In the shadow of Afghanistan's jagged mountains, Tony Stark woke with a violent gasp, his lungs burning as if he had just surfaced from drowning. For a moment, his mind reeled with fractured memories of explosions, gunfire, and screams. The echo of war still clung to him like smoke.
When his eyes adjusted, what he saw only deepened his dread.
The room was crude, little more than a cave reinforced with scraps of metal and wood. His chest ached, and when he looked down, he saw wires protruding from his skin, their ends connected to an old car battery.
Panic surged. Instinctively, he reached to tear the wires out
"...If I were you, I wouldn't do that."
The voice was calm, weary, but carried enough authority to halt Tony mid-motion. He twisted toward the sound and saw a thin, middle-aged man seated by a small fire. The flickering flames etched sharp shadows across his gaunt face.
"You're in a terrorist camp," the man said evenly. "When they brought you here, shrapnel was lodged dangerously close to your heart. I improvised an electromagnet to keep it from reaching your arteries. If you pull those wires out, I promise you won't last more than two hours."
Tony froze. His pride urged him to reject the man's words, but he wasn't suicidal. His arrogance had always been matched by his will to survive. Slowly, he lowered his hand.
"...Thanks," Tony muttered, his voice rough. "What's your name?"
"Yinsen."
The man gave a faint, bitter smile. Of course Stark didn't remember him. Back in 1999, they had crossed paths at a conference, but Tony's attention span for anyone outside his own genius had always been brief. What use was it now to bring it up?
Trying to steady himself, Tony pushed out the words, "The military will come for us. They'll find me."
Yinsen only shook his head. In his eyes there was no such faith, only quiet resignation.
But Tony was already thinking differently. He had never been one to sit and wait for rescue.
As his gaze swept the room, something caught his attention markings on the walls and a half-open crate in the corner. His breath hitched. Inside were fragments of weapons. Not just any weapons.
"This… these are Stark Industries missiles," he said hoarsely. "Why are they here?"
His hands trembled as he touched the familiar logo stamped into the metal casing. The realization struck like a physical blow. His life's work, the pride of his company, the instruments of war he had perfected to defend freedom they were here, in the hands of the very enemies they were meant to destroy.
Yinsen's expression was almost pitying. "You really thought your weapons only landed in the right hands?"
Tony felt as if the world tilted beneath him. For the first time in years, the genius billionaire's confidence faltered.
Meanwhile, outside Afghanistan, chaos brewed.
Tony Stark's disappearance ignited a storm across the globe. At Stark Industries, Obadiah Stane exerted immense pressure on the military for answers. Politicians, shareholders, and foreign allies all demanded action.
Colonel James Rhodes Tony's closest friend arrived at the military command post and immediately took charge of the search. His uniform carried authority, but his eyes betrayed his fear.
"Colonel," a major reported, pointing at maps spread across the table. "We've narrowed Stark's location to this region, but the area is vast desert and mountainous terrain. It's uninhabited. Even with over a thousand soldiers deployed, the search will take time. A long time."
Rhodes' jaw clenched. "How long are we talking?"
"In the worst case… three months."
"Three months?" Rhodes slammed his fist onto the table, his voice sharp with frustration. "In three months, we won't be recovering Stark we'll be digging up his bones!"
He dragged a hand down his face, forcing himself to stay composed. After a long pause, he said, "Do it anyway. I'll push for more resources from higher up."
But even as he spoke, he knew the truth. The military would not divert endless manpower for one man, even if that man was Tony Stark. If they didn't find him soon, hope would wither.
Back in New York, another man was paying close attention.
Nolan Locke sat in his office, watching Stark Industries' stock price plummet with every passing day. At first, the fall had been gradual, but by the end of the week, the decline had turned into freefall.
Finally, when the price hit rock bottom, Nolan's lips curved into a confident smile.
"Simon," he said to his aide, Simon Phillips. "Take every cent we've got. Buy Stark Industries stock. All of it."
Simon hesitated, his expression tense. "Sir, Locke Technologies is fully under your control, yes. But we've already stretched our finances thin. Diverting this much money could cripple daily operations. If the stocks don't bounce back quickly, we'll be bankrupt in two months."
Nolan chuckled softly. "Relax. Trust me. As long as I'm here, Locke Technologies won't fall."
Simon exhaled heavily. "You're the boss…"
With a few keystrokes, billions of dollars were funneled into the market. In a single move, Nolan became Stark Industries' third-largest shareholder, behind only Tony Stark and Obadiah Stane.
When it was done, Nolan stretched and clapped Simon lightly on the shoulder. "The investment's made. Now, let's deal with the real problem."
His eyes gleamed with anticipation.
If Tony Stark was trapped in a terrorist camp, Nolan wasn't going to sit back and let fate play out. No he had other plans.
He placed a call to General Ross, one of the few high-ranking officials who tolerated his eccentricities.
"General Ross," Nolan said smoothly, "I hear Stark's gone missing?"
Ross gave a humorless laugh. "Locke, your intel's a week behind. Stark's disappearance has been headline news since the day it happened."
"Then perhaps this will interest you," Nolan replied. "The SAR-1 combat units and T-800 prototypes your department ordered? The first batch is complete."
Ross straightened in surprise. "Already? That's faster than projected."
"The SAR-1 models are equipped with advanced search-and-rescue programming," Nolan continued. "Don't you think this is the perfect opportunity to field-test them?"
There was silence on the line for a moment. Then Ross' voice returned, sharp with interest. "Show me what they can do."
"Gladly." Nolan hung up, a grin tugging at his lips.
This was his chance not only to test his machines but to drag Tony Stark out of captivity personally. And when he did, oh, the look on Stark's face would be priceless.
The next day, massive transport planes roared across the Afghan skies, landing at a secure base near the combat zone. Soldiers watched in awe as mechanical units were unloaded sleek, towering machines with glowing optics and armored plating.
Nolan was the first to step off the plane, his posture relaxed yet brimming with confidence.
General Ross met him at the tarmac. "Our men don't know how to handle these things," the general admitted. "You'll need to demonstrate."
"No problem," Nolan said, brushing off the concern. "But first, tell me everything you know about Stark's last location. I think it's time we began the search."
A few feet away, Colonel Rhodes observed silently, his lips curling into a dry grin.
"I'll admit," Rhodes muttered, "I'm curious too. Can your toys really do what you claim?"
Nolan smirked. "You'll see soon enough. And when Stark crawls out of that hole, I'll be right there, waiting to greet him."
His eyes glinted with sharp amusement. This was more than a mission it was the beginning of a rivalry that would reshape the future.
And Nolan Locke wouldn't miss it for the world.
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