Owen was putting out a fire in his kitchen with an extinguisher when the doorbell rang.
He groaned in frustration, set the extinguisher down "still spitting a bit of foam" and headed to the door.
When he opened it, he found Natasha and Coulson waiting with serious expressions.
"Come in," he said simply, stepping aside.
Natasha entered first, scanning the place with concern. It only took a few steps before both she and Coulson spotted Clint Barton lying on the floor, bound and covered in bandages.
"Clint!" Natasha exclaimed, rushing to his side with Coulson right behind her.
The scene was striking: dried blood on the floor, four hastily done bandages, and a pained expression on the archer's face. Both of them looked up at Owen simultaneously, searching for answers.
"He attacked me," Owen said with the calm of someone discussing the weather. "Used explosive arrows. I didn't know who he was, so... consider it a favor that I didn't kill him."
Natasha quickly checked his wounds. Nothing lethal, but he'd be out of commission for at least a few weeks. Just then, Barton began to regain consciousness.
Natasha and Coulson stepped back in case he woke up swinging.
Clint's eyes opened slowly. He looked around, recognizing familiar faces... then noticed the semi-destroyed room around him.
"Damn it… I thought it was a dream," he muttered, lightly tapping his head against the floor as he stared at the ceiling.
"Clint? Are you okay? What happened?" Natasha asked, concern edging her voice.
"I was following a woman who seemed connected to the Purple Man," Barton began, closing his eyes as he spoke. "One day, he showed up in front of her. And then… she appeared. Some kind of female murder machine, smashing through walls to catch me."
He paused to rub his temple.
"After that… next thing I remember, I was facing this guy," he vaguely motioned toward Owen, "and I felt drugged. I've got gaps in my memory, but I think I attacked some mobsters under his orders. Then I ended up here."
Owen casually approached Coulson as Barton kept talking.
"Did you bring the checkbook? My sofas were Armani," he said with confidence. Obviously a lie… but no way to prove it now.
"Ahem… technically, Barton was under mind control. Maybe you should bill the real culprit," Coulson replied with an awkward smile.
For months now, his boss had been slashing budgets nonstop. No one knew why. The cafeteria only served cheap Chinese tea bags, and sometimes they had to pay for their own international mission tickets.
"Then I'll file a formal complaint with the military against your offices," Owen said coolly, while Coulson started to feel a stomachache coming on.
Well… better his bosses got in trouble than him.
Just then, the paramedics they'd called arrived. They began checking Barton right there, clearing the area. Natasha stepped aside to give them space.
"So that's why you're so obsessed with finding the Purple Man…" Owen said, approaching Natasha. "Seems like you care a lot about this guy."
"I owe him a lot," Natasha replied without hesitation, then turned to him with a slight smile. "Jealous?"
"Me? Of Robin Hood? I kicked his ass effortlessly. Maybe he should go back to archery school," Owen said with a shrug.
"I can hear you," Barton chimed in from the floor as the medics worked on him. "I was being mind-controlled! Obviously I wasn't in my right mind."
"Sure… just make sure that whole 'being controlled' thing doesn't become a habit," Owen said with a teasing grin, hiding a hint of mischief.
"It'll be the first and last time," Barton replied, slightly annoyed.
After that, Natasha, Coulson, and the medical team took Barton away on a stretcher. Owen waved them off and closed the door.
He turned… and saw his living room in ruins " half-burned, with the smell of smoke still hanging in the air.
"Sigh… I'm just gonna get a hotel," he muttered, grabbing his keys and heading out.
But then he remembered his car was still parked in front of the restaurant. He let out a long, resigned sigh.
"I'm so humble," he said, beginning to walk down the street.
…
The next day, in the highest offices of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Silence reigned in the most secure office in the building.
Nick Fury, with his signature imposing presence, was reviewing multiple holographic screens, each showing reports of active missions around the globe. His face was a mask of concentration"until the door beeped open.
"Sir," said a firm voice. "A formal complaint just came in from General Nathaniel Hawthorne's office regarding the damages caused by Barton yesterday."
The woman speaking was Maria Hill, her jet-black hair as sharp as her posture. She walked in with precise steps, holding a folder stamped with the Army's official seal.
Fury barely turned his head and raised an eyebrow.
"Show me."
Maria handed over the papers without a word. Fury flipped through them quickly"until his brow visibly furrowed at one particular figure.
"Ten million dollars… for a damn sofa?" he said, incredulous, a spark of restrained rage in his voice. "How do we even know he's not scamming us?"
"The complaint comes from Owen Colt, backed by General Hawthorne," Hill said seriously. "Both of them made millions with Stark Industries stock. They went from nothing to being in the top 50 richest men in the world. It might actually be true."
Fury pursed his lips as he reviewed the final numbers. Over 100 million in damages. All because of one out-of-control agent. And while they knew Barton had been mind-controlled… there was no denying the chaos had been real.
"Try to negotiate as low as possible. I'm not blowing that much on a domestic dispute."
"I'll do my best… though, maybe it'd be more effective to send Agent Romanoff," Hill suggested with a strategic, subtle smile.
"Fine. Send her." Fury sighed in resignation.
Once Hill left, he looked back at the reports.
"With all this spending, my plans are falling apart," he muttered. "Might be time to 'rescue' Stark just in time… He might owe us a favor " and not ask for payment."
…
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city...
Owen Colt stepped out of the hotel where he had spent the night. His apartment still reeked of smoke and chaos. He was dressed casually, but his demeanor made it clear he wasn't just any civilian. He walked pensively, twirling his keys in one hand, when his phone rang.
Unknown number.
"Yes?"
"Owen, I need your help." The voice on the other end was instantly recognizable"Tony Stark.
"How did you get my number?"
"We'll talk about that later. I need you at Stark Industries. Pepper's in danger," Tony replied, his voice strained, like he was running while talking.
Owen looked up. From where he stood, he could see the silhouette of Stark Tower. This wasn't a coincidence.
"I'm on my way."
He hung up.
Walking to his SUV, he opened the trunk. Under a false tire compartment lay his personal arsenal. He pulled out a tactical belt, two pistols, magazines, knives, and the centerpiece"a scope-less M24 rifle, perfect for urban combat. He shut the trunk firmly, strapped everything on with military efficiency, and headed toward the building.
The moment he stepped onto the sidewalk in front of Stark Industries, people saw he was armed and fled screaming. Just then, Pepper Potts burst out of the main entrance. Her eyes locked onto him with alarm.
"Tony sent me. Come with me," Owen said without hesitation.
Pepper nodded nervously but with relief.
And that's when he felt it.
A rumble beneath his feet. Owen shoved Pepper back"just in time. The ground exploded, and from the breach emerged a massive Iron Monger"the prototype stolen by Obadiah Stane.
"Great… I'm going to need a bigger gun," Owen muttered, raising the rifle.
From inside the mech, Obadiah's amplified voice boomed:
"I don't know who you are, but this is between her and me."
Owen didn't respond. He aimed at the mech's right arm and fired. Then reloaded and fired again. Four precise shots, one after the other. The mechanical arm froze, sparking violently. It was the same weak spot Tony had faced before"Owen knew it.
"What the hell did you do, you bastard!?" roared Obadiah.
The damaged arm, which housed a heavy machine gun, was now disabled. Obadiah raised the other and threw a punch straight at them.
Owen scooped Pepper up swiftly"one arm under her legs, the other at her back"and ran. The metal fist struck the ground where they had just been, sending up a cloud of dust.
Obadiah prepared to strike again... but didn't get the chance.
From the sky, a flash of red and gold descended at full speed. Boom! Iron Man slammed directly into Iron Monger, pushing him back several meters and away from Owen and Pepper.
Owen set Pepper down and brushed dust off his tactical vest.
"I definitely need better weapons… and missile-proof clothing. Hope your boss knows how to show some gratitude."
Pepper looked at him with a mix of surprise and admiration.
Meanwhile, in the sky above, two giants of steel clashed in a titanic battle.