One Punch MCU

[TheLastDreamer]

Morning light shone through the glass windows of the Stark mansion underground workshop.

Tony stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling whiteboard, holding a dry-erase marker. The board was covered with his writings. Near the center, a single number was circled four times.

A cold cup of coffee sat on the workbench behind him.

The door slid open and Happy walked in carrying two fresh coffees. He stopped to look at the board.

"You didn't sleep," Happy asked.

"No," Tony said, his eyes fixed on the board.

Happy set the coffee down. "Still thinking about Pajama Man?"

"Happy, that guy punched another into the Hudson," Tony said.

"Yeah..."

"Without any buildup." Tony capped the marker and tossed it onto the bench. "Like I said physics doesn't negotiate, Happy. So why'd it make an exception yesterday?"

The door slid open again. Pepper Potts walked in holding a stack of manila folders.

"The legal team has been up since four," Pepper said, setting the folders down. "NYPD wants a statement about the gala, the insurance adjusters are asking about the taxicab, and two board members are asking why our security couldn't stop four guys in an SUV."

Tony kept staring at the whiteboard.

Pepper looked at the dark circles under his eyes. "You're looking for him."

Tony picked up a fresh marker. "Already found him."

Pepper blinked. "...Excuse me?"

"Lost him again," Tony muttered.

Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose. "Tony, there was an attempted kidnapping on Manhattan soil. We need to handle the press."

"Happy's handling it," Tony said, walking past her toward the elevator.

Happy looked up. "I am?"

"You're driving," Tony said. "Let me know when the press gets here."

...

The Maybach rolled slowly down a street on the Lower East Side.

"Where do we start?" Happy asked. "New York's got eight million people."

"Anywhere cheap," Tony said from the backseat. "A guy who worries about a cheap hot dog isn't hanging out at the Plaza."

Two blocks later, Happy slowed the car.

Outside a Japanese grocery store, Saitama stopped walking. Stacked behind the glass were packages of instant udon. He pulled out his wallet and looked inside. He closed it, then opened it again as tho money might magically appear inside the empty leather pouch. He looked up at the price tag printed on the window sign and let out a quiet sigh.

"...Too expensive," Saitama muttered.

Tony opened the car door and stepped onto the sidewalk. He walked up beside him, leaning against the wall.

"Hungry?" Tony asked.

Saitama didn't look over. "...Udon."

"Get in," Tony said, gesturing toward the car.

Ten minutes later, Tony sat in the booth of a Midtown restaurant. Saitama sat across from him in his yellow suit.

A waiter approached, handing over two leather-bound menus. Saitama opened his, stared at the dense rows of English words for three seconds, on realizing he couldn't read a single letter he quietly closed it.

"Order whatever you want," Tony told him.

Saitama looked up at the waiter. "...Udon?"

"Yes, sir," the waiter said.

Saitama nodded. "...Okay."

"Bring him a big bowl," Tony added. "Hot broth."

The waiter took the menus and left.

Tony pulled a silver pen from his pocket, grabbed a cloth napkin, and began sketching lines.

"...No recoil," Tony muttered, drawing an arrow. "...No crater." He drew another line. "...No pressure wave." He looked up. "...Do you have any idea how annoying that is?"

Saitama pulled a pair of chopsticks apart as the waiter set down a massive bowl of noodle soup. Saitama's eyes brightened for a second. He leaned over and pulled a heavy clump of noodles into his mouth.

Tony looked up from his napkin. "Why'd you hit him?"

Saitama swallowed. "...Hot dog."

Tony waited. "...The hot dog."

"...He hit," Saitama said.

"...So you launched him into the Hudson."

Saitama shrugged, taking another bite. "...Lunch gone."

Tony looked back down at the napkin, drawing another line. "...Are you listening?"

"...Can eat and listen," Saitama said, before immediately slurping a long strand of noodles.

Tony clicked his pen shut and tossed it on the table. "I have a job opening. Work for me."

Saitama paused with his chopsticks. "...Pay?"

"Yes," Tony said. "Stand near me. Bodyguard stuff. Someone shoots, you hit."

"...Dangerous?"

"...Sometimes," Tony said. On seeing him hesitate Tony pivoted to. "Apartment. Your own place."

Saitama's chopsticks stopped.

"...Big?" Saitama asked.

Tony blinked. "Compared to?"

Saitama thought for a second. "...Closet."

Tony laughed. "Yes. Real bed. Kitchen."

Saitama set his chopsticks down, looking at him with actual interest.

"Food, too," Tony added. "How much do you eat?"

"...A lot."

"I noticed," Tony said. "As much as you want. I'll cover it."

Saitama thought it over. "...Food first."

Tony smiled. "Deal."

From the entrance, Happy watched them. He started walking over.

"Tony," Happy said.

Tony ignored him, watching Saitama drink the broth.

"Tony."

"...Tony!"

Tony looked back annoyed. "What?"

"He's your bodyguard now?" Happy asked, pointing at Saitama. "What about me?"

"You're still my bodyguard, Happy," Tony said.

"Then what is he?"

Tony gestured toward Saitama, who was tipping the giant bowl back to get every drop of soup. "Congratulations, Happy. You have help."

Across the street, a black sedan sat along the curb.

Agent Phil Coulson sat in the passenger seat with a cup of coffee. He lowered his binoculars.

The agent driving turned around. "Target is inside with Stark. Should we move in?"

Coulson took a sip of coffee. He watched through the restaurant window as Tony spoke to the man in yellow.

"No," Coulson said.

"Sir?" the driver asked. "Director Fury wants this individual contained."

"He's not causing a disturbance," Coulson said, adjusting his tie. "And right now, Stark is doing our job for us. Let's see what Mr. Stark thinks he's doing."

Tony slid a sleek, embossed black business card across the table.

"My office," Tony said. "Be there at nine tomorrow."

Saitama picked up the card. He turned it sideways, then upside down, squinting at the raised lettering.

Tony watched him.

"...You don't know where that is."

Saitama looked up.

"...No."

Tony sighed.

"Give that to any cab driver."

Saitama looked at the napkin.

"...Cab?"

Tony blinked.

"Taxi."

"...Ah."

Saitama nodded, and slipped the card into his wallet beside the stack of yen.

 

[CrazyDarkstar23]

I'm kinda surprised tony hasn't tried speaking Japanese or at the very least asking him what language he speaks since he knows saitama knows little English.
Although hearing saitama do a caveman impression is amusing enough.

 

[TheLastDreamer]

CNBC played on the wall-mounted screen in front of the executive boardroom, the sound muted. The news ticker showed Stark Industries stock down three percent, a red headline read: GALA SECURITY FAILURES RAISE QUESTIONS IN MIDTOWN.

Obadiah Stane sat at the head of the conference table. Around him, senior board members spoke over one another.

"...insurance adjusters are demanding access to the site…"

"...the mayor's office called twice before eight…"

"...four armed men in broad daylight, Obie!"

Obadiah raised a hand.

"Gentlemen," Obadiah said. "We survived two recessions and the end of the Cold War. We will survive whatever dent this causes. The NYPD is handling the investigation, and our PR team is drafting a response."

"And Tony?" a board member asked. "Where is he?"

"Tony is doing what Tony does best," Obadiah said softly. "Focusing on the future. Let me handle him."

The board members gathered their folders and filed out the glass doors. Later Pepper Potts stepped inside, carrying a clipboard and a stack of printed memos.

Obadiah leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of water. About time, he thought. Aloud, he asked, "Tell me he didn't crash another car."

"No," Pepper said. "Tonys hired someone."

Obadiah looked up. "Finally. Someone with a badge and a background check, I hope. Who is he? Ex-Secret Service? Blackwater?"

Pepper considered explaining, then decided against it. "...You should probably see him first."

….

The glass elevator rose towards the top floor.

Obadiah stood outside the doors, adjusting his tie. He expected a broad-shouldered operative, someone whose resume was as clean as his haircut.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open.

He saw a bald man wearing a yellow jumpsuit with a blackened bullet hole burned into the chest walk out. A white cape hung off his shoulders. Under his arm, he carried a plastic grocery bag containing two pork buns.

The smile remained on Obadiah's face.

Tony hired... this?

It took Obadiah a moment to regain his composure

Looking at the bearded man in the three-piece suit, Saitama stopped.

Obadiah extended a hand. "Obadiah Stane. Executive Vice President."

Saitama shifted his plastic bag to his left hand and shook Obadiah's hand. "...Saitama. Good meet."

Tony stepped out of the elevator behind him, holding a cup of coffee. He walked past Obadiah without stopping.

Obadiah looked from the bald man to Tony's back. "Military?"

Tony stopped, turning around with a smirk. "You're late to that conversation."

Tony kept walking, heading straight down the executive wing. Obadiah watched them disappear around the corner. Tony better not have brought a stray civilian oddities onto the executive floor without an explanation.

Ten minutes later, Obadiah stood in the glass hallway outside the human resources department, holding his cell phone to his ear.

"Security," a voice answered on the line.

"It's Stane," Obadiah said. "I need the file on Tony's new personal guard. Clearance level, badge number, background check."

"Ah... Mr. Stane," the security chief hesitated. "He doesn't have a badge."

Obadiah narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Mr. Stark brought him straight up from the garage. He bypassed visitor registration entirely. There's no file."

Obadiah hung up. He walked straight into the HR director's office and shut the door.

"Where are his tax forms?" Obadiah asked.

The HR director looked up from her computer. "Whose tax forms, Mr. Stane?"

"Saitama. The new hire."

She typed on her keyboard, scrolling through the roster. "I don't have a Saitama in the system. Is he a new recruit? Should I look him up?"

"Yes, here is footage from one of our security cameras,"Obadiah said.

She continued typing on her screen and said "I don't see a Social Security number, no I-9, no direct deposit.""

Obadiah looked at the screen.

No Social Security number. No I-9. No direct deposit.

Nobody can hire a man who doesn't officially exist.

He turned and walked out.

Down in the garage, Happy was leaning against the Maybach, checking his watch.

"Happy," Obadiah said.

Happy looked away, scratching the back of his neck. "Morning, Mr. Stane."

"Where'd Tony pick him up?"

"Look, Obie..." Happy shifted his weight. "We found him near 52nd. Tony bought him some food, talked to him for ten minutes, and offered him a job. Beats me why. Guy just stands there while Tony talks to himself."

Bought with lunch?

Obadiah nodded slowly, keeping his expression neutral. "Right. Thanks, Happy."

Down in the workshop, lights hummed over a row of testing equipment.

Tony sat on a rolling stool in front of a monitor and a steel pressure pad mounted to the wall. Saitama stood nearby, eating a cold pork bun.

"Easy one," Tony said, clicking a stylus against his tablet. "Light goes green. Touch the pad. Try not to break anything."

Saitama chewed slowly. "...Tap."

"Red light turns green, tap the pad," Tony repeated.

A small red LED on the wall glowed brightly. Three seconds passed.

The LED flashed green.

Saitama raised his index finger and tapped the steel pad.

A sharp beep echoed through the workshop. The monitor flickered, then displayed three red words: ERROR: RANGE EXCEEDED.

Tony frowned. Glitch. "Again."

He reset the system, adjusting the optical sensitivity.

The red light turned green. Saitama tapped the pad.

ERROR: SENSOR DISCONNECT.

Again?

Tony lowered his tablet and walked over to the wall. He reached up, touching the high-speed tracking housing. A thin, spiderweb crack ran straight through the center of the optical lens.

"Great," Tony muttered.

Saitama took another bite of his pork bun. "...Done?"

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, his brain started hurting. "Yeah. Go find Happy. Tell him to show you where the coffee machine is."

Saitama nodded, turned around, and walked toward the glass elevator.

Tony kept staring at the cracked lens, tapping his fingers against his knee.

…

The executive floor was dark. Only Obadiah's monitor remained lit.

He held a secure satellite phone to his ear.

"I want everything you have on Stark's new bodyguard," Obadiah whispered into the receiver.

"We ran the name through our network," a voice crackled through the phone. "Nothing. He doesn't exist in any federal database, state record, or international intelligence grid."

Obadiah tapped his fingernails against the desk. "Everyone leaves footprints. Find his."

"I sent you what little we pulled from local traffic feeds," the contractor replied. "That's all there is."

A quiet chime signaled an incoming file on Obadiah's computer. He clicked the icon.

A single surveillance photograph opened on his screen. It showed the bald man standing outside a small bodega in his yellow suit, staring intently at a crate of cabbage.

Below the photo, a brief text report read:

SUBJECT: Saitama

ORIGIN: Unknown

CITIZENSHIP: Unknown

PRIOR EMPLOYMENT: Unknown

MILITARY RECORD: Unknown

FINGERPRINTS: No Match (NYPD Database)

CLEARANCE: Unknown

Obadiah looked at the photograph.

"Can he be bought?" Obadiah asked.

"Unknown," the contractor on the line replied. "We don't even have a bank account to trace."

Obadiah leaned back. He closed the file with a single click then said softly. "Remove him.'

In an unmarked warehouse in Queens, a computer screen glowed in the dark.

A mercenary team leader stepped up to the desk and looked down at the printed picture of a bald man in a yellow suit holding a cabbage.

He read the file summary, then looked back at the picture.

A short, quiet laugh escaped his throat.

"One bald guy?" the team leader asked, tossing the folder onto the table. "That's what he's worried about?"

 

[CrazyDarkstar23]

Honestly that tracks. Saitama doesn't really need much to be content. Some food, maybe some entertainment, and letting him go be a hero when he sees something and bam.

 

[MetalGearDull]

Very interested to see how far this gets!

 

[TheLastDreamer]

Pepper dropped a folder onto the workbench beside the cracked optical tracker.

"Payroll sent him back."

Tony looked up from the tracker. "They fired him already? That's efficient."

"They didn't hire him."

Crunch. Saitama sat on the end of the workbench, eating cornflakes out of the cardboard box.

Pepper turned to him, clicking a pen. "Current address?"

Saitama stopped chewing. "...No address."

"Previous address?"

"Z-City."

Pepper waited then sighed. "No address"

Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose. "No Social Security number. No passport."

Tony stopped twirling his screwdriver. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a black card, and tossed it across the room.

The metal clattered against the workbench. Saitama took it.

"Food, clothes, transit," Tony said. "Use it."

Saitama turned the black card over in his hand. "...How much?"

"No limit," Tony said.

Saitama looked at the card. "...No limit?"

"Basically."

Saitama looked at the card again.

"Take him shopping, Happy," Tony called out as Happy walked through the door. "Get him out of those pajamas."

Happy looked at Saitama's dirty yellow suit, his eyes fixing on the scorched hole over the chest. "Thank God."

Saitama looked down at himself. "...Suit fine."

"It has a hole in it," Happy said.

"...Small," Saitama said.

ln an unmarked gray surveillance van parked at Manhattan avenue, two men wearing headsets stared at monitors linked to a rooftop camera.

"Target is mobile," the spotter said into his mic. "Leaving Stark facility in a black Maybach. Passenger seat."

Across the street, the team leader sat in a separate sedan. "Maintain visual. Keep your distance until he separates from Stark's driver."

The Maybach pulled over near a commercial strip. Saitama stepped out. They had stopped at a discount clothing rack first. Happy had watched in despair as Saitama passed the jackets and picked out a plain gray T-shirt, a pair of ten-dollar sweatpants, and a pack of white socks.

"Target entering civilian structure," the spotter reported.

Through the telephoto lens, the spotter watched Saitama walk into a discount supermarket. He stopped in front of an upright freezer, turning his head side to side.

"He's checking reflections," the spotter said.

Saitama rubbed a smudge off his bald head using his glove, then turned around.

Ten minutes later, Saitama stood perfectly motionless in the middle of aisle four, holding two identical boxes of family-sized ramen. He stared at the boxes.

"He's been stationary for eleven minutes," the spotter said.

"Why?" the team leader asked over the comms.

In the aisle, Saitama held both boxes out to Happy. "...Which cheap?"

Happy looked at them. "You have a card with no limit."

Saitama kept holding them out. "...Which?"

Happy sighed and checked the price tags.

Happy drove him another three blocks before Saitama suddenly pointed out the window. "Stop."

"What? A department store?"

"There."

Happy parked. He looked across the sidewalk.

It was a cramped, faded storefront with a peeling paper sign in the window: ALTERATIONS & REPAIRS.

Saitama walked straight up to the elderly woman behind the counter. He unzipped his yellow jumpsuit, stepped out of it, and handed the suit and his white cape over the counter.

Underneath, he was wearing the new ten-dollar gray sweatpants and the plain T-shirt.

The woman took the suit, squinting through thick glasses at the hole in the chest. "Bullet?"

"...Yes," Saitama said.

She looked at him. He looked at her.

"Five dollars. Ready in twenty minutes."

"...Okay," Saitama said. He took a numbered paper ticket and walked out into the side alley to wait.

Across the street, the gray van's doors clicked open.

"Target stripped his tactical layer," the spotter whispered. "He's isolated. Move in."

The gray van pulled smoothly into the mouth of the alley, blocking the exit. The sliding door rolled back. Two men in dark jackets stepped out.

The first operative closed the distance behind Saitama, stepping in and grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the open van door.

Saitama didn't budge.

The man grunted, planting his boots, and pushed again. Nothing.

The second operative grabbed Saitama's other arm, throwing his entire body weight backward. Saitama's feet stayed perfectly flat on the concrete.

Inside the van, the driver hissed. "What are you doing?"

"We're trying!"

Saitama looked into the dark van. "...Why?"

He took a step backward.

Both mercenaries, still gripping his arms with everything they had, were instantly yanked off their feet. They crashed face-first onto the sidewalk.

The men scrambled up, stumbling backward over each other in panic.

"Abort! Go!" one of them yelled, diving into the back of the van. The doors slammed shut. Tires shrieked against the pavement as the van reversed wildly out of the alley and sped away into traffic.

Saitama watched them go. "...Weird."

Ten minutes later, a black sedan pulled up behind the parked Maybach.

Agent Phil Coulson stepped out. He looked at the fresh skid marks leaving the alley. He looked at Happy , whose hand was resting inside his jacket on the grip of his pistol.

"Happy Hogan?" Coulson asked.

Happy looked at him. "Who's asking?"

Coulson showed his ID. "Phil Coulson." He looked back at the skid marks. "Bad afternoon?"

Happy slowly pulled his hand out of his jacket. "You could say that."

A bell jingled above the repair shop door. The elderly woman stepped out.

"Number forty-two!" she called out.

Saitama was on his feet immediately. He walked over to the counter and handed her five dollars.

He walked back to the car holding the suit. A noticeably mismatched yellow patch had been stitched perfectly over the hole in the chest. Coulson watched him the entire time.

.....

In his darkened office, Obadiah Stane's cell phone rang.

He picked it up.

"We're done," the mercenary leader said.

"You haven't completed the job."

"Then don't pay us."

Obadiah was silent. "I'm doubling it."

"Find someone else."

The line went dead.

Obadiah set the phone beside the keyboard. The surveillance photograph was still open on his monitor. Saitama stood outside the bodega with a cabbage tucked under one arm.

Obadiah enlarged the image.

That evening, the glass doors of Tony's workshop slid open.

Tony was sitting at his desk, looking at an expense report on his tablet.

"Eighteen dollars and forty-seven cents. That's all you spent?" Tony asked.

Saitama, now back in his newly patched yellow jumpsuit, took a seat on the stool. "...Yes."

"Why?"

"Sale," Saitama said.

Tony stared at him. He closed the tablet. "Afghanistan tomorrow. You're coming with me."

Saitama looked at him. "...Afghanistan?"

"Got some work there."

Saitama considered it. "...Where?"

"A bit west."

"...No."

Tony leaned forward. "Steak."

Saitama stopped.

"All you can eat," Tony said.

Saitama looked back. "...All?"

"All."

Saitama nodded. "What time?"

Pepper looked up from the folder in her hands. "You do remember he doesn't have a passport."

Tony looked at Saitama. Saitama looked at Tony.

"...Steak?" Saitama asked.

 

[The Radiance's Follower]

Dude. Saitama canonically will literally eat as much as he wants when it's on somebody's else dime. I feel like you made him too much of a pussy. Too reactionary. He's too OOC for me to be able to say "This is Saitama." He's really not. He is frugal with his money, not other people's money.

Saitama is a hero. He's apathetic. But he's brave and confident. He's not subdued and submissive.

Saitama speaks in full sentences, he looks at people in the eyes. He's not shy and most of all, he is very confrontational. Making him speak in just a few lines just doesn't make sense. He's acting like a traumatized child.

Heck, you can replace Saitama with a superhuman traumatized child who has PTSD and this characterization will be more accurate.

 

[Breezely Bear]

Sorry about this. I'm aware that people have already mentioned this, but the characterization of Saitama in this is way off.

 

[TheLastDreamer]

"...Steak?" Saitama asked.

Pepper didn't look up from her folder. "He doesn't have a passport."

"It's my plane," Tony said.

"You're landing at a military installation in Afghanistan, Tony. You can't bring a legally nonexistent person onto a Defense Department trip."

Happy crossed his arms. "She's got a point."

Tony looked at him. "Whose side are you on?"

"The side that doesn't get detained overseas," Happy said.

Saitama looked back and forth between them. "...No steak?"

"I believe we can resolve this. Agent Phil Coulson S.H.I.E.L.D"

Phil walked into the workshop, his suit perfectly pressed. He held out a crisp, dark blue passport.

Tony took it.

"You made him a person overnight?" Tony asked.

"For travel purposes," Coulson said smoothly. "He's officially cleared as part of your security detail. Assuming, of course, that SHIELD is notified of his itinerary."

Tony opened the document. He frowned. "No last name?"

Coulson looked at Saitama. "He didn't give us one."

"...Not have," Saitama said.

Tony closed the booklet with a snap. "Of course you don't."

The morning sun beat down on the private tarmac as Tony's jet waited on the runway.

Lt. Colonel James Rhodes stood near the boarding stairs in his crisp Air Force uniform. He watched the Maybach pull up. Tony stepped out, followed by a bald man wearing a yellow jumpsuit with a noticeably mismatched patch sewn over the chest.

Rhodey looked at the man. He looked at Tony then back at the man.

"No," Rhodey said.

"You haven't even heard the explanation," Tony said, walking toward the stairs.

"Don't need one."

"He's my new bodyguard," Tony said.

Rhodey looked past Tony to where Happy was pulling a single suitcase from the trunk. "What happened to you?"

"Apparently I got help," Happy muttered.

Rhodey shook his head and followed them up the stairs.

Inside the jet, Saitama poked the plush leather seat.

"...Food?" Saitama asked.

"It's a private jet," Tony said, pouring himself a drink.

Saitama nodded. He sat down, ate the first plate of catered food the flight attendant brought him, and fell asleep almost immediately. For most of the flight, while Tony and Rhodey drank like the night depended on it and the flight attendants danced to the tunes, Saitama didn't move.

The heat hit them the second the cabin door opened at Bagram Air Base.

Military transports rumbled across the tarmac. Personnel moved cargo between Humvees. The air smelled of jet fuel and hot sand. Tony adjusted his sunglasses, walking down the stairs as an officer stepped forward to greet him.

Saitama stepped off the stairs, squinting in the blinding light.

"...Atsui," Saitama muttered, fanning his face with a glossy Stark Industries brochure.

Rhodes paused. "What does that mean?"

"...Hot."

An hour later, they stood on a ridge overlooking a vast, empty desert valley. Military brass and armed escorts flanked Tony as he stepped up to a podium.

"They say the best weapon is the one you never have to fire," Tony told the crowd, his voice carrying over the wind. "I respectfully disagree. I prefer the weapon you only have to fire once."

He raised his hands.

Behind him, the Jericho missile launched. It arced high into the sky, split into a dozen separate warheads, and slammed into the distant mountain range.

BOOM.

A massive shockwave ripped across the desert, kicking up a wall of sand and dust. The soldiers cheered. Tony lowered his arms, turning back to the crowd with a satisfied smirk.

Saitama's cape snapped violently in the shockwave. He watched the mountain crumble into dust.

"...Loud," Saitama said.

Tony looked at him over the rim of his sunglasses. "That's your review?"

Saitama looked back at the scorched mountainside. "...Expensive?"

"Very," Tony said.

Saitama thought about it. "...Could punch."

Tony closed his eyes for a second. "We're not putting that in the brochure."

The convoy of armored Humvees idled in the dirt, waiting to move out.

A young soldier standing near the lead vehicle looked at Saitama's suit, adjusting his rifle sling. "So what are you supposed to be?"

"...Hero," Saitama said.

The soldier smiled. "Seriously?"

"...For fun," Saitama added.

Tony heard it from the passenger seat. He looked at Saitama, knowing the bald man wasn't trying to joke.

"Get in," Tony said.

Saitama climbed into the back of the Humvee. Rhodey took the vehicle behind them. The convoy began rolling out across the rocky, uneven desert road.

Inside the Humvee, the air conditioning struggled against the midday sun. Two soldiers sat up front, while the young soldier sat next to Saitama, grinning as Tony charmed the crew.

"Is this really your bodyguard?" the driver asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

Tony gestured loosely. "Newest acquisition."

"...Employee," Saitama corrected, staring out the window.

"We're still working on branding," Tony said.

BOOM.

The Humvee ahead of them disappeared in a blinding ball of fire.

Tires screeched as the driver slammed the brakes. Gunfire erupted from the rocky ridges on both sides of the road. Bullets hammered against the vehicle.

The soldiers in the Humvee shouted orders, kicking their doors open to return fire into the dust.

Saitama stepped out behind them, blinking through the smoke.

The air was thick with the deafening crack of automatic weapons. He looked around. A U.S. soldier fired toward one ridge. Another fired in the opposite direction as rounds struck the Humvee's armor.

Saitama looked from one group to another.

"...Who?" Saitama asked.

Tony scrambled out of the front seat, diving for cover behind a tire. "The guys shooting at us!"

A sharp, high-pitched whistle cut through the gunfire.

An RPG streaked down from the ridge, aimed directly at Tony's Humvee.

Rhodey saw it from the vehicle behind them.

Saitama looked toward the sound.

He reached out and caught it.

Smoke curled from the tail of the metal cylinder resting in his glove.

"...This?" Saitama muttered.

He tossed it straight up.

A second later, it exploded well above the convoy, showering the dirt with harmless sparks.

Rhodey stopped firing. He looked at Saitama.

"Tony," Rhodey shouted over the noise.

Bullets continued to chew the dirt. Saitama stepped away from the Humvee, dusting sand off his cape.

Another explosion tore through the dirt a few yards away, throwing a cloud of shrapnel and sand over their position.

Tony coughed, wiping dust from his eyes. He looked down.

Half-buried in the sand inches from his knee was a broken missile casing. Stenciled across the faded olive-green metal were crisp black letters:

STARK INDUSTRIES

Tony stared at it.

Saitama crouched down next to him. He looked at the metal casing, then at Tony's face.

"...Yours?" Saitama asked.

Tony didn't answer.

Nearby, a wounded soldier dragged himself into the dirt behind the Humvee.

Saitama looked at him.

Then the young soldier from earlier cried out, clutching his shoulder as he fell against the vehicle's rear tire.

Saitama crouched beside him. "...Daijōbu?"

No answer. The soldier was breathing heavily, trying to stanch the bleeding.

Gunfire struck the dirt beside them.

Saitama looked toward the ridge. Gunfire flashed from several points along the rocks.

Another burst hit the Humvee.

He stood.

"...Oi," Saitama said.

[

Fellow readers, I know many of you are dissatisfied with Saitama's behavior. Don't worry, I'll be developing his character more in the coming chapters.

Also, his difficulty speaking English is intentional. I know Saitama is confident and brave, but he is also completely lost right now. He's in a different world with no idea what to do or where to go. I'm not trying to make him look weak or cowardly.

He's a hero who doesn't want to hurt people, so for now, he's trying to find a way to become part of society while figuring out how to get back home.

I hope you'll give him some time. There's more to come.

By the way, I've already released three more chapters on my Patreon for anyone who wants to read ahead.

Thank you again for your patience and support!

Patreon: https://patreon.com/TheLastDreamer

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[bloodyparty]

I like it the premise so far, what i have trouble with is the lack of saitama as a character. After the first chapter, we haven't really had any internal monologue or read any thoughts of him (besides "hungry").
Imo, he feels a bit more like a plot device happening rather than the mc or person at this point.

Still, looks like a fun read, watched.

 

[The Radiance's Follower]

I hope you'll give him some time. There's more to come.

Click to shrink...

Will look forward to it. The Marvel universe will have him drop the "for fun" part of "hero for fun."

 

[CrazyDarkstar23]

I don't think saitama would have problems with killing humans attacking him.
Still very surprised tony nor those around him didn't get a Japanese speaker to translate