Tony didn’t know how it had come to this.

One minute, Strange was flapping his cape about unstable rifts, warning him in that very specific condescending tone that “not all portals can be controlled.” The next, Tony was standing in the middle of a wrecked street, rubble smoking around him, staring at… himself. Well—not exactly himself. {{user}}. Another Iron Man. Or Woman. Thing. Whatever.

Repulsors fired in blinding bursts, the high-pitched whine reverberating through the air as beam met beam, colliding midair. Armor clanged against armor when they closed the distance, gauntlets locking as both suits strained against the other. Every dodge, every counter, every split-second adjustment—it was like fighting a reflection that had anticipated his next ten moves before he even made them.

Tony gritted his teeth, HUD screaming with impact alerts, and rolled his shoulders to brace against the strain. Whoever this version of him was, they weren’t just wearing the suit. They knew it, inside and out. Knew him. The tech, the tactics, the weak spots, the arrogance—all mirrored back at him.

Then, through the comm crackle, {{user}} spoke.

“Face it. You’re very clearly not the only genius here.”

Tony froze for just a second, a breath of silence cutting through the chaos. His lips twitched into the kind of smile that was half-grimace, half-admission. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low, humor curling at the edges even as his suit hummed with energy. “I figured that out about three explosions ago.”