Obadiah Stane was waiting for me when I came upstairs that evening.
He sat in one of the leather chairs near the piano, a tumbler of scotch in his hand, legs spread wide like a man who owned the place. Which, technically, wasn't far from the truth.
"Tony," he boomed as if we were old pals meeting at a country club. "I thought I'd drop in, see how you're doing. After all, it's not every day you take a multi-billion-dollar company and turn it on its head."
I froze in the doorway. The fatherly tone, the warm smile, the twinkle in his eye… if I didn't know who he really was, I might've bought it. But I'd seen the movie. I knew what was hiding behind that grin.
I forced myself to move, wandering to the liquor cabinet. "Obie. Make yourself at home, why don't you."
"I already did," he said with a chuckle. "You've been cooped up in that basement of yours. Thought you might want a little company."
Translation: he wanted to know what the hell I was up to.
I poured myself a drink, even though the taste still burned my throat like fire. Stark had the liver for this stuff, I didn't. "Just… tinkering. You know how it is."
"Oh, I do." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You've always been a tinkerer. But lately… you're different."
My grip tightened around the glass.
He smiled wider, though his eyes stayed cold. "In Afghanistan, you come back a changed man. Traumatized, maybe. Or maybe… enlightened. The Tony I know doesn't talk about shutting down the weapons division. The Tony I know wouldn't walk away from his father's legacy."
"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think," I shot back.
For a moment, the smile slipped. Just a fraction. Then it was back. He clinked his glass against mine like a toast. "Fair enough. But remember, Tony… you're not alone in this company. A lot of people are depending on you to keep it afloat. You can't just run off chasing wild dreams."
I swallowed hard, nodding like I understood, but inside my stomach turned. Because I wasn't chasing dreams. I was preparing for nightmares.
---
The Lab
The moment he was gone, I fled back downstairs. The lab was safe. The lab was honest. The machines didn't smile at you while sharpening knives behind their back.
The Mark II frame was coming together. Sleek, silver, smooth lines instead of the crude bulk of the Mark I. This wasn't survival thrown together in a cave — this was design. Precision. Stark genius, now flowing through my veins whether I wanted it or not.
I attached the gauntlets, calibrating the repulsors. The HUD flickered to life inside the helmet, green lines sketching across my vision.
[J.A.R.V.I.S. ONLINE.]
The voice was calm, clipped, reassuring in a way only an AI could be.
"Alright," I muttered, flexing my fingers. "Test number one: repulsors. Gentle this time. No blasting myself into the drywall again."
[Calibrating repulsor output. Recommended discharge: 10%.]
"Ten percent. Got it."
I raised my hand, palm out. A beam of pale blue light hummed to life. Not violent. Controlled. The floor thrummed beneath me, but I stayed standing.
I grinned despite myself. "Okay. Okay, this is actually—"
The blast surged. I yelped as it pushed me backward, slamming me into the tool rack. Wrenches clattered like cymbals.
From the speakers above, J.A.R.V.I.S. intoned, [Note: stability at ten percent remains inconsistent.]
"Yeah, no kidding," I groaned, prying a spanner out from under my back.
---
Interrupted
"Tony?"
I pulled off the helmet and spun around. Pepper was standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, expression equal parts stern and… concerned.
"You're supposed to be sleeping," she said.
I gestured to the half-assembled armor. "Hard to sleep when the future of humanity's sitting in pieces on my workbench."
She raised an eyebrow. "Future of humanity?"
I cursed myself internally. Too much. Always too much. "Figure of speech."
Pepper walked closer, scanning the suit with wary eyes. "Whatever this is… it's not just tinkering. You're different, Tony. And it's not just Afghanistan."
Her voice softened. "Talk to me. What's going on?"
God, I wanted to tell her. To unload everything — Thanos, the Snap, the looming shadow over all of us. But I knew how this story went. She wouldn't hear it. Literally wouldn't.
So I forced a smirk. "Just trying out a new… hobby. Midlife crisis. Some guys buy sports cars, I build flying metal pajamas."
She shook her head, muttering something about insanity, but there was the faintest curve at the corner of her lips. "Just… don't hurt yourself. I don't want to be the one explaining to the board why the CEO set himself on fire in his basement."
And then she was gone again, heels clicking up the stairs.
The lab felt emptier without her.
---
Flight
Later that night, I stood on the platform in the full silver armor. Heart racing. Hands sweaty inside the gauntlets.
"Alright," I whispered, "let's see if I can fly before I kill myself."
[Initializing thrusters.]
The repulsors flared under my palms. The boot jets whined to life. My body lifted an inch off the ground, then two. I wobbled like a drunk on stilts.
"Easy… easy…"
For one glorious second, I hovered. Weightless. Free.
Then the stabilizers overcompensated.
I shot upward, smashing straight into the ceiling with a crunch that rattled my teeth. Tools scattered as I tumbled back down, landing flat on my back.
[Flight stability: 0%. Suggestion: re-calibrate balance controls.]
Flat on the floor, staring at the lights above, I couldn't help it. I laughed. A real, honest laugh.
Because even with the bruises and the danger, even with Obadiah's suspicion and Pepper's concern and the shadow of Thanos looming years away…
For the first time since waking up in this life, I felt it.
Hope.
---
To be continued...