Tony Stark still couldn't pull the trigger. His trembling hands and flickering gaze betrayed his hesitation, and Marcus — sensing the weakness — pressed harder.
"Tony, you're not the selfless man you think you are," Marcus said softly, almost kindly, though every word was meant to wound. "You're just a selfish human being. You don't have to keep pretending to be a hero who sacrifices everything for the world. You're not Captain America. Everything you've done — every grand act of 'justice' — it's all been about you. A way to make yourself feel better."
Tony let out a short, humorless laugh, though his voice shook with suppressed anger. "I risked my life to save New York — to save millions. And you call that self-satisfaction?"
Marcus smiled faintly and lifted the small, glass-encased Arc Reactor from the table, turning it in his hands so the engraved words caught the light.
"Proof That Tony Stark Has a Heart."
"Peace," Marcus repeated mockingly. "You say you've preserved world peace — and I don't deny it. But tell me, Tony — is this device's worth limited to you flying around in a fancy suit beating up bad guys? No. The Arc Reactor represents a new age of energy, one that could solve crises far greater than petty wars or terrorism. With this, humanity could overcome its greatest threats — famine, pollution, extinction. Isn't that more meaningful than your so-called peacekeeping?"
He set the device back down and leaned closer, his tone darkening. "If you had shared your armor technology with your government, the world could have unified under one power. No more conflict, no more war. A true peace. But you refused. You chose to hoard it for yourself. Because deep down, you know you don't fight for justice — you fight for your own ego."
Marcus's eyes gleamed as he pressed on. "And as for your 'sacrifices'? Let's be honest — they're not noble. They're a form of self-destruction. You say you're making amends for your past, for the blood on your company's hands. But that's not redemption, Tony. That's guilt. You crave punishment. You long to die gloriously, like some martyr. You're not saving the world. You're just trying to atone — the way suicidal heroes always do."
He stepped closer until the muzzle of Tony's gun was pressed directly against his chest. Marcus spread his arms wide and asked, slowly and clearly:
"Do you want to make the world better, Tony Stark — or do you just want to look like the man who does?"
"I… I—"
Tony's whole body trembled. The question cut deeper than any wound. He wanted to answer — to fight back — but the words wouldn't come. His grip on the pistol faltered.
With a choked yell, he threw the gun aside. It clattered across the floor, spinning away into the shadows.
"…You're right," he said finally, voice breaking. "I'm selfish."
His eyes burned red with frustration and grief, his face twitching as if trying to hold back tears. Everything he had believed in — every reason he had ever fought — suddenly felt hollow. His convictions, once unshakable, were crumbling piece by piece.
"But even if I'm selfish," Tony went on, his voice regaining a fragile steadiness, "I still want to be a hero."
Marcus blinked, taken aback. He hadn't expected that answer.
"I'm not a good man," Tony said quietly, "but I still try to do good. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"
For the first time since his transformation, Tony's eyes cleared — no longer clouded by guilt or confusion, but lit by a faint, unwavering resolve.
"No matter what happens," he whispered, "I won't betray what my parents believed in."
A long silence followed. Then Marcus began to laugh — not mockingly, but softly, almost approvingly. "Not bad," he said. "You've got guts, I'll give you that."
But his smirk soon returned. "Too bad I still have one card left to play."
Tony frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Marcus's expression turned almost sympathetic as he asked, "Tell me, Tony… do you actually know how your parents died?"
Tony blinked. The sudden change in topic left him momentarily confused. "Car accident," he said flatly.
"You really believe that?"
Before Tony could respond, Marcus extended his hand — and through the mental link, he injected a memory straight into Tony's mind.
In an instant, the world shifted. Tony was no longer standing in his home but riding a motorcycle through a dark forest road, chasing a black car that sped ahead of him.
Inside that car — he knew instinctively — were his parents.
"What… what is this?" Tony gasped.
"The Winter Soldier's memories," Marcus's voice echoed in his head. "Watch closely."
Through the soldier's eyes, Tony saw everything.
He felt the mechanical arm strike his father's face — once, twice — until the man's skull caved in. He watched helplessly as the same hand reached into the car, grabbed his mother by the throat, and snapped her neck without hesitation.
It was brutal. It was merciless.
And it was real.
When the vision faded, Tony fell to his knees, gagging. He retched violently, clutching at his stomach as bile burned his throat.
Marcus watched him coldly, then spoke in an almost casual tone. "Now you understand. I just thought you should know that Captain America has known about this for a long time."
Tony froze, then snatched Marcus's phone and dialed Steve Rogers's number with shaking fingers.
The line connected.
"Tony?" came Steve's voice, surprised but calm. "It's rare for you to call."
Tony's voice was barely more than a growl. "Who killed my parents?"
A pause. Then, a quiet curse. "…Damn it."
Steve hesitated, but he couldn't lie. "It was the Winter Soldier."
For a moment, Tony said nothing. Then he exploded.
"Why didn't you tell me?! You knew!" he shouted, his voice raw with rage.
"Tony, listen to me—" Steve began, his tone desperate. "S.H.I.E.L.D. discovered that the Winter Soldier was brainwashed by Hydra. He wasn't acting on his own. We didn't have proof of who he truly was — I didn't want to condemn him without knowing the full truth—"
"I don't care!" Tony roared. "He killed my mother!"
With that, he hurled the phone to the ground. It shattered into pieces.
For a long moment, the room was utterly silent. Then Marcus placed a hand on his shoulder, feigning sympathy.
"Don't take it personally," he murmured. "Captain America was only doing his duty as a hero."
Tony's lips twisted into a bitter snarl. "To hell with heroes."
He stomped on the shattered phone, crushing it beneath his heel.
[You have subdued: Zombie Hero – Tony Stark.]
[Subject is permanently bound by mental link. Disobedience impossible unless consciousness fully destroyed.]
And just like that — the man once known as Iron Man was gone.
All that remained was Tony Stark — a broken man consumed by fury, betrayal, and the unbearable weight of loss.
'Farewell, Iron Man.'
The hero who once stood for hope and genius was no more.
Now, the world had gained only another weapon of vengeance.
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T/N:
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