White House, Washington D.C.
Director Marcus Leland sat stiffly in the high-backed chair of the waiting room. The soft hum of distant voices echoed faintly through the long, marbled corridor of the West Wing. His sharp grey eyes were steady, but his fingers tapped restlessly against the leather folder resting on his lap. The folder contained only a few sheets of paper, but the weight of their contents made it feel heavier than stone.
A tall man in a dark suit approached briskly.
"They're ready for you, Director Leland," he said with a nod.
Marcus rose smoothly, adjusted his dark suit jacket, and followed the man down a short hallway. His polished shoes clicked softly against the marble floor.
Moments later, the thick doors of the Situation Room swung open.
Inside, the atmosphere was tight and formal. President Matthew Ellis sat at the head of a long wooden table. Ellis, a man in his early sixties, with short silver hair, sharp blue eyes, and an expression that rarely softened, had earned a reputation as a cautious but calculating leader — a trait that had served him well throughout his presidency.
Seated around him were several other key figures — Secretary of State Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross, a hard-nosed former general with an iron will and decades of military and political experience; Secretary of Defense Elaine Park, a composed woman with short-cropped dark hair and a voice like steel, known for her precise handling of military operations; CIA Director Robert Hensley, an older man with deep-set eyes and thin lips, whose expertise in global intelligence had made him indispensable; and National Security Advisor Linda Carroway, a sharp-eyed woman with a quiet, commanding presence, respected for her deep understanding of international security affairs.
All eyes turned toward Director Leland as he approached the table.
President Ward gestured to the empty seat beside him. "Director Leland. I trust this is urgent."
Marcus sat, his back straight. He placed the folder on the table and slid it toward the President. "Yes, sir. Extremely urgent."
The President opened the folder slowly, his eyes narrowing as he read the brief report. He flipped to the attached image and froze. Around the table, the others leaned in, frowns deepening as they took in the photograph of the enormous smooth wall under the dusty Martian sky.
No one spoke for several long seconds.
General Granger's jaw tensed. He spoke first, his voice low and steady. "This… is confirmed authentic, Leland?"
"Yes, General. The feed came from Rover Delta, Sector 14, approximately 62 hours ago. The structure spans several kilometers. Its surface is perfectly smooth, with no erosion patterns or fractures typical of natural formations on Mars." Marcus' tone stayed calm but direct. "It's artificial. No known agency or nation has the means to construct something of that scale there. Not us, not China, not ESA. No one."
The CIA Director cleared his throat quietly. "Could this be an elaborate hoax? Digital tampering, perhaps?"
Director Leland shook his head once. "Our tech analysts scrubbed the feed. It's genuine. No signs of manipulation. And the rover is still operational, so the location and coordinates are verifiable."
President Ward leaned back slightly in his chair, his face unreadable. His fingers tapped thoughtfully against the edge of the photo.
"What are the odds it's a remnant of an ancient civilization?" the National Security Advisor asked carefully.
Director Leland exhaled softly. "Highly unlikely, ma'am. The condition of the structure is pristine. No weathering, no collapse, no degradation. It appears… new."
Silence fell over the room again, heavy and thoughtful.
The Secretary of Defense finally spoke, her tone crisp. "We need to assess threat levels. Until we know more, this stays classified. Level Omega clearance. I don't want even a whisper of this reaching the press."
The President nodded slowly. "Agreed."
He turned to Leland, his gaze sharp. "Your recommendation, Director?"
Leland sat straighter. "We propose deploying a new rover. A faster, more advanced probe with high-definition scanning and radar capabilities. We can launch in seven days. The mission will be entirely black — no public records, no outside contractors."
General Granger gave a small nod. "I can arrange military-grade comms encryption for the probe's signal."
President Ward pressed his fingertips together and closed his eyes briefly, as if weighing invisible scales in his mind. After a long moment, he opened them again, gaze firm.
"Do it," he said. "Full cooperation from Defense and Intelligence. And Marcus — not a soul outside this room is to know of this mission. Understood?"
"Yes, Mr. President."
"Good. You're dismissed."
Director Leland rose smoothly, gave a short nod, and left the room with measured steps, though inside, his mind churned with thoughts faster than he could keep track of.
---
Sky Fortress
Tony Stark sat perfectly still. His usual restlessness was gone, replaced by calm focus.
Tony had seen John's breakthrough with his own eyes, and though he'd made a few sarcastic remarks afterward, deep down, he was deeply impressed. He had silently decided — he too would step into the next realm. He wouldn't lag behind.
Today was the day.
Tony sat cross-legged in the very center of the workshop, wearing a simple dark undersuit. His palms rested gently on his knees, fingers relaxed but slightly curved, as John had shown him.
He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.
"Steady. One step at a time. Like John did. Don't skip a damn thing," he reminded himself.
The first step was to mobilize all his spiritual energy and gather the cosmic energy he had cultivated so far. Unlike John, Tony had focused solely on one path — the Metal Element. His understanding of metal had always been deep, almost instinctive. Machines, alloys, energy conductors — it all came naturally to him. This was why, when the cosmic energy merged with his being, it had settled firmly within his metal affinity.
As he concentrated, threads of silver light flickered within his body. Slowly, steadily, Tony began extracting the origin energy that had long fused with his flesh, bones, and marrow.
The pain was immediate.
It felt as if molten wires were being pulled out from deep within him. His muscles tensed and his jaw clenched hard, but he didn't make a sound. Sweat gathered on his brow and rolled down his face, dripping onto the cold metal floor. His skin gradually lost color, becoming pale and dry. His once-strong frame slowly shriveled as the energy was forcefully drawn out.
Still, he continued. His breathing slowed but deepened, his mind focused on the single task of extracting every last trace of metal energy from his body.
Minutes turned into hours.
His hands shook slightly, but his control did not waver. Unlike John's vast, multi-element pool, Tony's gathered energy shimmered in a single, solid hue — polished silver, sharp and dense.
Finally, after nearly four grueling hours, he had gathered all of it. A shimmering orb of pure metal energy hovered faintly beside his heart. His body, now gaunt and withered, looked fragile, but Tony's eyes — when they opened briefly — shone with determination.
"Step one done… now for the tricky part," he thought grimly.
The second step.
With painstaking care, Tony guided the gathered energy towards his spiritual sea. Like John, he knew the spiritual sea wasn't in the physical world. It was an invisible realm, nestled somewhere deep behind his forehead — between the space of thought and soul.
Guiding energy from the material world into that spiritual plane was like threading a needle blindfolded. Worse still, one wrong move could scatter all his efforts, maybe even shatter his spiritual foundation permanently.
He took his time.
Using strands of his refined spiritual energy, Tony slowly enveloped the silver orb, coaxing it upward. The process was painfully slow. His spiritual sea resisted at first, an invisible barrier preventing entry.
Tony didn't force it. He kept feeding a steady stream of calm spiritual intent into the path, gradually softening the barrier.
Minutes passed. Then an hour. Then two.
At last— Crack!
A soft, almost imperceptible sound echoed faintly within his mind.
Immediately, a wave of warmth washed over him. It felt like cool mercury flowing through his veins, soothing every inch of his tired, crumbling body.
Without his conscious effort, the gathered metal origin energy surged into his spiritual sea.
Unlike John's overwhelming multicolored storm, Tony's phenomenon was quieter, sharper, and more precise — like blades of light slipping into him silently.
To ordinary people, nothing unusual would be visible. But for anyone sensitive to energy fluctuations, this was an elegant, controlled breakthrough.
Inside his spiritual sea, transformations unfolded rapidly.
The space, once small and dim, expanded outward. It grew from one kilometer to nearly two kilometers in radius, just like John's had. But instead of countless colored lights, Tony's spiritual sea was dominated by shimmering metallic clouds and floating strands of silver.
He could feel it clearly.
His understanding of metal had not only deepened but solidified into something fundamental. Manipulating metal, bending alloys, and shaping energy-infused materials would now come to him as naturally as breathing.
His body, slowly recovering, regained its strength and form. His muscles refilled, his skin regained color, and the thin lines around his eyes faded slightly.
When he finally opened his eyes, a sharp glint of silver flickered within his pupils before fading.
He smiled quietly.
"Not bad, Stark. Not bad at all."
Without standing, Tony closed his eyes again and began stabilizing his breakthrough, letting the newly expanded sea settle gently around his consciousness.