Stark Solutions

Tony Stark stood before the computer array, clad in a pair of black briefs and nothing else. He was in good shape for a man his age, though the scars of past battles lined his body like a map. Each and every one of them carried a story with them, but most were of things he'd prefer to have forgotten. The newest of them, an ugly red-brown scar on his belly was from a heat-based attack he'd suffered the day before. Hopefully it would heal up into something not quite so noticeable. Or, he mused, there's always the chance that the nanites in my bloodstream might be able to repair the damage. Something to consider for later, pending Jocasta's analysis.

"What's the prognosis, doctor?" Tony asked as the humming began to fade away.

The image of Jocasta's face appeared on a monitor as Tony began to dress. Her metallic silver features were lined here and there by black lines but it couldn't hide the fact that she had an appealing design. Being based on Janet Van Dyne wasn't a bad thing at all, Tony thought to himself. <The nanite solution appears to be completely dormant, Tony. The superficial wounds caused by your body's merging with the armor are impossible to detect at present.>

"Any long-term side effects?"

<Impossible to say. That's why they're called long-term.>

Tony looked up, surprised by the catty tone. "Are you okay, J?"

<I'm fine... just... annoyed.>

"That's obvious. Want to talk about it?"

The image on screen flickered, going dark for a few seconds before returning. <Not particularly. It's my strongest warning to avoid overuse of the nanites. I'd like to run a series of computer simulations first.>

"Understood. How's our prisoner?"

<The Melter is fine. He's pointed out several times that we're holding him against his will and that this is illegal.>

"He's a fine one to talk. He blew up my cabin." Tony scratched at his beard. "I'm going to slip on the armor and go confront him. Now that I know I'm not about to drop dead from the nanite solution, I want to find out about this Black Lama character."

Jocasta said nothing as Tony stepped into the next room, where he began the process of covering himself with the lightweight but durable armor of Iron Man. A curious series of pulses raced through her electronic consciousness as she watched him via the security cameras. He was lean and well-built, with a classically rugged handsomeness.

Rumiko really doesn't deserve him, she thought.

"I'm worried about him." Happy Hogan pushed his fists deep into the pockets of his trousers, leaning against the wall. He was standing near Pepper's desk, looking so glum that his wife couldn't help but smile.

"He's a big boy."

"I know. But he's been under such stress lately. The government wantin' to know who Iron Man is, then that whole business with him not being the real Tony, now Rhodey's gone to work at the Vault. It's been crazy. And now the boss has gone and injected himself with little robots... He's getting too stressed again."

Pepper glanced over at her computer screen, reading over the email that had just been delivered into her in-box. "Uh-oh."

Happy looked up. "What?"

"Your sister just emailed me a link from Amazon.com -- check it out." Pepper turned her computer monitor so that Happy could see it. His jaw dropped open so far that she thought it might hit the floor.

"Oh, boy. Just what the boss needs."

There, onscreen, was a book entitled The Truth Laid Bare: Inside the Stark Family, with a photo of Tony's cousin Morgan Stark on the cover.

The Melter sat on a small cot, the only piece of furniture in an otherwise featureless room. He'd been unconscious for most of the trip from Aspen, but as soon as he'd awakened he'd begun searching for a way to freedom. He'd found none and finally given up to wait for his host to appear. When Iron Man entered, he smiled and inclined his head. "Come in, won't you? I apologize I can't offer you a drink, but the accommodations leave something to be desired."

"You have quite a smart mouth on you," Iron Man answered. "While you were out, we ran your prints. I know who you are."

The Melter's smile never faltered but he said nothing.

"So, Mr. Robert Ferris, how did you come into possession of this equipment. And who's the Black Lama you work for?"

"Why should I tell you anything?"

"Because if you do... and I can verify the information... I might let you go."

"Bull." The Melter rose from the cot, standing in front of Iron Man. He was shorter than Tony was in his boots and armor and he was forced to look upwards. "You're going to turn  me over to the authorities no matter what I say."

"... True. But I might put in a good word for you."

"Might? That's not enough. The Lama would kill me if I told you anything... hell, he'll probably kill me just for telling you his name." The Melter looked away, the cocky veneer seeming to fade a bit. Despite his words, it was obvious to Tony that he did want to talk. He seemed suddenly like a man who'd been just waiting for the opportunity to share his problems. "I've worked for A.I.M., Hydra, even Fenris. All the big boys. But nobody's as cold as the Lama. I earned that suit, big man. With blood, sweat and tears. He makes us fight for the equipment of dead supervillains. If we survive the arena, we get the name and the suit. I ended up as the Melter but I had my heart set on Firebrand."

Iron Man frowned. The original Black Lama had orchestrated a bizarre "war of the supervillains," a series of events that had ended with Firebrand being the victor. Firebrand had been a former activist named Gary Gilbert, an activist who'd gone the criminal route when his attempts to change society had failed. He'd ended up a drunk, finally getting killed by the Scourge. "The Melter was killed by the Scourge, too," he whispered.

"What?"

Iron Man ignored the Melter's question, pressing on. "Where's this arena? Where's the Lama? And why did he send you to kill me?"

"I've told you too much as it is. But it was useful stuff, wasn't it?" The cocky grin returned. "You really going to put in a good word for me?"

"No." Iron Man discharged a low-level repulsor beam, just enough to knock out the Melter. "J, send down some robots and get this piece of trash to the cops."

Jocasta's response still carried the reproachful tones of earlier. <A bit harsh, aren't we?>

Iron Man felt a peculiar heat in his head, the same sort of thing that he'd felt right after his victory over the Melter in Aspen. "Maybe not harsh enough," he whispered. "Run a check on all known victims of the Scourge. See if there's been any other odd 'resurrections' lately."

<I already have, Tony. Someone wearing Firebrand's costume is believed to have been responsible for the death of William McFelty three days ago.>

"McFelty... Of New Millennium Weaponry?"

<The same.>

"He was based out of San Francisco, wasn't he?"

<Yes. Are you going there?>

"Might as well. Route all my calls to the helmet. And good work, J."

Morgan Stark groaned, his head aching horribly. He was hanging from metallic bands, wrapped tightly about his arms and legs.

He wanted a good, stiff drink very badly.

"Where am I?" he whispered, his eyes adjusting to the harsh glare. The air smelled of grease and sweat. With chagrin, he noticed that his expensive suit was positively ruined, with rips all along the front and grease stains running down the arms.

"A very interesting book," someone answered. Morgan craned his neck to see its source, finally spotting a fellow in black robes with an oddly furred collar that hid his features. In his hands he held a publisher's proof of The Truth Laid Bare. "Too bad you skimped out on the most interesting parts of your own history."

"How did you get that?!" Morgan exclaimed. As usual, he was more personally outraged about some perceived slight than the fact that his life was possibly in danger. "If my publisher gave you and advance copy--!"

The Lama held up a hand, silencing Morgan with a mental command. "Stop your whining." He tossed the book to the floor, like discarded trash. "Why no mention of the Helicon, Morgan?"

Morgan flinched as if struck. He had enough resemblance to Tony Stark to get his share of women, but there was something slimy about him... as if he were a lesser reflection of his cousin. But now he didn't look handsome at all, for his features twisted up into an expression of disgust and fear. "What did you say?" he hissed.

(*See Iron Man v.1 #327 & 330-331)

(*In Iron Man v.3 # 1)