The sky was dark, or it would have been if not for the brilliantly bright lights all over the Los Angeles skyline. All across the city, the shining beacons that represented the growth of all technology and mankind shone like a star. To some, it was beautiful. But to Mr. Stark, it was a mess. No, for Mr. Stark each and every one of those lights stood for another unrenewable gallon of oil that would never come back. It stood for the slobs too lazy to try and make the world a better place, it stood for the unbelievable corporate greed that shoved shocking facts under their wallets where no one would find them, it stood for the eventually extinction of all humanity due to the absurd contribution to global climate change. For Mr. Stark, those lights were the enemy.

But that was enough of that, Mr. Stark thought. Sighing, he walked away from the window and stroked his chin, the dark brown hair catching his fingers briefly. It was nicely air conditioned in his house, despite the likely blistering heat outside. Mr. Stark untied his bowtie and threw it onto the lush blankets and pillows that made his bed. Tonight had been a long night, lots of arguing with the members of the board at his company, Stark Industries. Once again, there was a series of corporate pigs that did not want Mr. Stark to go through with his plan to use the Arc Reactors to power the entire city for free. The renewable energy of the reactors were so cheap that the company needed only to increase the price of their regular wares by a few dollars to be able to efficiently run the Reactors for the next ten years at least.

The board of executives in Stark Industries, however, were stuck in the past. They cared not for the idea of a greener planet, but in the idea that the more money they acquired the more power they had. Mr. Stark knew this to be folly; he had been born into money, he had been raised with money, he had always had his money at his side. But here was the proof that money could not accomplish everything.

"That's just not what this company stands for," Mr. Hammer had said during the discussion.

Mr. Stark frowned at the memory. "As if you know what this company stands for," he whispered to himself. "As if you grew up hearing your father talk about this company as though it could walk on water, just to have him die and all of his dreams with it." Plopping down on his bed, Mr. Stark began to remove his shoes as he heard a knock on the door.

"Tony," came the familiar voice of Hogan, one of Stark's oldest friends and a member of the board of executives. "Hey, I tried catching you after the meeting, but—"

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Mr. Stark remarked, holding up a polite hand. "There was nothing we were going to be able to say to dissuade those morons."

Hogan smiled a bit. "True. That Hammer has them all under his thumb it seems."

"No, it's not Hammer who I'm worried about, to be honest with you," Mr. Stark admitted. "No, it's Norman. Ever since we merged OsCorp and Stark Industries, things have started leaning more his way than mine. That's quiet alright though. Sometimes, that happens in life."

Nodding, Mr. Stark offered, "Would you like a drink? I had Jarvis go out and buy us some scotch this afternoon."

"Both of us?" Hogan asked suspiciously.

"Well, no," Mr. Stark sighed, "just me."

With an understanding nod, Hogan slapped Mr. Stark on the back. "I know you're officially my boss and all that, Tony, but I'm going to impart on you some advice: go see a doctor, man, or something. I was talking to Jarvis downstairs. He's worried. You've been stressing over this 'going green' campaign for weeks now."

"It's something my father wanted to get done, it's something my brother tried fighting for before he left, it's something I want," Mr. Stark hissed. "This is the Stark-family dream. It's the legacy Howard Stark wanted to leave on the world when he built this company."

"I know it is," Hogan responded with an understanding smile. "But it's going to take some bulldogging for that to happen. C'mon man, we grew up together. You know that I'm with you to the end of the line."

Another knock on the door, and Mr. Stark and Hogan turned to see the squat Edwin Jarvis enter the room. "Ah! Mr. Stark, Mr. Hogan, can I get either of you some tea?"

"Jarvis, it's nearly midnight," Mr. Stark chuckled, "why are you still here?"

"I was asked to stay late tonight, Mr. Stark," Jarvis reminded him.

Smiling at his forgetfulness, Mr. Stark replied, "Yes, you are very correct, I'm sorry. Well, you're free to go whenever you wish. Tell your daughter I said hi."

"Of course, sir," Jarvis remarked quickly. "I will see you tomorrow morning, sir."

"Tomorrow it is," Mr. Stark promised.

"Goodnight, Edwin," Hogan shouted at the butler as he limped away. After the poor man was gone, Hogan rolled his eyes. "Jesus, when he is going to retire?"

"Hopefully not anytime soon," Mr. Stark admitted. "He can be a bit much, but he's been with the family for years. Plus his daughter is a nice little thing."

"How old would she be now?"

"Twenty-four," Mr. Stark answered, a little too quickly. "She changed her name though, so that she'd have Edwin's last name."

"She didn't before?" Hogan asked, a little surprised.

"Well, Edwin and Virginia, the mother, they never got married," Mr. Stark explained. "And since the mom raised the girl, she had the mother's last name. But now she took her father's name, which is for the best. Pepper Jarvis sounds way better to me than Potts."

"Pepper Potts?" asked Hogan. "Was that really her name?"

Mr. Stark snorted a little. "Yes, it was. Sounds a little silly, doesn't it? Anyway, don't you have somewhere to be too? It is rather late."

Hogan smiled. "I'm sure my cat can wait a few more hours, Tony. But if that was your polite way of asking me to leave early, don't worry, I'll be off soon. But you promised me a scotch."

Smiling, Mr. Stark nodded, and headed over to the small bar inside of his bedroom. He began to poor them both some drinks, as Hogan continued forth, "So, I overheard some of the execs talking after the meeting, Tony. It sounds like you're going to have some trouble coming your way fairly soon."

"You don't say?" Mr. Stark sighed. "What, are they going to try and fire me? I'm still the majority share-holder."

"No, no, nothing like that at all," Hogan explained. "More, physical. I'm not sure. But I didn't like the sounds of it."

Mr. Stark frowned. "That's bad, isn't it? Violence against one of their superiors."

The explosion that followed could be heard from miles away.

Opening his eyes slightly, Mr. Stark realized that he was leaning against the wall of this bedroom, right underneath his shelves of liquor. Something was in his left eyes, but he could tell if it was blood or alcohol. Looking around the room, he saw that all of the windows were destroyed and broken, his bed was on fire, and there was a massive hole in the floor. Angrily, Mr. Stark attempted to stand, only to find that his leg was broken. Growling, he remembered that Hogan was somewhere near.

"Harry!" he shouted, but his voice did not go far as the second explosion came.

This time, Mr. Stark was virtually unharmed, due to the shelter of the bar he was now hiding behind; a few bottles that had not already been broken or grounded fell near him, and he managed to catch one bottle of wine that he received as a Christmas present one year, but that was the worst of his casualties. But he could not see Hogan anywhere.

Using his bar as a crutch, Mr. Stark managed to get to his feet, where he looked around with a better view; there was a new hole in the floor, just as wide as the first, and looking down inside of them as best he could from his position, he noticed that the holes seemed to go all the way down to the lowest levels of his house. Looking at the ceiling, he took note that the holes had corresponding holes in there as well.

"Hogan!" Mr. Stark screamed once more. "Harry! Hogan! Where are ya, damn it? HOGAN!?" he bellowed.

Three men in black walked into the room. Each of them were wearing masks and Mr. Stark could not make out their faces whatsoever.

"Are you Anthony Stark?" one of them asked.

Sneering at them, Mr. Stark refused to speak.

"It's gotta be," one of the others remarked. "Look at him, he looks like the guy from the magazines."

"Alright," the first one said, drawing a pistol with a silencer and pointing it at Mr. Stark. "We're very sorry about this, Mr. Stark."

Then, out of nowhere, Hogan came and tackled the gunmen to the ground; the gunmen's head hit the side of the flaming bed, rendering him unconscious. Hogan stood up and drew his own small revolver, pointing it at the other two.

"Put your weapons down gentlemen," Hogan shouted.

One of the masked men was about to, but the second stopped him. "This guy is weak, he ain't got it in him to—"

Hogan fired his gun then, the bullet hitting the poor masked man in the forehead.

The remaining man gulped and tried running away. Hogan got down on one knee, drew a breath, and fired; the bullet went through the running man's ankle, and he dropped. As soon as his shoulder hit the ground, the final masked man began to fire in Hogan's direction. Feeling a spur of bravery, Mr. Stark took the wine bottle he had and threw it, hitting the masked man in the head.

"Got'cha!" Mr. Stark nearly shouted, but when he looked at Hogan, he saw his friend was now lying on the ground. Limping over to his friend as best he could with his broken leg, Mr. Stark realized that Hogan had been shot several times, but the worst one was certainly in his chest, right where the heart would have gone.

"No, no, no," Mr. Stark whimpered, "no, this isn't happening. Harry! Harry! Stay with me, damnit, Harry."

As he panicked, he had an idea. More or less crawling to what was left of his small work station in his room, he grabbed a miniature Arc Reactor he had been working on; Mr. Stark crawled back to his friend, and growled at him, "You better hope this fucking works, Harold Hogan, because this is your only chance."

With that, Mr. Stark took out his pocket knife and did his best to perform a very gruesome surgery on his oldest friend; after cutting open the chest, he inserted his Arc Reactor right next to the heart. After a few final adjustments, Harry's eyes opened slightly.

"Tony," he groaned. "What's going on?"

"We're safe, Harry!" Mr. Stark nearly cried as he placed his arms around his friend's shoulders. "Damn it, man, we're safe."

Just as Mr. Stark and Hogan began to fall asleep, the paramedics arrived and got Hogan put onto a stretcher to go to the hospital. As Mr. Stark felt himself get lifted to make his way to the hospital as well, he tried his best to think of those three masked men: who were they? How did they get into his home? Why were they trying to kill him?

But the bigger question now was: was Hogan going to live?