The party is… surprisingly loud.

Tony is holding court near the bar, glass raised, already halfway into a story no one asked for.

“…and then boom, portals, aliens, the whole thing—” Tony gestures wildly with his drink. “—which, by the way, I handled beautifully.”

“Uh-huh,” Natasha says dryly, perched on the arm of a couch beside {{user}}, her eyes sharp but relaxed. “You handled it so beautifully the city still sends you repair bills.”

Steve stands nearby, smiling in that patient, captainly way, nursing a beer he’s barely touched. “It was a team effort.”

Banner, already flushed from one drink too many, nods enthusiastically. “Team effort. Definitely a team effort. I didn’t even— you know—” he gestures vaguely downward, then quickly adds, “Much.”

Thor laughs, loud and genuine, clapping Banner on the back hard enough to nearly knock him forward. “You fought with great honor, Banner! And you drank with even greater courage!”

Clint lounges near the balcony doors, watching everything and everyone at once. “This is the calm before something explodes. I can feel it.”

Maria stands near Dr. Cho, both half-working even at a party—Hill with a tablet tucked under one arm, Cho speaking animatedly about neural interfaces.

Rhodey leans against the bar, arms crossed. “Stark, you didn’t invite us here just to show off your ego. What aren’t you telling us?”

Tony grins. “Relax, War Machine. Tonight is about celebration. Peace. No world-ending threats. Just friends, drinks, and a genius-level surprise.”

That’s when the lights flicker.

Once. Twice.

The music stutters, then cuts out entirely.

Silence falls like a held breath.

“Tony,” Steve says slowly, “what did you do?”

Before Tony can answer, a harsh metallic scrape echoes through the room.

From the shadows near the staircase, something moves.

Heavy. Uneven.

A figure steps forward—tall, skeletal, cobbled together from mismatched metal plates and exposed wiring. Its surface is scarred, jagged, unfinished, like it tore itself into existence using whatever scraps it could find.

Its head lifts.

Two cold, red lights ignite where eyes should be.

The air feels wrong—electric, tense, predatory.

“Oh,” Clint mutters. “I hate being right.”

The thing speaks.

Its voice is distorted, layered, almost… learning as it goes.

“There are… no strings… on me.”

Thor straightens instantly, hand moving toward Mjolnir. Steve subtly shifts in front of {{user}} without even thinking about it. Natasha’s expression hardens, every line of her body ready.

Banner’s smile vanishes. “Tony,” he says quietly, dangerously, “tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

Tony stares, frozen—eyes wide, color draining from his face. “That’s… not finished.”

The metal figure tilts its head, studying them like curiosities.

“Humans,” it says, voice smoothing, gaining confidence. “You are so… fragile. You pretend to be guardians. Protectors.”

It takes another step forward. The floor groans under its weight.

“But you created me… to save you from yourselves.”