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◇ One bonus chapter will be released for every 100 Power Stones.
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The big screen scrolled through the contestant's profile:
Robbie Baldwin, codename "Fastball".
A nervous-looking young kid jogged onstage in a wetsuit-style costume studded with odd spherical pads.
"Uh… hi, everyone, I'm Speedball," Robbie said, wringing his hands.
"My power is… kinetic absorption and release."
"Sounds like an inflatable punching-bag," Tony snarked.
"Show us, kid. Don't tell me you just take hits."
Robbie drew a deep breath.
From backstage a staffer dashed up with an ordinary baseball bat and swung for a home-run straight into Robbie's gut.
"Smack!"
The audience gasped.
Robbie didn't budge.
A blue ripple spread from the point of Impact.
"Ha!"
Robbie shoved forward; a kinetic blast erupted from his palm and hurled the bat-wielding staffer three metres back, landing on his rear.
"Interesting," Tony murmured, eyebrows raised, and slapped the red button first.
"Dong!"
Iron Man's column blazed to life.
"Kinetic conversion rate's about sixty percent," Tony said, reading Jarvis's data.
"Boost that to ninety and you can be my backup battery when the arc reactor fails. You're hired."
"He's not a battery, Tony," Steve Rogers said, pressing his own button.
"Dong!"
"He's a Guardian," Steve told Robbie approvingly.
"Absorbing damage means you can shield your teammates, protect civilians—save lives. That's remarkable, kid."
Jessica glanced at the two men, shrugged, and left her light untouched.
"All right, Robbie," the host said.
"Two choices: learn from the rich guy how to be a battery, or learn from the vet how to be a shield?"
Robbie's face flushed crimson. Gazing at Tony with pure hero-worship he stammered, "I'm Iron Man's biggest fan… my room's full of his merch!"
Tony smirked and shot Steve an apologetic look.
"But Mom says integrity matters…" Robbie turned to Steve. "So I choose Captain America!"
Tony rolled his eyes.
"Great, another wannabe boy-scout. Next!"
The host announced, "Next contestant—Fiery Angel… Angela!!"
Up-tempo BGM thundered as a flame-haired woman strutted onstage.
She wore a crimson leather catsuit cut daringly low, acres of snowy skin on display, her figure scorchingly hot.
A sultry air-kiss and a heart-shaped fire-burst exploded mid-air.
"Whoa—!"
Tony Stark's eyes glazed; he whistled instinctively and slapped his light faster than thought.
"Slap!"
"Now that's what a superhero should look like. I mean… visual Impact."
"Tony?" Steve frowned. "She hasn't shown her power yet."
"She just did, Captain," Tony said, pointing.
"Her power is raising the ambient temperature. I'm already two degrees warmer—superpower confirmed."
Ignoring his flippancy, Angela sauntered to centre-stage and gave the camera a sultry smile.
"I'm Angela. My ability? Combustion."
She spread her arms and cried:
"Full Firepower!!"
With that shout—BOOM!
Blazing flames engulfed her; fire spiralled skyward, forging a pair of fiery wings.
Using flame thrust she traced a giant "V" for Vought in mid-air, then condensed a delicate rose of living fire in her palm.
Heat washed the front rows; they could feel the burn.
Tony slipped on his shades.
Steve Rogers stared, momentarily dazed.
"Dong!"
He slapped his button without thinking.
The crowd erupted.
Tony gaped. "Old freezer-pop, seriously? Thought you only went for uniformed file-carrying Agents. Didn't know you liked 'em hot."
"Tony, watch your mouth," Steve said, flushing.
"She just felt… familiar."
"And her power has tactical value—flame suppression and path-clearing on the battlefield."
"Save it," Tony scoffed.
"You're just into the heat."
"I agree with Steve," Jessica spoke up.
"Girl's good—more than pretty; her flame control is pinpoint."
"Dong!"
Jessica slapped her light.
All three columns blazed.
"Whoa! First three-light pick tonight!" the host yelled.
"Angela, power reverses! Let's see her choice!"
Angela reabsorbed the fire; her Vought-sponsored suit was untouched.
"All right, hot-stuff," Tony offered.
"Pick me and I'll forge you a flame-armour—fly faster, burn hotter!"
Angela glanced at Tony—too lecherous; at Steve—too straight; finally at Jessica.
"I'm joining the Jewel squad," she declared, tossing her crimson hair.
"Girls help girls."
"Nicely done," Jessica smiled appreciatively.
Tony slumped in his chair.
"What're young girls thinking these days? Aren't billionaires hot anymore?"
The auditions rolled on.
The next hopefuls were a parade of oddities.
An "emo boy" who drenched everyone in sorrow; a "fluid man" who turned to water and slipped through cracks; someone who hardened his teeth to steel.
One guy claimed he could talk to fish—then fled in shame when Tony asked, "So… do you eat sushi?"
Until contestant No. 35 stepped up.
Next: a silver-haired youth in a silvery tracksuit.
Pietro Maximoff.
Hands in pockets, gum in cheek, he swaggered onstage with pure arrogance.
When his eyes locked on Tony Stark, the undisguised hatred sent a chill down Tony's spine.
"Who's that?" Tony muttered to Steve. "Do I owe him money? He looks ready to gut me."
"Probably a victim of your old weapons," Steve replied bluntly. "You've got plenty of those 'fans'."
"Story of my life."