Tony’s Call for Help

Malibu Mountain, Los Angeles, California. "City of Freedom." Tony Stark’s private villa.

Underground parking garage.

The renovated luxury garage had become a secret area where no one was allowed to enter, except Pepper ‘Little Chili’ Potts.

Old Wang’s treatment had freed Tony from the threat of death, but the few lines on that A4 sheet had made him suspicious and wary of everything around him. He did not dare let anyone know about his research into Mark 2.

Mark 2 was far beyond anything Mark 1 could compare to. The difference between them was practically the difference between himself and Justin Hammer.

With the help of his AI butler, J.A.R.V.I.S., he researched day and night, calculated, built new models, ordered custom parts from major companies outside Stark Industries, and added plenty of DIY work by hand. After more than a hundred failures, Mark 2 finally took shape.

The test flight just now had been a success, aside from accidentally flying too high, freezing into an ice cube, and nearly falling to his death.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., contact Sith Company. Use the Gold-Titanium Alloy from the Angel Tactical Satellite for the outer shell."

Tony quickly came up with a solution.

Looking at the pictures Master Wang had sent during the flight, Tony’s brow furrowed tightly.

He truly hoped Obadiah had not done it. Stark Industries would never have become what it was today without Obadiah’s help.

Especially during the years after his father’s sudden death. If Obadiah had not kept the company’s old guard and shareholders in line, Stark Industries might have fallen into becoming a first-rate arms manufacturer, following in Hammer Industries’ footsteps.

Stark Industries was his father’s life’s work, and Obadiah’s too. What exactly did he want?

At his age, why not enjoy the rest of his life? Were power and wealth really that important?

"This year, the Disney Concert Hall has been carpeted in red. Mr. Tony Stark will make his third donation to the Firefighters’ Families Fund. This is Los Angeles high society’s annual gathering, and Mr. Obadiah Stane will attend on Mr. Stark’s behalf…"

"Following Mr. Stark’s extreme remarks at the press conference, some have speculated that he is suffering from mental issues. He has reportedly been bedridden for several weeks, and his current condition is worrying…"

The latest news appeared on the screen. Tony, who had always been proud and loved showing off, restrained the urge to crash the event.

"So Obadiah isn’t at headquarters?"

Tony rose and took a sip of water. As he walked toward a luxury supercar, he said, "J.A.R.V.I.S., hurry and finish the design drawings for Mark 3. Install it as soon as the Gold-Titanium Alloy arrives."

"Sir, where are you going?"

"Headquarters!"

The future Stark Tower had not yet been built. Stark Industries’ headquarters was still in northern Los Angeles, not far from the "City of Freedom."

Tony soon arrived at headquarters.

Though everyone was surprised by the boss’s sudden appearance, no one dared stop him.

One security guard watched the boss enter the building, took out his phone, and sent Obadiah a text message.

Tony knew the place like the back of his hand. He quickly reached his office, opened the company mainframe, and entered his account and password.

"Access denied?"

"Obadiah really altered my permissions?"

Instead, Tony felt relieved and made up his mind.

He pulled out a USB drive from his pocket and plugged it in.

The cracking software he had prepared long ago quickly began breaking through the company firewall. The slowly creeping progress bar on the screen made him uneasy.

Second by second, time passed. The crack was finally complete.

He hurriedly typed on the keyboard and searched. Before long, he found the recent shipping orders in the hidden files.

"July 7th. Order from Colonel Rhodes of the Department of Defense: AIR-2 air-to-air missiles…"

"August 12th. Order from General Ross of the Air Force: Sonic Cannons…"

"September 4th. Order from African warlord Sowande: automatic rifles…"

Line after line of numbers was horrifying.

Aside from the United States government, military, police, and those special agencies, Stark Industries had actually been trading with other forces all along—even terrorist organizations?

As he continued reading, Tony suddenly froze.

"October 22nd. Ten Rings in Afghanistan: Jericho Missiles…"

Ten Rings… could that be the terrorist organization that had attacked and kidnapped him?

The final line on the A4 sheet Master Wang had left behind surfaced in his mind again:

"Watch out for Obadiah."

Tony frowned deeply. Could Obadiah really have colluded with the Ten Rings and tried to kill me?

A video suddenly popped up. It was the recording he had been forced to make during his kidnapping, along with an audio clip.

"You never told me the man you wanted dead was Tony Stark!"

"Obadiah, you’ll pay for your lies!"

"The price for killing Tony Stark just went up!"

Every word was like a knife stabbing into Tony’s heart.

"Damn it!"

Tony hurriedly pulled out his phone.

He was about to call Pepper ‘Little Chili’ Potts or Happy, but hesitated.

The "City of Freedom" was neither too far nor too close from headquarters. Pepper and Happy would not make it in time.

Mark 3 was still being designed, and Mark 2 had a few problems. There was no time to bring it over, and even if they did, it would be useless. Without J.A.R.V.I.S.’s complete set of equipment, he had no way to put it on.

Contact the police or military?

Setting aside whether they could arrive in time.

Even if they could, the military, which had long been dissatisfied with him, might prefer Obadiah to take control of Stark Industries because he was willing to continue producing weapons.

From the day he announced that Stark Industries would shut down its weapons division, he had already placed himself in opposition to the Department of Defense, the military, Obadiah, and even every shareholder of Stark Industries.

Pepper had been right. He was courting death.

Obadiah might already be on his way here.

What should he do?

His finger swiped across the screen, and a number caught his eye.

"Master Wang is in New York. This is Los Angeles—more than four thousand kilometers apart. He won’t make it in time…"

Tony sighed and dialed.

Then he suddenly heard footsteps.

Tony’s heart stirred. He quickly hid his hands behind his back and turned the ringtone down to the lowest volume.

The door opened.

Obadiah walked in.

Darkhold Laboratory.

"Uh, everything else is done. There’s just one formula that has a problem. Maybe I’ll solve it tomorrow, or maybe I’ll never solve it in my life."

Fitz paced back and forth, frowning as he tapped his head. "It’s the most critical formula. As long as I get the answer, I can design equipment for brain mapping and memory uploading within a week. But I just can’t solve it. What do I do…"

Old Wang tapped the table.

There was uncertainty involved too? Why did this feel like those college entrance exam math problems back then—either you suddenly thought of the solution the next second, or you never figured it out before the exam ended…

Fitz looked ashamed. "Boss, I’m sorry. My abilities are limited, and I’ve failed your trust. Perhaps you should hire a more capable top scientist, like Dr. Pym Hank, or Dr. Bruce Banner, who disappeared long ago…"

Ring, ring, ring!

The phone rang. On the screen was a gold-and-red steel helmet.

"Tony? What does he want with me?"

Old Wang answered, and two voices came through.

"Tony, without that suit of armor, it looks like you’re going to die here today."

"Obadiah, are you really going to kill me? This is Stark Industries headquarters. There are surveillance cameras everywhere. If you kill me, do you think you’ll get away with it? Don’t get worked up. Let’s sit down and talk. Talk this through properly…"

Old Wang was stunned.

Tony and Obadiah had gone head-to-head?

At this point, Iron Monger had not even begun development yet, right? Tony had run right into Stark headquarters, straight into the lion’s den, without even bringing the Iron Man suit. What was he thinking?

"Another Teleportation wasted."

Old Wang sighed.

Just as he was about to exchange for it—

His brows suddenly rose, and he looked up at the sky.

Beyond the reach of the naked eye, a missile was flying toward them.

An unprecedented crisis had arrived!

Thanks to Ziyuan882 for the 100 reward!