Obadiah Stane straightened his suit, brushing a bit of dust from his sleeve as if he had merely stepped over a minor inconvenience. Around him, the bodies of the Ten Rings members lay sprawled across the scorched ground, a grim testament to his ruthless efficiency.
"Secure the armor," he said coolly, his voice cutting through the dry air like steel. "Every piece. Disassemble it carefully. I want it cataloged, photographed, and documented. As of today, this is Stark Industries property."
His guards moved with expert precision. They gathered the scorched and twisted remnants of the Mark I armor, tagging each part and placing them into reinforced containers prepped in the chopper.
Obadiah remained still, his eyes locked on the crude, yet powerful remains of Tony's creation. Even in its burned, makeshift state, the armor radiated potential. Tony had built this… under duress, in a cave, with scraps.
And yet it worked.
What could he build—with full resources, an elite team of engineers, and an open budget?
A spark ignited in Obadiah's mind—an ambitious, dangerous vision. He would take this primitive design and refine it, enhance it, weaponize it in ways even Tony hadn't imagined. This wouldn't just be an armor. It would be the future of warfare. Of power. Of dominance.
He would create something greater than Stark ever could.
A slow, predatory grin spread across his face. Obadiah was no longer just a businessman. No longer merely Tony's trusted partner. He was a visionary with the tools to reshape the world.
Without another glance at the bodies behind him, he turned back toward the helicopter.
"Let's go home," he said coldly. "We've got work to do."
The chopper lifted off moments later, stirring sand into a whirlwind as it carried Obadiah Stane—and the shattered legacy of the Mark I—out of the desert and toward the birth of something far more dangerous.
New York City – Stark Industries R&D Complex
Days later, inside Stark Industries' cutting-edge R&D facility, the clatter of tools and the hum of analysis filled the air. Technicians swarmed over workbenches, scrutinizing the remains of the Mark I suit. Its components had been disassembled and laid out across reinforced tables, while advanced scanners broke down every inch of its engineering.
On a raised observation platform, Obadiah Stane looked down on the operation with arms crossed, eyes sharp with focus. One of the monitors displayed a full 3D reconstruction of the armor, rotating slowly as diagnostic data streamed down the sides.
"Boost the output by twenty percent," he ordered one of the lead engineers. "I want to test this design to its maximum threshold."
The engineer tapped away at his tablet, nodding. "We're also developing a new alloy, sir—something heat-resistant and lighter. Should solve the arc stabilization issues."
"Good," Obadiah said curtly. "I'm not interested in promises. I want results. This project takes top priority."
He paced along the platform, stopping occasionally to review test data or bark a new directive. Hours passed, but his attention never wavered. The Mark I had become an obsession—one he believed could lead to the next evolution in military technology.
"Sir," a staffer called out from behind him, "the shareholder party is about to begin."
Obadiah nodded but didn't look away from the screen. "Prep the suit. Run another simulation. Begin synthesizing the arc reactor prototype," he said firmly. "Keep everything moving."
With that, he turned on his heel and walked toward the elevator, leaving his engineers scrambling to meet his demands.
Later That Evening – Stark Industries Shareholder Gala
The party was already in full swing by the time Obadiah arrived. Inside the lavish hall, investors, board members, and journalists mingled under soft lighting and elegant music. Glasses clinked, soft laughter floated through the air, and murmurs of concern over Tony Stark's recent moves rippled beneath the surface.
Obadiah entered with his usual commanding presence, smiling, shaking hands, exchanging hollow pleasantries. Every step he took was measured. Every smile, calculated.
He spotted Pepper Potts across the room, looking tired but composed. Her eyes briefly met his as he approached.
"Pepper, my dear," Obadiah said with carefully crafted warmth, "how are you holding up?"
Pepper offered a polite, distant smile. "As well as anyone could, considering everything. Thanks for checking in, Obadiah."
Her voice was neutral, guarded.
He nodded, keeping up his facade. "Tony's been... unpredictable lately. But we'll steer the ship. Stark Industries is in safe hands."
Pepper didn't reply. She just gave another faint smile, then turned to greet someone else.
Obadiah stood for a moment longer, glass in hand, letting his gaze wander through the room. To them, he was the reliable man at the helm—the steady partner in a time of upheaval.
While suits mingled and wine flowed freely beneath the chandeliers, Alex Morrow stood near the quieter side of the ballroom, far from the spotlight but not unnoticed. He wasn't a socialite by nature, but tonight wasn't about showmanship—it was about presence. Stark Industries had backed his hospital. His presence here made a statement of its own.
He wore a charcoal-gray suit, neatly pressed and simple. Beside him stood Colleen Wing, her posture relaxed but vigilant, sipping sparkling water while scanning the room like it might explode at any moment. She was protective by instinct, and while Alex didn't need a bodyguard, he appreciated her awareness.
"Haaa..."
"You two, can you please relax?" Alex muttered, casting a sidelong glance at both women. "You're acting like we're in a base under siege."
Both Colleen and Sue flinched slightly as the dense energy of the event pressed in.
"Not my fault," Sue murmured. "This whole place reeks of disgusting auras."
Chi-based perception had made them more sensitive to subtle energy shifts. And being in a room full of ambitious humans didn't exactly soothe their instincts.
Alex sighed and shook his head. "Don't worry about it. It's not like we're here to fight. As for the disgusting auras—you're just sensing regular people. That's normal."
Colleen gave a short nod, though her expression remained tense.
"Still unpleasant," she admitted quietly.
"well you don't reach top, without dipping your hands in blood" He said shrugging as they nodded.
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