Tony had a hessian sack ripped off of his head which allowed a blinding light to pierce his eyes. Around him stood the terrorists that had kidnapped him, from his chest hung the wires that were keeping him alive. He still didn't know or care who had taken him, or didn't know why there had been people both trying to kill him and rescue him. He just wanted to know the way out. Oh, and the way to the rest room.

A bald, middle aged man with a hooked nose entered his eyeline, smiling and stinking of cream cheese. He leant in closer, his breath becoming available.

"Tony," he wheezed, in an irritatingly high-pitched tone with a hint of jet-lag, "so nice to have you here!"

"Who are...you?" was all he managed to get out without the pain overtaking him. The stranger laughed.

"You don't recognise me?"

"N...no..."

"Seriously? Or are you just trying to be rude?"

"Ar...re..."

"Yes..."

"Are y..you..."

"Yessss..."

"Are you gon...gonna wash any time soon. You stink..."

The stranger laughed, before slapping Tony across the face with a deformed hand, which had long boney fingers, two of which were fused together.

"Aw...bab...baby don't be that way..." Tony chuckled softly, enraging the stranger even more.

"I should've known better than to play to your immaturity, Stark. I'm surprised you didn't know me. Adrian Toomes?"

"Can't say...it rings a bell...sorry."

"I'm the leading engineer scientist for OsCorp! We met at a party once! No? Well, can't say you made much of an impression either."

"Then...why am I here?"

"Well, I need your forced help. My hands, as you can see, aren't exactly nimble, and my head's got a problem. Nothing serious, just an impending sense of delusion. Doctors say I could think I'm something like a bird in about three years."

"Help with what, a social life, finding friends, getting a fashion sense?"

"I'm building stuff, Stark. Jetpacks, that kind of thing. The Vulture initiative, that's what the army called it. But then Golden Boy Tony comes blazing in, and I lose my military contract. So, I come to these guys, offer them all my inventive backlog, next thing you know, I'm rolling in it!"

"What's this...got to do with helping you?"

"You're going to mass produce my jetpacks, but with your weaponry. We've got your stuff shipped over, just for you."

"If I don't?"

"I get the doctor that saved you, to rip that God damn magnet out of your body. That enemy strike, it embedded shrapnel so close, that a puny electromagnet is the only thing keeping your blood pumping."

"I know...I was there..."

"Alright, Ms Bitchy, calm down. I'm just putting my point across. Now, you'll be escorted back to your room, where you'll find blueprints and equipment. You'll build the packs, give them to the men, and then you'll be shot."

"That's not fair."

"Neither is making me lose my military contract."

lllllllllllllllllllllllllll

Tony sat at a work bench, fully aware of the armed units outside. He hammered away at what was going to become a blast tube for the packs, somewhat begrudgingly. He got up to admire his work, and noticed that it resembled an arm.

He had a eureka moment. He didn't know how he was going to keep the work a secret, but he was going to try anyway. So for the next few weeks he worked on his project. Whenever anyone came to analyse his work, he would just arrange the pieces so that they looked vaguely like a jetpack. They didn't really know or maybe even care that it looked out of place. Didn't really bother him either.

He kept space in the corner, biding his time for a moment to attack. He even forged the perfect mask, with room to articulate and say cool stuff. The time has coming, and he wasn't sure he was prepared. He'd probably have to wing it.

lllllllllllllllllllllllllll

It was night when the gunfire broke out. Adrian Toomes was woken up by the screams and bullets and sighed, turning over and burying his ears in his imported goose-feather pillows. Ugh, he couldn't take the noise. He grabbed the machine gun underneath his bed and exited his hut, getting his gun ready.

He faced the semi-cave system that contained the work shops and the screams, guessing whatever was causing that much fear would be working its way through there. He sighed, hoping his jetpacks were either made or well-protected. He didn't care about Stark, obviously.

From the darkness marched a giant metal man, made of familiar material.

"My jetpacks!" he exclaimed, before letting rip with the machine gun. The bullets pinged off, even if some embedded themselves in the metal. The man walked to Toomes and managed to grab him as he made to flee.

"Adrian, ol' pal! Going so soon?"

"Stark! J-j-just let me go, please! Oh please!"

"Really? And you'll let me go?"

"...yes."

"Thought so."

He threw the nervous captor on the ground and punched him in the face, before slapping Adrian multiple times. Then he put a foot, almost, through his chest. By this point he realised that the man was dead.

"Sorry 'bout that. Gotta survive."

He walked out of the camp, and into the desert.

"How the hell do I get home?"