I regained consciousness abruptly, like surfacing from deep water. My head spun, and my tongue felt dry. For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was.
Then I looked down.
A rifle rested in my hands. Dust coated my uniform. Trees loomed overhead, and the scent of cedar mingled with the cold air.
Suddenly, everything came flooding back.
Afghanistan.
The convoy.
Eli Calderon.
The Marvel universe.
The Sith relic throbbing in my chest like a second heartbeat.
I tried to grasp memories of my former life, my family, friends, my face, even my online username. But all I found were blurry shapes and a few fleeting emotions.
Eli's memories, however, were crystal clear and detailed.
The crystal inside me pulsed once, slow and deliberate, as if aware that I was awake.
The injuries I had "healed" with Sith alchemy flared with a sharp, deep ache. They were not fatal, but certainly uncomfortable. Moving and Breathing hurt.
I checked my watch.
14:22.
I had slept for almost twenty hours.
Not ideal.
I scanned the trees around me, quiet, with no signs of movement and only my own tracks visible. Carefully, I stood up, testing my balance. My ribs protested, and my head throbbed, but I managed to remain upright.
I pushed through the brush to the edge of the treeline and looked down the slope.
The convoy lay exactly where I had left it, wrecked, burned out, untouched.
No U.S. military. No drones. nothing
Right.
In the movie, Stark's convoy remained undiscovered for days, perhaps even longer.
My stomach growled as I rummaged through the ruck and pulled out the biscuits from another MRE, dry and bland, but calories were calories. I washed it down with a sip of water.
Then I unfolded the laminated map.
Safi Village.
Three miles south.
If I stayed in the wild, I'd run out of water. If I headed to the village, I might find a radio or satphone, but there was also the risk of getting shot as an American soldier wandering alone. Both possibilities weighed heavily on my mind.
I glanced back toward the northeast slope, where faint tire tracks were still visible even from this distance.
Stark had been taken that way.
My heart thudded.
What do I do?
He had spent nearly a month in captivity before escaping; that was the original timeline. If I intervened too quickly… No Iron Man. No Avengers. And no defense when Thanos came knocking.
If I didn't intervene… Tony Stark would be tortured for weeks while I sat in a forest, contemplating my inaction.
That is, if I didn't get killed en route.
Eli's memories whispered military protocol in the back of my mind:
VIP is priority. Rescue if possible.
I exhaled slowly.
I'd scout northeast.
If I encountered anything I couldn't handle, I'd fall back, make my way to Safi Village, and find a way to contact HQ.
This feels more selfish than heroic. I snorted at the dry humor of it all.
The afternoon sun was setting quickly, casting long shadows across the rocks as I navigated the ridge line, seeking refuge in the cedar cover whenever possible. The terrain changed, steeper slopes, crumbling rock, pockets of forest, and sun-scorched patches of earth.
According to the map, I was nearing the outskirts of Kunar Province. The area was known for its rough terrain, minimal roads, and small villages scattered across vast stretches of wilderness.
I moved slowly, my pace dictated by pain. Each step jarred my ribs, and sweat soaked my jacket, while my breathing came in ragged gasps, echoing in my ears.
There was no one here, just mountains and silence.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the world transitioned to shades of blue and gray. I needed to find a place to sleep before full darkness fell, preferably somewhere elevated, concealed, and away from any valley roads.
I discovered a cluster of cedars on a rocky shelf overlooking the valley.
It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do. I dropped my rucksack and knelt, pain flashing white behind my eyes.
I adjusted my NVGs, unslung my rifle, and forced myself to take slow, deliberate breaths.
Then,
A flicker of movement in the valley.
lights moving
Headlights.
A truck was winding its way along the mountain road, kicking up dust as it navigated the turns. I froze, dropped into a prone position, and retrieved my binoculars from my chest rig.
I brought them to my eyes.
The image sharpened.
A flatbed truck. Canvas-covered sides.
Armed men sitting in the back, rifles across their laps, scarves covering their faces, watching the road with practiced ease.
Ten Rings.
Or people equally dangerous.
They were heading northeast.
Exactly where Stark had been taken.
I lowered the binoculars, my heart pounding and breath shallow.
The truck's headlights finally disappeared around a bend into the dark. I remained prone for a few more seconds, listening to the engine fade.
My heart raced in my ears, and the crystal pulsed faintly, as if awaiting my decision.
I made my choice.
I got up.
If that truck was heading toward Stark, or the people holding him, I had only one lead in this endless mountain maze.
Losing it wasn't an option.
I moved downhill, sliding on loose rock and using branches for balance. The descent aggravated my ribs, and by the time my boots hit the dirt road, I was gasping hard enough to taste copper.
Everything was pitch black now.
No moon. just mountains swallowing the horizon.
I flipped my NVGs down. The world transformed into a grainy green, rough terrain, shrubs, scattered boulders, and faint tire depressions left by the truck.
I followed them.
Every step was painful. My legs trembled, and cold sweat trickled down my spine. But I kept moving, my eyes locked on the road.
After perhaps a mile, I spotted it, lights.
Lanterns and electrical lamps illuminated a cluster of structures ahead: an encampment.
My pulse quickened.
I immediately ducked off the road, scrambling up the steep rock slope on the right. Layers of broken shale shifted beneath my boots, but staying on the road was suicide.
I climbed until I reached uneven terrain that overlooked the camp.
Boxes, stacks of crates, parked trucks, makeshift tents, and armed men were everywhere.
It was the Ten Rings, or one of the factions operating in the region, moving about with purpose.
I crouched behind a boulder, staying low and breathing shallow. If they found me here, injured, alone, American, I wouldn't last ten seconds.
Another pair of trucks rolled in, engines roaring and dust rising in thick clouds. The noise roused the camp into full activity, men shouted in Pashto and Arabic, flashlights flared, crates were exchanged, and orders were barked.
I needed a better vantage point. Fast.
I slipped down the slope, hugging the shadows until I reached the back edge of the camp. More crates, more pallets, supplies stacked high,ammo boxes, food containers, fuel drums. Perfect cover.
As I adjusted my position, a voice drifted through the noise.
Muffled, tired and irritated.
But I recognized two
words: Tony Stark.
A jolt shot down my spine, and my grip tightened around my rifle.
I carefully peeked between two pallets.
One of the newly arrived trucks was being loaded with crates, its back covered by a heavy green tarp stretched over high metal framing. Men shouted as they packed it tightly. The truck would be leaving soon.
Wherever Stark was being kept, this truck was probably heading there. Maybe...
I didn't know the route.
I didn't know if I'd even survive the ride.
But staying out here was worse.
This is a stupid idea, I thought.
I swallowed hard.
I didn't even know if the truck was heading to Stark.
When the last crate was loaded, the men stepped back to secure the tarp and began arguing among themselves. As they shouted and walked away, I slid down from the pallets, hugged the side of the truck, climbed up, and ducked under the flap of the tarp.
Inside was nothing but crates and darkness. I crawled into the deepest corner. My ribs screamed as breath caught in my chest, and a soft grunt escaped before I could stifle it.
Pain lanced through my lungs, sharp and burning.
Then...
A shout.
Arabic. Close. Right outside the truck.
"—maadha kan dhalik?"
Did they hear me?
My hand flew to my M9. I drew it slowly and silently, aiming toward the voice. My breathing stopped, and my finger tightened on the trigger.
Footsteps approached the side of the truck.
I held my breath.
My heart pounded.
Another shout rang out, louder and more irritated.
A fist slammed against the truck's metal siding.
I flinched, nearly firing.
The footsteps retreated.
Then the driver shouted something to the camp. An engine sputtered to life. The truck lurched, rocking me sideways. The tarp swayed as men outside yelled final instructions.
Then...
Movement.
Forward momentum.
The rumble of tires on dirt.
I lowered the pistol, my hand trembling, and let out a slow, shaky breath.
I shifted to settle myself between two crates, but a sharp bolt of pain tore through my chest, and I grunted before I could stop it. The movement made my ribs feel like they were grinding against each other.
Instinctively, my hand went to the center of my sternum.
The crystal pulsed back, deliberately.
If I focused, really focused, I could feel something beneath the pain. It felt like a door halfway open, revealing a space behind my consciousness filled with symbols, diagrams, and flesh-binding instructions, ritualistic in a way I only half understood.
I could attempt to use it again.
Maybe reduce the pain or deal with the bullets still inside me.
But then I remembered the first time—the agony, the weight, the way it drained my body like something was feeding on me.
Doing that inside an enemy truck, where I might have to fight or flee?
Idiotic.
Worse than hopping into an enemy truck without a plan.
I pushed the thought down and concentrated on my breathing instead.
The truck rattled along the uneven mountain roads. Every jolt sent pain shooting through my chest. I clenched my jaw and endured.
Minutes passed, ten, twenty… hard to tell in the dark.
I didn't even know if this truck was heading to Stark's location. It could be going to a different cell entirely. A different camp. Somewhere worse.
I needed perspective.
A way to bail if things went south.
Slowly and carefully, I took my knife from its sheath and pressed the tip against the tarp. With steady pressure, I carved a hole just big enough for one eye.
Cold air rushed in.
I leaned forward and looked out.
Dust and rocks surrounded me as the mountain road wound along a narrow ledge. In the distance, only darkness loomed, with the faint outline of peaks barely visible against the starlit sky.
There was no sign of civilization, no lights, nothing
Just a truck full of terrorists venturing deeper into the wilderness.
I took a step back and exhaled quietly.
If anything seemed off, I would have to jump, roll, and hit the ground hard. I hoped that my lungs wouldn't collapse.
It wasn't a plan I liked, but it was the only one I had.
The truck bounced violently over a pothole, and I stifled a groan.
"Not dying in a tarp," I muttered under my breath. "Not today."