Adam slid into the passenger seat of the silver Audi R8 just as Tony dropped into the driver's side. The billionaire didn't say a word, violently starting the engine and peeling out of the Concert Hall parking lot, making a direct line for his Malibu mansion.
They rode in a heavy, suffocating silence for several miles before Adam finally spoke up. "Mr. Stark, should we inform Miss Potts about what happened? And how do you intend to respond to this?"
"No!" was the instant reply. Tony gripped the steering wheel tighter, flooring the accelerator and pushing the sports car to dangerous speeds. "For now, Pepper does not need to know about this whole mess. She's already stressed enough with the fallout from the press conference," Tony explained, his eyes locked dead ahead on the dark road.
"Very well," Adam replied calmly. "But Mr. Stark, I suggest you come clean with Miss Potts soon, otherwise this secret may severely complicate the undeniable dynamic between the two of you."
Tony didn't answer. Adam didn't press the issue, simply turning his head to watch the blurring city lights of Los Angeles flash past the window.
Twenty minutes later, as they stood in the dim light of the basement workshop, the silence was broken only by the grim voices of the news anchors.
Holographic screens were projected across the room, all tuned to international news networks. The footage was brutal. Refugees fleeing. Stark Industries weapons tearing through stone and flesh. The Ten Rings terrorizing the village of Gulmira.
Adam stood in the corner of the room, his hands folded neatly behind his back. He watched as Tony stared at the screens, a glass of untouched green smoothie resting on the desk beside him. Adam didn't need his abilities to feel the raw, volatile anger radiating from his boss. The man who walked into the gala in a sharp tuxedo was gone, replaced by the man who had clawed his way out of a cave.
Tony suddenly turned away from the monitors. His face was devoid of its usual arrogant charm; it was set in cold, unforgiving stone. He walked to the center of the room and stepped onto the circular, grated platform.
"Jarvis," Tony called, his voice deadly quiet.
"Yes, sir?" the AI responded.
"Initialize the Mark III assembly."
Adam watched, fascinated, as the workshop came alive. The floor panels slid open with a heavy mechanical hiss. Articulated robotic arms rose from the sub-level, carrying heavy plates of gold-titanium alloy, painted in a hot-rod red and brilliant gold.
It was a mechanical ballet, beautiful and terrifying all at once. The robotic arms moved with surgical precision, snapping the heavy armor plating over Tony's legs, torso, and arms. The metallic clanks and whirs filled the room. It was the sound of a weapon being assembled around a human heart.
Adam's Beyonder senses tingled. As he watched the armor lock into place, he realized he had subconsciously slipped into his Spectator state. He wasn't just watching a man put on armor; he was witnessing the birth of something entirely new. The atmosphere in the room was heavy. The final piece—the faceplate—descended from above, locking onto the helmet with a sharp, echoing clank.
The eye slits flared to life, glowing with a fierce, blinding blue light powered by the arc reactor in Tony's chest.
"Good hunting, sir. And please, for the love of God, return safely, or no one could save me from Miss Potts' wrath," Adam said with slight amusement in his tone.
Tony turned his armored head, looking briefly at Adam. He didn't say a word. The faceplate offered no expression, but the slow, heavy nod of the helmet told Adam the billionaire understood the stakes perfectly.
The repulsors whined, a deafening pitch that shook the glass walls of the workshop. With a brilliant flash of kinetic energy, Tony shot straight up, blasting through the exit tunnel and disappearing into the night sky, leaving behind a cloud of dust and the smell of ozone.
Adam stood alone in the workshop, looking up at the open ceiling. He could feel the mysterious energy of his potion take a massive leap forward. It was at ninety-seven percent—just a hair's breadth away from complete digestion and advancement.
***
Several hours later, the quiet of the workshop was shattered by a heavy, ungraceful crash.
Adam, who had been sitting at Tony's desk reviewing company files, looked up just in time to see Mark III drop from the ceiling access. It was no longer pristine. The sleek red and gold paint was scorched, marred by deep scratches, bullet indentations, and a massive scrape across the side that looked suspiciously like a glancing blow from an anti-aircraft shell.
Tony stumbled slightly as he landed, the heavy metal boots clanking loudly against the floor.
"Welcome back, Mr. Stark," Adam said, stepping forward at a measured pace. "I take it the flight stabilizer performed adequately, and the math was right this time?"
"Yeah, it did the job," Tony wheezed, his voice sounding exhausted through the external speakers as he walked on the circular platform. "Jarvis, get this thing off of me. It's tight in all the wrong places."
The robotic arms whirred to life, moving in to disassemble the suit. But the armor had taken a beating. The joints were stiff, and the latches were jammed from impact damage. Dummy grabbed a warped shoulder plate and yanked violently.
"Hey! Ow!"
"It is a rather tight fit, sir. I advise you to stop struggling, as you are only making it worse," Jarvis replied in his smooth voice. Ignoring the mechanical chaos and his boss's muffled grunts of pain, Adam calmly strolled back to the desk, picked up his pen, and continued reviewing corporate files as if absolutely nothing was out of the ordinary.
"Be gentle, it is my first time. I designed this to come off," Tony replied.
"Please try not to move, sir," Jarvis said.
The sharp click of heeled footsteps echoed as Pepper Potts walked down the stairs, carrying a black folder, and stared at the chaos. "What's going on here?" Pepper asked in bewilderment.
Tony froze in an awkward pose. Ignoring the robotic arms still tugging at his armor, he slowly turned his head toward Pepper. He opened his mouth and then closed it. "Let's face it. This is not the worst thing you've caught me doing," Tony said.
"Are those bullet holes?" Pepper gasped, her voice tight with panic. She looked around the room, her gaze finally landing on the desk. There sat Adam, calmly watching them. "You were here, and you did not stop him, Adam?" she demanded in a heavily chastising tone.
In response, Adam didn't flinch. He simply offered his signature polite, perfectly innocent smile. "I didn't stop him because even if I had asked, he would have ignored me and gone ahead anyway. You should understand that better than anyone else, Miss Potts," Adam said while throwing Tony under the bus.
Behind Pepper, Tony mouthed 'Traitor' to Adam as Pepper turned towards him. Adam just shrugged at him.
***
Halfway across the world, a freezing wind swept beneath the dark, starless sky of the barren Afghan desert.
A convoy of black SUVs came to a stop in the center of the Ten Rings encampment. Obadiah Stane stepped out of the lead vehicle, flanked by his private security. He walked toward Raza and looked at the warlord's scarred, half-burnt face. "Welcome," Raza said, gesturing to his ruined features. "Compliments of Tony Stark."
Obadiah looked around before saying, "If you'd killed him when you were supposed to, you'd still have a face."
"You gave us trinkets for killing a prince," Raza replied.
"Where is the weapon?" Obadiah asked.
"Come. Leave your guards outside." Raza invited Obadiah to a dimly lit canvas tent. Obadiah walked inside and laid eyes upon the crudely made Mark I.
"His escape bore an unexpected fruit," Raza said.
Obadiah crossed his arms in front of his chest. "So this is how he did it."
"This is only a first, crude effort. Stark has perfected his design; he has made a masterpiece of death; a man with a dozen of these can rule all of Asia. And you dream of Stark's throne. We have a common enemy." Saying this, Raza sat down and poured himself some black tea. "If we are still in business, I will give you these designs as a gift."
"And in turn, I hope you'll repay me with a gift of iron soldiers." Raza took the cup full of black tea and offered it to Obadiah in a mock toast.
Obadiah smiled. It was a warm, grandfatherly smile that didn't reach his cold eyes. He stepped closer to Raza, raising a small, sleek device disguised as an earpiece.
"Technology," Obadiah whispered, his voice smooth and deadly. "It's always been your Achilles' heel in this part of the world."
Obadiah pressed a button on the device.
Instantly, a high-frequency, localized sonic wave erupted from the earpiece. It was completely silent to the human ear, but the effects were devastating. Raza's eyes rolled back in his head. His jaw locked, his muscles seizing violently as blood began to trickle from his nose and ears. He collapsed to the dirt floor, completely paralyzed but entirely conscious.
Obadiah stepped over the paralyzed warlord, casually admiring the crude arc reactor housing on the Mark I armor.
Outside the tent, the sudden, deafening roar of automatic gunfire erupted, shattering the quiet desert night. Obadiah's private security contractors had moved in, executing the Ten Rings insurgents with ruthless military precision. The screams of dying men echoed through the dark camp, but Obadiah didn't even flinch.
He looked down at Raza, his smile fading into a sneer of pure corporate malice.
"Leave no survivors," Obadiah ordered his men as they entered the tent. "And load this suit onto the transport. We have work to do."
Obadiah walked out, got into his car, and dialed a number. "Set up Sector 16, underneath the arc reactor, and I'm gonna want this data masked. Recruit our top engineers. I want a prototype right away."