Iron Man hadn't come out in a while.

He'd retired after the Infinity War, after a severe scolding from Pepper and going through the five stages of grief because of Peter – who hadn't died, but had gotten so close to it that Tony had suffered anyway. He had priorities and those priorities weren't his suits, they were his family.

But this? This required some desperate measures.

He hadn't told Pepper where he was going, knowing full well she'd try to stop him. He hadn't told anyone where he was going, and a part of that idea niggled at his already weak stomach – he was going straight to Ross and the Terrorist, if that creep from the phone call was correct. He could get hurt and no one would know.

But this damned monster that was killing people all over New York had never come across Iron Man. And he never would again.

Tony wanted to kill Ross and he wanted to kill the Terrorist and he didn't want to go to jail but he didn't really care. It had taken him only seconds to decide to go after Ross, and he knew exactly where the man would be. But it had taken him some thought to decide whether or not he should go as Tony Stark or Iron Man. He'd originally thought he'd take a chopper over and interrogate Ross, but he quickly realized that that was basically a death wish and an all-round stupid idea. So, he'd decided it was do-or-die.

Theoretically, taking the suit would mean do. But he hadn't touched up his suit in months, and the systems were pretty faulty. He only had fifteen percent power in his bottom-left blaster. But he didn't care, because Iron Man was coming out for his kid.

"Friday?" He demanded, watching black, vicious waves crash against each other below him. He suddenly felt a niggling in his stomach, an unease, that made him feel sick. The world's so big. The water's so deep, and space is so far away, and the world's just so big. So big, but it didn't have room for one, small Peter Parker.

"Yes, boss?" The AI replied from the speakers in his suit.

"Go all in."

...

"And you will do as we ask, yes?"

The Weapon blinked up at Commander Ross, feeling a tightness in his throat that he didn't usually feel before a Mission.

"Yes, sir." He rasped.

Commander smiled, clasping his hands together in front of his chest, and peering straight into Weapon X's eyes. "No matter what you might think, you will not fail. Do you understand?"

"Yes," the Terrorist swallowed, "sir."

"And if you do," his Master announced, getting to his feet with a heavy sigh, "I will have to kill you." He smiled down at the boy, who felt a tingle at the back of his neck.

"Then will I be done, sir?" He whispered, voice steady.

Something jumped in the Commander's eyes; something Peter couldn't quite place. "Yes. Yes, you will be...done." He bit out, voice quiet and suddenly angry. Again, the Weapon shivered.

He'd lost feeling in his leg – the one that had been injured, after his seventh kill – and tried to flex his toes to regain it. It sort of worked, but sent painful tingles through his ankle, similar to the shivers he gets every time he sees his Commander.

Weapon X heard a faint click, then the chains fell away from his body. He dropped like a sac to the floor, pain jolting through his shoulders as he fell. But apart from pain, he felt nothing.

Everything was passing by in such a blur. He'd spent his whole life here, but it felt like only a few days. He'd felt like he was being crushed, then he'd kill and the weight on his shoulders would alleviate. And it had been the same cycle, for over sixteen years.

But it happened so fast. There was no room for regret, no room for remorse. There was only conquer or be conquered, and he was the one conquering. He would survive in this life, if he continued to kill.

But—

He would. He's killed before, and he will kill again and again until he himself is dead. Without question.

Commander was walking away now, and he'd left the cell door wide open. The Terrorist struggled to his feet, groaning with fatigue as all his muscles strained to pull himself up.

And with the sound of what Weapon X hates the most filling the air around him, he stalked from his cell.

He lied to me, he shot at me, he hates on me, he's using me.

He would kill him.

He's dead to me. Tony Stark's dead to me.

...

Iron Man arrived at the raft shortly after he'd commanded Friday to use the rockets.

The black mass of metal loomed out over the sea. As expected, everything was dark, despite it being somewhere in the middle of the day. Ferocious waves cracked against the outer walls, and a helipad extended just above the roof. Mist hung low over the ocean, but the light that his suit emitted, he could still sea almost every detail on the prison's walls.

Every bolt, every beam, every patch of rust, every barnacle. But he shouldn't be able to. The Raft was supposed to be buried deep beneath the waves, unusable. But here it is, in broad night-light. Hidden so perfectly that even the moon couldn't find it.

"Friday? Deploy drone." He said, voice cold and surprisingly steady. He hovered just above the base, watching the screens inside the suit as it scanned the prison.

He hear the faint whir as the drone was deployed, and averted his gaze from the scan to watch it fly down to the helipad. He then flicked his eyes back, and watched as Friday sent diagrams onto the screens of the interior of the prison.

Memorising the diagrams, he took off.

...

With his enhanced hearing, the Terrorist strode through the maze of corridors, following the sound of thrusters. He could tell it was a long way away, so he moved faster still.

He passed a few men, each of whom cowered slightly at the gun in his hand. He scowled at them all, though he didn't think they noticed, due to the black mask around his mouth and nose. His hair was plastered to his forehead in a sheen of sweat, and his eyes were girt by black soot.

"Soldat, report. Is the Mission here?" Asked a voice from within his own ears.

"Yes, sir." He replied, voice gruff.

"Carry out Mission."

...

Tony used his thrusters to slice a hole in the roof of the raft. It took longer than he'd anticipated, but in the end, he watched as the hunk of metal clattered to the floor underneath him.

No doubt alerting all of Ross' men to his arrival. But they'd realise either way, he might as well make it easier on himself.

He dropped through the hole, his suit buzzing with electricity being the only thing he could hear. He landed on the metal floors with a heavy thump.

And then, there was silence.

Not one sound. Not even his suit.

His suit, of which, was suddenly displaying a rapidly decreasing number in replacement of the diagrams.

9, 8, 7, 6—

Whatever it was counting down to, he didn't know, but it can't have been good.

"Friday, eject! Eject!" He shouted, as the number flicked on the screen. His heart was beating even faster than the countdown was.

The suit melted away from his skin, and he leapt to the floor, arms thrown over his head. The metal was cold beneath him, and he lay there, hunched over, but no blast came.

There was only silence.

Heart hammering, Tony peeked out from under his arms, and saw that the suit had gone dark.

It was just like that time in Tennessee. The suit had just...died. Sure he didn't have it fully charged up to start with, but it never just turns off. Something about the prison had made it power down.

Maybe—

Maybe this was a trap.

...

Weapon X heard the clunk as something – rather, someone – fell through the roof. He felt his chest tightened, but dismissed the feeling.

He began to jog, holding his gun at eye level. The sounds were getting louder and louder, and there were probably only a few corners left. He could see through the lenses of the gun, that it was searching for a target. He watched as it lit up with red, in the form of a human, standing somewhere behind a few walls.

The Terrorist smiled to himself, and ran faster.

But as he was running, and the smile was spreading, he realised he was feeling excited. But he didn't feel any emotions, good or bad. That confused him enough, but he then realised that he wasn't sure what kind of excited he felt.

Was it that nervous anticipation he got before a kill?

Or was it something else?

He didn't want to remember.

...

Tony leant against his upright suit, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

Maybe, maybe he could confront Ross without his suit. He would be fine, they'd be fine. It'd be fine!

Surely Ross wouldn't try and attack him, right? He might have kidnapped a sixteen-year-old kid and accidently gotten that kid killed, but he would try to hurt Tony. Right?

But if it were a trap, then he was screwed. He had no idea what he might be facing here.

And in the quiet, only interrupted by his exaggerated breaths, Tony heard something.

Running footsteps. Heavy footsteps. And getting closer.

...

The Soldier turned around another corner, the halls dark and silent.

He is my enemy. This Tony Stark was his enemy. His Mission, the one he was to kill. He's dead to me.

He raced up the next corridor, that was only about ten metres long. Once he got the end, he stood still for a moment, listening for a sound, listening for a clue as to which way he was supposed to go.

He screwed up his eyes in concentration, listening as hard as he possible could.

And—

And—

There! A heartbeat.

He took off again.

...

Tony leant against the closest wall he could find, and in his dark under-suit, he hoped he could hide in the shadows that the Raft was basically made of.

But he knew it was useless.

He saw the shadow of a gun first.

...

Tony Stark was just around the corner.

Weapon X could feel it.

He raised his gun, and let his finger tighten around the trigger.

...

Tony pressed himself closer to the wall, fear crashing through him in tsunamis.

There was no adrenaline, there was just paralysing terror.

He'd faced death a lot, but he'd always fought. But now? He was just him. Just Tony Stark, not Iron Man.

And he was useless, as he watched a soldier step around the corner of the corridor.

...

And there he was.

Tony Stark.

The man he hated so, so much. Standing there, cowering in the shadows like the coward he was.

Face obscured, suit deactivated and blocking his way out.

With a click, the Weapon turned the safety off.

...

Tony stared at the soldier in front of him.

Stared at him, down the barrel of a gun.

Stared at the brown hair, brown eyes, small height, thin build.

And dots began connecting.

He stepped out of the shadows.

...

Weapon X dropped the gun—

Wait wait wait wait—

He couldn't kill this man.

He couldn't—

A million memories flooded him—

This man was—

This person he hated so much—

...

"Peter?" Tony's voice trembled.

The Terrorist choked.

--

THE END

Next book in the series: "eunoia || Peter Parker (Spider-Man: Homecoming)"

--

Hello all! I know I took over a month to update, but this chapter wasn't really gelling with me. I apologise for the agonizingly long wait, and I hope you can forgive me. I had to rewrite it tonnes of times, and I'm still not overly pleased with it.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Yes, that is the end of THIS book (I know, I'm a monster), but the introduction for the third book will be out sooooon!

Thank you all so much for reading, it's been a pretty hard journey to write, especially with it being so dark, and I'm writing from such a happy place these days. 

Off topic: I know this might seem random, but if you're struggling with something, whether it's depression or anxiety, your life isn't over yet. Please have hope, because there's still so much love and happiness to come, and if you just hold on, you will overcome anything you go through. Stay strong everyone, I love you :)

Thank you again, and bye for now!

LuvForStydia xx