When the massive *Triton* glided slowly alongside the private pier in New York Harbor, a timely autumn rain welcomed its arrival.
Obadiah Stane was the first to rush out of his car.
Spreading his arms wide, he gave Tony a vigorous, “glad-you-survived” embrace the moment Tony stepped off the gangway.
“Oh, thank God!
Tony, you’re finally back!”
Tony quietly pushed him off with a weary smile, his voice carrying a well-placed trace of sorrow.
“Not too bad, Obie.
Though…
Bob didn’t make it back.”
He deliberately mentioned the engineer Obadiah had assigned to the submarine.
The concern on Obadiah’s face froze for a fraction of a second.
A faint, almost imperceptible trace of shock and panic flickered across those shrewd eyes, only to be seamlessly masked by an even deeper display of grief.
“Oh, no…” He thumped his chest in anguish.
“Poor Bob!
What a tragedy!
Tony, I am so sorry you had to go through this.”
Watching Obadiah’s Oscar-worthy performance, Tony sneered inwardly, though he merely nodded with a fatigued expression.
In a black sedan not far away, Phil Coulson lowered his binoculars.
“Round one of testing is over.
It seems both of them are exceptional actors.”
Over the next two weeks, Tony Stark practically vanished from the public eye.
In reality, he spent all twenty-four hours of each day holed up in his underground laboratory, pouring every ounce of his energy into a brand-new “toy.”
“Sir, the titanium alloy coating on the arm armor is complete.”
“Sir, you have been working continuously for over thirty-six hours.”
Blinding welding sparks and the roar of mechanical arms composed a symphony of steel.
A streamlined, red-and-gold suit of armor was gradually taking shape, piece by piece.
This was the Mark III—a true War Machine.
Meanwhile, Leon Hall also kept a low profile.
He dedicated all his energy to meditation and analyzing the hard-won Lava Octopus blood, gathering strength to digest his potion and prepare for his next advancement.
Both sides were quietly gathering strength for the impending storm.
Two weeks after returning from the sea, Tony Stark made a high-profile appearance at a charity gala hosted by Stark Industries.
Just as he was chatting amiably with Obadiah, a familiar figure stepped in his path—Christine Everhart, a reporter from *Vanity Fair*.
Skipping the pleasantries, she slapped several photographs straight against Tony’s chest.
“What is the meaning of this?”
The photos showed a group of Ten Rings militants attacking a small town called Gulmira—Yinsen’s hometown—using brand-new Stark Industries weapons.
The smile on Tony’s face vanished instantly.
“I shut down the weapons division,” he said coldly.
“Did you?” Christine pressed aggressively.
“Because they’re still using your weapons.
Tell me, Tony, when you see this, how do you sleep at night?”
He looked up sharply past Christine toward Obadiah, who was chatting and laughing with military brass in the distance.
A chilling realization dawned on him.
Sensing his gaze, Obadiah walked over and smoothly slung an arm around Christine’s shoulder to usher her away.
“All right, all right, this isn’t the place to talk business.”
Watching Obadiah’s retreating figure, all warmth drained from Tony’s eyes.
He turned and walked out of the gala.
“Jarvis,” Tony said, his voice terrifyingly calm once inside his car, “prep the suit with the hot-rod red finish.”
A streak of red and gold pierced the night sky, rocketing toward Gulmira at Mach 3.
When Tony arrived, he saw the Ten Rings forcing a group of men against a wall, their Stark Industries assault rifles raised.
*BOOM!*
The Mark III descended like a wrathful god, slamming down heavily between the militants and the hostages.
Confronted by this sudden iron monster, the terrified terrorists opened fire in a panic, but their bullets merely kicked up futile sparks against the titanium alloy armor.
The micro-missile pods on Tony’s shoulders deployed, and several miniature projectiles precisely wiped out the terrorists.
Raising his right arm, he fired a repulsor blast from his palm, blasting a tank into scrap metal.
Finally, he turned and flew into the valley, detonating the massive stockpile of Stark Industries weapons hoarded by the terrorists along with the entire cavern, sending flames roaring into the sky.
However, the real trouble was only just beginning.
“Sir, two high-speed targets detected.
They are F-22 Raptors,” Jarvis announced.
A second later, Rhodes’s call came through.
“Tony?
You’d better tell me the truth.
Your transponder is off—is there something fun going on that I don’t know about?”
“Rhodey, sweetheart,” Tony replied in his signature playful drawl while effortlessly evading, “I’m just out in my convertible.
Don’t blow a gasket.”
“Don’t screw with me!” Rhodes roared over the line.
“I’m looking right at you!
They’re cleared to engage!”
To decelerate rapidly, Tony deployed his back airbrakes mid-flight.
An F-22 tailing closely behind couldn’t react in time, and its left wing clipped the Mark III’s hardened armor!
*BANG!*
The F-22’s wing took severe damage, sending the fighter jet into an uncontrolled spin!
“Mayday!
Mayday!” The pilot’s frantic shout came over the comms.
The pilot decisively ejected, but disaster struck again—his parachute harness jammed and failed to deploy!
Without a second thought, Tony reversed course and went into a steep dive.
Closing in on the falling pilot at high speed, he reached out with his armored hand and forcefully yanked the stuck chute free!
The canopy blossomed, and the pilot was saved.
“He’s good!” came the other pilot’s relieved shout over the open channel.
On the flight back, Tony dialed Rhodes’s private number.
This time, all flippancy and humor were gone from his voice.
“Rhodey, it’s me.” This chapter is updated first at g.com.
There was a long silence on the other end before Rhodes asked stiffly, “…That was you?”
“It was me,” Tony confessed.
“The thing in the sky just now…
was me.”
Another deathly silence followed.
“The plane…” Rhodes’s voice trembled slightly.
“What about the plane?
The pilot reported a collision with an unidentified flying object…
The Pentagon is going to blow its lid tomorrow.”
“You have to help me, Rhodey,” Tony said earnestly.
“You need a cover story, right?
Just say…
a training exercise.
A bird strike.
Say whatever you want.”
“That’s not my style, Tony.”
“Well, this isn’t a drill anymore,” Tony said deeply.
“I can’t do this alone.
I need you, Rhodey.”
After an agonizing silence, a weary sigh echoed over the line.
“Fine…
Training exercise.
Don’t let it happen again.”
On his way back, Tony finally called Leon Hall.
Soaring ten thousand meters in the air, his tone carried an unprecedented, heartfelt excitement and pride.
“Leon!
You won’t believe what I just pulled off!
I saved an entire village!
I blew up my own weapons!
And I even managed to save an Air Force pilot along the way!”
“This feeling…
this feels better than making ten billion dollars!”
Leon could easily picture Tony right now, beaming like a kid who had just gotten a new toy and couldn’t wait to show it off to the whole world.
He listened quietly until Tony’s excitement leveled off slightly.
“Congratulations on finding a new direction.”
Over the line, Tony radiated confidence like never before.
He had no idea that his impromptu performance of justice had stepped squarely on Obadiah Stane’s toes.
A conspiracy that had been brewing for a long time was about to detonate ahead of schedule.