Courtyard House: Initial Donation of 50 Million

Rewind to before Tony was kidnapped by the Ten Commandments; the sweltering heat of the Afghan desert distorted the horizon. Tony Stark loosened the collar of his Armani shirt, and his Patek Philippe watch tapped softly against the silver-gray casing of the Jericho missile.

"Sir, the impact assessment team has confirmed that the kill radius exceeds the limit by seven percent." Happy's muttering came through the earpiece, "Those old guys at the Department of Defense are nitpicking again."

Tony flicked the missile fairing with his finger: "Tell them the excess parts are a free gift from me." He turned and walked towards the makeshift display stand, the spotlight following his dust-covered Oxford shoes. Below the stand sat more than twenty generals, the stars on their desert camouflage uniforms gleaming brightly in the blazing sun.

"Gentlemen!" Tony spread his arms, his cufflinks reflecting blinding light. "Welcome to the opening ceremony of the future slaughterhouse!" He snapped his fingers, and a holographic projection rose from the center of the display platform, a disassembled diagram of the Jericho missile slowly rotating against a backdrop of yellow sand. "Traditional missiles are like shotguns, bang—and then praying they hit something." He waved away the projection, revealing the missile's miniature engine components suspended in mid-air. "But my little sweetheart is a scalpel, equipped with GPS navigation and artificial intelligence..."

After Tony demonstrated the impressive capabilities of the Jericho missile to the U.S. military officers stationed in Afghanistan, the officers stood up excitedly and applauded Tony, who then secured the weapons sale order.

After the missile sales contract was signed, Tony boarded a Humvee for the return trip. The US military in Afghanistan specially arranged for soldiers to escort Tony, given the somewhat unstable situation in Afghanistan.

The Afghan sun blazed down on the brass-colored dunes, and Humvees kicked up clouds of dust as they patrolled the roads. Tony Stark leaned lazily against the bulletproof window, his fingertips tapping unconsciously on his knees. The interior reeked of a mixture of sweat and gun oil, and three young soldiers stood ramrod straight beneath their bulletproof vests, their backs taut.

"Relax, kids." Tony loosened his tie, revealing a Patek Philippe watch that reflected the sunlight. "You all look like you're going to defuse a bomb—even though we are indeed carrying toys that will explode." He gestured toward the Jericho missile sample box at the rear of the vehicle, the Stark Industries eagle emblem on the box gleaming coldly.

Private Ryan, in the co-pilot's seat, nervously swallowed. "Mr. Stark, I heard this missile can destroy the entire valley?"

"To correct you, it's 'precise elimination of strategic targets.'" Tony's lips curled into his usual sneer. "Of course, if you call the terrorists' hideout a valley." He suddenly noticed the phone Ryan was clutching in his hand. "Want a picture? Before I get tanned like an Afghan roast."

Ryan turned around in surprise, his phone camera framing Tony's nonchalant smile. The instant the shutter clicked, the windshield shattered into a spiderweb pattern, hot metal shards grazing Tony's ear. The car tilted amidst the deafening explosion, Tony's forehead slamming against the bulletproof glass, warm liquid trickling down his brow bone.

"Enemy attack!" the driver roared, jerking the steering wheel violently as the car lurched through the hail of bullets. Through the shattered window, Tony saw flashes of gunfire behind the dunes, and several American soldiers lying like broken puppets on the scorched earth. He fumbled for his seatbelt, his heart pounding like a drum beneath his bulletproof vest.

"Stay in the car!" Ryan's shout was swallowed by a new explosion. Tony saw the young soldier's neck suddenly burst into blood, his body slumping limply at his feet. The instinct for survival drove him to kick open the car door and roll behind a boulder by the roadside.

"My phone... SOS..." Tony suddenly remembered and frantically pulled his phone from his suit pocket. The screen was cracked, but it still worked. His fingers trembled as he tried to send a location message.

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of an object with a long trail of flame flying toward the large rock where he was hiding at an astonishing speed.

That shape...that paint job...

Tony's pupils suddenly contracted! A chill ran from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head!

"No...impossible..." he murmured, his eyes fixed on the approaching missile. On the missile, the familiar logo representing Stark Industries, seemingly imbued with endless glory, reflected a blinding light in the sunlight, as if mocking him the most cruel insult.

"STARK INDUSTRIES".

That was his proudest product, a masterpiece he designed himself, but now it had become the Grim Reaper coming to claim his life!

Boom! ...

A deafening explosion rang in Tony's ears! He felt like a leaf caught in a whirlwind, violently tossed into the air by immense force, only to crash back down. The world was instantly engulfed by blinding white light and scorching flames; a sharp pain shot through his chest, as if something had burrowed inside. His last conscious thought was of seeing his hands covered in warm, sticky blood, and the cold company logo, still clearly visible in the firelight.

Darkness swallowed everything.

When he regained consciousness, he found himself in this dark, damp cave. The excruciating pain in his chest made every breath feel like torture. He struggled to look down and, in the dim light, saw a large hole cut in his shirt, through which a rough metal device with wires was forcibly embedded in his flesh, connected to a car battery.

"What...what the hell is this?" Tony's voice was weak with disbelief and terror.

"That's an electromagnet." A gentle but weary voice sounded from the side. Tony then noticed another person sitting in the corner of the cave. It was a middle-aged man with glasses, a haggard face, and similarly tattered clothes. His eyes were filled with weariness and a deep sorrow. "My name is Ethan, Dr. Ethan. I... installed it for you."

"An electromagnet?" Tony's mind was a complete mess. "Why?"

"Missile fragments," Ethan pointed to Tony's chest, "very close to your heart, extremely close. The magnetic field generated by this electromagnet prevents those fragments from traveling through your bloodstream and piercing your heart. That battery... is its power source."

Tony froze. He instinctively raised his hand, wanting to touch the horrific wound on his chest, but Ethan gently pressed his wrist down.

"Don't touch it, Mr. Stark. The wound hasn't healed yet, and... you need it alive," Ethan's voice was low. "At least for now."

Alive? Tony stared at the ridiculously rudimentary car battery, at the wires connecting his lifeline, and a wave of absurdity and rage washed over him. He, Tony Stark, billionaire, brilliant inventor, a trendsetter leading the world in technology, was now relying on a broken car battery to stay alive? And what had nearly killed him, turning him into this grotesque mess, was a weapon manufactured by his own company!

Tony forced a weak, cold laugh: "So I'm now a human circuit board? That's an even dumber idea than my mug."

The creaking of the iron gate as it opened interrupted his taunts. A series of hurried footsteps and gruff shouts came from the entrance. Several armed men in filthy robes, carrying automatic rifles, entered. The leader was a man with a sinister look and a thick beard, whose gaze swept over Tony like a venomous snake.

"Ah, our distinguished guest has awakened." The leader, speaking broken English, forced a fake smile. "Mr. Tony Stark, the world's greatest weapons manufacturer. How are you feeling? Are you satisfied with our meager 'medical facilities'?"

Tony, enduring the sharp pain in his chest and the nausea he felt, raised his head and forced a mocking smile: "Satisfied? Of course I'm satisfied. Especially considering how 'excellent' you were with the missiles my company produced, almost sending me back to my hometown. I give this after-sales service full marks."

The leader's smile froze for a moment, then turned even colder. "Mr. Stark, you're quite the joker. But we didn't invite you here to hear jokes." He stepped forward, looking down at Tony. "We need your expertise. To build Jericho missiles for us. The materials on the list, just write them down, and we can get them."

"Jellicoe?" Tony scoffed, though the movement aggravated his wound and made him wince in pain. "You? A bunch of barbarians who can't even read the manual? If I give you missiles, do you even know how to aim them? Don't end up blowing up your own nest."

"Tony!" Ethan whispered nervously from the side, while quickly translating Tony's words to the boss.

The leader's face darkened completely, and he waved his hand sharply: "It seems Mr. Stark needs some...sober reflection! Let him think this through!"

Two burly men immediately stepped forward and roughly dragged Tony up from the ground. Tony struggled desperately, but his weakened body and the excruciating pain in his chest rendered him powerless to resist. He was dragged to a makeshift wooden frame in the center of the cave, where his hands were hoisted high above his head.

"What do you want?!" Tony roared, a sense of foreboding rising in his heart.

The leader grinned maliciously, picking up a worn-out kettle and a dirty cloth bag: "I heard you rich people like to take baths? Our facilities here are limited, but we can give you a special 'shower'!"

Cold, muddy water poured violently from the kettle onto Tony's head! Caught off guard, he coughed violently, choking on it. Then, the soaking wet cloth bag was roughly shoved over his head!

"Ugh...!" The feeling of suffocation hit him instantly! Tony struggled desperately, but the bag was pressed tightly against his mouth and nose, and each attempt to inhale only drew in more water and fabric fibers. Coldness and darkness enveloped him, his lungs burned with pain, and the instinct for survival made him twist his body frantically.

Water poured down again! The cold water seeped through the soaked bag, chilling him to the bone. Tony's consciousness began to blur; all he could hear was the pounding of his heart and the roar of his blood rushing to his head. Despair, like a cold tide, slowly engulfed him.

Just as he felt he was about to be completely swallowed by darkness, a familiar voice, filled with anxiety and concern, seemed to pierce through the endless cold and darkness, clearly resounding in his mind:

"Tony! Tony! Hang in there! Tony—!"

Pepper! It's Pepper's voice!

The voice, like a bolt of lightning, cleaved Tony's chaotic consciousness! A powerful, unprecedented will to survive erupted within him! No! He couldn't die here! He had to go back! Back to Pepper! Back to his lab! He would make these bastards pay!

In the midst of extreme pain and suffocation, a clear, shimmering blue ring-shaped structure illuminated his collapsing mind like a star! Miniaturization! Arc reactor! Utilizing the electromagnet in his chest... energy core... palladium element... circuit design...

"Ugh...ugh...!" Tony let out a muffled growl, not a plea for mercy, but a resolute declaration.

The leader seemed to notice Tony's change and waved for them to stop. The wet sack was ripped off, and Tony gasped for breath. The cold air rushed into his lungs, bringing a stinging sensation, but also a sense of real life. He coughed violently, water droplets dripping from his hair and face, but the anger and despair in his caramel-colored eyes had vanished, replaced by an almost insane calm and a…strange light.

"So, Mr. Stark, have you thought it through?" the leader asked with a sneer.

Tony looked up, his face still damp with sweat, a complex smile twisting his lips—a smile tinged with humiliation, anger, and a hint of mad calculation. He glanced at Ethan, pale-faced beside him, then at the leader, his voice hoarse yet unusually clear:

“Paper and pen… give me.” He paused, then added, “And… I need a quiet environment, and my assistant.” He pointed to Ethan, “Also, this damn battery is in the way, I need better energy… to make ‘Jellico’ for you.”

The leader stared at Tony for a few seconds, seemingly assessing the truthfulness of his words. Finally, he nodded in satisfaction: "Very good. A wise choice. Ethan, take good care of our distinguished guest. Mr. Stark, as long as you finish with Jericho, I guarantee you'll return home safely."

"Return home safely?" Tony sneered inwardly. He glanced at Ethan, whose eyes were filled with worry and helplessness. Tony knew this was nothing but a pie-in-the-sky lie. But he needed time, he needed materials, and he needed Ethan's help.

He lowered his head, looking at the electromagnet to his chest and the battery it was connected to, a resolute glint in his eyes. Go home? Of course he wanted to go home. But not in this humiliating way. He would climb out of here using his own strength! And the first step was to get rid of this damned battery, using that "little light bulb" in his head!

"Materials list..." Tony muttered to himself, a crazy yet ingenious plan rapidly taking shape in his mind, which had just been through hell. In the shadows of a corner of the cave, the Ten Commandments' watchers silently observed everything, recording every movement and sketch of this genius prisoner. They didn't know that what Tony was building wasn't some destructive Jericho missile at all, but rather the first cornerstone of his path to freedom and revenge—the prototype of the Mark I armor, and the miniature arc reactor (miniature Arc Reactor) that would power it and illuminate the cave.