The cave felt smaller now—as though the walls themselves were closing in, squeezing the last ounces of air from the suffocating space. It was the seventh day.
Seven days of grueling work, stolen moments of sleep, sweat-soaked hours, and relentless fear. And today, the storm outside was finally breaking.
Gunshots rang out.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Each crack of a rifle echoed off the stone walls like a distant scream, and every shot sent a shiver of dread crawling up Tony Stark's spine. He worked faster, his hands moving with mechanical precision despite the sweat slicking his fingers.
"Tell me that's not coming closer," Tony muttered, his voice tight, trying to force some semblance of normalcy into the tension.
Yinsen, hunched over the small, battered computer on the workbench, didn't look up. His hands danced across the keyboard, wiring configurations flashing on the screen.
"I could tell you that," He said calmly, the usual placid veneer of his voice cracking only slightly, "but I think you'd prefer the truth."
"Oh good," Tony quipped, checking the welds on his armored glove for the twentieth time. "Because I love bad news."
Bang!
Another shot. Closer this time.
Tony's chest tightened. The armored suit he wore was only half finished, cobbled together from scraps and desperation. Its joints squealed when he moved, and it weighed on him like a metal coffin. He tugged at the armpiece, wincing as its weight settled over his shoulder.
It's not ready, He thought bitterly. I'm not ready.
"Yinsen!" He barked, louder than intended. "How much longer?"
Yinsen's fingers never stopped moving, though his voice was calm as ever. "Three minutes. Maybe four."
"We don't have three minutes," Tony snapped, glancing toward the bolted door. Beyond it, the chaos was growing. Men shouting, feet pounding against the rocky ground, bursts of automatic gunfire ripping through the air like thunder.
He could feel it—death. It was coming for them, and it wouldn't knock politely before breaking down that door.
The suit felt heavier with every passing second, pressing down on Tony like the weight of his sins. Each joint—crudely welded together and barely functional—creaked with every movement.
A far cry from the sleek machines he was used to, the ones he had built to destroy without ever getting his hands dirty.
This isn't what I do, Tony thought, biting the inside of his cheek as he tested the hydraulics on the suit's right arm. I build bombs. I sell them. I don't—
The gunfire outside swelled into a chorus of chaos.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Tony flinched, his heart lurching in his chest. He stared down at the massive armored gauntlet now covering his right hand. In the silence between the gunshots, he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears like a drum.
"You're quiet," Yinsen murmured suddenly, breaking Tony's spiral of thoughts. He turned to see the older man watching him, his lined face unreadable. "Not like you."
"Yeah, well," Tony exhaled sharply, forcing a smirk, "I'm saving my good material for after we're not about to die."
Yinsen's lips quirked, but his eyes remained grave. "You can do this, Tony."
Tony stared at him, startled. "Do what? Wear this tin can like a medieval knight and hope it works? That's your pep talk?"
"Survive."
Tony opened his mouth to retort—another quip, something to deflect the weight of the moment—but his voice caught in his throat. Yinsen's eyes softened.
"You have a good heart, Tony Stark. This is your chance to prove it."
The room seemed to hum with tension now, a low vibration pressing against Tony's skull. His suit clanged with every step as he moved closer to the workbench, hovering near Yinsen like a soldier awaiting orders.
The computer's screen flickered, lines of green text scrolling by as Yinsen ran the final diagnostics.
The old man's hands shook as he typed, but his focus never wavered.
"It's almost ready," Yinsen muttered, sweat dripping down his temple.
"Define 'almost,'" Tony shot back, his tone clipped. "Because I think the guys with the guns are starting to take offense."
As if on cue, a fresh burst of gunfire erupted outside. The walls trembled with the impact of something heavy, and Tony could swear he heard someone screaming. The shouts were muffled but full of anger—or desperation. He couldn't tell anymore.
"Come on, come on, come on," Tony muttered under his breath, pacing in the clunky armor. The hydraulics hissed, a sound far too loud for his liking.
Yinsen's hands moved faster, fingers dancing over the keyboard. "Almost there. Thirty seconds."
"Make it ten."
Yinsen glanced at him, his calm mask cracking just enough for Tony to see the worry beneath. He said nothing, only turned back to the screen.
Then, suddenly, the gunfire stopped.
The silence was worse.
It was the kind of silence that crawled under your skin and clawed at your throat. Tony froze, his heart slamming against his ribcage as he turned to Yinsen.
"Why did it stop?"
Yinsen's hands hesitated for just a moment over the keyboard. He looked at the door, his face pale. "I don't know."
Tony swallowed, his throat dry. "Is the system ready?"
"Not yet," Yinsen whispered.
"Work faster."
Yinsen nodded, his hands moving again.
Tony turned toward the door, every nerve in his body screaming. The air felt heavy, each second stretching into eternity as they waited—for the next shout, the next gunshot, the next sound of boots pounding toward them.
But there was nothing.
Just silence.
Something's wrong, Tony thought, his fingers twitching inside the armored gauntlet. They wouldn't just stop.
Then, a noise.
Clink!
The sound of a bolt being undone.
Tony's breath caught as the sealed door groaned, metal grinding against metal. A sliver of light spilled into the cave as the door began to open, painfully slow.
"Yinsen," Tony hissed, his voice trembling with urgency. "Tell me the system is ready."
Yinsen didn't answer, his focus locked on the screen.
The door opened wider. A figure stepped inside.
The man wore loose black fatigues and a balaclava that covered most of his face, save for his sharp, dark eyes. He paused in the doorway, hands resting casually at his sides. Behind him, the faint sounds of chaos still drifted through the mountain pass, but he seemed utterly unfazed.
"Well, well," The man said, his voice muffled but unmistakably cheerful. His English was perfect. "Tony Stark. I've been looking all over for you."
Tony stared, his pulse hammering in his ears. "Who the hell are you?"
The man pulled down his mask, revealing a cocky grin and a rugged face that was very handsome, its charm further enhanced by the unnerving confidence it radiated. His sharp, piercing gaze locked onto Tony like a predator sizing up its prey.
Tony instinctively clenched his armored fist, the joints in his improvised gauntlet creaking in protest.
"You can call me Seph," The man said, his tone almost unnervingly casual. He took a slow step forward, hands still raised slightly to signal he wasn't armed. "You've made quite the impression, Mr. Stark. Almost brought the whole mountain down trying to find you."
--- ✦ ✦ ✦ ---
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