DUBAI, 6 a.m.: Fantasy on a Deleted Scene

The house in Dubai had been a mistake, Tony decided. A wildly expensive one, yes, and extravagant in his usual style. That part wasn't really so bad. And his Dubai car collection – well, that he would never count as an error. A man needed his transportation, after all.

But the house – here, Dubai, this whole Middle East thing was starting to seem like one gigantic fail. How long would it last? How long would this government, with its wealthy, gracious men robed in spotless white, be able to hold out against the rising tide of hate and fear that was sweeping the Middle East like a sandstorm? Dubai, Abu Dhabi, the rest of the Emirates…they all existed on the thin edge of a sword that might soon slice them into red, red ruin. And where would the fancy houses, the Gucci stores, the alien and glittering hotels and skyscrapers, the Lamborghini dealers and the American arms dealers be then? He'd seen it; he knew it was coming.

He looked down at the red, red and yellow ruin of the suit that enveloped him. It had taken all his effort just to remove the helmet, and now he sat, exhausted and hurting, on this elegant bench that adjoined the blue-tiled courtyard fountain. He'd crash-landed here, in the midst of his house, what, an hour ago? Time seemed meaningless in this half-blue before the red sun rose. It was quiet; there was no sound except the dawn wind and the splash of the fountain. The party was long over. He sensed there were sleeping – or passed-out – presences throughout the house.

Somebody would wake up and find him soon, and he hoped it wouldn't be somebody who required any major explanations – uh, Tony, why are you wearing a dinged-up, smoking (literally) red metal suit of armor? And why is your head bleeding? Wow, must have been some freakin' awesome party, my man…We missed you, man; where'd you disappear to?

He hoped it would be Pepper who found him. Nothing fazed Pepper.

Well, actually…lately, yeah, some things had seemed to bother her. His mind felt a bit blurry, though, in that regard, so he left it at that. She was probably pissed at him, anyway, for the party and the nubile threesome of lovelies he'd taken up to his bedroom. Had it really been only seven hours ago? He realized he was being obsessive about time, time passing, again.

The damn suit was as fast as a jet. Talk about freakin' awesome. Can I cook or can I cook? From Dubai to Afghanistan, in less than an hour.

Coming back, though, had taken a bit longer. The beat-up version of the suit, and the beat-up man inside it, didn't travel nearly as fast.

He'd skipped out on most of his own party, but that had been the whole point of coming here to – to use the house as a base and the party as a cover to fly his mission to Gulmira. His mind wandered back. The firefight in the dusty street. Yinson's home village. The memory of Yinson. I owed him that; at least that. A life for a life; saving the desperate boy's father, casting the terrorist to his fate among the villagers. The dogfight with U.S. forces in the air, the dive to save the falling pilot.

Not bad, not bad at all. The suit had held its own, that was for sure. He could fly, yeah. It had been a good day's work. Nice goin,' Tony.

All things considered, he hated himself a bit less than usual right now.

God, he needed a drink. No hope of that at the moment. Practicalities, then.

A couple of things were pretty obvious. The suit was still not entirely under his control. Especially the landings.

And it still needed work – OK, a lot of work - in the area of actual body armor and protection. He was fairly sure that at least one rib was broken, as the pain shot through his torso whenever he attempted to move. In fact, it seemed like every bone and muscle in his body was alive with buzzing nerve endings, raw and throbbing along with his heartbeat. But hell, he'd been through some epic ground and air combat with just this suit to carry and shield him. This is the essence of what I have built. And it's good. It has potential to grow from here. Was that something his father had said? His head hurt too much to recall.

It was enough to just sit here and not move. He didn't have a prayer of getting the suit off by himself. Have to think about that one. More work needed there, dude – can I automate it somehow? Make it portable? How many pieces minimally; what are the specs?

Diagrams and algorithms played out in his mind like a movie. He closed his eyes and drifted through the numbers and formulae. They occupied him and kept his mind off the pain.

At last there were stirrings in the house – careful footsteps, soft.

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