(droped) A twelve step program to omnipotence ( Marvel fanfic)

I waited patiently until Pepper Potts and her escort of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents entered the Stark facility, biding my time in the shadow cast by the buildings on the other side of the compound. I could try and sneak in after them, but it would be far easier to just wait for Stane to provide a distraction and then simply walk in, no sneaking required.

BOOOMM!

And that is my queue. Thanks Stane, I owe you one. Well, not really since a: you're an evil, terrorist funding, bastard and b: you'll be dead by the time I get what I came here for.

As the building is lit up by bright flashes and the stacatto blasts of gunfire, I simply walk inside and make my way deeper into the complex where Stane is walking around in the twisted love child of the Iron Man armor and a tank, squashing S.H.I.E.L.D. agents left and right.

The ridiculously high turnover rate of agents (not to mention them being a shell for the most evil human organization in history) had kept me from entering the spy agency in order to get my grubby hands on all of their fancy toys in my quest for godhood.

Because when you find yourself in a fictional universe with gods and monsters and aliens, you could either try and become buddies with the heroes (in the case of females this required you to be both ridiculously pretty as well as emotionally connected to at least one of them or in the case of men, you were ridiculously badass with about every superheroine salivating over your body) or you could realize that magic was real and decide to supplex reality in being your little bitch.

Within the first ten minutes of being born in this world I decided on the latter.

And the first step in my Twelve Step Program (more like Twenty Steps but who was keeping count anyway) involved salvaging whatever I could from Stane's reverse engineering of Tony Stark's masterpiece.

Of course his true masterpiece, the Arc Reactor, was out of my reach until I was powerful enough to rip it out of his chest with my bare hands, but in the meantime I could at least try and take his armor for myself. Or just wait until Whiplash manages to make an Arc Reactor on his own. Better make that Twenty-one Steps then.

During my musings Stane had been ever so kind to keep the spotlight on him, allowing me to enter the hangar where he first activated the Iron Monger unchallenged, with the exception of the odd dead agent I had to watch out not to trip over.

That'd just be embarrassing.

Once in the hangar I immediately began tearing every single blueprint off the walls and tables leaving nothing behind, stuffing it all in my oversized duffelbag. I could sort this all out in the safety of my apartment without a spy agency and one of the smartest and dangerous men in the world breathing down my neck.

Despite the fact that I knew nobody was in a position to stop me from stealing the plans to the most advanced armor in the world, on the account of nobody knowing I was here or even existed for that matter, too focused as they were on the metallic slugfest between Stane and Tony judging by the familiar whine of repulsor blasts, I still felt sweat pouring down my neck, soaking my shirt, making it cling to my chest in the most uncomfortable way.

I felt like I was in the most dangerous fight of my life despite the fact that all I was doing was walking around stuffing paper in a duffelbag. After what felt like hours of running around with my heart trying its best to hammer its way to freedom straight through my ribcage I had finally managed to rip the last blueprint (a giant poster with what at a glance seemed to be the overall outline of the Iron Man/Monger armor on it) off the wall, trying my best to ignore the smoking hole in the metal right next to me. I knew that I had to hurry up now as I could hear the fight getting closer again, which meant an increase of threat against my continued good health, either by massive explosions or overeager spies who might be Nazi's in disguise.

As I made my way to the exit of the building I had the biggest scare of my life when from the roof of the building came a crash that shook the entire structure. Worse than that however was the sound of someone shouting orders ahead from me, with what seemed like a dozen footsteps running towards me in an orderly yet hurried fashion.

Looks like S.H.I.E.L.D. reinforcements have (unfortunately) arrived on the scene.

As panic tried (and somewhat succeeded) to rear it's head I threw myself and my duffelbag into one of the sidehalls in the mazelike interior surrounding the hangar like area where Stane first activated his monstrosity. Throwing myself to the ground, I was briefly thankful for my decision to wear a generic suit which, combined with the poor (or rather, non-existant) lightning allowed me to pass as one of the nameless grunts already littering the hallway.

Within the first ten steps of my Twenty-one Step Plan, no human would be able to harm me anymore. A few steps later and I could at the very least survive a fight with Thor, who managed tank a blast from a neutron star and live to tell about it. By the end of my plan I would be effectively omnipotent.

Now though? Now all I was capable of was lying down, covered in sweat while trying to get some measure of control over my harsh breathing, playing dead in the hope a bunch of S.H.I.E.L.D. goons wouldn't find me.

Perhaps not the grandest start to galactic domination but I had to begin somewhere.

I desperately held my breath as I heard a squad of agents barrel down the hallway I had been walking in only moments before, praying to whatever deity that was on my side (given how many there are in this world, sheer probability dictated that at least one should be. Right?) that the agents were distracted enough by the lightshow on the roof to not check their dead.

My silent terror sky-rocketed when I heard a commanding voice call out in a soft whisper, as the multitude of footsteps slowed down to a halt.

"Fan out, keep your heads on a swivel."

'No, don't fan out! Don't fan out! Keep going straight ahead, there's a bad guy with power armor there, that means instant death for you guys, shouldn't you be running face first into that!?' I screamed internally, trying to keep as still as possible.

I could only lie there, paralyzed by fear as I heard soft footsteps creeping ever closer to where my sweat soaked body was lying face down on the harsh ground.

Any second now, he would see that I was still alive. Any second now I would be captured by an organization which was run by the most evil bastards on earth. Any second now my life would be over before it even had a chance to really take off. Any second now-

"We got incoming! Everybody move, move, move!"

My quiet sigh of relief went unheard in the middle of the pandemonium that resulted after yet another explosion rattled the building. Feeling more than seeing that the superpowered brawl between Stane and Tony was coming to an end, I waited till I heard the last of the footsteps run deeper into the complex before I made a mad dash towards my overstuffed duffelbag.

I hurriedly made my way to the exit, not wanting to see Stane (and by extension this building and therefore me) go up in flames.

Running away was surprisingly galling but the sheer terror that consumed me when I was nearly discovered quickly beat my sense of pride into submission, leaving it a snivelling wreck before taking the wheel of my motor functions, telling me nothing was more important than getting the fuck outta here.

I was supremely grateful for its sense of initiative when not moments after I had left through the back entrance (the front was surrounded by a small army of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents) the entire building seemed to explode, a wave of heat and pressure slamming me to the ground.

Chancing a quick look over my shoulder, I saw that it was only the main hall, where the giant Reactor stood, that had been obliterated.

Not to mention the bits of Obadiah Stane that were most likely raining down everywhere.

Scrambling to my feet, ignoring my scuffed hands and ripped pants, I hurried my ass out of there to where my car was parked a few blocks away. A modest Honda civic it probably wouldn't draw any attention as I made my way to the middle class neighborhood I lived in.

It was nearly 3 AM when I had finally managed to come home, shrug off my dirtied clothes and dropped onto my bed, completely exhausted.

Stealing blueprints to advanced weaponry from underneath the nose of the greatest spy agency in the world as well as the inventor of said weaponry was surprisingly tiring.

Resolving to look at my loot first thing in the morning I switched off the lights and immediately I was dead to the world.

Stark is a genius. Let me rephrase that: Stark is a fucking genius. I mean, I knew he was, everybody both here and in my old world knew he was. But to actually look at his work, botched by Stane as it was, actually drove home just how much smarter the Merchant of Death was than me.

If it wasn't for Stane having to dumb most of it down for himself and the scientists on his payroll I probably wouldn't even know what I was looking at. As it stood, while I had a decent understanding of how the armor worked (operating under its own weight without crushing the wearer, or how inertia dampeners allowed Tony to be punched through a wall with only a bruise to show for it, that kinda thing) the Arc Reactor was completely beyond me.

I sorta got the theory behind it, but I had absolutely no clue how to go and actually build the damn thing, especially small enough for it to be carried.

Sorry Ivan, but it seems I'm gonna have to take your stuff.

Filing the armor away for now (and I do mean file. With all the supernerds in this universe there's no way in hell I'm digitizing any of this. For now the plans go behind a false plank underneath my sink) I start trawling through the internet trying to get my hands on as many news outlets as possible and visiting every forum there is. With my meta knowledge separating hoax from truth is a walk in the park and I'm hoping that somewhere among the rumors and speculations I can find clues for my master plan of Galactic Domination.

You know, I really feel like an evil laugh would be appropriate there but the walls of my apartment are thin and I can do without any noise complaints.

Ah well, I'll just do them later once I have a proper lair.

Suddenly a news article grabbed my attention with all the subtlety of Thor trying to put IKEA furniture together using Mjolnir.

'Soda factory in Rio shut down due to massive structural damage , witnesses claim to have heard gunfire and have even claimed to have seen a monster. Neither the authorities nor the executives of the company were available for comment."

I smirked as I read the short article, skimming over the fact that some employees had apparently been injured in what was being presented as a work related accident.

I knew better.

"Hello Bruce." I said softly with a grin that would make many a sailor break out in cold sweat and mutter something about needing a bigger boat.

Unfortunately I couldn't act on this yet as it was part of Step 3. For now I would need to focus on Step 2. After well over two hours of caffeine supported digging through the most untrustworthy and speculative parts of the internet I finally found what I was looking for.

An apparently leaked memo that hinted at Stark Industries planning some sort of big event. Ideas were thrown around about what this could be, one more ridiculous than the last (one presented the idea that Tony would unveil a sex oriented line of Iron Man… paraphernalia) but I knew what it really would be.

Time to put on my nice suit, I was going to the Stark Expo.

As a compromise, this time I laughed inside my head. So what if that makes me crazy? Everybody else already is.

'Bwahahahahahahahaha.'