The Metropolitan Museum of Art in the Upper East Side was draped in golden spotlights, black-tie security, and pure billionaire opulence.
Inside the Grand Great Hall, Manhattan’s highest social stratum was sipping thousand-dollar champagne while Tony Stark—dressed in a crisp bespoke tuxedo with a red pocket square—stood near a display of private Stark Relief Foundation tech, holding a crystal glass of his personal reserve 1945 rare Macallan scotch.
"And that," Tony was saying to a small crowd of city council members, "is how we modernise urban infrastructure without raising local taxes. You’re welcome."
CRASH-THWACK!
The heavy gilded mahogany doors leading to the main atrium burst open.
Walking down the grand marble staircase— flanked by a horrified security guard holding an empty holster—was Jack.
He had touched up his makeup. The chalk-white zinc paste glowed like neon under the museum’s crystal chandeliers, his smudged raccoon eyes were wide and unblinking, and his bright crimson lips were curved into a wet, ear-to-ear scar of a smile. He was wearing his ruined lavender velvet jacket over his bare, heavily bandaged chest, holding a half-eaten chocolate chip cookie from Aunt May in one hand and a brass air-horn in the other.
Right behind him walked Natasha Romanoff in a backless emerald-green evening gown that hid two combat knives in her thigh straps, and Felicia Hardy in a sleek white silk dress, idly admiring a five-carat diamond necklace she’d pickpocketed off a guest near the coat rack.
"EVENING, HIGH SOCIETY!" Jack bellowed, his raspy, unhinged voice bouncing off the high stone arches. "I heard there was a charity event! And since I'm currently suffering from severe emotional trauma, lack of funds, and chronic lack of top-shelf alcohol... I'M THE CHARITY! HAHAHA!"
The room went dead silent. Three socialites dropped their champagne flutes onto the marble floor.
CLINK-SPATTER.
Tony froze mid-sip. He slowly closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"FRIDAY," Tony muttered under his breath. "Tell me I’m hallucinating. Tell me the clown who blew up my Shelby Cobra didn't just walk into the Met wearing a lavender velvet jacket and no shirt."
[Visual sensors confirm it is subject Jack, boss,] FRIDAY’s voice hummed discreetly through Tony’s earpiece. [He is also currently eating a cookie containing high traces of homemade vanilla extract.]
"Hey! Shell-head!" Jack cackled, skipping down the remaining stairs like a cracked-out tap dancer in his heavy boots, his [12.5% SYNCHRONIZATION] humming like a live transformer behind his eyes. "Nice suit! Very 'corporate billionaire who secretly cries in the shower'! I love it!"
Jack sauntered straight past four frozen security guards, stopping three feet from Tony Stark. He looked down at the crystal glass in Tony’s hand—specifically at the dark amber liquid inside.
[SYSTEM QUEST OBJECTIVE DETECTED: "Stark’s Bar Tab"]
Target: Steal Tony Stark’s personal vintage whiskey bottle directly from his private stash/possession.
Status: (0/1)
"Tony, Tony, Tony..." Jack purred, his wide, bloodshot eyes fixed on the glass. "Is that the 1945 Macallan? The one from your private vault in the basement display?"
"Jack," Tony said calmly, stepping back half a pace as his right wrist-cuff subtly adjusted, preparing to summon a repulsor gauntlet. "If you touch that bottle, I will personally fly you to the top of the Empire State Building and drop you into the East River."
"Ooh, aerial transportation! My favorite!" Jack grinned, his blood-stained teeth flashing against his white face.
Before Tony could react, Jack reached out with light-speed agility, yanked the entire glass clean out of Tony’s hand, poured the entire two-thousand-dollar shot down his throat in one wet, gasping gulp, and then reached behind Tony's tuxedo jacket to pull a full, un-opened crystal decanter out of Tony’s hidden inner coat pocket!
"THANKS FOR THE HOST GIFT, TIN MAN!" Jack shrieked, stuffing the decanter into his lavender coat pocket.
[SYSTEM QUEST PROGRESS: "Stark’s Bar Tab"]
Steal Tony Stark’s personal vintage whiskey bottle: COMPLETED!
Progress: (2/3 Objectives Done)
"My '45 Macallan..." Tony whimpered, looking at his empty hand with a look of soul-crushing betrayal. "He just chugged seventy years of Scottish history like it was Gatorade..."
Jack turned around in a circle, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, leaving a long red-and-white smear across his arm.
His eyes locked onto Natasha, who was standing near a marble pillar, watching him with an amused, dangerous smirk.
[FINAL SYSTEM QUEST OBJECTIVE: "The Widow's Touch"]
Objective: Make physical contact with Natasha Romanoff's chest without getting your arm broken.
Status: (0/1)
Jack’s crimson smile expanded until his jaw popped with a loud CRACK.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen..." Jack rasped into the quiet museum, his chest vibrating with a low, raspy hehehe... "...for my final trick of the evening! A demonstration of pure, unadulterated, suicidal courage!"
He sprinted straight at Natasha, his arms thrown wide like a man charging into a brick wall.
"Jack, don't you dare—" Natasha started, her steel-grey eyes narrowing as her body instinctively shifted into a lethal defensive stance.
"FOR THE SYSTEM! FOR THE REWARDS! DARE TO TOUCH, BABY!" Jack screamed!
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