"Do I look like I need you to take a souvenir photo?" Tony grimaced, trying to wrench himself free from the crushed sports car. With every movement, the silver-white armor on his body emitted a cringe-inducing screech of scraping metal.
This thing wasn't an armor right now, it was a turtle shell. A welded-shut one.
Paul put his phone away and sauntered over, dangling a medical ice pack in his hand. He waved it in front of Tony's eyes.
"Considering you almost ended up as a metal pancake, friend's price, half a million."
"Get lost!" Tony grumbled, but still gestured for him to hand over the ice pack.
He pressed the ice pack to his bruised forehead. The cold sensation made him hiss, finally clearing his head a little.
The father and son duo, with the help of two clumsy robotic arms, finally managed to pry Tony out of the "iron coffin" after a great deal of effort.
Tony limped to the bar, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and downed it in one gulp. The burning liquid sliding down his throat finally made him feel a little more like Tony Stark.
"JARVIS, delete the entire flight log from just now, especially that last part," Tony commanded, rubbing his sore back, his pride still intact. "That was a technical adjustment, not a crash."
"As you wish, sir. However, I would recommend running a full simulation before your next extreme conditions test." JARVIS's voice was as calm as ever, which only made Tony flush with embarrassment.
Paul ignored his pitiful pride. His gaze was drawn to an elegant glass case in the corner of the bar.
Inside the case, a ring-shaped metal device lay quietly—it was the old Arc Reactor that Tony had removed from his chest.
But around the base of the reactor, an elegant inscription had been added.
Paul leaned in closer, reading it out word by word: "Proof that Tony Stark has a heart."
That must have been Pepper's doing.
Paul turned to look at Tony, who was holding his glass, his eyes slightly evasive.
The indomitable genius billionaire, for a moment, looked like a child caught doing something wrong.
Tony squirmed under his gaze and cleared his throat. "It's... it's a piece of art. You wouldn't understand."
"I understand," Paul's expression turned serious, the usual playfulness gone from his eyes. "I understand one thing, Dad. If you ever let Pepper down, I'm disowning you."
The air fell silent.
Tony's hand, holding the glass, froze mid-air. He stared at his son's clear, earnest eyes, which reflected his own image. How long had it been since someone had "warned" him like this?
After a long moment, he set down his glass, the corner of his mouth twitching into a not-unpleasant curve. "Got it, little boss."
The tension eased, but something had subtly shifted between them.
"JARVIS, bring up the flight data. Analyze the cause of the failure." Tony quickly switched back into work mode. He couldn't tolerate such a low-level error in his creation.
Soon, a holographic model of the suit appeared on the screen, covered in red alert data.
"Sir, the malfunction was caused by icing on the suit's gold-titanium alloy surface at high altitude, which led to a total shutdown of the system circuitry and mechanical joints."
"Icing..." Tony mused, stroking his chin. "The alloy composition is the problem. I need a new material. Something durable that can also withstand extreme environments."
"A palladium coating might solve part of the problem, but it's just a band-aid," Paul added from the side. "Besides, that silver-white paint job is hideous. It makes you look like a moving target in the sky. No taste at all."
"What do you know? It's called understated luxury," Tony retorted, unconvinced.
"Oh, please. When have you ever been understated?" Paul shot back mercilessly. "If you ask me, you need the most flamboyant color possible. Something to blind everyone."
Tony raised an eyebrow, suddenly interested. "For instance?"
"The color of your sports car isn't bad," Paul said, pointing to another, undamaged Audi R8 in the garage. "Hot-rod red. With some gold accents, it'd be flashy and imposing. Perfectly suits your personality."
"Hot-rod red..." Tony chewed on the words, a new image already forming in his mind.
An iron god of war, clad in red and gold, gleaming in the sun as it tore across the sky.
The idea... damn it, it was actually kind of awesome.
"That settles it!" Tony slammed his hand on the table, the earlier dejection in his eyes replaced by a burning fire of creation. "JARVIS, create a new project file. 'Paul Three'! No, let's stick with 'Mark III.' It sounds better."
For the next few days, the father and son were practically rooted in the garage.
One provided wild theories and insights beyond their time, while the other brought them to life with unparalleled hands-on skill and engineering experience.
Robotic arms swung, sparks flew, and holographic blueprints were constantly modified and optimized.
A brand-new alloy was quickly manufactured on Stark Industries' powerful production lines and delivered to the villa.
Every component of the suit was redesigned. The streamlined shell was filled with a sense of power and beauty, while the internal circuitry and power systems were completely upgraded.
When the final piece of red-and-gold armor was installed, a brand-new Iron Man suit stood silently in the center of the garage.
It was more formidable than the previous silver-white suit, yet its lines were sleeker. The primary red color burned like a flame, while the gold accents gave it a sacred, inviolable majesty.
"Perfect." Tony stared at his masterpiece, his eyes filled with obsession and pride.
This wasn't just a weapon; it was a work of art.
"Sir, Miss Potts would like to remind you that the annual Firefighters Family Fund charity gala will be held at seven o'clock this evening at the Disney Concert Hall," JARVIS's voice chimed in at the perfect moment.
Tony finally snapped out of his trance. He glanced at the time, then at Paul beside him.
"Let's go, kid. I'll show you around, and you can watch how your old man becomes the center of attention." Tony adjusted his bow tie, reverting to his playboy persona.
Paul pursed his lips but said nothing, following him out of the garage.
The father and son got into the luxury car and drove toward the glittering lights of downtown Los Angeles.
No one noticed that behind them, as the garage lights slowly dimmed, the blue lights in the eyes of the red-and-gold suit flashed once in the darkness.
...
Meanwhile, on the other side of the world.
Afghanistan, in some forgotten desert valley.
Inside a dark, damp cave, the flickering light of torches illuminated faces filled with greed and fanaticism.
A group of Ten Rings terrorists were gathered around a pile of battered steel parts, clumsily trying to piece them back together.
The parts were rusted and riddled with bullet holes and blast marks, but one could still faintly make out the shape of a humanoid figure.
It was the wreckage of the "Paul One" armor, abandoned in the desert during Tony Stark's frantic escape.
A man who appeared to be a leader was shouting into a satellite phone, his face plastered with a sycophantic smile.
And in the darkest corner of the cave, a pair of eyes hidden in the shadows watched everything with cold detachment.
The gaze was like that of a viper, full of calculation and cruelty.
He watched the terrorists haphazardly assemble one part after another onto the armor's frame, watched them try to decipher its simple yet incredibly precise internal structure.
A storm was brewing in silence.
A grand conspiracy against Tony Stark was about to begin.