The moment Tony activated the Mark I's full power systems, every light in the cave flickered and died. The electrical circuit overloaded instantly, too much draw from too small a power source. Bulbs exploded in their sockets, raining glass fragments. Darkness swallowed the prison chamber.
Only the arc reactor's glow remained, casting blue-white light through the armor's chest plate like a mechanical heart.
Tony flexed his armored fingers. The servos responded smoothly. He rotated his knee joints, good range of motion, acceptable hydraulic pressure. A grin spread across his face inside the helmet.
"Let me show you the latest invention from the world's most talented scientist," he announced.
He walked toward the cave entrance. Each step produced a heavy metallic clank, but the Mark I moved with surprising grace for something cobbled together from scrap metal.
Smith, Puar, and Yinsen followed Tony outside into the morning sunlight.
The battlefield spread before them, bodies scattered across defensive positions, craters where ki blasts had detonated, weapons and equipment strewn everywhere. Tony surveyed the carnage without flinching. These were the men who'd beaten him, tortured him, held him captive for months. He felt no sympathy for their fate.
But the scale of destruction gave him new appreciation for Smith's capabilities. One man did all this. In minutes.
"Okay, let's see what this baby can do!" Tony raised his armored fists, testing the targeting systems.
He demonstrated the arm-mounted missiles first, crude projectiles that streaked across the sand and detonated against distant rocks. Then the flamethrowers, twin jets of fire that turned the air itself into a weapon. He tested the hydraulic strength, crushing a boulder in his metal grip.
Each weapon system functioned perfectly despite the primitive construction. The already destroyed battlefield became even more devastated, new craters, scorched earth, shattered rock.
Smith watched with genuine interest. Puar floated nearby, transfixed by the display of mechanical power. Yinsen simply stared in amazement at what his friend had created.
"And now," Tony said dramatically, "the best part."
He triggered the flight system. Repulsors on his boots and palms ignited, generating thrust. The Mark I lifted off the ground, one foot, two feet, climbing higher,
"Did you see that?" Tony shouted triumphantly. "I'm flying!"
The repulsors sputtered. Died. Cut out completely.
Tony's stomach lurched as gravity reasserted control. He fell, arms windmilling uselessly, the desert rushing up to meet him at terminal velocity.
Smith launched himself upward, intercepting Tony mid-fall. He grabbed the armor's chest plate and arrested the descent, lowering Tony gently to the sand.
"Oh my god." Tony's voice was shaky through the helmet speakers. "You can fly. Like, actually fly without machine."
He popped the faceplate open, staring at Smith in wonder. "Are you Superman? Is that what this is?"
"Thank you," he added more seriously. "Again. For saving me. That's twice now."
Yinsen had watched the entire sequence with his mouth hanging open. "Is he... is he a god?"
Puar considered that thoughtfully, remembering what othe Fraternity member usually called his master "Yes, Master Smith is GOD"
Yinsen fell silent, processing that information as he jogged over to where Smith had deposited Tony.
Tony climbed out of the armor, brushing sand from his clothes. "The materials here were inadequate. Substandard components, primitive tools. When I get back to my workshop in Malibu, I'm building a real suit. Something that won't fail mid-flight."
Smith smiled. "I believe you will."
Tony's grin returned, energized by the encouragement. "I'll invite you to see it once it's operational. The Mark II will blow your mind, proper materials, advanced systems, actual aerodynamic design. Nothing like this crude prototype."
"I look forward to it," Smith said. "Try not to fall out of the sky during the demonstration."
Tony waved dismissively. "That was a materials issue. Won't happen with the Mark II. I guarantee it."
Smith pulled out his satellite phone. "The demonstration's over. Let's arrange transport back to civilization."
He dialed the Fraternity's contact. "I need a helicopter at these coordinates. Extraction for 3 men plus cargo."
I really need to ask Bulma about capsule technology, Smith thought as he ended the call. Being able to carry vehicles in my pocket would be incredibly convenient. Though whether Earth has the materials to produce them is another question.
Forty Minutes Later – Afghan Desert
The helicopter appeared as a dark speck against the blue sky, growing larger as it approached. It touched down fifty yards away, rotors whipping up sand and dust.
With Smith's help, Tony maneuvered the Mark I armor into the cargo bay. The suit was too heavy and unwieldy for one person to manage, but Smith lifted it as easily as if it weighed nothing.
Super strength to match the flying, Tony noted mentally. This guy's capabilities just keep stacking up.
They lifted off, the cave complex shrinking below them as the helicopter banked toward Kabul.
Kabul Airport – Two Hours Later
The helicopter touched down at a private section of the airport, away from civilian traffic. A Fraternity operative had arranged everything, refueling, flight clearance, and a charter plane waiting on the tarmac.
Yinsen disembarked first, standing awkwardly beside the helicopter with a small pack of belongings the Fraternity had provided. Tony approached him, extending his hand.
"Come with me," Tony said. "To New York. I can set you up, job, housing, whatever you need. You saved my life in that cave. Let me return the favor."
Yinsen smiled but shook his head. "Thank you, Tony. But my family is in Gulmira. I need to see them. Make sure they're safe." His expression darkened slightly. "And there are things I need to do there. Help rebuild."
Tony understood. He pulled out a business card and pressed it into Yinsen's hand. "Call me if you need anything. Money, resources, I have all of it. Don't hesitate."
"I won't." Yinsen pulled Tony into a brief embrace. "Take care of yourself. And finish that new armor. Make it count."
"I will."
Yinsen walked toward the airport terminal, disappearing into the crowds. Tony watched him go, a strange hollowness settling in his chest. The last connection to his captivity, walking away.
Smith placed a hand on Tony's shoulder. "He'll be fine. He's tougher than he looks."
"Yeah." Tony turned toward the waiting plane. "Let's go home."
Somewhere Over the Atlantic
The chartered jet was functional but dated, leather seats worn from use, carpeting slightly faded, the kind of plane that moved people efficiently without trying to impress them. Tony sat in the shower for twenty minutes, scrubbing away weeks of accumulated grime, before changing into the fresh clothes the Fraternity had provided.
He emerged to find Smith eating a steak at the cabin's small dining table. Puar floated nearby, nibbling at a plate of fish.
Tony settled into the seat across from Smith, accepting a plate of his own. He studied Smith while cutting his steak, really looked at him for the first time since the rescue.
Young, maybe mid-twenties. Casual confidence that suggested extensive combat experience. The tail, biological, not mechanical. Enhanced physiology that allowed flight and apparent invulnerability. And resources substantial enough to operate freely in a war zone and charter international flights on short notice.
"You know," Tony said between bites, "you've got some unusual characteristics. The flying, the cat, the obvious superhuman capabilities. But you also have serious operational infrastructure, helicopters on call in Afghanistan, private jets, international reach."
He gestured around the cabin. "Though I have to say, the quality of this aircraft leaves something to be desired. When we get back to New York, I'll show you my Gulfstream. If you like it, I'll buy you one. Consider it a thank-you gift."
Smith raised an eyebrow at the casual offer to gift a multi-million-dollar jet but said nothing. That was just Tony Stark, money was a tool, not a concern.
"I appreciate the thought," Smith said diplomatically. "Finish your meal. Then you should call Pepper. She's been worried sick."
Smith pulled out his phone and dialed. When Pepper answered, her voice tight with stress, he kept his tone professional. "Ms. Potts, I have Tony Stark. The mission was successful. He was held by militants in the Afghan mountains. The captors have been eliminated."
He paused, listening to her rapid-fire questions. "Tony's unharmed. We're on a plane now, approximately six hours out from New York. You might want to arrange transportation from the airport."
Another pause. "Of course. I'll put him on."
Smith slid the phone across the table. Tony picked it up, his entire demeanor shifting, softer, more genuine than the performance he'd given Smith.
"Pepper. Hey. I'm okay, really."
Tony's side of the conversation continued, reassurances, deflections, attempts at humor that fell flat because Pepper could hear the exhaustion in his voice.
"I'm not hurt. I promise. Your boss is pretty awesome, you know. I even built something cool, you'll see it when I get back."
He glanced at Smith. "And yeah, thank you for hiring Smith. He's... extraordinary. Honestly saved me before I could save myself, which is probably for the best. My plan had some flaws."
More listening. Tony's expression softened further. "I'll see you soon, Pepper. Six hours. Have a cheeseburger waiting."
He ended the call and slid the phone back to Smith. For a moment, vulnerability flickered across Tony's face, the reality of what he'd survived, what he'd nearly lost.
Then he buried it, reverting to the familiar armor of wit and confidence.
Smith's gaze drifted to the metal case secured in the cargo area. The Mark I armor, battered and crude but revolutionary. The prototype that would spawn an entirely new era.
Mark I is complete. Iron Man's birth is inevitable now.