Finnian loved showing off.
To the point where, once his stomach was full, his brain immediately started planning his next performance.
If you wanted to be polite about it, you could call it grandstanding.
He, however, considered it a lifestyle. The joy and satisfaction from flexing? Priceless. Better than therapy. Good for the body, soul, and even productivity.
Because once you get addicted to grandstanding, you couldn't stop.
Even if half of it was bluffing, the act of showing off would force you to back it up with real power eventually.
But, of course, all of this was built on one principle: don't mess with the money.
And when it came to money? The biggest whale in his sights was none other than Stark Industries' golden goose, Tony Stark himself.
Problem: Stark's pride had just been shattered by Finnian's little display of too-much-awesome, and if Tony's head stayed broken, how was he supposed to milk the man for happy, willing payments later?
Finnian immediately recalibrated.
"Oi, Mr. Stark. Commissioned by Happy Hogan, the Murdock Law Firm is at your service."
Tony blinked, stunned. "...Law firm? You're here to rescue us?"
Finnian shook his head, pulling out a neatly folded contract.
"Correction. The delegation agreement signed by Mr. Happy Hogan states: 'Bring Tony Stark back to New York alive.'"
He tapped the paper. "Which means this glasses-wearing sidekick of yours? Not technically covered."
Yinsen: Excuse me, what the actual fuck?
(Internally offended. Deeply.)
Of course, Pepper was the one who signed the paperwork, but Finnian made sure to stress "Happy signed" every time—because Happy knew Matt Murdock. Pepper, not so much.
Tony snatched the contract, skimmed it, and muttered, "Five million…? I'm only worth five million?"
Yinsen: ??? Brother, priorities?!
The man was kidnapped, tortured, and starving, and somehow the takeaway was: I'm undervalued.
Finnian sighed. "Mr. Stark, if you're satisfied with my services, tips are always welcome."
His eyes gleamed. This guy was worth billions. Endless possibilities.
For a second, a dangerous thought crossed his mind—if the Ten Rings could kidnap Tony Stark… why couldn't he?
He quickly shut it down. No. No. Too messy. I'm the charming, upright, devastatingly handsome Finnian Murdock. Leave the war crimes to other people.
Instead, Tony studied the sleek White Can Armor like a kid glaring at someone else's favorite toy. He wanted it, badly, but was too proud to say it.
"Uh, so… what's it called?"
"White Can Armor."
"White Can? That's it? Because it's white?"
Finnian shrugged. "Pretty much."
Tony scratched his head. "I think 'Mark Armor' sounds better."
Desperate to cover the awkwardness, Tony pointed at the Mechanical Dog perched nearby. "And that thing? What's it called?"
"Little Black."
"Don't tell me… because it's black?"
Finnian gave him a thumbs up. "Smart man, Mr. Stark."
The back-and-forth got so clumsy that Yinsen finally cut in, exasperated: "Gentlemen, perhaps we should focus on leaving before more terrorists show up?"
Tony immediately snapped out of it. "Right! Yes. you, I'll pay you another five million. Just get us out of here."
He wanted to offer more, to ensure Yinsen's safety too—but five million was the last of his stubborn pride. Tony Stark couldn't be seen valuing anyone else above himself.
"Deal."
Finnian's grin spread. Another five mil in the bag.
Though, he realized grimly, Stark had now raised the financial ceiling way too high. Small commissions were going to feel like pocket change from now on. Time to recruit some nuclear-level clients.
The three of them stepped out of the cave into the blood-stained desert night.
Tony wrinkled his nose at the stench. "So, uh… how exactly are we getting back?"
"Flying."
He could've just dropped them at the nearest U.S. base, sure. But the contract specifically said back to New York. And Finnian was nothing if not professional.
"Little Black."
The dog transformed with a symphony of clicks into a compact cassette. Finnian stored it away.
"What the fuck!"
Both Tony and Yinsen blurted it in unison. Another accidental flex. Another ego shattered.
Finnian ignored their stunned faces, calmly called Happy to arrange a pickup, then turned back.
"Bathroom break? It's about two and a half hours in the air to New York."
Tony shook his head immediately. He was done being impressed today; all he wanted was his lab, tools, and revenge projects.
"Fine."
Finnian scooped them both up—one under each arm like luggage—and snapped his energy shield online.
"Easy there, brother," Tony muttered, twitching. First time being carried like a sack of potatoes in power armor, and it wasn't exactly comfortable.
"Then hold tight."
BOOM.
The sonic boom cracked the night as the White Can Armor tore through the desert sky.
Tony and Yinsen were speechless. The ground blurred beneath them, the air roared past, and for a moment all their fear and exhaustion vanished.
Just pure, unfiltered flight.
Unforgettable.
Inside the helmet, Finnian smirked. Now this is grandstanding.
Meanwhile, in New York.
Happy Hogan, clutching a giant bag of hamburgers, burst into Pepper's office like a man on fire.
"Pepper! Five Million called. Told us to meet him in the suburbs."
Pepper froze, blinking.
Then it clicked— "You mean he found Tony?!"
Happy nodded furiously. "On the way back. Two and a half hours."
They rushed out immediately. But halfway there, Pepper's suspicions flared.
"Wait. Happy… yesterday that guy was still in New York. How the hell did he rescue Tony overnight?"
Happy's face darkened, slamming the brakes. "Shit. You're right."
"Do you think… he might be lying? Trying to kidnap us too?"
Happy's jaw tightened. "Very possible."
Pepper clutched her phone nervously. "Do we call the police?"
Happy thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. Listen, when we get there, you hide. I'll go meet him. Worst-case scenario, I get kidnapped like the boss. Then you call the cops."
Pepper stared at him in disbelief.
Happy cracked his knuckles. "Hey. Someone's gotta protect Stark Industries. Might as well be me."