Henry heard that and seemed to have just heard the funniest joke of the century. He turned to Tony, giving him a look that said "are you serious?"
"You won? Tony, did one of the circuits in your brain get scrambled by that explosion just now? I took down at least a hundred enemies—not counting the pickup I tossed around like a toy.
And you? You just launched a few big fireworks and blew up some broken tanks. By efficiency and numbers, I completely dominate. So after this, you clean the lab—but my coffee cups? Not a single one gets touched."
"Hey! That's a semantic trick!" Tony immediately protested, his voice rising in anger, spittle nearly spraying onto Henry's armor.
"We're talking quality, not quantity! I took out heavy armored units—every one of them worth a fortune and a major battlefield threat! The ones you took down? Just a bunch of AK-wielding nobodies. Honestly, even Happy in armor could handle them! By contribution to the battlefield, I'm the MVP! That's science, got it? SCIENCE!"
"Oh, science?" Henry crossed his arms, smirking.
"Then tell me, Mr. Stark, can your great scientific mind explain why, despite wearing a suit worth billions, your efficiency is still lower than mine, a primitive brute? Your art seems all flash and no substance."
"You…" Tony was speechless, pointing at Henry with trembling fingers.
"Henry! How did I never notice how much of a pain you are?"
"Mutual," Henry shrugged.
While the two brothers bickered like children, a slightly older figure emerged from the cave.
Dr. Yinsen looked at the apocalyptic scene outside, then at the world's two greatest geniuses squabbling like kids, and couldn't help but crack a wry smile.
"I suppose, if the two Stark gentlemen don't mind, maybe we should consider leaving this place first? Personally, I'm not a fan of the sand or the smell of barbecue."
Yinsen gestured toward a still-smoking body nearby, his tone carrying a perfectly measured humor.
Tony and Henry stopped in unison and looked at him.
"Hey! Yinsen!"
Tony darted forward, circled Yinsen twice to make sure he was unharmed, then finally relaxed, resuming his usual arrogant grin.
"Of course! With me here, how could anything happen to you?"
"Yes, Tony, your brilliance is so blinding, I nearly got knocked out just by the sound of your argument earlier," Yinsen teased.
Henry approached as well, nodding in acknowledgment. He felt basic gratitude toward the man who'd saved his brother in a life-or-death situation. In the movies, Yinsen dies for the plot—this time, there was no way Henry would let that happen.
"All right, everyone's here. Time to call for a ride," Tony said, opening the communications system of his Mark II armor.
"Hey, Rhodey, guess who?"
A voice, equal parts exasperated and thrilled, came over the comm:
"Tony? You're alive?! Do you know we nearly tore this desert apart looking for you!"
Tony: ...
What did he just say?! "So glad you're alive"?! Was he hoping the great Tony Stark starved to death in Afghanistan?
Rolling his eyes, Tony continued.
"Relax, my friend," he said, brimming with pride.
"I was just on vacation, experiencing local craftsmanship. Now, I need you to send a helicopter. I'll give you the coordinates. Pick up my friend, Dr. Yinsen. As for me, I've got a cooler way home."
"A cooler way? What nonsense are you spouting, Tony? I'm coming right now to get you!" Rhodey sounded incredulous.
"Listen, Rhodey—do as I say. Pick up Yinsen and take him to the best hospital for a full check-up; the bill's on the company. As for me? You'll see me on the news very soon."
Tony hung up before Rhodey could reply. He turned to Henry, his face radiating "praise me".
Henry rolled his eyes. "You're really thoughtful, boss—personally arranging your employee's check-up."
"Of course." Tony plopped onto a mostly intact boulder, stretching and whining.
"I swear, I never want to see anything desert-related again. Dry, hot air, terrible food, no proper toilet. My $3,000 suit destroyed! My hair—look at it, nearly matted!"
"Come on," Henry replied, sitting nearby with his legs crossed.
"At least you had a cave. I had a place with no windows, lights on 24/7, nearly claustrophobic. And the food? A mystery paste that tastes like wax."
The brothers traded barbs about their miserable experiences, as if holding a competition of who suffered more. The tension and fatigue of the mission slowly melted in the lighthearted atmosphere.
After a while, Henry's smile faded. He looked at Tony, serious now.
"Tony, there's something I must tell you."
Tony noticed the unusual seriousness and stifled his jokes. "What is it?"
"Being captured—and you being attacked—wasn't an accident," Henry said calmly, each word landing like a bomb.
"It was Obadiah's doing."
The air froze.
Tony's expression stiffened. He stared at Henry, taking several seconds to process. Then he laughed, as if hearing the world's biggest joke.
"Obie? Are you kidding me? Henry, that's not funny. Obie's like an uncle to us—he grew up with us. How could he…"
"How could he?" Henry cut him off, eyes sharp.
"Do you think an ordinary businessman could link up with Hydra? Without insider leaks, could terrorists have such precise intel on your schedule? Access to Stark's most advanced weapons? After we both disappeared, who's the biggest beneficiary?"
Henry's rapid-fire questions struck Tony like knives, shattering the last of his illusions.
Tony's smile vanished. His face grew grim. He was a genius—seeing all the clues laid out, he immediately understood everything. Obadiah's past anomalies, those details he had brushed off—they replayed vividly in his mind.
His fists clenched. He had always thought of Obadiah as an uncle… but now…