ironman
"I'm really starting to believe they tricked me…" Owen muttered under his breath as he walked steadily through the shadows, flanked by the special forces team.
His hand slid naturally to his chest, where he pulled out a grenade as if it were just a stone. With an almost unsettling calm, he removed the pin with a metallic click that echoed through the walls of the old warehouse.
Without stopping, he threw it to the side just as a group of armed men appeared around the corner. The grenade bounced a couple of times on the ground and came to rest at the terrorists' feet. There was a moment of confusion. Then, the explosion.
A deafening blast shook the ground. Bodies flew through the air before crashing down like broken dolls, leaving behind a cloud of smoke and stifled screams.
Owen didn't even blink. His gaze remained steady. He raised the rifle hanging from his shoulder, locking it precisely into his right shoulder.
More enemies emerged from the rubble. Owen pulled the trigger. One shot, one less head. Another. Precise. Lethal. Unstoppable.
Effortlessly, he aimed at a metal box a few meters ahead. He pulled the trigger once. The bullet pierced the container, triggering a chain reaction. A tremendous explosion engulfed an entire side of the warehouse in flames. The structure trembled before collapsing like a house of cards.
Owen turned on his heels as if he had just finished a quiet morning stroll. He stopped suddenly.
"Three more…" he whispered.
He fired three times in quick succession toward an old wooden door. A second later, three bodies fell from the threshold, pierced by his bullets. They had tried to ambush him. Now they lay dead in the gloom.
This terrain was familiar. Too familiar. Afghanistan. Not just anywhere " a rat's nest: a terrorist operations center that had threatened to detonate bombs in the heart of New York. They had recorded themselves showing off their weapons, their bombs... mistakes that would prove costly.
The President made a call. The general, who owed him a favor, responded. And Owen was sent.
Although, to be honest... they didn't send him. He volunteered.
There were more soldiers stationed outside, containing any escape attempts. Owen had left them behind, deciding to clean up the place on his own.
Suddenly, a man appeared through the smoke, dragging a girl by the hair and pointing a gun at her head. He was shouting something in a language Owen didn't understand.
Without hesitation, Owen raised his weapon and fired.
One shot. One death.
The girl trembled, looked at Owen with wide eyes... and ran. A woman appeared in tears, embracing the girl tightly.
Owen exhaled, relaxing his muscles.
"After a month of intensive training... my body feels ten times stronger," he said to himself, flexing his fingers slightly. His reflexes, his senses, his strength… everything was different. This mission had been a stroll compared to what would've once been a nightmare. Of course, these men weren't real soldiers. Just terrorists playing at war.
Then he heard it. A metallic hum from the sky.
Something was descending. Fast. Wrapped in a trail of red and gold. It crashed down with force in the center of the village, landing in the classic one-knee pose.
Owen raised an eyebrow.
"Seriously…?" he muttered as he watched the newcomer rise.
It was a sleek, shiny suit of armor, scanning the field with sensors and blinking lights. Finally, its gaze settled on Owen.
"Damn… looks like you beat me to it," growled a metallic voice from inside.
Owen smirked.
"Nice tin can, Tony."
"Hey, it's not a tin can! It's a masterpiece of advanced technology," Stark replied in his trademark narcissistic tone. "How'd you recognize me?"
"The voice."
Tony crossed his arms, offended.
"What, not impressed? I could crush any soldier. No offense."
"Yeah?" Owen calmly walked up, circling him slowly. In an instant, he moved like lightning and drove a dagger into one of the joints on the armor's left arm.
"Severe damage detected. Left arm disabled," JARVIS announced coldly.
"Hey! That was cheating!" Tony protested as he pulled the dagger out with difficulty.
"Do you have any idea how much these parts cost?"
His arm sparked, briefly locking up.
"Tsk. I'll have to head home for repairs. Want a ride, soldier?" he asked mockingly.
"I'll pass. You'd probably try to throw me into the sun as payback," Owen replied, turning away.
Tony watched him walk off through the burning rubble, then activated his thrusters. One of them sputtered briefly, shaking his flight before stabilizing.
"He's a damn monster..." Tony muttered as he ascended.
"I need to reinforce the armor for close combat."
On the other side of the battlefield, Owen approached the vehicle where his men were waiting, standing firm as they guarded the perimeter.
"Call the others. Time to go home," he ordered calmly as he climbed into the vehicle.
"Sir, is it over already?" one of the soldiers asked, incredulous.
"Obviously."
The soldier quickly grabbed the radio. Minutes later, the team was heading back to a nearby base, ready for aerial evacuation.
Owen knew exactly why he was here. The mission was just an excuse.
The general didn't want to owe anyone favors, so Owen came in his place. And now, it was the general who owed one.
The president, on the other hand, would use it for propaganda:
"We don't tolerate threats."
Two birds with one stone.
But that wasn't the most important part. No, what truly mattered...
…was that with the arrival of the red and gold armor, something new had begun.
The age of heroes.
"------
"Flying in a military plane is hell on the back... Why didn't the serum give me the ability to fly like Superman?" Owen muttered under his breath as he walked down the ramp of the military aircraft.
The roar of the engines still echoed in the air, but all he could focus on was the stabbing pain in his neck after hours of being crammed inside the cabin.
"Because that would be a blatant copyright violation."
General Nathaniel's dry voice echoed across the hangar, waiting for him with arms crossed. He was spotless, his uniform perfectly pressed, and wore that eternal look of irritation he always carried.
Owen raised an eyebrow at the sight.
"Wow, old man, what an unusual honor... you actually came to meet me in person."
He smirked, not sure whether to feel flattered or alarmed.
"Go take a shower, shave, and put on something decent. You have a date tonight."
The order hit like a bullet to the chest"straight and unfiltered.
"…A what?"
Owen blinked, stunned. Never, in all the years he'd known the general, had he expected to hear those words from him.
"A blind date. Royal Hotel. North Street. In an hour."
"Are you insane? What the hell are you talking about, old man? You should be pushing Nicolas into this kind of madness, not me!"
Nathaniel sighed, as if he'd heard this argument a thousand times.
"Listen, you two are twenty-seven. I've never seen either of you with a woman. I started to think you had… something going on between you."
Owen choked on his own spit.
"WHAT?! Of course not! But careful with that kind of talk, old man! People get canceled these days for way less."
"I'm old. Outdated thoughts come with the age. And I have no interest in adapting to the snowflake generation. Now go. One hour. Dress sharp. Don't make me come drag you there."
The general turned around and walked off with firm steps, not looking back.
Owen stood there, dumbfounded in the middle of the hangar.
"Damn Nicolas... This is totally his fault. He probably offered me up as tribute to save himself."
He grumbled, shaking his head in resignation.
Back in his apartment, Owen dropped onto the bed for a few seconds. Then, with a heavy sigh, he got up, took a near-boiling shower, shaved, and pulled one of his favorite suits from the closet: black with a dark gray shirt, perfectly tailored to his serum-enhanced physique.
As he adjusted his cufflinks, he couldn't help but stare at himself in the mirror and scoff.
"This can't be happening…"
And yet, there he was"looking like a damn military gala model.
Leaving the building, he climbed into his luxury SUV. A sleek black model, elegant, spacious, silent. The only expensive purchase he'd made since his bank account had started multiplying zeros. No mansions, no ridiculous watches. Everything else had been invested with surgical precision… in Stark Industries stock.
He knew what was coming.
Stark's shift to clean energy would send those shares soaring. It was only a matter of time before the company of the "genius, billionaire, philanthropist" became the symbol of the future.
He drove calmly through the nighttime city, the lights reflecting off the body of the car like a neon carpet guiding him.
Arriving at the Royal Hotel, he gazed up at the imposing structure with its glass façade and marble columns.
The restaurant on the top floor was pure extravagance"panoramic city views, soft piano music floating through the air.
Owen sighed once more in resignation. Then his expression shifted.
A professional smile, almost charming, appeared on his face.
The face of a soldier who could blend in anywhere.
The face of a man who could kill with one hand… and make you laugh with the other.
"Time for the show…"
And with elegant strides, he walked into the restaurant as if he were born to walk red carpets.