Uh, sorry for the late update. I keep trying to make this angsty and descriptive, but I just can't do it. I seriously need some tips and suggestions on how to do that. A huge shoutout to everybody we reviewed and thank you very much for the positive comments, I greatly appreciate it. :) Like usual, my English is horrendous and so if this offended anybody, I apologise. Another thing, please remember to leave constructive criticisms on the way out. Content wise, grammar wise and language wise. Thank you!

The images on screen flickered once again. The team paused their actions in nervous anticipation. They averted their sights to the huge panel splayed atop the conference table.

They were obviously in distress, dark heavy bags pulling their eyes down, hair unkempt and unruly. If the situation wasn't so critical, Tony would have told them that they looked like him when he had insomniac streaks, which was everyday.

This time, Tony was shown lying on what seemed like a steel table, thick metal straps harnessing the genius to the surface, metal cuffs ensuring that even the slightest movements were made impossible. A thick dirty cloth was forcefully stuffed into his mouth, prohibiting any feasibility of Tony pronouncing a single syllable, much less form a coherent sentence. An piece of black material fastened itself on Tony's eyes, rendering Tony completely uncomposed and unable to withstand whatever these criminals had installed for him.

Captain Hook stood next to the metal table. In his grip found a thick rubber hose, connected to a corroded water tap nearby. The man was evidently frustrated with Tony's refusal to comply. His thick brows were closely knitted together, eyes bearing deep and steely into Tony's skull, mouth twitched down in a deep frown of obvious discontent and impatience.

It had been 3 days since Tony was abducted. These terrorists were, apparently, highly skilled in technology as they managed to scramble the GPS signal that should be emitted from the comm even though it was disconnected. The crew was trying everything they could possibly think of. Thus far, they have not been able to achieve anything.

"Tell us who is behind the mask or write us the programme."

Tony shook his head with what minimal movability he was granted.

There was a piercing scream from the rusted metal tap, then all hell broke loose.

The water came spurting in a rapid pace, giving the engineer an illusion of drowning. In just mere seconds, the transparent liquid completely submerged the cloth on Tony's face. Then came the terror-filled gasps, with Tony shaking his head from side to side, coming violently into contact with the harsh and cold metal surface, squirming and writhing with his limited mobility.

Tears started peeking out from the now drenched black cloth, though immediately brushed aside by the pouring water that showed no signs of stopping. The thick material in his mouth was utterly soaked that everytime he tried to take in oxygen, he was instead rewarded with water suffocating him.

Captain Hook had a malignant smirk on his repellant features. The man exuded waves of crazed pleasure that could be detected even through a thin piece of glass.

Vision glided closer and closer to the screen, his hand reaching out and -

SMASH

The once transparent screen alit with blue light now laid shattered all across the floor, causing complete disarray in the originally immaculate room.

"I apologise for my outburst, but I believe we could locate Tony more efficiently if we were not constantly distracted by the footage streaming live."

The team nodded in agreement, quickly resuming their previous positions, working diligently.

Tony lost count of the length of time he was currently being held captive.

He was completely and utterly alone this time. Nobody befriended him, nobody helped him, they all smirked and cackled in maniacal ways.

At least last time, he had Yinsen's support.

To keep track of time, Tony tried various methods: counting the number of times they tortured him, counted the number of times he woke up sore and in pain, counted the number of new bruises and broken bones every time they decided a good beating would teach him his place, counted the number of times he had a panic attack, or flashback.

The number of panic attacks: 13 and counting.

It was pathetic really, the way he portrayed his defiance and pompous arrogance only to reduce to a pile of shuddering mess sobbing on the floor, pounding his head against the cement wall repeatedly. He curled at himself in pitiful endeavor to seem smaller and preserve his body heat that was leaking away, having found a better place to reside in. His skin was pale and pallid, his once wine - coloured lips were now tinted blue - a result of his frequent acquaintance with water.

They blindfolded him. He was constantly in the dark, cordially inviting the darkness to swallow him, chewing and munching until he was torn apart into countless fragile pieces, devouring him from inside-out, only to be processed as waste material, reintroduced in the form of faeces.

He had spent years of collective effort trying to move forward from Afghanistan, but what can you say? An incident that intense tends to leave a huge speckle on your snow-white paper.

That is, if it was that white originally.

Shadows claimed his mind and vultures circled his thoughts incessantly, choking him like the water smothered him.

Telling him how much of a failure he was.

Telling him he was worthless.

Telling him he was weak.

Telling him he was nothing.

Nothing but a nuisance to this world. His petty existence created a behemothic burden, dropping it harshly on everybody he came across in his sorry excuse for a life.

He was a threatening hurricane, destroying all civilizations, wreaking havoc, injuring innocent people.

His existence was a hazard, and true to his name, he truly was the Merchant of Death.

People were disgusted by his actions; they actively avoided him, and did not entertain him unless the situation forced or required them to do so.

His team - ah no. The current residents of the tower illustrated that argument perfectly.

He was the stain that could never be removed, the shadows and danger lurking at the corners, but intangible and showed no evidence of its presence other than the paranoia in your head, the drop of impurity added into the crystal clear water.

He actively kneaded with his wit and sarcasm, effectively provoking Captain Hook so they could kill him - an act he had been too much of a coward to commit himself.

It's funny really. While other people craved for life, he yearned for death.

Happiness, that simple word that expressed such a naive sentiment, so pure and innocent, yet a feat so arduous to accomplish. It is surreal, an illusion, a spectre, and most importantly, unrealistic.

He was waiting for his imminent death. He knew that if he wasn't of use to the terrorist group, they would slaughter him, mercilessly. He stared at it lecherously, willing it to come closer, to glide ahead until it accepted him in its warm and welcoming embrace.

He and death have had a few encounters. Each time, they greeted each other, and death would inch closer and closer and closer until Tony could feel its seeping warmth and enticing offers - only to be ripped away at the moment he thought he was finally admitted into the kingdom of blissful joyfulness.

Apparently, even death didn't deem him a worthy candidate to be elected into its kingdom. He wasn't even good enough to apply for an escape, considering his multiple applications, only to rejected over and over again.

Once again, they had tried to persuade him.

Previously, they had waterboarded him in icy water in attempt to coax for his obedience. It had only resulted in multiple flashbacks to Afghanistan, dragging him to relive his memories, his resolve breaking and panicking hysterically, gasping for breath only to swallow mouthfuls of icy liquid. At this point, he was convinced that he was in a theatre, in which his experience was a film that was on air twenty four seven, and that he was stuck in this perpetual loop. He didn't only see water in the tub; he saw his horrid past, he saw himself reliving these recurring incidents, both in his attacks and in reality. Frankly, he did not see a difference in it. Every single time he was plunged down into the unforgiving depths that only held uncertainty, he would struggle for the memories to be kept tightly locked away in the box he had stored them in, fighting to suppress and repress them. Only to fail, like he did in everything, every task, from a miniscule one to a substantial one.

This time, he was restrained on a metal surface. He couldn't see, he couldn't breathe without the sour odour of the old sweaty cloth his captors have stuffed in his mouth insulting him. Needless to say, he did not like it.

They urged curtly for his assistance.

He refused.

This time, he was literally drowning and he couldn't breathe. Air was scarce and it was a mirage.

He had tried shaking fervently from side to side, but all he did was worsen his migraine. The water seemed to seek an effective way in ensnaring his head, making it impossible for him to breathe. He was sinking, and suffocating. A panic attack started tickling his being, jumping and screaming in excitement and exuberance.

They removed the water source. He spluttered and choked.

He didn't acknowledge when they turned the tap, because he had already been pulled under by none other than his thoughts.

He woke up screaming, once again witnessing the death of Yinsen. Those hollow and tired eyes, the peace and blithe expression he had worn when death kindly claimed his soul.

His inability to save him.

His incompetence in intellectual level.

His selfishness.

His failure.

Which only lead him back to his dad's shrieks.

The physical assault. Kicks, punches, slaps, objects being thrown at him, glass piercing his breath. His creation, the inventions, once again being seen as a waste of resources, as did its creator.

He woke up to another of the terrorists' beating. He curled upon himself, head dipped down and hiding underneath his arms.

His ears were buzzing, ringing. He couldn't hear anything. It was as if everything was suddenly put on mute and played in slow motion, every shoe to his ribs and the burst of pain that ensued; every fist to his face and the crimson liquid that trickled down his face.

He looked up, and he didn't see the masks that buried the identities of these criminals.

He looked up, and found Howard. Yelling obscenities and shrieking profanities at him. His alcohol mangled breath, and the glass that broke his skin.

The booming voice instilling in his mind his worth, his dire lack of intelligence, his inability to locate the captain and his failures.

His place in the society.

His mistakes.

Him imploring for his father's praise. Just once, and still he managed to fault in even that.

The mention of the captain only drowned him in a thought spiral of his unwanted presence in the Avengers, his physical incapabilities that hindered the team thus incapacitating innumerable civilians. The weapons that injured thousands of the country's very own Americans, the untold number of lives that had died or been crippled under that hands of his recklessness and irresponsibility. His unawareness of Obadiah Stane double dealing under the table, his arc reactor being ripped out of his chest, the ultimate taste of betrayal…

Trying to appease the Avengers, to seek approval from even one of them despite knowing the inevitability of their departure…

Previously, Obadiah had connived his abduction.

Maybe, the Avengers had orchestrated this one to get rid of the odd member.

In fact, this probably is what this is right? Them disposing of Tony?

He was the unwanted, the burden, the defenseless one… The pretentious prick that did more harm than good…

What had he to go back to?

Nothing.

Nothing that was worth the pain.

Flashbacks, attacks, the looming darkness that consumed him, the boiling paranoia of anxiety, the endless haunting memories that launched relentless attacks every time had managed to nick himself some sleep.

The voice in his mind that taunted and mocked him, whispering scathing remark after scathing remark. It was like Howard had migrated into his head, constantly telling his son off of how he was a disgraceful disappointment.

Everytime he was alone, he showed weakness and cried. He cried of the loneliness, he cried of the pain, he cried of everything.

That was his only outlet.

Then he put up his defense once again, smiling and quipping, as charming as ever.

The critics' incessant questioning of why he couldn't prevent everybody from dying, why he couldn't ensure the world was free of sickness, why he couldn't just be perfect.

He fought to prove that they were wrong, he fought for their recognition, he fought tooth and nail for their acclaims.

Instead, he just proved them correct.

In attempt to maintain world peace, he created Ultron, the murderbot who slaughtered civilians and adored the sight of blood and misfortune. He also designed weapons with creative effects, completely ignorant of the destructive ability of his proud inventions, until it was used against him.

People, throwing scowls and snarls at him because he wasn't his father. They didn't see the effort and frankly, they could care less.

Because this is a cruel society, an imperfect world. There is no such thing as empathy and pity. All you get is vitriolic criticisms no matter what you do.

He wanted to turn to somebody, turn to a friend, a companion, a pal, in search of some form of solace. But he looked to find nobody.

He couldn't vent to anybody, because there simply wasn't anybody willing to stick with Tony Stark without the ulterior purpose of earning money or collecting intel and data.

He once thought he had some semblance of a family, a family of misfits. But they showed him that even they were aghast of him. That they were ashamed to be in any correlation with him that they couldn't even stand to be in the same fucking room with him.

Because he was this egotistical, self-absorbed and narcissistic bastard that wasn't the one to make the sacrifice play. Also because he had killed some of their parents due to his stupid weapons he was once such prideful of.

At least they were willing to show their abhorrence upfront.

He could only turn to his memories.

Memories that torment him endlessly, recounting the same stories repeatedly.

His eyes are essentially bloodshot in colour permanently due to his frequent breakdowns. He was so weak, just so weak, so weak it was repugnant.

A car only has so much oil in its tank. When it burns through and the adrenaline fades, what's left is nothing more than a combination of metals and possibly, spray paint to make it look at the very least, presentable, such that people are less incentivized to pry and prod at the contents. The car will be rendered thoroughly useless unless its oil tank is refilled.

Tony does not have this incentive to refuel his car.

He can't do this anymore.

He didn't have anybody. He didn't have anything. He didn't have a purpose.

He couldn't find reason. He was exhausted.

Please tell me I did well, Yinsen, Jarvis. Please.

Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't strong.

When everybody left and he was left alo-

Loud, very loud.

Bullets ending up in front of him.

A whirlwind of colours fighting. Grunts and groans from the effort.

Pained shouts.
Everything was in total chaos.

There was a black metallic object in the shape of a gun that clattered in front of him.

His adrenaline was abruptly multiplied by tenfold and his vision cleared.

He reached for the black object that would grant him his final wish. He stared at it in awe.

He had designed and created multiple different versions of this item.

Different bullets, new technologies, advanced models…

He never got to experiment it on himself.

Perhaps now would be a perfect time to try.

Slowly, he clicked the safety off and placed it to his temple.

That's it for now. I really really hope you guys are liking it so far. I'm sorry I failed to make this angsty and descriptive. Constructive criticisms please guys, they really really help me reflect and think of how to improve. If you guys have any input on the content, writing, or just anything really, please review! Please review! Thanks for the support so far, and please review! :)