The moment the news hit the wires, Pepper Potts had been in a state of controlled collapse. She had called Tony's encrypted satellite phone seventeen times before the line finally clicked open.
"Tony! Oh god," she gasped, her hand gripping the edge of her desk until her knuckles turned white. "I told you! I told you not to go to Afghanistan, but you never listen. Now the news of the ambush is everywhere. They said there were missiles... our missiles. Tony, please, are you okay? Where are you?"
"Pepper, breathe," Tony's voice came through, surprisingly clear against a backdrop of wind and distant engine whine. "I'm fine. My private security team earned their paycheck today. I'm sitting on the tarmac at Bagram having a drink. I'll be home in a few hours."
The relief in her voice was audible, a sharp intake of breath followed by a sob she tried furiously to hide. But for Tony, hearing her naked fear didn't weaken him, it solidified the hard resolve that had formed in the desert. The system was broken, the wolves were inside the house and he was the only one with the powers to fix it.
The revelation that Stark Industries' most advanced weaponry had been funneled into the hands of insurgents sent a seismic shockwave through the highest corridors of American power. This was a breach of national security that threatened the very foundation of the military industrial complex.
In the lead lined briefing rooms of the Pentagon, the atmosphere was lethal. The United States government operates on a ruthless system of Strict Liability. It didn't matter if Tony Stark was a genius, a billionaire, or a patriot, if his products were arming the enemy, he was a liability.
The Department of Defense (DoD) moved with the speed of a guillotine. Invoking the Federal Acquisition Regulation (FAR), they initiated a "Suspension and Debarment" protocol against Stark Industries.
It was an immediate, total freeze.
All pending payments to Stark Industries, totaling billions of dollars in government contracts, were locked in federal escrow.
Every ongoing project, from the Jericho missile rollout to the satellite guided mortar systems, was ordered to a standstill.
A joint task force of FBI and GAO (Government Accountability Office) investigators was authorized to seize every shipping manifest, digital ledger and server log in the Stark database.
Colonel James Rhodes sat in a secure terminal at Bagram Airfield, watching the "Frozen" status codes bloom across his monitor in angry red text. He felt a sickening knot tighten in his stomach.
Rhodey knew how the gears of government turned better than anyone. Once the bureaucracy decided you were a threat, they dismantled you. He looked at the classified photos of the serial numbers recovered from the ambush site. They were high yield explosives that required Level 5 clearance to move an inch.
"To move this much hardware past the docks and through customs," he muttered to the empty room, "someone had to grease the wheels at the highest levels. This is an inside job and the Pentagon is going to blame Tony to cover their own lack of oversight."
His reaction was a volatile mix of protective fury and professional dread. He was the bridge between the military and Tony. If that bridge collapsed, Tony would be left alone against the full weight of the federal government.
The logic behind the government's move was simple. Containment through Deprivation. By freezing the contracts, they were cutting off Tony's "oxygen." They expected him to come crawling to Washington, begging for the freeze to be lifted, which would give them the leverage to take over his labs and put "government approved" oversight in every corner of his workshop.
As Tony stepped off the private jet at the New York airfield, the morning sun felt thin and cold compared to the relentless Afghan heat. Pepper was waiting at the bottom of the rolling stairs, her face pale, her posture rigid, looking like she hadn't slept since he left.
Just like in the old timeline, she tried to maintain her professional mask, but her eyes were red rimmed betrayals. "You're late," she whispered as he reached the bottom step, her voice cracking.
"Traffic was a killer," Tony joked weakly.
As she moved to hug him, burying her face in his shoulder, he felt the weight of the moment press down on him. He wasn't the same man who had left this tarmac. His High Speed Regeneration had already erased the minor scratches from the desert sand and the bruises from the suit's recoil. His magnetism felt like a coiled spring beneath his skin, reacting to the metal of the plane, the car, the watches of the men standing nearby.
He looked past Pepper's trembling shoulders and saw Obadiah Stane standing by a sleek black SUV.
Stane was smiling, that paternal smile that Tony had once mistaken for love. But now, Tony saw the world differently.
Eye Boy engaged.
Tony saw the erratic heat signature of Stane's blood flow. He saw the micro tremors in the older man's jaw muscles, the tell tale sign of a man grinding his teeth to keep from screaming. He saw the cold outline of a concealed handgun in Stane's jacket pocket.
The man was terrified.
"Tony!" Stane boomed, stepping forward with open arms, playing the role of the relieved uncle. "Look at you! You had us worried sick. When we heard about the ambush... I thought I'd lost you."
"You almost did, Obie," Tony said, stepping out of Pepper's embrace to meet Stane. He gripped Stane's hand, squeezing just hard enough to let the older man feel the impossible density of his new muscles. "But you know what they say. Hard to kill a bad idea."
"Tony, the DoD just pulled the plug," Rhodey said, stepping up beside them, his face grim. "They're opening an inquiry into 'Arms Export Control Act' violations. They think someone very close to you is playing both sides."
Tony looked at the grim faced federal agents standing near the perimeter, then back at Rhodey. With his Eye Boy vision, he could see the thermal signatures of the recording devices the agents were carrying in their breast pockets.
Tony feigned shock. He looked insulted. He played the part of the betrayed patriot to perfection.
"They're freezing me out?" Tony said loudly, ensuring his voice carried to the agents and to Stane. "After my own hardware almost took my head off because the military couldn't secure a perimeter? Unbelievable."
"Tony, this is serious! They could seize the company!" Rhodey hissed.
"Let them try," Tony snapped, his eyes flashing. "Tell the Pentagon I'll see them at the press conference. I have a feeling they aren't going to like my opening statement."
Tony brushed past Stane, who stood frozen, his smile faltering. Stane had expected a broken man, or a dead one. Instead, he was looking at a man who seemed to be vibrating with a new energy.
Tony drove straight to Stark Industries HQ, ignoring the calls from the Board of Directors. He called for an immediate press conference.
The room was packed with hundreds of journalists, the air buzzing with the frenetic energy of camera shutters and shouting voices. The world wanted to know if the Merchant of Death had finally been caught in his own trap.
Tony walked onto the stage. He sat on the edge of the stage, his legs dangling, looking tired, human and vulnerable.
The room went silent.
"I saw young Americans killed by the very weapons I created to protect them," Tony told the silent room, his voice quiet but carrying to the back walls. "I saw a system where our own military is so compromised, so bloated with bureaucracy, that my 'top secret' prototypes are being used by cave dwellers to ambush me."
He looked directly into the news cameras, his eyes flashing with a cold intensity that only a few people in the world would recognize.
"I saw the face of the enemy," Tony said, "and it looked like a Stark Industries shipping crate. I was the victim of my own success. And I will not be a part of a system that turns a profit on the blood of its own soldiers anymore."
"Effective immediately, I am closing the Weapons Development Division of Stark Industries."
Gasps rippled through the room. Obadiah Stane, standing in the wings, went pale. He looked like he had just watched his entire empire vanish into a black hole.
"We are no longer a defense contractor," Tony continued, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "We are a technology company. We will find a new direction, or we will cease to exist. That is all."
The room exploded into chaos. Reporters were screaming questions, stocks were plummeting in real time and flashbulbs erupted like stroboscopic lightning.
Tony ignored them all. He walked off the stage, passing Stane without a word. He knew exactly what he had just done. He had cut the strings of the man who tried to kill him.