Chapter 7: Gulmira
December 31, 2005 - Saturday
As Tony and Faith surveyed the scene, their armored forms a beacon of hope amidst the chaos, they couldn't help but feel a sense of grim satisfaction. The startled expressions on the faces of the insurgents, some of whom they recognized from their time in captivity, were a testament to the turn of events.
Among the crates filled with weaponry manufactured by Stark Industries, their purpose became clear. It was time to reclaim control over the instruments of destruction that had been turned against their own people.
Willow's voice crackled in their earpieces, providing a crucial link to their mission. "I have you on satellite," she reported, confirming their strategic advantage. "It looks like that reporter was right about them having your weapons, Tony."
Tony's fury simmered beneath the surface as he gazed at the crates and the betrayal they represented. The music playlist he had prepared earlier was now their soundtrack, an anthem for their fight against injustice.
"Willow, bring up that music list I had you load into your laptop," Tony instructed, his voice laced with determination. "Let it play through both of our comms."
With a nod to his choice, the heavy metal chords of Metallica's "And Justice for All" began to resonate in their helmets, providing a fitting backdrop to their mission of retribution and justice.
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Everything had been proceeding according to routine thus far. They had a job to do and they did it. They derived no enjoyment from it. It was nothing personal. There were simply plans for this particular piece of geography, and the current residents were not a part of those plans. The ones who were young and healthy enough to help them with the grunt work were kept alive long enough to make themselves useful. The ones who weren't were disposed of immediately. On the plus side, at least the residents weren't putting up much of a fight. And since this was simply an impoverished land with no oil or any other natural resources to provide an incentive, Abu's men could operate with confidence that the United States and other countries would take no interest in what was transpiring.
Then this boy had shown up, yelling about his father, and Abu had been about to make an example of the father, or possibly the boy—and possibly both.
That was when the missiles that walked like a man and woman had slammed to the ground. The missiles or robots or whatever it was remained in a crouch for a moment and then straightened up.
As Abu stood there, shock and terror coursing through him, and watched the terrifyingly powerful figures take in their surroundings for a moment and suddenly attack his soldiers, three words emerged from his lips:
"It can't be..."
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Faith was caught up in a rush of pure, pounding adrenaline as a soldier charged her, gun in hand. Without hesitation, muscles powered by her servos, Faith swung a roundhouse punch that sent the insurgent flying. He arced through the air at least twenty feet and crumbled in a heap.
Tony saw a soldier about to fire an RPG. He didn't flinch. Instead, he advanced and thrust his palm forward. His would-be attacker looked straight into the Repulsor port, which started to crackle with energy.
"Geneva convention?" the insurgent said hopefully.
Tony wasn't in the mood. Like a gunfighter, he fired off a shot with his Repulsor ray that blasted aside the soldier with the RPG, and another who was wielding a machine gun. The weapons went flying.
Faith spun, looking to see who else was foolish enough to challenge them.
No one.
Instead, the insurgents were trying another tack. They had grabbed some villagers and were hiding behind them, holding guns to their heads. They were screaming in Arabic, which, naturally, Tony and Faith didn't understand. But their meaning was clear: Lower your hands or the villagers die.
"Willow, Black Sabbath, please," Tony said, his voice a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding them.
As they lowered their hands, the iconic voice of Ozzy Osbourne surged through Tony and Faith's helmets, the haunting melody of "Black Sabbath" providing an eerie backdrop to the unfolding events. Their HUDs quietly and precisely targeted the insurgents, distinguishing between the captors and the captives with chilling efficiency.
Suddenly, flaps in their shoulders rose, and from them emerged finely honed projectile blasts, each shot a lethal precision strike. The insurgents fell one by one, their desperate attempts at using innocent lives as shields reduced to nothing more than futile gestures.
It was a macabre ballet of destruction, a grim dance where the power of technology clashed with the desperation of those who had chosen to stand against it. The captives, once held hostage, were now safe, while the insurgents were picked off like ducks in a shooting gallery.
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Ezil embraced his father, his heart overflowing with joy at the miraculous reunion. The weight of oppression that had hung over the village had lifted, replaced by the warm embrace of newfound freedom. The villagers, once prisoners of fear, now ran to one another, their tears of relief mingling with tears of joy. Families and lovers were reunited, and hope had finally returned to their lives after what had felt like an eternity.
Amidst this emotional maelstrom, their saviors stood in the middle of the square, their imposing figures a stark contrast to the jubilant villagers. Their vigilant eyes scanned the surroundings, ensuring that no other insurgents posed a threat to the newfound peace.
However, Ezil's keen eyes spotted someone who piqued his interest. With determination, he made his way through the crowd, moving towards the enigmatic figures of iron and steel. His small hand rapped on the man's leg, the sound of metal meeting metal echoing in the air. It was a stark reminder of their otherworldly presence, but Ezil was undeterred. Both the man and woman of iron turned their heads, their glowing eyes fixing on him.
Ezil pointed to their right, conveying a message without words.
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Abu quavered in his hiding place under the truck. The once-confident leader now reduced to a trembling shadow of his former self. The sounds of battle had ceased, leaving him with the haunting silence of impending doom. His only option left was to wait for some sign that the armored figure had departed the area. Then, perhaps, he could gather his men and salvage what remained of their plans.
But fate had other ideas. Suddenly, the car flipped off him, and Abu's heart sank as he looked up in terror, knowing what he was about to see.
The female armored figure reached down and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, shaking him like a cat toying with a mouse. His world was reduced to the frightening visage of the iron-clad warrior who held his fate in her grasp.
"Where did you get these weapons?" Tony demanded from beside Faith, his voice cutting through the tension, momentarily silencing the music.
Abu, his fear rendering him incapable of resistance, mumbled something in Arabic. To make clear her intentions, Faith brought her palm up, positioning it within inches of Abu's bruised and battered face. The Repulsor glowed with a blinding intensity that nearly overwhelmed him, and Faith allowed the charge to start building up audibly, a chilling reminder of the power she wielded.
"Answer my father," Faith said, her tone cold and unwavering. "Where did you get these weapons?" She nodded in the direction of the crates.
Despite his supposedly nonexistent command of English, Abu suddenly became a quick study, driven by sheer terror. "From Tony Stark! Tony Stark! Stark Industries!" he stammered, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a desperate rush.
It was everything Faith could do to restrain herself from breaking Abu in half. Disgusted, she threw him down, the once-mighty oppressor now at her mercy. Then, with a shared resolve, she and Tony launched themselves skyward, determined to uncover more of the weapons and prevent them from falling into the wrong hands.
The people of Gulmira were left to arm themselves against future oppressors, a decision laden with both hope and uncertainty.
Tony and Faith soared over the village, scanning the area for any sign of the hidden weaponry. Then, Willow's voice came over their earpieces, a reassuring presence in the midst of uncertainty. "I've been having the satellite scan the area, I think I got the rest of your weapons, Tony. Transmitting the location to your HUDs."
Within seconds, Tony and Faith's HUDs locked on to precisely what Tony had feared they would find: a stockpile of Jericho missiles concealed under a tarp, set off from the village's center.
Before they could angle down toward the dangerous arsenal, Jarvis calmly informed them, "Incoming ordinance."
The missile struck with breathtaking speed and precision, slamming into the father-daughter duo before they could react or muster any defensive maneuvers. It sent them hurtling from the sky, their armored forms crashing into the dirt road below with a force that left a sizable crater in its wake. A moment passed, and all that stirred was the lazily floating dust in the air. Then, slowly but surely, Tony and Faith pulled themselves from the crater, running quick diagnostics to ensure that their suits were still operational.
Their attention was immediately drawn to a menacing sight: a Stark-designed tank, of all things, rolling forward, its turret swinging around to target them. It rolled over makeshift hovels with ruthless efficiency, closing the distance between them.
The fact that it was a Stark-designed tank added a layer of bitter irony to the situation. It meant that they had all the schematics and capabilities at their disposal.
"Faith," Tony said, his voice unwavering despite the dire circumstances. "I'll deal with the tank. You go after the missiles."
With a silent nod, Faith darted off toward the location of the Jericho missiles, while Tony turned his attention to the formidable opponent before him, determined to confront the consequences of his own creations head-on.
Tony raised his armored arm, and with a swift, calculated movement, a miniature missile emerged from the forearm. Under ordinary circumstances, hitting the tank's vulnerable spot would require a one-in-a-million shot, relying on an attacker reckless enough to get within fifteen feet of the armored behemoth. But Tony's suit boasted an onboard tracking capability that turned those odds from one in a million to a guaranteed hit.
He fired the missile, and it struck the tank's underside with lethal precision. The explosion ruptured the fuel lines and disrupted the electronics within, sending sparks flying that ignited the spilled fuel. The tank transformed into a roaring inferno, a spectacle akin to a volcano erupting. Within seconds, it exploded in a fiery burst of destruction.
Meanwhile, Faith had locked onto the cache of Jericho missiles and unleashed her formidable firepower. Had the missiles been active, their combined destructive force would have been enough to reduce the entire area for miles around into a great blackened pit. But they weren't active, and Faith's blasts instead turned the menacing weaponry into useless scrap, rendering them harmless.
Pleased with the day's work, Tony and Faith rocketed skyward, unaware of the smoldering eyes set within a scarred and ruined face—Raza's face—watching them as they departed.
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Major Julius Allen strode into the Combined Air Operations Center at Edwards Air Force Base, summoned in the late hours of the night, which, for him, felt like an intrusion into his well-deserved rest. In stark contrast, in the remote village of Gulmira, the morning sun was high in the sky, oblivious to the unfolding events.
Tall and wiry, Major Allen brought an air of urgency with him as he entered the CAOC. He was still rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes with one hand while adjusting his necktie with the other. It never crossed his mind that he might have been summoned without a compelling reason. To Allen, the foremost expert on weapons systems at Edwards, if his presence was required, then it was required, and there was no further debate.
He headed straight for the central screen, his expectations shattered by the unexpected scene before him. He had been prepared to witness insurgents employing new weaponry against helpless citizens, but what he saw was soldiers in frantic retreat. The puzzle deepened: what were they fleeing from?
Leaning forward, he muttered, "What is that?"
Two vague figures moved through the haze and smoke of the battlefield, their details elusive.
"Are we in there?" he asked.
"Negative, it's a local skirmish, green on green," responded Lieutenant Dowling from the main monitoring console, attempting to enhance the feed for better clarity.
Allen, the weapons expert, felt an uncomfortable sense of being out of his depth. It stung his pride, but he had to admit that he was clueless. He was well-versed in every existing weapons system, but this was something entirely novel. If it was a project in development, he certainly hadn't received any prior notification.
"Get someone down here from Weapons Development—now," Allen ordered, recognizing that he needed experts in advanced technology to unravel the mystery before them.
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Tony and Faith took a moment to reflect on what they had accomplished thus far, their armored forms soaring through the sky. They had saved the village of Gulmira from the clutches of oppression, neutralizing the threat posed by the insurgents and their stolen Stark weaponry.
Yet, beneath the cool exteriors of their suits, they couldn't help but dwell on the haunting words of Yinsen. Yinsen's wisdom echoed in their minds, a constant reminder that their mission was far from over.
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"So, what do we have here, Rhodes?"
James Rhodes paced the CAOC at Edwards, his eyes locked on the satellite images of the assault on Gulmira. He had a perplexed expression on his face as he tried to make sense of the situation. After a moment, he shook his head. "I don't think it's Russian or Chinese."
Major Allen, standing nearby, leaned in expectantly. "Then where did they come from?"
Rhodey furrowed his brow, deep in thought. Unfortunately, no immediate answers presented themselves. "Let me make a call," he said finally, his decision made.
Rhodey punched in a phone number into the console, feeling a sense of reluctance as he prepared to contact Tony. He was well aware of the recent trials and tribulations that Tony and Faith had been through, and he hated to disturb them now. But the situation demanded it, especially considering that this mysterious weapon wasn't confined to the ground.
"Yeah?" came Tony's voice over the console, somewhat muffled by background noise.
"Tony, it's Rhodey," he began, concern evident in his voice. He struggled to hear Tony over what sounded like a rush of air. "What the hell's that noise?"
"We're in my new convertible," came Faith's voice over the console, a touch of humor in her tone.
Tony chimed in with a hint of exasperation, "Not the best time."
Rhodey's confusion deepened at Faith's declaration about being in her new convertible. He couldn't fathom why they would be driving through a cyclone or any situation that could produce such noise. Nevertheless, he needed answers to a pressing question.
"Tony, I need a quick ID. What do you know about unmanned combat robotics with air-ground capabilities?" Rhodey inquired, seeking any knowledge that could shed light on the situation.
"Never heard of anything like that. Why?" Tony replied, his curiosity piqued.
Before they could delve deeper into the conversation, Lieutenant Dowling's urgent voice broke in, adding a layer of tension to the situation. "Unmanned Aerial Vehicles have entered the no-fly zone. Repeat, UAVs have entered the no-fly zone."
The topographic map displayed the trajectory of the flying forms, showing that the armored bogies had crossed into forbidden territory, a grave breach of security.
Rhodey's voice was urgent as he explained, "Because, I think I'm staring at two right now, and they're about to get blown to kingdom come."
Alarms blared within the CAOC, and Major Allen demanded, "Rhodes! You got something for me?"
"Uh… kingdom come?" Suddenly Tony said hurriedly, "This is our exit. Gotta go."
And just like that, the connection abruptly went dead.
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Proximity alarms blared in a deafening cacophony as two USAF F-22 Raptors materialized from the clouds like predatory sharks. The sudden appearance of the fighter jets sent shockwaves of urgency through Tony and Faith.
"This is our exit. Gotta go," Tony said hastily to Rhodey, severing the connection with the CAOC. Without wasting a moment, he and Faith engaged their suit's turbo mode, their armored forms streaking through the sky in a treacherous banking descent.
As they accelerated away from the imminent threat, Tony's frustration boiled over. "A no-fly zone, Jarvis," he growled through clenched teeth. "You charted us a course back through a damned no-fly zone?"
Jarvis's response was swift, his voice calm and collected, "It wasn't a no-fly zone earlier."
Willow's voice chimed in over their earpieces, providing an explanation. "Don't blame Jarvis on this one, Tony. The no-fly zone wasn't declared until about six o'clock this morning in response to what was going on in Gulmira."
Jarvis added further context, "Some concern over neighboring countries airlifting weaponry to the insurgents. Request processed four days ago."
Faith, her voice laced with incredulity, asked the pertinent question, "And just implemented now?"
"The military database only just recently updated, Ms. Stark," Jarvis answered.
Tony couldn't help but let out a frustrated sigh. "So, we're being chased by our own planes because one of you didn't get the memo," he remarked, his irritation evident.
Jarvis, ever the voice of reason, replied calmly, "One is often struck by life's little ironies, sir."
Willow, feeling responsible for the oversight, chimed in with an apologetic tone, "Sorry, Tony, I didn't think to check beforehand."
Faith, ever focused on the mission, inquired, "Do you still have us on satellite, Will?"
"Negative," Willow replied promptly. "The satellite moved out of the area not long after you both left Gulmira. The only telemetry I have on you both is coming from Jarvis."
Tony's frustration and anger continued to simmer as he muttered something under his breath, the words lost to the rush of the wind and the urgency of their situation. Jarvis and Willow may have chosen not to acknowledge it, or perhaps the noise and chaos of their escape simply drowned out his words.
Tony and Faith pushed their suits to the limit, banking hard as they made a desperate attempt to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the pursuing fighter planes.
Inside their armored suits, Tony and Faith received a chilling notification from their HUD: a Sidewinder missile was closing in on them. Time seemed to slow as they braced for the imminent threat.
Jarvis's voice remained cool and collected as he counted down, "Incoming Sidewinder in five... four... three... two..."
In perfect synchronization, Tony and Faith activated the countermeasures built into their suits. Hatches opened in their belt sections, and chaff spewed out, forming a protective cloud around them. With swift and precise maneuvers, they angled away from the incoming missile, and it struck the chaff, erupting in a fiery explosion.
The narrow escape was a stark reminder of the perilous situation they were in. Faith voiced her concern, her voice laced with tension, "I don't know how many of those we can avoid, Dad."
"I know," Tony replied grimly as they continued to soar through the sky, the relentless pursuit of the Raptors ever-present on their HUDs. No matter how many evasive maneuvers they executed, the fighter jets remained glued to their tail.
"Angle down," he instructed Faith.
Faith nodded and followed her father's lead, angling downward and accelerating. Unbeknownst to them, their lack of experience in high-performance aircraft put them at risk. As they descended and the g-forces piled upon them, they began to feel an overwhelming pressure, as if a vise clamp was closing around every muscle in their bodies. The world around them started to blur, and an emergency indicator on their HUDs warned them that the g-force meter had entered the red zone.
"Sir, Ms. Stark," Jarvis's voice conveyed a sense of concern, as much as an AI could. "May I remind you both that the suits can handle these maneuvers. You two cannot."
The reminder was well-timed, and it resonated with Tony and Faith. They were pushing their bodies to the limit, and the physical strain was taking its toll. Both of them understood the risk, and they were about to make an adjustment when cannon fire erupted in their path. The pursuing F-22 Raptors showed no mercy, spraying tracer rounds that streaked past Tony and Faith, exploding in close proximity, impacting their armored suits, and jarring them violently, despite the protective armor.
The suits could withstand a considerable pounding, but the occupants inside were starting to feel the effects of the relentless assault. Tony, thinking quickly, issued a command, "Jarvis! Air brakes!"
In response, the reverse thrusters engaged with a powerful force. Tony and Faith instantly decelerated, dropping down to a quarter of the speed they had been moving. The fighter jets roared right past them, their pursuit momentarily foiled, like eagles outpacing a sparrow.
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Inside the control room at Edwards Air Force Base, tension ran high as Viper One's startled voice broke through the squawk. "Those were not drones!" the pilot exclaimed. "Checking scope!" After a moment's pause, the voice returned with a hint of bewilderment, "Nothing. Repeat, I've got nothing on my scope."
"Where the hell are they?" came the urgent inquiry from Viper Two.
The question echoed in the minds of everyone in the control room. James Rhodes, his attention riveted to the camera images provided by the fighter planes, couldn't shake the feeling that there was something significant he was missing. The frozen images from the initial encounter taunted him, and he sensed that they held a clue he needed to unravel.
Meanwhile, in the real-time feed, the view showed nothing but blue skies and fluffy clouds ahead of the Raptors. There was no sign of the mysterious bogeys that had engaged them moments earlier.
Lieutenant Dowling, keenly aware of the unfolding situation, turned to Rhodes and called out, "Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes, I have Tony and Isabella Stark calling."
"Put them through," Rhodes ordered, his focus now shifting to the communication with Tony and Faith, hoping they might shed some light on the enigmatic disappearance of the unidentified aircraft.
The call from Tony and Faith fed directly into Rhodey's headset, but the persistent noise from Faith's car, akin to a wind tunnel, continued to dominate the background. It was a distraction he couldn't ignore. "Tony? Faith? You both there—?"
Tony's voice came through, loud and urgent, as he tried to make himself heard over the cacophony around him. "Rhodey, I had Jarvis run a check," Tony explained, his words tinged with excitement. "I might have some info on those UAVs. A piece of gear like that might exist. Might definitely exist."
Rhodey couldn't help but smirk at the possibility. "One wouldn't happen to be red and gold, and the other red and black, would it?"
However, before he could delve further into the revelation, the voice of Viper One broke through, urgently exclaiming, "Viper Two! One of them is on your belly! Shake him!"
The statement caught Rhodey's attention, and he turned his focus back to the control screens. What he witnessed left him astounded. One of the mysterious bogeys had indeed attached itself to the underside of Viper Two, a development that was noticed almost simultaneously by Viper One and displayed on the large control screens.
Confused and alarmed, Viper Two responded with a bewildered "What?" as the bizarre situation unfolded before them all.
"You got a hitchhiker!" Viper One exclaimed urgently. "I said shake him! Ballroom, that is definitely not a UAV!"
Major Allen, trying to make sense of the situation, pressed for answers. "Where is the other and what is it, then?"
Viper One hesitated for a moment, struggling to put words to something that seemed utterly absurd. Finally, he said, "I think the other is on my belly, and I think it's… I think the one on Viper Two is a man, sir. Unsure about the one on my belly."
As the pilot's words sunk in, everything suddenly clicked for Rhodey. It all made sense—the determined looks in Tony and Faith's eyes, Tony's unwavering belief that the era of weapon creation was over and that they needed to pursue a different path. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place.
Rhodey couldn't contain his realization any longer. He shouted into the headset, using a four-word phrase that conveyed both astonishment and urgency, "Son of a bitch!" His outburst drew a few glances from the others in the command center, who assumed he was reacting to the startling information they were receiving.
Lowering his voice to a harsh whisper over the headset, he urgently called out to Tony and Faith, "Tony! Faith!"
Rhodey strained to listen, but the urgency in the voices of the pilots took precedence. "Still there, Viper Two! Roll! Roll!"
Viper One and Two both executed a sharp roll maneuver, causing their planes to spin like a berserk pinwheel in a desperate attempt to dislodge their unwanted passengers.
As the chaos unfolded in the skies, the line to Tony and Faith abruptly went dead. The abrupt silence left Rhodey with a sinking feeling, a gnawing uncertainty. For all he knew, the father-daughter duo was in grave danger, their fate hanging in the balance.
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The world outside had become a dizzying, centrifugal blur for Tony and Faith as they clung desperately to the F-22 Raptors in a high-stakes aerial chase.
Faith's voice crackled through her earpiece as she shouted, "Will!"
"I'm still here, Faith," Willow's reassuring voice responded.
Faith couldn't hide the urgency in her tone as she reported, "They're trying to shake us." Warning buzzers blared in their ears, a persistent reminder of the critical situation. The flashing lights and readouts on their HUDs informed them that power levels were dwindling, with Faith's suit better equipped to handle the strain than Tony's.
Jarvis calmly relayed a grim prognosis, "Two minutes and there won't be sufficient power to get home."
Willow, determined to help in any way she could, implored, "Tony, give me the number of that military guy. I'll call him. I don't know what I will say, but I will get them off your backs."
Before Tony could respond to Willow's request, the magnetic couplings they had been relying on to cling to the fighter planes were jarred loose by the overwhelming centrifugal force. Tony was sent tumbling free, while Faith desperately tried to grab hold of her F-22 to halt her trajectory. In her efforts, she unintentionally tore loose the Raptor's tail fin.
"Crap, Dad!" Faith exclaimed as she found herself tumbling away from the F-22.
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"I'm hit!" Viper One's distressed voice cried out.
Rhodey and the others in the command center could only watch in helpless horror as Viper One's Raptor spiraled out of control. The seconds ticked away relentlessly, and then the canopy of the doomed fighter jet blasted loose, signaling that the pilot was making an emergency ejection from his stricken aircraft.
"Viper Two, do you see a chute?" Major Allen urgently inquired, his concern for the pilot's safety palpable.
The response that came back was nothing short of chilling: "Negative! No chute, no chute! There's—the UAVs! One of the UAVs is leaving. The other is going after him! It's attacking!"
Tony and Faith managed to regain control of their tumultuous descent and stabilize themselves in mid-air. Jarvis's voice remained as composed as ever, but there was an undeniable urgency underlying his words. "Power critical. Set course for home immediately."
As they prepared to follow Jarvis's directive, Tony and Faith's attention was drawn to the tumbling pilot, who had ejected from his stricken plane. They hovered in mid-air for a brief moment, watching and hoping to see the pilot's parachute deploy.
However, there was no reassuring sight of a parachute opening to slow the pilot's fall. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on them.
"Jarvis, how long do I have before I'm past the point of no return?" Faith inquired; her concern palpable. She knew that her arc reactor was solely powering her suit, unlike her father's, which not only powered his suit but also protected his heart. His reserves were dwindling faster.
"You will only have a few extra minutes," Jarvis replied, the reality of their dwindling power levels starkly evident.
Faith made a determined decision. "Okay, Dad, head home. I'm going to get the pilot."
"Faith?" Willow's worried voice chimed in over Faith's earpiece, expressing concern for Faith's safety.
Faith reassured her, saying, "Don't worry, babe. I'll be home for dinner."
Tony hesitated, torn between leaving his daughter behind and ensuring her safety. Faith, with unwavering determination, issued a direct order. "Go."
Reluctantly, Tony nodded, acknowledging that Faith was right. With that, he turned his suit toward home, putting his trust in Faith's abilities to rescue the pilot and rejoin him safely later.
Faith propelled herself through the sky with incredible speed, swiftly closing the gap between herself and the plummeting pilot. It took mere seconds for her to catch up to him, and in that brief moment, their eyes met through the transparent visor of his helmet. The pilot's expression was a mixture of shock and awe as he gazed at Faith in her armored suit.
Faith instantly identified the issue—a jammed chute mechanism. With a display of armor enhanced Slayer strength, she effortlessly freed the mechanism. The parachute deployed instantly, halting the pilot's rapid descent and lifting him out of her field of vision.
In a gesture of goodwill, Faith offered a salute to the grateful pilot. However, her relief was short-lived as she realized that his trajectory was taking him dangerously close to the ground. She quickly banked and adjusted her course, believing that her act of assistance had resolved the encounter.
Her optimism was shattered in an instant as the other Raptor closed in on her position with its weapons armed.
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The voice of Viper Two resonated with jubilation. "Good chute! Good chute! You're not gonna believe this, Ballroom... but the UAV that stayed behind just saved his ass."
Rhodey couldn't help but release a sigh of relief, relieved that the pilot was safe. However, his relief was short-lived as Major Allen issued a terse command, "Viper Two, re-engage."
"Wait!" Rhodey interjected urgently, his instincts warning him that something was amiss.
Major Allen fixed a questioning gaze on Rhodey, clearly perplexed by his sudden interruption. Without averting his eyes from Rhodey, Allen communicated his order, "Take the target out!"
Rhodey swiftly crossed the room to confront Major Allen, his tone growing increasingly urgent as he pleaded, "Major, call off that Raptor. You don't know what you're shooting at."
Allen's response was grim and determined. "We'll find out when we recover the pieces."
As tension mounted, Viper Two's Bitching Betty issued an ominous warning over the speaker, sending a chilling shiver through the room: "Locked on! Locked on!"
Viper Two continued its pursuit of the unidentified bogey, executing a barrel roll as instructed. However, the pilot's confusion was evident in their voice as they sought clarification, "Ballroom, understand, you want me to engage the UAV?"
"Copy," Major Allen confirmed the order, his voice unwavering.
Rhodey, desperately trying to intervene, swiftly interjected, "Negative, Viper Two, disengage."
Major Allen's response was cold and uncompromising, laced with a veiled threat that sent shivers down Rhodey's spine, "It's not your call. That thing just took out an F-22 inside a legal no-fly zone. Viper Two, you get a clean shot, you take it."
Rhodey knew at that moment that arguing further was futile. He couldn't reveal the truth that Tony and Faith Stark were the ones flying up there; it would be dismissed as madness. Major Allen was resolute, and he would order the attack regardless of any objections.
Rhodey's heart sank as he watched the screen, knowing that the situation was rapidly spiraling out of control. In the tense silence that followed, Viper Two fired its missile, and the outcome of this perilous encounter hung in the balance.
Faith was overwhelmed by disbelief at the sudden and hostile turn of events. She and Tony had ventured to Gulmira with the intention of providing aid and support to those in need. Faith had saved the life of a pilot who would have met a tragic fate if not for her intervention. Yet, despite her heroic actions, they were still relentlessly pursued, and the realization left her incredulous.
Her HUD warned her of an incoming missile, adding to the mounting pressure of her dwindling energy reserves. In a desperate bid to evade the deadly projectile, Faith initiated a series of rapid and evasive maneuvers while simultaneously deploying additional countermeasures. The missile detonated after striking the chaff she had released, unleashing a fiery explosion and a concussive shockwave that sent Faith's armored suit tumbling out of control.
As Faith grappled with the disorienting aftermath of the explosion, she reached out to Willow through her earpiece. Her voice carried a mixture of concern and regret as she confessed, "Babe, I may have lied."
Willow's voice crackled over the earpiece; her concern palpable as she responded to Faith's distressing admission. "Faith," Willow began, her voice filled with genuine concern, "what's happening? Are you okay? Please, tell me you're alright."
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In the tense aftermath of the missile strike, Viper Two relayed a report to the command center. "I got him good. He went down, he was smokin'. But I cannot confirm."
Rhodey, feeling as if the ground had shifted beneath him, reached behind him and found a chair, sinking into it heavily. When he raised his gaze, Major Allen was standing over him, his tone flat and unyielding as he questioned, "Is there something you'd care to tell me?"
Rhodey met Major Allen's gaze squarely, his expression resolute. With a steely determination, he responded, "Not a thing, Major. Not a single thing."
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"Tony," Willow said over his earpiece. "I just lost comms with Faith. She said something about she may have lied and then her comms went dead."
Tony's heart sank at Willow's words, a surge of anxiety coursing through him as he listened to her distressed voice. The realization that Faith was in grave danger and out of communication struck him like a thunderbolt.
"Willow," Tony replied urgently, his voice laced with concern, "keep trying to reach her. We need to find out what happened, where she is. I'm going to turn back."
As Tony changed his course and headed back toward the danger zone, Jarvis, with his ever-prudent voice, couldn't help but interject a crucial reminder about his dwindling power reserves.
"Sir," Jarvis chimed in, his tone laced with concern, "I must remind you that your power reserves are critically low. Continuing at this rate may exhaust them entirely."
Tony, however, didn't hesitate for a second. His determination to find his daughter and ensure her safety eclipsed all other concerns. With a steely resolve, he responded to Jarvis, his voice firm and unwavering, "Jarvis, I don't care about the power right now. I'm not losing Faith."
January 1, 2006 – Sunday
Pepper couldn't bring herself to go upstairs and tend to Tony's latest conquests. The party in Dubai was long over, and the rising sun had caused the glitterati to scatter like cockroaches when a kitchen light came on. Pepper had supervised the cleanup of the party, and now, well into mid-morning, everything had been put away. The only thing remaining was to put on a happy, peppy face and deal with whatever requirements "the girls" might have.
But her heart felt heavy with a mixture of frustration and disappointment. She knew she was supposed to be professional and turn a blind eye to the fact that Tony clearly had the morality of a hummingbird, but—
Then, like an unwelcome storm, there was the sound of feet tromping down the main stairway. Pepper looked up and saw the girls. Their disheveled appearance and the lingering traces of hangovers on their faces mirrored the chaos inside her.
"Where is he?" asked one of them, her voice laced with annoyance.
Pepper blinked in confusion. She knew Tony hadn't emerged from the bedroom. "I… thought he was with you," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.
The girls exchanged incredulous glances, as if Pepper had just spoken in a foreign language, and then turned their attention back to her. Their collective shake of the head was like a disapproving chorus.
Pepper tried to force a smile, but it felt like lifting a weight too heavy to bear. "Well, I guess he had something early he had to attend to," she offered weakly. "I certainly hope you all had a good time. I can arrange for transportation if—"
"I didn't have a good time. Did you have a good time?" one girl said to the other, her voice tinged with disappointment.
The second girl shrugged, her expression reflecting a sense of abandonment. "After Tony left last night, there didn't seem to be much—"
"Left? He left?" Pepper interjected, her emotions twisting like a turbulent storm.
"Yes," the second girl confirmed. "Just after he brought us upstairs, right?" She sought affirmation from her friend, who nodded in agreement.
Pepper was dumbfounded, her heart sinking further into a mire of confusion and concern. "Where did he go?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and anxiety.
"We don't know. We asked you, remember?"
Ten minutes later, Pepper had packed the girls off in a cab, her heart heavy with worry. She searched every room in the house, her footsteps echoing through the empty spaces, until she found Willow in her and Faith's room. Willow's disheveled appearance and tired eyes spoke of a sleepless night.
"How have you seen Tony?" Pepper asked, her voice trembling with unease.
Willow blinked; her thoughts still caught in the cobwebs of exhaustion. "Not since last night, why?" she replied, her words carrying a note of concern.
Pepper's anxiety was palpable as she relayed the unsettling news. "The two women he reportedly went to bed with have not seen him since he took them up to his room last night. They said he left just after he brought them upstairs."
Willow's shoulders sagged; uncertainty etched across her face. "I don't know," she admitted with a helpless shrug.
A growing sense of urgency gnawed at Pepper's insides. "So, uh, where's Faith?" she asked, desperation seeping into her voice.
"Faith wanted to surprise me with breakfast," Willow explained, her voice tinged with worry. "She went out to a local restaurant to pick something up."
Pepper shook her head, her fear intensifying with each passing moment. "Willow," she said, her voice trembling, "Where is Tony, and where is Faith?"
Just as Willow was about to open her mouth to say something, they heard the heart-stopping noise of shattering glass. Willow and Pepper rushed out of the bedroom, their hearts pounding with fear. As they searched the house again, they traced the source of the shattering noise to Tony's private study.
With a sense of foreboding, Pepper threw open the door to the den and froze in her tracks. Her face drained of color, her strawberry-blonde hair standing out starkly against her pallor.
Tony and Faith were seated in oversized chairs, still clad in their armor. The room was filled with an eerie tension that left the air heavy with worry.
Willow rushed past Pepper and came to a sudden halt as she took in the sight before her. Her fear from the night before magnified as she saw Faith's scarred, pitted, smoking armor. Her gaze shifted to Tony, whose armor, like Faith's, showed signs of a fierce battle, and with their helmets off, she could see blood trickling from Tony's nose.
Tony clutched a drink in his right hand, but his trembling grip threatened to spill its contents. His voice was weak, but his words cut through the silence like a knife. "Get us home," he mumbled, his strength failing him as the glass slipped from his hand, and he passed out.
Willow turned toward Faith and laid her head on Faith's armored chest, her voice trembling with relief and fear. "Don't ever worry me like that again," she whispered, her words a plea from the depths of her heart.
Faith's reply was filled with regret and an understanding born of shared experiences. "Sorry, babe," she said, her voice holding an undertone of vulnerability. "Just don't go black-eyed on me, okay?"
Willow nodded, her heart heavy with the memory of the last time she had gone black-eyed, her once-vibrant red hair turned black, and dark veins coursing through her. It was a painful reminder of when she had unleashed her dark powers to seek revenge on Warren, the man who had taken Tara away from her—the first woman she had ever loved. "Then don't die, and you won't have anything to worry about," she said, her voice a solemn promise of love and protection in the face of their perilous world.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Obadiah Stane stepped out of his imposing black Suburban, his disdain apparent in his piercing gaze that swept across the desolate wasteland outskirts of Gulmira. The few yurts that had been set up did little to impress him. The proud insurgents, now reduced to disconsolate figures, sat forlornly around their tents, nursing their wounds, both physical and metaphorical. Night had fallen, bringing some respite from the sweltering heat, but Stane found no solace in the surroundings. Instead, a vague disgust gnawed at him.
Stane's private guards had fanned out through the encampment, ensuring security long before Stane emerged from his car. The militants, once fierce and defiant, now regarded them with only mild curiosity. Stane, a figure of authority in his tailored suit, stood in the heart of the encampment, making no effort to conceal his disdain for this ragtag group of insurgents who had lost their surge.
From one of the yurts, a flap fluttered open, and Raza emerged with an air of casual indifference. He sauntered towards Stane as though they were meeting at a genteel garden party, his tone incongruous with their grim surroundings. "Welcome," he said, extending his arms in a gesture that implied a grand reception.
Stane's gaze sharpened as he assessed the scars etched into Raza's face. Raza, devoid of any mirth, noted where Stane's attention lay and ran his fingers across the marks. "Compliments of Tony and Isabella Stark," he said, bitterness underlying his words.
"If you had delivered Faith to the demon Cristos as promised, before she could be reunited with her father, and if you had killed Tony when you were supposed to," Stane retorted coldly, "you'd still have a face."
"You paid us trinkets to kill a prince," Raza growled with a simmering anger that couldn't be concealed. "An insult to me, and the man whose ring I wear."
Stane's expression remained cool and composed, his gaze unwavering. "I think it's best we don't get him involved in this," he replied cryptically. "I've come a long way to see this weapon. Show me."
Raza nodded curtly, his distrust palpable. "Come." Then, pausing and indicating Stane's private security detail, he issued a command. "Leave your guards outside."
Stane acquiesced with a casual shrug, signaling to his security team that they should maintain a perimeter. He followed Raza into the expansive yurt, where a dim kerosene lamp provided just enough light to reveal the tent's centerpiece.
Before Stane stood what could only be described as a colossal suit of gray armor, a formidable creation held together by a web of assorted wires. He circled it slowly, his sense of wonder and amazement evident. "Their escape bore unexpected fruit," Raza commented, his tone carrying a touch of understatement.
"So, this is how they did it," Stane murmured in a mixture of awe and realization.
"This is only a crude first effort. But he's perfected his design and made one for his daughter as well," Raza explained, handing Stane several grainy photographs. The images, though imperfect, left no doubt about their subject. Two armored figures dominated each shot, wreaking havoc among Raza's men, flinging them around like ragdolls, decimating tanks, and sowing chaos.
Stane set the photos aside, his attention drawn to something else—a filth-encrusted laptop sitting next to the armor. Onionskin paper covered with intricate schematics lay atop it. Stane picked up the schematics, his curiosity piqued. "What's this?" he inquired.
Raza's response was enigmatic. "The inside of Tony and Isabella Stark's minds," he replied. "Everything you will need to build this weapon." With practiced hands, Raza assembled the drawings on a light board, and Stane had to begrudgingly acknowledge the depth of Raza's knowledge. The scruffy insurgency leader had invested considerable time deciphering and understanding the Stark siblings' work, and his progress was impressive. The memory of Faith rearranging Raza's face was a potent motivator.
Once the schematics were laid out for inspection, Raza gestured for Stane to examine both the plans and the armor. Nearby, a small pot of tea was brewing on a burner. Raza offered Stane some tea, silently inquiring whether he was thirsty. But Stane, utterly absorbed in studying the manifestation of Tony and Faith's genius, shook his head in distraction. Raza poured tea for himself and settled cross-legged on the floor, sipping thoughtfully.
"The Starks have made a masterpiece of death," Raza remarked, his voice carrying a sense of awe and foreboding. Stane continued to scrutinize the armor, his mind racing with possibilities.
"A man with a dozen of these could rule from the Pacific to the Ukraine," Raza continued, his tone gaining a hint of urgency. "And you dream of Stark's throne. We have," he paused for dramatic effect, "a common enemy."
Stane's finger probed at the vacant hole in the chest plate, where the power source undoubtedly resided. He knew exactly where that source was now, or more precisely, whose body it was within.
"If we are back in business," Raza proposed, "I give you these designs as my gift. In turn, I hope you will repay me with a gift of iron soldiers."
Stane, wearing a broad grin, walked over to Raza and signaled for the insurgent to rise. He extended his hands as if to embrace Raza in a sign of newfound camaraderie. Raza complied, rising to his feet, his expression momentarily confused by Stane's unexpected gesture.
However, as Stane's hands landed on Raza's shoulders, the grin on Stane's face took on a sinister edge. "This is the only gift you shall receive," he declared.
Confusion gave way to shock as something inexplicable began to happen to Raza. His body stiffened, and his eyes widened in disbelief while blood poured from his ears. He attempted to pull away from Stane, but his strength ebbed, and Stane's grip proved unyielding.
They stood there, a grotesque tableau of apparent friendship, for agonizingly long seconds, until Raza crumpled to the ground. Stane stepped back, withdrawing a sonic taser from his palm and pocketing it. Then he removed the small yet effective earplugs he had discreetly inserted before entering Raza's encampment.
"Technology," Stane remarked with a cold smile, "It's always been your Achilles' heel. Don't worry. It'll wear off in fifteen minutes. But that's the least of your problems."
When Raza had been speaking earlier, pledging allegiance to another man, he had displayed a rather distinctive ring. Stane took the opportunity to discreetly remove it. He studied the ring thoughtfully for a brief moment before slipping it into his pocket. Then, with calculated nonchalance, he turned and exited the yurt.
As he emerged from the yurt, Stane encountered precisely what he had expected to see: Raza's men on their knees, their hands interlaced behind their heads, wearing expressions of bewilderment and disorientation. Stane's personal guards stood behind them, their weapons trained on the subdued insurgents.
Stane gestured toward the yurt he had just left. "Crate up that armor and the rest of it," he ordered.
One of his guards inquired about the fate of the kneeling men, their fate hanging in the balance. "And them?" he asked, nodding towards the subdued insurgents.
"Send them to their virgins," Stane replied with a chilling indifference. He remained unfazed as the air filled with the harrowing sounds of screams and machine-gun fire, the aftermath of his ruthless command. His mind had already shifted to more pressing matters, and he had little time for sentiment in the face of his ambitions.