Batcave, Gotham City
The Batcave's constant ambient sounds - water dripping, bats chittering, servers humming - had long since become Bruce's preferred working environment. The massive screens of the Batcomputer cast blue-white light across his face as he studied the latest analysis results, his expression growing harder with each new data point.
"The radiation signature is unlike anything in our database," he muttered, more to himself than to Alfred, who was arranging a fresh cup of coffee beside him. "The molecular structure shouldn't be possible according to known physics."
"Rather like having an alien flying around Metropolis, I suppose," Alfred commented dryly. His eyes tracked across the readings from Centennial Park. "Though I notice our corporate connections have been particularly active since that demonstration."
"More than active." Bruce brought up shipping manifests, highlighting specific entries. "Heavy weapons moving through Gotham's ports have tripled in the last week alone. All traced back to the same shell companies LuthorCorp used to acquire their 'mineral samples.'"
The computer chimed softly as a new communication came through. Lucius Fox's face appeared on one of the side screens, looking as impeccable as ever despite the late hour.
"Mr. Wayne," Lucius greeted him with his characteristic understated smile. "I've completed the analysis you requested on those energy readings from Metropolis."
"And?"
"Fascinating stuff. The mineral's radiation signature suggests properties that could revolutionize energy production, medical technology..." Lucius paused meaningfully. "Or weapons development, in the wrong hands."
"Which explains Luthor's interest," Bruce noted. "But not Stane's. Stark Industries was already leading the field in weapons tech before Tony shut it down."
"Perhaps it's not about the weapons themselves," Alfred suggested. "The effects we observed during the confrontation..."
Bruce nodded, bringing up footage from the fight. "Corbin's deteriorating mental state. The way the radiation seemed to amplify his aggression while degrading his higher functions." His fingers flew across the keyboards. "Lucius, what do you make of these neural patterns?"
"Troubling," Fox replied, studying the data. "The mineral doesn't just affect physical systems - it rewrites neural pathways. Makes the subject more aggressive, more unstable. And the effects appear cumulative."
"They knew," Bruce's voice hardened. "Luthor and Stane. They knew what it would do to him."
"Indeed." Lucius's expression grew more serious. "Which makes one wonder what else they're planning to do with it. I've modified the Batwing's sensors to track the specific radiation signature. Should help you find any stockpiles they're keeping hidden."
"What about the stealth systems?" Bruce asked. "The military presence around their suspected facilities is heavy."
"I've got something that might help with that." Lucius tapped something on his end, sending new schematics to the cave's system. "Experimental adaptive camouflage. Won't make you invisible, but it should confuse most radar systems long enough to get you in close."
"Installation time?"
"Four hours, give or take. I can have it ready before dawn."
Bruce studied the stealth system's specifications. "Do it. I'll head to Applied Sciences after I finish analyzing these shipping routes."
"Very good, sir," Lucius replied. "Though I should mention - the range is still an issue. You'll need to refuel at least once to reach the target area."
"Already planned for that," Bruce brought up a flight path he'd mapped. "There's a gap in their radar coverage between 0200 and 0415 local time. If we time it right..."
"We can avoid detection until it's too late to stop us from investigating?" Alfred finished dryly. "How reassuring."
Bruce's attention returned to the footage from Centennial Park, watching how the kryptonite radiation had poured off Metallo in waves as his behavior became more erratic. "Whatever they're building toward, we need to understand it. The weapons shipments, the mineral, Corbin's transformation - it's all connected."
"And the fact that both LuthorCorp and Stark Industries have significant contracts with the military?" Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Merely coincidence, I'm sure."
"No coincidences," Bruce muttered, bringing up more data. "General Ross's name keeps appearing in classified documents related to the mineral research. And I've tracked at least three shipments of heavy weapons that went from Stark facilities directly to LuthorCorp subsidiaries."
"Under Mr. Stane's authorization, no doubt," Lucius noted. "Though I find it interesting that these shipments began right after Mr. Stark's announcement about stopping weapons production."
Bruce nodded. "Stane's been moving pieces behind the scenes. The question is - what's his endgame? And how does it connect to whatever Luthor's planning?"
"The new stealth system should help you get those answers," Lucius said. "I'll have everything ready in the Applied Sciences hangar. Though I should warn you - it hasn't been fully tested at high altitudes."
"It'll have to do." Bruce was already standing, moving toward where the Batsuit waited. "Alfred, keep monitoring those shipping routes. If anything changes..."
"I shall alert you immediately." Alfred watched him suit up with practiced efficiency. "Though perhaps this time you might consider waiting for full daylight before infiltrating heavily guarded military installations?"
Bruce's only response was a slight grunt as he secured the last pieces of armor. The cape settled around his shoulders with familiar weight as he headed toward the vehicle bay.
"The Wayne Foundation benefit is on Thursday," Alfred reminded him. "In case you were planning an extended investigation."
"Tell them I'm in Monaco."
"In May, sir?"
"They never check the details anyway." Bruce paused at the Batmobile. "Lucius, how long to get the stealth system calibrated once it's installed?"
"An hour, maybe two. I'll need to run a full diagnostic to be sure it can handle the stress of high-altitude operation."
"Do it. I'll finish some work here, then meet you at Applied Sciences." Bruce's attention returned to the computer displays. "In the meantime, keep digging into those LuthorCorp shell companies. I want to know every connection between them and Stark Industries."
The Batcomputer's alert cut through Bruce's concentration, red warning lights flashing across the cave's dark walls.
"Break-in at Gotham Museum of Art," he read, fingers flying across keyboards as he pulled up security feeds. "Multiple armed suspects."
"Curious timing," Alfred noted, studying the footage of dark figures disabling security systems with military precision. "The museum just opened their new international antiquities exhibition."
"Artifacts from private collectors," Bruce's eyes narrowed as data scrolled across screens. "Pieces from Afghanistan, China, Russia, Brazil..." His voice trailed off as the Batcomputer's sensors detected something unusual. "Alfred, look at these radiation readings."
"Most peculiar, sir. Similar atomic structure to the mineral from Metropolis, but..."
"Different wavelengths." Bruce enhanced the scans, watching energy patterns shift and pulse. "Each artifact's giving off a unique signature. Red, blue, white..." He stood, jaw set with determination. "This isn't a simple art theft."
A slight smile touched his lips as he looked toward where the Batsuit waited in its armored case. "This looks like a job for The Batman."
"When is it ever not with you?" Alfred sighed, but Bruce caught the hint of a smile as he moved toward the suit. Every piece waited exactly where it belonged - a habit he'd picked up during his training years that even Alfred had stopped teasing him about.
Suiting up had become almost meditative over the years. The base layer felt like a second skin now, its reinforced fabric providing protection without sacrificing mobility. He'd stopped noticing the weight of the kevlar armor years ago, though he still remembered his early nights when every movement had felt clumsy and restricted.
His fingers found each compartment on the utility belt without looking - muscle memory built from countless nights when fumbling for the wrong tool might have meant death. The gauntlets clicked into place with satisfying precision, their serrated fins catching the cave's dim light. He flexed his hands, feeling the familiar resistance.
The cape settled around his shoulders like an old friend. Bruce smiled slightly, remembering how many times Lucius had caught him testing its gliding capabilities in the R lab after hours. What had started as theatrical necessity had become one of his most versatile tools.
Then the cowl - the final piece that completed the change. The white lenses enhanced his night vision while protecting his eyes from debris and smoke. Five years, and the way it changed his peripheral vision still took a moment to adjust to. But it was worth it for the protection it provided, and the fear it inspired.
"Systems check," he growled, his voice dropping naturally into Batman's deeper register. The change wasn't just physical anymore - it was who he became when Gotham needed him.
"Everything's looking good from here," Alfred replied, monitoring the suit's basic functions. "Though perhaps we should let Mr. Fox know about these unusual readings?"
"Later." Bruce was already heading for the Batmobile, its black surface gleaming like wet ink under the cave's lights. The car had grown with him over the years, each close call teaching them something new about what Gotham's protector needed.
He ran his hand along the armored hull as he approached - another habit Alfred teased him about. But the Batmobile was more than just a vehicle. Every plate and component had been tested in combat, refined through trial and error. Sometimes bloody error.
The seat welcomed him as the canopy sealed shut with a soft hiss. The instrument panels lit up with a soft blue glow, each gauge and readout exactly where muscle memory would find it. The engine woke with a growl that echoed off cave walls - a sound that had become as much a part of Gotham's nights as police sirens.
"Time to see what our penguin friend wants with glowing artifacts," Bruce said, wrapping his hands around the controls. "Keep an eye on those energy readings."
"Of course, sir." Alfred's voice carried that dry humor Bruce had come to rely on. "Though perhaps this time we could avoid renovating the museum? The Foundation's budget isn't unlimited."
Bruce allowed himself a small smile as he engaged the drive system. The Batmobile surged forward, its raw power still thrilling after all these years. They raced through familiar tunnels, each turn executed with the precision that came from countless nights of urban warfare.
They burst from the hidden exit into Gotham's night, where spring fog was rolling in from the bay. The mist transformed streetlights into hazy halos, perfect cover for the dark car as it merged with shadows. Perfect hunting weather.
Police chatter filled his cowl: "All units, silent alarm at Gotham Museum of Art. Reports of multiple armed suspects..."
Batman cut through Robinson Park, the car's wheels barely touching grass. His mind was already analyzing angles, mapping approaches. The museum's layout was embedded in his memory - three main entrances, multiple skylights, service tunnels that hadn't been used in decades.
He parked in shadows two blocks away, grappling to the roof with silent efficiency. Through the cowl's enhanced vision, he could see Penguin's men moving purposefully through the galleries. Their movements were too precise, too coordinated for common thieves.
Batman moved silently across the museum's roof, the night air heavy with approaching rain. Through the skylights, he watched shadows move through the galleries below with military precision. Not the usual smash-and-grab crew Penguin preferred.
"Running facial recognition," he subvocalized, the cowl's enhanced vision capturing clear images despite the dim lighting. The system began matching faces against his database as each target moved through his field of view. "Former Force Recon. Ex-Blackwater. Russian PMC backgrounds."
"My word," Alfred's voice carried dry amusement through the comm. "It seems Mr. Cobblepot has developed more discerning tastes in hired help during his recent stay at Blackgate."
Crouching near a skylight, Batman studied their movement patterns. The team worked with practiced efficiency, but something was off about their target selections. They were bypassing priceless artifacts - Ming vases, Renaissance sculptures, imperial jewelry - in favor of seemingly random pieces from the new international exhibition.
His attention caught on the artifacts they were loading into specialized containment cases. The items gave off a strange glow that made his cowl's sensors fluctuate: a red vase from China's Gobi Desert, rough blue crystals discovered in Brazilian mining excavations, white stone fragments from a Russian mountain expedition. Each piece pulsed with energy that defied conventional physics.
"Careful with those pieces, idioti!" Penguin's voice echoed through the gallery, his Gotham-inflected Italian carrying barely contained fury. "You break anything, and I'll feed you your own fingers. Capisce?"
The men continued their work without responding, their movements precise and practiced. These weren't common thugs - they handled the artifacts with the care of specialists who understood exactly what they were dealing with.
"Sir," Alfred's tone shifted to concern, "I'm getting readings from those artifacts that match the energy signatures we detected at LuthorCorp. They appear to be variants of the same mineral."
"Someone's been collecting them," Batman murmured, watching another crate being sealed. "Building a stockpile."
"Indeed. Though perhaps we should alert the proper authorities rather than engaging directly? The radiation levels are concerning."
Batman's attention caught on how carefully they were keeping certain pieces separated. "No time. They know what they're doing with these artifacts. Which means they know what they can do."
He moved silently through the rafters, positioning himself for maximum tactical advantage. Eight men total, all armed with military-grade weapons. The veterans kept checking corners, maintaining professional spacing. But the newer recruits were jumpy, fingers too tight on their triggers. Fear would make them sloppy.
Thunder rolled across Gotham as rain began hammering the skylights. Perfect. The storm would mask his entrance.
"Boss!" One of the men called out from inside a reinforced crate. "These pieces are doing something weird. Like they're reacting to each other."
"Then keep them separated, idiota!" Penguin's umbrella tapped impatiently against marble. "Why do I have to explain everything?"
Now. Batman triggered the skylight release, dropping through the gap as glass rained down around him. His cape spread like wings, disorienting the men below. Two batarangs found their marks before anyone could react - one catching a guard's gun hand, another striking a pressure point that dropped its target instantly.
"It's the Bat!" Someone shouted, bringing weapons to bear.
"Well don't just stand there with your thumbs up your asses!" Penguin raised his umbrella. "Kill him!"
Gunfire erupted, bullets sparking off display cases as Batman moved through shadow and smoke. His training took over - each movement economical, each strike calculated. A leg sweep took down one guard while an armored elbow caught another in the solar plexus. The artifacts' radiation was affecting his cowl's systems, creating interference in his thermal imaging, but he'd trained for fighting blind.
"You're too late, Bats!" Penguin called out as his men scrambled for better positions. "These pieces are already bought and paid for. You really think you can stop what's coming?"
Batman didn't waste breath responding. A smoke pellet provided cover as he grappled to the upper gallery. Two more guards went down to precise strikes before they could track his position. Another found himself dangling from a gargoyle, his scream cut short by a nerve strike.
But the artifacts were complicating things. Each color seemed to resonate at a different frequency, creating strange patterns in his vision. The red ones made his muscles tense involuntarily. The blue distorted depth perception. The white ones interfered with his suit's electronics. Individually manageable, but together they were becoming a serious problem.
He dropped behind a pillar as more gunfire filled the space. Three guards left, plus Penguin. The crime boss had taken cover behind a Roman statue, his umbrella's concealed blade catching museum light.
"You know what these are, don't you?" Penguin shouted over the gunfire. "What they mean? The world's changing, Bats. Power shifting. Smart players are choosing sides."
"Like you chose LuthorCorp?" Batman's voice echoed from multiple directions, making the remaining guards spin frantically.
"Luthor?" Penguin laughed. "That corporate psycho's just another guy trying to play catch-up. This is bigger than him. Bigger than all of us."
A guard's footsteps approached Batman's position. Poor trigger discipline - finger already tightening with nerves. Batman waited until the man was nearly past before striking. An armored hand caught the gun barrel, directing it upward as the man fired reflexively. Batman's other hand found nerve clusters in the guard's neck, and consciousness fled.
Two left. They'd clustered together near the artifacts, making rookie mistakes. Fear was doing half of Batman's work for him.
"The minerals," Batman pressed as he moved through shadow. "Where are they coming from?"
"You really think I'm gonna tell you?" Penguin's voice carried forced bravado. "I may be a lot of things, but I ain't stupid."
"No." Batman emerged behind the guards like a nightmare. "Just afraid."
They didn't even have time to turn before precise strikes dropped them. Penguin swung his umbrella in a vicious arc, the blade missing Batman's cowl by inches. Years of street fighting had made Cobblepot dangerous, but he was still just a thug with delusions of grandeur.
Batman caught the next swing, using Penguin's momentum to slam him into a display case. The crime boss tried to recover, but a kick swept his legs out. The umbrella clattered across marble as Batman lifted him by his collar.
"Last chance," Batman growled. "The minerals. Where?"
"You don't get it," Penguin wheezed through a bloody grin. "These are just samples. The real motherlode? That's what everyone's fighting over. Why do you think Stark disappeared in those mountains? What they're really building in Gulmira?"
Batman's hand tightened. "Gulmira?"
"The new gold rush, sweetheart. Except instead of gold, it's rocks that can hurt gods." Penguin coughed out a laugh. "Better hurry if you want a piece. Though I hear the locals are real unfriendly these days."
Police sirens approached outside. Batman zip-tied Penguin securely before triggering his comm. "Alfred, I need the Batwing ready. And contact Gordon - these artifacts need special containment protocols."
"Already done, sir. Though might I suggest leaving the artifacts to the proper authorities? These radiation readings are rather concerning."
"No time." Batman was already moving toward the exit. "Someone's been gathering these minerals, studying them. And after what they did to Corbin in Metropolis..."
"The Batwing's upgraded stealth systems haven't been fully tested," Alfred warned. "A flight to Afghanistan-"
"We don't have a choice." Batman's voice carried grim certainty as he emerged onto the roof. Rain plastered his cape against armor as lightning split the sky. "How long until the plane's ready?"
"Twenty minutes. Though I feel compelled to point out the numerous ways this could go catastrophically wrong."
"Noted." Batman grappled to where he'd hidden the Batmobile. The car's engine roared to life as he dropped into the driver's seat. "Have Lucius upload everything we have on Gulmira. Satellite imagery, troop movements, local militia activities."
"Already begun, sir. Though perhaps we should consider involving Mr. Kent? Given his connection to recent events-"
"No." Batman accelerated through Gotham's rain-slicked streets, the Batmobile's tires finding impossible traction. "Superman's too visible. This needs a different approach."
The cave's waterfall entrance parted as he approached, cascading around the car's armored hull. What had started as a natural cavern had evolved into something more - a fortress built from shadow and technology. The Batwing waited on its launch platform, sleek and lethal in the cave's ethereal lighting.
"Final checks complete," Alfred reported as Batman changed into his infiltration suit - lighter armor optimized for stealth over protection. "Though I still think this is remarkably ill-advised."
"Someone's weaponizing pieces of a dead planet," Batman replied, checking his equipment one final time. "And now we know where they're doing it."
"And you believe charging in alone is the wisest course of action?"
"Not alone." Batman settled into the Batwing's cockpit as systems came online. "I'll have you."
"How reassuring." But Alfred's voice carried that familiar mix of exasperation and pride. "The flight path is uploaded. I've plotted a course that should avoid most military radar coverage."
The cave's launch tunnel opened ahead as the Batwing's engines spooled up. Batman ran through final checks with practiced efficiency. "Estimated arrival?"
"Four hours assuming optimal conditions. Though given the numerous ways this could-"
"Go catastrophically wrong. I remember." Batman's hands wrapped around the controls as the plane lifted off. "Keep monitoring police bands. And Alfred? Thank you."
The Batwing shot forward into Gotham's storm-torn sky, banking hard as Batman set course for mountains half a world away. Behind him, the city's lights gradually faded into darkness. But his mind was already racing ahead - to hidden laboratories where men played with forces they didn't understand, to weapons that could hurt gods, to the fine line between power and destruction.
Whatever he found in Gulmira, he had to move fast. Because someone wasn't just studying these minerals anymore.
They were building something.
And he was going to find out what.
—
Malibu, California
Tony's fingers moved automatically over the gauntlet's circuitry, muscle memory taking over while his mind drifted. The charity gala's glamour felt like a lifetime ago, though he'd only been home for a few hours. His bow tie lay discarded on a workbench, the suit jacket tossed somewhere between here and the garage. The workshop's familiar sounds - DUM-E's servos whirring, computers humming, tools clicking against metal - usually calmed him. Not tonight.
"JARVIS, run the thermal efficiency numbers on the Mark III again," he muttered, more to fill the silence than from any real need. "And pull up the latest data on those mineral samples."
"The suit's thermal capabilities are well within acceptable parameters, sir," JARVIS replied. "Though I note your blood pressure has been elevated since returning from the benefit."
"Yeah, well, watching Obie play corporate politics tends to do that." Tony reached for his coffee, found the cup empty. "Any progress on tracking those shipments we detected?"
"Still processing satellite data. Though perhaps we should discuss what's really bothering you? The encounter with Miss Everhart seemed particularly-"
The TV in the corner caught Tony's attention, cutting off whatever insight his AI was about to offer. A reporter stood in familiar terrain - Afghanistan's harsh landscape burning orange in the setting sun. The banner read "CRISIS IN GULMIRA" as the camera panned across refugees carrying what little they could save.
"The fifteen-mile hike to the outskirts of Gulmira can only be described as a descent into hell," the reporter's voice carried over footage of villagers making their way down a ravine. "Into a modern-day Heart of Darkness. Simple farmers and herders from peaceful villages have been driven from their homes, displaced from their lands by warlords emboldened by a new-found power."
Tony's hands stilled on the gauntlet. He knew that terrain. Knew those mountains. Had seen them through a cave's mouth during those long months of captivity.
"Volume up," he ordered quietly. JARVIS complied without comment.
"Villagers have been forced to take shelter in whatever crude dwellings they can find in the ruins of other villages," the reporter continued as the camera showed people huddled in the remains of an old Soviet smelting plant. "Or here in the remnants of old industrial sites."
The screwdriver slipped, scratching metal. Tony barely noticed.
"Sir," JARVIS's voice carried careful concern, "your heart rate is-"
"Not now." Tony's eyes remained fixed on the screen as gunfire erupted in the background. The camera swung wildly before steadying on armed men moving through the village. Their weapons - his weapons - gleamed in the desert sun.
"Recent violence has been attributed to a group of foreign fighters referred to by locals as the Ten Rings," the reporter's voice shook slightly. "As you can see, these men are heavily armed and on a mission. A mission that could prove fatal to anyone who stands in their way."
The camera zoomed in on a familiar face that made Tony's blood run cold. Raza, looking remarkably recovered from their last encounter, surveyed the chaos with his usual calculated calm. A cigar smoked lazily between his fingers as he directed his men with casual authority.
"Son of a bitch," Tony breathed. The gauntlet's repulsor hummed to life under his agitated movements.
"With no political will or international pressure, there's very little hope for these refugees," the reporter continued over footage of desperate villagers. "Around me, a woman begging for news on her husband, who was kidnapped by insurgents, either forced to join their militia-"
Tony stood abruptly, the couch scraping across concrete. His reflection stared back from the workshop's glass panels - disheveled, angry, haunted by ghosts he thought he'd left in that cave.
"JARVIS, get me everything you can on Gulmira. Satellite imagery, troop movements, weapons shipments-"
"Already compiling, sir. Though perhaps we should discuss this rationally before-"
"They're using my weapons." Tony's voice was deadly quiet. "My weapons, JARVIS. The ones I said would never hurt innocent people again."
On screen, a woman held up a yellowed photograph to the camera, tears streaming down her face as she begged for information about her missing husband. A child clutched at her skirts, asking questions no child should have to ask.
"Where are my mother and father?" The reporter translated, her professional demeanor cracking slightly. "There's very little hope for these refugees, who can only wonder who, if anyone, will help."
The repulsor's whine grew higher as power built in Tony's palm. His reflection mocked him from the glass - the man who'd built an empire on death, who'd hidden behind platitudes about protecting the troops while his weapons destroyed lives half a world away.
"Your heart rate is approaching dangerous levels," JARVIS warned. "Might I suggest-"
The repulsor discharged with a crack of displaced air, shattering one of the overhead lights. Tony barely registered DUM-E rolling forward with the fire extinguisher.
"Sir-"
"Don't." Tony's voice was raw. "Just... don't."
He stared at his reflection in the remaining glass panels, seeing not the polished billionaire from tonight's gala but the man who'd emerged from that cave with shrapnel in his chest and blood on his hands. The repulsor brightened again.\
"The Mark III's combat systems are still untested," JARVIS tried as Tony's arm raised. "The mineral radiation could affect-"
The glass exploded as Tony fired, his reflection fragmenting into a thousand accusatory pieces. Another blast took out the final panel before he turned away from the destruction.
"Start the suit assembly sequence."
"Sir, I really must insist-"
"Now, JARVIS." Tony stepped onto the marking grid, his voice carrying the same certainty it had in that cave. "We're done watching."
"The suit's flight systems are barely calibrated," JARVIS protested even as robotic arms descended with armor components. "The weapons integration-"
"Will have to be good enough." Tony's eyes fixed on the TV as panels opened in the floor. The Mark III's boots and leg pieces rose up, gleaming red and gold in the workshop's lights. "They're using my weapons, my technology, to slaughter innocent people. Again."
The chest piece lowered as JARVIS fell into resigned efficiency, connecting armor plates with precise movements. "The last test flight nearly resulted in catastrophic failure. The power systems are still unstable-"
"Then we better hope they hold." Tony's arms rose as gauntlets locked into place. "Because I'm not letting this continue. Not one more day. Not one more innocent life."
The helmet descended, internal displays flickering to life as systems initialized. Tony's eyes burned with intensity as the faceplate snapped shut.
"Plot a course to Gulmira. And alert me if any other interested parties show up."
"Other parties, sir?"
"Call it a hunch." The roof access panels opened to reveal star-filled sky. "Something tells me we won't be the only ones paying those mountains a visit."
Repulsors fired as Tony shot upward into the night. Behind him, the TV continued its grim report, but he was done watching. Done hiding behind excuses and corporate speeches.
Time to show the Ten Rings exactly what he'd been building in that cave. And why they should have made sure he was actually dead before they started using his weapons again.
The suit cut through clouds as Tony pushed it faster, higher. The kryptonite-enhanced reactor hummed in his chest, its power mixing with the familiar determination that had kept him alive in that cave.
"Top speed, JARVIS. And scan for any unusual energy signatures in the target area."
"Already detecting several radiation patterns similar to the samples we analyzed, sir. Though I feel compelled to point out that charging into a combat zone with untested equipment is remarkably ill-advised."
"Noted." Tony's voice carried grim certainty as he accelerated toward dawn. "But they wanted a weapons designer. Time to show them exactly what I can design when properly motivated."
The California coast fell away behind him as he soared east. Somewhere ahead, innocent people suffered under weapons bearing his name. But that was about to change.
The Merchant of Death was gone. Time to show the world what had replaced him.