"We are not cowards, but what we are facing now is a terror beyond comprehension. It has no banner, no unified face—"
In Tony Stark's underground laboratory, the President of the United States was delivering a national address on the holographic news screen.
However, the President's somber face was suddenly covered by static, and immediately after, a bizarre image forcibly cut in.
The background of the image looked like an ancient Eastern temple, with a man in robes, sporting a long beard, and wearing rings on every finger, sitting upright in a chair.
His voice, processed through a voice changer, carried a hoarse majesty, like an ancient oracle.
"Some call me a terrorist, but I consider myself a teacher. United States, your war games are over. Because I have arrived."
Behind the man, an emblem consisting of two crossed scimitars and Ten Rings was clearly branded onto the wall.
The Ten Rings.
"Clang—"
The high-precision torque wrench in Tony's hand slipped, hitting the cold floor with a sharp sound.
In the laboratory, the mechanical arms controlled by Jarvis were still methodically assembling armor parts, the welding sparks and the hum of motors weaving into an industrial symphony.
But Tony couldn't hear anything anymore. The moment he saw that emblem, his World was stripped of all sound, leaving only the muffled, frantic thumping of his heart in his chest.
The cave in Afghanistan, cold, damp, mixed with the smell of motor oil and blood. Car batteries, crude tools, and that electromagnet on his chest that could take his life at any moment.
That emblem had been printed on the flags waved by the Terrorists who kidnapped him, and on the armbands of every tormentor before his eyes.
That was where his nightmare began.
"My name is The Mandarin."
On the television, the man calling himself "The Mandarin" declared the arrival of the next attack in a preaching tone. The screen switched again to show the tragic scene of a military Base bombed into ruins, flames soaring into the sky, and thick smoke billowing.
Tony suddenly raised his hand and swiped at the air.
"Jarvis, turn it off."
The holographic screen vanished instantly, and the laboratory returned to its original lighting. But the chill brought from that cave had already crawled up his spine, clutching his heart.
He thought he had buried that past with his Iron Man armor, but now, the past had come knocking on his door.
"Sir, your heart rate has exceeded 140 beats per minute, and your blood pressure is rising sharply." Jarvis's voice was emotionless, yet it made Tony feel more irritated than any comfort could.
"I'm fine."
He bent down to pick up the wrench and tightened a bolt again, but his trembling fingers made this simple action incredibly difficult.
Meanwhile, at the Stark Industries headquarters building.
Happy Hogan, former personal bodyguard and current Head of Security, was staring at the wall of surveillance monitors with a serious expression.
He was wearing a crisp suit, with a brand-new ID badge hanging on his chest, his chin shaved smooth, trying hard to look worthy of this new title.
His duties had shifted from watching over that troublesome boss twenty-four hours a day to safeguarding the security of all of Stark Industries, especially—protecting Miss Potts.
On the screen, Pepper was talking with a visitor in the meeting room. The man was named Aldrich Killian, a guy who claimed to be a scientist.
He was handsome, had a witty way of speaking, and his hair was combed meticulously. Happy watched him on the monitor and couldn't stand the sight of him, no matter how he looked at him.
Killian was showing Pepper a holographic projection, which was a glowing structure of a brain.
"Extremis. It can unlock the discarded repair instructions in our brains, enabling limb regeneration, and even rewriting the DNA of the entire organism." Killian's voice was full of allure.
Pepper was listening very attentively, with a professional smile and curiosity on her face.
Happy pursed his lips in the monitoring room. Limb regeneration? That sounded like someone selling fake medicine on the street.
He looked at Killian's overly enthusiastic face, and watched the distance between him and Pepper closing, a nameless fire rising up within him.
He took out his phone and dialed Tony's number. The phone rang for a long time before it was answered.
"What is it?" Tony's voice sounded distant, with the harsh sound of metal grinding in the background.
"Boss, it's me, Happy." Happy lowered his voice, like a snitching elementary school student.
"There's a guy named Killian harassing Pepper. He says he can make people grow new arms and legs. I think he's just a con artist, looks like a male model, doesn't seem like a good guy. Do you want to—"
"I'm busy right now, Happy." Tony interrupted him impatiently.
"Pepper can handle it. If he's really harassing her, have her call security directly. You are security."
The phone was hung up.
Happy held the phone, stunned in place. He knew his boss hadn't been in a good state recently, but this feeling of being ignored still hurt him deeply.
He, Happy Hogan, Head of Security for Stark Industries, surely he didn't lack even that much judgment of character?
No, the boss couldn't be counted on, and Pepper was too kind; he had to investigate this matter himself.
From that day on, Happy kept an eye on Killian. Using his position, he pulled all of Killian's files and discovered that he was the scientist Tony had stood up at a New Year's party in Switzerland in 1999, but everything else was suspiciously clean.
This only made him more suspicious. How could a true genius scientist have absolutely no dirt on him?
The opportunity came soon.
A few nights later, Happy noticed Killian's driver and bodyguard, a man named Eric Savin, driving away alone.
Happy had seen this Savin before; his eyes were fierce, always making him feel uncomfortable. He didn't think twice, got in his own car, and followed him from a distance.
Savin's car drove all the way to the Chinese Theatre in Hollywood. The entrance of the theater was packed with people and brightly lit; a premiere for some movie was being held.
Savin didn't go in; instead, he stopped in a dark corner on the side of the theater, carrying a silver briefcase, and walked into the crowd.
Happy parked his car on the side of the road and followed him. He squeezed through the excited fans and tourists, his eyes locked firmly on Savin's tall back.
Savin finally stopped in a secluded corridor, where another man was standing.
The man looked very nervous, pale, his forehead covered in sweat, and he kept rubbing his hands.
"Did you bring the stuff?" the man asked eagerly. His name was Jack Taggart.
Savin opened the briefcase expressionlessly. Inside the case, there was no money, nor weapons, but rows of shimmering syringes filled with some kind of glowing liquid.
"This is the latest dosage." Savin took out a syringe and handed it to Taggart.
"Take it, and your problem will be solved."
Taggart took the syringe, his hand shaking violently, as if it were some kind of lifeline.
Happy hid behind the corner, his heart pounding. The virus! That so-called "Extremis" of Killian's! They were actually conducting a transaction in a place like this!
He took a deep breath, straightened his tie, and felt like a lone hero in a movie. He couldn't wait any longer; he had to get the evidence.
He strode out and blocked the path in front of the two men.
"Hey! You two, mind letting me see what's in your hands?" Happy struck a pose he thought was intimidating and patted the gun that wasn't actually on his waist.
Taggart was startled, and the syringe in his hand almost dropped to the ground. Savin's gaze instantly turned cold; he recognized Happy.
"Stark's lackey."
"Head of Security," Happy corrected, reaching out to grab the briefcase.
"According to regulations, items from illegal, suspicious, and shady transactions like yours need to be temporarily confiscated by me."
Savin's reaction was much faster than his. He didn't dodge, but instead swung a punch directly at Happy's face.
Happy had practiced boxing, after all, and subconsciously raised his arm to block. But the force of the punch far exceeded his imagination, as if he had been struck by an iron hammer, and his entire arm went numb.
"You—"
Before Happy could finish his sentence, Savin's second punch had already landed. He couldn't react in time, only feeling a sharp pain in his abdomen, and his whole body curled up like a boiled shrimp.
Savin didn't stop; he grabbed Happy's collar, lifted him up like a little chick, and slammed him hard against the wall nearby.
"Bang!"
Happy's back of the head hit the wall, and stars danced before his eyes. But his stubbornness kicked in, and he held onto Savin's arm for dear life.
He caught a glimpse of Taggart running away in the chaos, and only one thought remained in his mind: don't let him take the case.
"Let go." Savin's voice carried no warmth.
"You let go first—"
Savin didn't give him any chance to talk nonsense, gripping his throat with his other hand. A sense of suffocation surged instantly, and Happy's face turned liver-colored.
Just when he thought he was going to die there, he used his last bit of strength to kick at Savin's knee.
Savin didn't seem to expect him to still have the strength to resist; his knee went soft, and the force in his hand loosened by half.
Happy seized this gap, violently broke free, and stumbled toward the briefcase that had been dropped on the ground.
He was no match for Savin, but he had to get the item. This was his duty as Head of Security, and also his promise to Tony and Pepper.
He hugged the case, but before he could steady himself, a massive force came from behind.
Savin kicked him in the back, sending Happy flying, landing heavily on the steps at the entrance of the theater, and the briefcase flew out of his hand, rolling a few times on the ground.
The surrounding tourists let out gasps and backed away.
Happy struggled to get up, but coughed up a mouthful of blood. He watched Savin walking over step by step, a cruel smile appearing on that cold face for the first time.