Arthur, Tony, and Elena sat in a heavy hush, the muted television still flashing images of Stane's escape across the room.
"So," Arthur said eventually, "what's next? For you, for the suit?"
Tony blinked at the shift in topic. "What do you mean?"
"You've built something remarkable. I'm curious what you plan to do with it."
Tony was quiet, his gaze drifting toward the hole in the ceiling, then to his own hands. "I don't know, honestly. I've been so focused on building the thing that I haven't really thought about... what comes after."
"Any ideas?"
"Maybe." Tony shifted, uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with the couch. "I've been thinking about… using it. Actively. Not just as a defense system, but something more." He hesitated, then grimaced. "That sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?"
"Does it?"
Tony huffed a laugh, hollow at the edges. "What am I going to do, Arthur? Be a superhero? That's… not me. I'm a billionaire with an ego problem and a long career of building weapons that got people killed. I'm not even in the same galaxy as Captain America."
"Uncle Tony would be a great superhero," Elena said firmly, as though announcing an undeniable scientific fact.
Tony looked at her, startled by the certainty in her voice.
"She's right," Arthur said. "Yes, you have your… defects. Narcissism, impulsivity, a distinct inability to follow orders. But who said there was a criteria for saving people? You don't need to be a second Captain America."
Arthur stood up, walking over to pat Tony on the shoulder. "Just be the first Tony Stark. But think about it seriously. Is being a superhero what you want? Because it's a responsibility that doesn't let go."
Tony studied him. "What would you do? If you had my suit?"
Arthur didn't hesitate. "I wouldn't become a superhero. I'm not noble, or self-sacrificing. If my family and friends are safe, that's enough for me. I'll do anything to protect them, and that's where my ambition ends. But you… you're not me."
Tony exhaled. "No. I'm not. People haven't died because of something you built. I want to atone for that. And maybe this suit is the way to start."
"Whatever you decide, I'll support you." Arthur shrugged. "But the decision has to come from you, not anyone else."
Tony went quiet, eyes sharpening behind the thoughtful haze.
"Well, even if I did want to," he said slowly, "who would I even fight? Street thugs? Purse-snatchers? Bank robbers? My suit is overkill for all of them."
"Fate has a way of providing targets," Arthur said cryptically. "Someone is coming here right now with what you seek."
"What's that supposed to—"
"Sir," JARVIS interrupted. "Mr. Yinsen is at the front gate. He appears distressed and says he must speak with you urgently."
Tony stood up immediately. "Yinsen? Let him in. Right now."
He turned to Arthur, eyes narrowed. "How did you know? Have you bugged my house? Are there cameras I don't know about?"
Arthur smiled, picking up Elena. "Trade secret."
Tony opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of the front door opening stopped him.
Ho Yinsen rushed into the living room. The usually calm, composed doctor looked haggard. He was clutching a manila envelope, his breathing ragged.
"Tony," Yinsen gasped. "Thank god you are here."
"Yinsen?" Tony moved to him. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"It is not me," Yinsen said, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "It is my home. Gulmira."
He thrust the envelope into Tony's hands.
Tony opened it. He pulled out a stack of grainy, high-resolution photographs. Arthur looked over his shoulder.
The images were horrific. Families being herded by armed men. Villages burning. And there, in the center of the chaos, stood men wearing the insignia of the Ten Rings.
But that wasn't what made Tony's blood run cold.
It was what they were holding.
In the background of the photos, clear as day, were crates stamped with STARK INDUSTRIES. There were Jericho missile launchers mounted on trucks. Soldiers were wielding Stark-issue assault rifles.
"They are destroying everything," Yinsen whispered. "My village. They are using your weapons, Tony. The ones you said you stopped."
Tony stared at the photographs, his expression cycling through shock, confusion, and finally cold fury.
"JARVIS," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "How did Stark weapons reach a Ten Rings cell in Afghanistan? I shut down the weapons division. I authorized no sales. No transfers. Nothing."
"I'm afraid I don't have access to that information, sir. The weapons manufacturing division's records were compartmentalized before the shutdown. However, given the timeline, it appears these weapons were manufactured before your return and sold through unofficial channels."
"Unofficial channels," Tony repeated flatly.
"It is possible that individuals within the company liquidated existing inventory to outside buyers before the shutdown took effect. The Ten Rings would have been an obvious customer, given their existing relationship with Mr. Stane and his associates."
Tony's hands were shaking. Arthur watched him carefully, recognizing the anger building behind his eyes.
"Someone in my company," Tony said slowly, "sold weapons to the terrorists who kidnapped me. Who…" He stopped, jaw clenching. "JARVIS, contact Pepper. Now."
"Connecting, sir."
Pepper's voice came through the workshop speakers moments later. "Tony? Is everything alright?"
"No. We have a problem." Tony's voice was ice. "Someone in the company sold weapons to the Terrorists after I shut down manufacturing. I need you to do a complete audit. Every department, every employee, every transaction in the last month. Anyone who touched weapons inventory, anyone who had access to distribution channels—I want names, Pepper. Every single one."
A pause. "Tony, that's... that's going to take time. And it might get ugly. Some of these people have been with the company for decades."
"I don't care if they've been here since my Dad's time. If they sold my weapons to terrorists, they're done. Find them."
"...Understood. I'll start immediately."
"Thank you. And Pepper? Be careful. Stane escaped, and we don't know who else might have been involved."
"I saw the news. I'll be careful."
The call ended.
Tony turned back to Yinsen, the photographs still clutched in his hands. His expression had settled into something hard and determined.
"These weapons are my responsibility," he said quietly. "My name is on them. My legacy." He looked at the images again—the burning buildings, the armed terrorists, the people fleeing in terror. "I made these things. I put them into the world. And now they're being used to destroy your home."
"I'm not asking you to take responsibility," Yinsen said. "I'm asking you to help. You have resources. Connections. Perhaps you could contact the military, or—"
"No." Tony set the photographs down. "The military will take weeks to act, if they act at all. Bureaucracy, jurisdiction, political considerations—by the time they mobilize, your village could be gone."
"Then what—"
"I'll handle it myself."
Yinsen stared at him. "Yourself? How?"
Tony's eyes drifted toward the floor—the workshop beneath them, the garage beyond it. In his mind's eye he saw the Mark II lying in a mangled heap on the crushed Cobra, frost still clinging to its plates.
"I have something they won't expect."
He turned to Arthur, and there was something new in his expression. Something that hadn't been there before the cave, before the armor, before any of it.
"You asked me what I was going to do with the suit." Tony smiled—not his usual smirk, but something rawer. More real. "I think I just found my answer."
Arthur rose, Elena's hand in his. "Then I'd say you have work to do."
"Yeah." Tony was already moving toward the workshop, energy crackling around him like a physical force. "Yeah, I do."
As he reached the top of the stairs, a small voice called after him.
"Uncle Tony?"
Tony paused and looked back.
Elena stood there, chin lifted with quiet courage. "Come back safe."
For the briefest moment, Tony's bravado cracked, revealing something softer beneath.
"I will," he promised. And for once, he sounded utterly sincere.
Then he vanished down the staircase, already shouting rapid-fire instructions to JARVIS before his feet even hit the bottom step.
Arthur guided Elena toward the exit. Yinsen followed, still dazed, overwhelmed by the speed at which this strange new world was unfolding—but with something unmistakably hopeful kindling in his eyes.
"Will he really be able to help?" Yinsen asked softly. "One man against an entire terrorist group?"
Arthur didn't hesitate. "That man built a suit of armor in a cave with a box of scraps."
He opened the door for Yinsen. "I wouldn't bet against him."