Edited: 3/2/16

Warning: This chapter will contain graphic scenes of torture.

Chapter 15 – Mission Complete

"May God have mercy upon my enemies, because I won't." – George Patton

"Who're you?" Tony's sleep slurred voice broke the silence.

Before the prone man could do more than blink in confusion, IX's hand darted to Tony's throat and compressed the corroded artery. A large hand came up and gripped the fragile wrist, but not soon enough to keep darkness from devouring his vision. "No one." The dead voice echoed in his fading thoughts, following him down into unconsciousness, branding the sight of brilliant dead green eyes into his mind.

The tight grip on his wrist loosened and fell away. IX gave the haggard man one last glance before he shifted his attention to the now complete suit. He slipped a small disposable camera from his pocket and took several photos of the mechanized armor before vanishing back to his bolt hole.

Tony's eyes fluttered open and he jerked up, looking around for the green eyed boy. The cavern turned prison was empty save for himself and Yinsen. "A dream?" He whispered, but the weird tingles radiating out from the arc reactor in his chest lingered. The strange sensation woke him the first time, and had yet to fade entirely. Reaching up, Tony rubbed his tired eyes and allowed himself to fall back. Sleep. That was the ticket. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

Sitting down, IX focused and contacted Zero. "Zero, this is IX, over."

"This is Zero, report. Over." The low voice whispered through IX's mind.

"This is IX, abandon your post. Upload the information gathered and wait on the outskirts of the terrorists' domain. Stark is going to make his escape tomorrow. Follow his retreat and ensure he is picked up after he gains his freedom. Over."

"This is Zero, beginning upload now. Over."

IX's teeth clenched in pain as information poured into his mind. A surprisingly large amount of data flowed into his conscious, proof that Zero hadn't been idle. Names, faces, and locations flitted over the surface of his mind for later consideration. "This is IX, upload received. I will remain here and observe the aftermath of the escape. You follow Stark and oversee his return to the States. Over and out."

When he was finished, IX vanished again. Taking the high ground, he stretched out flat and waited. From his position, he had a perfect view of the cave opening. Hours passed, and the baking sun began to chase the shadows from the sky. The light crawled over the desert, sending the darkness fleeing before it and slowly turning the icy night into burning day.

The sun cut a blazing trail half way up the sky before anything of interest happened. IX watched the innocent looking cave erupt into violence. Stark's new weapon was too flashy for IX to fully appreciate, but it had the desired effect. Bullets couldn't stop the machine, and the weaponry Stark managed to fuse to the machine destroyed the terrorists with ease, leaving burning corpses in its wake. Then came the most impressive part of all. The machine lifted off into the sky bearing the billionaire off to whatever fate awaited him. He is Zero's problem now.

Dismissing Stark, IX continued the task of observation. Over the next several hours the cave resembled an anthill kicked over by a bored child. The remaining terrorists dealt with the dead, put out the fires, and then took to the desert to begin searching for the remains of Stark's device. IX considered destroying the remains before they could be found, but decided to let things play out for a while longer.

Days passed while IX remained focused on the terrorists' hideout before anything of interest happened. IX watched several SUV's drive into the camp. Something akin to satisfaction flared in his chest when Obadiah Stane exited one of the vehicles followed by a group of heavily armed security personnel.

"Stryker, this is IX, over," IX studied the number of guards, memorizing faces.

"This is Stryker, continue."

"This is IX. Stane has arrived and was greeted in a friendly manner. Please advise. Over."

"This is Stryker. Get close enough to overhear the conversation, then allow Mr. Stane to leave. Once he's gone, eliminate the terrorist threat. Go to the States after you've finished the data collection. Deal with Stane there. Make it appear as though the Ten Rings was behind the death. Over and out."

Ending the communication, IX focused on the cavern where Stark had been kept. In an instant, he vanished. Exiting the cave, he slipped unnoticed to the back of the tent where the two leaders were meeting. The words were muffled, but distinct, and all it took was a couple flicks with a knife to cut a small eye hole into the fabric. IX watched the drama play out.

"So this is how he did it." Obadiah muttered under his breath as he examined the reassembled suit of armor.

Raza's eyes narrowed as he studied the dull metal. "This is only a first, crude effort. Stark perfected his design. He made a masterpiece of death. A man with a dozen of these could rule all of Asia. You dream of Stark's throne. We have a common enemy, you and I. If we are still in business, I will give you these designs as a gift, and in turn I hope you'll repay me with a gift of iron soldiers."

IX's body gave an unpleasant jolt when Obadiah used a small electronic device on Raza to incapacitate the man. Though he was too far away to feel the full effects, he got enough of the backlash to develop a throbbing headache. Still, he remained standing and watched Stane remove the protective ear plugs from his ears. "This is the only gift I'll give you. Technology. It's always been your Achilles' heel in this part of the world. Don't worry it'll only last for 15 minutes. That's the least of your problems."

"Crate up the armor and the rest of it. All right, let's finish up here." Stane ordered after stalking out of the tent. The Ten Rings soldiers were on their knees, covered by Stane's guards.

The low hiss of a blade through cloth whispered through the tent after Stane left. Raza's eyes widened, but his body was still frozen, unable to react when the short green eyed boy stepped forward. A pale hand reached out and gripped the man's shoulder. The sound of gunfire crackled before they vanished.

Raza thrashed, but it was useless. Before the effects of Stane's attack abated, IX chained his arms above his head using hand cuffs attached to an eye bolt drilled into the side of a bolder the size of a house. He wasn't sure what the stranger had planned for him. Instead of forcing him to stand, he was in a seated position, and the most curious part was his left leg. That had been shackled to a second rock, forcing the leg out and straight. The shackle was bolted directly into the stone, leaving no slack for movement.

"Who are you?" Raza growled, after realizing he couldn't escape. The words were thick with rage, making his accent so heavy they blurred together into a growl.

IX ignored the question. "I am seeking information about the Ten Rings. Obadiah Stane dealt with the rest of your men at the cave and left. You are the only source of information available." He spoke unhurriedly, never looking away from the bound man's face. Raza grinned, causing IX to tilt his head curiously. He might not understand emotions, but he doubted grinning was the appropriate response to this situation.

"Little boy. Do you think you have the balls to break me?" He laughed, but the sound wilted when he realized his words didn't appear to bother his captor.

IX didn't respond with words. Instead, he pulled a small, wickedly sharp knife from his belt and cut Raza's pants from knee to ankle on the shackled leg. "You will tell me everything you know about The Ten Rings, its members, operations, bases, and aims. Do you understand?"

"Fuck you!"

"Who are the leaders of your organization?"

"I said, fuck…you."

Instead of repeating the question, IX placed the knife at the base of Raza's exposed knee cap. The leg tensed, and light pressure was all that was needed to break the skin. It was a small prick, hardly even painful considering the sharpness of the knife. "Ha, fool. You don't have the stomach for this work. You are pathetic." Still, the short assassin didn't react to the taunts. The lack of reaction was more disturbing than the slight cut.

"Who are the leaders of your organization?"

Raza glared, refusing to dignify the question with an answer. IX didn't indulge in the normal theatrics or mind games other interrogators favored. No, he simply brought the knife down in a single, smooth cut that opened the terrorist up from knee to ankle. The slice was shallow, only cleaving the skin and leaving the muscle beneath untouched.

A low hiss escaped Raza, but he wasn't impressed. Yes, it hurt, but it was hardly the worse pain he'd ever felt. "Pathetic," he snarled.

"Who are the leaders of your organization?"

The monotone of his captor's voice grated at Raza's nerves, and he was beginning to understand the nature of his interrogator. It was rare, but there were people who were as relentless as slow dripping water. They dripped, and dripped, and dripped. No flash, no bang or thunder. No. It was a technique that was as simple as it was devastating. Very few could pull it off because they couldn't keep their tempers. It was too hard to remain perfectly indifferent, to outlast the one being tortured. He won't beat me, he's just a kid for Allah's sake.

"Who sent you?" Raza demanded.

All he got for the question was a second cut. This one a neat circle around his ankle. He gritted his teeth against the pain. Though the knife was obscenely sharp, it still hurt more than the first cut due to the thinness of the skin. He felt the blade whisper over his ankle bone. What the hell is he doing? Torture wasn't a foreign concept to Raza, and he'd done his fair share over the years, but he'd never done anything like this. Usually, he preferred bone breaking, starting with fingers and toes and working his way up. It was brutal, but efficient. Three cuts later, and he learned he was in the hands of an expert.

The boy's expression never changed as he carved a second ring around Raza's leg below the knee. The third cut paralleled the first, leaving about an inch of space between.

"Who are the leaders of your organization?"

"Give up. I'll never break for a wald alkelb." His words were a bit tight from the pain, but nowhere near the amount of agony he experienced a second later.

IX didn't use the knife this time. Leaning over the leg, he delicately slipped his fingernails beneath the corners of the long stipe of cut flesh that ran along Raza's shin. Chipped jade eyes locked on Raza's while the first millimeter of skin came free. There were no words for the agony of being skinned alive. His screams echoed around them when IX pealed the long strip free. It took five nightmarish minutes for him to get the sheet of skin free without tearing the delicate tissue. IX arraigned the skin on a flat stone where Raza could see it while he waited for the screaming to choke off into whimpers.

He glowered at IX, trembles of agony still wracked him, but he didn't see the expected gloating look. The youth looked as unfazed as he had when Raza first woke. It made no logical sense. How had a boy as young as this learned such control? His questions had no answers, and were forgotten when the now dreaded words were asked again.

"Who are the leaders of your organization?"

This time, Raza had no witty reply. Brilliant splashes of crimson painted the sand beneath him, and he began to hope shock would set in before he broke. Raza never thought a child would be able to do this to him, but he knew better than most that any man could be broken. All it took was time, and a cruel hand. Out here, they had all the time the wald alkelb needed to get the job done.

Another inch wide strip of skin was removed, and another, and another. It took nine full swaths to fully skin his leg from knee to ankle. Horror clawed through Raza's chest when IX placed his hand almost gently onto the exposed flesh and he felt something. It was like hot oil oozing through the raw meat of him and his throat was almost destroyed by the screams.

When the agony died down enough for his brain to function, Raza glanced down. He promptly turned and threw up. The once raw flesh was now blackened by the unseen force of the boy. It cauterized the wounds, and created a new level of pain he couldn't stand against.

A desperate whine escaped his torn throat when IX's small knife slowly cut the material away from his upper leg.

"Who are the leaders of your organization?"

"Please…" Raza choked, his will splintering under the strain of IX's interrogation style.

Another delicate cut, this one formed a ring around his upper thigh. Even though he couldn't feel the whisper of the blade through his flesh over the roaring agony in his lower leg, it was enough. Before the question could be asked again he broke. Two hours later, IX cleaned his knife and stood.

The body hung from the restraints, coated in drying sweat, vomit, and blood. A symbol had been expertly carved into the man's forehead. It was a skull with the tentacles of an octopus below it. The mark wouldn't mean anything to the average observer, but IX was certain that it would sow seeds of confusion and hate into the Ten Rings.

It wouldn't due for Hydra and the Ten Rings to merge, and if he could set the two organizations against one another, all the better.

IX walked unnoticed through the building. When he'd reached America, he learned Stark had gone in an unexpected direction. After returning home, he shut down his weapons manufacturing business instead of exploiting the new weapon he'd crafted in the desert. Now Stark Industries was in a state of flux, where Stane and Stark vied for control.

Even though the political climate of the corporation was a mess, IX's orders hadn't changed. Stark was a problem, but one that wasn't part of IX's mission. Someone else would have to guide the playboy back to the proper path. No, his problem was Stane. Even though the man was interested in producing weaponry, his double dealing made him more of a threat than Stark.

Stepping into the office, IX's power kept him hidden up until one of his blades slammed into one pudgy hand, pinning it to the table. Before the first scream could rip from the large man's throat, IX's slender arm wrapped around his neck and cut off his air. Once the muffled sounds died down to wheezing gasps, IX removed his hand. "Be still. Do not scream." IX plucked a zip drive from his pocket and inserted it into the computer.

"Y-you won't get away with this." Stane growled, the unpinned hand darted up, holding the paralyzing devise. Before he could trigger it, IX snatched it out of his grip. A brief search of the man's pockets revealed the earplugs that went with the contraption. Setting them aside, IX returned to his task. It didn't take him long to find the information he needed.

"Is that everything about Stark's contraption and your adaptations?"

"Fuck you." Spittle flew from Stane's trembling lips from the power of his exclamation. A second blade snaked out and cut off the man's little finger. He nearly fainted in shock, but when IX poised the knife to cleave off another, he stumbled over his words in his haste to tell IX what he wanted to know. Though no expression crossed IX's face, he couldn't help but feel mildly disgusted with how easily the man broke. Then again, he was just a civilian. They were weak creatures, untrained and undisciplined.

Once the information was secure, he unleashed a virus on the system to destroy it. They couldn't stop Stark from innovating and perfecting the technology, but they could get it off the corporation's systems in case someone else got the idea to sell it.

"Sir, it appears Stane developed an inferior model of Stark's weapon that runs primarily on Gama radiation. There are a number of scientists involved in the project, orders?"

Even in agony, Obadiah's pride flared. "Inferior! My work is not inferior to that wretched boy's," he snarled. To his disgust, the tiny terrorist ignored him.

IX, when you've finished with Stane, eliminate any associates who were part of this project and bring the machine to Headquarters. Place it in Lab Five.

"Yes, sir."

Turning, he drove his fist into Stane's throat. Delicate bones shattered. Stane wheezed, trying to breath around his destroyed larynx before death caught him in its icy talons.

IX ignored the spectacle in favor of finishing his task. He dipped a fingertip in the small pool of blood and turned to the wall behind the desk. With swift strokes, he painted each of the symbols representing The Ten Rings.

After adding the final touch to the last symbol, he turned and collected the small devise and ear buds. He was half way around the desk when the office door opened.

Tony blinked in confusion when he saw Stane slumped over the desk. At first, he didn't notice the short male beside the desk, or the bloody mural behind the body.

"Obadiah?" Even though they'd been having problems, Tony still cared about the older man and his first thought was that he'd had a heart attack. He was half way across the room when IX moved. A booted foot crashed into Tony's side, sending the billionaire sprawling. Pain exploded in his chest and for a minute all he could do was lay there and try to breath around it. Then his breath came to a halt for the second time when a weight settled on his chest and a blade teased his Adams apple.

"Sir, Stark arrived before I could leave. Orders?"

Tony's eyes widened in horror when he saw the Ten Rings symbol and recognized the man pinning him to the ground. So he hadn't been a dream then.

"Understood."

"What are you-" The words were cut off when IX brought the small devise up and incapacitated the billionaire. He didn't give Tony a second glance as he walked away.

Tony's frozen eyes stared at the bloody markings on the wall. He'd seen it in Afghanistan along with the green-eyed stranger.

"Open," IX whispered as he held his hand against the last door. Seconds ticked down in the back of his mind as he stepped into the lab. 13 minutes, 29 seconds. He pulled his gun without breaking stride. Two of the scientists fell before the rest realized there was a stranger among them.

A woman's scream was cut off by the muffled pop of the silenced gun, and a pudgy man in a white lab coat turned to run, only to pitch forward, a neat hole in his back. IX stepped over one of the corpses and knelt to stare at the trembling young man crouched under a table covered in bits of machinery. "P-please…" tears slid down soft hairless cheeks, and the sharp stink of urine filled the air between them.

"Was there anyone else working on this project? Anyone who isn't here?"

Matt latched onto the soft words. They sounded so calm, so reasonable. His shaky gaze darted over to Beth and he choked on a sob. "Look at me." Swallowing hard, his eyes snapped back to the strange man's. So green he thought hysterically, hoping this was all just a crazy dream brought on by stress. Stane had them working crazy hours trying to recreate the arch reactor, and he wasn't happy with their lack of results. Of course, just stress. There's no way a crazy teenager walked into one of the most secure labs in the country and shot everyone. Stane would never let that happen. No way.

Pain cracked across the side of his face, jerking Matt out of his frantic thoughts. "Pay attention." Suddenly the gun was an inch from his left eye. The hole looked massive, and he squeaked, terror nearly driving him out of his mind. "I won't ask again," the calm voice made the threat all the more horrible.

"Uh…I…t-the we, we all are working hard!" He blurted out, trying to remember what the hell the crazy teen wanted.

"Was anyone else working on this project?"

"N-no…wait, I mean…yes. Yes! Marcus was s-sick, or or his kid was, or something."

"Marcus who"

"Dan M-Marcus. The rest of us were working around the clock t-to figure out how to p-power the suit." Matt choked out, hoping that security would be here soon. They were coming, weren't they? Someone had to come!

His frantic thoughts ended in a blaze of agonizing light and a puff of smoke. Blood and thick oatmeal like matter splattered the tile as the body fell. Standing, IX sheathed the gun before heading to the nearest computer. It only took a few seconds to slip into the personnel files and find the name and address he was looking for.

4 minutes, 11 seconds.

IX glanced at the table before dismissing the scattered projects. It was obvious that the scientists were at a dead end before he'd arrived, and he didn't have time to destroy their failed efforts.

It didn't take him long to find Stane's reinterpretation of Stark's suit. The monstrosity was far larger than the original, and he knew that it was too large for him to jump with.

"Sir, I have disposed of the scientists, but am unable to relocate the suit. It is too large. Orders?"

"If the suit can't be retrieved, destroy it."

"Yes, Sir."

Moving with the nimble grace of a squirrel, IX climbed the humanoid machine. When he got to the open chest, he slid into the contraption. Time trickled away, and he heard the loud whoop of alarms signaling that his fifteen minutes were up. Still his fingers pulled at wires, with a grunt he jerked a second panel opened and he forced the machine on. He closed his eyes and vanished just as the Gama core overpowered, erupting in an inferno of radiated power that turned the suit to slag in seconds.

The blast was powerful enough to destroy the machine and half the lab, but not enough to bring the whole building down. He couldn't risk killing Stark by mistake.

Exhaustion hung from him like chains of lead, desperately trying to pull him to the ground, but Tony refused to give in. He'd finally gotten away from the assorted flavors of police and FBI whose interrogation techniques were only a little less severe than the terrorists. And he wasn't even the bad guy!

Still, their questions were telling. He hated entertaining the idea that Obadiah had been going around behind his back, but the evidence was irrefutable. Bad enough that the man had been selling his weapons to the enemy, but worse was the way the FBI looked at him, as though he'd been in on it. He choked back the anger that tried to overwhelm him when he remembered how that Smith bastard casually threw the idea out that he'd been working with the bloody terrorists who'd kidnapped him.

They finally let him go, but he still felt like he'd been picked over by vultures. Rubbing at his tired eyes, Tony sat forward and began typing. He enhanced the video and stared at the blank faced teen walking casually through the halls of his building. No one even questioned the kid, it was absurd.

Swallowing hard, he played the video forward and watched Obadiah's death. He hated how the man betrayed him, but no one deserved to die like that.

Chocolate eyes narrowed as they studied the footage. Something wasn't adding up, but he couldn't figure out what. Fingers flying, he fought to unravel the viruses that had been implanted in the buildings systems. They were just a smoke screen, and he wouldn't rest until he knew everything the stranger downloaded. Finally, he was able to unscramble the data enough to get an idea. Obadiah's work was crude, true, but the suit he'd designed would still be a frightening force in the hands of a group of terrorists.

Still… "Why didn't you steal the Jerico?" He growled. It didn't make sense. Why take incomplete technology for a weapon that would cost a ridiculous amount of money to recreate, and not steal the data on the weapon he'd been kidnapped to reproduce? The agent could have easily accessed the information, so why did he just go after the suit? More importantly, why did he attempt to wipe the data afterwards? He'd even gone so far as to kill the scientists and destroy the only working prototype.

It just didn't feel right, and Tony couldn't help but remember those strange eyes looking down at him in the cave. Cold eyes, the eyes of a killer.

Why had his life been spared? That was the heart of the matter, Tony knew it. If the man was really after his suit, why not kidnap him again? If he wanted the technology destroyed, why not kill him? They had to know that Tony would continue working on it, so why hadn't he been terminated along with the other scientists?

"Sir, Stark arrived before I could leave. Orders?"

"Who are you? And who are you working for?" Stark muttered, staring at a close up image of the man's face.

"Hush baby," Dan said, his hand rubbed small circles over the little girl's back. Heat baked into his chest from where he held her, and he wished the fever would break. At least her sobs had tapered down to sniffles and the latest bout of vomiting was over. He had no idea how such a tiny girl could throw up so much. It was as amazing as it was disgusting, and he'd been the one who had to clean it all up.

Sarah was on the couch, sleeping fitfully. The flu had spared him, but for some reason it hit both of them hard this year. If she hadn't been feeling so awful, he would have stayed at work, but even Stane's threats couldn't keep him there when he heard the misery in her voice and Gale screaming in the background. "That's it sweetheart, rest now. Daddy's got you."

She'd just dozed off when the doorbell rang, startling her into another round of congested sobbing. "Damn it," he hissed under his breath. If it was the neighbor again, he'd slam the door in the woman's face. Yes, she was just trying to be helpful, but he didn't need the nosy creature checking in on him every hour. Hell, they could drown a cat in the amount of chicken soup she'd dropped off that morning. Not that either of the girls had been able to keep more than a bite or two down.

Jerking the door open, he growled "Yes?" Irritation instantly morphed into confusion when he saw a kid standing on his door step. "Can I help you?"

"Are you Dan Marcus?"

"Yes. What's this abo-" The bullet took him between the eyes before his mind could register the gun. He crumpled, body reflexively clutching at the now screaming child as they fell together in a heap.

"DAN?" A shrill voice called from the living room, mingling with the girl's wailing. IX turned, vanishing before the woman made it to the door.

IX took one step out of the shadowed corner of their assigned room before he was swept up in X's crushing grip. Closing his eyes, he tolerated the ten minute inspection of his person before he gave the feral a hard shove. "Enough, I have to complete my report."

Teeth bit into his shoulder instead of releasing him. Without his consent, his body relaxed into the punishing touch. He could have pulled a knife, but waited for the ritual to be complete. X's tongue slowly traced the bite marks, tasting his blood and reasserting their bond. Closing his eyes, IX was surprised when he realized he'd missed this. Missed the crushing embrace, the sharp bites, and even X's overbearing protectiveness. Though he'd never admit it out loud, he'd missed sleeping with the other man. Even when he'd had a fire, he hadn't felt warm enough when he'd laid down to rest.

Now X's warmth surrounded him again, soft tongue already soothing the pain of the bite away and he wanted to curl up in the familiar arms and sleep. No, the mission is not complete.

"Release me." This time X reluctantly obeyed.

He pulled his shirt up, covering the vivid bite mark before he turned and left to make his report.

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Wald alkelb = son of a bastard