Pepper looked at Tony, who was hunched over, sitting helpless and dejected on the work chair, his conviction warring with his fatigue. A sharp pang of heartache—more agonizing than any anger—flashed in her eyes. She knew Tony. He wasn't asking her to risk her life; he was confessing that he couldn't live with himself if he didn't risk it.
She walked slowly toward him, the sound of her expensive high heels muted by the concrete floor. She hesitated for only a moment, then she picked up the golden keyring chip from the dusty workbench. Tony immediately turned around, his eyes wide with surprise and a fragile hope he hadn't wanted to show.
Pepper didn't look at him, staring instead at the complex mess of wires and metal that was the Mark III. "You know what, Tony?" she said, her voice soft but steady, accepting the impossible request. "You are my everything. And if you have to die, I'd rather you die doing the right thing than live knowing you gave up on it."
She didn't wait for him to respond, needing only the silent acceptance in his gaze. She turned and left the workshop, her high heels clicking rapidly up the stairs. Tony watched her retreating figure until she was gone, a genuine, albeit faint, smile touching his lips.
The next morning, Pepper Potts, dressed in her most severe and professional CEO attire, arrived at Stark Industries. She clutched the discreet golden USB drive tightly in her hand, her expression an impenetrable mask of business-as-usual as she headed towards Tony's expansive, innermost office on the top floor.
It was no longer Tony's office, of course. It had been swiftly claimed and personalized by Obadiah Stane.
Meanwhile, miles away in Malibu, Leo stretched and popped his neck, finally rising from his deep, restorative sleep. 'Wow, that felt so good. How long did I sleep?'
Looking at the bright morning sun streaming through the windows, Leo stretched his body, which felt tighter, more resilient, and strangely settled. He turned and went straight to the kitchen. Having finally experienced the deep, soul-satisfying feeling of being full, he was now, paradoxically, even more excited to eat.
He cooked his elaborate breakfast again, but this time, he was relaxed, humming a tune as he portioned out a second plate and brought it down to the basement. "Mr. Stark, dinner's ready. Or, you know, mid-morning protein infusion."
Tony was standing in front of the massive, gleaming Mark III, stroking his well-maintained beard. He was projecting holographic blueprints for an updated version.
"Do you think a tight-fitting design is better, or a larger, bulkier one, Leo? A larger design allows for more redundancy and more things to be added—bigger batteries, heavier weapons," Tony pondered aloud, his mind already three steps ahead in the engineering process.
Leo, who had seen enough comic books to know where bulk leads, shook his head vehemently. "Tight-fitting, definitely a tight-fitting design. It looks better, and it's faster. Don't go bulky; bulky is always slow and uncool."
"Yeah, I think so too, he looks better like this!" Tony nodded, agreeing with his inner aesthetic sensibilities as he admired the sleek, angular form of the Mark III.
He turned around and started eating his breakfast, talking around a mouthful of eggs. "Leo, I've almost finished designing the Mark IV. I'm going to engineer a mobile multi-manipulator disassembly device, trying to control the time within one minute. Getting in and out is a nightmare."
He paused, then added, slightly sheepishly, "And I also need to design a proper waste management system, you know, a toilet function. Last time I flew there for so long, I almost couldn't hold it in."
Leo winced in sympathy. "A necessary feature, Mr. Stark. But… that reactor core?" Leo looked at Tony expectantly, eyes shining brighter than the palladium.
Tony reached into a heavily secured drawer and pulled out two brand-new, brightly glowing Arc Reactors, each perfectly calibrated and shimmering with raw power. He placed them in front of Leo. "These two, Leo, are pristine. Custom built. I bet someone would literally buy one of these off the black market for a billion dollars right now. Do you believe me?"
"Hehe, thank you, Mr. Stark," Leo said with a genuine smile as he eagerly took both reactors.
But after thinking for a moment, he placed one back down on the table. "Mr. Stark, as I said before, if someone manages to take the one from your chest, you need a spare. I'll just take one for now. I'm confident this will be enough."
Tony chuckled, momentarily touched by the kid's loyalty and foresight. He took the spare back and put it in a different, more secure compartment. "Alright, Leo. That's smart. But tell me, you're usually more focused on your breakfast. Why the sudden surge of caution?"
"Yes, I think you're facing a major crisis right now, Mr. Stark, but I don't know the exact timing. And the source of the crisis is one of the people you trust most," Leo said, his smile gone, his expression deadly serious as he looked Tony right in the eye.
Tony frowned, the food suddenly tasteless in his mouth. "Why would anyone want to harm me? Although Obi did hurt me that day, it shouldn't be… a long-term thing, right? He's family."
As he spoke, the denial in his voice was thinning, replaced by doubt. Even Tony himself became uncertain, remembering the intensity in Obadiah's eyes.
"Mr. Stark, you should remain vigilant. I'm going to continue my training. I'll come back to protect you once I break through that wall. I promise," Leo stated firmly, eager to overcome the Level 20 hurdle before him.
"Don't worry, kid. I'm fine. I bought two more tons of gold-titanium alloy, just in case. You can use it first. We still need to work on the design of the Mark IV," Tony said, taking a final bite of his sandwich, attempting to sound casual.
Leo returned to his room, looking at the bright, humming reactor in his hands and the two tons of brand-new, untouched gold-titanium alloy waiting in the corner. He was full of confidence; this time, armed with fusion energy, he was sure he could finally break through his limits.
He sat cross-legged and immediately began his practice, the familiar golden light filling his private quarters.
It was 10:30 in the morning.
Pepper walked briskly past dozens of high-tech desks and cubicles to the innermost executive office. She gently pushed the door open, a wave of relief washing over her when she found the immense room empty.
She quietly closed the door, engaged the internal lock, and hurried to sit down in front of the sprawling computer system—Obadiah's computer. The machine was in screensaver mode, and with a simple click, a username and password were required to log in.
Pepper quickly pulled out the golden keyring Tony had given her—the specialized chip—and plugged it into the back of the tower.
Immediately, a huge red warning message flashed across the screen: ACCESS DENIED. MALICIOUS CODE DETECTED.
However, at the same instant, a smaller panel filled with complex, rapidly scrolling green code popped up and kept flashing, overriding the red warning. Tony's bespoke backdoor code was working.
In just five frantic seconds, the computer's proprietary defenses were successfully breached, and the main desktop interface opened.
Following Tony's frantic instructions, Pepper began her search. No records in the administrative folder. She went directly to the hidden, encrypted drive.
Several hidden folders immediately appeared. Clicking on the first one brought up dozens of high-resolution data diagrams of the Jericho missile system. She clicked "Next." The next folder was even more disturbing: a dozen Iron Man armor design drawings. The designs were bulky, menacing, and rugged, vastly different from Tony's sleek aesthetic, and they were all prominently labeled with the designation: Project IRON MONGER, District 16.
District 16? Pepper had absolutely no idea there was any such zone beneath the Stark complex. "District 16? What are you trying to build, Obadiah?" she whispered, her fear spiking.
When she opened the third folder, a video file started playing. It was shaky, blurred footage shot on a battlefield, but the images were unmistakable.
A group of masked men, carrying guns and wearing the signature scarves of the Ten Rings organization, stood behind a bound figure whose head was covered with a burlap sack.
Another person, presumably Raza, was reading from a manuscript in his hand. The language was not English. As he spoke, he violently ripped the burlap sack off the bound man's head, revealing the pale, pitifully bruised and bloodied face of Tony Stark.
Pepper gasped, clutching the desk edge for support. She could hardly believe her eyes. She frantically typed in the word 'TRANSLATE' on the video console.
The audio was simultaneously translated into English, echoing hollowly in the office.
"You did not inform us the person you ordered killed was the infamous Tony Stark. Therefore, Obadiah, you will pay a heavy price for your deception. Tony Stark's head has gone up in price, and we are now taking a deposit…"
"Oh my god!" Pepper realized the sickening truth: it turned out that Obadiah hadn't just covered up Tony's accident; he had orchestrated Tony's attempted murder. He wanted him dead.
Without hesitation, she paused the shocking video and, ignoring the torrent of fear, began copying all three folders—the Jericho manifests, the Iron Monger plans, and the sickening video—onto the golden chip.
But just as she clicked the final copy button and the progress bar appeared, Pepper froze. A voice came from outside the door.
"So, what do you think we should do now, dear?"
The door slowly swung inward, and Obadiah pushed it open. He stopped for a beat, his eyes locking onto Pepper sitting in the CEO chair, and then asked, with a practiced, unsettling warmth, "Did you manage to find the documents I requested, Pepper?"
Pepper trembled, the blood draining from her face. If Obadiah found out about the hack, she knew with absolute certainty he would not let her leave this room alive.
The copying process continued, agonizingly slow. Pepper saw Obadiah's eyes darting around the room as he walked towards the polished wet bar. She had perhaps twenty seconds, tops. She forced herself to calm her racing heart.
"I know Tony is… complicated. He always manages to make something good, even out of absolute chaos, doesn't he?" Obadiah sniffed the high-end scotch in his hand and poured a generous glass, speaking slowly, letting the silence draw out.
Pepper forced a brittle, paper-thin smile. While Obadiah's back was turned, pouring his drink, she managed to cover the chip with a random business newspaper left on the desk. She deftly hit the Windows key to switch the computer back to the screensaver.
Obadiah turned and quickly came to Pepper's side, walking behind her. He glanced at the computer, still on its screensaver, and seemed to breathe a subtle sigh of relief. He sat down heavily in his leather executive chair, swirling the amber wine in his glass.
"Tony isn't the same person he used to be, is he, Pepper?" he stated, a deep, unsettling sadness in his voice.
Pepper stared in terror at Obadiah, who was still wearing his disarmingly gentle smile.
"He left his soul in that cave, I'm afraid. And I am very, very sad for the company. For him."
Pepper swallowed hard, forcing the words out. Her voice, miraculously, only trembled slightly. "He's… a bit unpredictable, yes. He's been through so much. But I believe he'll be alright, Obadiah. He's resilient."
Obadiah looked pointedly at the woman before him, admiring her composure under pressure. "You are truly a wonderful woman, Pepper. Tony has no idea how lucky he is to have you running interference."
"Thank you, Obadiah," Pepper mumbled, seizing the opportunity. "Thank you for the compliment. I should get back to my schedule." She stood up.
Under the guise of retrieving the newspaper she'd left on the desk, she casually grabbed it, the tiny golden keyring hidden beneath the pages. She clutched it tight and hurriedly walked towards the door, trying to maintain a normal, professional pace.
But Obadiah, his mind still fixated on the security risks Tony had just exposed, sensed the slightest tremor of unnatural movement.
"Is that today's paper, Pepper?" he asked, his voice suddenly sharp, the smile vanishing. "Would you mind letting me see it?"
Pepper froze, her hand on the doorknob. Her heart hammered against her ribs, threatening to burst through her immaculate blouse. The newspaper felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
"No, Obadiah," she said, not turning back, forcing a lightness into her tone. "It's just an old market index report. Nothing you haven't seen a dozen times."
Without waiting for his permission, she slipped out the door and slammed it shut behind her.
Obadiah tossed the untouched glass of scotch onto the floor, where it shattered uselessly. He stormed over to the computer, slammed the keyboard, and woke the screen. He pulled up the folder access logs and saw the completed transfer bar, the time stamp perfectly coinciding with Pepper's arrival.
He slapped his open palm against his forehead, a primal roar of frustration escaping him. 'Shit!!'
She had the evidence. Obadiah's decision was instant and cold. Pepper couldn't be allowed to live, and that devastating news absolutely couldn't be leaked. His decades-long plan, his inheritance, his destiny—it all depended on silencing the woman who had just walked out of his office. He grabbed his phone.