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"I'm sorry to tell you this, Henry."
That was the very first thing Henry, the Kryptonian castaway from another world, heard when he came face to face with the star of the movie.
Steven Seagal stood before him, face solemn. "We heard about the altercation yesterday in the dining area. No matter the circumstances, the language you used was... inappropriate.
"Mr. Stark hasn't made any demands, but the other producers feel your continued presence on set would be a risk to the smooth running of the production.
"Let's be honest—without Mr. Stark's support, we never would've gotten access to the USS Missouri. If there's even a chance of further incidents, it's better to avoid the problem altogether. You understand that, right?"
Henry's mind clicked through the facts like a slot machine hitting jackpot.
In this world, there were only two Starks that held that much weight. One: Howard Stark, the legendary inventor and industrialist from World War II. Two: Tony Stark, heir to the empire.
And judging by the age, the burger-stealing little bastard from yesterday could only be one man—Tony freaking Stark.
And Henry had cussed him out, top to bottom, front to back.
Not unjustified, in hindsight. But… still.
The fact that Henry hadn't socked him with a full Kryptonian punch?
Probably only because Fate didn't want to risk messing up the MCU.
Now, thinking it through, Henry's face turned serious.
"I understand, Mr. Seagal. So, what happens now?"
Seagal produced a check and handed it over. "Today's your last day. This covers your wages up through now. If there's any issue with the amount, talk to accounting."
Henry took the check without protest. He was a disposable extra, after all. Digging in over a contract would only make things worse.
Seagal, relieved that there would be no drama, gave a tight nod and extended a hand. "It's a shame, really. I liked working with you. You were better in our fight scenes than half my own guys. I even considered pulling you into my action team. But, well… it is what it is. Hopefully, we'll work together again someday."
"Thank you, Mr. Seagal."
Whether genuine or just Hollywood diplomacy, it was still a classy send-off.
The star left, and as expected, two crew security guys casually "accompanied" Henry as he packed up and got ready to leave set.
He changed out of his villain henchman outfit, tossed his gear into a duffel bag, and headed toward the mess area. On his way, he turned to the two guards trailing him.
"Hey, fellas. Mind if I say goodbye to the chef before I head back to the hotel to pack?"
They exchanged a glance. These were guys Henry had shared smokes with on deck—they weren't the kind to give him trouble.
"Yeah, sure. Just don't linger too long," one said. "The leading lady doesn't have any morning scenes, so you probably won't bump into him. Just… don't stir anything up, all right?"
Henry held up a hand like he was swearing on the Bible. "I'm not here to cause trouble."
The message was clear enough. The production was keeping Tony and the actress apart—for obvious reasons.
When Henry reached the galley, he found Big Al—Wesley the chef—directing cleanup after breakfast.
The two exchanged a fist bump.
"Didn't see you at breakfast, brother," Big Al said, his voice practically rhyming like always.
"Had a little meeting with the star of the show—Steven Seagal himself."
That should've been good news. But Big Al picked up on Henry's tone right away.
"What happened, man?"
Henry pulled the check out of his pocket and gave it a little wave. "My job ends today. I'm out."
"What?! They can't just—!"
"They absolutely can. Termination clause was clear from day one," Henry said with a shrug. "And to be fair, they didn't short me a dime. Even gave me a clean exit."
The chef scowled. "This about yesterday? About that spoiled brat?"
"Yup. Turns out, the burger thief was none other than Tony Stark."
Big Al winced. "Damn. You just found out?"
"I talked to him yesterday, man! Told him you didn't mean anything by it, that you didn't know who he was. He said he wasn't gonna press it!"
Henry raised an eyebrow, surprised and a little touched by Big Al's loyalty.
But then he sighed. "I don't think he pushed it. If it were personal, I'd be getting roasted in front of the whole crew. Tony doesn't strike me as the kind to handle things behind closed doors."
"Probably the producers. They're protecting their golden goose. Nobody wants a repeat clash. And if Tony did pull strings to get the Missouri, then yeah—he's irreplaceable. I'm not."
Wesley sighed deeply. He knew Henry was right. In the world of the elite, powerful people didn't need to demand favors. People offered them preemptively, hoping to be noticed.
If Tony Stark so much as frowned in someone's direction, a dozen sycophants would scramble to "fix the problem" before he even asked.
Wesley had seen it before. And as much as he liked Henry, he couldn't change that.
Meanwhile, Henry was thinking about something else entirely.
Yesterday's burger-thieving punk was, technically, the first superhero-in-the-making he'd met since arriving in this universe.
Sure, he wasn't Iron Man yet—but he'd get there. Eventually.
Still… the guy looked nothing like the actor from the movies.
Out of nowhere, Henry asked, "Hey, Big Al. You ever heard of Robert Downey Jr.?"
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