Stark Industries Arc Reactor Facility
Downtown Los Angeles
The research wing of Stark Industries had always felt like a different world to Pepper—all concrete and steel, industrial and cold, nothing like the gleaming executive floors above. Tonight, it felt like a tomb.
She approached the security door with Coulson and his team of agents spread out behind her in tactical formation. Something was wrong. The facility should have had at least minimal staff, security guards making rounds, but the corridors were empty. Silent.
Pepper swiped her assistant-level access card, the one that had opened every door in this building for three years.
Nothing. The reader blinked red, denying her with electronic indifference.
"My card doesn't work!" She tried again, same result. Her stomach dropped. Of course—Obadiah had been planning this for months. He'd revoked her access, probably deleted her from the system entirely. They were locked out.
Coulson stepped forward, his expression unchanged. "Not a problem. We came prepared."
From inside his suit jacket, he produced a device about the size of a smartphone, matte black with a small display. He pressed it against the lock mechanism, fingers dancing across the interface with practiced ease. The device adhered to the metal with a soft click.
Pepper leaned closer, curious despite the circumstances. "What kind of lockpick is that?"
"The kind you'll want to stand back from." Coulson glanced at her, and for the first time tonight, she saw a hint of humor in his eyes. "About ten feet should do it. Maybe fifteen, to be safe."
The penny dropped. Pepper's eyes went wide. "Oh God—"
She scrambled backward, nearly tripping over her own heels in her haste to get clear. Her hands flew to her ears just as Coulson pressed a button on his phone.
BOOM!
The explosion was sharp and focused, more like a massive firecracker than a bomb, but the effect was devastating. The reinforced door didn't just unlock—it flew off its hinges entirely, clattering into the hallway beyond in a cloud of smoke and concrete dust.
"Thermite charge," Coulson explained conversationally, as if he hadn't just destroyed federal property. "Shaped to direct the blast inward. Minimal collateral damage."
They moved into the facility quickly, Coulson's agents spreading out to cover angles like they'd done this a hundred times before. Pepper led them deeper into the complex, following the mental map she'd built from years of budget meetings and quarterly reports. Lab Seven was in the east wing, the high-security section where the most sensitive projects were developed.
The corridors were dark, lit only by emergency lighting that cast everything in harsh reds and whites. Their footsteps echoed off concrete walls, too loud in the silence. Every shadow could hide a threat. Every corner could conceal—
"There," Pepper said, pointing to a set of double doors marked with hazard warnings. "That's it."
The workshop beyond was massive, easily the size of an aircraft hangar. Industrial lights kicked on as they entered, illuminating a space that made Pepper's breath catch.
There it was—the Mark I armor, Tony's original creation. It looked even cruder in person than in the photos Tony had shown her. All rough edges and exposed mechanics, welded plates and visible bolts. It was hard to believe this thing had been built in a cave from spare parts, harder still to believe it had saved Tony's life.
"You were right," Coulson said, moving to examine the workbenches that lined the walls. They were covered in schematics, computer components, half-assembled pieces of technology she couldn't identify. "He's definitely been building armor."
But something felt wrong to Pepper. The workspace was too organized, too complete. This wasn't just research—this was manufacturing. Computer terminals hummed along one wall, their screens dark but clearly active. Fabrication equipment filled an entire section: industrial 3D printers, welding stations, assembly rigs sized for something much larger than a man.
"I thought he'd be building something bigger," she said, voicing the unease creeping up her spine. The Mark I was impressive, but it was also months old. Obadiah had had time, resources, an entire team of engineers. What had he been—
A sound echoed through the space. A mechanical whir, like massive gears engaging.
"BZZZZ!"
Then another sound, metal on metal, heavy and purposeful.
"KAKKAKA!"
From the shadows at the far end of the workshop, something moved. Something huge.
The Iron Monger emerged into the light like a nightmare made real. Ten feet tall, covered in grey armor plating that looked less like Tony's elegant designs and more like a walking tank. Exposed hydraulics hissed with each movement. Weapons systems bristled from its shoulders and arms. And behind that darkened faceplate, she knew Obadiah Stane was smiling.
The massive armor moved faster than physics should have allowed, lunging straight for her with arms spread wide.
Pepper threw herself sideways, feeling the rush of air as those huge metal fingers closed on empty space inches from where she'd been standing. She hit the ground hard, road rash burning through her jacket, but she was alive.
"Fire! Hit him!" Coulson's command cracked through the air.
The agents responded instantly. The workshop erupted in gunfire, muzzle flashes strobing in the industrial lighting. Bullets hammered against the Iron Monger's armor in a deadly rain, sparks cascading off the plating like fireworks.
It might as well have been confetti for all the good it did.
The Iron Monger didn't even slow down. One massive arm swept out, catching an agent mid-reload. The man flew across the workshop, hitting a concrete wall with a sound that made Pepper's stomach turn. Another agent tried to flank, diving between workbenches—Obadiah's huge foot came down, missing by inches as the agent rolled desperately away.
But Obadiah wasn't interested in the agents. The Iron Monger's head turned, tracking Pepper as she scrambled to her feet and ran for the exit. She could hear the thunder of its footsteps behind her, each one shaking the floor.
"Where are you running to?" Obadiah's voice boomed from the armor's speakers, distorted but unmistakably amused. The same voice that had welcomed her to Stark Industries. The same voice that had offered comfort when Tony disappeared.
Pepper burst out onto the street and her heart nearly stopped. She'd emerged right onto the Pacific Coast Highway at rush hour. Cars everywhere—sedans, SUVs, a city bus—all traveling at sixty miles per hour with no idea what was about to hit them.
The Iron Monger smashed through the doorway behind her, chunks of concrete flying. Each footstep left spider web cracks in the asphalt, the ground literally shaking under the armor's weight. Drivers were just beginning to notice, heads turning, eyes widening in disbelief.
That's when the voice came from above, sharp with anger and desperation.
"Stop it, Obadiah!"
Pepper looked up just in time to see a red and gold streak plummeting from the night sky like a missile. Tony. He slammed into the Iron Monger with the force of a freight train, both armored figures tumbling across the asphalt in a tangle of metal limbs. The impact was so loud it set off car alarms for three blocks.
"Pepper, run!" Tony's voice crackled through his armor's speakers, electronic but unmistakably him. "Get clear!"
She didn't need to be told twice. Pepper ran, her heels clicking frantically against pavement, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the unfolding battle. Behind her, she could hear the chaos erupting.
The highway had become instant mayhem. Cars swerved desperately, drivers' faces masks of terror as they tried to avoid the two metal giants now fighting in the middle of traffic. Brakes screamed against rotors. Horns blared in panic. A pickup truck clipped a Honda trying to change lanes, both vehicles spinning. A motorcyclist laid his bike down rather than hit the growing pile-up, sliding across the asphalt in a shower of sparks.
Through the chaos, the Iron Monger rose to its feet with mechanical grace. Without hesitation, Obadiah reached down and grabbed a blue sedan that had stopped too close, lifting it overhead like a child with a toy.
Inside, Pepper could see everything with horrible clarity—a woman at the wheel, her mouth open in a scream she couldn't hear over the noise. In the back seat, three children pressed against the windows, their faces twisted in terror.
"No!" Tony's chest reactor flared brilliant blue, brighter than the sun. The unibeam erupted from his chest—a concentrated lance of pure energy that caught the Iron Monger dead center. The massive armor flew backward, arms windmilling, the stolen car tumbling from its grip.
Tony lunged forward, servos screaming, catching the falling vehicle with both arms. The impact drove him to his knees, the weight of a two-ton car nearly overwhelming even his enhanced strength.
"Ugh!" The strain was audible even through his speakers. His armor's joints whined in protest, but he managed to set the car down, relatively gently, on its wheels.
The terrified family didn't wait for an invitation. The woman slammed the accelerator, tires smoking as she peeled out. But as they pulled away, something went wrong—the car's bumper had somehow gotten tangled with Tony's leg armor in the chaos. He was stuck, down on one knee, frantically trying to free himself as the car dragged him several feet—
The Iron Monger's massive fist connected with the side of Tony's helmet.
The smaller armor went flying, ripping free from the car and tumbling across the highway in a cascade of sparks. Tony hit hard, bounced once, twice, finally sliding to a stop against the concrete median barrier. Even from fifty feet away, Pepper could hear the groan of damaged metal.
"I started this company from nothing!" Obadiah's voice boomed through the armor's speakers as he advanced on Tony's fallen form. Each step was deliberate, measured, savoring the moment. "Built it with my bare hands while Howard played with his toys! And when he died, I kept it alive while his son threw parties and wasted billions on cars and women!"
Tony struggled to his feet, armor scarred and dented but still functional. He raised one hand, repulsor glowing, but the Iron Monger was already moving. Obadiah grabbed a nearby motorcycle—abandoned by its fleeing owner—and hurled it. Tony dodged, but barely.
"Now, after everything I've sacrificed, everything I've built—" The Iron Monger's shoulder-mounted weapon spun up with a mechanical whine. "No one can stop me! Especially not you!"
A missile launched from the Iron Monger's arm, streaking toward Tony with a smoke trail. Tony had nowhere to dodge—abandoned cars hemmed him in on both sides. The explosion engulfed him in orange flames, the shockwave shattering windows for a hundred feet in every direction.
For a moment, there was only fire and smoke.
Then Tony emerged from the flames, armor blackened but intact. Without hesitation, he fired his boot jets and shot straight up into the air, rising twenty feet, thirty, hovering above the devastation.
Obadiah looked up at him through the Iron Monger's optical sensors. "You upgraded your armor? Made it fly?" There was something almost proud in his voice. "Well, I made some improvements too!"
The Iron Monger's boots erupted in massive pillars of flame, each one as wide as a trash can. The thrust was incredible—it had to be, to lift something that weighed as much as a small truck. The grey armor rose slowly at first, fighting gravity with pure brute force, but then it began to accelerate.
Tony didn't wait to see more. He turned and rocketed upward into the night sky, a red and gold streak against the stars. The Iron Monger followed, twin trails of fire marking its ascent like some ancient dragon rising from the earth.
Higher and higher they climbed, leaving the chaos of the highway far below. Los Angeles spread out beneath them, a carpet of lights stretching to the horizon. Twenty thousand feet. Twenty-five. Thirty.
Tony kept climbing, and Obadiah kept following, neither willing to give ground in this vertical chase.
Marcus watched from a nearby rooftop, his own Mark III armor reflecting the city lights. He'd arrived just after Tony, but something had made him hold back. This was Tony's fight, Tony's demon to face. But he tracked their ascent carefully, ready to intervene if needed.
At thirty-five thousand feet, Tony noticed it on his HUD—the Iron Monger was slowing. Ice was forming on the larger armor's joints, white crystals spreading across the grey metal like frozen veins.
Forty thousand feet.
The Iron Monger's flames sputtered once, twice, then died completely. For a moment, the massive armor hung suspended in the thin air, a frozen monument to ambition. Tony could imagine Obadiah inside, frantically working controls that no longer responded.
Then gravity reclaimed its own.
The Iron Monger began to fall, slowly at first, then faster, tumbling through the night sky like a meteor. Tony watched it plummet, already turning to follow—
"Sir," Jarvis's calm British voice cut through his satisfaction. "Power level at one percent."
Tony's heart dropped faster than the Iron Monger. "What? No, that's not—"
His thrusters cut out mid-sentence.
Now Tony was falling too, the ground rushing up to meet him at terminal velocity. His HUD flickered, systems failing one by one. He managed to fire his thrusters in brief, desperate bursts—half a second here, a second there—barely enough to control his descent but not enough to stop it.
The Stark Industries building rushed up to meet them. Both armored figures slammed into the roof within seconds of each other, Tony hitting first in a grinding slide of metal on concrete, leaving a fifty-foot gouge across the rooftop. The Iron Monger crashed down moments later like a dropped anvil, the impact shaking the entire building.
Tony tried to stand, but his armor was barely responding. Every movement was sluggish, servos whining without power to drive them properly.
"Power at critical levels," Jarvis announced with electronic calm, as if Tony couldn't feel his suit dying around him. "Recommend immediate—"
The warning cut off as a massive hand closed around Tony's throat.
The Iron Monger had survived the fall. Battered, ice still melting from its joints, but functional. Obadiah lifted Tony like a rag doll, the smaller armor's feet dangling a foot off the ground.
"Forty years," Obadiah said through his speakers, voice distorted but clear. "Forty years I've waited in the shadows. First your father's shadow, now yours." The grip tightened, metal groaning. "But shadows are where monsters grow strong, Tony. And now, in the light, you're the one who's weak."
Tony's hands scrabbled uselessly at the grip. His armor had no power left for enhanced strength—he was just a man in a metal coffin now, being strangled by a giant. His vision was starting to grey at the edges, the arc reactor in his chest flickering uncertainly.
High above, Marcus had seen enough.
He'd watched Tony fall, watched the crash, watched as his friend was lifted helplessly by that metal monster. The moment for standing back had passed. This was no longer Tony's fight alone.
Marcus adjusted his armor's position, angling into a perfect dive. He pushed his thrusters to maximum, accelerating beyond safe limits. The armor's warnings scrolled past unheeded—he had one shot at this, one chance to save his friend.
As he plummeted toward the rooftop, Marcus tucked his arms tight to his body, increasing his speed even more. At the last possible second, he twisted his body, bringing both legs forward, feet together in perfect form.
A memory flashed through his mind—watching old kung fu movies as a kid, practicing kicks in his backyard, dreaming of being a hero. Now, in armor worth millions, flying through the night to save a friend's life, that childhood dream crystallized into reality.
"L—no," Marcus corrected himself with a grin behind his faceplate, "it's STEEL FLYING KICK!"
His armored boots, traveling at over a hundred miles per hour, were aimed directly at the Iron Monger's chest.
To be continued..
300 Powerstones for extra chapter.