As the sun dipped below the Afghan horizon, painting the dunes in a bruised purple and orange, the Bagram Airfield buzzed with the low hum of transport planes and evening patrols. Tony Stark ensured the door was electronically deadbolted.
With a rhythmic wave of his hand, the reinforced crates he had brought under "private security" guard began to open. The Mark III armor pieces rose into the air, caught in the invisible grip of his Magnetism. They swirled around him, metallic dance before snapping onto his body with pressurized precision. The suit felt lighter, hummed with an energy like an extension of his own pulse.
"JARVIS, initiate a silent vertical takeoff," Tony whispered, the HUD of his helmet flickering to life in a flurry of multi-spectral data. "Keep the repulsor output in the blue spectrum to minimize visual detection. We're going off-grid."
"Systems green, Sir. The military radar is currently being looped with a ghost signal. To the tower, you are simply a localized heat shimmer."
Tony launched straight up through the retractable skylight of the hangar, vanishing into the darkening sky before the soldiers on the tarmac could even look up.
The moment Tony breached the perimeter of the canyon base, the world slowed to a rhythmic crawl. Through his Eye Boy vision, a neon-bright map of heat signatures and metal density.
"JARVIS, paint the targets. Keep the magnetic field tight—I want to dismantle them," Tony commanded.
As the first group of terrorists scrambled for their rifles, Tony swept his arm across the air, and his Magnetism seized the barrels of their AK-47s. With a sharp twist of his wrist, the cold steel groaned and snapped like dry twigs. The insurgents stared in horror at their mangled weapons, but before they could react, Tony was already moving.
In Bullet Time, Tony wove through a hail of incoming fire from a heavy machine-gun nest. To the terrorists, he was a crimson blur; to Tony, the bullets were lazy hornets drifting past his head. He reached out and gripped the air, focusing his magnetic power on the large ammo belt feeding the gun. With a violent jerk, he reversed the polarity, causing the belt to jam and the gun's internal mechanism to shatter under its own pressure.
"Sir, three targets at ten o'clock, high elevation. They are preparing a shoulder-mounted launcher," JARVIS alerted, a tactical reticle flashing in Tony's HUD.
Tony simply extended his left hand. He used his magnetism to "catch" the rocket the moment it left the tube. The projectile hovered, vibrating violently in a magnetic bottle just inches from the launcher. With a cold flick of his fingers, Tony sent the rocket screaming back into the ledge, collapsing the stone and the insurgents along with it.
He moved through the camp like a phantom reaper. He used his thrusters as kinetic hammers, landing in the center of a group and releasing a Magnetic Radial Pulse. The shockwave sent every metallic object—knives, grenades, and even the buckles on the terrorists' vests—flying outward with the force of a shrapnel blast.
"Structural analysis complete," JARVIS chimed. "The main command center is behind the reinforced blast door at the end of this corridor."
Tony walked forward, the metal floor beneath his boots warping as his sheer magnetic presence intensified. Any terrorist who tried to stand in his way found their sidearms ripped from their holsters and crushed into scrap metal before they could even find the trigger. By the time he reached the door to Raza's inner sanctum, the exterior camp was a graveyard of broken machinery and disarmed men, silenced by a power they couldn't begin to comprehend.
The terrorist leader Raza sat in front of a flickering satellite monitor. His face was twisted in fury. On the screen was the grainy image of Obadiah Stane.
"You lied to me, Stane!" Raza hissed, slamming his fist on the table. "You said he was a pampered bird in a cage! My men were wiped out in minutes by ghosts. He had his Special Forces waiting for us. My operation is in ruins!"
Obadiah's expression remained mask-like, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of irritation. "You were paid to be efficient, Raza. If you couldn't handle a few retired soldiers, perhaps you aren't the partner I thought you were."
"I want more money!" Raza screamed. "I want double for the blood of my brothers, or I will—"
Raza froze. A metallic hum began to vibrate through the cave walls. It was a rhythmic throb that set the dust dancing.
The reinforced steel doors of the command center were crumpled inward like tin foil as Tony used a focused Magnetic pulse to rip them from their hinges.
Tony stepped through the dust. To Raza and the flickering image of Stane, he was a crimson-and-gold predator.
Stane's jaw dropped as he watched through the monitor. He saw a machine that shouldn't exist—a suit of armor that looked decades ahead of anything in the Stark labs. "What is that?" Obadiah whispered to himself, his heart hammering against his ribs. He saw the death of his plans.
Tony didn't say a word. To him, the room was moving in slow motion. He saw Raza reaching for a sidearm. With Eye Boy precision, Tony saw the firing pin, the spring, and the hammer.
Using his Magnetism, Tony seized the metal of Raza's own pistol. The gun twisted in the leader's hand, pointing back at its owner. Before Raza could even scream, the trigger was pulled by an invisible force.
Raza fell. Silence reclaimed the cave, save for the panicked breathing of Obadiah Stane on the screen.
Tony walked to the console. He didn't look at the camera, keeping his helmeted face angled away to preserve the mystery. He plugged a data spike into the satellite link.
"JARVIS, dump it all. Every transaction, every offshore account, every encrypted message between Stane and the Ten Rings."
"Transferring now, Sir. It is... quite a trail of breadcrumbs."
On the other end of the line, Obadiah realized the danger. He saw the "Iron Man" glance toward the screen, and in a panic, Stane cut the communication, the monitor going black. He sat in his dark office in New York, sweating, wondering what God he had just accidentally summoned.
Tony turned back to the cave. He could see the stockpiles through the walls—thousands of Stark-branded crates.
He walked out of the cave and hovered a hundred feet in the air. He raised his arm, the internal guidance system locking onto every thermal signature of his own stolen weapons.
"Time to clean the warehouse," Tony muttered.
He fired a specialized magnetic-incendiary rocket. As it hit the center of the camp, Tony used his power to "pull" all the loose shrapnel inward, creating a localized pressure cooker of explosions.
A massive fireball climbed into the night sky, vaporizing every missile, mortar, and crate with the Stark name on it. By the time the dust settled, there was nothing left but scorched earth.
Tony banked hard, disappearing into the clouds before the first military scout could even look toward the horizon.
P.S. If you're enjoying the journey through the mist and can't wait to see what happens next, consider supporting my work on Patreon! You can unlock 10 Advance Chapters right now and stay ahead of the curve. Your support helps me keep the updates coming daily!
Read ahead here: www.patreon.com/Drrajnovel