A Decision
Back in the workshop, a news reporter is shown on the flat-screen TV, updating viewers on the situation while a line of people carrying their belongings trudge up a rocky hillside behind her.
“Oh dear.” Sighed Bruce, Tony grimaced at the screen.
"The 15-mile hike to the outskirts of Gulmira can only be described as a descent into hell, into a modern-day Heart of Darkness." The camera starts to pan out, slowly revealing the rest of the workshop space surrounding the screen.
As the woman continues talking, Tony is slowly revealed to be sitting on the couch, listening to the broadcast as he tinkers with the right armour gauntlet, rotating his wrist and wiggling his fingers.
“What are you doing?” asked Steve squinting at the screen.
“Making adjustments, adding new things,” Tony answered vaguely, a faraway look on his face.
"Simple farmers and herders from peaceful villages have been driven from their homes, displaced from their lands by warlords emboldened by a new-found power."
From the front, Tony takes a deep breath, his eyes dark and passive- more focused on the screen rather than his work. He takes the screwdriver in his flesh hand and twists, finally turning towards his work, but it's clear he's listening to every word.
“Oh Tony,” breathed Rhodey sadly recognizing the expression on his face.
"Villagers have been forced to take shelter in whatever crude dwellings they can find in the ruins of other villages, or here in the remnants of an old Soviet smelting plant."
He twists the screwdriver again, rotates his wrist and moves his fingers, the light in the centre of his palm glowing and fading ominously with his movements.
“Are you adding the weapons?” questioned Rocket eagerly. Tony nodded his head slightly.
The sound of gunfire from the TV draws his attention back to it, the monitor showing terrorists running around with guns, firing off shots as the land around them smokes.
"Recent violence has been attributed to a group of foreign fighters referred to by locals as the Ten Rings."
“Oh god.” groaned Peter, paling slightly as he remembered the earlier scenes. Tony squeezed his shoulder softly.
“I dealt with it.”
Tony's eyes go dark as he watches camera zoom in on Raza smoking and glaring into the camera. The next shot is of the Jericho missile, while men bustle around it loading crates into vehicles.
“Was that Stane’s fault?” paled Scott, glancing at Tony and Rhodey. Rhodey nodded as Tony put his head back in his hands.
Upon seeing the missile, Tony looks down, but the woman continues talking, "As you can see, these men are heavily armed, and on a mission- a mission that could prove fatal to anyone who stands in their way."
“You’re going aren’t you?” Natasha sighed slightly, already knowing the answer.
“How’d you expect me to stay away,” Tony replied feebly.
Tony gives the screwdriver one last, strong twist, and stands from his position on the couch.
"With no political will or international pressure, there's very little hope for these refugees."
Tony strolls over to the counter and tosses the screwdriver onto it, not really caring where it ends up. His muscles are tense and his jaw is set as he raises his arm, the woman's voice continues to roll over his ears in the background.
Rhodey flicked his eyes to Tony, who had a similar, but more tired and defeated, expression on his face.
"Around me, a woman, begging for news on her husband, who was kidnapped by insurgents…" Tony raises his gloved hand, the view now directed at him and capturing the rage gleaming in his eyes, "…either forced to join their militia…"
A lot of the audience grimaced or looked saddened at this.
The light in his palm flares up, and he fires across the workshop, knocking down the ceiling light in an array of sparks, and sending Tony's arm back from the force of it.
“Yikes!” Quill jumped at that, Rocket burst out laughing at his shocked friend but stopped relatively quickly as Gamora also glared at him.
He looks at the destruction curiously, the reporter once again audible, "Desperate refugees clutch yellowed photographs, holding them up to anyone who will stop."
Tony starts to walk forward, his features set and determined as he stares at the damage he caused.
A couple of people glanced at Tony in worry. The billionaire was staring straight ahead, seemingly lost in his thoughts, with a bitter look upon his face.
"A child's simple question, 'Where are my mother and father?' There's very little hope for these refugees …"
From the side Tony's jaw is stiff and his eyes are gleaming with frustration and guilt.
"…refugees who can only wonder, who, if anyone, will help them?"
Tony drops his head, only looking up again once he's turned to face his reflection in the glass doors of the shop.
Rhodey’s eyes widened slightly remembering how the glass had been broken the next time he had gone there.
He's glaring now, frustration turning to hate like the flick of a switch- hate for himself, and him alone. The room goes quiet as he stares at himself until he raises his armoured hand again.
The worried glances at Tony increased. Bruce, in particular, having gone through those sort of emotions himself in relation to the Hulk.
Just like that, his face twists into a deadly grimace as he aims at his reflection in the glass, shattering it effortlessly.
There were several startled cries again at the shattering glass, Bruce’s gaze on Tony grew more alarmed.
He quickly shoots the one to the left, before turning and shooting the one directly in the centre as if he can't stand to look at himself any longer.
“Um, Tony?” Bruce began his worried gaze increasing. But Tony was distracted by the sudden hug Peter gave him.
“Woah, hang on…” he muttered.
“Oh shut up.” murmured Rhodey, joining in on the hug. Tony’s startled look relaxed into a relative calmness.
He turns and walks away, leaving the shattered glass scattered on the workshop floor.
If this was going to be a recurring theme then how did she miss something like this? Natasha was internally cursing herself again.
Tony steps onto the testing platform now dressed in his under armour suit as he steps to the centre of the grid. The floor in front of him starts to separate, the armour's boots appearing in front of Tony's feet and a pair of robotic yellow arms holding up the calves.
“Again,” Rocket nodded appreciatively. “Awesome.”
He steps into the boots, the machines quickly attaching the calves and locking into place around his form, doing the same for the knees and thighs.
“Wow that looks badass, but I am so glad I made it easier to put on.” Tony tapped on the Arc Reactor.
More robotic arms come down from the ceiling, holding out the opened gauntlets, which Tony slips his hands and arms into just as the silverback and chest pieces attach to his torso. Bits of the red armour are screwed on piece by piece, covering the inner workings of the suit in clean-cut red and gold.
Peter was gazing awestruck at the suit in all its glory.
The chest piece clicks into place over the arc reactor until the red chest plate moves to cover it, locking into place and intensifying its' glow.
“Why don’t you cover it up?” questioned T’challa, “Isn’t it’s exposure a safety risk?”
“Brother, it looks way cooler that way.” Shuri rolled her eyes. “Besides, Tony isn’t stupid, the glass is probably a variation on metallic glass.”
“Right you are Princess.” Tony smiled slightly at the girl who grinned back.
The arms are finally attached and Tony pulls his hands free. He stays in place as the sides of the helmet are attached, until finally, the face plate clicks on, flips down, and the eyes light up; the final piece.
“I assume in all the video’s involving you there is going to be dramatic suit-up scenes.” Stephen sighed exasperatedly. Tony winked at the Doctor.
“Dramatically awesome you mean.” But he was distracted by the idea that he could be in multiple videos.
“Right of course,” Stephen answered rolling his eyes.
The suit is assembled.