Tony was jerked awake by the throbbing pain in his head together with the insistent blare of his alarm.

For a fleeting moment, the fog of sleep erased all memories of what had happened in Malibu and he imagined the warmth of his son's smile awaiting him. But as he peeled his eyes open, he realized it wasn't an ordinary wake-up call, it was the warning that the suit's power levels were dwindling below five percent.

Soaring through the air, he realized he was flying blind, a sudden panic seizing him as he lost control. With a sickening thud, he crashed into the earth, the force of impact shattering trees in the heart of a dense forest.

Gasping for breath, he removed his helmet, the rush of freezing air against his face a welcome ease as he struggled to steady himself, finally unzipping his suit amid the wreckage.

The snow blanketed the ground, and the biting cold weather seeped into his bones, making a mental note to install a heater in his suits next time.

JARVIS informed him that they were five miles outside of Rose Hills, Tennessee. But why? He couldn't recall any intention of coming here. Then, in a rush, memories flooded back to him. In the heat of the moment, driven by a thirst for revenge, he had given his address away.

He had expected the Mandarin to confront him directly, but he had underestimated the terrorist's penchant for playing dirty. It was another reckless decision that nearly cost him and Pepper their lives in the devastation of the mansion.

JARVIS' voice crackled, faltering as the suit's energy drained, "I actually think I need to sleep now, Sir."

No, no, no. I must get back to see how Pepper was doing, to make sure everything's alright.

"Jarvis... Jarvis? Don't leave me, buddy."

He found himself all alone now. Left to survive on his own.

"Here you go, Sir."

As Bruce expressed his thanks to the kind server who handed him four freshly prepared hotdogs, each generously slathered in special sauce and neatly wrapped in a bag, he couldn't help but smile. Earlier ago, he walked towards his favorite hotdog stand, situated a bit further from the park but with no regrets, after all, it was the best hotdog spot in all of Manhattan.

Bruce imagined Peter's delight upon tasting these savoury treats, his grin widening with every step. As he made his way back towards the bustling skating rink, the familiar buzz of his phone interrupted his thoughts. It was Natasha calling, and Bruce wasted no time in answering her call,

"Natasha, I'm on my way back. Got those hotdogs."

"Where the hell have you been Bruce? Change of plans. Meet us at these coordinates."

The call ended, leaving Bruce's brows furrowed in concern as he stared at his phone screen. Natasha's upset tone lingered in his mind, indicating something was wrong. Without hesitation, he dashed towards the location where Steve and Natasha were, leaving behind the forgotten bag of hotdogs lying on the street.

"I can do this all day," Steve declared through gritted teeth as he landed another blow on the bald guy's face. His knuckles throbbed with pain, the heat radiating from his opponent's body making each punch feel like hitting molten steel. But Steve knew he had to persevere. He had to finish this quickly so he could track down Natasha and find Peter.

"Yeah, well, but I can't," the bald man said, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth with a smirk as he glanced at his phone. He began to back away slowly, fully aware that facing Captain America alone was hopeless. His associates lay defeated, he was the sole survivor of their doomed encounter with the soldier. Their objective had been the kid, and with his phone alert confirming they had achieved their goal, continuing the fight would only lead to pointless bloodshed.

Steve's face twisted in confusion as he observed the man, now fleeing from him.

"Hey!" He called out, his voice echoing through the bustling street. He sprinted forward, trying to catch up to the bald figure ahead, but the man vanished into the crowd with alarming speed.

Steve's heart raced as he brushed aside the unsettling thought that perhaps Peter had already been taken.

"No," he muttered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief, "It can't be."

Natasha sprinted toward Peter's last known location, relying on the signal from his phone she had been tracking. Her anticipation grew with each step, hoping to find him there, confident in his ability to use the self-defence techniques she had taught him. But as she neared Peter's supposed location, her heart dropped. There was no sign of him, only his abandoned phone lying on the ground. Dread washed over her. She had arrived too late.

Natasha, Steve, and Bruce returned to their rendezvous point in defeat. Natasha delivered the grim news: Peter had been taken, and they were clueless about his whereabouts.

The journey back to the Tower was shrouded in heavy silence, not a single word dared to break the tension. Worry etched itself onto their faces, each consumed by the thought of what those captors might do with Peter.

Bruce reflected on how effortlessly Peter had endeared himself to everyone and wormed his way into their hearts. The young boy had become a familiar sight in his lab, peppering him with curious questions and extending invitations to impromptu movie and game nights at their penthouse. Natasha fondly remembered the occasions she had spent babysitting Peter, experiencing the joy of being an aunt figure in the little kid's life. Steve reminisced the Starks's hospitality, particularly Peter's welcoming embrace, which radiated warmth akin to that of a long-lost son, evoking sentiments of familial connection Steve never knew he longed for.

Bruce muttered, "Tony's going to kill us." as Nat and Steve exchanged concerned glances, each deep in thought in their respective sections of Bruce's lab, contemplating their next move.

Bruce is correct. If they don't locate Peter immediately, they'll undoubtedly face Tony's wrath and fury. There's a possibility Tony may never even forgive them.

Natasha sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping with the weight of guilt as she blamed herself for not reaching Peter in time.

Steve gently placed his hand on Natasha's shoulder, offering a comforting squeeze as he assured her,

"We'll find a way, Natasha. Together."

Bruce noticed a blinking red light emanating from one of his computer screens. With a gentle tap, the light scanned the entire lab, enveloping them in its glow.

"Room secured," echoed JARVIS's voice throughout the lab. "A message from Mr. Tony Stark."

They listened intently as Tony's message to Pepper began to play.

"Pepper, it's me. I've got a lot of apologies to make and not a lot of time. So first off, I'm so sorry I put you in harm's way. That was selfish and stupid and it won't happen again,"

They were already convinced that Tony wouldn't die so easily, yet the reassurance of his survival brought them immense relief.

"Pete, I'm okay and I'm gonna come home to you soon, buddy, alright? So don't worry anymore. And I'm sorry in advance because... I can't be there to spend Christmas with you. Dad needs to fix things first. You and Pepper, you gotta stay safe. That's all I know. and I know the gang will keep you safe, bud. I love you both."

The voice message ended, leaving behind an unnerving silence. Tony had entrusted them with his son's safety, confident in their ability to care for Peter. Yet, as they found themselves in this situation, with Peter nowhere to be found, self-blame began to consume them. They couldn't shake the feeling that they should have done more. Peter would have adored being here, hearing his father's voice once again.

"Peter's not here, JARVIS. Please don't tell Tony that yet. We don't want to worry him more. We promise we will bring him back." Steve informed JARVIS, casting a glance at Natasha and Bruce for agreement.

"There's no point in blaming ourselves, guys. Peter needs us. Now, let's find Tony's kid."

Tony trudged through the deserted white landscape, the weight of the Iron Man Armor pressing down on his shoulders with each step.

Five miles felt like an eternity as exhaustion crept into his bones, and the freezing evening air gnawed at his skin. Desperation drove him onward, seeking refuge wherever he could find it.

Finally, he stumbled on a garage, its dim lights offering a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. With a weary sigh, he pushed open the creaking door and stepped inside.

His breath hung in the air like a visible cloud as he surveyed his surroundings, the barren wooden walls echoing the emptiness.

In a corner, he spotted a makeshift poncho draped over a wooden Indian—a small theft to stave off the biting cold that now consumed him. It was a stark contrast to the life of luxury he knew as a billionaire, a reminder of how swiftly fortune could change.

As he began to tinker with the micro-repeater implants on his arm, his fingers moving with practiced precision, a sudden sound startled him.

A young boy stood in the doorway, wielding a toy gun with an innocence that belied the gravity of the situation.

In a fleeting moment, he caught sight of Peter, and a pang of emotion gripped his heart.

The boy appeared slightly older than his own son. Peter held a familiar toy gun, but upgraded with advanced StarkTech, reserved for supervised play areas.

Tony met the boy's gaze,

"You got me," he said with a wry smile, "Nice potato gun. Barrel's a little long. Between that and the wide gauge, it's gonna diminish your FPS."

The boy confidently aimed his weapon at a glass resting on a nearby shelf, firing a shot that shattered the fragile exterior.

"And now you're out of ammo."

"What's that thing on your chest?" the boy asked, stepping closer.

"It's my son's favourite pillow now, apparently," he replied softly, a pang of longing in his voice. It seemed like only yesterday when Peter had asked the same question. He couldn't help but miss his son terribly—his hugs, his voice, his curls, and his laughter.

Tony gestured toward the suit, a faint smile playing on his lips as he watched the child's eyes light up.

"Oh my God! Is that Iron Man?"

The allure of the Iron Man armour was undeniable to young kids.

"Technically, I am," Tony said, his voice tinged with a mixture of pride and sorrow.

"Technically, you're dead," the kid stated, thrusting a newspaper into Tony's hands with him plastered across the headline. Tony scanned the article, his mind already racing.

"What happened to him?" the kid pressed, eyes wide with curiosity.

Tony saw an opportunity in the misconception. Being "dead" could work to his advantage. He could investigate freely without fear for his life.

"I built him, I take care of him, I'll fix him," Tony replied confidently, masking his inner thoughts.

"Like a mechanic?"

Tony paused, a spark of realization dawning in his eyes, he was a mechanic, and is still one, "Yeah."

The boy's suggestion about retrofitting the suit with retro-reflective panels for stealth mode impressed Tony. This kid was bright, no doubt about it. However, his admiration faded as the boy began to tamper with the suit, snapping off one of its fingers.

"What are you doing? You're gonna break his finger? He's in pain, he's been injured. Leave him alone."

"Sorry." the kid said, though that cheeky smirk betrayed any genuine guilt.

Tony's mind drifted again to Peter and how his own child had a inkling for tinkering with his suits. Sometimes breaking them, but always finding a way to repair the damage.

"Are you? Don't worry about it, I'll fix it. So, uh, who's home?"

The kid revealed that his mom was at work, and his dad was absent, much like his own. If he didn't fix this, Peter might not see his dad again, like this kid. Immediately, he requested a list of supplies from the kid.

"What's in it for me?"

"Salvation. What's his name?"

He recognized this type of kid all too well. This boy resembled his son in many ways: bright, young, and always targeted by bullies for being a nerd. It frustrated him how the term 'nerd' was misunderstood by so many, associating it with being a loser rather than something admirable. While he couldn't stand seeing his son endure such treatment, he often found himself on the brink of confronting that Flash kid, only to be restrained by Bruce and Steve. He had already addressed the issue with the principal, but there were still moments when he knew Flash couldn't resist stirring trouble. And yet, Peter remained consistently kind, too gentle to retaliate.

"How'd you know that?" Harley asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Not that I ever wanted it to be, but my kid has a bully too," Tony replied, his voice tinged with frustration, "I'm close to kicking that bully's ass."

"You have a son?" Harley asked, curiosity evident in his tone.

Tony nodded, "Yes, I do. His name's Peter. A little younger than you, but smarter."

Harley squinted, noticing the tenderness with which Tony spoke about Peter.

"I got just the thing," Tony said, opening a compartment on his suit and retrieving a metal object, "This is a pinata for a cricket. I'm kidding, it's a very powerful weapon. Point it away from your face, and press the button on top. It discourages bullying. Non-lethal, just to cover one's ass."

Harley reached out to take it, but Tony pulled his hand away. "Deal? What do you say?"

After a moment's hesitation, Harley nodded. "Deal."

Tony finally gave the object. "What's your name?"

"Harley. And you're..."

"The mechanic. Tony."

Later that night, Tony and Harley strolled into town, heading toward the site of the explosion. Tony was determined to investigate the incident firsthand.

"When you mentioned your sister's watch, I was hoping for something a bit more mature than this," Tony noted, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a pink Dora the Explorer watch. He couldn't help but smile at its cute childish charm.

Harley chuckled. "She's only six! Besides, it's a limited edition. So, when can we discuss New York?"

"Aside from the fact that it's where I live, then never. Relax about it."

He'd been avoiding anything related to the invasion, as it could trigger his anxiety at any moment— a burden he couldn't bear right now.

They stopped, and Tony gazed at the remnants of the local explosion site while Harley recounted the tragic events. The bomber, Chad Davis, had detonated himself, claiming the lives of five others. Dark imprints adorned the walls, but there seemed to be only five, despite six casualties.

Seated beside Harley, Tony comtemplated because the narrative didn't quite add up.

"You know what this crater reminds me of?" Haley said as they observed the gaping hole.

"No idea. I'm not— I don't care."

Don't say it, kid. Don't say it.

"That giant wormhole, in um... in New York. Does it remind you?"

Shit, "That's manipulative. I don't want to talk about it."

"Are they coming back? The aliens?"

"Maybe. Can you stop? Remember when I told you, that I have an anxiety issue?" Tony said, but Harley persisted, bombarding him with a barrage of questions that only served to heighten his anxiety.

"Are you... are you going completely mental? I can stop, do you want me to stop?" Harley's voice wavered with concerned innocence, but Tony's frustration boiled over.

"Remember when I said to stop doing that? I swear to God, you're going to freak me out!" Tony snapped, feeling the panic mounting within him.

He couldn't take it anymore. He needed air. Tony abruptly rose and bolted, desperate for air and space. He found himself longing for Peter's comforting presence, his kid had a way of calming him. But Peter's not here, and he didn't know if his child was even okay. His breaths came in short gasps as he struggled to regain control. Images of New York's invasion and Peter in danger flooded his mind, threatening to overwhelm him.

Tony pressed a handful of ice to his flushed face, silently praying for his son's safety, "I'm okay, you're okay, we're okay." Peter's voice streamed his thoughts. Once his racing heart began to steady, he hurled a clump of snow at Harley in frustration.

"Your fault. You spazzed me out!" Tony accused, before turning to the bar where Mrs. Davis worked to validate his suspicions.

"Harley, tell me what's happening. Give me a full report."

He's en route to the garage where Harley is located. Utilizing Rhodes's access and with the assistance of his eccentric superfan, Gary, he successfully breached AIM's highly secure data files. What he uncovered was alarming, the explosions orchestrated by the Mandarin were triggered by soldiers injected with Extremis, an experimental treatment similar to the one developed by Maya Hansen.

He's well aware of the inherent dangers of Extremis, having rejected its research due to its potentially lethal consequences. His firsthand encounter with Extremis's destructive power began at the plant and escalated when he was ambushed by agents loyal to the Mandarin. The inability to regulate body temperature leads to a dangerous buildup of heat within the body, ultimately resulting in a catastrophic explosion.

"Yeah, I'm still eating that candy. Do you want me to keep eating it?"

"Can you still see straight?"

"Sort of."

"That means you're fine. Give me Jarvis. Jarvis, how are we?"

With his suit fully operational, he's going to stop every madness that Mandarin ever inflicted.

"It's totally fine, Sir. I seem to do quite well for a stretch, and then at the end of the sentence, I say the wrong cranberry. And, sir, you were right. Once I factored in available AIM downlink facilities I was able to pinpoint the Mandarin's broadcast signal."

"What are we talking? Far East, Europe, North Africa, Iran, Pakistan, Syria?"

"Where is it?"

"Actually, Sir, it's in Miami."

That can't be right. Everyone's out for this guy's head, and he's just lounging in Miami?

"Okay, kid, I'm gonna have to walk you through rebooting Jarvis's speech drive, but not right now. Harley, where is he really? Just look on the screen and tell me where it is."

"Um, it does say Miami, Florida."

"Okay, first things first, I need the armour. Where are we at with it?"

"Uh, it's not charging."

What?!

He slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching as the car came to a sudden stop. How is he supposed to take down this guy without his armour? Another wave of anxiety washed over him, cold sweat beading on his forehead as he struggled to stay calm.

"Actually, Sir, it is charging, but the power source is questionable. It may not succeed in revitalizing the Mark 42."

"What's questionable about electricity? All right? It's my suit, and I can't- I'm not gonna— I don't wanna— Oh, God, not again."

Tony's breath came in ragged gasps as he swung open the door, his heart pounding. Every fibre of his being clamoured for one thing: to reunite with his family. His son, foremost on his mind, occupied his thoughts with worry and longing. Was he safe? Was he alright? These questions gnawed at Tony's soul.

As he stepped over, a faint voice crackled through the speaker, the sound barely registering amidst the rush of anxiety coursing through his veins. It was Harley, his words cutting through the haze of his panic,

"Tony? Are you having another attack? I didn't even mention New York."

Tony sat hunched at the side of the car, his breathing shallow. He wrapped his arms around himself, his fingers gripping his arms tightly, "God, what am I gonna do?"

"Just breathe. Really, just breathe. You're a mechanic, right?" Harley's voice was steady, reassuring.

Tony replied, his voice strained," Right."

"You said so."

"Yes, I did."

"Why don't you just build something?"

In an instant, something clicked in Tony's mind. He realized he had been so consumed by his identity as Iron Man that he had forgotten the man he was without the suit. The man who built wonders from nothing, who was a son, an Inventor, a Doctor, and most especially a Father to Peter.

Before his son can even idolize him for being his superhero, he's a Mechanic. He remembered the joy of creation, the satisfaction of solving problems with his own two hands.

He built things from scratch, he built something from nothing.

He finally realized that the suit doesn't make the man but the man behind it makes the suit.

With newfound clarity, Tony stood, a determined glint in his eyes, "Okay. Thanks, kid."

He powered up the car. His ingenuity and great instincts led him to be Iron Man. Because Iron Man is not just an armour. It is him.

Freezing. That was the sensation that greeted Peter as consciousness slowly seeped in. The floor beneath him felt like ice against his back, sending shivers through his body.

He instinctively curled into himself, seeking warmth, only to find the chill penetrating his bones.

With a groan, Peter forced his eyes open, greeted by an overwhelming brightness that stabbed at his vision. Squinting against the glare, he slowly allowed his eyes to adjust, the harsh light resolving into the sterile confines of a bright white room, devoid of any furnishings, Peter found himself bound by restraints around his wrists.

His surroundings offer no ease, not even a bed or a window to connect with the outside world. His body throbbed with pain, a reminder of his failed attempts to fight earlier at the park.

Abruptly, the door swung open, revealing a sharply dressed man in a tuxedo followed by a group of physicians wearing their pristine white coats.

Despite the discomfort coursing through him, Peter summoned the strength to struggle to his feet, a feeble attempt to distance himself from the approaching figures. With aching movements, he retreated into the corner, his eyes wary as they drew near.

Dad, they're coming... Please... Dad, where are you?

Peter shrieked as one of the guards began to carry him towards a small bed that had just been wheeled in.

He thrashed and kicked, fighting back with all his might, but it was futile. His blows seemed to have no effect on the guard.

They finally laid him on the bed and loosened his restraints, only to secure both of his wrists to the sides of the bed.

"Let go of me!" he cried, his voice strained with desperation.

"Shh. Peter, right? I'm Aldrich. We're not gonna hurt you. Please, relax." Aldrich's attempt at reassurance was betrayed by the menacing smile that crept across his face, sending a chill down Peter's spine.

Peter couldn't help but scoff internally at Aldrich's words. How could he expect him to relax when he was restrained and completely powerless?

As one of the doctors approached him, Peter couldn't hold back any longer, a tear escaping despite his efforts to appear strong. He's already so scared.

"What are they doing? What is even happening?" he thought, his fear mounting with each passing moment.

He lay still, gaze fixed on the ceiling, as the sharp prick of a needle pierced his skin. He watched, a sense of dread creeping over him, as they drew his blood.

Peter shut his eyes tightly, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"It hurts, Dad," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

His prayers became fervent pleas, hoping against hope that his father would come to his rescue.

Another needle pierced his skin, causing him to flinch, sending him deeper into the haze of unconsciousness.

Tony woke up to a throbbing ache in his head, a sensation becoming all too familiar. This was happening far too frequently, he knew he had to get his head checked.

As he tried to shake off the pain, he realized he was bound in shackles, his attempts to break free met with frustration.

Having infiltrated the Mandarin's fort with his makeshift weapons, Tony couldn't believe what he found: the Mandarin was none other than a British actor named Trevor Slattery, completely unaware of the true extent of the Mandarin's atrocities.

Before Tony could execute his plans, he was struck, his thoughts interrupted by a sudden blow to the head.

To his surprise, Tony was greeted by the familiar face of his botanist pal, Maya Hansen. It dawned on him that she was intricately involved in this elaborate scheme.

"So you took Killian's card. That son of a bitch had been interested in you and Mary's research, as far as I recall. Thank god, Mary's smart, she stayed away from that lunatic. But you? You used to have a soul," Tony spat out, his voice dripping with disdain.

"I just took his money and I'm close, EXTREMIS is practically stabilized," Maya stated confidently.

"I'm telling you it isn't," Tony countered.

"Because you didn't tell me what you told Mary! You gave her the solution to her glitch when I should've been the one to have it! My research and Mary's were closely similar. If I had been the one with that formula, Extremis would have been perfect, just like hers. So, what is it? Help me!"

Tony closed his eyes, unwilling to confront the memories of his involvement in that research. He vehemently rejected any association with it, particularly when it came to his son's involvement.

"It's different from yours. I can't help you," he whispered.

He vividly recalled what he had written, yet it remained incomplete. It was Mary who ultimately brought it to fruition.

And this Extremis is nothing compared to what Mary created. Extremis is a virus that heals but later corrupts the body and is completely dangerous, there's no way she can convince him to help her.

Maya's patience wore thin. "Bullshit." Tony Stark, forgetting anything related to the mother of his child? "You're lying"

Tony pleaded, "I'm telling you, I don't know. I can't help you. Get me out of here. Come on."

Killian burst into the room, slamming his suitcase onto the table, "You better tell her now, Tony, or you'll regret it."

Tony furrowed his brow, "You're not still pissed off about the Switzerland thing, are you?"

"How could I be mad at you, Tony? I'm here to thank you. As I gazed over that city, unseen and unnoticed, a revelation struck me. Anonymity, Tony. Thanks to you, it's become my guiding principle. You rule from the shadows because once you give evil a face—be it bin Laden, Gaddafi, or the Mandarin—you hand the people a target."

Tony couldn't suppress a roll of his eyes at the speech. It dawned on him that he was face to face with the true Mandarin, the terrorist. His past actions had fuelled Killian's descent into this path of destruction. He couldn't shake the self-blame for unleashing this demon, "You're something else."

"Well, I wanted to repay you the self-same gift that you so graciously imparted to me. Desperation." Killian's smile twisted into a menacing grin as he unveiled three small orbs projecting a hologram, catching Tony off guard with something unexpected.

Pepper writhed in agony, battling against the grip of the Extremis virus. Tony's blood surged with fury at the sight of her suffering. The love of his life. It ignited an overwhelming desire for him to break free and kill Killian.

"Now this is live. I'm not sure if you can tell, but at this moment the body is trying to decide whether to accept EXTREMIS or just give up. But until that point, it's really just a lot of pain."

Tony seethed with rage, his wrists throbbing painfully as he strained against his restraints, desperate to activate his Mark 42 suit. He couldn't even look at her as he could also feel her pain.

I'm so sorry, honey. I'm coming, I'll save you.

"And this was taken a few hours ago."

After Tony thought he couldn't take another tormenting, the video shifted into a stale white room, sending chills down his spine.

Tony was on the verge of a breakdown at the sight before him.

Something he never wanted, never expected, was now unfolding right before his eyes. It was as though his worst nightmare had materialized, leaving him paralyzed with shock and disbelief. With each passing moment, Tony could feel the life draining from him, his heart constricting with unimaginable pain.

He watched in agony as his son was pinned to the floor and then forcefully transferred onto a bed, tears streaming down Peter's face, blood being drawn out.

This was the nightmare he had always dreaded- someone, driven by an interest in Mary's research, wrenching his son away from him.

Ever since the night following the invasion, he stumbled upon Mary's groundbreaking creation. Determined to shield Peter from harm, he chose to keep this discovery closely guarded, knowing full well the danger looming over Peter's life.

Little did most know, Mary had dedicated years to perfecting a formula Tony had entrusted to her the morning after. Her tireless efforts culminated in the creation of a groundbreaking concoction. With meticulous precision, she successfully manipulated the DNA of her chosen animal, imbuing it with enhancements akin to Eskine's super-soldier serum, but even more,

Rapid healing, enhanced senses, what more it can do depends on the animal.

It was astounding and revolutionary, but what troubled Tony is that Mary also secured this research. Her DNA was the only one that could activate the enhanced DNA of the animal.

What kind of animal is this, he had no idea. A bunch of animals were listed in Mary's files. Any one of those can cause miraculous healing or a disastrous catastrophe to the human DNA.

He didn't even want to find out. All he cared about was his son's safety. Peter, his precious son, was the only thing that mattered. Tony would do anything to keep him away from the dangers lurking within that research. Away from those who might exploit him or put him in harm's way. Away from the uncertainties that plagued their lives.

All of Mary's relatives have passed away, leaving only Peter. Those who previously pursued and are now pursuing the research know that Mary perfected it, yet remain unaware of her direct involvement through her DNA.

But Tony was aware that the inevitable moment of discovery would arrive, and it had already come with the pursuit of his son.

Little did these pursuers know, regardless of their efforts, they could never utilize the super-enhanced DNA of the animal for themselves, it would serve no purpose.

Only Peter could harness its potential due to Mary's intervention, yet Tony couldn't bear the thought of his son being exposed to such risk. He couldn't shake off the self-blame for his role in providing the solution to the research's flaw, which ultimately led to Mary's creation of this mess, and now his son is in danger and he couldn't even be there to save him.

Tony was the only one who knew about this information. God knows what kind of experiments are they doing now on Peter just to find out.

What kind of monster would even do this to an innocent kid.

"He's just a kid! Oh God, please... please just let him go!"

Tony couldn't bear to watch any longer. Peter lay there, abandoned and vulnerable, the chill of the room seeping into his bones. Has he even eaten today? His fragile frame curled into itself, red marks etching his wrists where restraints had held him. Even with Peter's eyes shut, Tony could sense his kid's pain.

What have they done to my son?

Another voice unexpectedly chimed in, protesting, Maya couldn't bear to witness the suffering of an innocent child merely to refine her research. It was unjust, more so brutal. If it meant sacrificing her opportunity, then so be it.

"Let him go," she declared firmly. "Let him go, or else... 200 CCs. A dose half of this size, I'm dead." She brandished the injector near her neck, her gaze fixed on Killian.

"If I die, Killian," she continued, her tone unwavering, "What happens to your soldiers? What happens to your product? We're not doing this, okay? What happens to you? What happens if you go too hot?"

But Killian didn't really care anymore, "It's times like this my temper is tested somewhat."

Without a flicker of remorse, Killian coldly pulled the trigger. Maya Hansen, once significant, now meant nothing to him, especially since he had the Starks as pawns to extract the solutions he desired. His confidence in his scientists overshadowed any regard for Maya's life.

Tony's disbelief was evident as he watched Maya's life slip away at Killian's hand. The act revealed Killian's complete disregard for human life.

"You're a maniac," Tony accused, unable to comprehend the senseless violence.

Killian, unfazed, countered, "No, I'm a visionary. But I do own a maniac. And he takes the stage tonight."