After dropping the bearded terrorist with a single headshot, Daniel rushed to Yinsen's side.
The fighting had torn the older man apart; blood soaked his shirt, his breaths came in wet rattles, and his eyes were already glazing over.
Yinsen tried to speak. "Daniel… don't let Tony waste his life…"
"Save the deathbed speech," Daniel cut in, pulling a plain green bottle from thin air.
He popped the cap and dumped the clear liquid over Yinsen's shredded chest.
Yinsen: "…?"
I'm dying and you're giving me a bath?
Then the itching started—like a thousand ants under his skin. He looked down. Bullet holes closed like zippers, flesh knitting together in seconds, not even leaving scars.
[Item: Bio-Branded Hand Sanitizer]
[Effect: Instantly heals almost any injury. Limbs reattach like magnets.]
[Tagline: Clean hands, longer life.]
"How…?" Yinsen sat up, pawing at his intact torso.
"Magic," Daniel said, tossing the empty bottle away like trash. He had crates of the stuff.
[Ding!]
[Side Quest "Save Yinsen" completed!]
[Rewards: 1000 EXP, Tony Stark Favorability +20, Item "Pure Iron Poké Ball"]
[Note: 100 kg of cold, unforgiving steel. Only the worthy get caught.]
Daniel smirked. Main-story quests really were the fastest way to level up.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
Heavy, awkward footsteps echoed from the tunnel. A crude gray suit of scrap-metal armor stomped into view. The faceplate flipped up, revealing Tony—sweaty, wide-eyed, alive.
"You guys okay?" Tony exhaled when he saw Yinsen standing.
"Terrorists are decorating the floor," Daniel answered, nodding at the bodies.
Tony glanced around. Every corpse had a perfect third eye in the forehead. He swallowed hard.
"You… alone?"
"Keep it quiet," Daniel said with mock modesty.
Tony forced his usual cocky grin. "Alright, 007, stand back. The adults are talking now."
He slammed the faceplate down and marched outside.
Outside the cave, forty-plus terrorists waited in firing lines, Stark Industries rifles raised.
The bald leader snarled, "Fire!"
DA-DA-DA-DA-DA!
Bullets hammered the armor like hail on a tin roof. Sparks flew. Tony staggered but stayed upright, cursing inside the helmet. Getting shot by his own guns felt poetic in the worst way.
Yet somehow no round found the eye slits—like the bullets were politely declining to blind him.
Tony raised both arms. Twin jets of fire roared out, turning the front rank into screaming torches.
"Machine guns! Pin him!" the leader roared.
From the ridges, belt-fed guns opened up. The impacts drove Tony to one knee; a lucky shot snapped the crude servo in his right leg.
He was stuck.
"RPGs! Blow that tin bastard apart!"
A terrorist shouldered a rocket launcher, red dot dancing on Tony's chest plate.
Tony's mouth went dry. He knew exactly what that warhead would do to Mark Zero.
BANG!
The rocket man's head vanished in red mist. The launcher clattered harmlessly away.
Daniel stood ten meters back, smoking pistol in hand.
"Your fifteen minutes are up, Elon Musk," he called. "My turn."
Tony blinked behind the helmet. Elon… who?
Before he could ask, Daniel holstered the pistol.
Then, from nowhere, a gleaming six-barrel rotary cannon materialized in his grip, ammo belt already spinning up.
"Tell me, Tony…" Daniel said, finger caressing the trigger, "how does their firepower compare to this?"
Tony's jaw dropped inside the helmet.
Where the hell did he pull that monster from!?