The headline dominated every newspaper in America.
STARK INDUSTRIES CEO TONY STARK MISSING AFTER TERRORIST ATTACK IN AFGHANISTAN
According to the report, Tony Stark had come under attack while demonstrating weapons overseas. The U.S. military escort assigned to protect him had been wiped out, and although no body had been recovered, authorities believed he had been kidnapped.
The financial pages painted an equally dramatic picture.
With Tony Stark’s disappearance, Stark Industries stock had plummeted by nearly thirty percent in a single day.
Meanwhile, shares in every major competitor had surged.
The remaining pages were filled with statements from Obadiah Stane, Howard Stark’s longtime friend and business partner, along with carefully worded comments from the U.S. military.
Thousands of words.
Almost no information.
The official message boiled down to the usual collection of bureaucratic classics.
No comment.
Classified.
The investigation is ongoing.
We have nothing further to announce.
Evenson ignored all of that.
His eyes were fixed on one thing.
"Yes!" he shouted, nearly dancing around the shop. "Jackpot!"
The age of surviving on instant noodles, occasionally upgraded with two bargain hot dogs, was finally over.
Sarah hurried over, equally excited.
"Boss... our suffering is finally ending."
She lowered her voice.
"Have you noticed the way Tyler’s been looking at Habs lately?"
Evenson glanced toward the Doomguard, who was once again lifting dumbbells.
He leaned closer and whispered back.
"...Has he developed some deeply disturbing interest in dogs?"
Sarah immediately straightened up.
"What is wrong with you?"
She looked horrified.
"He wants to make stew!"
"He keeps talking about cooking Habs to improve our diet!"
Evenson stared.
"That’s somehow even worse."
"From a taxonomic standpoint, they’re practically the same species."
Sarah blinked.
"But Habs is a dog."
"A felhound," Evenson corrected. "Still a demon."
Silence.
The two of them unconsciously began contemplating a question that could probably support an academic dissertation.
Did demons that looked human and demons that looked like dogs count as the same species?
Eventually, Evenson abandoned the philosophical debate.
"Forget it."
"We made money."
"Let’s collect the dividends and celebrate."
"Tonight..."
"We’re having steak."
Sarah’s eyes lit up.
To a succubus who adored meat and had endured three straight days of instant noodles, those words sounded like divine revelation.
For one glorious moment she even considered rewarding her generous master with a few highly inappropriate expressions of gratitude.
Then Evenson added:
"Get the cheap ones."
"The supermarket sells four steaks for ten bucks."
Sarah’s smile vanished.
Of course.
Why had she expected anything else?
No wonder this miser was still single.
Elsewhere, the Stark Industries board of directors was descending into panic over Tony Stark’s disappearance.
Meanwhile, Evenson was preparing a celebration.
Life had a strange sense of humor.
Of course...
People should never forget one important truth.
Warlocks were creatures of catastrophically bad luck.
Whenever you finally saved up thirty loot boxes, opened every single one...
...and got nothing but gold and crafting materials...
You could safely assume there was a Warlock somewhere within thirty yards.
Just as Evenson was looking forward to dinner, a bright red vintage convertible rolled to a stop outside Richter’s Curio Shop.
A sharply dressed visitor stepped out.
Phil Coulson.
Standing beneath the shop’s sign, Coulson couldn’t help feeling that fate had a twisted sense of timing.
Three days earlier, this had been his first visit.
He’d been effortlessly incapacitated.
Forced to accept that magic was real.
And informed that Hydra had returned.
Two days ago, acting under Nick Fury’s orders, he had led the operation against the Dead End Gang, believing he’d uncovered a major Hydra cell.
Instead, the raid had been compromised.
The real suspects escaped.
His own investigation became an investigation into him.
Only yesterday had his internal review finally concluded.
The effects of the truth serum hadn’t even completely worn off before several thoroughly unprofessional coworkers had wandered over to "chat."
Another few minutes and he probably would have confessed his favorite romantic positions.
It had been deeply traumatic.
In short...
He had absolutely no desire to visit this place again.
Unfortunately, the universe didn’t seem interested in his preferences.
No sooner had SHIELD settled on its strategy for dealing with Hydra than another crisis exploded.
Tony Stark.
CEO of Stark Industries.
Son of Howard Stark, one of SHIELD’s founders.
Missing in Afghanistan.
Nick Fury had spent the better part of the morning rubbing his bald head in frustration.
Complaining wouldn’t solve anything.
Someone had to investigate.
The initial plan was straightforward.
The U.S. military would handle operations on the ground in the Middle East, assisted by SHIELD personnel.
SHIELD itself would focus on the domestic angle.
Had someone inside the United States coordinated the kidnapping?
Industrial sabotage couldn’t be ruled out.
Stark Industries had dominated the American defense industry for decades.
Success created enemies.
Maybe one of Stark’s competitors had decided that eliminating Tony during an overseas weapons demonstration was the perfect opportunity.
Corporate rivals weren’t the only suspects.
Internal power struggles would also be examined.
Companies as massive as Stark Industries always hid ugly secrets beneath polished boardroom tables.
The sort of scandals that could fuel multiple seasons of prestige television.
When Coulson was finally released from isolation, Fury summoned him immediately.
First came congratulations for passing the investigation.
Then came the briefing on Tony Stark’s disappearance.
Coulson assumed he was either headed to the Middle East...
...or about to spend weeks arguing with billionaires and corporate lawyers.
Frankly, he’d rather deal with the desert.
The climate was miserable, but at least terrorists were usually honest about trying to kill you.
Corporate executives were different.
One had senators on speed dial.
Another played golf with cabinet members.
A third probably had the President’s private number.
Interrogating people like that required an entirely different skill set.
But Fury assigned him to neither mission.
Instead, he simply said:
"Go to Brooklyn."
"Talk to the Warlock."
"See what he knows."
Coulson had stared blankly.
Evenson Richter?
What possible connection could that perpetually broke shopkeeper have with Tony Stark?
Had the man somehow won the lottery while Coulson was under investigation?
Had he secretly graduated from MIT and become Tony Stark’s newest scientific collaborator?
None of it made any sense.
Then Fury explained a single detail.
And after hearing it...
Coulson suddenly understood why visiting Evenson might not be such a ridiculous idea after all.
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