Chapter 9: The Great Escape
POV: Clark
Dawn came to the Hindu Kush like a blade of light cutting through stone, and Clark moved with it. The Desert Walker Cloak rippled around him like liquid shadow, bending photons and probability until he became something between visible and invisible—a heat shimmer with purpose, a mirage armed with artifacts and desperate hope.
The Ten Rings compound buzzed with the routine of morning prayers and shift changes, guards rotating with military precision while their captives worked in the depths below. Clark had spent three days mapping every patrol route, every blind spot, every moment when chaos could be introduced without detection. Now, as the system countdown hit zero, it was time to test whether careful planning could survive contact with the enemy.
"Weapons malfunction first. Make them think their equipment is failing before they think about sabotage."
Clark slipped through the compound's perimeter like morning mist, the cloak's sand control abilities letting him walk across loose gravel without leaving footprints. He reached the first vehicle—a technical with a mounted machine gun that commanded the compound's main approach—and placed his hands on the weapon's ammunition feed.
The Desert Walker Cloak's power extended beyond invisibility. Sand flowed at his command, microscopic grains infiltrating mechanisms with the patience of geological time compressed into seconds. The machine gun's firing pin would fracture on its next use. The ammunition belt would jam after three rounds. The vehicle's engine would overheat when the cooling system's vents became clogged with debris.
Clark moved from vehicle to vehicle, artifact to artifact, introducing failures that would cascade at precisely the wrong moment for the Ten Rings and exactly the right moment for Tony Stark.
"Echo Stone next. Plant false orders to create confusion during the escape."
He found a communications station near the compound's command post, guarded by two men whose attention was focused on the sunrise prayers echoing from loudspeakers. Clark activated the Echo Stone, feeling the familiar drain on his stamina as he prepared to sow chaos with surgical precision.
The first recording he planted was Raza's voice, captured during yesterday's surveillance: "All units withdraw to secondary positions. American rescue forces incoming from the northwest."
The second was more subtle—a technical discussion between subordinates about evacuation procedures, timed to trigger when combat started.
The third would be the most crucial: "Do not pursue the prisoners. Repeat, do not pursue. Preserve ammunition and prepare for siege."
"Three minutes until 1300 hours. Tony should be finishing the armor's final systems about now. Time to provide the distraction he needs."
Clark positioned himself near the cave entrance, where four guards maintained perimeter security with automatic weapons and the casual alertness of professionals who'd done this job many times before. The Healing Salve hung heavy in his vest pocket—a C-tier artifact he'd acquired during a mission to help addicts recover, now repurposed for battlefield medicine. If Yinsen was injured during the escape, Clark would have seconds to stabilize him before they all died in the crossfire.
The first explosion came from the vehicle park, where Clark's sabotage had introduced a single grain of sand into a fuel injector. The technical's engine detonated with enough force to rattle windows, sending guards running toward what they thought was an attack on their transportation.
The second explosion followed thirty seconds later—another vehicle, another failure, another piece of chaos in the pattern Clark had designed.
That's when the cave entrance erupted with the sound of metal tearing through stone and the Mark I armor emerged like a fever dream made manifest.
Tony Stark, encased in crude steel and powered by desperation, blasted through the Ten Rings guards with repulsors that lit up the Afghan morning like artificial lightning. The armor was ugly, functional, and absolutely terrifying—a walking tank operated by someone who'd decided that dying while fighting was preferable to dying while kneeling.
Behind him came Yinsen, older and frailer but moving with the determination of someone who'd found his purpose in helping others escape.
Clark watched the escape unfold with the expanded time perception that came from adrenaline and artifact enhancement. Tony's armor functioned perfectly, its crude targeting systems guided by genius-level intellect and righteous fury. Ten Rings soldiers scrambled for weapons that Clark had subtly sabotaged, vehicles that wouldn't start, communications equipment that relayed false orders.
But Raza was faster and more organized than Clark had hoped.
The Ten Rings leader appeared from a flanking position, assault rifle trained on Yinsen with the kind of precision that spoke of military training and personal vengeance. Clark saw the shot coming—could read Raza's body language, could trace the rifle's angle, could calculate the trajectory that would put a burst of automatic fire into the old man's center mass.
"No. Not today. Not him."
Clark dropped the Desert Walker Cloak's invisibility and sprinted across open ground, the Swift Step Boots carrying him at superhuman speed toward an intercept that would either save Yinsen or get them both killed. He reached the doctor just as Raza's finger tightened on the trigger, wrapping his arms around the older man and driving them both to the ground as bullets cracked through the air where Yinsen had been standing.
They hit the rocky ground hard, Clark absorbing most of the impact while shielding Yinsen with his body. But Raza was already adjusting his aim, and the second burst caught Yinsen in the shoulder and side—not immediately fatal, but serious enough to start the clock on blood loss and shock.
"Healing Salve. Now. Before he bleeds out."
Clark pulled the C-tier artifact from his vest as Tony's repulsors lit up Raza's position. The salve appeared to be ordinary medical gel, but its true properties activated the moment Clark applied it to Yinsen's wounds. Bleeding stopped instantly. Torn tissue began knitting itself back together. The doctor's shocked expression shifted from pain to amazement as supernatural healing took effect.
"You," Yinsen gasped, staring at Clark with eyes that held too much understanding. "You're the voice from the cave. You're not American military."
"I'm a friend," Clark said, helping Yinsen to his feet as the firefight continued around them. "And we need to leave. Now."
Tony's armor approached through the smoke, its crude sensors tracking them through the chaos. "Collins? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Saving your life," Clark replied, which was technically true. "Both of you. Can that thing carry three people?"
"Barely carries one. And I'm running low on power."
"Desert extraction. Use the cloak's sand control to create cover while we move to the extraction point."
Clark activated the Desert Walker Cloak's environmental abilities, feeling sand and dust respond to his will like extensions of his consciousness. A sandstorm rose around them—not natural, but close enough to provide concealment from the remaining Ten Rings forces.
"This way," he called, leading Tony and Yinsen toward the extraction point he'd established three kilometers northwest of the compound. "Stay close, and whatever you do, don't ask me to explain any of this until we're somewhere safe."
The journey across Afghan mountains while supporting an injured man and protecting a suit of experimental armor should have been impossible. The Desert Walker Cloak made it merely improbable. Sand moved at Clark's command, creating paths where none existed, filling in loose rock that might cause falls, even providing thermal camouflage that made their heat signatures blend with the surrounding terrain.
Tony's armor held together through sheer force of engineering will, its arc reactor providing just enough power to maintain basic systems while they traversed terrain that would have challenged mountain goats. Yinsen walked steadily despite his injuries, the Healing Salve continuing its work while they moved.
"How did you find us?" Tony asked as they crested a ridge that provided view of the extraction zone. "How did you even know where to look?"
"Think fast. Plausible explanation that doesn't involve omniscient artifact systems or knowledge of future events."
"I tracked the convoy ambush, followed vehicle trails, used long-range surveillance to map the compound," Clark said. "When I confirmed you were alive, I called in extraction and created diversions to facilitate your escape."
"Extraction from who?"
"People who want you alive more than the Ten Rings want you dead."
Below them, a U.S. military helicopter sat in a clearing that Clark had designated through carefully anonymous communications with base commanders. Officially, it was responding to emergency signals from a downed American consultant. Unofficially, it was Clark's insurance policy against being stranded in Afghanistan with two rescued hostages and a collection of artifacts that would be very difficult to explain.
The flight back to Bagram passed in relative silence, medics attending to Yinsen while Tony sat in the helicopter's cargo bay, staring at Clark with the kind of intensity that suggested important questions were being formulated. Clark spent the time calculating how much of the truth he could reveal without compromising the system's secrecy.
"Tony needs to know about Stane's betrayal, but he can't know about the system. Yinsen needs medical attention, but he can't know about the Healing Salve's true properties. The military needs explanations that don't involve magical artifacts."
As the helicopter touched down at Bagram, Clark felt the system chime with completion notifications that would have been satisfying if they weren't accompanied by the weight of what came next.
[B-TIER MISSION COMPLETE: SAVE THE FUTURE IRON MAN]
[MASSIVE EXPERIENCE GAINED: +1000 XP]
[LEVEL UP: 15 → 22]
[STAMINA INCREASED: 50 → 75]
[NEW ABILITIES UNLOCKED]
[ARTIFACT EFFICIENCY IMPROVED]
The power increase was immediate and tangible—enhanced reflexes, improved stamina, a deeper understanding of how his artifacts interfaced with reality. But more important than personal advancement was the knowledge that Tony Stark would live to become Iron Man, that Yinsen would survive to continue his work, and that the timeline remained intact despite Clark's intervention.
Three days later, in a military hospital room that smelled of antiseptic and government coffee, Tony Stark woke to find Clark sitting in a visitor's chair, reading a newspaper and looking like he belonged there.
"You," Tony said, his voice hoarse from medical procedures and painkillers. "How?"
Clark looked up from his paper—a copy of the Stars and Stripes with headlines about successful rescue operations—and smiled.
"I'm very good at my job."
Tony's laugh came out as more of a croak, but his eyes were sharp with intelligence that no amount of trauma could diminish. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I can give you right now."
"The truth, but not the whole truth. Enough to satisfy him without revealing what can't be revealed."
Tony studied Clark's face with the kind of focus that had built an industrial empire. "You knew about the ambush before it happened. You knew exactly where to find us. You had extraction ready before you even confirmed we were alive."
"I had good intelligence."
"From who?"
Clark folded his newspaper and leaned forward, lowering his voice to the level that suggested classified information. "From people inside Stark Industries who wanted you to come home alive."
Tony's expression shifted from curiosity to something harder and more dangerous. "Inside my own company?"
"We'll discuss it when you're ready to hear things that will change how you see people you trust."
"Plant the seed. Let him ask the questions. Give him truth in doses he can handle."
Tony was quiet for a long moment, processing implications that would reshape his understanding of loyalty and betrayal. "Yinsen?"
"Alive. Recovering. The doctors say he'll make a full recovery."
"Because of you."
"Because we got lucky."
"Lucky. If only he knew."
Tony's laugh was bitter but not without humor. "Lucky. Right. Collins, I don't know who you really are or how you do what you do, but I owe you everything."
"You don't owe me anything," Clark said, standing to leave. "Just... be careful who you trust when you get home. Not everyone wants you to change the world."
He paused at the door, feeling the weight of future knowledge and the responsibility that came with altering destiny.
"And Tony? When you get back to your workshop... build something that matters. Something that makes the world better instead of more dangerous."
Tony's voice followed him into the corridor: "How do you know I'm planning to build anything?"
But Clark was already gone, leaving behind questions that would drive Tony Stark to become everything the world needed him to become.
In eighteen months, when purple titans threatened to snap their fingers and erase half of all life, Tony would remember this conversation and understand that some gifts came with obligations that transcended personal choice.
For now, Clark had done what he could. The future Iron Man was alive, Yinsen would continue his work, and the timeline moved forward toward its inevitable confrontation with cosmic forces that required heroes to be more than human.
The system hummed quietly in Clark's mind as he walked through the military hospital, already detecting new missions and artifacts that would prepare him for what was coming.
Phase One was complete. The real work was just beginning.
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