#
April 11th, 2004 – Early Morning
Location: Basement Level 2, Stark Mansion, Malibu, California
#
The air in the basement was cold, too still for a place powered by arc reactors and bleeding-edge technology. Holograms floated like silent ghosts across the room, their shifting blue light casting long, wavering shadows on the polished floor.
Tony Stark sat motionless on a curved leather sofa, one arm draped limply over the backrest, his eyes fixed on the kaleidoscope of damning projections before him. Faces. Numbers. Schematics. Audio logs. Wire transfers.
Crimes.
All linked back to one man.
Obadiah Stane.
Tony's brow furrowed. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing his temples like he could scrub away the disbelief pressing against his skull.
"Are you absolutely sure these people weren't just working under Him?" Tony asked, voice unsteady—He already knew he was only grasping at straws "Maybe… maybe he didn't know what they were doing?"
Leo Stark didn't say anything right away. He was perched on a high swivel chair by the central terminal, legs swinging just above the floor. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he flicked his fingers, cycling through the files.
And then—there it was.
A paused hologram: Obadiah mid-conversation, voice as smooth as ever, his expression calm, even amused.
"Yes, the armor's combat potential is exceptional. We are already working on making it affordable... Yes Yes, I will let you know when it's Ready."
The recording cut off.
Leo looked up, red hair falling across his eyes. "That's his voice, Dad."
Tony stared. His throat moved like he was trying to swallow something dry. He leaned back slowly, sinking into the sofa's embrace like it might save him from the weight pressing on his chest. His hand dropped to his side, fingers curling into a fist before relaxing again. His gaze drifted upward, past the glowing displays, to the ceiling above—silent, far away.
"…I need a drink" Tony muttered. Not angry. Not loud. Just exhausted. He stood up stiffly and started walking towards the door.
Leo didn't reply. Just watched him go.
From where he sat, Leo could clearly see it—Tony's right hand, slightly trembling. The kind of tremble that never showed up in press conferences or public speeches. The kind of tremble a person tried to hide with tech, or charm, or silence.
Leo's eyes narrowed slightly. His small fingers tapped the chair's armrest twice.
Then he stood up.
It didn't feel right to him—letting his dad walk away like that. Not after discovering this betrayal. Not after seeing the man who raised him feel broken and dishearted. It ached his heart more than Leo thought it would.
He still remembered how his dad had taught him how to pilot a drone by the time he was five. Had sat with him through long nights of failed prototypes and debates sessions. Had carried him up three flights of stairs when he passed out in the lab. He wasn't just Iron Man.
He was his dad.
"Dad!" Leo called out after reaching a reasonable distance.
Tony was already halfway up the stairs. He paused, hand on the railing, head turning slightly.
Leo took a few steps forward, voice firmer this time. "Wait up for me."
Tony turned more, just enough for Leo to see the ghost of a smile flicker—faint, worn around the edges. But real.
"I swear, I wasn't gonna drink more than a bottle or two." Tony said, halfheartedly.
Leo shrugged. "Hey, you can drink however much you want today.. you deserve that at least." He stepped past Tony and continued "Just Thought, I might as well keep you company and drink some milk, It will be our first drinking session.. Just a Father and Son drinking until we pass out"
"Be careful, Champ. and Don't develop an addiction like me. Otherwise Grandpa Jarvis might come to haunt me at night." Tony said with slight amusement. But he also felt a sense of comfort he didn't know he needed 'Right.. I still have a family...'
##
Time: Early morning, April 12th, 2004
Location: Stark Tower, New York City.
##
The lights in Obadiah Stane's office cast a soft glow over the mahogany walls, reflecting faintly off the modern sculptures and steel ornaments that screamed power and legacy. A low hum from the air conditioning filled the silence, occasionally broken by the faint ticking of the vintage clock on the wall.
Ezekiel Stane sat on the plush leather sofa, hunched forward, fingers tented, frustration etched deep into his features.
"I can't do it," Ezekiel said flatly, his voice low but firm. "The arc reactor… miniaturizing it is beyond me right now. Without a working unit in front of me, it's just theory and guesswork."
Obadiah Stane, seated behind his wide desk, leaned back slightly, his fingers clasped together over his stomach. The years had lined his face, but his eyes still gleamed with cold intent.
"I see." He nodded slowly. "We'll need to get one from Tony then. Somehow." After a calculating pause. "He's too proud of that thing to keep it to himself forever."
Ezekiel scoffed. "Tony's not exactly the sharing type, especially when it comes to his toys. You'd have better luck stealing that dang thing"
Obadiah chuckled dryly. "Then we better get the right people for it."
A beat passed. Obadiah leaned forward, elbows on knees. "What about the suits? The Spartan ones—Leo's VR-controlled models. Any luck there?"
Ezekiel's face turned sour again. He grabbed his tablet and searched to bring up schematics of the armor to show to his dad. "They're incredible, Dad. Responsive, adaptable. The neural relay system alone is years ahead of anything we've touched."
"And?"
"I've mostly figured out how they work." Ezekiel admitted. "But there's one major problem."
Obadiah's voice turned sharp. "Which is?"
"The power source," Ezekiel said, tapping the glowing blue spots of the suit's schematic. "These things aren't running on lithium-ion or anything mundane. I think they're using some sort of Arc reactor derivative—compact battery cells themed around it. Without one, the suit's just an expensive paperweight."
Obadiah exhaled through his nose and sank deeper into his seat, muttering, "So it all comes back to the arc reactor..."
He was about to speak again when a call came to his telephone.
Both men exchanged a glance. Obadiah frowned, then picked up the telephone and asked. "Didn't I say I was in an important meeting?"
His assistant's voice came muffled yet nervous voice came through the line "Sir, there are some gentlemen here to see you. They claim to be from the FBI..."
The room chilled.
Obadiah straightened immediately, smoothing out his jacket with practiced ease. "Send them in."
Ezekiel eyes narrowed slightly. 'Somethings not right...'
"I should go. This doesn't feel right." Ezekiel said, standing up.
"You sure?" Obadiah asked.
"Yeah." He stepped toward the side exit. "Let's talk later. Just… be careful, okay?"
Obadiah gave him a nod as Ezekiel walked to the exit. As Ezekiel passed the Fbi agents in the hall, his eyes locked briefly with one of the agents. The contact was fleeting, but enough to trigger a gut feeling in bim. 'Something is definitely wrong.'
#
The door clicked open a moment later, and four agents entered, all dressed in black suits and ties, their badges gleaming under the office lights.
Obadiah rose, smile carefully painted on.
"Welcome. What brings the Bureau to my office today?" he asked with restrained tone of a businessman.
The lead agent, a tall man in his forties with peppered hair and a chiseled jaw, stepped forward. "Mr. Stane. I'm Special Agent Gordan."
He held out a folded document. "We have a federal arrest warrant. You are being charged with multiple counts of fraud, illegal arms dealing, and the funding of foreign terrorist cells—notably the Ten Rings."
The smile on Obadiah's face faltered. A bead of sweat formed at his temple.
"There must be some kind of mistake," he said carefully, voice barely trembling.
Gordan's eyes were unreadable. "If you have anything to say, Mr. Stane, you can say it in court."
The other agents began to move, one approaching with handcuffs in hand.
Obadiah's eyes flicked between them all. Then, with a dry swallow, he murmured, "I invoke the Fifth."
Gordan gave a slight nod. "Very well."
Cold steel snapped around Obadiah's wrists. He said nothing, didn't resist. He only watched his office—the empire he had built—fade behind him as they led him out.
#
Time: Few moments later
Location: New York City, Inside a Black Sports Car
#
Ezekiel Stane sat motionless behind the wheel of his obsidian sports car, the engine humming quietly beneath him. His storm-grey eyes tracked his father—Obadiah Stane—being escorted through a blinding barrage of flash photography and howling reporters. The flashing lights lit up the rain-specked windshield in violent staccato bursts, like a warzone of truths finally unearthed.
He clenched the steering wheel tighter, the leather groaning beneath his fingers. His father didn't look back—not even once. Just like that, the empire they'd built together was crumbling.
'How the heck did it come to this?' Ezekiel Thought to himself, grinding his teeth in contained anger.
He replayed the last few months in his head like a corrupted tape. his knew his dad, Obadiah had grown complacent over the few years— 'Arrogant, even. The old man used to double-blind his own shadow. Now he was taking calls in his office like the world wasn't listening... I did warn him many times but alas...'
Ezekiel had tried to cover for him. He had scrubbed data, burned backups, rerouted digital trails. He'd done everything—everything—to keep them safe. 'So why did it still blow up in our faces?'
Very soon, The answer clawed its way to the front of his mind like a bad omen.
Those Spartan suits.
His fists tightened until his knuckles blanched. "Fuuuuuck..!" He cursed silently, a flicker of heat rushing through his chest. He knew something was off when he reverse-engineered those suits.
He had to admit that They were brilliant— Each piece was a Christmas present for hin, and yet every time he pried one open, he felt like eyes were watching. Like the suits were watching. But he had dismissed it at the time as nothing much.
His stomach turned.
"I should've trusted my gut" he said aloud, feeling bitter. "Perhaps even I was slowly growing complacent..."
'But who? Who could've done this? Definitely Not Tony. For all his brilliance, the man was emotionally attached to Obadiah. Trusted him like a second father. No—this wasn't Tony's doing' Ezekiel gripped tightly on the wheel 'It had to be someone else. Someone new. Someone smart enough to look past the surface.'
Ezekiel's mind sharpened like a scalpel, His anger slowly receded and instead he felt a new emotion even he didn't understand why he felt.
He felt.. excitement?
'Ah.. I never wanted a boring life.. I always wanted something like this to happen... Someone that would challenge me...'
Ezekiel calmed himself down and reached into the glovebox, retrieving his secondary phone, and dialed a private line. One that didn't exist on any network map. The ringtone barely echoed once before a smooth voice answered on the other end.
"I need to disappear," Ezekiel said softly, his voice more composed "By tonight, I want every paper running my obituary."
There was silence, then a click. Confirmation.
He hung up.
Breathing in deeply, Ezekiel leaned back in his seat, eyes shut for a moment. The tension ebbed slightly from his shoulders. This was survival now. No longer a chessboard—this was now a warboard. A war he always wanted.
He slammed the gear stick forward.
Tires screeched as the car tore out of the underground garage like a bullet leaving a chamber. Within moments, the city became a blur of headlights and concrete. But he wasn't alone for long.
Black vans appeared in his rearview mirror—two, then three. They kept their distance but didn't bother hiding.
"Right on schedule." Ezekiel muttered, lips twitching into a grim smile.
He pressed harder on the gas, weaving through traffic with just enough recklessness to look scared, but just enough control to avoid suspicion. To Let them think he was fleeing. To Let them record it. He wanted this to be seen.
The streets grew quieter as the skyline faded into the shadows of old warehouses and power stations. The city's pulse slowed here.
He glanced at his speedometer—128 mph.
"Perfect."
He counted silently.
'One... two... three… twenty-eight… twenty-nine—thirty.'
The door swung open.
Wind screamed into the car as Ezekiel lunged sideways, launching himself into the open door of a black van idling at the curb. Hands pulled him in, the door slamming shut a heartbeat later.
No words were exchanged.
Outside, the sports car continued its suicidal sprint down the vacant road… until it met a hidden charge.
A blinding bloom of fire exploded behind them. Metal shrieked. Rubber and glass scattered into the night.
Ezekiel didn't look away. He stared through the tinted van window at the wreckage, jaw set.
"It was a good car," he murmured. "Damn shame."
He leaned back in the seat as the van drove into the night. Every part of him remained still, save for his eyes—cold, calculating, burning with one truth: he would not be buried under his father's fall. He would rise silently until it was time to strike back.
#
Next Morning – Somewhere in Midtown
#
A coffee vendor whistled a slow jazz tune as he set out the day's newspapers. A man named Ben in his fifties, he glanced at the front page.
"Ezekiel Stane, Son of Obadiah Stane, Dies in Car Crash—Was It Murder?"
The article was flanked by blurry photos of the wreckage and a flaming silhouette swallowed in smoke.
Ben frowned, then shook his head. "Whole city's going crazy…I should tell Peter to be careful on Road."
He walked along to his home.
##
Word count: 2325.
Author's note:
'Holy shit, the author didn't drop his fanfic!!'- An Avid reader of mine thought to themselves.
Anyways, I am back, Good news chapters. Bad news I have an exam next week.
Ezekiel Stane, An existence I didn't know about until I started researching. An interesting plotline about the bond between fathers and sons.
The next few chapters will be interesting. Also I will probably write a secondary fanfic from next month. It's a Naruto fanfic since I still felt that idea was too unique to pass off.
Do let me know if you know of such interesting characters like Ezekiel, Leo does need his own set of super villains to defeat right?