Tony fired a shot into the sky.
A flare streaked upward, arcing high before slowly descending. Its crimson glow lit up the desert night, casting sharp shadows on the faces of the two men standing beneath it.
"All right," Tony said, tossing the flare gun aside. "Give it a few minutes, and someone will come pick us up."
Given their proximity to a military base, a signal flare like that would definitely prompt U.S. satellites to take notice. Once they spotted him, a rescue team would be dispatched immediately.
Tony turned to Yinsen. "Come to America with me. Bring your family too."
Yinsen had been silent for a while, clearly hesitating. His expression was layered with emotion.
"My family is already dead," he said at last. "Actually, Tony, I'd prefer to return to Iran. There are still people there who need help. That's where I can do the most good."
Tony was caught off guard. The words he'd prepared got stuck in his throat. He realized then that the man who had saved his life had endured far worse than he'd known.
That only made Tony more determined to bring him back.
"Yinsen…" Tony began softly, guilt and sympathy in his voice. "I didn't know. About your family… I'm so sorry."
Yinsen shook his head gently, indicating that apologies weren't necessary.
Tony continued, "I get why you want to return home. I really do."
But he could also tell—Yinsen had a death wish. He wasn't just going back to help others. He wanted to sacrifice himself.
Tony hesitated before speaking again. "Leon was right. When I get back, I'm going to change. I want to help more people."
"I want to make a real contribution to the world."
"Not just build things that explode."
He tapped the arc reactor on his chest, eyes gleaming with resolve. "Yinsen, you can come with me. Together, we can help people who are victims of violence. We can really change the world."
Yinsen stared at the arc reactor. That piece of tech—small but revolutionary—was indeed capable of changing the course of history. He was clearly conflicted.
Boom!
Suddenly, the distant roar of an engine echoed across the desert, growing louder.
A patrol aircraft approached from the horizon.
"That was quick," Yinsen said, surprised. "The flare was just fired, and they're already here?"
He watched as the plane soared overhead—then flew right past them.
"…That's not a rescue team. Looks more like a patrol jet. They're probably chasing Leon. The base must've spotted him."
Tony squinted at the aircraft as it disappeared. "They won't catch him. That speed? Not even close to the speed of sound. Leon's way faster."
"Let's wait a bit. Leon's flashy entrance probably drew their attention."
"And next time, when I put on the MK armor, those military rednecks will go nuts again."
He grinned and began pacing. "You'll need your own armor, too. Then we could form a team… Maybe 'MK Squad'? Eh, doesn't sound cool enough…"
Three minutes passed as Tony rambled on. Then, another sound reached their ears—this time deeper and heavier.
Three helicopters appeared on the horizon.
"Whoa! There's our ride!" Tony shouted.
The two men, parched and sunburnt, jumped up and waved frantically.
Meanwhile…
As Tony predicted, Leon hadn't been caught.
The patrol plane never stood a chance. In the thirty seconds since the flare, Leon had already flown back and forth several times.
By the time the plane reached halfway, Leon was long gone—out of Afghan airspace, the blueprints secured, armor intact.
After leaving the collapsed cave, he had climbed into the thermosphere, the outer edge of the atmosphere.
Then, he accelerated—Mach 30.
In just twenty minutes, he crossed most of the planet and entered North America.
He dropped in altitude over the Pacific Ocean, slowing to a lower supersonic speed, and entered California.
The Stark estate was on the coast of Los Angeles. All that remained was to cross the coastal mountains.
But the moment he crossed into U.S. airspace, a satellite spotted him.
Back at a U.S. military base…
A radar operator stared at a blurry but fast-moving object on the screen—moving at nearly twice the speed of sound.
"Zoom in," he ordered.
The image clarified, revealing a humanoid figure in flight.
"Is that… a person?"
The control room buzzed with alarm.
"Try to contact it! Tell it to land! Whether it's CIA tech or Navy gear, we need it now!" the commander barked.
"Sir! They're not responding to any radio channels!"
"The CIA and Navy just called in. They say it's not theirs—they want intel!"
"What do you mean 'not ours'?! We have nothing that small, that fast, and that advanced!"
"Correct, sir. Not yet."
"Goddamn it! Get the weapons lab! Where's Colonel Rhodes?"
"He's in Afghanistan, sir. Looking for Tony Stark."
"Damn it! Pull up the database. Radar lock. Satellite lock. Get me a clean image!"
"Sir! The target's radar cross-section is too small—radar can't lock on. Satellite imaging is blurred—some kind of interference!"
"What the hell is this thing flying over our heads?!"
"No clue, sir."
"Deploy high-altitude surveillance jets. I want it shot down."
"Yes, sir!"
In the skies above California…
Leon was flying smoothly, enjoying the silence—until he noticed something.
Four engines were closing in. Fast.
"Ah. Spotted by a satellite," Leon muttered. "I guess I slowed down too much."
"Flying below supersonic is too slow. But even low supersonic speeds are easily tracked by satellites."
"Maybe next time, I should just stay above Mach 10."
He heard a pilot's voice through the airwaves.
"Target locked! Missiles ready. Awaiting final order!"
The commander's voice came through: "Fire!"
Missiles launched.
They burst into the air, climbing to Mach 5 within seconds, and streaked straight for Leon.
He turned, watching the glowing trails through the clouds.
Modern air-to-air missiles. Deadly. Devastating.
To anything else.
To him? Barely an itch.
He felt the itch to show off. To stop midair, catch the missiles, and walk out of the explosion like it was nothing—just to shock the U.S. military.
After all, what's the point of having a steel body if you don't show it off?
Even Maslow, in his hierarchy of needs, listed self-esteem and recognition. People like to show off when they've got something.
Leon was no exception.
But he thought about it for a moment.
Soon, Tony would return home. He'd build new armor and head out, proud and full of bravado—just like in the movie.
Then, he'd get slapped down by the military.
So why show off now?
Why not wait?
When Tony is feeling invincible—then swoop in and save him. That would be way more satisfying.
Leon imagined Tony's face in that moment.
He couldn't help but grin.
He had Superman's powers now, but he wasn't some holier-than-thou figure like Homelander.
He just wanted to keep getting stronger—and enjoy himself along the way.
Like showing off the things Tony dreamed of doing but couldn't.
He looked up.
Missiles.
Clouds.
A thought flicked through his mind.
Boom.
He vanished—Mach 20 in an instant—disappearing from the military's radar and satellite lock.
"Target lost!" a pilot screamed. "He's gone!"
"Missile impact—negative!"
"Suspected stealth technology!"
In the base command center, the commander stood in stunned silence.
"Impossible… Keep scanning! We will find that thing!"
Panic spread like wildfire.
The Department of Defense wouldn't be sleeping well for weeks.