Edward Airforce Base, California
The C-17 Globemaster rumbled to a stop on the military tarmac, its massive cargo bay doors lowering with a groan. The air was hot and dry. Tony Stark, his arm in a sling, his face pale, stood in the shadows. Colonel James Rhodes walked beside him.
As they stepped into the blinding light, a small crowd had gathered. And standing by a Rolls-Royce Phantom was Pepper Potts. Her mask of professional calm cracked, a profound sense of relief on her face. Her eyes, filled with a subtle, unblinking intensity, found his.
Tony just looked at Pepper. Her professional facade had vanished.
"Tears for a long-lost boss?" Tony quipped, a ghost of his usual arrogant smirk on his face.
Pepper shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "Tears of joy. I hate job hunting."
He just nodded, a brief, painful smile on his face. He gave her a final nod, a silent apology,"Well vacation's over" and climbed into the Rolls-Royce. The world, once chaos, had now returned to a kind of quiet, serene calm. He had made it home.
The drive was quiet. Tony stared out the window, his gaze distant. The world, with its polished streets and bustling people, felt surreal and strange.
"Tony, where to?" Happy asked.
"Take us to the hospital, please, Happy," Pepper said from the backseat. "The doctors have to check him out." she turned to Tony "You need to be examined."
"No," Tony said, his voice flat. "I don't have to do anything. I've been in captivity for three months. There are two things I want to do. I want an American cheeseburger."
Pepper's smile vanished. "And the other?" she asked, her voice a low, teasing whisper.
"That's enough of that," she said, her voice now a low, commanding tone. "What is it, Tony?"
"It's not what you think," Tony said, a brief flash in his eyes. "I want you to call for a press conference. Now."
Pepper's smile vanished, her face a mask of shock. "A press conference? What on earth for?"
"Happy, drive," Tony said, his voice a low, direct command. "Cheeseburger first."
Happy just nodded. The car sped toward the Stark Industries auditorium.
_______________________________
Stark Industries Headquarters
The auditorium was a chaotic roar of flashing cameras and shouting reporters.
A man in a simple gray suit, Agent Phil Coulson, materialized at Pepper's side.
"Ms. Potts, my name is Agent Phil Coulson, with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. We would like to debrief Mr. Stark about the circumstances of his escape."
Pepper's spine went rigid. "We have been approached by the DOD, the CIA, the FBI, never heard of your department. We have no time for a debriefing, Mr. Coulson. My client has been through a traumatic experience. He needs to recover."
"We're a separate division," Coulson insisted. "A more... specific focus. A more... sensitive debriefing."
Pepper offered a cool, dismissive smile. "I'll put something in the book, Mr. Coulson. Thank you for your time."
She pivoted as Tony and Obadiah Stane walked onto the stage.
Tony's voice, though quiet, was amplified and sharp. "I'm sorry."
He sat down on the edge of the stage, the change in posture shocking the room.
He stood up, his gaze locking onto the cameras. "I've seen firsthand what the weapons I create can do.I've seen that them killing innocent children and helpless villagers... soldiers , young Americans, they're being used to harm the very people they were meant to protect."
He paused, the weight of his experience etched on his face. "I never got to say goodbye to my father, Howard Stark. There are questions I would have asked him. I would have asked him how he felt about what this company did. If he was conflicted. If he ever had doubts. Or maybe he was every inch the man we all remember from the newsreels."
Tony looked at the crowd, his resolve steel. "I have become part of a system that is comfortable with zero accountability.I have more to offer to the world than just blowing things up.And so, I have decided to do something about it." Tony stands up shakely , moving towards the podium.
"I have decided to shut down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark Industries. Effective immediately. The new direction and details will be provided as per my convenience and planning"
The auditorium was shattered. A massive gasp, followed by an explosion of shouts.
Stane, his face pale with fury, rushed to Tony, whispering a vicious, urgent stream of protest. Tony pushed past him and walked off the stage.
The uproar was absolute. Stane, scrambling for purchase, snatched the microphone.
He let out a strained, awkward laugh. "What we should take away from this is that Tony is back! He's back, and he's healthier than ever! We're going to have a little..."
His voice vanished beneath the chaotic wave of questions. His smile evaporated into a desperate grimace.
Backstage was a different kind of chaos. Reporters were shouting from beyond the barricades, and company executives were speaking in frantic, hushed tones. In the center of the storm, Obadiah Stane's face was a thundercloud of pure rage. Pepper looked like she was about to faint.
And then there was Arthur. He stood by the exit, his posture calm, his expression unreadable. He wasn't panicking. He watched as Tony walked towards him, the adrenaline of the press conference finally fading, leaving behind a profound, bone-deep exhaustion.
Tony's eyes met Arthur's. A look of weary recognition passed between them. He pointed a finger at Arthur, his voice a low growl. "Don't say it."
A slow, knowing smirk spread across Arthur's face. "I told you so."
Tony let out a short, sharp curse under his breath. "Damn you, Steele." He ran a hand over his face, the brief moment of dark humor gone.
"So," Tony said, his voice raspy. "How bad is it?"
Arthur didn't miss a beat. "The Dow Jones Industrial Average just dropped 400 points on the rumor alone. The Asian markets open in five hours. When they do, our stock will be in freefall. The board is in open revolt; expect them to file an injunction to freeze all executive actions by morning. The Pentagon will likely launch a formal inquiry into breach of contract by noon. Other than that, it was a great speech."
Tony stared at him, a flicker of surprised respect in his eyes. He expected panic, recrimination. He got a damage assessment. "You're not going to tell me I just committed corporate suicide?"
"That's Mr. Stane's job," Arthur said with a slight nod towards the fuming Obadiah. "My job is to handle the fallout. I'll have a press release drafted for the shareholders within the hour, emphasizing a pivot to new technology sectors. It won't stop the bleeding, but it will signal a strategy. I'll also begin filing the necessary paperwork to dissolve the weapons division. It will be a legal nightmare, but it's better if we control the narrative."
Tony let out a short, hollow laugh. "You're a machine, you know that?"
"I'm a lawyer," Arthur corrected. "It's what you pay me for."
Just as they were about to move, Agent Coulson appeared again, stepping into their path with practiced ease. "Mr. Stark, a moment of your time."
Before Tony could answer, Arthur stepped forward, placing himself subtly between them. "Agent Coulson. A pleasure to see you again. As my client's legal counsel, all requests for debriefings must be submitted to my office in writing. I'm sure you understand the need for proper procedure in a matter of this sensitivity."
Coulson's professional smile didn't waver. "Of course, Mr. Steele. I'm just trying to get a preliminary statement."
"And I'm trying to prevent my client from making any statements while under duress," Arthur countered, his voice perfectly level, a polite wall of legal steel. "He's just been rescued from a traumatic, three-month ordeal. I'm sure your division wouldn't want to be seen as taking advantage of that."
Coulson gave a slow, deliberate nod, his eyes flicking from Arthur to Tony and back again. "Just doing my job, Counselor."
"As am I, Agent," Arthur replied. "I'll be in touch to schedule that debriefing. After a full medical and psychiatric evaluation, of course."
Coulson's smile tightened by a millimeter. He gave a final, courteous nod and stepped aside. "We'll be waiting."
______________________________
Greenwich Village, New York.
The only light in the living room of Arthur's Greenwich Village brownstone came from a bank of monitors that painted the walls in shifting shades of blue and blood-red. On one, a financial analyst predicting the imminent collapse of Stark Industries, his face a mask of performative panic. On another, the ticker at the bottom of the screen showed the stock in a pre-market nosedive.
Arthur sat before a bank of monitors, the glow illuminating his focused expression,
he accessed his secure personal accounts—the ones funded by his initial, staggering short on Stark Industries. He watched the ticker, his eyes narrowed, waiting for the perfect moment. The market opened. The stock didn't just fall; it plummeted off a cliff.
He entered the command.
[System Notice: Financial Acumen (Active). Short position initiated on Stark Industries (SI). Value: $1 Billion.]
He opened a separate, heavily encrypted window. The "Jack Davis" portfolio.While his personal funds were positioned to profit from the collapse, the Jack Davis entity was programmed for the opposite. He keyed in the new directive.
MAINTAIN DAILY ACQUISITION PROTOCOL. INCREASE BUYING LIMIT BY 20% TO CAPITALIZE ON PRICE FLOOR.
Jack Davis would continue to be the mysterious vulture, buying up shares for pennies on the dollar, a silent, steady presence in the market's panic.
[Nexus Event Update:
Event: IRON MAN PROTOCAL
'Merchant of Death' Concluded.
Impact: High. Corporate and political landscape destabilized.
Timeline: Stable, but volatile. Monitor for correction events.]
Arthur leaned back, the leather of his chair groaning softly. He picked up a glass from the table beside him, the amber of the scotch catching the screen's glow. The twin transactions settled in the global servers—one a bet on total collapse, the other a quiet vote of confidence. Both his.
________________________________
Obadiah Stane's Office, Stark Industries
The office was a shrine to old money—mahogany desk, leather-bound books, the faint smell of scotch and cigars. But the illusion of calm was shattered by the frantic red lines cascading down a dozen screens, each a fresh wound in the company's value. Obadiah Stane stood before them, the ice in his glass long melted.
His gaze drifted to a silver frame on his desk. Him and a boy genius, grinning over a first-place ribbon. He ran a thumb over the glass, over Tony's bright, confident face. He remembered the weight of Howard's hand on his shoulder. Look after him, Obie. He's all I've got.
He took a sharp swallow of the lukewarm scotch. The press conference replayed in his head—Tony, sitting on the floor like a lost child, his eyes hollowed out. This wasn't a moral epiphany; it was a breakdown. An insult to everything Howard had built. He, Obadiah, had held this company together for decades. He wouldn't let a traumatized, reckless boy burn it to the ground.
With a deep sigh, he minimized the bleeding stock tickers. He brought up a new window, a secure server that required a multi-layered biometric scan. His face, reflected in the dark screen, was grim. After a moment, the system granted him access. He navigated to a deeply buried directory, its name simple and innocuous: SECTION 16.
The screen populated with an encrypted logistics network. A world map glowed, dotted with transponders tracking ghost shipments. An account ledger detailed payments from untraceable shell corporations to offshore accounts. A manifest scrolled by, listing items not as part numbers, but by name: Jericho Cluster, Stark SONIC Taser, RepulsorLift Cargo Platform. The very weapons Tony had just publicly disavowed were being actively diverted.
A small, encrypted chat window blinked in the corner of the screen.
RAZA: The announcement complicates our arrangement.
Obadiah's fingers moved to the keyboard, his expression hardening from disappointment to cold pragmatism.
S16: The public face of the company has changed. The reality of our business has not.
RAZA: My clients require assurances. And the Jericho delivery.
S16: They'll get their assurances. And their weapons.
He sent the message and closed the window. He looked back at the stock tickers, no longer with panic, but with the cold, steady gaze of a man who had just secured his own bottom line. The boy could play his games. The real business would continue.
______________________________
A/N.
Look who's back, back again...
Sorry guys for such a long break , was not able to make time for this due to work, will try to release atleast 1 chapter per day till chapter 20, then will switch to 4 chapters per week, to better keep up with both work and writing.
Anyways , let me know what you think of this , honestly I always wanted to keep the airport scene and press conference as it is , it's freaking Iconic in my opinion.