Chapter 6: Buried in Sand
Darkness was a coffin. Solid, unforgiving stone and earth pressed down on Adam Reed's limbs, the rubble's immense weight bruising bone and squeezing the breath from his chest. Each desperate, panicked gasp was a gritty rasp of earth and a coppery hint of his own blood. The cave's old chill was replaced by a humid, claustrophobic heat, the temperature of an unvented grave.
His Stamina was 0%. The system's holographic grid, usually a clean arc-reactor blue, was flashing a terrifying, persistent blood-red, a CRITICAL warning pulsing violently in his vision. The quantum static was silent, and the system's familiar hum was a dying, broken whisper in his skull.
"Why trapped? My power is supposed to be freedom, a denial of contact. Instead, it's a trap, locking me in this stone tomb. I can't move. I can't push. I can't breathe."
His body shook uncontrollably, battered and broken. The system's silence was deafening, a vacuum where sarcasm usually cut the void. There was no quip to ground him, no hint of a solution. His hazel eyes were blind in the absolute darkness. His fingers twitched uselessly, frantically trying to grab the frayed threads of his sleeves, which were now plastered to his skin with dust and sweat.
He pushed his entire will outward, a final, desperate plea for intangibility, for freedom from physics. But Phase-Coma gripped him instantly, a state beyond skill, beyond simple exhaustion. A terrifying, liquid-nitrogen cold washed over his body. He felt his mind begin to float, his connection to the physical world dissolving, then violently snap back, the pain of the attempt a white-hot spike behind his eyes.
[PHASE-COMA TRIGGERED. STAMINA: 0%. WARNING: INTANGIBILITY LOSS RISK. MANUAL INTERVENTION REQUIRED. YOU CANNOT HOLD THE SHIELD.]
His mind floated in a terrifying void, the laws of physics unraveling around him. Isolation became a quantum cage, and the terrible truth sank in: without a sliver of Stamina, he couldn't maintain the intangibility long enough to escape. If he stayed tangible, he would be crushed. Survival was a waiting game with the universe's laws, and he was losing.
"Why this cost? Power is my chain, but it's locking me from life. I can't use it to save myself without Stamina. I'm dead. I'm just waiting for the pressure to finish me."
"Why alone? Even the system is silent, broken. Am I the glitch now? Is this where the story ends? Buried next to the memory of Yinsen's last words."
[POV: Tony Stark]
The kid was half-dead, buried under fifty tons of rubble. Tony had barely made it out, the Mark I a smoking, charred husk. But he couldn't fly away. He wouldn't. He remembered the kid's desperate, guilt-ridden eyes, his voice cracking as he whispered the warnings, the impossible, violent Push of the final rocket. Adam was a ghost who had saved him twice, a shield he couldn't leave behind.
"Why's he breaking? That power's no tech, no Stark invention. It's a curse he's carrying. And he used the last drop of his reserve to save me. I can't just fly away. I won't. I owe him this."
The Mark I's central arc reactor hummed, the last reliable source of power. Tony felt the cold, hard urgency of necessity. He didn't have heavy equipment. He had brute strength and a single, heavy arm.
He began to claw through the sand and stone, his mind hyper-focused, the effort rasping through the suit's cracked speaker. The Mark I's scorched husk was steaming, its charred armor peeling. Tony's own hands, exposed inside the gauntlet, were raw and bleeding from dragging Adam out of the final layer. The grinding sound of stone against metal filled the night.
He's no sidekick. He's the reason I'm breathing. He's the edge. I owe him more than a jet ride. This is the new rule.
[POV: Adam Reed]
A tremendous, raw, mechanical gasp tore through the stone above him. Then, a sharp, searing pain as a heavy object—a shard of rock—was yanked away. Hot desert sand rained down, stinging Adam's exposed cheeks. The transition from the suffocating darkness was brutal. He was being dragged, violently, through grit and rough stone. The pre-dawn desert night, sharp with dust and the cold bite of the distant mountains, felt like ice on his seared skin.
Tony, standing over him, looked like death. The Mark I was a ruined, smoking shell. Tony had ripped the helmet open and pulled his head out, his face coated in thick grease, soot, and sand. His voice was strained, a tight, rasping effort through his exhaustion, but it was steady.
"You're heavier than you look, kid. Way heavier. I thought I was hauling a collapsed refrigerator."
Tony paused, panting, leaning heavily on the suit's massive arm. The tiny arc reactor's hum was faint but alive against his chest. He looked Adam over, his expression a mix of relief and intense scrutiny.
"Couldn't leave you. The Mark I's flight ceiling's crap—you know it. It barely made the roof. Plus… you got me out. Twice. So now we're even. Sort of. Try not to die on me again, alright?"
"Why save me? Why the raw, physical effort when he could be safe? Trust's a debt. He sees me as his gear, but he pulled me from my grave. He sees me as a friend, despite the impossible field around me."
Relief crashed over Adam, warm and utterly exhausting, a wave of pure emotion that left him spent. His throat was too dry to speak, but the old reflex—the essential snark—kicked in. His whisper was cracked, barely audible, tasting of iron and grit.
"No hugs, Stark. Seriously. Don't touch me. It's a bad idea for your health."
Tony's grin was a wide, grease-stained mess, weak but completely real. The suit's groan faded as he chuckled, a dry, grating sound.
"Too late, force field. Dragging your ass is level one hug. Get used to it. Now let's move before Raza sends in the cleanup crew."
"Why his humor? He's forging trust, pulling me from my own grave, using snark as the very foundation of our bond. He knows I need the distance, and he's respecting it, turning it into a joke."
Suddenly, the unmistakable TH-RUMM, TH-RUMM, TH-RUMM of heavy helicopter blades arrived, a monstrous, pulsing rhythm that kicked up thick red dust. Rhodes' chopper descended into the chaos, its jet fuel scent cutting through the pervasive sand's grit.
[POV: James Rhodes]
Rhodes immediately spotted the wreckage. The Mark I was a charred sculpture, and the kid next to Tony was a mess—pale, bloodied, and looking like he'd been run over by a tank.
The kid was Adam Reed. Mumbling quips through cracked lips, his eyes haunted but fiercely sharp, like he'd seen hell and fought it back into the stone. He barely seemed conscious, yet his posture was defensive.
"Why's he standing? He took a cave's worth of punishment, an explosion, and got buried. He's tougher than he looks. Way tougher. Tony's never risked this much for a bodyguard."
Rhodes' fatigues clung to his body with sweat. His grip was firm and steady as he hauled Adam aboard, the chopper's rumble a steady pulse. Tony, utterly spent, collapsed beside them. He didn't question the force field; he just accepted the reality in front of him.
Stark trusts him. He's indebted to him. That's all I need to know. The kid's one of us now. Whatever his secret is.
[POV: Adam Reed]
Rhodes' voice was the final anchor, steady, professional, and full of a soldier's calm.
"You're tougher than you look, Reed. Hang on. We'll have you checked out soon."
The system suddenly rebooted, a violent grid flicker slicing into Adam's vision. Blue runes danced wildly, ozone's sharp scent flooding his nose, his head throbbing like a split skull.
[SYSTEM REBOOT. GUILT: 30%. STAMINA: 10%.]
[WARNING: A HAMMER FALLS IN THE DESERT. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. DO NOT TRUST THE COMPANY MAN.]
"Why the drop? Guilt fell from 45% to 30%. A system optimization, a forced moral reset? A mercy, or a glitch I didn't earn? I'll take the win, but I don't trust the timing."
The cryptic warning—A Hammer Falls in the Desert—set a cold, cautious strain in his mind. Hammer. The company man. Obadiah Stane. The name hit him like a physical blow, connecting the dots of the narrative he was now living. His limbs were heavy with bone-deep fatigue. The chopper's rumble vibrated his entire skeleton, the sharp tang of jet fuel replacing the blood and dust.
"Three kills, one bond. I'm free, but I'm still chained to the guilt. The cost is still there, but at least I know the next enemy. I have to warn Tony."
"Why untouchable? Trust's forming—with Tony, with Rhodey. But touch is still my physical enemy. I'll never have a moment to simply hug them or be held. I'm a perpetual outsider."
The isolation bit sharp, a profound, lingering ache. Survival's tax had been paid in blood and fear, justifying Tony's desperate rescue. The dust motes swirled in the chopper's dim interior light, like the ghosts of the cave.
Rhodes' voice, steady and sure, anchored him to the present, to the flight.
"Malibu's waiting, Reed. Rest up—you've earned it."
The chopper ascended sharply, the vast, unforgiving desert fading beneath them. The faint, steady hum of Tony's arc reactor was a promise of sanctuary and the beginning of a new, corporate war. Adam's alliance was forged in fire, the system's warning a dark, looming shadow over the bright horizon.
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