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Chapter 119 Tony Stark Crisis
🕑 Added 2025-10-12 13:59:59 +0000 UTCBuzz… Buzz…
In the deserts of Afghanistan, a military helicopter descended rapidly, stirring up a storm of sand as it landed.
Tony Stark, dressed in a black suit and wearing aviator goggles, stepped out, holding a silver briefcase in his right hand. His stride was confident and unhurried.
“Hey, isn’t this our Mr. Playboy? Welcome to the desert, Tony!”
Colonel James “Rhodey” Rhodes, dressed in his military uniform, patted Tony on the shoulder with a teasing grin.
“Come on, Rhodey. You don’t have to babysit me every time I visit a war zone,” Tony shot back, smirking. His tone carried its usual mix of arrogance and sarcasm.
Rhodey chuckled. “Tony, that briefcase you’re carrying… is that another one of your secret weapons?”
Tony grinned. “You’re damn right. This, my friend, is my masterpiece.”
He handed the case to Rhodey and strode toward a group of waiting U.S. soldiers, cameras rolling to capture the moment.
“Gentlemen,” Tony said dramatically, spreading his arms wide, “welcome to the Tony Stark Weapons Demonstration Show!”
Behind him, the Jericho Missiles fired off one by one, splitting into dozens of smaller warheads that detonated in unison. The mountains behind Tony were blasted apart, the shockwave rippling through the sand.
The soldiers around him were stunned by the display.
Tony turned, brushing dust from his jacket, and said casually, “And now, Rhodey, let me show you my real secret weapon.”
He flipped open the silver case—revealing three bottles of Romanee-Conti, the world’s finest wine, packed neatly in ice.
“This,” Tony said with a grin, “is the rarest wine on Earth. Limited edition. Only a few bottles exist.”
He poured glasses for Rhodey and a few soldiers nearby.
“To victory.”
“For peace.”
“Cheers.”
They clinked glasses and drank. Tony leaned back, clearly savoring his own brilliance.
Moments later, the convoy began to move. Despite Rhodey’s warnings, Tony joked and chatted with the soldiers—until the world around them exploded.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Before Tony could react, a missile struck the front vehicle. The entire convoy was under attack. Bullets rained down, explosions erupted on all sides, and soldiers scattered for cover.
Tony dove out of the armored vehicle and scrambled behind a rock. The air was filled with smoke and screams.
Then he saw it—a missile that had landed just a few feet away, its surface marked with the Stark Industries logo.
His blood ran cold.
“...F***.”
The missile exploded. The blast threw Tony through the air, his body slamming into the dirt. A shard of shrapnel tore into his chest, embedding dangerously close to his heart. Blood seeped through his torn suit.
Da-da-da-da!
As Tony’s vision blurred, he saw two figures approaching through the smoke—one massive and imposing, the other tall and calm.
The big one was unmistakable: Kingpin, Wilson Fisk. And beside him stood a familiar face.
Tony coughed weakly. “You… Allens?”
Even half-conscious, his brilliant mind recognized the man from the party the night before.
“Tony Stark,” Allens said quietly, kneeling beside him. “I warned you. Your life was in danger.”
Tony’s eyes widened, a flicker of fear breaking through his pain. “It was you… You planned all this?”
Allens shook his head. “No, Tony. I didn’t plan this. I’m just a bystander. But this… this is the start of something much bigger.”
He stood, his tone calm and detached, and turned to leave with Kingpin.
As they disappeared into the haze, a group of armed militants—members of a jihadist organization—swarmed in. Their bald leader barked orders as they surrounded the wounded Tony Stark.
“Quick! Take him back to base! Keep him alive at all costs!”
His eyes gleamed with both excitement and greed. They needed Stark alive—to force him to build them the ultimate weapon: the Jericho Missile.
From a distance, Allens and Kingpin watched silently as the terrorists dragged Tony away.
A faint smile curved Allens’s lips. He already knew how this story would unfold. Tony Stark wouldn’t die here. This was the moment that would forge Iron Man.
“Boss, what’s next?” Kingpin asked, his voice low and steady.
“Everything is proceeding as planned,” Allens replied, his tone cold and deliberate. “Over the next month, I’ll disappear from the public eye. When Tony Stark finishes building his first Iron Man suit… that’s when I’ll make my move.”
“Understood.”
Kingpin nodded, pulling out a secure satellite phone. After a brief call, the sound of rotor blades echoed in the distance. A helicopter appeared on the horizon, descending toward them.
Kingpin saluted lightly, boarded the chopper, and vanished into the sky.
Allens stood alone in the desert wind, whispering to himself—
“With a mortal body, to challenge the gods…”
His eyes narrowed. “Tony Stark’s genius… better not disappoint me.”
Later, in a dim cave somewhere in Afghanistan, Tony Stark slowly regained consciousness.
The air smelled of rust, smoke, and sweat. His chest ached with every breath. When his eyes focused, he saw the dim outline of a stone wall—and a man watching over him.
“Hey, Tony Stark. You’re finally awake,” the man said gently. “Don’t panic. I saved your life. We’re both prisoners here.”
It was Dr. Yinsen.
Tony glanced down and froze. A crude battery and a powerful electromagnet were wired into his chest, keeping the shrapnel from reaching his heart.
“Ahem… I was kidnapped… by terrorists?” Tony muttered, his voice weak and disbelieving.
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