In a dark prison-like holding cell sat a quiet, frail old man. He cowered in the utter silence and darkness of the room, wondering what time it was and what day it was, and more importantly where his son was right now, and whether or not he actually wanted to know the answer to that question.

What had even happened to get him here was a complete mystery to the man alone. One minute he was talking with Obadiah Stane, a worker at his company, and the next there was a white light and he was being shoved in this hole by a sadistic and insane man in black metal armor (which to this day confused him. The man didn't understand the mechanics behind the boy's suit of ancient armor).

Then a tall figure stood over his cell, looming in a shadow a moment before revealing his true self, just a teenager.

"Old man," the boy started. The man looked up.

"You've heard of the Makluan Rings, haven't you?" He asked.

"Certainly," he admitted.

"Good, because you're going to help me find them." The boy demanded. The man looked up at the shadow's owner.

"What, you mean re-enter the real world? I thought I wasn't allowed up there." The man spat sarcastically. The boy was frustrated. He reached down the older man's cell and grabbed him by the shirt collar.

"Listen, Stark, you will either cooperate or die. And I know you want to see your son again so I suggest you don't choose to die."

"There's no way my son could have survived that plane accident..." Howard talked to himself.

"Not if he had a weapons-enabled suit of armor," The boy responded.

"What do you mean? Suit of armor?" Howard asked. He'd honestly never heard of such a thing.

"Preapre to leave, were going for the sixth temple tomorrow morning." Gene spat, walking away. Howard was left to think about all the possibilities of his son being alive with a weapons-capable suit of armor; whether the results were pleasing or not.

Ultimately, all it was was Howard getting more and more desperate to escape the clutches of Gene Khan, the deranged and mentally unstable teenager.

~…~

Howard was now very frazzled. Up until now he'd had the impression that his son had died in the plane crash that he had been taken from before an explosion could interfere, and now he discovers that his son is alive? The idea, for him, gave him some sort of hope for the future, some sort of bright side, or hope, that if he cooperated with the unstable teenager he could get out of this holding cell and reconnect with the life he'd so missed for the past…well, he wasn't exactly sure what day it was, or what time of day. He'd lost track of that a long time ago.

And if Tony was alive, then what did he think I was? Thought the man. Maybe he thinks I'm gone…surely he's getting Stark International when he's eighteen…just what is my boy going through?

This new knowledge sent the middle-aged captive's mind reeling. The very thought of his son being alive tortured him, because he knew of his son's tendency to pin the blame on himself and beat himself up for every little thing. The thought of this made him feel incredibly horrible, because he knew his son was probably being tortured being the only Stark left. He's got Rhodey as a friend, sure, but that's not nearly enough for the situation…

Howard kept thinking about this, and kept thinking about it for the rest of the night, until his thoughts sent him drifting into dreamland, where he had nightmares of what could possibly have become of his son, and what could possibly become of him once they start looking for the rings.

~…~

There was a bright flash of light. There was a teenage boy strewed on the blank ground; covered in blood. Crying out for his father, his voice hushed in severe pain. There was the sound of his chest growing silent, and the boy's eyes could be seen drifting closed, and his skin going pale as a ghost.

The likeliness of the boy surviving the accident were slim to none, but that was alright, because the boy knew that his father had to be dead, and if that's the way it was, then that's what he wanted to be as well.

Then there's the image of the same boy jolting awake in a hospital room, an African-American boy and his mother sitting around his hospital room, overjoyed to see their close friend alive. The sounds of their joy could be heard, and the sounds of the suffering teenager's whimpers could be heard.

The look on the injured boy's face expressed anguish; anguish so harsh looking that the man dreaming this horrible nightmare could barely stand the sight. The boy's expression said that he hadn't wanted to wake up, he didn't want to deal with the grief of losing his family, he didn't want to be alive. He wanted to know why whoever found him had saved his life.

Then that same boy could be seen sitting in a dark corner of an empty room, tears falling from his cheeks and staining his pants. Thoughts ran through his head about the days when he used to be happy, and when he used to have a family. Now he felt completely alone.

By this rate, anyone would have preferred that the boy had died. Anyone could see that he was suffering now more than he ever had in his life. The boy was known for blaming himself so harshly.

Then the boy could be seen sitting next to a bottle of whiskey, holding a gun to his head. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and after thinking of what his life had become, the suffering teenager pulled the trigger; He was sick of the pain, sick of the hurt that he felt day-to-day. He was sick of waking up and feeling completely broken inside. He was sick of waking up and remembering that his father was dead and he only had himself left. He was sick of feeling the same things over and over again. He was sick of being reminded of everything every minute of every day. He was just sick of it all.

Of course, the boy's actions only resulted in one lost soul searching for his father.

~…~

"TONY NO!" Howard yelled, jolting awake. He started breathing heavily.

Suddenly, a teenage boy with jet black hair, who had been studying five rings that were being held up by a piece of string, turned and looked down at the shaken prisoner in the cell.

"What is it now, old man?" The boy asked.

"My son…is…is he alright?" Howard asked. He was desperate to know.

"Stark is fine." The boy said, turning back to his rings. Howard thought for a moment before speaking again.

"I know why you're doing this, Gene."

Gene, puzzled by the statement, turned to Howard, a confused look on his face.

"What do you mean, you crazy old man?"

"I mean, I know why you think you need these rings. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it just the only thing you have left of your mother?"

This statement struck a chord inside Gene. He put the rings on quickly, grabbing Howard and pulling him up by his shirt collar.

"Don't you dare say anything like that again!" He threatened.

"Okay, I get it, sensitive subject…" Howard responded. Gene set him down and stomped off into the next room angrily, knowing inside that the old man was right.

Howard, of course, knew he was right too. But that didn't stop him from going back to sleep and visioning horrible nightmares about his son's tortured state of mind.

Ik, I got a bit angsty there, but I'm pretty sure that's the worst this story's gonna get. So yes, if you were wondering, this story is, for the most part, not going to show Tony, Pepper or Rhodey or those peeps…kind of a different take on the series. Review?