This was Tony’s first time designing powered armor.
He’d remembered to include a way to escape by air.
What he had not anticipated was just how much harder flight control would be than simply generating thrust.
Currently airborne inside the Mark I, Tony had exactly one thing to be grateful for.
Sherlock had shown up.
And Sherlock had taken Yinsen with him.
Because if Tony’s original escape plan had gone forward, one of two things would’ve happened.
Either Yinsen would’ve ridden on the Mark I’s back— or Tony would’ve carried him.
Given how badly the suit was handling in the air?
Both options ended the same way.
Yinsen falls.
Yinsen hits the ground.
Yinsen dies.
So, yes.
Tony was very grateful that particular problem had been removed.
That gratitude lasted approximately several seconds.
His flight posture was ugly.
Embarrassingly ugly.
But at least the thrusters under his feet were still pushing him forward.
Then—
BANG!
A violent sputter.
Tony looked down.
“Oh, no.”
BANG!
Another.
Then the thrusters died.
Completely.
Tony’s eyes widened.
“No, no, no—”
The Mark I instantly lost propulsion.
The enormous steel suit began flailing through the air like a drowning refrigerator.
Tony desperately tried to correct his posture.
It achieved nothing.
Gravity remained unimpressed.
“Come on!”
The ground rushed toward him.
“COME ON!”
CRASH!
The Mark I slammed into the desert.
Ironically, the suit’s crude construction saved Tony’s life.
Because it had been assembled from scrap, rough welds, mismatched armor plates, and whatever Tony could improvise in a cave, the entire structure sacrificed itself during impact.
The suit absorbed most of the force.
Then it exploded into pieces.
Tony was thrown clear.
He hit the sand hard.
For several seconds, he simply lay there.
Still alive.
That was already a miracle.
Instead of becoming billionaire-flavored paste across the desert, he’d escaped with little more than a badly twisted arm and a collection of bruises that were going to be spectacular tomorrow.
There was only one minor complication.
The ring.
Sherlock’s supposed “tracking device.”
Tony had been keeping it in his mouth because there was nowhere else to put it inside the Mark I.
During the crash…
he’d accidentally swallowed it.
Tony stared up at the sky.
“…Great.”
Absolutely fantastic.
He could only hope the damn thing still worked from inside his stomach.
Because right now, Tony Stark had zero interest in moving.
He hadn’t properly eaten or drunk anything in far too long.
The sand beneath him was scorching.
The sun was brutal.
And after almost a month of imprisonment, engineering under threat of death, torture, explosions, and the world’s least controlled first test flight…
he was exhausted beyond words.
So Tony did what any reasonable genius billionaire would do.
He lay there like a dead fish and waited to be rescued.
The heat slowly settled over him.
His eyelids grew heavier.
Eventually, Tony drifted off.
Then— something invaded his sleep.
A smell.
Rich.
Greasy.
Warm.
Familiar.
Tony’s nose twitched.
Cheeseburger.
The scent hit his brain like a home invasion.
Every instinct in Tony’s body woke up at once.
His mouth opened automatically.
He tried to bite.
Chomp.
Nothing.
Tony frowned without opening his eyes.
Then a familiar voice appeared nearby.
“Told you this would work.”
Tony’s brow furrowed.
He forced his eyes open.
And immediately wondered whether he’d finally lost his mind.
A Ford Raptor was parked directly in front of him.
A very clean Ford Raptor.
Its paint gleamed beneath the desert sun. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Decorative patterns stretched across the bodywork.
It looked so absurdly pristine that it had no business existing anywhere near this much sand.
Then Tony saw Sherlock.
Sherlock was sitting comfortably inside the truck.
Clean.
Fresh.
Wearing beach clothes.
Sunglasses on.
And in his hands— was a fishing rod.
Tony stared.
Attached to the fishing line was a cheeseburger.
The cheeseburger was dangling inches from Tony’s face.
Sherlock wore the expression of an extremely pleased fox who had just successfully committed a crime.
Tony’s brain stopped.
Then he noticed the driver.
Zhao Wick.
Also wearing beach clothes.
Also wearing sunglasses.
One hand rested on the steering wheel.
The other was slapping his thigh as he laughed at Sherlock attempting to fish for Tony Stark with a cheeseburger.
Tony slowly turned his head.
Yinsen was sitting in the Raptor’s bed.
Clean.
Combed.
Relaxed.
He looked like a respectable doctor again instead of a man who’d spent weeks trapped inside a terrorist cave.
And he was smiling.
Then Tony saw the back seat.
A woman sat there, watching the three grown men with the deeply tired expression of someone regretting every life decision that had brought her to this moment.
Beside the window— something peeked out.
Tony stared.
It had the face of an anime girl.
A bizarre little white body.
And it was looking at Tony with enormous curiosity.
“Doro?”
Tony blinked.
The creature blinked back.
Tony closed his eyes again.
“Hallucination.”
He sighed.
“Honestly…
not the worst one I’ve had.”
He prepared to go back to sleep.
Then something touched his lips.
Warm bread.
Grease.
Cheese.
Tony’s body reacted before his brain did.
He bit down.
Immediately— his head jerked upward.
“MMMPH?!”
The “hallucination” erupted into laughter.
“I GOT HIM!”
Sherlock nearly doubled over.
“I fucking got him!”
Tony’s eyes snapped open.
Sherlock yanked lightly on the fishing rod.
“I am officially the first man in history to catch a wild Tony Stark in the middle of the desert!”
John’s laughter became even worse.
Yinsen joined in.
Tony still had the cheeseburger between his teeth.
The pull on the line was real.
The food in his mouth was real.
The humiliation was— extremely real.
Tony sat up so fast he nearly fell over again.
He ripped the cheeseburger off the hook.
Then immediately started eating it.
Because pride had limits.
Starvation had fewer.
He chewed while staring at the Raptor.
At Sherlock.
At John.
At Yinsen.
At the woman.
At the impossible anime creature.
There were at least twelve questions he wanted to ask.
Then the woman in the back seat sighed.
“Sherlock, that’s enough.”
Sherlock looked over.
“Let Tony clean himself up so we can get out of this place.”
Helen rubbed her forehead.
“I’m starting to miss civilization.”
Doro immediately raised one little hand.
“Human!”
Everyone looked at her.
“Doro wants to go home too!”
That finally convinced Sherlock to end the game.
He opened the door and climbed out.
Then he walked toward Tony.
Tony looked up while finishing the burger.
Sherlock smiled.
“Come on, Casanova.”
Tony stared at him.
“Get in the truck so I can take you back and officially complete my job.”
The food had brought Tony’s brain fully online again.
He looked past Sherlock toward Yinsen.
“I want to ride in the back with him.”
Sherlock followed his gaze.
Tony looked up at the sky.
Then at the endless desert.
A tired smile crossed his face.
“God, I never thought I’d say this…”
He spread his arms slightly.
“I actually missed the fucking sun.”
Sherlock stared.
Then shook his head.
“Great.”
He sighed.
“Another one who’s been locked up so long he’s gone insane.”
Sherlock was just about to help Tony toward the truck bed when Yinsen suddenly spoke.
“Sherlock.”
Sherlock turned.
Yinsen had pinched his nose.
“I think Tony should wash first.”
Tony frowned.
Yinsen’s expression became apologetic.
“My God, Tony.”
He leaned slightly away.
“The smell is terrible.”
Tony went still.
Sherlock hadn’t thought about it before.
Then he actually noticed.
He sniffed.
His expression changed immediately.
“Oh.”
Sherlock took one large step backward.
Then another.
Yinsen gave him a knowing look.
Sherlock raised a thumb.
“Good call.”
Tony stared at both of them.
“Seriously?”
Sherlock brought his hands together.
Clap.
The desert moved.
Stone and earth rose beside them.
Walls assembled themselves.
Plumbing took shape.
A roof formed.
Within seconds, a simple shower room stood in the middle of nowhere.
Tony’s mouth fell open.
He looked at the structure.
Then Sherlock.
Then the structure again.
Pieces began connecting in his mind.
The cave tunnel.
The flood.
The armor mysteriously starting.
The battlefield.
The impossible truck.
Now this.
Tony’s eye twitched.
Then another thought arrived.
A worse thought.
He slowly turned toward the Raptor.
Sherlock was clean.
John was clean.
Yinsen was very clean.
Helen looked perfectly comfortable.
Even the bizarre little creature looked immaculate.
Tony’s expression cracked.
“Don’t tell me…”
Everyone waited.
Tony pointed accusingly at them.
“You people took showers.”
Sherlock’s lips twitched.
Tony’s voice rose.
“You cleaned yourselves up…”
His face became increasingly offended.
“…and then came looking for me?!”
From the driver’s seat, John grinned with absolutely no sympathy whatsoever.
“You guessed it, genius.”
Helen immediately rolled her eyes at her husband.
Sherlock burst out laughing.
Yinsen joined him.
And Tony Stark sat alone in the desert— filthy, exhausted, sunburned, smelling like a month-old gym bag— and experienced the unfamiliar sensation of being completely, utterly, personally offended by reality.
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