Afghanistan, Kunduz Province.
The sun was a furnace, scorching the endless desert. The air, thick with the dry scent of dust and gunpowder, shimmered with heat, distorting the distant horizon.
Tony Stark stood at the center of this scorched earth. Surrounded by a crowd of high-ranking US military officers and soldiers, he was the only sun.
He wasn't wearing the military-issue flak jacket. Instead, he wore the dark gray suit Paul had custom-made for him. Its tailored lines made him look less like an arms dealer and more like a Hollywood superstar about to walk the red carpet.
"They say that I am the most powerful weapon of our time."
Tony spread his arms, flashing the camera his trademark smile—a mixture of ego and charm.
"That's a statement that both wounds me and... honors me very, very much."
He paused, savoring the silence of the crowd, then suddenly threw his arm out.
"But times have changed! I am happy to announce... that I am unemployed!"
As his dramatic words fell, a menacing "Jericho" missile roared to life behind him, tearing through the searing air on a long tail of fire.
The missile detonated abruptly over a distant mountain ridge, but not with a single, deafening boom.
Instead, there was a muffled *thump*. The main warhead instantly split into hundreds of sub-munitions, descending upon the entire mountain range like a storm of steel.
A second of dead silence.
Then, the world-shattering explosions arrived with a terrifying delay.
BOOM—BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!!!
The continuous blasts merged into a horrific shockwave of sound. The ground trembled violently, and a searing gust of hot air, laden with sand and stone, slammed into them, forcing everyone to shut their eyes.
The officers and soldiers present were all stunned by the hellish landscape before them, their faces etched with a mixture of awe and fear.
Only Tony, facing into that destructive heatwave, wore an ever-widening smile.
He was the conductor of this symphony of destruction.
"This is the masterpiece from Stark Industries, the Jericho missile," he concluded nonchalantly. "A one-and-done deal. No haggling. Want to see it again? Too bad. Your targets have been vaporized."
The demonstration was a complete success.
Colonel Rhodey walked over and clapped Tony on the shoulder. "Tony, you've redefined warfare. Again. Ride back with me. It's safer."
"Don't be so serious, Rhodey." Tony undid the top button of his suit jacket and tugged at his tie, feeling the oppressive desert heat finally find a way in. "I like to mingle with my clients, feel their enthusiasm."
He gave a casual wave and strode towards an open-topped military Humvee where a few young soldiers were sitting.
The soldiers tensed up, both nervous and excited, as the billionaire swaggered over and climbed in.
"Hey, fellas, relax." Tony pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and put them on. "How was that fireworks show? Worth a five-star review?"
A fresh-faced soldier, his cheeks still dotted with freckles, was so excited he could barely speak. "Mr. Stark, that was... that was incredible!"
"Call me Tony," he said with a wink, then looked at the experienced-looking veteran in the driver's seat. "So, pal, what is there for fun around here besides sand?"
The convoy slowly started moving, the atmosphere lightening under Tony's deliberate charm.
"Fun? Probably betting on which cover girl you're going to dump next," the veteran joked, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.
"Oh? Good question. The latest one..."
Tony was just about to lean into his playboy persona with a dirty joke.
Then, chaos erupted.
*BOOM!*
The armored vehicle at the very front of the convoy was struck by a missile from the side without any warning, instantly exploding into a massive fireball.
The powerful shockwave sent the Humvee Tony was in flipping through the air.
The world spun.
The screech of twisting metal, the screams of soldiers, the whistle of bullets... all the sounds merged into a cacophony that flooded Tony's ears.
The Humvee rolled several times before slamming heavily onto the sand.
Tony was thrown from the vehicle, tumbling for a dozen meters before he came to a stop.
He felt as if his organs had been rearranged, and a loud ringing filled his ears, but he was alive.
The "Kung Fu" suit had absorbed the vast majority of the impact. Aside from a few scrapes, he was largely unharmed.
He struggled to lift his head. His vision was a blur of burning vehicle wreckage and fallen soldiers.
The young soldier he had been joking with moments ago now lay with a gaping hole in his chest, his eyes staring blankly at the sky.
Rage and terror seized Tony's heart in an instant.
"RPG!" a surviving soldier yelled.
Another missile shrieked towards them.
Tony's pupils contracted. He instinctively dove toward a nearby crater.
*BOOM—!*
The explosion detonated just feet behind him, sending a spray of scorching hot shrapnel flying in every direction, each piece carrying the stench of death.
Tony felt an agonizing, tearing pain in his chest, as if he'd been struck by a red-hot sledgehammer.
He looked down.
A twisted piece of shrapnel was embedded deep in his chest, right below the open collar of his suit.
Blood instantly stained his white shirt.
If only... if only he hadn't unbuttoned that button...
Consciousness was fading fast, the strength draining from his body as if from a siphon.
Before his vision went completely dark, he used his last ounce of strength to look at the wreckage of the missile that had crippled him.
Printed clearly on its casing was a logo he knew all too well.
A blue and white emblem.
"STARK".
...
An unknown amount of time passed.
Tony regained consciousness to a cold, stabbing pain.
He found himself lying in a dark, damp cave, covered by a rough blanket.
He tried to sit up but was met with a sharp pain from his chest, which seemed to be connected to something.
He looked down and saw the strangest sight of his life.
A hole had been carved into his chest. Inside it was a crude device made of coils and magnets. Several wires extended from it, connecting to an old car battery nearby.
The battery was emitting a faint, sizzling sound.
"You are awake."
A gentle voice came from the side.
Tony snapped his head around to see a thin, middle-aged man with glasses sitting by a fire, holding a pair of surgical forceps.
"Who are you? What the hell is this thing?" Tony's voice was hoarse and weak, but his tone was still sharp with suspicion.
"My name is Yinsen," the man said, pushing up his glasses. "As for this, it's an electromagnet. It's keeping the shrapnel in your body from reaching your heart. In short, it's keeping you alive."
Tony's mind raced. He remembered the explosion, the missile bearing the Stark logo.
"We've been kidnapped?"
"Yes," Yinsen nodded calmly. "By a terrorist organization called the Ten Rings."
Tony looked around the cave. It was filled with all sorts of weapon parts, all of them products of Stark Industries.
His heart sank, bit by bit.
Suddenly, he remembered something. He grabbed Yinsen's arm, his eyes urgent.
"My suit! The dark gray suit I was wearing, where is it?"
That wasn't just any suit. It was from Paul... made by his own son.
Yinsen looked at him, a trace of sympathy in his eyes. "When they brought you here, you had nothing on but these pants. The suit... they probably took it as a trophy."
Nothing left...
Tony's hand fell limp, the light in his eyes instantly dimming.
It wasn't just a piece of clothing. It was the first time—the only time—his son had ever clearly shown he cared.
And he had lost it.
Stripped clean.
Stripped clean by a group of men using the weapons he created to kill him.
Tony Stark, a genius who never believed in coincidence, felt a cold, clear thought form in his mind.
This wasn't a random attack.
It was a meticulously planned assassination.
And the person who could leverage Stark Industries weapons, who could know his itinerary with such precision, and who could arrange his death...
A name he had once trusted implicitly became terrifyingly clear in his mind, sharp and monstrous.
An unprecedented chill shot up his spine, instantly spreading to every limb.