Chapter 3: Discovering the Truth

                                    

                                          
The world was shocked to discover Tony Stark's disappearance in Afghanistan and seemed to be glued to their television screens. Little did they know they would have to wait three months until he returned.
                          
"Will you turn that thing off?" Jane whined about the news station I was watching. "I don't know if I can hear another thing about Tony Stark's disappearance."
                          
My finger lingered over the power button when the screen showed a live press conference. There was Tony, alive, but worse for wear with his arm in a sling. "Well, it looks like he's back," I said. Half of me wished he hadn't returned. After my conversation with him, I didn't mind his disappearance. I always considered it part of his fate, some kind of divine judgment for his actions.
                          
Jane's mouth dropped as she sat down beside me on the couch, "No way."
                          
"I came to realize," Tony was saying, "that I have more to offer this world than just making things blow up. And that is why, effective immediately, I am shutting down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark International . . ." His following words couldn't be heard as the crowd of press rose to their feet, simultaneously asking numerous questions.
                          
Everyone thought that moment was the end of Stark Industries, but the true destruction came days later at the hands of whom we least expected.
                          
One morning, Patricia and I were studying for upcoming final exams when the topic of the last few week's news events came up in our conversation. "I always knew our developing tech was getting more powerful but that cover of a training exercise above Gulmira last week?" Patricia said. "I don't believe a word of it."
                          
"It does seem like they always pull the 'training exercise' card to cover events they don't want to publicly explain," I replied before taking a sip of my coffee. 
                          
Suddenly, our phones vibrated to inform us of more breaking news. Apparently, there was an incident at Stark Industries last night where a "robotic prototype malfunctioned and caused damage to the arc reactor." All the newspapers and tabloids were filled with their suspicions of a new hero's identity who had emerged in the midst of this crisis. "Who is the Iron Man?" they asked. 
                          
We soon forgot our studying as we watched the live interview on Patricia's phone. Tony rambled on with meaningless words that seemed to have no direction until finally, he tried to refocus. "Truth is," he said with a glance down at a cue card. His eyes shifted up from the words as he drifted again from the written speech. "I am Iron Man."
                          
"What?" Patricia asked under her breath. The rest of the nation asked the same question.
                          
I pulled up an image of Iron Man on my phone and observed the technology. As typical of Stark's work, it was high quality, but what powered a machine like that? 
                          
"We're doomed," Patricia leaned back in her chair. "The fate of our world is in the hands of a narcissist."
                          
"Yeah, well," I zoomed in to see the glowing circle on the suit's chest piece, "before this, his company was producing death weapons. I don't see what's changed besides the fact that he's now become the weapon himself." I rotated my phone so she could see what I was looking at. "What do you think that glow is?"
                          
Patricia's eyebrows furrowed as she thought. "Probably its power source."
                          
"You don't think it could be a smaller version of Howard's arc reactor, do you?"
                          
She looked at me with a cautious gaze. It was one you might see on a zookeeper who was approaching a circling lioness on the prowl. "Weren't you working on something like that months ago?"
                          
"I was," I nodded, "and then Tony, like everyone else, told me it was a waste of time."
                          
"You're not suggesting . . ."
                          
"He stole my project."
                          
Patricia ran her fingers through her hair in a nervous habit. She stopped and leaned her elbows on the table. "We don't know for sure—"
                          
"Pat," I looked her dead in the eyes. "A few months after I show Tony my designs, he appears with some new tech that has a glowing orb like my sketches. Look me in the eyes and tell me that's not a bizarre coincidence."
                          
She sighed and shrugged. "He is a genius, Amber."
                          
I shook my head. "You said yourself that he's a narcissist. He may be a genius, but I'm the one who designed that miniature arc reactor."
                          
"Well . . . What are you gonna do? Can you take him to court?"
                          
Here is where we came to a dead end. "No," I groaned and put my head in my hands. "All of my designs were ripped to shreds by his jet."
                          
"No evidence, no case."
                          
"Eyewitnesses wouldn't be enough. Even if I could get access to the security cameras, they couldn't get a decent picture across the distance from the building to his jet."
                          
"Do you think he would confess?"
                          
"Not in court if I don't have solid evidence. His reputation means too much to him."
                          
Patricia leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "I'm sorry. Honestly, nothing that man does seems morally acceptable."
                          
"And now he's trying to play superhero."
                          
"I don't like it any more than you do, but maybe we should focus on acing these finals tomorrow so we can graduate. Then, we can think of different ways to murder Tony."