I took a deep breath, trying to settle the storm inside me. After the anger, the confusion, and the sheer disbelief of what I'd been through, I had to calm down. Years of being on top—of running Stark Industries—taught me how to pull myself together when everything else was falling apart.
Rhodey was sitting across from me, looking just as rattled. I tapped my fingers on the armrest of the chair, letting my mind work through the mess of information. "Why did you believe him? Or better yet, why did Ross believe him?"
Rhodey frowned, clearly searching his memory. "Tony, this guy—well, the guy who made the comic—he wasn't just some random artist. He came out of nowhere and started publishing these best-selling comics. The main character? It was you. And get this... the story he told in those pages, it matched what really happened to you, down to the smallest detail."
I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes. "And the military just... believed him?"
Rhodey nodded slowly. "Ross did. He wasn't the only one. A few days after you disappeared, S.H.I.E.L.D. showed up, said this guy was one of theirs."
That stopped me in my tracks. "S.H.I.E.L.D.?" I repeated. "You mean to tell me that the *Strategic Homeland Intelligence Enforcement and Logistics Division* agency is involved in this?"
Rhodey gave me a serious look. "Yeah. They said the artist was their guy, and that somehow, he knew exactly where you were. The location in the comic? It was dead on."
I leaned back in my chair, my mind reeling. S.H.I.E.L.D. was no joke. Their predecessor, the Strategic Scientific Reserve, had been around since World War II. These guys had their hands in everything. But why would they be interested in some comic book artist? And why would that artist be able to predict my exact location?
I pressed my palms against my forehead, trying to make sense of it all. "What the hell does this guy get out of it? Why would he go through the trouble of drawing out my entire ordeal in a comic book?"
Rhodey sighed. "We've been trying to figure that out. But no one has a clue. His behavior's been... unpredictable, to say the least."
I couldn't wrap my head around it. None of it made sense. If this guy wanted something, he could've done a lot worse than just drawing comics. Hell, he could've prevented me from escaping the cave entirely. Yet, not only did I escape, but this artist had also practically guided the military to my exact location.
I looked back at Rhodey. "He called himself a prophet, right? Maybe that's all this is—some twisted way to prove he can predict the future."
Rhodey raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. I shook my head before he could respond. "No, it's too absurd. I don't believe in psychics or prophets. And if he really did have some kind of superhuman ability, why go public with it? Why risk attracting attention from people who'd want to exploit him?"
Rhodey was silent for a minute before finally speaking again. "Maybe he just wanted to promote his comic, get his name out there."
I rolled my eyes. "That's a stretch, Rhodey. And even if that were true, the guy would have to sell a hell of a lot of comics to cover the costs of pulling off something like this."
Rhodey chuckled half-heartedly. "Yeah, you're probably right. Doesn't make much sense, does it?"
"Not in the slightest," I replied, shaking my head in frustration.
This comic, S.H.I.E.L.D., Ross, the military—it was like someone had thrown all these unrelated things into a blender and hit puree. The whole situation felt wrong, but there was nothing I could do at the moment. I had to be patient, even if it went against every instinct I had.
"All I can do now is wait," I sighed. "This guy's playing a long game, but eventually, he'll slip up. When he does, I'll be ready."
The helicopter landed, and as soon as we stepped off, I saw her—Pepper, standing outside, waiting for me. I didn't even give her a chance to insist I head to the hospital. I needed a burger and a moment to clear my head.
Plus, I had something else in mind. "Let's grab an American burger first," I said to Pepper as we made our way out. "And get the press in here. I've got some things to say."
Word spread like wildfire. *Tony Stark is back!* It was like a bomb had gone off, shaking the entire country. Reporters swarmed from every corner of the nation, hungry for a story that had practically written itself.
---
Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Obadiah Stane was just hearing the news. He had always been ambitious, and for a while now, he had his eyes set on taking over Stark Industries. He'd thought Tony's trip to Afghanistan would be the perfect opportunity to eliminate him—he had even made some shady deals with terrorists to ensure that.
But somehow, despite everything, Tony had survived. Not only that, but this whole Iron Man business had come to light—something Obadiah hadn't seen coming at all.
He stood there, a cold sweat running down his back, staring at the news report on his desk. "No way... can that comic really be this accurate?"
He took a deep breath, regaining his composure. He was a seasoned player in this game, and he wasn't about to let something like this throw him off. If that comic was really predicting the future, then he needed to meet the person behind it.
As he looked at the comic on his desk one last time, he made a decision. Smiling to himself, he slipped on his coat and headed out the door, ready to greet Tony with that well-practiced, affable grin.
But in the back of his mind, one thought lingered: *I have to meet the person who made this comic.*