The Kunar Province was a barren, sun-scorched wasteland of jagged rocks and dust. Tony stood before the gathered military brass, completely at ease in his tailored suit and dark sunglasses, the desolate mountains framing him like a stage.
"Is it better to be feared or respected?" Tony asked, his voice echoing clearly. "I say, is it too much to ask for both? With that in mind, I humbly present the crown jewel of Stark Industries' Freedom line. It's the first missile system to incorporate our proprietary repulsor technology."
He stood there, commanding the valley. "They say that the best weapon is the one you never have to fire. I respectfully disagree. I prefer the weapon that you only have to fire once. That's how Dad did it, that's how America does it… and it's worked out pretty well so far." He gestured toward the distant mountain range. "Find an excuse to let one of these off the chain, and I personally guarantee, the bad guys won't even want to come out of their caves."
He paused, letting the silence hang. "For your consideration… the Jericho!"
He raised a hand. The nearby missile launcher roared to life, firing a massive projectile that soared high before seamlessly breaking into a cluster of smaller, deadly warheads. They rained down on the distant peaks. A second later, a horrific series of explosions obliterated the mountainside.
A physical shockwave of dust and wind roared across the valley, hitting the observers. The soldiers braced themselves against the gale, but Tony didn't even flinch. He just stood there, spreading his arms wide, entirely unbothered by the blast of his own creation.
Tony walked forward and tapped a metallic crate that was branded with Stark Industries, which slid open to reveal a hidden cooler stocked with crystal glasses of scotch. He took one glass and spoke. "I'll be throwing one of these in with every purchase of $500 million or more." Then, raising the glass slightly, he said, "To peace!"
As Tony strode toward the waiting convoy, his phone buzzed. Seeing Obadiah's name flashing on the screen, he flipped it open.
"Tony!" Obadiah's voice echoed through the speaker.
"Obie, what are you doing up?"
"I couldn't sleep till I found out how it went. How'd it go?"
"It went great. Looks like it's gonna be an early Christmas."
"Hey! Way to go, my boy! I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"
Tony got near his Humvee, and a soldier opened the door for him. "Why aren't you wearing those pajamas I got you?"
"Good night, Tony." As Tony sat in the backseat of the Humvee, the call got disconnected.
"Hey, Tony," Rhodey spoke as he got closer to the door.
"I'm sorry, this is the fun-vee. The hum-drum-vee is back there," Tony said, leaning his head out the window.
"Nice job." That was all Rhodey said as the Humvee's heavy engine roared to life.
"See you back at base."
The ride back to the base was loud, hot, and accompanied by the heavy bass of rock music blaring through the Humvee's speakers. Tony was riding in the "Funvee" with three young soldiers, cracking jokes and easing the tension, completely oblivious to the danger waiting for them.
Then, the world exploded.
The Humvee in front of them vanished in a blinding flash of fire and shrapnel. The shockwave flipped their vehicle, throwing Tony against the reinforced door. Deafening gunfire erupted from surrounding canyons.
"Contact left!" the driver yelled, throwing the door open. He didn't make it two steps before he was gunned down.
The air was thick with smoke, the screams of dying soldiers, and the relentless clatter of machine guns. Panic clawing at his chest, Tony scrambled out of the vehicle, stumbling into the chaos. He threw himself behind a rocky outcrop, his breathing ragged, his sharp suit covered in dust and blood. He pulled out his phone, desperately trying to get a signal.
Thump.
A mortar shell landed in the sand just three feet away. Tony froze. The stark, white lettering on the side of the metal casing was unmistakable: STARK INDUSTRIES.
Tony scrambled backward, throwing his arms over his face as the bomb detonated. The blast sent him flying through the air, and a searing, agonizing pain ripped through his chest before everything went black.
***
Thousands of miles away in Manhattan, the early morning sun was just beginning to cast a golden glow over the city skyline.
Adam stood quietly in the corner of Pepper's expensive high-rise office at Stark Industries, reviewing a digital itinerary on his StarkPad while the distant sounds of city traffic hummed dozens of floors below. Pepper was at her desk, aggressively typing out an email to the PR department regarding Tony's Vanity Fair piece before her first coffee had even cooled.
Then, her desk phone rang. It wasn't the standard office chime; it was the red, priority-one secure line.
Pepper stopped typing. She picked up the receiver. "Virginia Potts."
Adam didn't need to hear the voice on the other end of the line. Through his abilities, he watched as color drained from Pepper's face. The microscopic tension in her jaw shattered, replaced by a sudden, hollow terror. Her hand began to tremble so violently that the phone rattled against her ear.
"Where?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "How many casualties?"
Adam tightened his grip on the StarkPad, his expression remaining perfectly neutral while his mind raced. He knew exactly what had just happened. The dominoes had finally fallen.
'And so it begins,' Adam thought.
Pepper slowly lowered the receiver, her trembling hand missing the base twice before the plastic finally clattered into place. She stared blankly at the polished mahogany of her desk; all the formidable energy of one of the best secretaries in the business world had evaporated.
Adam stepped forward, deliberately breaking his perfect, statuesque posture. "Miss Potts?" he asked, keeping his voice pitched to a steady, grounding calm. "What happened?"
She looked up at him, her eyes wide and glassy. "It's Tony," she choked out, the name tearing from her throat. "His convoy was ambushed. They… the military… they don't know where he is. He's missing."
Adam quickly closed the distance between them. He didn't offer empty platitudes—he knew better than to tell a woman like Pepper Potts that everything was fine when her world had just shattered. Instead, he reached for the crystal carafe on her desk, poured a glass of cold water, and pressed it gently into her shaking hands.
"Drink this, Miss Potts," Adam instructed softly, his tone offering a heavy, reassuring anchor in the sudden chaos. "Take a deep breath. Mr. Stark is the most resourceful man on the entire planet. If anyone can survive out there, it is him."
Pepper gripped the glass like a lifeline, taking a shaky breath as Adam's calm demeanor helped center her.
"Right now, the board and the press are going to panic," Adam continued gently but firmly. "But you cannot panic. Stark Industries needs you steady, now more so than ever. Tell me what you need, and I will handle it."