Weeks after Tony's dramatic desert escape—now back in Malibu, publicly declaring the end of weapons manufacturing at Stark Industries, and secretly building the Mark II suit in his workshop—Alex Dumbfort was still "consulting." His official duties? Mostly fetching coffee, testing snack prototypes, and staying out of the way. But Alex never stayed out of the way for long.
Tony had just finished the upgraded arc reactor (the "palladium beauty" that powered his heart and his dreams), installing it triumphantly while Pepper fussed over paperwork. Obadiah Stane—smooth, silver-haired, ever the "concerned uncle"—had been hovering closer than ever. He knew Tony's change of heart threatened everything: the black-market deals, the Ten Rings connections, the power he'd craved since Howard's death. Stane's plan was already in motion: steal the tech, eliminate Tony, pin it on "tragic accident" or "terrorist reprisal." He'd already tried once in Afghanistan. Now, with Tony vulnerable at home, Stane prepared the final play—break in, paralyze him with a sonic taser, rip out the arc reactor, leave him to die slowly while claiming the miniaturized design for his own armored monstrosity.
But Alex? Alex was in the mansion that night because he'd "forgotten" his backpack in the workshop earlier. (It contained half a pizza and the drone that had somehow survived Afghanistan.) Wandering the halls in search of a microwave, he heard voices from Tony's private lab—low, conspiratorial.
Alex peeked through the cracked door. There was Obadiah, alone (or so he thought), on a secure video call with shadowy figures—Ten Rings remnants and black-market contacts. The screen showed schematics of the Mark I armor Stane had recovered, blueprints for a larger suit, and a timeline: "Stark paralyzed tonight. Reactor extracted. Body disposed. Company takeover by morning. Sell to highest bidder."
Alex blinked. "Whoa... is this a movie night? Mr. Stane's doing villain monologues?"
He pushed the door open a bit too hard. It creaked loudly.
Stane spun, eyes widening. "Dumbfort? What the hell are you—"
Alex, ever helpful, waved. "Hey! I was just looking for the kitchen. But uh... did you say 'body disposed'? Like, Tony's body? That's not cool, man. Tony's my boss. He lets me eat the good chips."
Stane's face twisted from surprise to cold calculation. He reached for the sonic taser hidden in his coat—same one he'd planned for Tony. "Kid, you shouldn't have heard that. Walk away. Forget what you saw."
Alex tilted his head. "Forget? Nah, I got a bad memory for bad stuff. Wait—Tony! TONY!" He yelled down the hall like calling for pizza delivery.
Tony, in the adjacent workshop tinkering with repulsors, heard the shout. "Dumbfort? What's the—"
Stane lunged, taser humming. Alex, panicking, flung his backpack. The half-eaten pizza box flew out, smacking Stane square in the face—grease and cheese blinding him momentarily. The taser fired wild, sonic wave shattering a nearby monitor instead of hitting anyone.
Tony burst in, arc reactor glowing. "Obie? What the—"
Alex, still clueless but sensing trouble, pointed dramatically. "Mr. Stark! Mr. Stane was on the phone saying he's gonna steal your glowy thing and... and dispose of you! Like, garbage dispose! I think he's the bad guy!"
Stane wiped pizza from his eyes, snarling. "The kid's delusional. Tony, listen—"
But Tony's eyes narrowed. He'd already been suspicious—Stane's pushback on shutting down weapons, the lingering Ten Rings weapons in the field. Now this? "Alex, repeat exactly what you heard."
Alex, unfazed, rattled it off like reciting a takeout order: "Paralyzed tonight. Reactor extracted. Body disposed. Company takeover. Sell to highest bidder. Oh, and something about a big suit. Sounded fancy."
Tony's face hardened. "Obie... you hired the Ten Rings. You tried to kill me in Afghanistan."
Stane laughed—forced, oily. "Paranoia, Tony. The kid's an idiot. He stumbles into everything."
"Yeah," Tony said quietly, "and somehow he always lands on the truth."
In the chaos, Alex—trying to "help"—bumped into a console. His elbow hit a security override button (the one labeled "Emergency Broadcast – Do Not Touch"). Alarms blared. Mansion security footage auto-uploaded to Pepper's tablet and—thanks to a glitch from Alex's earlier "improvements" to the system—straight to SHIELD's secure line. Phil Coulson, monitoring from afar, saw everything: Stane's confession call, the taser, the pizza assault.
Pepper arrived minutes later with SHIELD agents. Stane tried to bolt, but Alex—still holding the pizza box like a shield—tripped him into a coffee table. Stane went down hard, cursing.
Tony stared at Alex, arc reactor pulsing steadily. "Kid... you just saved my life. Again. By being... you."
Alex shrugged, picking cheese off his shirt. "I was just hungry. But hey, no more bad guys in the house, right? Want the rest of the pizza? It's cold now, but still good."
As SHIELD hauled Stane away (his plans crumbling before Iron Monger could even be built), Tony clapped Alex on the shoulder. "Dumbfort, you're officially on the payroll. Full benefits. And therapy if you want it."
Alex grinned. "Cool. Does that include unlimited snacks?"
In the end, Obadiah's grand betrayal—years in the making—unraveled not by genius detectives or super-spies, but by a clueless consultant with bad timing, worse luck, and an unerring talent for stumbling into victory.
The Marvel Universe rolled on: Tony became Iron Man, threats loomed larger. But whenever disaster brewed, Alex Dumbfort was there—zero plan, maximum chaos, and somehow, always just in time to spill pizza on the bad guy's parade.
No clue required. Success guaranteed.