Wearing night vision goggles and clutching the beat-up car battery that was keeping shrapnel from his heart, Tony Stark followed closely behind Lynn Hall.
His emotions were raw, overflowing.
He was finally saved.
He was finally, finally, free.
From the moment he'd been ambushed and kidnapped, he'd held out hope—hope that Rhodey would lead the military to rescue him. But two and a half months had passed, and that hope had slowly rotted into despair.
Just as he'd begun crafting a desperate plan for self-rescue, chaos had erupted outside the cave—gunfire, explosions, shouting. Stark had genuinely thought it was over. That the terrorists would kill him out of spite… or that some unknown militia would storm in and accidentally gun him down.
But then—gunshots in his room. Guards dead. A calm voice cutting through the fear.
"Lynn Hall, FBI New York Division. We're here to get you out."
To Tony, it had sounded like heaven itself. Like the chorus of a dozen lingerie models whispering his name on Christmas Eve.
He followed Lynn, along with Yinsen, as they made their way out of the valley. Whenever danger arose, Sean and his tactical team neutralized it with swift, brutal efficiency.
These terrorists might've been dangerous in the Middle East… but against Lynn Hall's elite, tech-backed FBI unit?
They never stood a chance.
> Crack! Boom! Rattle-rattle-rattle!
Gunfire and drone strikes carved a path out of the chaos. With Alice directing overwatch from above and snipers cleaning up stragglers, Lynn's team made it out with both hostages intact.
Only once they boarded the Quinjet and felt the engines hum to life did Tony Stark allow himself to truly relax.
He was alive.
This wasn't a dream. He was actually alive.
Slumped in a seat, wide-eyed and trembling with adrenaline, Tony exhaled hard as Lynn handed him a bottle of soda.
"Thanks…" Tony muttered, his hands shaking as he unscrewed the cap.
"I mean it," he continued, trying to steady himself. "Thank you for getting me out of there."
"For two and a half months, I kept telling myself Rhodey would find me. That the military would storm in, guns blazing, any day now. But…"
"But you didn't expect the FBI," Lynn said with a wry smile.
Tony gave a breathless laugh. "Hell no. Honestly? I thought the FBI was full of desk jockeys and lawyers."
Lynn smiled but didn't respond. He checked Tony's favorability level—6. Not bad. And still climbing.
"Get some rest," he said. "You're safe now."
Lynn stepped away, pulling out his phone to place a call.
---
New York, FBI Headquarters – 11:00 PM
Despite the late hour, Director James Duke wasn't asleep. He was seated in a quiet, dimly lit room with a man named Phoebe Byrne, deep in conversation.
The phone on his desk buzzed.
Duke picked it up, glanced at the caller ID, and grinned.
"Let's hope that's the news I've been waiting for."
Phoebe stood, about to excuse himself, but Duke waved a hand for him to stay.
He answered the call.
As the voice on the other end delivered its report, Phoebe silently watched his superior's expression shift—from calm, to interested, to outright gleeful.
By the time Duke hung up, the room practically vibrated with satisfaction.
"Remember the name I mentioned to you—Lynn Hall?" Duke asked.
"Yes, sir. You said you had high hopes for him."
"And for good reason. He just pulled Tony Stark out of terrorist hands in the Middle East."
Duke took a sip of his coffee and set it down with a clink. "Tomorrow, I'm holding a press conference. A very public one."
"I've had my eye on the Director's chair for years, Phoebe. This? This is the kind of win that paves the road."
Then his voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone.
"We have people in the military, Congress, the courts, the CIA, the private sector…"
"Start assembling the Brotherhood."
Phoebe's eyes sharpened. "You want Lynn brought into Hydra?"
"That's right. Begin the process. But ease him in—no brute force, no pressure."
"People like him? Once they take that first step… there's no going back."
Phoebe nodded, rising from his seat. "Understood, sir. I'll begin selecting candidates immediately."
"Good."
As Phoebe exited the room, Duke stood, dumped the rest of his coffee, and strode toward his bedroom—smiling like a man who already saw the future.
---
Aboard the Quinjet — En Route Back to U.S. Airspace
After ending his call, Lynn turned to the agents around him.
"Everyone, listen up."
The cabin fell silent.
"This mission was a success. Clean, efficient, no losses. When we get back, I'll be submitting a request to increase this op's funding by 30%."
Cheers erupted.
"And on top of that, I'll personally recommend everyone here for a one-rank promotion. I'll handle the paperwork myself—signatures, approvals, everything."
The cheer turned into a full-on celebration. Laughter, whoops, even a couple of high-fives across the cabin.
"You're the best, boss!"
"Hall for President!"
"I'm finally getting bumped to S12! Boss, I swear, if you want my ass, it's yours—"
"Shut the hell up," Lynn replied with a grin, flipping him the bird.
The cabin roared with laughter.
But Lynn's eyes quickly shifted—his real work wasn't done yet.
He walked to the rear, where one of the Middle Eastern men sat quietly, still processing everything that had happened.
Lynn sat across from him.
"You believe me now?" he asked calmly.
Back before the mission began, Lynn had made a promise: one of them would be allowed to stay in the Middle East. So during the op, this one had been left aboard the Quinjet, under watch.
"Yes," the man said without hesitation. "You're a man of your word."
He'd considered the idea of having his partner report back to their militia and try to rescue him, but the Quinjet had never left the sky. No one could get near it. And besides—his people cared more about retaking their homeland than rescuing a single man.
Lynn leaned in.
"When we get back, I'll make sure you have legal papers. You'll be free to live in New York."
The man's eyes went wide. His lips trembled.
"Thank you… sir."
Lynn didn't respond with words. He simply stood, gave the man a nod, and walked back to his team.
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