In 2008, the entire United States was captivated by one piece of news:
the former playboy, world-famous billionaire, and chairman of Stark Industries—Tony Stark—would be traveling to a U.S. military base in Afghanistan to test his company's latest invention, the Jericho Missile.
Because of this project, Stark Industries once again received an olive branch from the military. But Tony Stark, ever the rebellious genius, brushed it off with arrogance. Not only did he reject the offer, but he even mocked the military in public.
In the heart of New York, at the top floor of Stark Tower, Tony Stark was enjoying the company of a beautiful model. His personal secretary and assistant, Pepper Potts, walked briskly into the office, dressed sharply in a one-piece suit.
"Sir, no offense," Pepper said, holding a folder in her hands, "but you're flying to Afghanistan tomorrow. I think you should start preparing. Here's a security document that requires your signature."
Pepper glanced at the woman lounging in Tony's arms, her expression subtly tightening with distaste.
"Hey, Pepper," Tony replied lazily, "who am I? I'm the genius Tony Stark. It's just a quick trip—nothing to worry about. Get some champagne ready instead."
He gently pushed the model aside, straightened his shirt, and gave his trademark smug grin.
"Mr. Stark, please take this seriously," Pepper said, her brow furrowing. She knew her boss's temperament too well. With a small sigh, she added in a firm tone, "This isn't negotiable."
"Alright, alright, Little Pepper. You win."
Tony raised his hands in mock surrender, took the folder from her, and signed without even glancing at the contents.
"By the way, Pepper," he added, "how about joining me for dinner tonight?"
Her answer came with a polite but professional smile. "Boss, if you really want to make me happy, just give me a bonus."
Tony looked helpless as Pepper turned and walked out. Since his invitation failed, he decided to throw a grand party that evening instead—to celebrate his upcoming "victory tour" to Afghanistan.
The Stark Tower ballroom came alive that night. Music, laughter, and flashing lights filled the air. Tony Stark was surrounded by celebrities, politicians, and every kind of beauty imaginable. Most of New York's elite were in attendance.
Among them sat Wilson Fisk, known in the underworld as Kingpin, who had received an invitation under the guise of a philanthropist. Relaxing on a leather sofa, he swirled a glass of red wine, watching Tony dance with amusement.
If Allens wanted to, he could have easily killed Tony Stark then and there. But he didn't. This trip to Afghanistan, he knew, would change Tony forever—and he was content to let fate play its part.
"Mr. Fisk, long time no see."
The voice came from behind. Turning slightly, Kingpin saw Obadiah Stane, CEO of Stark Industries, approach with a glass of wine and a courteous smile.
"Mr. Stane," Kingpin replied calmly, "Fisk Industries doesn't often cross paths with Stark Industries. What brings you here tonight?"
Kingpin's tone was polite, but his eyes were cold and calculating. The weight in his voice made Obadiah hesitate, forcing him to adjust his approach.
"You sly old fox," Obadiah cursed silently to himself while keeping a smile on his face. His gaze shifted, landing on a young man sitting beside Kingpin—Allens.
"Mr. Fisk," Obadiah said with feigned curiosity, "I didn't know you had such… distinguished company."
"It's better if you don't ask, Mr. Stane," Kingpin said coldly, his towering frame looming over the older man. The chill in his tone made Obadiah's heart skip a beat.
For a moment, he felt genuine fear. Kingpin was the undisputed ruler of New York's underworld. For him to show deference to another man—what kind of monster was this Allens?
Suppressing his unease, Obadiah forced a laugh and politely excused himself, making his way toward Tony Stark on the dance floor.
"Boss," Kingpin said quietly, eyes glinting with menace, "that Obadiah guy looks like he's planning something. Should I kill him?"
"It's fine," Allens replied, setting his glass down. "He'll be the key piece in our little show."
His eyes flickered with cold amusement as he watched Tony Stark from across the room—like a serpent waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
"Come on," Allens said finally. "Let's go meet the famous playboy himself."
The thud of Kingpin's heavy footsteps made the stage tremble. Tony paused mid-dance, glancing up in surprise.
"Hey, big guy," Tony called out, "did I invite you?"
His voice dripped with sarcasm and arrogance. This was Tony Stark before the cave, before the armor—before humility.
"Mr. Stark," Allens said, stepping forward with a faint smile, "we meet again."
Tony blinked, confused. "Have we? Sorry, genius brain here. Don't really remember your… Asian face."
He patted Allens's shoulder, smirking.
"Your arrogance will get you killed one day," Allens replied calmly, his gaze briefly shifting toward Obadiah before turning away.
Without another word, he left the party.
"What a f***ing weirdo," Tony muttered before returning to the crowd, completely unaware that his world was about to change forever.
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