Chapter 12: Sins of the Iron Father
POV: Clark
The Stark Industries board meeting had devolved into the kind of corporate bloodbath that destroyed reputations, ended careers, and occasionally resulted in federal investigations. Clark watched from the back of the room as Tony Stark, three drinks past professionally appropriate and six months past caring about board approval, systematically demolished every assumption the weapons manufacturing industry had about acceptable business practices.
"He's not just drunk. He's strategically drunk. Using alcohol as an excuse to say things he's been thinking since Afghanistan but couldn't say while sober."
"I'll say it again," Tony continued, swaying slightly behind the podium while board members exchanged glances that suggested emergency damage control measures. "Stark Industries is officially, permanently, and irrevocably out of the weapons business."
The room erupted in exactly the kind of controlled panic that occurred when billionaires made decisions that could cost other people millions of dollars. Stock prices crashed in real-time on the displays around the conference room. Phone calls to major shareholders began immediately. Someone—probably Pepper—was frantically calculating the legal and financial implications of Tony's announcement.
But Clark's attention was focused on Obadiah Stane, who sat at the far end of the conference table with the expression of someone watching a carefully orchestrated plan reach its culmination.
"He's not surprised. He's not panicked. He's satisfied. This is exactly what he wanted—Tony making erratic public statements that the board can use to justify removing him from leadership."
Stane stood with the weary authority of someone forced to make difficult decisions for the good of the company, his voice carrying the perfect mixture of disappointment and paternal concern that had made him a master manipulator for decades.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Stane said, his words cutting through the chaos like a surgeon's blade. "I think we can all agree that Mr. Stark is under tremendous stress from his recent ordeal. Perhaps it would be best if he took some time to recover while the board considers our options moving forward."
Tony's laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. "Our options? Obie, the only option is evolution. The weapons industry is dying, and we can either lead the transformation or get buried by it."
"Tony's not wrong about the industry's future, but he's wrong about the timing. Making this announcement now, like this, gives Stane everything he needs to justify a hostile takeover."
Clark's artifacts began their warning vibrations as Stane's phone buzzed with an incoming call. Through the enhanced hearing provided by his collection of items, Clark caught fragments of Stane's whispered conversation: "...perfect timing... emergency board meeting... tomorrow night... yes, get the suit ready..."
"The suit. He's talking about the Iron Monger armor. Whatever Stane's planning, it's happening tomorrow."
The board meeting dissolved into smaller groups of urgent conversation, stock market damage assessment, and crisis management planning. Tony stumbled toward the exit with the focused determination of someone who'd accomplished exactly what he'd set out to do, regardless of the consequences.
Clark intercepted him in the hallway outside the conference room, noting the way Tony's apparent intoxication disappeared the moment they were away from board observation.
"That was either brilliant strategy or spectacular self-destruction," Clark said quietly.
"Both," Tony replied, his words slightly slurred but his eyes sharp with purpose. "Sometimes you have to break everything to build something better."
"He knows exactly what he's doing. The drunk act was performance art designed to force a confrontation he's been avoiding since Afghanistan."
"Stane's moving against you," Clark warned. "Tonight. I heard him making calls."
Tony's expression shifted from controlled chaos to something colder and more calculating. "How much time do we have?"
"Not enough. Whatever the timeline was, Tony just accelerated it by months with this public breakdown."
"Maybe twelve hours," Clark estimated. "Less, if he decides to move immediately."
"Then we work fast."
Clark spent the drive back to Tony's Malibu mansion calculating tactical options and inventory requirements. His artifacts provided significant capabilities, but infiltrating a secure corporate facility to gather intelligence on powered armor required more than supernatural enhancement—it required a plan that accounted for security systems, guard rotations, and the possibility that Stane's operation extended beyond simple corporate politics.
"Stealth infiltration. Use the Desert Walker Cloak's invisibility, but conserve stamina for potential combat. Echo Stone for voice mimicry if I need to bypass security. Swift Step Boots for rapid escape if things go wrong."
The Stark Industries advanced research facility occupied fifteen acres of Californian desert, surrounded by security measures that would have impressed military contractors. Clark approached from the eastern perimeter, where natural terrain provided concealment and his artifacts would have room to operate without civilian oversight.
The Desert Walker Cloak settled around his shoulders like liquid shadow, its B-tier power immediately bending light and probability to render him nearly invisible in the facility's harsh security lighting. Guard patrols passed within meters of his position without detecting his presence, their attention focused on external threats rather than infiltrators who were already inside the perimeter.
"First checkpoint: main building access. Security cards and biometric scanners."
Clark activated the Echo Stone, feeling its familiar drain on his stamina as he prepared to impersonate authorized personnel. The previous week's surveillance had provided voice samples from multiple facility employees, and the artifact's perfect reproduction capabilities made identity verification a matter of choosing the right voice for each situation.
"This is Dr. Peterson from Engineering," Clark whispered into his communication device, using the Echo Stone to perfectly replicate the voice of a senior researcher. "I need access to Lab 7 for emergency equipment inspection."
The response came through facility security: "Dr. Peterson, you're not scheduled for lab access tonight."
"Emergency authorization from Mr. Stane. Check your updated protocols."
"Stane's name carries enough authority to override routine security procedures. Use his reputation to bypass questioning."
After a brief pause: "Access granted, Dr. Peterson. Please proceed to Lab 7."
Clark slipped through the facility's corridors like a ghost with a purpose, following route maps he'd memorized during weeks of preparation. The Desert Walker Cloak's invisibility held perfectly under artificial lighting, but he could feel the artifact's power slowly draining his stamina reserves.
Lab 7 existed behind security doors that would have stopped conventional infiltration attempts, but the Swift Step Boots provided enhanced speed and reflexes that turned electronic locks into minor inconveniences rather than meaningful barriers. Clark was inside the laboratory complex within minutes of receiving authorization.
What he found there made his blood run cold.
The Iron Monger armor stood in the center of the laboratory like a mechanical god built for war. Ten feet tall, armored with steel plating that could withstand anti-tank weapons, powered by an arc reactor that glowed with the same blue energy that had saved Tony's life in Afghanistan. But where Tony's armor was built for protection and redemption, this machine was designed for domination and destruction.
"Stane's been building this for months. Maybe years. This isn't a response to Tony's transformation—it's the reason for Tony's kidnapping. Stane wanted the arc reactor technology, and he was willing to kill Tony to get it."
Clark activated the Hawk Eye Monocle, its enhanced vision revealing details that normal observation would miss. The armor's weapon systems included repulsors similar to Tony's design, but configured for maximum lethality rather than precision targeting. Missile launchers, machine guns, and energy weapons that could level city blocks.
But the most damning evidence was in the laboratory's computer systems. Clark used his technical skills and artifact enhancement to access Stane's files, downloading communications, financial records, and operational plans that painted a picture of systematic betrayal spanning decades.
The Ten Rings hadn't been acting independently when they kidnapped Tony. They'd been hired by Stane, paid with Stark Industries money, and provided with intelligence that made the ambush possible. Tony's rescue had been an unexpected complication in a plan designed to remove him permanently while transferring his technology to more cooperative hands.
"Everything makes sense now. The threatening letters, the financial irregularities, the timing of the Afghanistan demonstration. Stane orchestrated all of it to eliminate Tony and seize control of the company."
Clark copied everything he could access, using the Echo Stone to record conversations between Stane and his associates, gathering evidence that would either save Tony's life or provide material for criminal prosecutions. But as he prepared to leave the laboratory, his artifacts began screaming warnings about immediate danger.
The facility's emergency lighting activated, bathing the corridors in red strobe effects that suggested either security breach or active threat response. Clark heard footsteps, multiple personnel, moving with the kind of organization that indicated professional military training rather than standard security guards.
"They know I'm here. Either the security systems detected something, or someone figured out that Dr. Peterson wasn't supposed to be in Lab 7 tonight."
Clark activated the Swift Step Boots, feeling their enhanced speed capabilities as he prepared for rapid evacuation through hostile territory. The Desert Walker Cloak's invisibility would help, but sustained combat while maintaining stealth would drain his stamina faster than he could afford.
The laboratory's exit led directly into a corridor filled with armed personnel who were systematically searching for intruders with military efficiency. Clark counted at least eight men, all carrying automatic weapons, all moving with the kind of training that suggested private military contractors rather than corporate security.
"Stane's escalating to lethal force. This isn't about protecting proprietary technology—this is about eliminating witnesses to treason."
Clark used the Echo Stone to create audio distractions, projecting sounds of movement and conversation from empty areas to draw search teams away from his position. The artifact's perfect sound reproduction confused the guards long enough for him to slip past their perimeter, but he could hear radio communications indicating that additional personnel were being called in.
"Target is using some kind of advanced stealth technology. Assume military or intelligence background. Shoot on sight."
"Time to leave. Right now, before this becomes a running firefight through suburban California."
Clark reached the facility's perimeter as additional security vehicles arrived, their headlights cutting through the desert darkness like mechanical predators. He sprinted across open ground at superhuman speed, the Swift Step Boots carrying him beyond the range of conventional pursuit while the Desert Walker Cloak rendered him nearly invisible against the landscape.
But as he reached his extraction vehicle, Clark's enhanced hearing picked up radio traffic that made him realize the evening's problems were just beginning:
"Stane to all units: Collins has infiltrated the facility and gathered intelligence on Project Iron Monger. Terminate with extreme prejudice. Authorization granted for collateral damage."
"They know my name. They know where I live. And Stane just authorized assassination with collateral damage. He's not just coming for me—he's coming for everyone I care about."
Clark drove through Los Angeles traffic with the kind of focused intensity that came from knowing that professional killers were probably already moving toward his apartment. His phone buzzed with urgent calls from Scott, Luis, and other team members, but he couldn't risk stopping to answer them until he knew whether his people were safe.
The apartment building looked normal from the outside—late-night urban quiet, a few lights in windows, nothing that suggested immediate danger. But Clark's artifacts were vibrating with warning frequencies that indicated his home had become a trap.
"They're already here. Waiting. Probably wired the apartment with explosives and positioned shooters to handle anyone who tries to approach."
Clark parked three blocks away and approached on foot, using artifact-enhanced perception to identify threats before they could identify him. What he found confirmed his worst fears: professional surveillance teams, snipers positioned on adjacent buildings, and enough explosive devices to bring down his entire apartment complex.
But Scott Lang's security system—a combination of legitimate alarm technology and less-than-legitimate countermeasures developed during his criminal career—was holding them at bay. Booby traps, misdirection devices, and carefully placed obstacles had turned Clark's apartment into a maze that was keeping Stane's people busy without actually harming them.
"Scott's keeping them occupied, but not for long. Time to make this look convincing."
Clark used the Echo Stone to record the sounds of gunfire, breaking glass, and what could have been someone falling down stairs. Then he activated a series of explosive pellets—E-tier artifacts designed for distraction rather than destruction—creating the light and sound effects of a significant firefight.
Finally, he planted evidence of his own death: blood from a medical supply store, torn clothing, and carefully positioned artifacts that would suggest he'd been overwhelmed by superior numbers.
"Let Stane think he won. Let him believe I'm dead until Tony's ready to fight back. Sometimes the best strategy is strategic retreat."
Clark watched from concealment as Stane's people searched the wreckage, found the staged evidence, and reported mission success. Within hours, Obadiah Stane would believe that the only witness to his treason was dead, and Tony Stark would be facing a corporate coup without knowing that his oldest friend was also his greatest enemy.
But Clark would be in the shadows, preparing for a confrontation that would either save the future Iron Man or witness the birth of a very different kind of armored tyrant.
The war for Tony Stark's soul was about to begin, and Clark intended to make sure the right side won.
Even if he had to fight it from beyond the grave.
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