The Morning After – Stark Tower
The chaos of the previous night had sparked a media storm that refused to settle—even after the fires were extinguished and the smoke had cleared. Stark Tower had become ground zero for a global frenzy. News anchors, tech bloggers, and conspiracy theorists alike were spinning stories faster than SHIELD could intercept them.
For a few hours, it was utter madness.
Live coverage played endless loops of shaky footage showing the rooftop battle. Reporters debated everything—from the scale of the explosion to the identities of the two figures soaring through the Los Angeles skyline.
And the internet? It had detonated.
Forums, social platforms, video-sharing sites—everyone had a theory. The most common narrative SHIELD was quietly pushing? That the "flying object" people saw was debris flung into the air during the blast—metal statues launched skyward by the explosion. Stark Industries backed it up with a pre-prepared PR statement, claiming that a "malfunction during a private demonstration" had caused the destruction and scattered obsolete prototype shells across the city.
And for the most part—it worked.
The general public accepted the story. The visual chaos in the footage was enough to cause doubt. Civilians, distracted by fast-moving headlines and wild speculation, slowly began to buy into the official explanation.
Except…
Not everyone was convinced.
Several tech giants—rivals and quiet allies—had taken the footage and gone frame by frame. Deep analysis revealed details others missed. They saw it: the movement, the intelligent maneuvering, the unmistakable glint of repulsor light. One clip even showed Tony Stark in midair, mid-combat, helmet locked in place, his chest reactor glowing for all the world to see.
And they knew.
This wasn't debris. This wasn't a misfired prototype shell.
This was armor.
Not just armor—an advanced exoskeleton. Sleek. Intelligent. Personalized. And unmistakably Stark-engineered.
Panic spread like wildfire behind closed doors.
For a moment, they had all believed Stark's promise—his vow to shut down the weapons division. They'd thrived in the void he left, securing contracts, building tech, establishing dominance.
But now?
Now he had unveiled—intentionally or not—the next generation of warfare.
An autonomous, jet-powered, weapons-integrated combat suit. Or worse… an android.
If Stark Industries was secretly developing next-gen weaponry again, the entire balance of global power was about to shift. CEOs, generals, and governments around the world weren't just watching anymore—they were preparing.
They wanted it.
But they couldn't prove it.
No matter what systems they accessed, no matter how deep they traced the data, everything came up blank. It was as if someone—or something—was deliberately wiping Stark's data from the net in real-time. And they couldn't do a damn thing about it.
Present Day – Stark Tower Press Auditorium
The global silence hadn't lasted.
Despite the PR effort by SHIELD and the official Stark Industries line, the world's top intelligence agencies and military contractors were in full-blown panic behind the scenes. Everyone—from boardroom execs to backroom warhawks—wanted the tech they saw that night.
The problem?
They had no proof.
Attempts to trace or recover digital footage beyond civilian hands yielded nothing. Files mysteriously vanished. Backup servers returned empty. Archived satellite data was corrupted. It was as if someone—or something—was systematically and flawlessly scrubbing Stark Industries clean.
No trace left behind. No trail to follow.
And now… the world wanted answers.
Inside the packed Stark Tower press auditorium, cameras were already rolling. The hall had been transformed into a sleek, high-profile media stage. Rows of reporters sat beneath white-hot lights, microphones extended toward the podium—waiting.
Waiting for the man of the hour.
Tony Stark.
Behind the curtain, Tony sat quietly in a chair, dressed in a razor-sharp black suit. The faint blue glow of the arc reactor beneath his shirt pulsed steadily—intentionally visible.
He looked calm.
But his eyes were locked on the holographic interface floating above his palm.
Security feeds. Media headlines. Real-time biometric scans of CEOs around the world tuning into the stream. Tony knew exactly who was watching.
Standing beside him, Colonel James "Rhodey" Rhodes adjusted his cuffs, the medals on his formal US Air Force blues glinting under the lights.
"You sure about this, T?" Rhodey asked, arms crossed. "Pentagon wants you to shut it down. Keep the armor classified. Let them push the drone story and call it a day."
Tony didn't respond immediately.
From a nearby corridor, Agent Phil Coulson appeared, flipping open a slim black folder as he stepped forward.
"Mr. Stark," Coulson began, his tone steady, "officially—this comes from the Joint Intelligence Committee. Every branch involved agrees: we'd all prefer you stick to the original narrative."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "'We'?"
"SHIELD, the UN Security Council, the Department of Defense," Coulson listed plainly. "Basically anyone with a satellite pointed at your roof. They don't want another arms race. Not now."
Tony stood slowly, stretching his fingers. "So let me get this straight: you want me to tell the world that some rogue hunk of metal blew up my building, tried to kill me, and I just… let it slide?"
Coulson didn't blink. "That's the preferred version, yes."
Tony scoffed under his breath. "Neat."
From across the room, Alex leaned silently against the wall. Clad in simple dark attire, the glint of his silver charm bracelet caught the light. His presence—demon-born or not—felt grounded. Watching.
Tony turned to him. "What do you think I should do?"
Alex looked at him evenly. "I think," he said slowly, "you already know."
Tony frowned. "That's not advice."
"It is," Alex replied. "You're asking what the world wants. But since when do you give a damn about that?"
Tony tilted his head slightly.
"Do what your heart says, Stark," Alex continued. "You didn't spend your life building for anyone else. You built for yourself. You fought your way out of hell. You survived, your way. Don't start second-guessing now."
He stepped forward, voice firm.
"Don't live for the world. Live for yourself. Say what you want. Be what you are. And if they don't like it? Let them scream into their headlines. Let them burn paper and pixels trying to understand what they'll never own."
Tony let out a low breath, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Alex smirked. "As for the 'Iron Man' talk? Tell the truth. He's not a prototype. Not a drone. Not a weapon of war. Not some faceless robot controlled by a console."
He paused, then added with quiet finality:
"He's you. You didn't make him for the market. You made him because you could. Because you needed protection."
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