Chapter 2: Of Secrets and Space

It had been a few days since Max first caught wind of Tony Stark's upcoming trip to Afghanistan. Life had returned to its usual rhythm—school, homework, and his projects. But today, something was different. As Max walked into his apartment after school, the air felt heavy, like a storm on the horizon. He dropped his backpack by the door and kicked off his shoes, flicking on the television more out of habit than anything else. The familiar buzz of the news channel greeted him, filling the apartment with soft background noise.

"Breaking news from Afghanistan," the reporter's voice broke through the usual chatter, "Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, has gone missing following a weapons demonstration. Authorities have confirmed that Stark's convoy was attacked, and he has not been heard from since. A full search and rescue mission is underway."

Max froze. The footage on the screen showed Stark's face, a press photo of him at some glitzy event, superimposed over grainy images of the Afghan desert. It had happened. Stark was missing, and everything was about to change. He stared at the screen for a long moment, letting the reality sink in. This was the beginning—the birth of Iron Man. Max knew the timeline well. Stark would eventually build the Mark I suit in captivity and escape, but there was still time before that happened.

The news segment ended, and the regular broadcast resumed. Max stood up, turning off the TV. He walked to his bedroom, needing to clear his mind and prepare for the next step. He opened his closet and began changing out of his school uniform. His new clothes were more fitting for the work ahead—simple but durable. He pulled on a pair of black cargo pants with plenty of pockets for tools and gadgets. His shirt was a dark gray, made of a breathable material that allowed for easy movement. Over it, he slipped on a fitted jacket, reinforced with subtle padding for protection. Finally, he laced up his black boots, sturdy enough for whatever tasks lay ahead.

Satisfied with his appearance, Max made his way down to the basement, descending the stairs to the Alchemy Room. The air grew cooler as he stepped into the vast space, his footsteps echoing softly in the magically expanded chamber. His eyes swept over the familiar sight of shelves filled with metals, tools, and the ongoing construction projects that filled the room.

Max approached a table where two leather handbags sat—both of them plain and unassuming, at least on the outside. Each bag was enchanted, expanded on the inside to hold up to 1,000 cubic meters, and reinforced with an Unbreakable Charm. They had been essential for transporting his more delicate projects.

He took the first bag and walked toward the corner of the room, where one of the three Puddle Jumpers sat under a protective cover. With a flick of his wrist, the cover lifted, revealing the sleek, gray spacecraft. It was a small, agile ship, designed for short-distance travel through Stargates. Max had spent months working on it, blending magic and technology into a functional and powerful craft. He used Wingardium Leviosa to gently guide the Puddle Jumper toward the open handbag. The spacecraft shrunk slightly as it entered, disappearing into the bag's expanded interior.

Once the Puddle Jumper was safely stored, Max moved on to the second bag. He turned to another part of the room, where rows of carefully crafted items sat waiting—small clocks, intricate pocket watches, and finely detailed animal sculptures. Each piece was unique, a blend of craftsmanship and magic. Max had used Alchemy to create the metals and his Hogwarts training to charm the pieces, making them not only beautiful but functional in ways the average person would never notice.

He picked up the pocket watches first, 30 of them in total. Each was meticulously designed, with filigree patterns etched into their cases. Some had tiny, intricate gears visible through crystal windows, while others bore delicate designs on the faces, reflecting his love for detail and precision. He floated them one by one into the second bag, careful to keep them from knocking into one another.

Next, Max turned to the standing clocks. These were larger, each about a foot tall, with ornate wooden bases and glass covers protecting their intricately designed faces. The hands of the clocks were made from various precious metals, each clock a masterpiece of mechanical and magical design. He levitated ten of these into the bag, lining them up neatly next to the pocket watches.

Finally, he reached the sculptures. There were forty in total, each a lifelike representation of an animal from the zoo. Max had spent hours perfecting the details, using both magic and his knowledge from his first life to craft them with almost uncanny realism. The first was a lion, its mane sculpted in gold with eyes of emerald. The second was a giraffe, its long neck stretched gracefully, the spots on its body made from copper and bronze. Next came a silver-backed gorilla, powerful and imposing, followed by a delicate flamingo, its body made from polished rose gold. A sleek panther followed, carved from obsidian with gleaming ruby eyes, and then a majestic eagle, wings spread wide, crafted from a mix of steel and platinum. The final sculpture was an elephant, its tusks made from ivory and its body a blend of silver and lead, the texture of its skin so realistic that it seemed almost alive.

With all the items safely packed, Max closed the bag and headed out of the house. He apparated to the alley behind an antique shop in Hell's Kitchen, a place he had been visiting for years. The shop's owner, Mr. Donovan, was one of the few people Max trusted with his work. Max had been selling his creations to Donovan for the past three years, and the man had never asked too many questions. He was content to buy the items, knowing they would sell quickly to his discerning clientele.

Max pushed open the shop's door, the bell above it jingling softly as he entered. The shop was warm and inviting, filled with the scent of polished wood and aged leather. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with old books, vintage furniture, and various antiques. Behind the counter, Mr. Donovan looked up from a ledger, his sharp eyes lighting up as he saw Max.

"Max! Good to see you, lad," Donovan greeted him with a wide smile. He was an older man, in his late fifties, with graying hair and a pair of round spectacles perched on the edge of his nose. "I was wondering when you'd stop by. Got something for me today?"

Max nodded, returning the man's smile. "I've got a few things. Some watches, clocks, and a few sculptures. I think you'll like them."

Donovan chuckled, stepping out from behind the counter to meet Max. "If they're anything like the last batch, I'm sure they'll sell out in no time. Those watches you brought me last month? Gone within a week. My customers can't get enough of your work."

Max set the two bags on the counter, opening the first one and carefully pulling out the pocket watches. Donovan's eyes gleamed with admiration as he inspected the first one, a watch with a silver case and intricate gears visible through the glass.

"You've really outdone yourself, Max. The craftsmanship on these is exquisite," Donovan said, turning the watch over in his hands. "And the clocks? Let me see those."

Max pulled out the standing clocks next, placing them gently on the counter. Donovan examined each one with a critical eye, nodding in approval. "Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. These will be gone by the end of the week, mark my words."

Finally, Max revealed the sculptures, carefully arranging them on the counter. Donovan let out a low whistle as he picked up the golden lion. "Now this is something special. Your work just keeps getting better and better. I don't know how you do it, but I'm glad you do."

Max shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Just takes practice."

Donovan waved a hand dismissively. "Modest as ever. Well, I'll take the lot, as usual. These will fly off the shelves. How about I give you the same rate as last time?"

Max nodded, and the two men shook hands. Donovan went to the back to retrieve the money, returning with a thick envelope. "Here you go. Payment in full. And let me just say, Max, it's impressive what you're doing at your age. You've got a real talent, and I'm grateful to do business with you."

Max accepted the envelope, tucking it into his jacket. "Thanks, Mr. Donovan. Always a pleasure."

With that, Max left the shop, the weight of the envelope heavy in his pocket. Once outside, he quickly counted the bills. It was a substantial amount, enough to fund whatever plans he had for the future. And he did have plans—big ones. He knew it was time to expand beyond the city. He needed a new property, somewhere far from prying eyes.

He found a secluded spot in the alley and with a soft crack, apparated to the outskirts of New York, far from any witnesses. The air was crisp, and the sky was clear, with no one around to see him. Max reached into his first bag and, with a flick of his wrist, summoned the Puddle Jumper. The sleek ship floated out of the bag, expanding to its full size as it hovered in the air. He climbed inside, settling into the pilot's seat as the hatch closed behind him. The interior of the Jumper was compact but comfortable, with smooth gray walls and a control panel that responded to both his touch and his magic.

Max engaged the ship's cloaking device, rendering it invisible to the naked eye. With a soft hum, the Jumper lifted off the ground, accelerating upward as it soared into the sky. Within minutes, he had broken through the atmosphere, the blue expanse of Earth shrinking beneath him as he entered orbit.

From space, New York was a glittering speck, barely distinguishable from the rest of the Eastern Seaboard. The lights of the city twinkled like stars against the dark surface of the planet. Max stared out the window, marveling at the view. The Earth was a beautiful sight, a swirling mass of blue and white clouds, with the continents stretched out below like patches on a quilt.

As he drifted in orbit, Max's mind began to race with possibilities. Should he build a space station up here, hidden from the world? It would be the perfect base of operations, a place where he could work undisturbed. He could easily mine raw materials from the asteroid belt, and with a fully functional Stargate, the entire solar system could be within his reach.

He thought about where to place the Stargates. Mars was an obvious choice, as was the Moon, but he could also set one up in orbit around Jupiter, hidden among the gas giant's many moons. There was so much potential, so many places to explore and resources to harness.

Max leaned back in his seat, pulling out a small meal he had packed earlier. It was nothing fancy—just a sandwich and a bottle of water—but as he ate, he couldn't help but feel a sense of calm. Floating above the Earth, with nothing but the silence of space around him, he felt truly free. There were no expectations here, no one watching his every move. He could do whatever he wanted, build whatever he imagined.

His mind wandered to the idea of building ships, real starships capable of interstellar travel. He could design them to be faster, more powerful than anything humanity had ever seen. He had the knowledge, the resources, and now, with Stark's timeline unfolding, he would have even more opportunities to gather what he needed.

For now, though, he would take his time, plan carefully. He had learned from his previous lives that patience was key. There was no rush. The universe would still be there, waiting for him when he was ready.

Max took another bite of his sandwich, staring out at the vastness of space.