The hardwood floor of the living room felt like ice against Tony's graying skin. The localized paralysis from Obadiah's device was finally beginning to recede, but the return of his motor functions brought only blinding, suffocating agony. Without the arc reactor, the microscopic shrapnel in his bloodstream was already migrating, millimeter by millimeter, directly toward his failing heart.
Every breath was a wet, shallow rasp. Every inch of movement demanded Herculean effort.
Tony dragged his heavy, dying body forward, his fingernails scraping against the polished floorboard. His vision swam with dark spots, the edges of his sight tunneling into blackness. He reached the elevator, his trembling fingers smearing against the metal panel as he slammed the call button.
The descent to the basement felt like an eternity.
When the elevator doors hissed open, Tony spilled out onto the workshop floor. He didn't have the strength to stand. He could only crawl, his eyes locked on the glass desk at the far end of the room. It felt miles away. The silence of the lab was deafening, broken only by his own desperate, ragged breathing.
He reached the base of the desk. Using the last of his fading adrenaline, Tony reached up, his fingers wrapping around the heavy, power-conducting cables of Dum-E. He hauled his upper body over the edge of the glass table.
There it was.
Sitting in its pristine display case, inscribed with: Proof That Tony Stark Has A Heart.
Tony's trembling fist came down, shattering the glass case. He gripped the older-model arc reactor, his fingers slipping on the smooth metal. With a desperate, agonizing grunt, he shoved the device directly into the empty, sparking cavity of his chest and twisted it into the locking mechanism.
For a terrifying second, nothing happened.
Then, the brilliant blue light flared to life. The heavy, magnetic hum resonated through Tony's chest, instantly halting the shrapnel in its tracks. Tony collapsed backward onto the floor, taking his first, massive breath of pure, life-saving air.
***
Across the city, at exactly 19:00 hours, the Los Angeles night was cool and quiet outside the Stark Industries loading docks.
Adam stood perfectly still in his tailored suit, flanked by Agent Coulson and a heavily armed SHIELD tactical team. They stood before the massive, reinforced steel doors of Sector 16.
Adam stepped forward and smoothly slid his keycard through the terminal reader.
A harsh buzz sounded, and the LED light flashed an angry red. ACCESS DENIED.
"It appears Mr. Stane has proactively revoked my administrative privileges," Adam noted, his voice calm and entirely devoid of any surprise.
Agent Coulson stepped up beside him, signaling for his men to hand him something. "That's alright, Mr. Sokolov. We can do this the old-fashioned way." With that, one of the agents handed him a circular device, which Coulson placed on the locking mechanism of the steel door.
Adam watched the device carefully and moved back with the others. A second later, a controlled explosion occurred, and the steel door gave way.
"Move in!" Coulson barked, his sidearm drawn, his flashlight cutting through the thick smoke.
Adam followed the strike team inside, his senses expanding like a web. The lab was a scene of total devastation. Workbenches were violently overturned, thick power cables sparked from the ceiling, and the massive central suspension rig in the middle of the room was completely empty.
Suddenly, the darkness at the back of the lab shifted.
Two massive, glowing blue eyes ignited in the shadows. With a deafening roar of grinding metal and heavy servos, the Iron Monger stepped forward. It was a terrifying behemoth of grey, weaponized steel, dwarfing anything Tony had ever built.
"Fire!" Coulson yelled.
The agents unleashed a hail of automatic gunfire. The muzzle flashes lit up the cavernous room, but the bullets simply pinged harmlessly off the Monger's impossibly thick plating. With a brutal sweep of its massive arm, the Iron Monger sent two agents flying across the room into the debris.
The behemoth didn't stop. It marched forward at terrifying speed, smashing straight through the reinforced concrete wall of the laboratory and stepping out into the cool night air of the facility's exterior access road.
Coulson and his remaining men scrambled for cover. Adam simply stepped past the debris and calmly walked out through the jagged hole in the wall, following the monster outside.
The Iron Monger turned, its heavy, mechanical footsteps shaking the pavement. It locked its glowing blue eyes onto the young assistant standing completely alone amidst the rubble. The massive rotary cannon mounted on its right arm spun to life with a deadly, high-pitched whine, aiming directly at Adam's chest.
Inside the suit, Obadiah's voice boomed through the external speakers, distorted, metallic, and dripping with murderous rage. "You think you're smart, kid? You think you can play me and live? Your services are no longer required."
Adam didn't flinch at the arm cannon pointed at his chest. He didn't step back. He didn't even blink.
"Mr. Sokolov, get out of there." Coulson yelled as he and his agents continued their firing at Iron Monger.
"It is not in your power to fire me, for I work under Miss Potts and indirectly under Mr. Stark," Adam said, his voice carrying clearly and smoothly over the whine of the weapons, completely ignoring Coulson's shout. "So, Mr. Stane, let me put this into nice and clean words that you will understand."
Adam tilted his head slightly.
"Go fuck yourself."
Inside the armor, Obadiah saw red. The pure, unadulterated disrespect snapped his final shred of sanity.
"Listen here, you piece of—"
Obadiah never finished the sentence.
"Stane!!!"
From the night sky above, a streak of hot-rod red and brilliant gold slammed down like a meteor. Tony crashed directly into the Iron Monger, the sheer kinetic force tackling the massive grey behemoth completely off its feet. The two metal titans plowed violently through the asphalt, tearing a massive trench into the street before tumbling out of sight into the lower roads.
The deafening crash of metal on metal echoed into the night, followed by the roar of Tony's repulsors.
Adam stood perfectly still at the edge of the crater, his hands folded neatly at his front. He looked down into the darkness where the two warring suits had disappeared, his face entirely unbothered by the apocalyptic violence that had just saved his life.
"Yes," Adam said in an even, polite tone to the empty air, a small, eerie smile appearing on his face. "I'm listening."