Kunar Province, Afghanistan.
The air was thick and foul, reeking of rust and gunpowder.
Red numbers on the monitor ticked down frantically, the countdown to zero marching closer.
“They’re here.”
Ho Yinsen grabbed the heavily worn submachine gun.
His hands trembled, but he held the barrel steady toward the narrow passage.
Beyond the heavy iron door, chaotic footsteps echoed alongside angry shouts in Urdu.
Death was knocking at the door.
“Don’t!
Stick to the plan!”
Tony Stark was trapped inside the unpowered iron coffin.
He couldn’t do anything except move his eyes.
“There’s no time, Tony.”
Ho Yinsen looked back.
On his lined, weathered face, fear had vanished, leaving only a resolute calm.
“Remember what I told you?
Don’t waste it.”
“Yinsen!
Come back!
Damn it!”
A desperate, trapped roar scraped out of Tony’s throat.
He watched helplessly as the slight figure charged out from behind cover.
*Rat-tat-tat—*
Muzzle flashes flickered in the dark cave, brief and frantic.
Then came the dull thud of a body hitting the floor.
Followed by dead silence.
Inside the armor, the turbocharger began to emit a sharp, high-pitched whine.
*Zzzzt—*
Eerie blue electric arcs instantly illuminated the gloomy space.
The faceplate snapped shut.
In the darkness, within those bloodshot eyes, the last trace of playboy levity burned away completely.
All that remained was a murderously hot, molten rage.
[System Online]
[Auxiliary Power: 100%]
*Boom!*
The heavy iron door blocking freedom was violently breached.
Twisted metal fragments flew like shrapnel, pinning two terrorists at the entrance directly against the wall.
Dust and smoke billowed.
A 2.5-meter-tall, silver-gray beast stepped forth.
No sleek aesthetic—only rough welds, exposed drive shafts, and the teeth-grinding whine of hydraulic pumps.
It was the pinnacle of industrial violence.
“Fire!
Open fire!”
The Ten Rings leader shrieked in panic.
A torrent of AK-47 fire hailed down.
*Clang, clang, clang—*
Bullets slammed into thick alloy steel plates, sparking repeatedly.
Aside from scratching the finish, they couldn’t force the steel monster back even half a step.
Tony Stark raised his heavy left arm.
No sophisticated fire-control radar, just two crude fuel hoses.
*Click.*
The igniter clicked.
*Whoosh!*
Two roaring red dragons of fire surged out, instantly filling the narrow corridor.
The extreme heat detonated the stacked ammo crates in a flash.
Screams were swallowed by explosions as the entire cavern turned into an inferno.
The iron giant marched through the flames, heavy boots crushing charred weapons and bones beneath his feet.
Until he saw Ho Yinsen.
The small-town doctor from Gulmira lay in a pool of blood, bullet holes in his chest still oozing red.
The faceplate flipped open.
Tony dropped to his knees, his voice trembling.
“Hold on, Doc.
According to the plan…
we walk out of here together.”
“I’m not going, Tony.”
Blood foamed from the corners of Yinsen’s mouth, his gaze unfocused as he stared off into the void.
“I’m going to see my family…
This was always my plan.”
The calloused hand limply fell away.
Tony froze.
A few seconds passed.
*Clack!*
The faceplate snapped shut with a harsh, metallic clatter.
“Goodbye, old friend.”
The crude rocket thrusters on his back let out a deafening roar.
Enormous thrust propelled the iron chassis through the cave roof, bursting out into the open sky.
Under the despairing gaze of the Ten Rings, trailing a long streak of fire, it arced across the pale, dusty sky of Afghanistan.
…
The desert.
The scorching sun beat down, and the dunes burned hot enough to fry an egg.
In the center of a massive crater lay scattered remnants of mangled scrap metal.
Tony Stark crawled out from the scalding sand.
His expensive bespoke suit had long been reduced to tattered rags hanging off him, his skin covered in deep bruises and burns.
Thirst.
His throat felt like it was stuffed with red-hot coals.
He stumbled forward, every step feeling like walking on glass.
No direction, no goal—only raw survival instinct drove his leaden legs to swing mechanically.
He didn’t know how long he had been walking.
His vision blurred as the world spun around him.
“Rhodes…”
In the final second before blacking out, his mind flashed to the good friend who was always cleaning up his messes.
*Thud.*
Tony collapsed on the shady side of a dune, passing out cold.
…
When he awoke again, there was no smell of disinfectant, nor any cool breeze from an air conditioner.
Only an uncomfortable sense of being scrutinized.
He no longer felt the burning sting on his face; instead, there was a cool sensation.
Tony pried his eyelids open with effort.
The first thing he saw was a pair of polished black leather shoes.
Tracing his gaze up the sharp trousers, he saw a pitch-black leather trench coat.
Dressing like that in a desert over 40°C meant the man was either a lunatic or an idiot looking to die of heatstroke.
“Looks like you’ve had a fulfilling vacation, Mr.
Stark.”
A low, raspy voice echoed, dripping with an unsettling intensity.
Tony squinted against the glaring sunlight, finally taking in the figure.
Bald head.
Eyepatch.
The black patch over his eye stood out sharply under the bright sun.
Nick Fury held a bottle of ice-cold water, condensation dripping off it, as he looked down at the former billionaire lying on the ground like a dead dog.
Tony didn’t waste breath.
He snatched the cold water, twisted off the cap, and chugged it greedily.
The icy fluid rushed down his esophagus, forcing his near-stilled heart back to life.
“Cough, cough…”
Tony wiped the sand from his lips and gasped for breath.
“Who are you?
Where’s Rhodes?
Where’s the military?”
“Colonel Rhodes is still digging through sand on a ridge 10 kilometers away.”
Fury pointed into the distance.
“As for me…
Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD.”
“SHIELD?” Tony frowned, his head still foggy.
“Sounds like a laundry service for Captain America’s uniform.
Your rescue response time is truly moving, Director.”
“We aren’t a rescue team.”
Fury crouched down, his single eye fixed squarely on the reactor glowing with faint blue light on Tony’s chest.
“If you died in that cave, that was your fate.
But since you crawled out, we need to talk.”
Tony sneered and tried to stand, but his legs gave out and he collapsed back onto the sand.
“Talk about what?
This damn weather?
Or your completely inappropriate Halloween costume?”
“Talk about the future.”
Fury pulled a document from his coat pocket and tossed it onto the sand.
“The world is changing, Stark.
Things are crawling out of the shadows, and missiles and stock options aren’t going to fix it.
We need an alliance.
A team capable of responding to unconventional threats.”
“And that’s your excuse for watching me nearly die in the desert?” Tony glanced down at the file, where the words *The Avengers Initiative (Draft)* were printed.
“You want to recruit me?
In a hellhole like this?”
“Someone told me that unless you were dragged through hell, you’d always remain nothing more than a merchant of death.
He said you wouldn’t die.
He said you needed to be ‘reforged.'” Fury’s voice was calm, but every word hit like a chisel.
“Looking at you now, that ‘prophet’ was right.”
A prophet?
Tony caught the word instantly.
In his mind flashed the days and nights of hammering metal in the cave, the image of Yinsen falling, and the vision of missiles bearing the Stark Industries logo tearing through innocent civilians.
Yes, he had changed.
But he didn’t need anyone to define that change for him—and he certainly wasn’t going to let some bizarre “prophet” dictate his destiny.
“Listen to me, Eyepatch.”
Tony Stark braced his hands on his knees and unsteadily pushed himself up.
Though battered and half-naked, he stood with his spine straight.
The sharp intensity tempered by life and death made even Fury narrow his single eye slightly.
Tony picked up the document titled *The Avengers Initiative (Draft)*, didn’t even glance at it, used it to fan himself once or twice, and then dropped it right back at Fury’s feet.
“I don’t care who you are, and I don’t give a damn about your hellish ‘prophet.’ Right now, I only want two things.”
Tony held up two fingers stained with grime and dried blood.
“First: a cheeseburger.
The patty extra crispy.”
“Second: a damn press conference.”
He turned and stumbled toward the sound of approaching helicopter blades in the distance.
Two Black Hawk helicopters sporting US military insignia dipped low, kicking up clouds of yellow dust.
“As for your boy band?
Not interested.
I’m going home.
My company is waiting for me to blow it sky-high.”
Fury watched Tony’s departing back without making a move to stop him.
He picked up the dust-covered file, patted it clean, and pressed his earpiece.
“Target confirmed safe.”
“But he rejected it.”
Fury watched Tony board the helicopter, a complex glint flashing in his single eye.
“And…
your intel was scary accurate, Leon.
The bastard really just wants a burger.”
…
Queens, New York.
Late night.
No lights were on inside the room; only the neon outside sliced through the blinds, casting strips of light across the wall.
Leon lay in bed, his fingers gently rubbing the cold green dial on his wrist.
At the bottom of his vision, a line of fractured golden text popped up abruptly, burning across his retina.
[Major plot node shift detected.]
[Intervention Event: Birth of Iron Man.]
[Original Trajectory: Successful rescue by Colonel Rhodes → Shifted to: Early contact by Director of SHIELD.]
[Tony Stark’s mindset reshaping completion: 120% (More thorough self-destruction and rebirth than original timeline).]
[Plot Points Obtained: 2/10]
Leon looked at the two golden points, the corners of his mouth curving into a subtle smile.
Two points.
Not much, but enough to tip the next domino.
“It doesn’t matter if you refused, Tony.”
Leon rolled over and stared at the ceiling, as if he could look through walls and miles of distance to see the bearded man devouring a cheeseburger.
“Isn’t that how the adult world works?
Saying ‘no’ with your lips while selling your body to the devil?”
Leon closed his eyes.
The dial of the Omnitrix flickered for a brief second, its faint green light pulsing like the breathing of some hidden beast.