For advance 40+ chapters patreon.com/TranslationGod?
Obadiah Stane had been trying to recreate Tony's miniaturized arc reactor for months.
It should have been simple. The Stark Industries facility in downtown LA housed the original arc reactor—the massive one that powered the entire building. Howard Stark's masterpiece. All Obadiah needed was to take that proven technology and make it smaller. Miniaturize it. How hard could that be?
Very hard, as it turned out.
"It's IMPOSSIBLE!" one of the lead scientists shouted, slamming his tablet down on the lab table. Around him, a dozen other researchers looked up from their workstations, equally frustrated. "The power-to-weight ratio doesn't scale down. The materials can't handle the energy density at this size. The physics literally don't work!"
Obadiah stood in the doorway of the lab, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt. He'd assembled the best engineering team money could buy—people with PhDs from MIT, Caltech, Stanford. Experts in materials science, quantum mechanics, electrical engineering. And after three months of intensive research, millions of dollars in funding, unlimited access to Howard Stark's original designs...
They had nothing.
"Try harder," Obadiah growled.
"We ARE trying," another scientist protested, a woman with graying hair and exhausted eyes. "Mr. Stane, you have to understand—what Tony Stark built in that cave, with scraps and basic tools, it's not just engineering. It's... it's genius. Literal genius. The kind that only comes along once in a generation."
"He made it work with GARBAGE," Obadiah snapped, walking into the lab, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "In a cave. With a box of scraps. And you're telling me that with a fully equipped laboratory, with the original arc reactor right upstairs, with unlimited resources—you can't figure it out?"
The scientists exchanged glances. Nobody wanted to say what they were all thinking.
Finally, the lead scientist—a man named Dr. Chen who'd been with Stark Industries for fifteen years—spoke up. His voice was quiet but firm.
"Mr. Stane... I'm very sorry. We're just not Tony Stark."
The words hung in the air.
Obadiah felt something break inside him. Not anger. Worse than anger. Resignation. The crushing weight of a truth he'd been denying for twenty years.
Tony Stark was special. Unique. One of a kind. And Obadiah... wasn't.
He could scheme. He could manipulate. He could build business empires and navigate boardrooms and make deals. But he couldn't do this. Couldn't create something revolutionary from nothing. Couldn't take garbage and turn it into the future.
And no amount of money or resources could change that fundamental reality.
"Get out," Obadiah said quietly.
The scientists didn't need to be told twice. They filed out of the lab, leaving Obadiah alone with prototypes that didn't work, equations that didn't balance, and the bitter taste of inadequacy.
But he still had one option left.
If he couldn't build an arc reactor...
He'd just have to take one.
Tony sat in his workshop, the holographic display floating in front of him, running simulations on the Mark III's power distribution systems. There was a bottleneck in the repulsor output when the suit was operating at maximum thrust—nothing dangerous, but it was inefficient. A waste of maybe three percent of the arc reactor's total output.
Three percent might not sound like much, but in combat, at the edge of the suit's performance envelope, it could be the difference between life and death.
So Tony worked, tweaking values, adjusting algorithms, watching the simulation results change in real-time.
Yinsen had left that morning for LA—something about paperwork for his immigration status, meeting with lawyers, boring bureaucratic stuff. Marcus was out too, handling that thing with Pepper at Stark Industries.
Which meant Tony was alone.
He didn't mind. Sometimes it was nice to just focus on the work without distractions. Just him, Jarvis, and the endless puzzle of making the impossible a little more perfect.
His phone rang.
Tony glanced at the screen. Pepper.
He answered without looking away from the holographic display. "Hey, Pep. Got the evidence?"
"Tony, listen to me very carefully—" Pepper's voice was tight with urgency. "You need to watch out for Obadiah. He knows we—"
BZZZZZZZZT
The sound was like a thousand bees drilling into Tony's skull. Every muscle in his body locked up instantly, rigid as steel, nerves firing in chaotic patterns that overrode every voluntary command his brain tried to send.
The phone clattered from his nerveless fingers.
Tony tried to move, tried to shout, tried to do anything, but his body wouldn't respond. He was frozen, a statue made of flesh, toppling forward—
—and then he wasn't falling anymore. Someone caught him. Eased him onto the couch with surprising gentleness.
"Take a deep breath," a familiar voice said. "Relax. The paralysis is temporary. Should wear off in about fifteen minutes."
Obadiah Stane came into view, holding a small device about the size of a TV remote. He turned it over in his hands, admiring it.
"Remember this?" Obadiah asked conversationally, as if they were discussing the weather. "One of your father's early projects. Sonic taser. Delivers a paralytic pulse that temporarily disrupts neural pathways. Very effective." He smiled. "We banned production because it was considered too dangerous. Too much potential for abuse. But I kept one for myself. You know. Just in case."
Tony tried to speak. Tried to scream. Tried to do anything. But all that came out was a strangled wheeze.
His chest felt tight. Wrong. The arc reactor's familiar hum was suddenly very noticeable—the constant vibration that he'd learned to tune out, now front and center in his awareness. His lifeline. The only thing keeping the shrapnel from reaching his heart.
Obadiah knelt down in front of him, setting the taser aside. He reached forward, fingers closing around the edge of the arc reactor's housing.
"You know what I've realized, Tony?" Obadiah said softly. "You're a golden goose. Always have been. Every time I think you've given me the last egg, you lay another one. The arc reactor. The repulsor technology. The flight systems. The armor." He started to twist, unlocking the housing mechanism. "But here's the thing about golden geese, Tony. Eventually, you stop waiting for eggs. Eventually, you just... take what's inside."
Tony felt the housing release with a soft click. Felt Obadiah's fingers working at the connections, carefully disconnecting power feeds, coolant lines, the electromagnetic array that kept the shrapnel in his chest from migrating toward his heart.
"This is mine now," Obadiah whispered. "Your last baby. The original. The prototype. The one piece of genius I can't replicate." He pulled, and the arc reactor came free with a wet sucking sound.
The light in Tony's chest went out.
Immediately, Tony felt it—the change. The absence. Like a hand had reached into his chest and squeezed his heart. The shrapnel, freed from the electromagnetic field that held it in place, began its slow, inexorable journey inward.
Obadiah stood up, holding the arc reactor up to the light. The soft blue glow illuminated his face, making him look ghostly. Triumphant.
"What an amazing masterpiece," Obadiah breathed. "Do you know how many scientists I hired to recreate this? How much money I spent? And none of them—not one—could figure it out." He looked down at Tony with something like pity. "They all said the same thing. 'We're not Tony Stark.' And they were right."
He tucked the arc reactor into a padded case, protecting it like precious cargo.
"But that's okay," Obadiah continued, heading toward the door. "Because I don't need to be Tony Stark. I just need to be smart enough to take what Tony Stark makes."
Tony tried to move. Tried to reach out. Tried to stop him.
But his body was still locked, muscles rigid, and now—worse—his vision was starting to blur at the edges. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, irregular, struggling.
The shrapnel was moving.
He was dying.
Obadiah paused at the door, looking back one last time.
"Don't take this personally, Tony. It's just business." He smiled. "Well. Maybe a little personal. Twenty years is a long time to be number two."
And then he was gone.
Tony lay on the couch, paralyzed, dying, staring at the ceiling. His phone was on the floor somewhere, out of reach. Jarvis could call for help, but by the time anyone arrived...
The shrapnel would reach his heart in maybe twenty minutes. Maybe less. And he couldn't move. Couldn't even crawl to the workshop, to the old reactor, to anything that might save him.
His vision continued to darken. His breathing came in shallow gasps.
So this is how it ends, Tony thought distantly. Not in a cave. Not in battle. Just... alone on my couch. Killed by someone I trusted.
Hell of a way to go.
Marcus's phone rang while he was halfway back to Malibu, the Ferrari eating up miles of Pacific Coast Highway.
"Marcus!" Pepper's voice was frantic. "I called Tony to warn him about Obadiah, but he answered and then—nothing. He's not responding. I heard something in the background—it sounded like Obadiah's voice—"
Marcus's enhanced mind immediately ran the calculations. Timeline. Distance. Variables.
"I'm ten minutes out," Marcus said, already pushing the accelerator down harder. The Ferrari's engine roared. "Stay calm. I'm going straight to the villa."
"Please hurry," Pepper said, her voice breaking slightly. "If Obadiah's there—"
"I know. I'm moving as fast as I can." Marcus switched gears, the car surging forward. "What are you doing?"
"Heading to the Stark Industries facility in LA with Agent Coulson," Pepper said, her voice steadying as she focused on action. "I found files on Obadiah's computer—plans for some kind of armor. We're going to get evidence, expose what he's been doing."
"Good. Be careful."
"You too."
The call ended. Marcus pushed the Ferrari to its limits, weaving through traffic, the surveillance vehicles that had been following him now struggling to keep up.
His system interface flickered at the edge of his awareness. Ready. Waiting. He could leave right now if he wanted. Jump to another world. Escape whatever was about to happen.
But Tony was in danger. And Marcus had already decided—he wasn't running.
Not yet.
The villa's front door was unlocked.
Marcus burst through, repulsor gauntlets charging—he'd grabbed them from the workshop before leaving, just in case—and found Obadiah standing in the living room, holding something that glowed with familiar blue light.
The arc reactor.
"Baldy!" Marcus shouted. "That thing doesn't belong to you!"
Obadiah spun, startled. His face went through several expressions in rapid succession—surprise, recognition, calculation. His eyes flicked to Marcus's hands, noted the lack of visible weapons beyond the gauntlets, and relaxed slightly.
"Marcus Reed, right?" Obadiah said, surprisingly calm for someone who'd just been caught red-handed committing... what, exactly? Theft? Attempted murder? "I know who you are. You should worry less about me and more about saving Tony."
He gestured toward the couch, where Tony lay slumped and pale, his chest a dark hollow where the arc reactor should have been.
Marcus's enhanced brain processed the scene instantly. Paralyzed. Arc reactor removed. Shrapnel moving toward heart. Time-sensitive crisis.
But Obadiah still had the reactor. Still had the one thing that could save Tony's life. Marcus could try to take it by force, but Obadiah was already backing toward the door, and any fight would waste precious seconds that Tony didn't have.
"You thief!" Marcus spat. "You really have no shame!"
Obadiah smiled thinly. "I prefer to think of it as being pragmatic." He continued backing toward the door. "Enjoy watching him die, Mr. Reed. It's quite poetic, really—killed by his own technology. Or rather, by the lack of it."
And then he was gone, running for his car, the arc reactor secure in its case.
Marcus let him go.
He wanted to chase Obadiah down, wanted to tackle him and take back what he'd stolen, but Tony was on the couch turning gray and Marcus was the only one who could help.
Priorities.
"Tony!" Marcus ran to the couch, dropping to his knees beside him. "Can you hear me? Are you with me?"
Tony's eyes tracked to him, but that was all. His body was rigid, paralyzed, and his breathing was shallow and labored. Sweat poured down his face. The veins in his neck stood out like cables.
But his eyes—God, his eyes were aware. Conscious. Experiencing every second of this.
Do you think I'm alright? those eyes seemed to say. Why don't you try this?
"Yeah, okay, stupid question," Marcus muttered. "Hang on. I know what to do."
He ran for the stairs, taking them three at a time, practically flying down to the workshop. Jarvis tracked his movement with the security cameras.
"Mr. Reed," Jarvis said calmly, "Mr. Stark's vital signs are deteriorating. Heart rate irregular. Blood oxygen dropping. Estimated time until cardiac arrest: seventeen minutes."
"I know!" Marcus shouted, scanning the workshop. "Where's the old reactor? The first one he built?"
"Display case, north wall, second shelf."
Marcus found it—the original arc reactor, the one Tony had made in that cave. Crude compared to the newer version, but functional. He grabbed it, checked the connections—still good, still charged—and ran back upstairs.
Tony hadn't moved. Couldn't move. But his eyes followed Marcus as he returned, and there was something desperate in them. Hope. Fear. A silent plea.
"Alright, don't freak out," Marcus said, kneeling beside him again. "I'm going to save you. Again. You're really making this a habit, you know that?"
He worked fast, his enhanced brain processing the procedure. Clean the contact points. Align the housing. Connect the power feeds. Secure the electromagnetic array. Lock it in place.
"You know," Marcus said conversationally as he worked, trying to keep Tony conscious, trying to keep him focused on something other than dying, "you always called this old thing an antique. Obsolete. A relic. Remember? You said it was embarrassing. That you'd built something way better."
He aligned the final connection.
"Well, guess what, Tony? This old antique you despised is about to save your life."
He pressed the reactor home and twisted, locking it into place.
The soft blue glow returned to Tony's chest.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then Tony gasped—a huge, shuddering breath that sounded like a drowning man breaking the surface. His eyes went wide. His fingers twitched.
"Shit," Tony wheezed, voice hoarse. "Shit. Shit. Shit."
Color slowly returned to his face. His breathing steadied. The paralysis from Obadiah's device was starting to wear off, muscles unlocking one by one.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," Marcus said, sitting back on his heels. "How do you feel?"
"Like I just had my heart ripped out by someone I trusted," Tony managed, his voice getting stronger. "And like an asshole just made fun of me while saving my life."
"That asshole just saved your life," Marcus pointed out.
"You're still an asshole." Tony struggled to sit up, managing to prop himself against the couch arm. His hand went to his chest, feeling the old reactor's familiar vibration. "You enjoyed that. Watching me suffer while you installed this thing."
"Little bit," Marcus admitted with a grin.
Tony tried to glare at him, but it dissolved into something that might have been a laugh or a sob or both. "Bastard."
"You're welcome."
They sat there for a moment, Tony catching his breath, Marcus making sure he wasn't going to collapse again. The worst was over. Tony would live. The old arc reactor would keep him alive until they could either get the new one back or build another.
Then Tony's expression changed. "Pepper. Where's Pepper?"
"She's with Agent Coulson," Marcus said. "They went to the Stark Industries facility in LA. Something about finding evidence—"
"No." Tony was already trying to stand, his legs shaky but functional. "No, no, no. Obadiah took my reactor. Which means he's planning to use it. Which means—"
"He built something," Marcus finished. "From the Mark I fragments."
"A suit," Tony confirmed, stumbling toward the workshop stairs. "Bigger than mine. More powerful. And if he has my arc reactor powering it..." He grabbed the stair railing for support. "Pepper's walking into a death trap."
Marcus followed him down. "You can barely stand. You're in no condition to—"
"I don't care." Tony reached the bottom of the stairs and headed straight for the armor station. "Jarvis! Prep the Mark III. Full combat loadout."
"Sir, I must advise against this course of action. Your body is still recovering from—"
"Do it, Jarvis."
"As you wish, sir."
The armor station came to life, mechanical arms descending, pieces of red and gold metal moving into position. Tony stepped onto the platform, his jaw set with determination despite the tremor in his hands.
Marcus watched for a moment, then made his decision.
"Jarvis," Marcus said. "Suit me up too."
There was a pause. Then: "You have the necessary authorization, Mr. Reed. Shall I prepare your Mark III?"
"Yes. Because Tony's definitely going to need backup."
Tony glanced over, faceplate retracting long enough to show a tired but genuine smile. "Thanks, Marcus."
"Don't mention it. Just try not to get killed. I'm getting tired of rescuing you."
"No promises."
The suits assembled around them with mechanical precision. Piece by piece. Arm, leg, chest, helmet. Until two figures in red and gold stood in Tony's workshop, arc reactors glowing, repulsors charged.
"Where are we going?" Marcus asked.
"Stark Industries Arc Reactor Facility," Tony said, his voice now filtered through the suit's speakers. "That's where Obadiah will be. Where he's built whatever nightmare he's been working on."
"Then let's go crash his party."
Tony's repulsors flared to life. The workshop door opened. And he shot upward through the night, a streak of red and gold against the darkness.
Marcus followed a moment later, his own suit accelerating smoothly as Jarvis coordinated their flight paths.
Below them, in the shadows around Tony's property, various surveillance teams scrambled to report what they'd just witnessed. Two armored figures launching from Stark's villa. Flying north toward Los Angeles. Moving fast.
The word went out through encrypted channels to a dozen different agencies and organizations. SHIELD. CIA. Defense contractors. Foreign intelligence services. Everyone who'd been watching and waiting to see what would happen next.
The flying armor wasn't a one-time thing. It wasn't a fluke. Tony Stark had built something revolutionary.
[End of Chapter 25]
300 Powerstones for extra chapter.