Summary: In December 1980 Isabella Maria Stark was born. Her mother and her father had gone their separate ways prior to her birth. And after the tragic death of her mother, Isabella was adopted into the Lehane family and became Faith Lehane. Twenty years after the death of her mother, Faith finally meets her father, Tony Stark.
Pairing: Faith/TBD, Tony/Pepper
A/U: Set post BTVS Canon and during Iron Man Trilogy
Disclaimer: Disney owns both Iron Man and Buffy
Side Note: I'm aware the category says Avengers. I tried to get it set for Iron Man and the only Iron Man category I could find was the comics. So that wouldn't have worked or people would have assumed it was set in the comics instead of the movies. So that left Avengers or doing Misc: Movie X-over. I settled for Avengers.
Runs concurrent with the first two stories in the series. Iron Man 1 will be set in 2005, Iron Man 2 likely about 2010 and Iron Man 3 around 2015. This is to line up with the timeline of the first two stories. Iron Man 1 and 2 is happening at the same time as the events in Slayer Begins 1: Huntress and Iron Man 3 will be after the end of Slayer Begins 2: Nightwing (as Slayer Begins 2 will show the Avengers movie). As it sits right now Slayer Begins 3 is the final story in this series.
Chapter 1: Fate
April 20, 2005 – Wednesday
Somewhere in Afghanistan
The sun's gentle descent painted the sky with hues of warmth, casting a golden embrace over the rugged terrain. Faith Lehane, a figure of undaunted confidence, strode through this unfamiliar land with an air of purpose. Her emerald eyes, a vibrant reflection of her spirit, shimmered with both determination and an insatiable curiosity. Each step she took seemed to be an invitation to the uncharted.
Yet, unbeknownst to her, shadows slithered in the periphery, and a sinister veil hung over the horizon. The Ten Rings, a notorious and clandestine organization, had cast their malevolent gaze upon her. Their motives, cloaked in secrecy, whispered malevolence in the wind. The very ground she trod upon seemed to quiver with the gravity of what was to come.
Faith's journey held an intensity that matched the arid winds that rustled through the rocky landscape. Her focus remained resolute on her personal mission—an odyssey to unearth the enigma of her origins. Unbeknownst to her, the truth lay in wait, a revelation that would intertwine her fate with the threads of destiny itself. Each footfall resonated like a heartbeat in harmony with the rhythm of her inevitable path.
A twist of fate unfurled, revealing the shadows' ominous truths. Faith's world fractured, the ground crumbling beneath her very feet. The visages of the Ten Rings loomed, unforgiving and harsh, their weapons gleaming with a malicious glint. Fear and determination waged a fierce battle within her, her heart racing to the tempo of both. Captive she became, ensnared in a web woven by forces that transcended her control.
Conversations ensued, a symphony of defiance and cunning between Faith and her captors. Her spirit blazed, an unwavering light amidst encroaching darkness. Yet even the brightest stars can falter, and in time, the stark reality of her vulnerability emerged. A lone star against an abyssal sky, her brilliance flickered in the face of overwhelming odds.
As hours stretched into eternity, the sun dipped beyond the horizon, relinquishing the world to the embrace of night's frigid arms. Faith found herself immersed in the solitude of darkness, her thoughts weaving a tapestry of contemplation and reminiscence. Her mind wandered to days long gone, a life untainted by the grim present. Unbeknownst to her, Tony Stark, a luminary of brilliance and charisma, stood poised on the cusp of his own collision with the Ten Rings.
Destiny, much like the shifting sands beneath her boots, orchestrated an intricate dance. Father and daughter, souls unacquainted, were inexorably drawn together, their narratives weaving into an enigmatic tapestry. Whispers carried by the wind, the steadfast gaze of stars, and a world holding its collective breath bore witness as two lives hurtled toward an intersection that would eternally redefine their trajectories.
September 29, 2005 – Thursday
Amidst the boundless desert, a shroud of coldness and dampness enveloped Tony Stark, a disorienting contrast to the arid expanse. Confusion gnawed at him as he fought his way back to consciousness. His attempts to move his limbs were met with resistance, and his gaze fell upon his chest, swathed in blood-soaked rags. As he strained to turn his head, distant mutterings reached his ears, drawing his attention to a group of figures. Hooded and armed, they stood like ominous sentinels against a backdrop of a scarlet banner bearing ten interlocking rings and an enigmatic X.
Blinking away the haze, Tony's focus sharpened on the scene before him. His attention was drawn to a digital video camera, flanked by two more hooded figures, as if framing a chilling tableau. A towering man, a presence of foreboding stature, held a curved blade, a Choori knife, the curve of which mirrored a cruel smile. He recited a message in an unfamiliar tongue, foreign syllables that Tony could only guess to be Dari, given the locale.
Avoiding the camera's unblinking gaze, Tony sought to suppress the fear that clawed at his throat. He refused to mirror the desperation of countless hostages before him, yet in his heart, he acknowledged the truth: he was one of them. The façade of bravado he constructed was a defense mechanism against the terror that threatened to engulf him.
A growing twinge in his chest amplified the urgency of his predicament. His gaze dropped once more, revealing the inexorable spread of blood. The atmosphere shifted, the tone of the hooded figures' voices betraying their recognition of his deteriorating state. The world around him began to waver, reality fading into a disorienting haze. In his mind's eye, Tony visualized himself fragmenting, pixels of his being dissolving into a void of white.
As his consciousness waned, a bittersweet sense of triumph washed over him. He grasped the irony that his captors' plans, their potential ransom demands or sinister intentions, were now thwarted by the simple inevitability of his own demise. Tony Stark, the brilliant and audacious inventor, found solace in the notion that he had the ultimate upper hand. His final cogitation turned to a defiant hope, wishing that the first thunderous retaliation against these malevolent captors would be the reverberation of his own creation, a Jericho missile raining retribution upon them and their concealed hideout. And then, with the weight of the world relinquished, he slipped into the oblivion that awaited, his thoughts and essence dissolving into the unknown.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Amid the cavern's oppressive gloom, Tony's senses flickered back to life. The stabbing intensity of lights lanced into his eyes, an assault on his recovering consciousness. The cacophony of garbled voices swirled around him, a disorienting symphony that struggled to reach his comprehension. But among the myriad of voices, one rose above the rest—a voice of command, its tone distinct and firm, a stark contrast to the others. It held an accent unfamiliar to Tony, a detail that his groggy mind somehow managed to grasp.
As awareness returned, Tony's gaze locked onto a sight that sent a surge of adrenaline through his veins. Hovering above him was a scalpel, its blade tinged with an ominous hue of red. Panic surged within him, and he fought against the restraints that held him captive. Struggling against the unyielding grip, he attempted to break free from the confines of the crude operating room that surrounded him.
His frantic efforts, however, were met with resistance, the restraints a cruel reminder of his vulnerability. Just as his desperation threatened to engulf him, the scalpel halted its menacing descent, hovering a mere few inches above his chest. Tony's heart pounded in his chest, his wide eyes tracing the ominous outline of the blade.
And then, a face entered his field of vision, a face etched with the marks of age and experience. The bespectacled man, his appearance a tapestry of desert dwelling, bore witness to Tony's consciousness with a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Tony's focus honed in on the surgical mask that obscured the lower half of the man's face, adding an element of mystery to the tableau. The man's voice sliced through the turmoil, his shouts a foreign language that held an air of urgency.
In a swift motion, Faith entered the scene, a rag pressed against Tony's face. Pain surged through him, radiating from his chest, and the reflexive gasp he took for air was instead a harsh inhalation of chloroform. The world blurred at the edges, his consciousness slipping like sand through his fingers. In the midst of his fading awareness, a fleeting thought crossed his mind—a darkly humorous speculation about whether he would, in the end, wake up only to find himself dead, as the old joke goes. And then, with the world dissolving into obscurity, his consciousness slipped away once more.
Yinsen's hands moved with a precision born of experience, each motion deliberate as he gauged the extent of Tony's injuries. The blood-soaked rags that had clung to Tony's chest were gently peeled away, unveiling the aftermath of a brutal attack. In the midst of the dim light, the makeshift tools at Yinsen's disposal caught the feeble gleam, a testament to the resourcefulness demanded by their dire circumstances. His gaze bore a mixture of sorrow and unwavering resolve, an unspoken recognition of the fragile precipice they teetered upon.
With unwavering determination, Yinsen's deft hands embarked upon a tireless ballet, his fingers navigating the intricate choreography between life and death. Muscle memory honed through countless trials guided his every stitch, each movement a testament to the symphony of skills woven by a healer's hands. Within the cavern's suffocating air, an unspoken tension held sway—a collective breath held by both captor and captive, by hope and despair.
As the moments stretched into a blur, Yinsen's focus remained unyielding, unbroken even as beads of sweat formed on his brow. The symphony of his actions played out against the backdrop of clinking metal and labored breaths, each note resonating with the gravity of his mission. The rivulets of sweat traced paths along the contours of his face, glistening like the vestiges of his tireless endeavor.
And as Yinsen's hands danced in the delicate theater of survival, Faith's gaze shifted between the flicker of life being painstakingly tended to and the camera that stood as a silent sentinel. Within her, a tempest of emotions roared—a fervent desire to break free, an ache to shield those she cared for, and the tendrils of an unforeseen hope. Her watchful eyes bore witness to the surgeon's graceful movements, each gesture a poignant reminder that even within the harshest of environments, moments of human grace and resilience could emerge.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
As Tony's consciousness gradually resurfaced, the harsh reality of his circumstances descended upon him like a heavy curtain. It took only a few fleeting moments for his mind to process the situation in which he found himself. He was lying on a hard cot, his gaze fixed upon the craggy surface of a cave ceiling. The sensation of discomfort was compounded by the tube that protruded from his nose, a constant reminder of his vulnerability.
A discordant humming reached his ears, a distant melody that seemed to hang in the air like an unspoken question. Struggling against the fog of grogginess, Tony's attempts to lift his head were met with futility. Instead, he managed to shift his gaze and was met with the sight of a man standing a few feet away, absorbed in the act of shaving. Beside him lay a young woman, her eyes closed in peaceful slumber.
Tony's gaze drifted to a table nearby, where a jug of water rested tantalizingly out of his reach. The intensity of his thirst surged through him, a desperate need that resonated deeper than anything he had experienced before. The urge to quench it was a primal instinct, his parched throat a constant reminder of his predicament.
Frustration surged within him, fueled by his inability to speak or move freely. He attempted to utter words, to form the plea for water that consumed his thoughts, but his voice failed him. Instead, his efforts resulted in faint choking sounds, a feeble echo of his desperate need. The tubes that snaked from his nostrils seemed to mock his attempts to communicate.
Fed up with the limitations imposed upon him, Tony's hand shot up, fingers wrapping around the offensive tube, and he yanked. A sensation of discomfort mingled with relief as the tubing slithered free from his nostrils, leaving behind an odd emptiness. His hoarse voice barely a whisper, he uttered the word that embodied his most primal desire, "Water..."
Yet, his plea seemed to fall upon deaf ears. The man absorbed in shaving and the peaceful woman by his side continued as if Tony's distress was imperceptible. Determination coursed through him, and he reached out for the jug of water once more. However, his efforts were halted by an IV in his arm, the plastic conduit acting as an unwelcome barrier.
Unyielding in his pursuit of relief, Tony ripped the IV from his arm, his hand reaching out again. This time, the wires attached under his chest bandages abruptly pulled taut, and his attempt to grasp the water was thwarted, his body thudding back onto the bed.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the shaving man's voice finally broke the silence. The razor in his hand stilled, and he gently roused the young woman, her eye opening to meet Tony's gaze. In that moment, recognition struck Tony like a lightning bolt. The shaving man was none other than the surgeon who had wielded the scalpel over his unconscious form, and the young woman, the one who had administered the chloroform, was before him.
Tony's attention shifted to the wires for the first time, tracing their path before craning his neck to follow them to their source. What he saw sent a jolt of astonishment through his veins. The wires led to a car battery, an unexpected and ominous revelation. Instinctively, he began to tear at the bandages that constrained him, a desperate attempt to reclaim control over his dire circumstances.
"Should he be doing that?" the young woman's voice held a hint of concern as she glanced towards the surgeon, seeking guidance.
The surgeon's arms were folded across his chest, his gaze locked onto Tony's actions. He offered no immediate response, instead choosing to observe with a dispassionate expression.
In mere seconds, Tony managed to claw away enough of the bandages, revealing the sight that lay beneath. His chest was an unrecognizable landscape, marred by a deep depression, a brutal wound that defied comprehension. What drew his attention most was a round device implanted within the cavity—a sinister intrusion into his own flesh.
The weight of the revelation, the bizarre horror of the scene before him, proved too much for Tony to bear. His consciousness wavered and then slipped back into the abyss of unconsciousness, his strength giving way to the onslaught of overwhelming emotions.
The surgeon's gaze shifted from Tony's prone form to the young woman, a mixture of resignation and understanding in his eyes. "I warned him not to, but did he listen?"
September 30, 2005 – Friday
"Doc," Faith's voice cut through the air as she noticed Tony's return to consciousness. Her gaze shifted to Yinsen, who was tending to a bubbling pot on a nearby furnace. "He's awake," she informed him before turning her attention back to Tony. As her eyes met his, she discerned that his focus was on his chest, on the fresh bandages that concealed the mysteries beneath.
"What have you two done to me?" Tony's words were barely intelligible, his tongue betraying the aftermath of his ordeal.
"It wasn't me, it was Doc," Faith clarified, her voice carrying an air of reassurance. "I played more of a nurse role in this."
Turning to Yinsen, Tony voiced the question that gnawed at him. "Then what did he do to me?"
Yinsen repeated the question as if to ensure he had correctly understood Tony's words. When Tony confirmed with a nod, Yinsen began to explain. "What I did... what I did was save your life. I removed what I could, but there's still a significant amount headed toward your atrial septum." He posed a question, his voice laced with an odd mix of seriousness and dark humor. "Do you want a souvenir?"
With a deft motion, Faith caught the jar that Yinsen tossed her way. She then handed it to Tony. As he looked at the jar's contents, he saw a multitude of bloody, barb-like fragments—remnants of the trauma he had endured. The design was unmistakable, and a bitter understanding settled in. After all, he held the patent for it.
Yinsen's voice held a somber, flat tone as he continued to explain. "In my village, I've witnessed wounds like these before. We called them 'The Walking Dead,' as it took about a week for those barbs to reach vital organs." He pointed toward the mechanical array affixed to Tony's chest. "I anchored a magnetic suspension system to the plate. It's holding the shrapnel in place... at least for now."
With Faith's assistance, Tony fought against his own limitations and managed to sit up on the cot. As his gaze roamed the cave's interior, he caught a glint of something against the rocky wall—a camera lens, pointed directly at him. It was an unsettling sight, a reminder that their actions were being watched and recorded even in the depths of this remote place.
Observing Tony's attention shift to the camera, Faith's voice cut through the silence with a wry tone. "That's right. Smile," she quipped, her words a subtle acknowledgment of the intrusion on their privacy.
"Faith," Yinsen interjected, drawing their attention. "If you don't mind getting him a glass of water."
Faith's response was swift, a nod of agreement followed by her purposeful stride to the water pitcher. She poured a small glass and handed it to Tony, who accepted it with a mix of gratitude and desperation. The water vanished quickly down his throat, the urgency of his thirst overwhelming any attempt at moderation.
Yinsen's gaze remained steady upon Tony as he spoke, his words carrying a hint of recognition. "We met once—at a technical conference in Bern."
Tony's mind raced to place the face, to conjure the memory of that encounter, but it remained elusive. Frustration knitted his brows as he admitted, "I don't remember."
"You wouldn't," Yinsen responded with a touch of amusement. "If I'd been that drunk, I wouldn't have been able to stand, much less give a talk on integrated circuits."
Tony's recollection sharpened, the pieces of the puzzle slotting into place as Yinsen's words triggered a memory. "Thank you," Tony had replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
His attention shifted to Faith, curiosity coloring his gaze. "What about you?"
Faith's response held a hint of nostalgia. "We might have briefly," she began, her voice carrying a weight of years gone by. "A very long time ago. About twenty-five years ago."
Tony's brow furrowed; confusion evident in his expression. He began to speak, the words formed to question Faith's statement, but they trailed off as if caught in a sudden realization. A memory, long forgotten and buried deep within his past, resurfaced with a vivid clarity. It was a memory from his teenage years, a time when his life had been marked by a fleeting romance and a profound consequence.
"What's your full name?" Tony's inquiry held a sense of urgency, the fragments of memory knitting together as he pieced together the truth.
Faith's response held a weight that echoed through the cavern, a revelation that hung heavy in the air. "Faith Alexandria Lehane," she answered, her voice steady.
Tony's insistence grew as he sought clarity. "Your birth name."
"Isabella Maria Stark," Faith answered definitively, her words resonating like a long-awaited revelation. And in that moment, within the confines of the cave that held them captive, the threads of fate wove together an extraordinary truth—two lives that had been separated by time, by choices, by circumstances, were now reunited in the most unexpected of ways. "Hello, dad," she added, a phrase that held within it the weight of years lost and newfound connection.
The cavern's atmosphere seemed to still, as if even the very air held its breath, aware of the significance of the moment that had unfolded. Tony's emerald eyes bore into Faith's, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within them—astonishment, disbelief, a hint of joy, and a wave of regret for the years that had slipped away unnoticed.
"Isabella," Tony's voice quavered, a mixture of vulnerability and wonder. He reached out a trembling hand, fingers extending as if to bridge the chasm that time had carved between them. "My God... you're my daughter?"
Faith's gaze met his, and her expression softened with a mixture of emotions that mirrored his own. "Yeah, I am." Her voice held a tinge of emotion, a raw honesty that laid bare the complexity of the revelation.
Tony's mind raced, a tumultuous swirl of thoughts and memories colliding within him. He thought of all the choices he had made, all the moments he had missed, the absence of a father's presence in Faith's life. A pang of remorse gnawed at him, but it was tempered by the rush of connection he felt in this unexpected reunion.
With hesitant determination, Tony's fingers finally found their mark, reaching out to brush against Faith's hand. The touch, fleeting yet profound, conveyed more than words ever could—a bridge between the past and the present, a tangible link that bound them despite the years apart.
As they shared this intimate moment, Yinsen stood nearby, a silent witness to this convergence of lives. His gaze held a mixture of empathy and understanding, recognizing the depth of the emotions that surged between father and daughter.
After a moment of shared wonder and connection, Tony's gaze wandered around the cramped confines of the cave. "Where are we?" he inquired, his curiosity piqued.
Before either Faith or Yinsen could provide an answer, a distinct sound echoed from the right—a muffled thud that drew their attention. Faith assisted her father in adjusting his position on the cot, and their collective gaze turned toward the source of the noise. A door at the far end of the room had just closed, and inset into it was a slat that had been forcefully slid aside, causing the unsettling noise. Through the opening, a pair of bloodshot eyes stared in.
Reacting in unison, Faith and Yinsen swiftly placed their hands on their heads—an instinctive gesture that seemed oddly misplaced to Tony. Did the individuals beyond the door truly perceive them as a threat?
Yinsen's urgent shout pierced the air, directed at Tony. "Stand up! Do as we do. Now!"
Fueled by the urgency and fear in Yinsen's voice, Tony exerted a strenuous effort to rise to his feet. His exhaustion fought against him, but he managed to interlace his fingers above his head, mirroring the posture of the others.
In a hushed tone, Faith leaned in close to her father's ear, her words intense and urgent. "Listen to me: Doc has a plan. Whatever they ask you, refuse, Dad. You have to refuse."
Tony's response was a subtle nod, his understanding of his daughter's words masked by the tension that hung in the air. The door swung open, introducing three men into the chamber. Even without hoods, their presence carried an air of authority that couldn't be ignored.
Faith's voice reached Tony's ears in a hushed undertone, carrying with it vital information. "Abu Bakar," she whispered, her words intended solely for him, "is the leader, the one in the middle. To his right and left are Ahmed and Omar, two lieutenants."
Tony's gaze remained fixed; his focus unwavering. He absorbed Faith's words without acknowledgment, his thoughts veering onto an unexpected path. As his eyes swept across the trio of men, they settled on Ahmed's wrist—a distinctive watch that bore the telltale blue and orange colors of Jimmy's Mets watch.
A surge of emotions churned within Tony, a tempest of anger, betrayal, and something even darker. His fingers tensed involuntarily, clenching into fists as he imagined the violence he wanted to inflict upon Ahmed. The desire to feel the life slipping away, to exact a visceral revenge, was a powerful force that pulsed through him.
Abu Bakar began speaking in Arabic, words that fell on Tony and Faith like foreign echoes. The emptiness of their stares revealed their lack of understanding. In the role of translator, Yinsen promptly conveyed the message. "He says welcome Tony Stark, the greatest mass murderer in the history of America. He is very honored." Yinsen's gaze then shifted to Faith. "Then he said, his contract for you was simple. Kidnap the Slayer and turn her over to the demon Cristos. But now he is pleased to know you have a much better importance to him as the daughter of a mass murderer."
Abu Bakar's scrutiny bore down on Tony and Faith, an unsettling intensity that made them feel like commodities in a grim transaction. From within his jacket pocket, he produced a photograph and thrust it forward, making sure both of them could see. As he spoke in a language unfamiliar to them, his words were overshadowed by the familiarity of the image—the surveillance photo depicted the Jericho missile.
Yinsen's voice carried the translation, breaking the message down. "You will build for him the Jericho missile you were demonstrating."
Tony's hesitation hung in the air, a moment of tension that seemed to stretch endlessly. He exchanged a resolute look with Faith and Yinsen, his decision clear. With unwavering resolve, he spoke crisply and clearly, shaking his head to emphasize his refusal. "I refuse."
The swift retaliation that followed was brutal and shocking. Yinsen's backhanded strike landed on Tony's face with a force that left him reeling. Collapsing into Faith's arms, Tony's expression was a mixture of confusion and pain. As Faith gently settled him onto the cot, Yinsen's rage erupted in a furious tirade directed at Tony.
"You refuse?" Yinsen's voice was thick with anger, his features contorted with ire. "You will do everything he says. This is the great Abu Bakar. You and your daughter are alive only because of his generosity. You both are nothing. Nothing." Yinsen's voice rose, his words echoing in the chamber. "He offers you both his hospitality, and you, Tony Stark, answer only with insolence. He will not be refused! Your daughter will die in a pool of her own blood as you watch."
The tirade continued, a torrent of furious words that painted a bleak picture of the consequences of defiance. Meanwhile, Abu Bakar remained detached, seemingly unperturbed as he spooned food from a mixture that Yinsen had been preparing.
As Yinsen's rage eventually subsided, Abu Bakar's smug satisfaction became evident. He dropped the spoon back into the mixture, his demeanor self-assured. With a nod, he signaled their departure. The lieutenants followed, and as Ahmed reached back to close the door, Tony caught a final, fleeting glimpse of Jimmy's watch. The door slammed shut, plunging the chamber into an oppressive silence once more, leaving Tony and Faith alone with the weight of the choices that lay ahead.
Yinsen's demeanor shifted abruptly, the torrent of fury replaced by an unsettling calmness. His voice carried an eerie detachment as he addressed Tony, his words laced with a cryptic weight. "Perfect. You did very well, Stark."
Tony and Faith exchanged perplexed glances; their confusion mirrored in their expressions. Yinsen's actions and words seemed to belong to an entirely different script—one that remained shrouded in mystery.
Unfazed by their confusion, Yinsen continued to mutter to himself, as if lost in his own thoughts. "Good. I think they're starting to trust me."
Tony's voice carried a low urgency as he turned to Faith, his need for understanding palpable. "Faith, you said he had a plan. What is this so-called plan? When is it going into operation?"
Yinsen's voice interjected, his tone eerily calm. "I have good ears, Stark. That's the end of my plan."
Faith's determination remained unshaken as she responded to Yinsen's words. "Maybe it is time for a new plan then."
October 1, 2005 – Saturday
Faith and Tony had scarcely begun to drift into a restless semblance of sleep when the abrupt intrusion of reality violently pulled them awake once again. Rough hoods were forced over their heads, their bodies yanked upright, and they were unceremoniously dragged out of the room.
The hoods shrouded their vision, but the sensation of movement told them they were leaving the confines of the cave and heading towards the open air. Moments later, the hoods were ripped off, exposing them to the blinding sunlight. Blinking rapidly to adjust, they found themselves momentarily disoriented, their eyes struggling to focus.
Amidst their attempts to regain their bearings, Faith's gaze fixed on a surprising sight that lay before them. Skids, covered with camouflage tarps, were arrayed in front of them. The realization hit her as she took in the scene—a sense of unease washing over her.
Abu's men stood nearby, their presence ominous as they awaited the moment when Tony and Faith's hoods were removed. And as they did, they unveiled the cargo beneath the tarps. Boxes upon boxes of weapons were stacked on the skids, the stark contrast between their purpose and the scenic backdrop disconcerting.
Stark Industries' logo adorned each box, a chilling reminder of the connection between these deadly instruments and Tony's own creation. A heavy silence settled, shattered only by Faith's incredulous words, her voice laden with shock and realization.
"Your company makes weapons," she stated, the words tinged with a mix of astonishment and a dawning understanding of the complex web they were ensnared in.
In a surreal haze, Tony acknowledged Faith's unspoken cue and took a tentative step forward, Faith following suit. They continued their cautious approach until they were enveloped by the crates, standing amidst the stark evidence of their predicament. Tony's fingers grazed the crates with an almost reverent touch, as if hoping to awaken from this grim reality with a simple touch. But the cold, tangible presence of the weapons shattered any illusions of escape.
A voice cut through the air, breaking their silent reverie. "Quite a collection, isn't it?"
The sound of Yinsen's voice startled them, his presence a revelation. Neither Tony nor Faith had even registered his proximity until that moment.
With a deep breath, Tony managed to gather his thoughts enough to speak. "How did they get all this?" he asked, his tone carrying a mix of incredulity and urgency.
Yinsen remained ominously silent, his expression inscrutable. Before he could respond, Abu Bakar's commanding figure strode toward them, his words flowing in rapid Arabic.
Yinsen's translation brought the message into focus. "As you can see," he relayed, his voice detached, "they have everything you need to build the Jericho. He says make a list of materials."
Abu Bakar's presence, his rapid words in Arabic, faded into the background for Tony and Faith as their attention was drawn to another figure—a formidable man armed to the teeth, his imposing stance and demeanor eclipsing Abu's authority. Without a word spoken, the unspoken hierarchy of power was evident—the true alpha male was the figure standing on the outcropping of rock, surrounded by his attendants.
Meanwhile, Yinsen's words carried a weight of their own, echoing a proposition that held both promise and peril. "You will start work right away, and when you are done, he will set you and your daughter free."
Tony's gaze shifted between Faith and Yinsen, his expression betraying nothing of his true thoughts. With practiced control, he conjured a smile, the mask of a man who believed in the prospect of freedom. His words, carefully chosen, conveyed a different meaning beneath their surface. "No, he won't set us free, will he?"
Yinsen's response was candid, an acknowledgment of the harsh reality. "No. He won't."
Faith's eyes flickered between her father and Yinsen, a silent exchange that spoke volumes. In that moment, she understood that Tony had a plan.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Yinsen had been watching the father and daughter duo, his face inscrutable. A subtle air of tension hung in the dimly lit room, his words like a quiet storm brewing. "Hoping to hold out, are you, Stark?"
Tony's gaze flickered between Faith and Yinsen, a mildly questioning look in his eyes. His heart raced, an anxious melody playing in the background of his thoughts.
"You're figuring that if you simply shut down, refuse to cooperate, they won't kill you because they need you, and perhaps it will provide your friends with enough time to find you and come to your rescue," Yinsen said, his voice carrying a mixture of understanding and urgency.
Faith and Tony shared a look, their eyes revealing a shared sense of helplessness. They knew no one was looking for either of them. The weight of isolation pressed down on them like an unyielding force. Faith was sure that for herself, Buffy wasn't concerned about her location just yet. Her absence was probably chalked up to one of her unannounced walkabouts. Tony, on the other hand, was simply convinced that no one would find him, period. Their captors held them in a vice grip of despair, leaving them with little hope for escape.
Unaware of their thoughts, Yinsen continued, his words cutting through the silence like a knife through the darkness, "I'm sure they're looking for you, Stark, but they will never find you here. That car battery is running out, and they won't turn on the generator until you start to work."
He approached Faith and Tony, his presence both unsettling and strangely comforting. Crouching to be eye level with the father-daughter duo, he spoke softly, his voice carrying the weight of shared pain and regret. "Neither of you liked what you saw out there, did you." It was not a question but a poignant observation that tugged at their hearts. Faith and Tony shook their heads in silent agreement.
"I didn't like it either when those weapons destroyed my village," Yinsen said, his eyes locking onto Tony's. Emotions danced across Tony's face, a turbulent sea of guilt, remorse, and empathy. "What you both just saw… that's your legacy. That's your daughter's legacy. Your life's work in the hands of these murderers."
The emotional resonance of Yinsen's words was undeniable. A lump formed in Tony's throat, and Faith's eyes glistened with unshed tears. They were confronted with the harsh reality of Tony's creations, and it cut deep.
"Is that how you want your daughter to go out?" Yinsen's voice trembled with raw emotion. "You know they will kill her first, right? So, is this the last act of defiance of the great Tony Stark? Or are you going to try to do something to protect her?"
Faith sighed; her voice tinged with resignation. Her shoulders slumped as she muttered, "Why should he do anything? They're going to kill us…"
Tony's eyes held a weary sadness as he added, his tone heavy with the weight of their predicament, "And if they don't, I'll be dead in a week. And very likely Isabella..."
Faith interjected, her voice stronger now, a hint of defiance in her words, "Faith. I've heard it since I was five, I'm used to that name."
Tony nodded; his gaze softened. "Faith, then."
He turned his attention back to Yinsen, his resolve growing with every passing moment. "And very likely Faith will be killed in revenge not long after."
Faith's eyes flashed with a mix of determination and fear as she added, "Or turned over to the demon."
Yinsen's gaze remained steady, his voice calm yet filled with an unspoken urgency. "Then," he said, his words hanging in the air like a solemn promise, "this is a very important week for you both."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
"What are we going to do, Tony?" Faith asked her father, her voice tinged with uncertainty and a hint of longing.
Tony hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching Faith's. "Well, first, can I get you to call me dad?" he asked, a glimmer of hope in his gaze.
Faith sighed, her shoulders tense with the weight of her past. "I didn't have very good parents growing up," she admitted, her voice carrying the scars of her upbringing. "The man that raised me was killed, and afterward, the woman, when she wasn't drinking herself or out screwing men, was hitting me."
Tony's heart ached as he listened to Faith's painful confession. Sympathy welled up in his eyes, and he reached out to gently touch her shoulder, a silent gesture of understanding and support.
"What is this about demons?" Tony questioned, his mind already working on an escape plan, a spark of curiosity amid the chaos of their situation.
Faith met Tony's gaze with a matter-of-fact tone as she explained, "I'm what is called a Vampire Slayer. Chosen to kill the forces of darkness."
Tony's brow furrowed, his thoughts racing with a thousand questions about this new revelation. However, he knew there would be time for answers later. Right now, their focus had to be on survival and escape.
"Help me up," Tony said, determination etched across his face. Faith immediately assisted him to his feet, her own resolve matching his. Tony turned his attention to Yinsen, a plan forming in his mind.
"The next time Abu shows up," Tony began, his voice steady and calculated, "tell him I'm ready to cooperate as soon as he fills the generator. If he's got me being powered by a car battery, the most I'm going to whip up for him is antilock brakes. He gets the generator going as a show of good faith, I get going on his weapons."
Yinsen looked surprised by Tony's proposal, but he nodded in understanding. When Abu showed up half an hour later, flanked by his lieutenants, Yinsen conveyed Tony's message. Abu, ever the pragmatic leader, nodded to Omar, giving his approval for the plan.
Omar left the room briefly, returning with an empty can. He approached the cage, unlocked it with a metallic clang, and then drained some fuel from the drum into the can. Without a word, he carried the can over to the generator and filled it to the brim. Abu's gaze shifted between the generator and Tony, back and forth, a tense silence hanging in the air.
Once the generator was fully fueled and ready to go, Omar took the can, shoved it back into the cage along with the fuel, and locked them both up tight.
Ahmed, determined and efficient, fired up the generator. After a couple of false starts, it roared to life, sending a surge of power through the cave lab. The lights overhead flickered and then shone brightly, illuminating the makeshift workspace.
Abu looked at Tony and Faith with a mixture of curiosity and impatience, as if expecting them to miraculously produce Jericho missiles out of thin air.
Tony wasted no time, his mind working at a breakneck pace as he outlined his complex requirements. Yinsen translated his rapid-fire requests, his voice steady and unwavering despite the gravity of their situation.
"Okay, here's what I need," Tony began, and Yinsen swiftly conveyed his words. Tony's shopping list was extensive and included an array of weapons and equipment. He continued, his voice carrying a sense of urgency, "S-category missiles. Lot 7043. The S-30 explosive tritonal. And a dozen of the S-76s. Mortars: M-category #1, 4, 8, 20, and 60. M-229s, I need eleven of those. Mines: The pre-1990s AP 5s and AP 16s."
Abu's men sprang into action, moving with purpose and speed to fetch the armaments Tony requested. They rushed in with crates and supplies, fulfilling his demands with an efficiency that hinted at their experience in such matters. Tony, leaning on Faith for support, assessed the workspace with clinical precision, his mind already racing through the steps of his plan.
Tony continued to issue instructions; his voice unwavering as he turned his attention to setting up his work area. Yinsen translated every word. "This area free of clutter with good light," Tony pointed to a workbench, his finger indicating its position. "I want it positioned at 12 o'clock to the door to avoid logjams."
He turned away from the workbench and began counting off his requirements on his fingers, the urgency of the situation driving him forward. "I need welding gear: acetylene or propane, helmets, a soldering set-up with goggles, and smelting cups. Two full sets of precision tools."
The never-ending list seemed to be wearing on Abu's patience. Frustration flickered across his face, and one of his men hastily pulled out a notebook, scribbling down Tony's requests as if his life depended on it.
But Tony showed no signs of slowing down. He continued his barrage of demands with an air of nonchalance, as if he were ordering items from a catalog. "Finally, I want three pairs of tube socks, white, a toothbrush, protein powder, spices, sugar, five pounds of tea, cards." The absurdity of the requests was palpable, and before Abu could question the litany, Tony added the final, almost comically outrageous demand: "And a washing machine. Top load."
Abu's eyes bulged in disbelief, his irritation reaching new heights. His aide, who was frantically scribbling down the requests, muttered to himself in Arabic, trying to make sense of the situation. Abu's patience snapped, and he delivered a sharp cuff to his aide's head, a physical manifestation of his frustration.
After attending to his subordinate, Abu stormed in front of the father-daughter duo in just a few quick steps. He bellowed in Arabic, with Yinsen providing the translation, "A washing machine? Do you think he's a fool!? Her request is understandable. But yours…"
Tony and Faith didn't flinch. Instead, they met Abu's anger with unwavering resolve. The dynamic in the room had shifted. This was no longer a one-sided power play where Abu held all the cards. Tony and Faith were pushing back, asserting their own control in the situation.
Abu couldn't be certain if Tony's demands were genuine or if he was simply messing with them. The uncertainty was an advantage that Tony and Faith intended to exploit to the fullest. In this high-stakes game of wits, they had gained a foothold, and they were determined to use it to their advantage.
Faith leaned in toward Abu, her eyes locking onto his with a glint of unspoken menace. It was a look that anyone familiar with her or Buffy would recognize—the unmistakable glint of the Slayer ready to unleash her inner power. Unfortunately for Abu, his people and even Yinsen, they were all in the dark about the true meaning behind that gleam in her eye.
Abu instinctively pulled back, his personal space invaded, and this slight retreat gave Faith and Tony the emotional upper hand, if only for a moment.
Tony, seizing the opportunity to communicate their point in a way Abu could understand, spoke slowly, choosing his words with deliberate simplicity, "Must have everything. Great Satan make big boom—kill for powerful Abu Bakar. Big boom kill."
Abu snarled in disgust at the crude language but didn't press the subject further. He snapped at his subordinates, directing his anger at them because at least he could control them. Without waiting for them to flank him as he usually did, he headed out the door, the abrupt exit punctuated by the slamming of the heavy metal door.
Left in the wake of this tense confrontation, Yinsen stared at Faith and Tony, clearly perplexed and unsettled by the exchange.
Tony's voice was soft and contemplative as he spoke, his hand touching his chest as he locked eyes with his daughter. "I should be dead already. But I'm not, and I have to think that the fact that I'm not... I have to think it's for a reason."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Tony wasted no time, his hands moving with practiced precision, as he and Faith worked together to get his makeshift lab in working order. The dimly lit cave had been transformed into a workshop of sorts, with Tony at the helm, orchestrating his plan for escape.
He approached one of the S-category missiles, his fingers deftly opening the housing as if he were performing delicate surgery. Within minutes, the missile's inner workings lay exposed, like the inner organs of a patient on an operating table. Using a pair of needle-nose pliers, he carefully extracted a glass ring from its intricate mechanisms, placing it gently upon the workspace before setting it aside.
With Faith's assistance, Tony moved on to one of the crates containing M-229 warheads. He removed the chip-rack cylinder from one of the larger warheads, his movements methodical and purposeful.
Yinsen couldn't help but voice a note of caution, his words laced with uncertainty. "You do know they've removed all the explosives before they brought this to us."
Faith nodded, her eyes filled with a mix of determination and awareness. "We know. They're crazy, not stupid. They may never have fought me personally, but they know I'm dangerous. The demon told them that much. Even if the demon never told them exactly why it wanted me. The same is true for these weapons. They don't want to give us anything we can use."
Tony, grunting slightly under the weight of the chip-rack, began to lift it. But Faith intervened, her strength and resolve shining through as she took the heavy load from her father, walking it over to the workbench with a determined stride.
Tony went to work with a focused determination, his nimble fingers manipulating the delicate components of the chip-rack cylinder. In a matter of minutes, he successfully extracted a tiny palladium strip from the intricate machinery, a hint of pride in his voice as he presented it to the others.
"This," he said, his tone tinged with satisfaction, "is what we're looking for. I need eleven of these."
Yinsen raised an eyebrow in confusion, not fully grasping the significance of the palladium strips and their purpose.
Over the next hour, Tony and Faith continued their meticulous work, extracting the palladium strips from the remaining chip-rack cylinders. The dimly lit cave lab became a makeshift assembly line, as they carefully collected the vital components they needed.
Finally, Tony set Yinsen in front of the furnace, positioning him for the next step in their plan. With Faith's assistance, they placed the palladium strips into a crucible and brought it over to Yinsen. Tony instructed him with a matter-of-fact demeanor, "Heat the palladium to 1825 Kelvin."
Yinsen, looking a bit bewildered, asked, "How will I know when it reaches that temperature?"
Tony's response was straightforward and to the point, "The palladium will melt."
As Yinsen attended to the crucial task of heating the palladium, Tony and Faith continued to work tirelessly, their hands moving with precision and purpose in the makeshift lab.
Amid the clinking of tools and the hum of the furnace, Faith turned her attention to her father. "Tony," she began, her voice filled with genuine curiosity, "what did you mean when you said that you think it's for a reason?"
Tony paused for a moment, his hands deftly wrapping a copper coil around a glass ring. He then looked up at Faith, his expression revealing a rare vulnerability. "I've never been much of a family man," he admitted with a hint of regret. "Somewhat of a playboy, actually. I met your mother, Amelia, in college. We dated for a couple of months before she broke it off. It was a few months later she found out she was pregnant."
He continued his work, his voice carrying a mixture of nostalgia and longing. "She gave me one single boon for giving her a daughter. She allowed me to pick your middle name and gave you my last name, so that you would always know, despite the fact that you and I never met, where you came from."
"You are the reason I think I am still alive," Tony admitted, his words filled with a mix of vulnerability and determination. He watched Faith as she returned to her task, sculpting a sand mold for the palladium ring with a skilled touch. "Why else would I be alive if not to get to know you."
As the sand mold took shape under Faith's hands, Tony's curiosity got the better of him. He couldn't help but ask, "So, tell me what happened to your mother?"
Faith paused for a moment, the memories of her past resurfacing as she thought about her mother. "She died when I was five," she replied softly.
Tony's concern was evident as he pressed further, "How?"
Faith's voice trembled slightly as she recalled the painful details. "Hit and run," she answered. "They never caught the driver. I was adopted by the Lehanes not long after that."
Tony's curiosity led him to inquire further about Faith's past. "You said your adopted father was dead, what about your adopted mother?" he asked, his voice gentle.
Faith hesitated for a moment before responding, her tone somber. "Well," she began, her words tinged with sadness, "after a stint in rehab, she wound up being a prostitute. I'm not entirely sure what happened. But I think her john killed her."
The weight of the memory hung heavily in the air as Faith continued, recounting a disturbing event from her past. "I saw her one day getting into this Cadillac. A few hours later, the Cadillac returned. When I saw the driver was alone, I blacked out. I was told later I yanked the driver out of the window, demanding to know where she was as I beat him. It was not long after that, that I wound up in a mental institution. Because they thought the reason I blacked out was because I had a psychotic break."
Tony absorbed Faith's painful story with a mixture of empathy and understanding. The darkness of her past seemed to mirror the struggles he had faced in his own life, albeit in vastly different circumstances.
"I'm so sorry you had to go through all of that," Tony said softly, his voice filled with genuine compassion. He wanted to reach out to her, to offer some form of comfort, even as they continued their work in the makeshift lab.
Faith offered a faint but appreciative smile, acknowledging Tony's words. "Thanks," she replied, her voice carrying a trace of resilience. "I've come a long way since then. And meeting you, even under these crazy circumstances, it's like finding a missing piece of the puzzle."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Yinsen carefully presented the crucible filled with molten palladium to Tony and Faith, his movements precise and steady. Tony, ever meticulous, couldn't help but offer a word of caution. "Careful. Careful," he said, his focus on the delicate task at hand.
Yinsen, his confidence unwavering, reassured them with a calm demeanor. "Relax," he replied with a faint smile. "I always had steady hands. It's why you're still alive."
Tony couldn't help but let out a wry chuckle at Yinsen's remark, realizing that he knew very little about the man who had become an unexpected ally in their dangerous journey. Curiosity piqued, he decided to rectify that.
"What do I call you?" Tony inquired, his gaze shifting from the crucible to Yinsen's face.
Faith, who had spent more time with Yinsen in their shared captivity, provided the answer with a hint of familiarity. "His name's Yinsen," she interjected. "Found it out not long after they threw me in here with him. After I quit trying to find a way out of here."
Tony extended a hand towards Yinsen, offering a genuine smile. "Nice to meet you," he told Yinsen.
Yinsen reciprocated the gesture, shaking Tony's hand firmly. "Nice to meet you too," he replied with a nod.
The individual palladium strips had melded together into a single ring, gleaming molten silver in the dim light of the cave. Tony allowed it the necessary time to cool, ensuring it was ready for the next step. With the precision of a surgeon, he delicately lifted the ring out of the mold, using a pair of tweezers.
Yinsen, growing more curious by the minute, couldn't help but inquire, "What are you building?"
Tony, with a hint of mischief in his eyes, responded, "The ring of power. Just wait until you see me start carving elvish lettering on it. As soon as it cools, I slip this puppy on my finger, turn invisible, and walk right out."
Faith couldn't suppress a laugh at Tony's response. "How many times did you read those books?" she teased.
Tony chuckled, a playful glint in his eye. "Enough," he replied.
Yinsen, growing slightly exasperated, pressed the question once more, hoping for a more straightforward answer. "Tell you what," he began, his patience wearing thin, "I will ask the question again, and perhaps this time you will give me an answer that I actually understand. Now: What are you building?"
Tony's smile widened, and he offered a cryptic response, "Something big. A better mousetrap."
As Tony plugged a cable into the generator, he couldn't help but notice that Yinsen was in the midst of shaving once again. Tony couldn't hide his curiosity and questioned, "What are you shaving for? We're almost done."
Yinsen, in his typically composed manner, offered a wise response, "Look like an animal, and soon you'll start behaving like one."
With a flip of a switch, Tony activated the generator. The lights in the cave momentarily flickered, went dark, and then came back on, though at a significantly reduced output. The limitations of the cave's power supply became evident, with Tony's activities consuming a significant portion of the available energy.
On the workbench lay the device that had been their focus for hours. It was a small, round object, about two inches in depth and the width of Tony's palm. As he powered it up, it softly glowed to life, casting an eerie illumination in the dimly lit cave. Faith carefully monitored the cable connected to the device, ensuring that it didn't emit any excess heat, preventing potential overheating.
Tony watched the gauges attentively, his expression focused and determined. Finally satisfied with their work, he shut down the generator and detached the device from the wires. As he held the intricate creation in his hand, Yinsen couldn't help but remark in his characteristic understated manner, "That doesn't look like a Jericho missile."
"That's because it's an Arc reactor," Tony explained, unable to resist his natural inclination to adopt a more theatrical and charismatic tone, a habit he had developed from addressing army brass and public audiences. However, he quickly shifted to a softer, more earnest voice as he continued, "A miniature version of a much larger generator first developed by Stark tech. It should suspend the shrapnel in my chest and keep it from entering my heart."
Yinsen responded with a touch of dry humor, "What an original invention."
Tony grinned, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Yeah, but this one is going to last a bit longer than a week."
Faith, her curiosity piqued, inquired further, "It's pretty small. What can it generate?"
Tony's satisfaction was palpable as he answered, "Three gigajoules," pausing briefly before adding with a sense of accomplishment, "per second."
Yinsen's eyes widened in disbelief. "That's... three thousand megawatts," he said, struggling to grasp the magnitude of the revelation. "You can't be serious. That's the equivalent of... of an entire power station. Or Hoover Dam. That's on par with the maximum output of the world's largest nuclear generator."
"You're right and wrong," Tony replied, a hint of playful defiance in his tone.
Faith was quick to ask, "What is he wrong about?"
Tony grinned at his daughter, his eyes reflecting a mix of pride and amusement. "That I can't be serious," he explained, acknowledging Yinsen's accurate assessment of the Arc reactor's capabilities. "Everything else, he's on target."
Yinsen's astonishment was palpable as he remarked, "That could run your heart for fifty lifetimes."
Tony, always one to think big, responded with a sense of purpose, "Or something very big for fifteen minutes."
Intrigued by the possibilities, Yinsen pressed for more details. "The output you're discussing could power a small city for a lot longer than fifteen minutes. How big are you talking about?"
"Well," Tony began, his voice soft and modest, "I don't like to brag."
Yinsen, for the first time, seemed to be grasping the full scope of Tony's audacious plan. Concern creased his brow as he voiced his apprehensions, "You're talking about grafting something on par with a nuclear reactor to your chest, Stark. Aren't you afraid of what could happen?"
Faith couldn't help but share Yinsen's worry, realizing the potential risks involved. This invention, while powerful, had the potential to be extremely dangerous, and it could cost Tony his life.
Tony, however, maintained his resolve, his eyes locked onto Faith's with a reassuring look. He had come to understand her longing for connection and the importance of their newfound bond. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "considering how violently some people oppose nuclear power, I'm figuring the greatest threat I need to worry about is picketers. But I'm willing to take the chance if you are."
Faith understood the weight of the decision they were making, and she recognized the unspoken question in Tony's eyes. Was she willing to risk her father's life for their freedom, or would they both be resigned to a grim fate at the hands of Abu's people? After a moment of contemplation, Faith slowly nodded, reluctantly accepting the risk they were about to undertake.
With a determined and resolute look, Tony uttered the decisive words, "Let's put it in."