Two days later, 10:22 p.m. — Midtown Manhattan
Tony Stark's custom Audi rolled to a stop in front of what used to be known as the Golden Building.
Well, used to be.
The name had quietly — and very recently — changed to something far flashier:
The Heisenberg Building.
Brooklynites, unaware of the truth, whispered their own theories. Some thought it was a tribute to the German physicist who once nearly helped Nazi Germany build an atomic bomb — a darkly ironic choice for New York.
But in truth, the name belonged to someone else entirely.
Heisenberg. Alien. Enigma. And, for now, the most buzzed-about figure in the city.
What could Stark do? He rolled his eyes at the newly minted nameplate as he stepped out of the car.
"That alien's got a flair for theatrics," he muttered. "What a diva."
Happy Hogan, his loyal driver and bodyguard, opened the trunk and retrieved a hefty metal briefcase, his face already damp with sweat. He didn't complain, though. He knew what he carried could mean the difference between life and death if things went south.
The two made their way through the marble lobby, flanked by sharply dressed hosts. A private elevator swept them upward toward the building's top floor — the location of Manhattan's newest and most elite nightclub.
As the elevator doors opened, Tony was instantly bombarded by flashing lights and pulsating music.
The club was alive.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a booming voice called from the DJ booth, "give it up for the pride of New York! The billionaire genius, playboy philanthropist — Iron Man, Tony Stark!"
A deafening cheer erupted from the crowd.
"He really showed up!"
"He skipped out on the Senate hearings twice but came here?"
"I love this place already!"
"Astronomy-themed strip club? That's brilliant!"
The crowd was a cocktail of Wall Street elites, tech investors, influencers, and starstruck groupies — all eager to see and be seen. And for the moment, Heisenberg's club became the place to be.
Why? Simple.
Anywhere Stark went...money followed.
Tony, for his part, was in his element. He moved through the crowd like a seasoned politician — all charisma, one-liners, and subtle jabs.
"Luce, is that you? Didn't the Academy of Sciences blacklist you?"
"Oh, and your ex? She was phenomenal in last month's Playboy. Tell her I said congrats."
"Justin Hammer — surprised you crawled out of your Iron Maiden cosplay to show up. Trying to reverse-engineer my charm tonight?"
He made no effort to hide his ego — or his contempt for half the room. And yet, they still fawned over him.
Eventually, Stark found himself a pocket of space — alone, if only for a moment.
He glanced at the stage. The dancers were...impressive, he had to admit. He'd seen Victoria's Secret runway shows with less talent.
Still, something gnawed at him.
Some of the dancers — not all, just a few — gave him a strange feeling. Not lust. Instinct.
They didn't belong.
Were they armed?
No, couldn't be. He would've picked up something on the briefcase scanner.
Paranoia? Maybe. Or maybe not.
Either way...
"Whatever," he muttered and waved for another drink.
Hours passed in a blur of lights, bodies, and alcohol. It was well past midnight when Tony finally remembered why he came here in the first place.
He wasn't just here to party.
He wanted to see Heisenberg — up close and personal.
He grabbed a passing waiter, nearly spilling his own drink.
"Hey, where's your boss? The alien guy. Heisenberg. I want a word."
The waiter, trained for this exact moment, gave a courteous nod.
"Of course, Mr. Stark. I'll let him know right away."
What the waiter didn't say was that Heisenberg had expected this.
---
Elsewhere in the club — VIP Lounge
Steve Rogers sat stiffly on a leather couch near the back, dressed down but unmistakable. Even here, he stood out — not for fashion, but presence.
Across from him, Agent Phil Coulson sipped his bourbon calmly, eyes tracking Stark from afar.
"Just like his father," Steve muttered, watching Stark flirt with a table full of models.
"That playboy attitude's carved into his DNA."
Coulson chuckled. "I think Howard would've been proud. Or appalled. Maybe both."
Steve's expression soured. "Do we really need to talk to him here? He's half-drunk."
"We do," Coulson said without flinching. "Because someone's been waiting for him. And tonight, that someone's delivering a gift that's...less than friendly."
Steve straightened. "You're saying Stark's in danger — and we're just letting it happen?"
"We're monitoring it," Coulson corrected. "But this isn't just about saving him. It's about showing him that the threats out there...aren't ones he can buy off or drink away."
Steve grunted and took another sip. "Hell of a recruitment pitch."
"S.H.I.E.L.D. works with what we've got," Coulson replied. "And right now, we need Stark. The Avengers need him."
"And we won't let him get seriously hurt!"
Coulson shrugged at Captain America, his expression a mix of helplessness and concern.
---
Meanwhile, Heisenberg was sprawled lazily atop a Manhattan high-rise. Dressed only in loose-fitting pajama pants, his muscular chest and thick, dark chest hair were exposed to the cool night air.
Midnight had passed, and Heisenberg busied himself by assessing his day's gains.
> "Your conquest of New York today resulted in 312 confirmed gang casualties," the System reported. "Ripple effects have altered the fates of 5,426 individuals. Origin Matter gained: 5.426 units."
"Over five thousand fates changed in one day…" Heisenberg mused, a slow grin forming. "So much power from so little effort."
He thought briefly about pushing further—destroying the Earth itself. What would that yield? A hundred thousand units? A million?
> "System," he ordered, "calculate the cost to return to my original worlds."
> "To the DC Universe: 282 Origin Squares.
To your birth universe: 6,440 Origin Squares."
Heisenberg's eyes lit with renewed purpose.
"I'll get back there someday. My parents deserve a better life… one where they aren't left worrying."
Just then, his phone buzzed.
"Boss, Tony Stark requested a meeting."
"Tell him to wait," Heisenberg muttered.
---
Soon enough, Heisenberg descended to the nightclub where Stark had made his appearance. Still in his pajamas, he pushed through the packed crowd without care, knocking aside stunned partygoers. He sat across from Tony, pouring himself a drink without invitation.
"Earth's famous superhero, huh? What a pleasure."
"And you must be the notorious Kryptonian exile. Nice pajamas." Stark shot back, clearly buzzed.
Heisenberg smirked.
"Criminal, exile, alien—whatever label helps you sleep."
"Doesn't change the fact you could probably punch me into orbit," Tony said, swirling his drink.
"But here we are, drinking like it's a peace summit."
"You prefer sarcasm over diplomacy?"
"Sarcasm is diplomacy, if you're good at it."
Heisenberg scoffed, visibly bored. Stark's wit grated on him. There was something about the man—arrogant, flippant, but undeniably sharp.
Then—crackling thunder.
The lights in the club flared. Electricity arced and danced along the ceiling as Whiplash made his entrance, powered exosuit glowing with volatile energy.
Tony blinked at the familiar tech.
"Ivan Vanko...?" he muttered, recognition dawning.
Heisenberg frowned.
"Looks like my presence has started shaking canon."
Whiplash stepped forward, lashing the electrified whips across the dance floor. Screams erupted as guests scattered. A stray arc severed a man's legs at the thigh.
"TONY STARK!" Whiplash bellowed.
"I've waited for this day since your father stole everything from mine. You wear your family's legacy like a crown of lies!"
His whips lashed again—one slicing Heisenberg's table clean in half. Tony dove behind a sofa, scrambling toward the high-tech suitcase Happy Hogan had thrown.
Heisenberg sipped his drink, unfazed. He glanced around, watching the chaos unfold.
"He really does draw enemies like flies," he muttered.
Tony was nearly at the suitcase, but Whiplash cut him off.
"Is that your secret weapon, Stark? Pathetic!"
Despite the danger, Tony kept his cool.
"You've got some serious daddy issues, my guy. That whip looks like something I made in undergrad."
"You're just like your father—arrogant and unworthy!"
Whiplash brought the whips down in a deadly arc, aimed straight for Tony.
Just as they were about to strike—
"Do you really want to see me die here, Heisenberg?!" Tony shouted across the chaos.
Heisenberg looked at Captain America sprinting toward them, shield in hand. Then he turned to Stark and—
snapped a photo.
"Smile, Tony. This one's going on my wall." He burst into laughter.
At that moment, Cap launched his shield, striking Whiplash square in the chest and sending him flying.
Boom.
The crowd erupted into cheers as the tables turned. But Heisenberg just leaned back, drained his glass, and smirked.
"Earth's mightiest heroes… now that's entertainment."