Deep in the endless desert of Afghanistan, several figures wrapped tightly in cloth were hunched over, searching.
They were the remnants of the “Ten Rings Gang”—survivors of the cave explosion who had transmitted the footage of Tony Stark’s iron armor.
When Kara confronted Razaa, the remaining surveillance equipment had happened to record part of the combat footage of the Mark I.
These desert hyenas smelled money: if they could find the wreckage of the armor, they would certainly be able to sell it for a good price.
…
A few days later, the Malibu beach Villa.
Tony sat in his workshop, a copy of the “Daily Bugle” spread out by his side.
The front-page headline read clearly: “Shutting Down Weapon Manufacturing—The New Hope for Stark Industries,” with the byline: Kara Danvers.
Footsteps echoed from the stairs.
As Pepper walked down, Tony was testing a new component for the armor.
She had just put down the gift box in her hand when she heard a muffled “bang”—a beam of light shot out from Tony’s palm, and the massive recoil sent him flying backward.
“I thought you weren’t making weapons anymore?” Pepper raised an eyebrow.
“This isn’t a weapon,” Tony said as he climbed up, unfazed, “it’s a flight stabilizer.” “Whatever you say.
Obadiah is upstairs; you need to see him.” Tony removed the device, picked up the newspaper, and followed Pepper upstairs.
Obadiah Stane was sitting at a Yamaha piano, his fingertips flowing with a few scattered notes.
Tony knew that the company must be in trouble—he had expected this when he announced the shutdown of the weapons division.
“Tony, you need to give me something to appease the board.” Obadiah turned around, wearing a professional smile, “They are pushing to remove you from management.” “Because the stock price dropped 40 points?” “56.5 points, Mr.
Stark.” Pepper corrected him softly.
Obadiah leaned forward, his tone persuasive: “Just hand over the Arc Reactor to the engineers for analysis, draw up a few blueprints, you know the process…” “No,” Tony interrupted him, “It’s mine.” He couldn’t trust anyone—who could guarantee that the technology wouldn’t fall into the hands of the next battlefield?
“Besides, the situation isn’t that bad.” Tony handed over the newspaper in his hand, “At least public opinion is still on our side.
Look at this report: Shutting down weapons manufacturing is the true hope for Stark Industries.” Obadiah glanced at it and almost laughed in anger.
Tony was actually using an article from a tabloid to fob him off.
“What could something written by a reporter possibly prove?” “I think it’s well written; it might even win a Pulitzer Prize.” Tony shrugged.
Obadiah’s face darkened, and he turned to walk toward the door.
“Good night.” Tony waved his hand nonchalantly.
Returning to the workshop, Tony immersed himself once again in the development of the armor.
He worked tirelessly to rush the production of various components, testing, adjusting, and testing again.
Jarvis’s reminders were ignored time and again—sometimes, one has to try to run before learning how to walk.
When Jarvis completed the final assembly and the silver Mark II stood before his eyes, Tony clenched the armor’s fist.
What would it feel like to fly freely?
An image appeared in his mind: the blonde girl hovering in the air, her red and blue uniform striking and vibrant in the sunlight, her skirt fluttering in the wind, and those straight, long legs seemingly plated with a halo of light.
“God, she’s so cute…
if only it weren’t for Pepper.” Tony muttered to himself.
If Kara heard that, she would probably give him a dose of Heat Vision.
Soon, the Mark II was ready.
The thrusters roared to life, and the massive acceleration pushed Tony violently toward the front of the tunnel.
He didn’t have time to react, and he was about to crash into the wall— Jarvis overclocked to intervene, correcting the trajectory in a flash.
The armor grazed the wall and shot out into the New York night sky.
The silver figure tore through the sky, the exhaust flames trailing like a meteor.
Tony laughed loudly behind his mask: “Jarvis!
I’m flying!” …
Kara, who had just finished work and was walking on the street, looked up.
A piercing sound of air being torn apart came from the sky, and a silver humanoid figure was flying at an astonishing speed.
She narrowed her eyes and looked; the face inside the armor was none other than Tony.
“It’s only been a few days?” Kara was shocked by Tony’s development speed.
Before she could finish speaking, the armor suddenly stalled and plummeted straight down.
Kara flashed into the shadows and took off her glasses.
The suit quickly covered her entire body, and she tore off her outer garment, the “S” emblem on her chest shimmering with a faint light in the night.
Shooting into the sky, she caught the falling armor steadily and landed on a deserted rooftop.
The mask popped open, and Tony smiled awkwardly: “You saved me again.” Kara frowned: “You’re making almost as much noise as that time in Afghanistan.” “It must be the high-altitude icing issue; I need to switch to anti-freezing material.” Tony analyzed.
“I don’t know about the technology, but don’t go getting yourself killed.” She said in a teasing tone.
The mask closed again, and Tony took off once more: “I’ll have it fixed in no time, just wait and see.” Watching his receding figure, Kara shook her head helplessly.
…
At the very moment Kara saved Tony, Obadiah had arrived in Afghanistan.
For him, dealing with the remnants of the “Ten Rings Gang” using advanced weapons from Stark Industries was easy.
And an unexpected harvest made him even happier—Razaa had once captured a scientist named “Bruce Banner.” According to the remnants, Razaa had drugged Banner with some kind of black magic potion.
They had seen with their own eyes this person turn into a terrifying green monster.
Razaa had originally planned to use electric shocks to wake Banner and create chaos during the U.S.
military’s encirclement, but out of fear, he had imprisoned Banner in a cellar far from the main stronghold and had never used this trump card until his death.
Now, it had become Obadiah’s trophy.
Looking at the roaring green giant in the footage, Obadiah smiled.
Uncontrollable, but incredibly powerful—this was the perfect trump card.
He transported the Mark I wreckage and the unconscious Banner back to New York together.
…
A few nights later, a charity banquet.
Tony arrived uninvited—he was always like that.
As soon as he entered, he met Obadiah, who had just returned from Afghanistan.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, a mild-mannered Agent stopped him.
“Mr.
Stark, I am Agent Coulson, from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.” “God…
you guys should change that name.” “Actually, we did, we’re just not used to it yet.” Coulson smiled, “We need to talk.
About your armor, and that blue figure in the sky over New York a few days ago…” “I need to check my schedule with my assistant first.” Tony waved his hand absentmindedly, his gaze already drifting toward Pepper, who was in the crowd wearing a gown.
In the corner, Kara sat quietly.
As a reporter for the “Daily Bugle,” she naturally wouldn’t miss this grand event—though Pepper seemed to have some misunderstanding about her.
After Pepper learned from Rhodes that she was the “unconscious girl,” she had placed her in the most peripheral position this time.
But that didn’t stop her Super Hearing from capturing the entire venue.
Coulson’s words stirred her heart.
He had mentioned the “blue figure”—when she saved Tony that night, she had indeed hovered in the air for a moment.
“Not the CIA, and not the FBI…
Strategic what-division?” Kara stood up and walked toward Coulson.
“Mr.
Coulson,” she showed her press badge and began with a smile, “I am a reporter for the ‘Daily Bugle.’ I unintentionally overheard your conversation with Mr.
Stark just now; would you be willing to accept a brief interview?” Agents on both sides stepped forward to block her, but Kara’s next words made Coulson raise his hand: “I once conducted an exclusive interview with Mr.
Stark, and I understand his entire experience in the cave in Afghanistan.” Coulson’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he signaled for the Agents to step back.
“Miss Reporter,” he maintained a polite smile, “please tell me what you know.”