As the sun dipped below the jagged Afghan horizon, painting the dunes in bruised hues of purple and blood orange, Bagram Airfield buzzed with the restless hum of transport planes and evening patrols. But inside the secluded hangar Tony Stark had commandeered, the silence was absolute. He ensured the heavy steel door was electronically deadbolted, cutting off the world.
With a conducting wave of his hand, the reinforced crates he had brought under "private security" guard unlocked with a synchronized click. The lids hissed open.
The components of the Mark III rose into the air, caught in the invisible grip of Tony's Alpha Level Magnetism. They floated around him in a metallic orbital dance, the gold and hot rod red gleaming under the hangar lights, before snapping onto his body with pressurized precision. The suit felt lighter than air, humming with an energy that felt less like a battery and more like an extension of his own pulse.
"JARVIS, initiate a silent vertical takeoff," Tony whispered, the HUD of his helmet flickering to life in a flurry of multi spectral data. "Keep the repulsor output in the blue spectrum to minimize visual detection. We're going off grid."
"Systems green, Sir," the AI replied, its voice crisp in his ear. "The military radar is currently being looped with a ghost signal."
Tony launched. He shot straight up through the retractable skylight of the hangar, a blur of motion that vanished into the darkening sky before the soldiers on the tarmac could even look up to check the source of the wind.
The moment Tony breached the perimeter of the canyon base where the Ten Rings were regrouping, the world slowed to a rhythmic crawl. Bullet Time engaged. Through his Eye Boy vision, the dark desert floor lit up into a neon bright map of heat signatures, structural weak points and the density of every scrap of metal for miles.
"JARVIS, paint the targets," Tony commanded, his voice cold.
As the first group of terrorists on the perimeter scrambled for their rifles, reacting to the sudden displacement of air, Tony swept his arm across the empty space. His Magnetism seized the iron in the barrels of their AK 47s. With a sharp twist of his wrist, the cold steel groaned and snapped like dry twigs in their hands. The insurgents stared in horror at their mangled weapons, but before they could even process the impossibility, Tony was already moving.
He wove through a hail of incoming fire from a heavy machine gun nest. To the terrorists, he was a crimson blur, a demon of speed, to Tony, the bullets were glowing hornets drifting past his head. He reached out and gripped the air, focusing his magnetic power on the large ammo belt feeding the gun. With a violent jerk, he reversed the polarity of the feed mechanism. The belt jammed, the rounds crushed together and the gun's internal mechanism shattered under its own pressure, exploding in a shower of sparks.
"Sir, three targets at ten o'clock, high elevation. They are preparing a shoulder mounted launcher," JARVIS alerted, a tactical reticle flashing red in Tony's HUD.
Tony extended his left hand. He used his magnetism to "catch" the rocket the moment it left the tube. The projectile hovered in mid air, vibrating violently in a magnetic bottle just inches from the launcher. The terrorists on the ridge froze, their eyes bulging.
With a cold flick of his fingers, Tony released the hold, reversing the vector. The rocket screamed back into the ledge, collapsing the stone and the insurgents along with it in a cloud of dust and fire.
He moved through the camp like a phantom reaper. He used his thrusters as kinetic hammers, landing in the center of a group and releasing a Magnetic Radial Pulse. The shockwave sent every metallic object, knives, grenades, belt buckles, rifle magazines, flying outward with the force of a shrapnel blast, incapacitating a dozen men in a single heartbeat.
"Structural analysis complete," JARVIS chimed. "The main command center is behind the reinforced blast door at the end of this corridor."
Tony walked forward, the metal floor beneath his boots warping and groaning as his sheer magnetic presence intensified. Any terrorist who tried to stand in his way found their sidearms ripped from their holsters and crushed into scrap metal before they could even find the trigger. By the time he reached the door to the inner sanctum, the exterior camp was a graveyard of broken machinery and disarmed men, silenced by a power they couldn't begin to comprehend.
Inside the command center, the terrorist leader Raza sat in front of a flickering satellite monitor, his face twisted in fury. On the screen was the grainy image of Obadiah Stane, sitting comfortably in his office in New York.
"You lied to me, Stane!" Raza hissed, slamming his fist on the table. "You said he was a pampered bird in a cage! My men were wiped out in minutes by ghosts. He had his own Special Forces waiting for us. My operation is in ruins!"
Obadiah's expression remained mask like, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of irritation. "You were paid to be efficient, Raza. If you couldn't handle a few retired soldiers, perhaps you aren't the partner I thought you were."
"I want more money!" Raza screamed, spittle flying. "I want double for the blood of my brothers, or I will release everything I have on you to the…"
Raza froze.
A metallic hum began to vibrate through the cave walls. It was a deep throb that set the dust dancing on the table.
The reinforced steel doors of the command center groaned. Then, with a screech of tearing metal, they crumpled inward like tin foil, ripped from their hinges by an invisible hand.
Tony stepped through the dust. To Raza and the flickering image of Stane, he was a crimson and gold predator with glowing eyes.
Stane's jaw dropped as he watched through the monitor. He saw a suit of armor that looked sleek, advanced, decades ahead of anything in the Stark R&D labs. "What... what is that?" Obadiah whispered to himself, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was looking at the death of his plans.
To Tony, the room was moving in slow motion. He saw Raza reaching for a sidearm on the table. With Eye Boy precision, Tony saw the firing pin, the spring and the hammer inside the weapon.
Using his Magnetism, Tony seized the metal of Raza's own pistol. The gun flew from the table, twisted in the air and aimed itself back at its owner. Before Raza could even scream, the trigger was depressed by an invisible force.
Bang.
Raza fell. Silence reclaimed the cave, save for the panicked breathing of Obadiah Stane on the screen.
Tony walked to the console. He didn't look at the camera, keeping his helmeted face angled away to preserve the mystery, but he knew Stane was watching. He plugged a data spike into the satellite link.
"JARVIS, dump it all. Every transaction, every offshore account, every encrypted message between Stane and the Ten Rings."
"Transferring now, Sir. It is... quite a trail of breadcrumbs."
On the other end of the line, Obadiah realized the danger. He saw the "Iron Man" glance toward the screen, the blue light of the eyes burning into him. In a panic, Stane smashed the disconnect button, the monitor going black. He sat in his dark office in New York, sweating, what kind of God he had just accidentally summoned.
Tony turned back to the cave. Through the rock walls, his vision revealed the stockpiles hidden in the adjacent caverns—thousands of Stark branded crates, missiles and Jericho prototypes.
He walked out of the cave and hovered a hundred feet in the air, the night wind howling around the suit. He raised his arm, the internal guidance system locking onto every thermal signature of his own stolen weapons.
"Time to clean the warehouse," Tony muttered.
He fired a specialized magnetic incendiary rocket. As it hit the center of the camp, Tony used his power to "pull" the blast radius inward, concentrating the thermal energy into a super dense singularity before releasing it.
A massive fireball climbed into the night sky, vaporizing every missile, mortar and crate with the Stark name on it. The shockwave was felt miles away. By the time the dust settled, there was nothing left but scorched earth and glass.
Tony banked hard, his thrusters flaring blue, disappearing into the clouds before the first military scout could even look toward the horizon.