In the conference room at Stark Tower, Chen Mo was writing notes in the margins of the draft.
Tony glanced over.
"Minor heroes must not handle alien spacecraft alone. Don't you think that's a little too specific?"
"It's a safety provision. Being specific is perfectly normal."
"Then why did you draw a crying chibi spider next to it?"
"For emphasis."
All right, he actually missed Gotham.
He missed the days when he didn't have to get involved in political maneuvering or superhero civil wars, when all he had to do was patrol the streets, fight some monsters, draw Spider-Man-themed sticky notes and Batman doujinshi, then wait for Batman to solve everything.
New York was no good for that. If Chen Mo dared draw Iron Man doujinshi in the morning, he could receive a free ticket for a tour of Stark Industries' full range of Iron Man Armor that afternoon.
"Ah." At that thought, Chen Mo regretted that the people of New York couldn't appreciate his outstanding artistic talent.
Rhodey moved his coffee cup a little farther away.
The meeting had gone from superhero autonomy to rescue subsidies for minors, then to who would pay for training grounds.
It sounded absurd.
Thinking about it seriously made it even more absurd.
But considering that even manhole covers in New York really did get blown off by aliens, training minor heroes for duty really was more urgent than most municipal projects.
Chen Mo had just put his pen down when his phone vibrated again.
Tony looked over.
"This is what being the leader of an alliance is like. Always busy, Tony." Chen Mo still hadn't called him Mr. Stark.
Flint had sent a photo.
The Church's old printer had spat out half a notice, with the edge of the paper still jammed inside