CanRay

Morgan Stark: How Far From The Tree Chapter 2 Unknown Villain Lair Unknown Day/Time Morgan woke up with a terrible headache and horribly dry mouth. She didn't remember going to sleep, in fact, and knew all three were a bad combination. She opened her eyes slowly, but regretted doing so immediately, the light of the room she was in hurt. It took her an unknown amount of time of slowly working her eyes open to adjust to the light so that it didn't hammer her skull further. Now she knew why so many pictures of her father in his younger years had him wearing dark sunglasses in daytime pictures, if this was what a hangover was like. She looked around the room, not taking long at all. A dirty piece of carpet for a bed, and otherwise it was a concrete box that would be tight for an adult, and was merely small for her young body. A single barred window, letting in sunlight, and a steel door with a little slot in the bottom were the only other things to see that weren't concrete

Morgan Stark: How Far From The Tree September 10th, 2025 Stark Residence “Moooooooooooooooom, at this rate, I might as well do a baking soda volcano. Except that stinky Mikey Peterson is already doing one.” Morgan whined with all the sense of entitlement that an 8-year old could bring up. She had worked weeks on the project before school even started, aiming to prevent last year’s debacle that had gotten her expelled from her first school. The fire hadn’t even been that large, anyhow, and it wasn’t her fault that the classroom was right next to the library. “No, and that’s final. How did you even build yourself a set of power armour?” Virginia “Pepper” Potts-Stark stated and asked. The CEO of Stark Industries was rushing around and really didn’t need to be distracted by her daughter again, especially when a security team was busy boxing up the petite suit of armour the parent and child were arguing about. “I built it in Dad’s garage, from a box of scraps.” Morgan said

I crawled forward, trying to walk as well as I could with my leg feeling busted up, vision going in and out from the pain. I could see another car, somehow pristine in this hellish landscape of fire, brimstone, and broken highway, but no, it isn’t pristine, the body is dented and scratched up like it had been used like a battering ram. The pitted chrome decal on the side advertised that the car was a Dodge Dart Demon, appropriate for where I currently was. The over-sized bumpers were not stock, nor was the external horn on the roof. Was this Hell’s idea of a police car or something? Horns, hooting, and hollering came from behind me, the chasers were getting closer, always on my back. I don’t hesitate, and throw open the driver’s side door, and a skeletonized body falls out, tattered rags that once were clothing caught in joints keeping him together, and a sawed-off shotgun in his hand. I pull him out of the car, climb in, and jerk the shotgun out of his blackened fingers