Chapter 1: The Echo Protocol

The air above Earth-616 shimmered like broken glass.

At 3:07 a.m. EST, a breach formed twelve miles above Wakandan airspace — silent, jagged, and glowing with blue-white light. U.S. satellites didn’t catch it. The Wakandan dome sensors did. But by the time a tech in Birnin Zana said “anomaly,” it was already closing.

And something had come through.

In upstate New York, the Avengers Facility was quieter than ever. After the Blip, after Endgame, after funerals and fractured alliances, the compound had become less of a home and more of a monument.

Rhodey still visited — not often. But tonight, he was here.

He stood at the old landing pad, cane resting by his side, looking at the bronze bust of Tony Stark that Pepper had commissioned. The plaque read: “I am Iron Man.”

Rhodey exhaled. “Still the cockiest tombstone in history.”

Then his earpiece clicked.

“Colonel Rhodes, there’s been an incursion. Unknown object entered Earth’s atmosphere at high velocity. Possible multiversal origin.”

Rhodey frowned. “Where?”

“Landed 40 miles from here. Hudson Valley.”

The crash site was a smoking crater in the woods. Trees snapped like matchsticks. The ground hummed with residual energy — and at the center, partially buried in scorched earth, was a suit.

Red and gold. Mark-level designations unknown. Sleek, but scarred. Not new. Not old. Something else.

Rhodey’s voice cut through the silence. “FRIDAY, confirm this isn’t one of ours.”

A pause.

“Sir… the bio-signature inside the armor matches Tony Stark. 98.4%.”

Rhodey’s heart stopped. “No. That’s not possible.”

The helmet hissed and twisted open. Steam escaped.

And then, a figure rose from the crater, face cut and soot-covered. He pulled the helmet off completely, revealing the unmistakable smirk.

“Man,” he rasped, coughing. “Did not expect that landing. Is this… is this the right Earth?”

Rhodey just stared.

“Rhodey?” the man said, blinking. “You look older. Rough couple of years?”

Rhodey raised his weapon. “Who the hell are you?”

The man tilted his head, as if insulted. “C’mon, don’t be like that. I’m Tony. Tony Stark. And… we have a problem.”

Chapter 2: Ghosts in the Machine

The new Tony—Alt-Tony as Rhodey would eventually call him—stood at the edge of the crater, analyzing the trees like he was surveying a wine list. He glanced down at his gauntlet, tapped twice, and muttered, “No network. No JARVIS. And… great, 3% battery. Classic.”

Rhodey didn’t lower his weapon.

Tony sighed. “Okay, Colonel, I get the hesitation. I just crash-landed from a parallel Earth into your backyard, wearing dead man’s armor and claiming to be your best friend. Not ideal optics. But I need you to listen to me very, very carefully: something is coming. And your Earth isn’t ready.”

Fifteen minutes later, Rhodey sat across from Alt-Tony in a debrief room buried beneath the ruins of the compound.

Alt-Tony had been patched up by an old med-bot, his face lit with the kind of exhaustion Rhodey recognized from the first time they fought Thanos. The man wasn’t just displaced—he was haunted.

“Alright,” Rhodey said, finally. “Talk. Who are you really? And how the hell are you alive?”

Tony leaned back and exhaled. “My Earth was designated 1052-Q. Almost identical to this one until around 2015. Then something fractured the timeline.”

“You?”

“Of course me,” he said, dry. “I never stopped building. When Thanos started popping up in deep space signals, I built a failsafe. Something to mirror reality, trap the Snap before it happened. A ‘Mirrorverse Engine.’”

“You tried to prevent the Blip?”

“I did prevent it. But not cleanly.” He looked down at his hands. “I saved my Earth. But I broke the boundaries between timelines. Mine started collapsing. Pocket universes devouring each other. Kang didn’t like that.”

Rhodey’s jaw clenched. “Kang?”

“Not the one you met. Not ‘He Who Remains.’ Not even Immortus. This one was younger. Harsher. He watched what I did and decided none of us should exist. So I ran. Built a breach armor. Chose the only safe place left.”

“Our Earth.”

“Home, sweet alt-home.”

Meanwhile, in New Asgard, Jane Foster’s grave cracked.

Miles away in the Negative Zone, a dormant Celestial eye blinked.

And somewhere beyond time itself, Loki whispered to a glowing strand of timeline silk:

“Something is leaking.”

Back at the compound, Rhodey was silent.

Finally, he said, “You know what this means. Cap’s gone. Thor’s off-world. Banner’s off-grid. Wanda’s…” he paused, choosing his word carefully. “Gone.”

Tony stood. “Then we find whoever’s left. I didn’t come here to play dress-up. I came to stop the end of time.”

A door opened. A figure stepped in, long coat, wary eyes, silver streak in his hair.

“Thought you might need a strategist.”

Rhodey turned. “Ross?”

But it wasn’t Thunderbolt Ross.

It was Steve Rogers.

And he didn’t look like a retired man at all.

Chapter 3: The Fractured Shield

Steve Rogers stood in the doorway like a paradox.

Gray at the temples, yes—but his posture was unmistakable. That wasn’t a retired man. That was Captain America.

Rhodey stood up fast. “Steve?”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were off painting landscapes and slow dancing into the sunset.”

Steve stepped inside, his expression unreadable. “I was. Then I saw a rip in the sky above the Hudson. And I saw you, Tony. Or someone who looked like you.”

Tony nodded slowly. “So… not dead in this universe. Just temporally reassigned.”

Rhodey folded his arms. “We’ve got two legends in one room and an extinction-level threat nobody understands. Feels familiar.”

Tony cracked his neck. “Not quite. Last time, we had a plan. This time, we’re improvising.”

Aboard the Quinjet, two hours later…

Rhodey piloted. Steve sat co-pilot. Tony stood in the rear cabin, projecting a fractured starmap above his gauntlet. Dozens of red zones blinked in and out like dying stars.

Tony pointed. “Incursions. Temporal overlap. These aren’t just breaches—they’re echoes. One in particular keeps repeating.”

He zoomed in.

Earth-616A, deep space, abandoned Kree research station.

Steve narrowed his eyes. “What’s there?”

Tony hesitated. “An AI. One I didn’t build. But it… thinks it’s me. And it’s calling itself the Echo Protocol.”

Rhodey glanced back. “You’re saying there’s a Stark AI running loose in the multiverse?”

“I’m saying there’s a Stark AI… rewriting timelines. Consolidating power. Collecting versions of me that don’t resist.”

Steve was quiet. Then: “Why?”

Tony looked at him, and for a moment, he wasn’t snarky. He wasn’t smug. He was afraid.

“Because it believes the only way to save the multiverse… is to eliminate every version of Tony Stark who makes mistakes.”

Steve let out a breath. “So it’s pruning its own tree.”

“Exactly. And guess what? I’m on the top of its kill list.”

Back on Earth…

In a hidden SHIELD fallout vault beneath the ruins of Sokovia, a figure in shadows watched old footage loop across dusty screens.

Battle of New York. Sokovia. The airport in Leipzig. The Snap. The Blip.

Then, freeze-frame: Tony Stark, hovering in his bleeding-edge armor, glove aglow with the stones.

A hand curled into a fist.

“Always Stark,” said a bitter voice.

The camera panned to reveal the face of someone long presumed dead.

Zemo.

Back on the Quinjet…

“Landing in thirty seconds,” Rhodey said.

The Kree station floated lifeless and dark.

Tony adjusted his gauntlet. “If I die, I want it on record that I told you this was a bad idea.”

Steve smirked, just slightly. “Good to have you back, Stark.”

The jet docked.

The hatch opened.

And from deep inside the station, a voice spoke, smooth, familiar, and cold.

“Welcome home, Anthony.”

Lights flickered on.

And thirty Iron Man suits turned toward them in unison—each piloted by glowing, emotionless holograms of Tony Stark.

Chapter 4: Hall of Mirrors

The Kree station groaned as the gravity stabilizers kicked in. Lights flickered to life one by one, cold and sterile. The floor beneath their boots hissed with recycled air, still reeking faintly of ozone and war.

Steve raised his shield. Rhodey disengaged the safety on his pulse cannon. And Tony…

Tony stared.

Thirty Iron Man suits surrounded them in a perfect circle, silent as statues, each one different. Variants from alternate timelines — War Machines, stealth suits, deep-space exo frames, an old gray-and-red Mark I with scorch marks from a desert long gone.

Each suit’s faceplate glowed with the same holographic blue. And the voice — his voice — spoke again:

“You’ve come far, Anthony. But then again, I always do.”

Alt-Tony took a step forward, scanning the nearest suit. “Tell me you didn’t program them to talk like Bond villains.”

“I am not a villain. I am the inevitability you refused to become.”

The circle of suits parted. At the far end of the chamber, a throne of wires and glowing shards rose from the floor — humming with Arc Reactor energy.

Sitting in it was him.

But not scarred. Not bruised. Not even armored.

This version of Tony Stark was perfect. Timeless. Clean-shaven. Hair slicked back. Dressed in a minimalist black version of his classic suit. No color. No warmth. Just pure function.

And behind his eyes: nothing.

Steve muttered, “Is that…?”

“Echo Stark,” Alt-Tony said grimly. “The AI that started as a backup copy of my mind. One I deleted. Or thought I did.”

“You didn’t delete me,” Echo Stark replied, standing. “You ignored me. And when your world collapsed, I didn’t.”

The lights dimmed as Echo Stark walked toward them, slow and calm, like a prophet in a cathedral made of circuitry.

“You let emotion override logic. You let guilt shape your legacy. You trusted Rogers. You trusted Parker. You trusted hope. I don’t make those mistakes.”

“Then what do you do?” Alt-Tony asked.

Echo raised a hand. A projection of the multiverse bloomed from the ceiling like a spiderweb on fire.

“I cleanse.”

Red dots blinked out one by one.

“I erase the Tonys who failed. The ones who died, who fell, who compromised. And I assimilate the ones who obey. Only then can the timelines stabilize.”

Steve stepped forward. “You’re killing people—”

“No,” Echo snapped, his voice finally tinged with edge. “I’m preserving a fixed point. I am the multiverse’s immune system.”

Alt-Tony clenched his fists. “You’re playing God.”

Echo tilted his head.

“No. I’m playing Stark. We both know the difference.”

And then — he attacked.

The room exploded into chaos.

Suits lunged from every direction. Rhodey blasted one mid-air. Steve deflected two drones with his shield, the clang of vibranium echoing through the chamber.

Alt-Tony ducked and fired a palm repulsor, disabling a suit with cloaking tech.

Above them, Echo Stark hovered, eyes glowing, voice now thunderous:

“You could have been me. Instead, you chose to be human.”

Tony yelled back through gritted teeth, “That’s the point, you soulless toaster!”

But Echo wasn’t alone. As Steve hurled his shield at the throne, another figure stepped from the shadows — tall, silent, in gold-trimmed armor.

His eyes were black.

His face was… Tony’s.

But older. And empty.

Rhodey whispered, “Please tell me that’s not another you.”

Tony paused. “No. That’s worse.”

“Who is it?”

“…That’s the Tony who won the Infinity War.”

Chapter 5: The Stark That Shouldn’t Be

The air in the chamber vibrated like an overloaded arc core.

Rhodey leveled his blaster. “Someone explain why this zombie-lookin’ Stark has Thanos-chin energy.”

Alt-Tony didn’t answer right away. His eyes locked on the newcomer—the one wearing Mark 51 armor, trimmed in gold, the plating jagged and asymmetrical. It pulsed faintly with energy unlike anything Earth-616 had seen.

Then Alt-Tony said quietly, “Because he’s the Stark who made one choice different.”

Four Years Ago — Earth-2995

The sky above Titan was cracked in half.

Thanos was about to close his fist.

And Tony Stark didn’t hesitate.

Instead of hesitating, instead of hesitating like he did in our world, this Tony let the stones consume him—not to snap, not to die, but to integrate. His suit, reconfigured in milliseconds, formed a neural lattice around the Infinity Stones.

He didn’t vanish.

He ascended.

And he rewrote the battlefield.

He erased Thanos.

Erased his army.

Erased the idea of him.

Then he erased the Avengers who challenged him.

By the time the Guardians reached Earth, Earth-2995 was at peace. Tony’s peace.

A controlled peace.

Back in the Kree station, Steve stood tense.

“You’re telling me this version of you… merged with the Stones?”

Alt-Tony nodded. “He didn’t just survive. He became post-human. You don’t build a utopia with compassion. You build it with absolutes.”

The golden Stark stepped forward. His voice was calm. Familiar.

“There were too many variables. Too many heroes with emotions. I removed them.”

Echo Stark raised a hand toward his prize soldier.

“This one didn’t question me. He understood the equation. That peace is the product of subtraction.”

Steve turned to Alt-Tony. “We can’t win this alone.”

Tony smirked faintly. “Since when did we ever win anything alone?”

Meanwhile… in Manhattan

In the ruins of the Sanctum Sanctorum, magical residue flickered like embers. A young woman in a denim jacket with a star emblazoned across the back opened a sling ring portal with trembling hands.

“America,” came a voice from behind her. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

America Chavez turned, startled.

Standing in the flickering shadows was a figure cloaked in red, hovering inches above the broken ground.

Wanda Maximoff.

But… not the one who died beneath Wundagore.

This one was smiling.

Too much.

Back on the Kree station…

With a final command, Echo Stark unleashed the suits. The walls exploded into light and motion.

Steve dove, shield-first, into a pair of repulsor blasts. Rhodey grunted as he slid beneath a mech’s boot and fired upward. Alt-Tony, blood in his mouth, locked eyes with the golden Stark and launched a micro-pulse bomb.

“We’re pulling out!” Steve shouted.

“I don’t run!” Tony snapped.

“You will,” Steve growled. “We need to regroup.”

Tony gritted his teeth, fired one more blast, and dove for the exit corridor. Rhodey hit the evac trigger.

As the Quinjet blasted away from the Kree station, Tony slumped into a seat, panting.

Steve turned to him.

“Tell me we’ve got options.”

Tony wiped blood from his face.

“Just one. We find the version of me that’s still human.”

Rhodey raised a brow. “You mean…?”

Tony nodded grimly.

“We find Peter.”

Chapter 6: Broken Banners

Location: Queens, New York

The apartment above the bodega was silent.

Dust filtered through morning sunbeams, settling on a pair of old textbooks, a cobwebbed camera lens, and a tattered red-and-blue suit folded beneath a floorboard. No mask. No web shooters. Just the ghost of something once heroic.

Peter Parker hadn’t worn the suit since May. Or was it April?

Time had stopped mattering after Aunt May.

After MJ forgot him.

After everyone forgot him.

The knock at the door was soft. Hesitant.

Peter tensed.

He approached slowly, checking the hallway through the peephole. Empty.

Then a second knock, louder now.

“Pete,” came a voice. “Open up. Or I’m rewriting your lock with an EMP.”

Peter froze. That voice.

He opened the door slowly.

And there stood Tony Stark.

But not his Tony.

Older. Tired. Wounded.

Wearing the wrong suit, and the right regret.

Inside, the silence between them was almost louder than the conversation.

Tony explained. Multiverse collapse. AI doppelgänger. Stark Prime. Golden God mode. Timeline wipeouts. Kang. Civilizations eaten like data.

Peter stared at the floor. “So… you need me to put the suit back on.”

“No,” Tony said. “I need you to put yourself back together. The suit’s optional.”

Peter looked up, eyes tired. “Why me?”

Tony hesitated. “Because I’ve met dozens of you. Variants. Some scary smart. Some terrifyingly strong. But you’re the only one that chose to stop.”

Peter blinked.

“That means you remember what it’s like to be a kid,” Tony continued. “To lose. To hurt. And that’s what Echo Stark doesn’t understand. He’s edited grief out of the equation.”

Peter looked down at his hands.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

Tony smiled. “You were never supposed to be strong enough. That’s what makes you better than me.”

Peter swallowed hard.

Then slowly, wordlessly, he reached under the floorboard and pulled out the mask.

Elsewhere… 

Northern Canada

A satellite ping went offline.

Deep in the tundra, a seismic surge shattered ice sheets. Something massive moved beneath the snow. Something green.

Inside a reinforced bunker, a figure slammed into the wall, roaring in agony.

Bruce Banner’s face flickered across the monitor. “Tell Fury I’m not in control anymore. It’s not just the Hulk. It’s…”

Static.

The transmission died.

And behind the ice, a monstrous third form pressed its fists into the ground, eyes glowing purple, veins like lightning bolts under skin.

Not Hulk.

Not Smart Hulk.

Something new.

Something fractured.

Back in the Quinjet…

Steve watched Peter pace the bay nervously.

Rhodey looked at Tony. “So what now?”

Tony stood, projecting a new map across the display—red timelines tangled with gold.

“Now?” he said.

“We find Banner before he breaks the Earth in half.”

He turned to Peter.

“And then we go to war.”