly an hour, and then the Hulk rips off the robot’s head.

That’s ideal, because the head is the easiest piece to replace, and the Hulk roars his victory.

Tony relaxes for the first time in weeks, and he pulls off the headset. “What’s the reaction?”

“They’re going crazy,” Scrapper-142 says. “That was a huge hit. You’re going to have to repair or rebuild that robot.”

“Repair,” Tony says. “Big Green was kind enough in that regard, and I can put in a few more bells and whistles. The Grandmaster?”

“It was a real contest, or looked like one, and he seems happy,” she reports. “I think Big Green knew you needed that win.”

Tony just shakes his head. “Hopefully, that keeps the Grandmaster off my back for a while.”

He also has a pretty good idea how he’s going to build a new suit. The programming for the robot is adaptable, and with that as the base, Tony can finally get some traction.

For the first time in a long time, Tony has some hope for the future.

 

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