January 8, 2010 – Miami, Florida
The Stark Industries private jet touched down at Miami Executive Airport just after ten in the morning, the Florida sun already beating down on the tarmac with aggressive cheerfulness.
A sleek black car was waiting at the private terminal as Arthur and his party disembarked. Within minutes, they were gliding through Miami's streets toward the AIM headquarters campus.
"So," Tony said, breaking the comfortable silence, "are you going to tell me what we're actually doing here?"
"You'll see when we arrive," Arthur replied.
"That's not helpful."
"It wasn't meant to be."
Tony turned to Eileen. "Is he always this cryptic with you?"
"Always," Eileen confirmed with a gentle smile. "You learn to enjoy the surprises."
"I don't like surprises. I like knowing things. It's kind of my whole personality."
"Then consider this a growth opportunity," Arthur said.
Tony's response was interrupted by the car turning into the AIM campus entrance, passing through security gates that looked like they could stop a tank.
The headquarters sprawled across thirty acres of prime Miami real estate—a collection of interconnected buildings in gleaming white and chrome, surrounded by carefully manicured gardens and reflecting pools. The entire campus looked like something from a science fiction film, all clean lines and impossible angles.
"Huh," Tony said. "Not bad. A little sterile for my taste. Could use more personality. Maybe a giant sculpture of a hand giving a thumbs up."
"Please don't suggest that to anyone here," Pepper murmured.
The car pulled up to the main entrance, where a familiar figure was already waiting.
Aldrich Killian.
Gone was the nervous energy Arthur remembered from their first meeting in Bern all those years ago. Gone was the too-confident smile masking deep insecurity, the hunched posture of a man expecting rejection.
The man waiting for them now stood tall and straight, broad-shouldered, wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit with the easy confidence of someone who had long since proven himself to the world and no longer needed its validation.
He was no longer the desperate entrepreneur pitching impossible dreams to skeptical investors. He was the CEO of one of the most successful biotechnology companies in the world—featured on magazine covers, invited to speak at global conferences, respected by peers and competitors alike.
Success looked good on Aldrich Killian.
The moment Arthur stepped out of the car, Killian's face broke into a genuine grin.
"Arthur!" He strode forward, hand extended, then seemed to think better of it and pulled Arthur into a brief, back-slapping embrace instead. "Welcome to the sunshine state. It's been too long."
"It has," Arthur replied, returning the embrace. "The facility looks magnificent. Even more impressive than the last time I visited."
"All thanks to Eileen and her work in the Accessibility Division," Killian said, turning to beam at her. "Our stock jumped twelve points the week we announced the neural-interface prosthetic. The board wanted to give you a bonus big enough to buy a small island."
"It was a team effort, Aldrich," Eileen said kindly. "I just helped coordinate."
"Humble as always." Killian grinned, then turned to greet Pepper with professional warmth. "Ms. Potts. I've followed your work at Stark Industries—the restructuring you managed after the weapons division shutdown was masterful. If you ever want a change of scenery, AIM would be lucky to have you."
Pepper smiled politely. "That's very kind. But someone has to keep Tony functional."
"A Herculean task, I'm sure."
Throughout this exchange, Tony had been waiting with decreasing patience for his turn in the greeting rotation. He stepped forward, hand extended, media smile firmly in place.
"Tony Stark. But you probably knew that. Most people do."
Killian's expression went flat.
He looked at Tony's outstretched hand for a long moment. Then, without a word, he turned toward the building entrance.
"Come on in, everyone," he said, his voice perfectly pleasant as he addressed Arthur, Eileen, and Pepper. "The Extremis team is excited to finally show Arthur where we're at with the latest iterations."
He started walking, gesturing for the group to follow.
Tony's hand hung in the air, unshaken.
"Did..." He looked at Pepper, his expression cycling through confusion, offense, and something approaching indignation. "Did that guy just ignore me?"
"It appears so."
"I'm Tony Stark."
"I'm aware."
"People don't ignore Tony Stark. I'm very difficult to ignore. It's one of my primary characteristics."
"And yet."
Tony hurried to catch up with the group, falling into step beside Arthur. His voice dropped to a theatrical whisper. "Okay, what's the deal with Mr. Tall and Hostile? Do I know him? Did I sleep with his girlfriend? Sister? His mother? I feel like I'd remember that face, but maybe—"
But Arthur offered no help, no clarification. His expression remained perfectly serene.
It was more fun this way.
—
The interior of AIM headquarters was as impressive as the exterior. Soaring ceilings and massive windows filled the space with natural light, while the quiet hum of focused work carried through the building.
The walls showcased not just corporate achievements and patent awards, but photos of the people AIM had helped: amputees with prosthetic limbs that looked and functioned like the real thing, paralyzed patients in advanced mobility chairs, children with congenital conditions given new hope and new futures.
This was what AIM was supposed to be. What Killian had become when given the right guidance, the right resources, the right reasons to be better.
Killian guided them deeper into the facility, past biosafety airlocks and sterilization chambers, until they reached the high-security sector: Division X – Extremis.
"We've made significant progress since your last audit, Arthur," Killian explained as the blast doors hissed open. "The regenerative capabilities are off the charts. We can regrow limbs. Repair spinal damage. It's a miracle drug."
"But?" Arthur prompted, knowing the answer.
"But," Killian's expression tightened slightly, "we are still struggling with the termination phase."
This was the crux of the issue.
Arthur had been very clear with his instructions. For him, a successful Extremis wasn't just about healing; it was about control.
He had run countless simulations with Eve. The Extremis virus was a bio-organic computer program that rewrote the body's repair center. The problem was that if left active, the program kept running. It kept rewriting. It overheated the system, leading to instability and, eventually, detonation.
Arthur's requirement was simple. The virus enters, performs the repair, and then dies.
It had to erase itself completely.
"The virus is stubborn," Killian admitted as he led them toward a massive observation window. "It wants to stay active. It wants to keep improving the host. Every time we try to introduce a kill-switch, the virus adapts. It fights back."
"Aldrich, let me handle this part."
A woman stepped out from behind one of the larger holographic displays. Dark hair pulled back into a practical ponytail. A lab coat over casual clothes. Sharp, assessing eyes that flickered with recognition when they landed on Tony.
Tony went very still.
"Maya Hansen," he said.
Maya smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Tony. It's been… what, ten years?"
"Something like that. You were doing bio-coding back then. Hacking the hard drive of a living organism."
Maya's lips curved slightly. "Technically, you were the one who made the joke about the ficus. But yes. Good memory."
"I never forget a brilliant mind," Tony said easily. "Or a pretty face. Though I usually don't run into them again in high-security bio-labs."
Pepper's expression had settled into something carefully neutral—the look of a woman who had long ago made peace with the fact that Tony Stark had a past, and that it occasionally resurfaced at inconvenient moments.
Tony stepped past Killian and approached the holographic display. The playboy mask slipped away, replaced by the engineer beneath. His eyes scanned the data, tracking patterns, equations, logic.
"This is it," Tony murmured, his eyes darting across the code. "This is the equation. You cracked the regrowth sequence."
"We did," Maya said. "It can fix anything. Regrow any part of the human body."
Tony watched the simulation: a digital body healing in seconds, tissue rebuilding itself with impossible precision. He saw the potential. He saw salvation.
"The early versions were… volatile," Maya continued, pulling up older test footage.
A wilted flower straightened, bloomed—and then kept growing. Cells multiplied uncontrollably until the plant collapsed under its own impossible biology.
"The regeneration was too aggressive," Maya said quietly. "Too indiscriminate. Subjects healed, but the virus kept pushing. Kept rewriting. Until—"
"Boom," Tony supplied.
"More like a very bright flash followed by extreme heat," Maya said grimly. "We lost a lot of test subjects before stabilization."
"Plants," Eileen said quietly. "Only plants. And only after we'd exhausted every possible non-living simulation."
"The ethical guidelines were... strict," Maya acknowledged. "Frustrating at times. But looking back, they probably saved the project. If we'd rushed into animal trials with the early formula, the failures would have drawn attention we couldn't afford."
Arthur hid a smile. Guidelines was a generous way of putting it.
Eileen Hayes was the kindest soul Arthur knew, but she had a backbone of steel when it came to cruelty. She had absolutely forbidden animal testing for the Extremis project. She had seen the early data on the explosions and refused to let monkeys or dogs be blown up in the name of science.
"If you can't make it work on a fern, you aren't putting it in a dog," she had told them.
The researchers had pulled their hair out. They had cursed her name in the break room. But they had followed the order. Because Eileen was Arthur's wife, and nobody at AIM wanted to find out what happened if you upset Arthur Hayes.
Maya pulled up new data. "Current version: Extremis 3.7. Stable regeneration cycle. Controlled cellular manipulation. We've successfully reversed paralysis, regrown damaged tissue, and eliminated chronic conditions in primate test subjects."
"Show them the monkey footage," Killian said eagerly.
Maya complied.
The video showed a rhesus monkey with clear spinal trauma, its lower limbs unresponsive. The injection. Hours of careful monitoring. Then movement. Standing. Walking. Climbing.
"That's remarkable," Tony breathed, leaning forward. "Complete cellular reconstruction? No degradation over time?"
"None that we've detected. The subject has been monitored for eight months with no regression."
"Then it's complete," Tony said. "You have a working cure for basically everything."
"Not quite." Maya's expression tightened. "The virus stabilizes, yes. It heals, yes. But it doesn't leave. Each reactivation pushes it closer to failure."
Maya pulled up a simulation. Tony watched intently as cellular structures healed perfectly—then kept healing. Kept multiplying. Kept optimizing until the system collapsed into chaos and fire.
"There," Tony pointed immediately at a section of code. "The command loop doesn't close. It keeps running until thermal output exceeds biological limits. You need a logic gate, not a chemical solution. Rewrite the code so the virus recognizes the healed state as a suicide trigger."
He was already rolling up his sleeves, reaching for the console. "If I patch the intake sequence—"
"Stark." Killian's voice cut through like a blade. "Step away from the workstation."
Tony looked up, surprised by the sudden hostility. "I'm trying to help you fix—"
"We don't need your help," Killian spat. "We are finishing this project. A.I.M. is finishing this project. And when it is perfect, you can stand in line and buy it like everyone else."
"Buddy, I don't think you understand," Tony laughed incredulously. "I'm Tony Stark. I fix things. And I'm offering to do it for free. Why are you being so difficult?"
"Why am I—" Killian let out a short, hysterical laugh. He looked at Arthur, then back at Tony. "You really don't remember, do you?"
"Remember what?" Tony asked, his frustration growing. "What is this about?"
Killian stared at him. The silence in the lab was deafening.
Arthur watched with quiet fascination. He'd known this moment would come eventually—had even looked forward to it, in a way. Tony needed to confront the consequences of his past behavior if he was ever going to truly change.
"The roof," Killian whispered, his voice trembling with rage. "Bern. New Year's Eve. You told me to meet you on the roof. You said you were interested in my proposal. You said you'd look at my work, consider investing. You promised you'd be there in five minutes."
The color began draining from Tony's face as fragments of memory started reassembling.
"I waited for four hours, Stark. Four hours. In the freezing cold. On a rooftop. While you were—" He cut himself off, glancing at Maya, then away.
"While I was with Maya," Tony finished quietly.
"While you were with Maya. Having the night of your life, I'm sure. While I stood there like an idiot, watching the fireworks, telling myself you'd show up any minute."
Maya stepped forward, her expression uncomfortable. "Aldrich—"
"I'm not done." Killian held up a hand. "Do you want to know what the worst part was? It wasn't the cold. It wasn't the humiliation. It was that I believed you. I actually believed that Tony Stark saw something in me. That someone like you could look at someone like me—disabled, unknown, struggling—and see potential."
He laughed bitterly. "I almost jumped off that roof, you know. Not because of you—don't flatter yourself. But because that night felt like proof that I would never matter. That people like me were invisible to people like you."
The silence in the laboratory was absolute.
Tony looked stricken—genuinely stricken, not performing emotion but experiencing it. "I... I didn't know."
"No. You wouldn't." Killian straightened his suit jacket, visible effort going into reassembling his composure. "You should thank Arthur for the fact that I'm even in the same room as you right now. That I'm talking to you civilly instead of having security escort you off the premises. He helped me after that night. When I needed help the most. He gave me the resources, the support, the belief that I could actually build something meaningful. If not for him..." He trailed off, leaving the alternative unspoken.
"So no. You don't get to swoop in at the finish line and fix my work. You don't get to be the hero who saves the day. This is my project. My team. My achievement."
He turned toward the door, preparing to leave.
Tony looked at Arthur desperately, a silent plea in his eyes.
Arthur took a sip from the coffee cup that had materialized in his hand at some point during the confrontation. "Don't look at me. This is your mess to clean up."
"You brought me here!"
"I brought you here because you need what Extremis can offer. How you get access to it is your problem."
"Some friend you are."
"I'm an excellent friend. That's why I'm letting you handle this yourself instead of solving it for you."
Tony gaped at him. "You're enjoying this."
"Immensely," Arthur replied. "Character development looks good on you."
Tony turned back to Killian. The man was glaring at him, arms crossed, a wall of resentment.
Tony didn't know what to do. His instinct was to lash out, to buy the building, to make a joke. But looking at Killian—really looking at him—he saw the pain he had caused.
He hesitated. The words stuck in his throat. Apologizing wasn't something Tony Stark did.
Suddenly, he felt a sharp, agonizing pinch on his waist.
"Ow!" Tony jumped, rubbing his side.
Pepper lowered her hand, her face perfectly serene. "Fix it, Tony. Now."
Tony looked at Pepper's steely gaze. He looked at the hole in his chest that was slowly killing him. He looked at the future he wanted to have.
He swallowed his pride. It tasted like ash, but he swallowed it.
"Look," Tony started, his voice lacking its usual bravado. He looked Killian in the eye. "I... I don't remember that night clearly. I was drunk, and I was arrogant, and I was... well, I was me."
Killian scoffed, turning away.
"But," Tony continued, stepping forward. "That doesn't make it right. Leaving you on that roof... that was a dick move. It was unprofessional, and it was cruel. You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry."
The room went quiet.
It wasn't a poetic apology. It wasn't flowery. But it was blunt, and for Tony Stark, it was practically a Shakespearean soliloquy of contrition.
Killian paused. He didn't turn around immediately. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling.
He knew Tony meant it. Or at least, meant it as much as Tony Stark could mean anything. And Killian, despite his rage, was a businessman. He was a scientist. And deep down, he knew they needed Tony's mind to crack the final code.
Killian let out a single huff of breath, shook his head once, and walked out of the laboratory without another word.
The door hissed shut behind him.
Tony stared after him, uncertainty written clearly across his face. "What does that mean? Am I forgiven? Can I work on the project? Was that acceptance or just him leaving before he punched me?"
Arthur set down his coffee cup, his smile widening. "It means he has no objections, Tony. Grudging acceptance is still acceptance. You can work on the project."
"Are you sure? Because that exit seemed pretty objection-filled to me."
"I've known Aldrich for over a decade. If he truly wanted you gone, you'd know it." Arthur glanced at the laboratory door. "Give him time. He's spent years building himself into someone who doesn't need validation from people like you. Finding out you don't even remember him probably stings more than the original slight."
Tony was quiet for a moment, processing. Then his gaze drifted back to the holographic displays, the molecular structures, the tantalizing puzzle of Extremis waiting to be solved.
"So," he said, some of his usual energy returning, "Can I—"
"Get to work," Arthur said. "You have a heart to fix."
And Tony Stark—genius, billionaire, former playboy, and aspiring better person—got to work saving his own life.