8 p.m., Los Angeles, a cliffside villa in Malibu.
Night lay heavy, and waves battered the rocks.
Tony Stark wore a loose robe and poured himself a glass of bourbon whiskey. After declaring "I am Iron Man" at the press conference, he felt more relaxed than ever.
"JARVIS, dim the living room lights and put on some AC/DC heavy metal. I need to celebrate my rebirth." Tony carried his glass toward the couch.
There was no response.
The villa's entire smart system seemed to have crashed. It was so quiet he could have heard a pin drop.
"JARVIS?" Tony frowned slightly, immediately sensing something was wrong. Without betraying his concern, he reached toward a hidden compartment beneath the couch, where a miniature palm cannon was stashed.
"'I am Iron Man.'"
A deep, raspy male voice came without warning from the shadows by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Tony whipped his head around.
A bald Black man in a black leather coat and a black eyepatch stood there quietly, arms folded across his chest. He seemed to have merged with the darkness; even JARVIS's infrared scans had failed to detect him.
"Do you think you're the only superhero in the world, Mr. Stark?" The one-eyed man slowly stepped out of the shadows, scrutiny in his remaining eye.
"The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division?" Tony raised an eyebrow and withdrew his hand from beneath the couch, his voice carrying its usual teasing edge.
"Your name's still ridiculously long. Didn't Mr. Coulson tell you that in California, you can be shot on sight for breaking into someone's home?"
(In the first Iron Man movie, Nick had already sent Coulson to approach Tony early on.)
"You can call us S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm its director, Nick Fury."
Fury walked over to the coffee table, picked up