[The Afghan Desert - Cave Entrance]
"Long time no see, Tony."
The sunlight was blinding. Tony squinted against the glare, the silhouette of the man leaning against the Fun-Vee slowly resolving into focus.
"John?" Tony rasped, his throat dry.
"What? Haven't seen you in a few months, and our big celebrity forgets the little people?"
John Constantine smirked, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the pristine desert sand. He looked Tony up and down—dirty, battered, smelling of oil and blood.
"You look terrible, mate," John added cheerfully. "Though I suppose being kidnapped by terrorists isn't exactly a spa day."
"You..." Tony let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "...you're a real bastard."
But he smiled.
Wade Wilson was a chaotic whirlwind of violence, but John? John was a known quantity. He was greedy, cynical, and self-serving, but he was reliable.
Tony slumped against the rock wall, the adrenaline finally fading.
"Help me," Tony said, his voice heavy. "Help me take him back."
He gestured into the cave.
John raised an eyebrow. He followed Tony inside, past the crude forge, to where Yinsen lay in a pool of drying blood.
"Dr. Yinsen," Tony whispered. "He saved me. He gave me a second chance. I can't leave him here."
He looked at John. "Help me carry him."
John stared at the body. He took a drag of his cigarette.
"Hmm?" John looked sideways at Wade, who was poking a dead terrorist with a stick.
"Why are you looking at me?" John asked indignantly. "Do I look like a pack mule?"
He pointed at Wade. "Hey. Muscles. You're up."
Wade pointed a gloved finger at his own chest. "Me? On what grounds? The Great Deadpool is here for the killing, not the heavy lifting! I have a very specific union contract!"
"Oh, really?"
John rubbed his thumb and index finger together—the universal sign for 'I hold the purse strings.'
"If you don't carry him, Wade... I'm deducting it from your commission. And I'll tell Pepper Potts you made a pass at Happy."
"YOU WOULDN'T DARE!" Wade gasped, clutching his mask. "That is libel! Slander! And... slightly accurate!"
"Try me."
Wade grumbled, cursing John's entire lineage, but money was money. He hoisted Yinsen's body onto his back with surprising gentleness.
"Fine! But I'm charging extra for emotional distress!" Wade shouted.
They loaded the body into the Fun-Vee. As the engine roared to life, Tony looked back one last time.
The valley was littered with Stark Industries crates. Missiles. Guns. Ammo. All bearing his name.
Tony closed his eyes. The pain in his chest wasn't from the shrapnel anymore.
[New York City - JFK Private Airfield]
The Stark Industries jet touched down on the tarmac.
The ramp lowered, and Tony Stark stepped out, supported by John. He was cleaner now, but the haunted look in his eyes remained.
"Tony!"
Pepper Potts ran across the tarmac, tears streaming down her face. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.
"Your eyes are red," Tony mumbled, trying to keep it light. "Crying for your lost boss?"
"Tears of joy," Pepper sobbed, pulling back to look at him. "Promise me. Don't ever do something so dangerous again."
"Whoa," a muffled voice piped up from behind them. "I smell the sour stench of love. Gross."
Wade Wilson hopped down the ramp, ruining the moment perfectly.
Pepper ignored him, taking Tony's weight from John.
"Thank you," she whispered to the detective.
"Just doing my job, luv," John winked. "Send the check to the usual place."
[The Stark Industries Press Conference]
The car pulled up to the venue. Reporters swarmed like sharks smelling blood.
Obadiah Stane was waiting at the entrance, a wide, practiced smile plastered on his face.
"Look who's here!" Stane boomed, throwing an arm around Tony. "Tony! We were so worried. I was planning to visit you at the hospital!"
Tony didn't smile back. He walked into the hall, ignoring the podium.
He sat down on the steps of the stage, unwrapping a cheeseburger he'd demanded Happy buy on the way.
"Uh, could you all sit down?" Tony asked the crowd of reporters. "That way, I can see you, and you can see me."
The reporters, confused, sat on the floor.
Tony took a bite of his burger. He chewed slowly, staring at the crowd.
"I didn't say goodbye to my father," Tony began, his voice quiet. "I didn't say goodbye to my father... and I have a question to ask myself."
"What is the legacy of Stark Industries?"
He stood up, walking to the podium.
"I saw young men being killed over there," Tony said, his voice gaining strength. "And they were killed by the very weapons I created to protect them."
Beside him, Obadiah Stane's smile faltered.
"I realized I have become part of a system with zero accountability."
"I woke up," Tony said, looking directly into the camera. "I realized I can do more for this world than just making things blow up."
The room buzzed with energy. The reporters leaned in.
Tony took a breath.
"Effective immediately," Tony declared, "I am shutting down the Weapons Manufacturing Division of Stark Industries."
Flashbulbs erupted like a thunderstorm. The room exploded into chaos.
Obadiah Stane stepped forward, trying to herd Tony away from the mic, his face pale with rage.
But it was too late.
The Merchant of Death was dead. Iron Man was born.
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