The helicopter's roar faded into a distant hum as it touched down on a private airstrip just outside D.C., its sleek frame blending into the predawn shadows. The journey back from the Ironhart armada had been swift, a blur of ocean and sky, yet exhaustion weighed on Alex like a physical force. His body thrummed with the changes from the pod—muscles taut with unnatural strength, senses sharpened to an almost painful clarity—but sleep had eluded him. The weight of revelations pressed against his skull: the Sovereign System, his past as a Pioneer, the gates, and now the staggering scope of Ironhart's dominion. University loomed ahead, its mundane demands a stark contrast to the world he'd glimpsed, but he couldn't skip the first day—not when he'd chosen to maintain this facade, at least for now.
The pilot saluted as Alex stepped onto the tarmac, the cool morning air biting at his skin, tinged with the faint scent of jet fuel and dew. Charles stood beside a waiting car—a sleek, black sedan with tinted windows, its surface etched with faint Ironhart markings visible only to those who knew to look. The older man's graying hair caught the first rays of sunlight creeping over the horizon, his suit pristine despite the long night. "Your transport, Young Master," he said, his tone dry but laced with a familiar warmth.
Alex nodded, sliding into the back seat as Charles took the wheel. The interior was plush—leather seats, a glowing dashboard, a quiet hum of climate control—but it felt small after the grandeur of the carrier and the lab. The drive into the city was smooth, the sedan gliding through early traffic with an ease that spoke of advanced engineering. Alex leaned his head against the window, watching the skyline emerge—tall buildings bathed in golden light, the Washington Monument a distant spear against the dawn. It was familiar, yet alien now, a veneer over the hidden truths he carried.
By the time they reached his neighborhood, the sun had fully risen, casting long shadows across the quiet streets. The sedan pulled up to a moderately large house—two stories, brick facade, a well-manicured lawn framed by a low fence. It was home, or had been, built from Stevenson's success managing a regional supermarket chain. Compared to Castle Iron or the Antarctic complex, it was modest, but its warm lights and familiar silhouette stirred a pang of nostalgia in Alex's chest. Charles parked discreetly down the street, and Alex stepped out, the weight of the past day settling into his bones as he approached the front door.
The lock clicked softly as he turned his key, and he stepped inside to a wave of warmth and the faint scent of coffee lingering from the night before. Stevenson and Ria were waiting in the foyer, their faces a mix of worry and relief. Ria, her dark hair streaked with gray, rushed forward, wrapping him in a hug that caught him off guard. Her arms were tight, her breath hitching slightly as she pressed her cheek to his shoulder. It was the first time he'd been away from them for so long—over twenty-four hours, a stark departure from the routine of university life—and the depth of her concern hit him harder than he'd expected.
"We were worried," Ria murmured, her voice muffled against his jacket. "Even after the chairman called, it didn't feel right."
Alex stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into her embrace, his sharpened senses picking up the faint tremor in her frame, the quickened beat of her heart. Stevenson stood behind her, his broad shoulders slumped slightly, his gray eyes searching Alex's face for answers. The chairman's call—Charles's cover story—had bought him time, but not trust. He composed himself quickly, stepping back with a practiced smile. "I was chosen as one of the representatives for the new year students," he said, the lie smooth on his tongue. "I might be late again sometimes. It's a big responsibility."
Ria's brow furrowed, hesitation flickering in her eyes, but Stevenson nodded slowly, his calloused hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Sounds like quite an honor," he said, his voice gruff but accepting. "Just… let us know next time, alright?"
"Of course," Alex replied, the guilt of deception a faint sting beneath his calm exterior. He'd grown adept at this—balancing their world with his own—but it felt heavier now, knowing how vast the gulf between them had become.
Stevenson gestured toward the living room, his thick fingers pointing to a small table by the couch. "A parcel arrived for you while you were gone."
Alex frowned, curiosity piqued as he crossed the room. The package was unassuming—brown cardboard, a generic label claiming it was from a "National Student Lottery" he'd supposedly entered. He hadn't, of course, and the faint Ironhart crest embossed in the corner confirmed his suspicions. He sliced it open with the Mythril Knife—its blade cutting through the tape like butter—and revealed a sleek, state-of-the-art device nestled in protective foam. It was a tablet, its surface smooth and black, glowing faintly as it activated at his touch. Only William could have sent this, disguised as a prize to avoid raising questions from his adoptive parents.
Feigning excitement, Alex turned to them with a grin, channeling every ounce of theatrical flair he could muster. "I completely forgot! I must have entered this lottery by accident and won!" His voice rose with mock surprise, hands gesturing animatedly as he held up the tablet. "This is incredible!"
Ria's eyes widened, a smile breaking through her worry, while Stevenson chuckled, shaking his head. "Lucky kid," he said, clapping Alex on the shoulder. "Guess those random entries paid off."
Convinced by his performance, they exchanged a few more words—small talk about the day ahead—before heading upstairs to bed, their footsteps fading into the house's silence. Alex waited until the door to their room clicked shut, then exhaled, the tension draining from his shoulders. He was alone at last, the weight of the past day settling into a quiet hum in his mind.
He stepped onto the balcony off the living room, the cool morning air washing over him like a balm. The city sprawled beyond the railing—rooftops glinting in the sunrise, the distant hum of traffic a soft undercurrent. Their home stood as a testament to Stevenson's success—two stories of brick and hardwood, furnished with tasteful decor, a spacious kitchen where Ria loved to cook, a garage filled with tools Stevenson tinkered with on weekends. It was nothing compared to Ironhart's empire—the castles, the armadas, the hidden labs—but it was impressive in its own right, a slice of normalcy Alex had once taken for granted.
Pulling out his phone—the one from Dr. James, not the tablet—he noticed all his data had already transferred seamlessly, contacts and messages intact. A notification blinked from Anurag, a video file attached with a simple caption: "You're gonna love this." He tapped it, and the screen lit up with a familiar scene—he recording the video of serene dancing which was recorded by those 2 idiots.. His friends had teased him relentlessly, and now, a smirk curved his lips. They'd likely show it to her today, a playful jab at his expense. He could stop it—erase it with a thought—but he couldn't just delete it without giving them some face, a piece of his old life he wasn't ready to sever.Alex thought with a creepy expression
As he moved to shut off the phone, a new app caught his eye, its icon stark against the screen: the Ironhart crest, a single word beneath it—Ironhart. His pulse quickened as he opened it, a dashboard unfolding with a complexity that stole his breath. It displayed the vast network his family controlled, a digital map of power spanning continents—an empire so intricate and pervasive it redefined the boundaries of influence. The Ironhart family was far more than just a mercenary group; they were a global powerhouse with tendrils woven into every facet of modern civilization, their dominion a tapestry of military might, economic control, and corporate supremacy.
At their core, they maintained a highly structured private military force, divided into specialized divisions—Ground Forces, Navy, Air Force, Cyber Operations, and Home Guards—each a meticulously trained entity designed to rival, if not surpass, the elite forces of the world's most powerful nations. The Ground Forces, numbering in the hundreds of millions, were equipped with cutting-edge weaponry—energy rifles, exosuits, drones—stationed in hidden bases from the deserts of Africa to the forests of Siberia. The Navy boasted the armada Alex had just seen, a fleet of carriers, submarines, and stealth destroyers that patrolled international waters, was nothing but just a fraction of their true power. their presence a silent threat to any who dared cross Ironhart's path. The Air Force commanded squadrons of advanced fighters and bombers, their hangars concealed beneath mountains and jungles, capable of striking anywhere on the globe within hours. Cyber Operations was a digital legion—hackers, coders, and analysts who infiltrated government systems, corporate databases, and even satellite networks, rewriting reality from the shadows. The Home Guards protected Ironhart's strongholds—Castle Iron, the Antarctic lab, dozens of secret facilities—elite soldiers trained in urban warfare and counter-insurgency, their loyalty absolute.
Within this military structure existed specialized units that elevated Ironhart's lethality. The Reapers, an all-purpose combat unit, were a force of versatility—capable of executing any mission, from open warfare to precision strikes, their ranks filled with veterans who'd toppled regimes and silenced threats without a whisper of their involvement. The Shadows, an elite division of espionage, infiltration, and assassination, operated in the realm of myth—reminiscent of the Red Sparrows or the fabled assassins of ancient lore. Numbering fewer than a hundred, they were phantoms, trained in disguise, psychological warfare, and lethal precision, their missions leaving no trace but reshaping the world nonetheless. Beyond these, Ironhart maintained the Sentinels, a secretive guard dedicated to protecting the family's bloodline—Alex included—rumored to possess augmentations rivaling his own pod-induced changes.They also had staringers, a team of girls who were master of sexpionage.
Beyond their military might, the Ironhart family operated under the corporate umbrella of RedHeart, a multinational conglomerate that masked their true power behind a facade of legitimate enterprise. RedHeart's subsidiaries spanned industries with a reach that touched every corner of human life—advanced weaponry and aerospace through IronForge, which supplied militaries and private contractors with next-generation tech; hospitality via Crimson Resorts, a chain of luxury hotels and casinos that doubled as intelligence hubs; fashion under Scarlet Threads, a high-end brand whose designs concealed surveillance tech for operatives; and high-tech software through Hectre, a titan in the industry. Hectre was particularly renowned, its campuses in Silicon Valley, Tokyo, and Berlin attracting the brightest minds with salaries that outstripped competitors, its innovations—AI, quantum computing, cybersecurity—quietly feeding Ironhart's operations. RedHeart's lesser-known ventures included biotech through VitaCore, pioneering gene editing and augmentation tech; renewable energy via SolIron, controlling vast solar and wind farms; and even entertainment with RedPulse Media, a network of film studios and streaming platforms that shaped global narratives.
Their true monopoly, however, lay in their control over global metal resources. Owning more than 70% of the world's supply of critical metals—gold, platinum, silver, diamonds, rare earths like neodymium and lithium—Ironhart's economic leverage was unparalleled. Their mining empire, IronVein, operated through a web of shell companies across Africa, South America, and Australia, extracting resources from beneath contested lands with ruthless efficiency. They held stakes in every major refinery, their supply chains dictating the price of everything from jewelry to tech components. The Diamond Syndicate, a covert arm of IronVein, ensured no rival could challenge their dominance, using Shadows to eliminate competitors and Reapers to secure contested mines. Their vaults—hidden in bunkers beneath the sea and mountains—stored wealth that could buy nations, a reserve that funded their military and corporate ambitions without reliance on external powers.
Ironhart's history stretched back centuries, rooted in a lineage of warlords and merchants who'd risen from the chaos of medieval Europe. The app hinted at their origins—a knighted ancestor who'd turned mercenary, forging alliances with kings and popes, amassing wealth and influence through blood and trade. By the Renaissance, they'd controlled spice routes and armories; by the Industrial Revolution, they'd pivoted to steel and railways. The 20th century saw them master espionage and proxy wars, their Shadows whispering in the ears of dictators and democrats alike. Today, they were a modern dynasty, their secrecy a shield against scrutiny, their power an open secret among the world's true rulers—presidents, CEOs, generals—who bowed not out of respect, but necessity. Ironhart wasn't just a name; it was an empire, a colossus that moved the world while standing still.
Alex scrolled through the dashboard, his breath shallow as the scope unfolded—bases in Antarctica, fleets in the Pacific, cyber hubs in Dubai, mines in Congo. The app detailed their alliances—pacts with rogue states, handshake deals with corporate titans—and their enemies, a list of nations and factions marked for "realignment."
His eyes lingered on the cybersecurity division, a network of hackers and analysts capable of rewriting digital reality. He could erase Anurag's video with a single command, wipe it from existence before it reached Selene. But he didn't. He was gonna make him pay the prize, though "lightly". The higher privileges within the app were still unlocking—grayed-out sections hinting at deeper secrets—and for now, he preferred to wait, to let this small piece of his past play out. It was a tether to the life he'd known, a thread he wasn't ready to cut.
As he moved to close the app, his phone buzzed—Charles's name flashing on the screen. He answered, the butler's voice crisp through the speaker. "Your personal butler will be arriving tomorrow for formalities," Charles informed him, his tone carrying that familiar dry edge.
Alex nodded, the phone cool against his ear. "Understood."
"Also, do me a favor and ask our cyber team to do something," Alex added, a spark igniting in his voice, a flicker of intent he didn't fully name. He had an idea—nothing concrete yet, just a whisper of mischief tied to the video, a way to turn the tables without breaking his cover.
Charles paused, then chuckled faintly. "Consider it done, Young Master. Anything specific?"
"Not yet," Alex said, his mind already racing. "Just… keep them ready."
The call ended, and his smirk widened, stretching into something sharper, more dangerous. He leaned against the balcony railing, the city waking below him—cars honking, birds chirping, the hum of life oblivious to the empire he wielded in his pocket. If Anurag and Krarth could see him now, they'd be terrified by the look in his eyes—green irises glinting with a cold, calculating light, a predator awakening beneath the skin of their friend.