Tony's home felt empty, stripped of its usual warmth by exhaustion and betrayal. His breath came shallow as he fumbled with the battered prototype arc reactor in his chest. His fingers shook, barely able to hold the tool steady. Everything burned—the hole in his chest, his pride, and the bitter knowledge of who had done this to him.
Obadiah Stane's words still hung in the air like smoke. "This is your legacy, Tony."
The door had closed with finality. Pepper wasn't here. Rhodey wasn't here. Even JARVIS was silent.
Refusing to accept defeat, Tony dragged himself inch by inch toward the lab. He wasn't done. Not yet. Not by a long shot.
At Stark Industries, Pepper Potts moved with determination, though beneath her calm exterior, fear coiled tightly in her chest. Coulson walked beside her, the ever-neutral mask of SHIELD professionalism firmly in place. Two agents followed close behind, weapons holstered but hands never straying far from them.
Their destination lay deep beneath Stark Industries: a hidden research and development sector Tony had never sanctioned. A secret Obadiah had buried beneath layers of deception, like rot beneath marble floors.
"This lab won't be on any official record," Coulson remarked as the secure doors slid open under Pepper's clearance.
"It's not," Pepper confirmed. "If I hadn't stumbled across the paperwork myself, I wouldn't have known it existed."
Inside, the shadows loomed heavy over rows of prototypes—military-grade hardware, exoskeleton schematics, and fragments of armor not unlike what Tony had built to escape Afghanistan… but colder. Hungrier.
At the heart of the room stood the monstrous Iron Monger frame. Unfinished, yes—but unmistakably brutal.
Coulson's gaze hardened. "Looks like we can add another crime to Mr. Stane's list."
Pepper said nothing. She pointed instead to the consoles still active, data bleeding across the screens like a confession in code.
"Copy everything," Coulson ordered. "We'll bring it back to SHIELD for analysis."
If Tony had been here, he might have called them thieves for how they moved. Coulson's people worked like vultures picking over a carcass.
But while Tony wasn't here to stop SHIELD's agents, there was someone else still in the building ready to stop these shield agents.
In a different control room meant only for him, Obadiah Stane watched through layers of glass and monitors. Cameras fed him angles of Pepper Potts and the agent crawling through what he considered his territory, like rats fattening themselves on scraps.
He didn't move to stop them. Not yet.
They thought themselves clever. Breaking into his secrets. Pepper Potts would walk out thinking she'd won. The agent could write his reports. It wouldn't matter. Not when his Iron Monger would remind them of the price of theft.
Obadiah's gaze lingered on the Iron Monger suit, resting in its frame like a beast waiting to wake. The reactor installed now pulsed steady and strong—stolen from Tony. He inhaled slowly. This wasn't some tantrum over corporate control. This was survival. Power. The world didn't need visionaries. It needed men who could hold power in their hands and wield it without trembling.
Obadiah pressed a code into the console before him. Below, automated arms began to release the clamps binding the suit in place. Hydraulic systems hissed as plates shifted, locks disengaged.
Soon.
He turned from the monitors and walked to the chamber where the Iron Monger waited. His steps were slow, deliberate. His breath measured.
Inside, assistants—men bought with promises and fear—stood at attention. No words were exchanged. They knew. He had no time for speeches.
He stripped off his coat, rolled up his sleeves.
The harness lowered. Metal wrapped around flesh. The machine accepted him as though it had been waiting all this time. Obadiah's fingers flexed within the gauntlets. His heartbeat synced to the HUD flashing alive across the screen before his eyes. Power surged through the cables into his limbs.
His lips curled in something close to a smile.
Not yet elegant. Not yet perfect.
But more than enough.
Through the feed, he caught one last glimpse of Pepper Potts walking briskly toward the elevator with the agent. It was time to end the game.
---
Miles away, beneath the thinning veil of twilight, Liliruca Arde watched Los Angeles blur past the car window. The city moved unaware of them—just another black vehicle in the current of traffic, another quiet hand closing around something fragile.
Kara sat silent, pressed small into the far corner of the seat, her notebook clutched tightly to her chest. Rumlow drove with habitual precision, attention split between the road and the quiet alerts scrolling across Stark Industries' compromised networks. Luthar's algorithms worked unseen beneath it all. Observation was a given.
"We have what we came for," Liliruca said at last, mostly to break the silence. "A decrepit chemical plant for refining Promethium. Now we should think about producing something actually worthy of the term 'weapon.'"
"It'd be smarter to just steal Tony's arc reactor tech," Rumlow remarked, eyes never leaving the road. "It's safer than Promethium. Cleaner than plasma. More stable."
"Then perhaps you should suggest that to him yourself," Liliruca murmured. She wasn't about to provoke Luthar. The Tech-Priests might not slaughter over every slight, but suggesting his technology wasn't good enough would be dangerously stupid.
Kara flinched as something boomed in the distance—low, metallic, unnatural.
Rumlow's eyes narrowed. "Looks like we've got trouble up ahead."
Ahead, the skyline fractured. Something vast moved between buildings, shedding sparks like embers from a forge. Iron Monger—Obadiah's grotesque answer to Stark's genius— stomped into view, monstrous in scale, its reactor burning with stolen life. A smaller figure darted around it, repulsors flaring—Tony Stark, alive, fighting.
The car skidded to a halt as Iron Monger hurled a massive piece of machinery. It crashed into the street two blocks ahead, sending civilians screaming and scattering.
Kara made a small, terrified sound.
Liliruca recalled Luthar's advice:
"If you desire entertainment, you may stay and watch two men try to murder each other in flying armor. Otherwise, I suggest you return."
Even without staying at Stark's building, she'd found herself exactly where two men were trying to murder each other in flying armor.
She sighed inwardly. She had believed this world to be safe. No monsters. No adventurers. She hadn't brought a weapon. Now all she could do was pray and hope these two fools didn't accidentally kill her.
"Careful. Drive fast," Liliruca instructed, voice steady.
Rumlow was already reversing, pulling them clear with practiced efficiency.
Kara finally spoke, voice small. "What… what is that thing?"
"Just a power suit," Liliruca answered flatly. She couldn't help noting how the red one looked cleaner, more advanced. More refined. It felt superior to anything she had at her disposal.
Behind them, the battle escalated—flashes of light, screams, and the roar of explosions, announcing to the city that a new beginning had already begun.
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