Tony Stark breathed heavily, and the water running over his mouth jetted upwards, spewing lazily against the wall as he sighed. He ran his hands along the places where the assassin's knife has cut his skin. Beneath the dry and coagulated blood, there was nothing but perfect flesh. Wiping the residue of his wounds away as if they had been cured by some wayward messiah, Stark blinked several times, trying to force the memories of the attack on his life out of his head. He couldn't, though. What mortal man could? Whoever it was who had tried to kill Tony Stark had, in reality, succeeded. It was merely by the way of his birthright, the genetic anomaly that had lined his body with regenerating neural tissue, that had kept Stark alive. He ran a hand through his hair and down the side of his face, almost afraid to reach for his throat, where the deadly shot had been fired. He took a deep breath, and brushed the congealed blood off of his neck.
Trying not to let his mind wander, Stark turned the water off and stepped through the glass sliding door onto the tile floor of his bathroom. Waiting for him on the granite counter top was a silver tray of scotch, complete with a glass of ice. He poured discarded the glass and picked up the bottle. Taking a long swig from the bottle, he glanced at his phone, reading the display.
ONE NEW MESSAGE
He held the phone to his ear, drinking from the bottle again, trying not to vomit as the liquor surged down his throat. He recognized Clint Barton's voice immediately.
"Stark? Look man, it's Clint. I'm happy you're alive and everything, but you need to get up off of your ass and help us here man. We're being invaded by a foreign power, so don--."
Stark closed the phone opened the door to his bathroom. Stepping through the dark hallway towards his bedroom, Stark tossed his cellular phone onto his bed and picked up a remote control. Pressing a button carelessly, Stark watched as one of the walls dissolved into glass windows. He stared out over Manhattan from his penthouse, watching as portals spread across the city, all overshadowed by the behemoth-sized airship hovering ominously over New York. Stark's eyes seemed glazed over as he looked. It was as if what he saw just wasn't registering. The contents of the bottle continued to grow lesser as he took yet another long drink. He pressed another button and a portion of the window displayed MSNBC.
He pulled on a polo t-shirt and slacks. He slipped on a pair of Italian shoes and stepped into his living room. He stepped lightly down a silver staircase, located in one corner of the room. His pace slowed as he reached the bottom of the staircase, staring into the room that lay below the main floor of his apartment. He took another large drink from the bottle, finishing it and dropping it carelessly to the ground. Dozens of TV monitors lined the room. Some with Iron Man prototype armor designs, others with news headlines in dozens of languages. One screen was running various searches of government databases, scanning for any fingerprint matches on the Chameleon. Stark took a few steps forward and sat down in the leather chair situated in the middle of the consoles and monitors.
He stared forward for several minutes, barely moving. He simply sat there, with his hand on his chin. On the desk next to him was the faceplate of one of his Iron Man helmets, along with several more empty bottles.
"Been hitting the midnight oil again, I see." The voice of Jim Rhodes carried across the room.
"Yep." Stark said flatly.
"Jarvis let me in. Any luck?" Rhodes asked, nodding to the scans of AFIS as Stark looked for the Chameleon and his known associates.
"Am I in the suit?"
"Nope."
"Well, there you go."
"How long are you going to keep..." Rhodes picked up one of the bottles, and looked at the screens again,
"This up?"
"However long it takes."
"Alright." Rhodes sighed, placing his hands on his hips.
A silence passed between the two of them, as Stark stared at the screens some more. All of the news broadcasts showed Doctor Doom's airship hovering dangerously over the city.
"What's he want?" Stark asked.
"Dunno." Rhodes said,
"Hasn't contacted anyone from what I've heard."
"But he's closing up the portals."
"Yep."
The pair sat quietly for a moment, the matter-of-fact nature of their conversation settling in the air. Rhodes muttered quietly,
"You gotta go up there, Tony."
"Don't." Stark said sharply.
"Just... Don't."
"Victor van Damme is flying around the city, doing God knows what, and Iron Man isn't going to do anything about it?"
Stark spun around, and stood up angrily glaring at his oldest friend.
"Iron Man isn't real, Rhodey." He said,
"The name 'Iron Man' hasn't got the clout to protect my god damned secretary, let alone an entire city."
"Is this about Pepper?" Rhodes asked, quietly, fully aware of the answer.
"What?" Stark hissed.
"Is it abo--"
"Of course it is!"
In a sudden burst of anger, Stark snatched a bottle and heaved it towards one of the monitors, cracking both.
"What else would it be about, Jim?"
Tony stormed past Rhodes, headed for the stairs.
"That wasn't your fault!" Jim said, following Tony up the stairs.
Stark scoffed.
"Whose fault would it be?" He asked snidely,
"My employee, my company, my name, my city. The only reason Pepper is missing today is because she was my secretary yesterday. If the blame for that can't be heaved upon me, then with whom else does it belong?"
He snatched another bottle from his kitchen, barely glancing at the label.
"Tony," Rhodes said, taking a step towards the billionaire,
"I understand how much Pepper means to you, but why has this become so personal? Why now?"
Stark's breathing was heavy as he stared out of the window, looking over the city. The unopened bottle was in his grasp, and he didn't so much as move to tear the paper of its pristine label. He stared out, over the city, with the eerie glow of the window shining over him as he spoke.
"In the last day, I've been gutted, shot, and brought back from the dead." He sighed,
"I shouldn't be alive right now, unless it's because there's one last thing I'm meant to do. I don't know about fate, and I've never been one to believe in destiny, but something kept me alive. Maybe it was to stop van Damme, maybe it was to kick that megalomaniac Osborn into next week. For years, I teetered on the brink of moral ambiguity, looking the other way for the sole sake of making sure I didn't see what was going on if I didn't. But now, this... Making sure Pepper Potts gets back here alive..."
He turned to face Rhodes, placing the bottle on the windowsill.
"That just feels right."
"Then that's what we'll do." Rhodes said,
"But, Tony, right now, there are 8 million New Yorkers out there, looking to the skies. And when they do, all they see are villains and conquerors. Victor van Damme is in the skies. Norman Osborn is in the street. Iron Man is nowhere to be found."
He nodded quietly to himself, choosing his words carefully.
"I'm sorry, but this is one time when you can't look the other way."
As much as he didn't want to admit it, to live the life of Iron Man and Tony Stark, Anthony knew that Jim was right. Touting himself as a hero in the media was only good for so long. Eventually, the time would come when he would have to stand up and be counted for what he was. The time would come when he would have to recognize his own principles, and whether or not he had the courage to stand up for them.
"Is Iron Man VI ready?" Stark asked, staring at the approaching airship.
"Fueled and ready to go, last time I checked." Rhodes said.
"Good." Stark muttered, heading for his bedroom. He pulled out a button down shirt, and a fine black blazer. He grabbed a pair of designer sunglasses from his nightstand and made his way back to his living room.
He picked up a piece of paper and scrawled a few lines onto it.
"I need you to make these modifications to the suit."
"Shouldn't be a problem." Rhodes said, looking at the mundane requests.
"Where're you going?"
Stark pressed a button on the wall, summoning his private elevator. He entered, and marked his destination as the roof.
"I need to talk to Victor van Damme."
Rhodes immediately took a step forward, ready to get on the elevator with Tony.
"Sorry, Jim." Stark said, holding his hand up.
"Gotta do this one alone."
Rhodes nodded and held up the list, half smiling as he did so.
The doors closed, and Stark stood quietly as his elevator lurched upwards. He adjusted his suit, shifting silently until the elevator reached the roof. He stepped out of the transport, onto the roof of his building, where a Stark Industries chopper sat waiting for him, as was customary.
He pulled himself aboard, the lone passenger of the craft, and entered a security code into a panel on his seat. As Stark slid his blazer off and rolled up his sleeves, the high-tech seat shifted and molded itself to the contours of his body, as wires and tubes connected to the plugs in his arm. A HUD illuminated itself on the glass, and the chopper welcomed him. He pulled up on the joystick, and a targeting reticule followed his eyes as he glanced around the city's skyline. Easing the chopper into the sky, Stark made his way for van Damme's craft.
Stark's trip to the massive skycraft was short, and van Damme undoubtedly knew the billionaire was on his way. The craft touched down quietly on the landing platform of the ship, and Stark stepped out, pulling his blazer on. The wind swirled, and it was hard to keep a footing, but he saw a group of robotic soldiers headed his way. In response, he merely held out his hands, trying to show that he had no weapon.
"So..." He called to the robots, shouting over the roar of the engines and wind currents,
"Where's Jean Claude?"
