Days later, the air force C-17 transport carrying Tony back to the United States touched down on the runway at Edwards Air Force Base. Tony, who was seated in a wheelchair, waited beside Rhodey as the plane’s rear ramp descended.

As Rhodey wheeled his friend off the plane, Tony spotted Pepper standing near the terminal. “Help me out of this thing,” Tony said. He struggled to his feet and Rhodey steadied him.

“I got you, pal,” Rhodey said.

Together they walked to where Pepper waited, standing beside Tony’s limousine.

“Thank you,” Pepper said to Rhodey.

Rhodey smiled.

Tony took a deep breath as Pepper turned toward him. He didn’t need to see the sympathy on her face to know how bad he looked. He was not the same man he’d been before Raza captured him—he would never be.

“Your eyes are red,” Tony said to her. “A few tears for your long-lost boss?”

“Tears of joy,” she replied. “I hate job hunting.”

Pepper helped Tony into the limo and then climbed in herself.

“Where to, Mr. Stark?” Happy asked, hopping behind the wheel.

“We’re due at the hospital,” Pepper said.

“No,” Tony replied. “To the office. I’ve been held captive for three months. There are two things I want to do. I want an American cheeseburger, and the other...” He paused when he saw Pepper giving him a look. “Is not what you think. I want you to call a press conference.”

A huge group of employees, including Obadiah Stane, had gathered outside the main office tower at the campus headquarters of Stark Industries. They burst into applause as Tony’s limo pulled up.

Pepper looked at her boss, worried, and helped him get out of the car.

Stane stepped forward and embraced Tony in a bear hug.

“Welcome home, boss,” he said. Then, more quietly, so only Tony and Pepper could hear, he added, “I thought we were meeting at the hospital. There are a lot of reporters here, waiting for you. What’s going on?”

“You’ll see,” Tony said.

Tony leaned on Stane’s shoulder, and the two of them walked into the building’s main entrance. Pepper followed. Reporters packed the lobby from wall to wall.

Pepper didn’t notice the man in the dark, tailored suit until he walked up behind her. He was tall, around forty, with a stern face and impeccably groomed hair.

“You’ll have to take a seat, sir,” Pepper said distractedly.

“I’m not a reporter,” the man replied. “I’m Agent Phil Coulson, with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Pepper said, her eyes not leaving Tony for a moment.

“I know,” Coulson said, handing her his business card.

Pepper barely glanced at it. “Look, Mr. Coulson,” she said, “we’ve already spoken with the DOD, the FBI, the CIA, the—”

“We’re a separate division with a more...specific focus,” Coulson said. “We need to debrief Tony about the circumstances of his escape.”

“Well, that’s great,” Pepper said, cutting him off. “I’ll let him know when he’s got a free moment.”

“We’re here to help,” Coulson insisted. “I assure you, Mr. Stark will want to talk to us.”

“I’m sure he will,” Pepper said. “Now, if you could just take your seat.”

She walked away from the agent, moving through the crowd toward the podium. Tony looked shaky as he made his way to the microphones. Stane stayed by his side, ready to catch his boss if he staggered.

Tony sat in front of the podium eating his cheeseburger. “Hey, would it be all right if everyone sat down?” he said to the reporters. With some puzzled looks, they did. Then before Stane could step in, he cleared his throat and got started.

“I...” Tony began, “I never got to say good-bye to my father. There’re questions I would have asked him. I would have asked him how he felt about what this company did. If he was ever conflicted, if he ever had any doubts...or maybe he was every inch the man we all remember from the newsreels.” Tony paused and then went on. “I saw young Americans killed by the very weapons I created to defend them. And I saw that I had become part of a system that is comfortable with zero accountability.”

Reporters shouted questions over each other. Finally, one voice rose above the rest.

“Mr. Stark,” a reporter said. “What exactly happened to you over there?”

Tony looked thoughtful for a moment, and then all his emotions seemed to overflow.

“What happened over there?” he repeated. “I had my eyes opened. I came to realize that I have more to offer this world than just making things that blow up. And that is why, effective immediately, I am shutting down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark Industries.”

In the pandemonium that followed this thunderbolt of an announcement, Rhodey sidled up to Pepper. “Weren’t we taking him to the hospital?” he asked. She shrugged.

Onstage next to Tony, Obadiah Stane’s jaw dropped, and the lobby erupted into chaos. Stane moved to cut Tony off.

“We’ve lost our way,” Tony continued. “I need to re­evaluate things. And my heart is telling me that I have more to offer the planet than blowing things up.”

Tony put his arm around the flustered-looking Stane. “In the coming months,” Tony said, “Mr. Stane and I will set a new course for Stark Industries. ‘Tomorrow Today’ has always been our slogan. It’s time we try to live up to it.”

Reporters shouted questions as Tony stepped back and Stane took the podium.

“Okay,” Stane said. “What we should take away from this is that Tony’s back, he’s healthier than ever, and as soon as he heals up and takes some time off, we’re going to have a little internal discussion and get back to you. Thank you for coming by.”

Tony stepped off the stage, beaming. Pepper had never seen him so enthusiastic. He quickly worked his way through the crowd to where she and Rhodey were standing.

“Do you mean that?” Pepper asked.

“Wait and see,” Tony replied. He headed out the side door and into the company’s sprawling campus.

Stane found him near the Arc Reactor building. “That went well,” Stane said sarcastically.

“Did I just paint a target on the back of my head?” Tony asked.

“The back of your head?” Stane replied. “What about the back of my head? How much do you think our stock is going to drop tomorrow?”

Tony thought a moment. “Forty points.”

“Minimum,” Stane said, concerned. “Tony, we are a weapons manufacturer.”

“I don’t want a body count to be our only legacy,” Tony said.

Stane frowned at him. “What we do here keeps the world from falling into chaos.”

“Well, judging from what I’ve seen,” Tony said, “we’re not doing a very good job. There are other things we can do.”

“Like what?” Stane asked. “You want us to make baby bottles?”

“We could reopen development of Arc Reactor tech,” Tony mused.

“The Arc Reactor was a publicity stunt,” Stane said. “We built it to shut up the hippies.”

“It works,” Tony observed.

“Yeah, as a science project,” Stane replied. “It was never cost-effective. We knew that before we built it. Repulsor Arc Reactor Technology is a dead end. Right?”

“Maybe,” Tony replied.

Stane looked at him anxiously. “There haven’t been any breakthroughs in thirty years. Right?”

Tony shook his head. “You’re a lousy poker player, Obadiah. Who told you?”

“Come on,” Stane said with a big grin, like they already were sharing a secret. “Let me see the thing.”

“Was it Rhodey?” Tony asked.

“Just show it to me,” Stane said.

Tony ripped open his shirt, revealing the glowing electronic unit in the middle of his chest.

“Well,” Stane said, marveling. He took a deep breath. “Listen, we’re a team. There’s nothing we can’t do if we stick together. No more of this ready-fire-aim business. No more unplanned press conferences. Can you promise me that?”

“Maybe,” Tony said.

Stane straightened up. “Let me handle this,” he said. “I did it for your father; I’ll do it for you, but, please, you just have to lie low for a while.”

But “lying low” was never something Tony Stark was good at. KrD9R2shadk5arMGEv4/Fhwy2oh9FmynJ3jVTpRgyynzssvXRCJR1KYuzdZ01xMn