The plane touched down on the runway, its roar piercing the morning mist.
The cabin door opened, and the figure of Tony Stark appeared at the top of the gangway.
He was in ragged clothes, his beard unkempt, his face etched with the exhaustion of a survivor. But in his caramel-colored eyes, there was a sharpness he'd never had before.
"Tony!"
Pepper Potts, hiking up her skirt, was the first to rush forward, her eyes instantly turning red.
She wanted to hug him but feared touching some unknown wound. Her outstretched hands froze mid-air, uncertain.
"I'm okay, Pepper." Tony managed a weak smile, his voice as hoarse as if it had been scraped with sandpaper. "I just need a cheeseburger. An American cheeseburger."
Medics surrounded him with a stretcher, trying to get him onto it.
"Hey, hey! I'm not dead yet!" Tony waved them away, stubbornly insisting on walking himself. "Don't touch me. I hate being pushed around."
Just then, a cool voice came from behind Pepper.
"Are you sure? According to my preliminary scan, you're not in much better shape than a junked Chevrolet."
Paul stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the door of a private car. Behind him, a red suitcase sat quietly on the ground.
Tony's gaze went past Pepper to his fourteen-year-old son. He hadn't seen him in months. The kid seemed to have grown taller. On his face, which bore a slight resemblance to Tony's, was the same calm expression as always, tinged with a hint of scrutiny.
"Skip the hospital," Tony said, glancing at the waiting doctors, "but I can accept a twenty-four-hour watch from your 'private doctor.'" He pointed to the red case on the ground.
It was a kind of unspoken compromise between father and son.
Pepper looked at the strange father-son duo—one as stubborn as a mule, the other as calm as an old man. She sighed helplessly and waved the medical team away.
***
Stark Industries Tower, in the lounge backstage before the press conference.
"Satisfied, kid genius?" Tony asked indistinctly, slouched on the sofa while chewing a freshly acquired, warm cheeseburger.
In the center of the room, the fully inflated "Baymax" was scanning Tony with its black-bead-like eyes.
"Scan complete," Baymax's soft voice announced. "Diagnosis: Multiple soft tissue contusions, mild concussion, malnutrition, cardiac arrhythmia, and... a high-density metallic foreign object in the thoracic cavity. The energy source is highly unstable, posing an imminent risk of cardiac arrest."
Paul's brow furrowed instantly.
He strode over to Tony, his eyes fixed on the faint circular outline visible beneath his T-shirt.
"Is this the thing you cobbled together in that cave?" Paul's voice was low, suppressing a simmering rage. "And you call this 'okay'?"
Tony's chewing slowed.
He looked at the undisguised worry and anger in his son's eyes. It was a complex mix of heartache and reproach he'd never seen in anyone before. It made him uncomfortable, and he instinctively tried to deflect with a joke.
"A... little gadget. To keep me alive." He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "See? I'm alive and kicking, aren't I?"
"Alive and kicking?" Paul scoffed. "Right now, you're like a madman walking around with a faulty bomb strapped to his chest! Tony Stark, when are you going to start giving a damn about your own life?"
It was the first time Paul had ever used his full name.
The air in the lounge seemed to freeze.
The smile vanished completely from Tony's face. He watched Paul in silence, his Adam's apple bobbing as he finally swallowed the bite of his burger. He said nothing.
He knew the kid was right.
***
Meanwhile, in the lobby outside the press conference.
Pepper was directing staff on media seating arrangements when a man in a well-tailored suit with a pleasant smile stepped into her path.
"Miss Potts. I'm Agent Phil Coulson."
"Agent?" Pepper stopped, a professional smile fixed on her face. "I'm sorry, I don't have time for a debriefing from any department today."
"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division." Coulson patiently recited the full name and presented his credentials. "We're not here to debrief. We'd just like to schedule a time to speak with Mr. Stark about his 'escape' in Afghanistan. Our intelligence suggests it may have been more complicated than the military's report indicates."
Pepper's eyes lingered on the credentials for a moment. The long, awkward name almost made her want to laugh, but the words "more complicated" stuck in her mind like a small thorn.
She remembered Tony's vague descriptions over the phone, the look in his eyes when he returned—so different from before.
"I'll pass along the message," Pepper said, politely averting her gaze, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Now, if you'll excuse me, the press conference is about to begin."
Coulson didn't press the matter, simply nodding with a smile as he watched her walk away.
***
At the press conference, the flashes of cameras merged into a sea of silver light.
Obadiah Stane, a senior executive at Stark Industries, was on stage delivering an enthusiastic welcome speech, playing the part of the loyal, devoted uncle.
The way the man of the hour made his entrance, however, stunned everyone.
Tony Stark didn't walk to the podium. Instead, he plopped down on the steps of the stage and, ignoring everyone, continued to eat his second cheeseburger.
The reporters went wild.
"Mr. Stark! What did you experience in Afghanistan?"
"Are you satisfied with the military's rescue operation?"
"Stark Industries' stock plummeted during your absence. Do you have a comment?"
Tony leisurely finished the last bite, brushed the crumbs from his hands, and then lazily looked up.
"I had a... very enlightening trip." He surveyed the room, his gaze sweeping over the reporters' excited faces. "I saw, with my own eyes, the weapons I created being used in ways I never intended. I realized I had become an accessory to murder."
The entire room fell silent.
Everyone was too stunned by his words to speak.
The smile on Obadiah's face froze.
"So," Tony stood up, his voice quiet but carrying clearly through the hall, "I've decided that Stark Industries will permanently shut down its weapons manufacturing division."
Boom!
The announcement hit like a bombshell. The room erupted. Reporters surged forward, firing questions at Tony like bullets. On the stock ticker, behind the Stark Industries code, a precipitous waterfall of red appeared.
Obadiah's expression was beyond ugly; it was a ghastly, ashen color, twisted with fury. He glared at Tony, as if he could tear him apart with his eyes alone.
Tony ignored it all, raising a hand to quiet the crowd.
"I know you have a lot of questions, but before we get to that, I want to introduce you to the future of Stark Industries." He turned towards the backstage and called out, "Paul, you're up."
Under the stunned gazes of everyone present, Paul Stark walked onto the stage. He looked like a mere teenager, yet his composure was uncanny.
"This is my son, Paul Stark." Tony's introduction was another bombshell.
Before the reporters could recover from the shock of "Tony Stark has a son," Paul had already reached the center of the stage.
He bent down and pressed a switch on the red case.
*Hssssss—*
With a soft whoosh of inflating air, a chubby, white, charmingly simple robot slowly stood up. It blinked its black-bead eyes and waved a soft arm at the crowd.
"Hello. I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion."
The room fell dead silent. Then came a frenzy of camera flashes and shutter clicks even more frantic than before.
This futuristic and therapeutic robot was the ultimate contrast to Stark Industries' usual style of iron and fire. It represented a new possibility, a future diametrically opposed to destruction.
Obadiah stared at the father and son on stage, at that damned white marshmallow of a robot, the malice in his eyes practically overflowing.
The plan had gone off the rails.
He could no longer contain himself. He stormed onto the stage and forcibly ended the press conference, which had spiraled completely out of control.
"Alright, alright, Tony needs to rest!" Obadiah slung an arm around Tony's shoulders, his grip so tight it felt like it could crush bone. He appeared to be embracing Tony warmly, but he leaned in close, his lips by Tony's ear, and warned in a voice only the two of them could hear:
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Tony? You think you can destroy everything I've built?"
Tony didn't struggle, letting Obadiah hold him. He simply turned his head slightly to meet Obadiah's bloodshot eyes, a knowing smile playing on his lips.
There was none of his usual frivolity in that smile, only cold mockery and an undisguised declaration of war.
The contest had only just begun.