Somewhere in the deserts of the Middle East.
A Jericho missile exploded in a shower of cluster munitions, striking a mountain peak with deadly precision. The resulting blast sent shockwaves across the dunes, kicking up sand and debris, forcing onlookers to shield their eyes and steady their footing.
A scar-faced man stood tall amidst the blast winds, a cigar clenched between his lips. He squinted at the explosion's aftermath. The ember on his cigar glowed even brighter in the gusting air.
"The Jericho missile," a man in military fatigues explained proudly, "the widow of Stark Industries' weapons division. Ever since Stark Industries announced its complete shutdown of weapon manufacturing, the Jericho missile became a collector's item. Only two places still have stock: the U.S. military's vaults… and us."
The man in fatigues was no ordinary arms dealer. He belonged to one of the most infamous weapons-smuggling organizations in the world—a name whispered in black markets since the '90s. Today, he was pitching one of their most prized relics.
The scar-faced man he was selling to? The new warlord of this region. Two years ago, when Gene had obliterated the real Mandarin in a single strike, the previously united factions under the Mandarin fractured into chaos. In that power vacuum, the scar-faced warlord rose—by doing one thing better than the rest: killing.
"You've seen what this missile can do," the dealer smirked. "So, what do you think? Worth your coin, right?"
The scar-faced man took a long puff of his cigar. "Sure, we're interested. But let's not pretend—these are years-old products. Even with the Stark Industries label, that doesn't change the fact they're outdated."
He paused, narrowing his eyes. "And let's be honest—Stark's brand doesn't shine like it used to. Back in the day, even a regular revolver with a Stark logo could cause a bidding war. But now?"
"Times have changed. Mason Industries has taken Stark's place. They're now the top supplier to the U.S. Defense Department. Word is, Mason's tech is a whole generation ahead."
The dealer's smile twitched. "You're not wrong. But the Jericho is still Stark's crown jewel. I'd argue even five or six years from now, it'll remain top-tier. As for Mason Industries?" His voice dropped into a wary whisper. "Nobody—nobody—in the global arms network has managed to get their hands on Gene Mason's tech."
He gulped. "Rumor has it Mason Industries has powerful backers. A massive international force protecting them. No one dares touch them. Anyone who tried… is dead."
The warlord exhaled a smoky ring. "Still, that doesn't justify a premium. You want top dollar? Bring me top-shelf weapons."
The arms dealer opened his mouth to argue—but before he could, a red beam of light pierced the air and struck a pile of nearby weapons.
A secondary explosion engulfed the area, vaporizing the surrounding militants before they even realized what hit them. Within moments, screams erupted.
"Enemy attack!" someone yelled in the local tongue.
Hovering in the sky, Iron Man observed the scene, his HUD tagging each weapon below. Practically every single one bore the mocking mark of "Stark Industries."
"Nice gear," Tony Stark muttered, "Shame they've got my name on them."
"It only shows you're still popular," J.A.R.V.I.S. replied dryly.
"I'd rather be popular with New York's women, not terrorist organizations," Tony quipped, firing repulsor blasts while dodging return fire with ease.
His palm-mounted cannons cut through the militants like scythes through wheat. The only reason he'd found this hidden arms deal was because a mysterious figure kept sending him anonymous emails—each pointing to fresh conflict zones around the globe.
And despite Tony's best efforts, he still couldn't trace the sender. Whoever they were, they were like a digital ghost.
"Sir, someone's approaching. Fast," J.A.R.V.I.S. warned.
"Faster than us?" Tony asked, glancing at the radar.
"Faster than us," J.A.R.V.I.S. confirmed.
A sleek black figure shot across the sky like a bolt, cutting through clouds and smoke. Clad in pitch-black armor, Black Devil descended like a comet, twin repulsors glowing like blades of blue plasma. Wherever he flew, chaos ended. The terrorists stood no chance.
Tony raised an eyebrow. "Alright... what's this all about?"
Black Devil landed nearby. "A very serious issue, Mr. Stark," Gene's synthesized voice buzzed through the helmet. "There's a name we need to talk about. Tell me—are you familiar with... Ultron?"
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