Chapter 5: Earthlings!

"And as anyone with even a shred of cultural awareness knows, fashion is cyclical. Your so-called 'modern style' is nothing more than a fleeting echo of the classics."

Stark stumbled slightly, not because of his injuries but from sheer disbelief. For a supposed alien, this guy had one hell of a rebuttal ready.

But as Lemu replayed Stark's words in his mind, something caught him off guard.

Wait a second… did he just say "cute little skirt"?

His expression darkened.

"Just for the record," Lemu said coldly, his voice like a dagger aimed directly at Stark's ego, "I am not female, and I would never wear a skirt. Not even if I were dying, thank you very much."

Tony glanced back for a moment, raising an eyebrow at the peculiar being. "Right. Because that's the most pressing issue we've got going on in this deathtrap of a desert."

"Damn straight," Lemu muttered under his breath, brushing a stray strand of azure hair out of his face.

Stark suddenly spun on his heel, and Lemu had to stop abruptly to avoid colliding with him.

For a few unsettling seconds, Tony Stark stared at him, his bloodshot eyes scanning Lemu's face with the intensity of a man trying to solve a riddle. His gaze was sharp but also unnervingly invasive, like a laser cutting through Lemu's facade.

Just as abruptly, Stark turned back around and resumed walking, his tone dismissive. "Alright, Mr. Whatever-You-Are. I don't care what gender you claim to be, but if you're really an alien, why don't you prove it? Or is your species all talk?"

Lemu sighed, deciding to drop the whole gender argument entirely. He cleared his throat and began weaving his tale.

"As far as I know, your planet—Earth—is cataloged as C-53 on the Kree star charts. It's a fairly unremarkable planetary civilization, but you've had your share of extraterrestrial visitors. Asgardians, Kree, Skrulls—they've all stopped by and left their marks."

Tony's steps faltered for half a second but quickly resumed. His back remained to Lemu, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Wow, you really did your homework. Keep going, this is a fascinating bedtime story."

Ignoring the jab, Lemu continued, his tone unflappable. "Some Earthlings have even ventured out into the universe and made a name for themselves. Take Peter Quill, for instance—a Ravager better known as Star-Lord. Or Carol Danvers, who goes by the moniker Captain Marvel."

"And you?" Stark interrupted with a mocking chuckle. "Let me guess—your spaceship broke down in the desert, so you're hitchhiking?"

"Close enough," Lemu replied smoothly. "I ended up here due to a teleportation malfunction. Now I'm stuck. Your planet's… rudimentary technology doesn't exactly help. No ships, no teleporters—nothing."

Tony barked out an exaggerated laugh, still walking. "Oh, of course. Sounds legit. But tell me this—how is it that aliens speak such perfect English?"

Lemu couldn't help but smirk. 'Ah, I was waiting for this.'

"Ordinarily, I'd be using a universal translator to communicate with you," he explained, his voice taking on a slightly patronizing edge. "However, as you've probably noticed, I have special abilities. One of them allows me to understand any soundwave-based language instantly. Similarly, I can project my own thoughts into soundwaves that your brain automatically interprets as your native language."

"Right. And you just happen to have superpowers. How convenient," Stark retorted, his sarcasm unwavering.

"Let me demonstrate."

Lemu raised his hand, and a sudden gust of wind whipped around them. The swirling air picked up grains of sand, forming a miniature tornado at Stark's feet before quickly dissipating.

Tony stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing.

Before he could say anything, a voice—not Lemu's actual voice, but one that resonated directly in his ears—spoke in flawless British English with a crisp London accent.

"Impressed yet? This is what it means to transmit information through soundwaves, without even needing to move my lips."

Tony's head snapped around to face Lemu, his expression a mix of irritation, awe, and disbelief.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded.

Lemu clapped his hands, as if brushing off invisible dust. "A little demonstration of my powers. As I said—magic, science, call it what you will."

Tony blinked, his face slack with exhaustion and growing bewilderment. The heat, dehydration, and lingering pain from his injuries were already wearing him down. Now, his mind felt like it was spiraling.

"Great," Stark muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "First I get kidnapped by terrorists, now I'm hallucinating about aliens in fur coats. Next thing you'll tell me, I've got brain damage from the fall."

"Not impossible," Lemu quipped, folding his arms. "Though I'd argue that your skepticism might be a bigger problem."

Stark didn't reply, instead trudging forward, muttering something inaudible under his breath.

….

Stark turned back to glance at Lemu, his eyes glinting with a faint, desperate hope.

"So… Mr. Alien," he asked, his voice tinged with exhaustion and a rare flicker of vulnerability. "Do you have a way to get us out of this desert?"

"Sorry, I'm afraid I don't."

Stark's shoulders slumped. "Any other help you can offer?"

Lemu paused, considering his skills. After a long silence, he shrugged apologetically. "…Still no."

Without a word, Stark turned back around and continued trudging through the endless expanse of sand. Alien, wizard, hallucination—it didn't matter anymore. Getting out alive was the only thing that counted.

After a while, he seemed to remember something. He didn't turn his head this time, his voice uncertain. "You know… I think I've seen someone like you before. On Earth."

Lemu chuckled softly, unconcerned. "The universe is vast, my friend. It's just a matter of probability. As far as I know, there are plenty of species that look identical to humans. But honestly…" He tilted his head, looking Stark up and down. "You look like a walking corpse right now. Dehydration, I'd guess. Sure you're okay?"