Location : Afghanistan
The scorching sun blazed from overhead, casting a golden hue across the endless stretch of desert.
At the moment, three figures and a dog trudged through the heat-baked sands.
"Alex Ray, your dog—ugh, this mutt—is this really going to work? How much longer are we going to wander around out here?" Deadpool grumbled irritably.
"Also, doesn't your mask keep out the sand? At least you have a mask. We're out here getting roasted alive," Pietro complained, adjusting his goggles with a scowl.
"Woof... woof... It's hotter than a sauna in Hell out here..." Deadpool's dog panted heavily, tongue lolling as he dragged his paws.
"Be patient. If it were easy to find him, we wouldn't be getting paid this much. Got any better ideas?" Alex Ray responded with a sigh.
Though he knew Tony Stark was somewhere in the deserts of Afghanistan, the sheer vastness of the terrain made the task daunting.
. . . . . .
The story began the night they took the job. Happy Hogan had arrived at "The Good Luck Diner" with a box in hand.
"Mr. Ray, this is everything you asked for. These are all items Tony Stark has recently used."
Inside the box were a pair of slippers, a wristwatch, and a small bundle of hair.
Alex Ray inspected the contents with satisfaction and nodded. "Perfect. With these, I can find Tony Stark."
It seemed Pepper Potts had taken Alex's request very seriously—or perhaps she simply cared deeply for Stark. Not only had she asked Happy to deliver Stark's personal belongings, she had also collected every stray hair from his bed.
"Gotta love the Marvel universe," Alex muttered to himself, half-jokingly envious.
Happy, seeing that Alex was on board, stepped closer, patted him on the shoulder, and gave him a deep, respectful bow.
"Please, bring Mr. Stark back safely. I'm counting on you. As his bodyguard... I've completely failed."
Looking at Happy's round, solemn face and guilt-ridden eyes, Alex replied sincerely, "Don't worry. I'll get him back. Stark's disappearance isn't your fault. You're a good man and a damn good bodyguard. It's been an honor, Happy."
Even if Happy had been with Stark during the ambush, it wouldn't have changed a thing. The Ten Rings were no joke. Stark might've had some value to them—but Happy? He'd be dead within minutes.
"Thank you for the kind words. You're a good guy too, Alex. It's just... your rates are steep," Happy added with a crooked smile.
Right then, a familiar tone echoed in Alex's mind.
Ding.
"Congratulations, host! New ally added: Happy Hogan."
"Attribute acquired: Driving Skill – Level 6."
"Would you like to merge now?"
Looks like Happy wasn't totally useless after all.
"Merge it now," Alex replied mentally.
A surge of knowledge rushed into his brain. Dozens of professional driving techniques flooded his mind, transforming his reflexes and coordination instantly. His driving skill had just been leveled up like a cheat code in real life.
Suddenly, the chubby man in front of him seemed a whole lot more likable.
After getting Alex's guarantee, Happy left the diner without another word.
"Alright, dog. Time to earn your keep. Take this and start sniffing—get familiar with the scent. Our payday depends on you." Alex picked up the box and handed it to Deadpool's dog.
A gust of hot desert wind snapped Alex out of his memory, slapping him with heat and dry air.
"Hey, Wade. Doesn't your full-body suit make you want to die out here?" Alex asked, eyeing the wilted Deadpool.
"Shut up! This is style, something you clearly don't get! God, I'm melting out here. I want double the pay!" Deadpool whined, practically dragging his limbs behind him.
"I've got it worse than anyone!" Pietro snapped. "Why the hell am I carrying this massive backpack? And why are you carrying nothing? This is blatant discrimination!"
"This is training," Alex said with a straight face. "You're too soft. You need to bulk up. And don't even think about using your powers, Pietro."
He paused and looked ahead.
"We should be near the place Stark disappeared. I'm guessing we're not far now."
Alex, the only one not suffering in the heat, strolled along calmly.
"I can choose not to use my powers, but explain to me again—why aren't we using a car? How long is this desert hike supposed to last?" Pietro fired back.
. . . . . .
Meanwhile, somewhere nearby in the Afghan desert, deep within a cave shielded from all scanning equipment, Tony Stark poured over a set of schematics. A miniaturized arc reactor pulsed beside him, glowing faintly.
A wiry man with Mediterranean features and glasses—Yinsen—stood nearby, staring at the arc reactor with curiosity.
"This doesn't look like a Jericho missile..." he remarked.
"It's not," Stark replied without looking up. "It's a miniature arc reactor."
"I've got a full-size one back home. Powers my factory."
"This little one should keep the shrapnel out of my heart."
Yinsen raised a brow. "How much power does it generate? Is it enough?"
"More than enough."
Stark turned the subject back to the blueprints. "Forget the reactor. Look at this design. This is how we escape."
Yinsen leaned in, scanning the plans, clearly puzzled. "What is this? Looks like... a robot?"
Stark shifted the pages to reveal the full layout. Steel armor, bulked plating, a power core.
"Look again," Stark said.
A crude, yet formidable suit of armor came into view.
Yinsen's eyes widened. "This... this is brilliant!"
In that moment, Tony Stark glowed with brilliance—a man burning with intelligence even under duress.
But Yinsen quickly remembered the situation they were in. He lowered his voice instinctively.
"I'll need your help," Stark said quietly.
"I could do it myself, but it'd take too long. And it's clear they won't give us that much time. I need you, Yinsen."
Yinsen hesitated. "We can't let them catch on. If they find out—well, you know what'll happen. I'll help... but we'll need the right materials."
"That's the easy part," Stark said, stepping toward the door and addressing the masked militant outside.
"I want to speak to your leader. I'm ready to build your missiles. But I'll need certain materials to get started."
Yinsen watched Stark closely, marveling at his calm. This man could plan under pressure, think clearly even in captivity.
Only a genius like Stark could survive a situation like this. And Yinsen—he was lucky to be locked in with him.
Maybe, just maybe, they could make it out.
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Tony --->
Ho Yinsen --->
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