Post by mezzaro on Jun 5, 2013 15:01:58 GMT -5
All Star Marvel Proudly Presents
The Invincible Iron Man
In
”Secret Origins, Part 1”
By Allan Mezzaro
…
Some Time Ago…
A boy stands by his lonesome on the streets of the largest and most powerful city in America—New York. Just over seventeen years old, the boy has dark, chocolate brown hair and sky blue eyes. He wears a business suit costing of at least five thousand dollars.
He stands there alone, watching as smoke billows up in clouds and columns high into the sky—he listens; he hears the screams of the dying men and women, and the screams of those who stand there and watch, not lifting a finger to help; he hears the cameras click as people, insensitive people, stand and take pictures; he hears the yells of the emergency responders responding to the highest of all emergencies.
A woman jumps from the fortieth floor of the building. Her scream pierces the air, but the boy can just barely hear it above the pandemonium around him. He sees her hit the pavement and watches as the blood flies in every direction. He takes one step forward—then another, and another and another until he breaks into a dead sprint. Before he even realizes it, he’s at the base of One Tower, looking up and the flames and the smoke. He can hear the metal screeching and crumbling.
He returns to his sprint, breaking through the barricade and heading straight into the tower. “You can’t go in there son, it’s too dangerous!” He hears a fireman yell from behind.
“Well if I don’t save them you idiots won’t either!” He spits back at them. He makes it to the first staircase and looks up into the flames. He hears a girl scream just out of site.
“Help me! Oh my God! My mother’s dead! I can’t breathe! Someone! Anyone! Help!” Tony looks around him for anything he can use to break through the barrier of fire, metal and wood. He sees an engineer lying helplessly dead on the floor to his right. I metal bar stuck him straight through the head—probably died instantly.
The boy darts over to the body and pulls a wrench from his back pocket, then returns to the stairs. He darts up the stairs and straight into the flames, using the wrench to help move obstacles out of his way. “Help!” He hears the girl cry again.
“Don’t worry, I’m coming! Keep talking! It’ll help me find you!” The boy darts around the immediate area, searching for any sign of the girl and her mother.
“Talk about what?” She cries out.
“Anything! Tell me your name!”
“Pepper! Pepper Pots!”
“How old are you Pepper?”
“Sixteen!” With that shout, the boy locates her just behind a melting metal grate. He rushes in and pulls the grate off with his bare hands, singing them thoroughly. Pepper sees him as he pulls the grate away and tears begin falling heavier. “Oh my God. You found me! OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGOD!” The boy runs in and pulls her mother’s body over his shoulder and takes Pepper’s hand in his.
“Come on, follow me!”
2 Years Ago, August 2002…
Tony Stark stands tall at nineteen years old, looking down at the gravesite of his departed father. Seven months after joining the military; six weeks after embarking on his first mission—he lies cold and dead in a cemetery next to his mother and father. The pastor overseeing the funeral steps towards Tony. “Would you like to say a few words, son?”
Tears drip out of Tony’s eyes one at a time. He shakes his head solemnly and turns away. He heads out of the cemetery and away from the procession. He steps into his Hummer limo and rides away, pulling his first of many, many drinks from a refrigerator in the backseat.
Now, 2004…
Tony Stake stands tall in front of thousands of cameras as he prepares to make his first public speech as CEO of Stark Consolidated. He clears his throat and moves a fraction of an inch closer to the microphones. His voice comes out booming, a voice that of a powerful man.
"Friends, Americans, country-men, I ask of you one thing. I have been gone for quite some time grieving the death of my father and it wasn't until this point that I finally realized what my father wanted me to do. He would be sick to know I've wasted most of the year on crying for him, and now I will carry you all to a new tomorrow. Now, as I stated before, I ask of you only one thing, and one thing alone--your assistance. I will be going into negotiations with the American government to produce weapons of power and destruction to aid in their War on Terrorism at a fraction of the cost. I will produce new types of Kevlar that will protect our troops against any and all attacks made on their persons. Together, we can win this war so many have died fighting. Together, we can make America strong again. God bless you, God bless you all and God bless America."
Tony stares out at the hundreds of people gathered at the steps of Stark Consolidated’s headquarters in New York City to watch this legacy’s returned. Silence engulfs the crowd until, in one massive swoop; the silence is broken by an explosion of questions, flashes and shouts. Tony attempts to answer them one-by-one, but fails terribly.
“Mr. Stark, do you plan on creating nuclear weapons to combat terrorism?” “Tony Avler, Daily Bugle! What is your line? Will you build WMD’s?” “Amanda Campion, New York Times! Have you any interest in building battle robots?” The questions keep pouring from every orifice in a eighty-foot radius of Tony. He tries to answer the questions.
“Um…no and, uh, no? Didn’t he just ask that? Robots? That sounds coo—I have no clue how to build a n—guns that shoot lightning? Really? Oo, bouncy shields, that’s original. I think—I think I have an appointment with my, uh, giant lizard pet giraffe? Yeah, I hope to see you all soon! Bye!” Partly out of fear partly out of confusion, Tony runs from the spotlight back into the confines of Stark C’s headquarters up to his comfortable 70th floor office.
Four months later…
Tony Stark stands still in front of the four fittest men in the entire United States Army, analyzing their build, their stances and their entire psych in order to decide whether any of them are fit to bare the load of the Mechanical Suit v1 or not. As part of the latest contract, full body anti-artillery armor has been created. But not just any soldier can wear the armor.
“Sergeant Rhodes! Front and center!” Tony calls, his years hardened voice booming through the open desert. A USAF sergeant steps forward. Clad in his sky-blue ACUs, the African-American soldier James Rhodes stands tall at just over six feet. A bead of sweat rolls down his cheeks from the immense heat playing over the desert of Afghanistan.
“Sergeant James Rhodes, reporting for duty, sir!” He calls out to Tony with a salute. Tony walks circles around the sergeant and examines him from head to toe.
“Sergeant James Rhodes, are you prepared for the first test flight of the American Army’s new war machine?”
“Sir yes sir!”
“Then follow me.” The two walk off together into an Army warehouse, the home of the Iron Man Anti-Tank Armor, or IMATA. The two stand still and silent for some time as they gaze upon the armor in strange awes. “Rhodes, if this works, you will be the most powerful man in the Military. Are you prepared for this?” Rhodes stands silent, contemplating how best to answer such a question.
“Mr. Stark, with all due respect, I’m ready to blow these bastards straight back to hell. If this armor lets me do just that, I’m prepared to give everything for it.” He looks Tony dead in the eyes, his gaze piercing down to Tony’s very soul. Tony hands Rhodes a communications device and a blue remote control with one big, red button I the center of it. With a smile, Tony speaks:
“Put that device in your ear, Rhodes. That’s how we’ll communicate when you’re in the suit. When you’re ready, press the big red button, drop the remote and prepare for the ride of your life.” Tony turns around and begins walking towards the door.
“Mr. Stark! How will I know how to control it?” Tony stops in his tracks and turns to face James Rhodes once more.
“It acts as an extension of your body, James. Will your right arm to move and it shall. And please, call me Tony.” Tony turns once more and walks out of the large warehouse. He walks briskly to his car and reaches into the small refrigerator in the back seat, pulling from it a small flask of gin. He takes a quick drink and turns his attention to the warehouse.
“Testing, testing. Can you hear me, Tony?”
“Loud and clear James, loud and clear.”
“Starting leg and arm thrusters now.” Tony takes another drink of his gin and turns his attention to the colonel overseeing the whole operation.
“Just take the damn thing up James. Have a little fun while you’re at it.”
“If you say so, Tony.” Out of the warehouse comes a streak of grey leaving behind a pure blue trail. “It flies like a beauty, Tony. This is amazing.” Tony glances over at the soldiers readying weapons to fire at Sergeant Rhodes.
“Fire missiles one through four at him, now!” Tony calls over to the colonel, who relays the message quickly. Four missiles blaze through the skies in seconds, aimed directly at the IMATA. “Rhodes, your hands have weaponized thrusters. They work the same as the rest of the suit. Just concentrate.” The rockets reach Rhodes and to blue bursts of energy fire from his palms and destroy the two closest rockets, the explosion destroying the remaining two.
“Not fucking bad, Tony. Not fucking bad at all.”
“I hear the smile on your face, James. That’s good. Now bring her down and take out the tank three kilometers east of our position. It’s a Taliban tank, planning a sneak attack on the base. You have roughly four minutes before it fires high-powered missiles at us. Please, save our lives.”
“Fucking shit!” James Rhodes flies off in a flurry of metallic grays and blues at a minimum of a hundred miles an hour east. Just over a minute later and explosion is heard. “Got the damn thing, Tony. How’d you know it was there?”
“It pays to know things like that. Bring her back; I’ve got one more test for you to run.” He takes another quick drink from his flask and turns his attention to the returning IMATA.
“What’s the last thing?”
“Thrusters: Off.” Tony’s voice rings through the communications device and the armor shuts itself off, the IMATA falling quickly to the ground. Less than five seconds later it hits the ground with a powerful CRUNCH and sends sand and dust in every direction. The suit opens and James Rhodes stands out of it not angered, but excited.
“The damn thing isn’t even scratched Tony! This thing is the ultimat—“ James is cut off by the sounds of hundreds of missiles launching simultaneously at their location. Once glance at the sky above reveals a minimum of three-hundred powerful rockets heading straight for them.
“Everyone, get to cover!” The colonel shouts in a frantic voice. But Tony just stands there, dumbfounded. James Rhodes quickly hops back into the IMATA to save himself. When the rockets fall, everything goes black…
NEXT TIME, WONG CHU AND THE VIET CONG!!!
The Invincible Iron Man
In
”Secret Origins, Part 1”
By Allan Mezzaro
…
Some Time Ago…
A boy stands by his lonesome on the streets of the largest and most powerful city in America—New York. Just over seventeen years old, the boy has dark, chocolate brown hair and sky blue eyes. He wears a business suit costing of at least five thousand dollars.
He stands there alone, watching as smoke billows up in clouds and columns high into the sky—he listens; he hears the screams of the dying men and women, and the screams of those who stand there and watch, not lifting a finger to help; he hears the cameras click as people, insensitive people, stand and take pictures; he hears the yells of the emergency responders responding to the highest of all emergencies.
A woman jumps from the fortieth floor of the building. Her scream pierces the air, but the boy can just barely hear it above the pandemonium around him. He sees her hit the pavement and watches as the blood flies in every direction. He takes one step forward—then another, and another and another until he breaks into a dead sprint. Before he even realizes it, he’s at the base of One Tower, looking up and the flames and the smoke. He can hear the metal screeching and crumbling.
He returns to his sprint, breaking through the barricade and heading straight into the tower. “You can’t go in there son, it’s too dangerous!” He hears a fireman yell from behind.
“Well if I don’t save them you idiots won’t either!” He spits back at them. He makes it to the first staircase and looks up into the flames. He hears a girl scream just out of site.
“Help me! Oh my God! My mother’s dead! I can’t breathe! Someone! Anyone! Help!” Tony looks around him for anything he can use to break through the barrier of fire, metal and wood. He sees an engineer lying helplessly dead on the floor to his right. I metal bar stuck him straight through the head—probably died instantly.
The boy darts over to the body and pulls a wrench from his back pocket, then returns to the stairs. He darts up the stairs and straight into the flames, using the wrench to help move obstacles out of his way. “Help!” He hears the girl cry again.
“Don’t worry, I’m coming! Keep talking! It’ll help me find you!” The boy darts around the immediate area, searching for any sign of the girl and her mother.
“Talk about what?” She cries out.
“Anything! Tell me your name!”
“Pepper! Pepper Pots!”
“How old are you Pepper?”
“Sixteen!” With that shout, the boy locates her just behind a melting metal grate. He rushes in and pulls the grate off with his bare hands, singing them thoroughly. Pepper sees him as he pulls the grate away and tears begin falling heavier. “Oh my God. You found me! OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGOD!” The boy runs in and pulls her mother’s body over his shoulder and takes Pepper’s hand in his.
“Come on, follow me!”
2 Years Ago, August 2002…
Tony Stark stands tall at nineteen years old, looking down at the gravesite of his departed father. Seven months after joining the military; six weeks after embarking on his first mission—he lies cold and dead in a cemetery next to his mother and father. The pastor overseeing the funeral steps towards Tony. “Would you like to say a few words, son?”
Tears drip out of Tony’s eyes one at a time. He shakes his head solemnly and turns away. He heads out of the cemetery and away from the procession. He steps into his Hummer limo and rides away, pulling his first of many, many drinks from a refrigerator in the backseat.
Now, 2004…
Tony Stake stands tall in front of thousands of cameras as he prepares to make his first public speech as CEO of Stark Consolidated. He clears his throat and moves a fraction of an inch closer to the microphones. His voice comes out booming, a voice that of a powerful man.
"Friends, Americans, country-men, I ask of you one thing. I have been gone for quite some time grieving the death of my father and it wasn't until this point that I finally realized what my father wanted me to do. He would be sick to know I've wasted most of the year on crying for him, and now I will carry you all to a new tomorrow. Now, as I stated before, I ask of you only one thing, and one thing alone--your assistance. I will be going into negotiations with the American government to produce weapons of power and destruction to aid in their War on Terrorism at a fraction of the cost. I will produce new types of Kevlar that will protect our troops against any and all attacks made on their persons. Together, we can win this war so many have died fighting. Together, we can make America strong again. God bless you, God bless you all and God bless America."
Tony stares out at the hundreds of people gathered at the steps of Stark Consolidated’s headquarters in New York City to watch this legacy’s returned. Silence engulfs the crowd until, in one massive swoop; the silence is broken by an explosion of questions, flashes and shouts. Tony attempts to answer them one-by-one, but fails terribly.
“Mr. Stark, do you plan on creating nuclear weapons to combat terrorism?” “Tony Avler, Daily Bugle! What is your line? Will you build WMD’s?” “Amanda Campion, New York Times! Have you any interest in building battle robots?” The questions keep pouring from every orifice in a eighty-foot radius of Tony. He tries to answer the questions.
“Um…no and, uh, no? Didn’t he just ask that? Robots? That sounds coo—I have no clue how to build a n—guns that shoot lightning? Really? Oo, bouncy shields, that’s original. I think—I think I have an appointment with my, uh, giant lizard pet giraffe? Yeah, I hope to see you all soon! Bye!” Partly out of fear partly out of confusion, Tony runs from the spotlight back into the confines of Stark C’s headquarters up to his comfortable 70th floor office.
Four months later…
Tony Stark stands still in front of the four fittest men in the entire United States Army, analyzing their build, their stances and their entire psych in order to decide whether any of them are fit to bare the load of the Mechanical Suit v1 or not. As part of the latest contract, full body anti-artillery armor has been created. But not just any soldier can wear the armor.
“Sergeant Rhodes! Front and center!” Tony calls, his years hardened voice booming through the open desert. A USAF sergeant steps forward. Clad in his sky-blue ACUs, the African-American soldier James Rhodes stands tall at just over six feet. A bead of sweat rolls down his cheeks from the immense heat playing over the desert of Afghanistan.
“Sergeant James Rhodes, reporting for duty, sir!” He calls out to Tony with a salute. Tony walks circles around the sergeant and examines him from head to toe.
“Sergeant James Rhodes, are you prepared for the first test flight of the American Army’s new war machine?”
“Sir yes sir!”
“Then follow me.” The two walk off together into an Army warehouse, the home of the Iron Man Anti-Tank Armor, or IMATA. The two stand still and silent for some time as they gaze upon the armor in strange awes. “Rhodes, if this works, you will be the most powerful man in the Military. Are you prepared for this?” Rhodes stands silent, contemplating how best to answer such a question.
“Mr. Stark, with all due respect, I’m ready to blow these bastards straight back to hell. If this armor lets me do just that, I’m prepared to give everything for it.” He looks Tony dead in the eyes, his gaze piercing down to Tony’s very soul. Tony hands Rhodes a communications device and a blue remote control with one big, red button I the center of it. With a smile, Tony speaks:
“Put that device in your ear, Rhodes. That’s how we’ll communicate when you’re in the suit. When you’re ready, press the big red button, drop the remote and prepare for the ride of your life.” Tony turns around and begins walking towards the door.
“Mr. Stark! How will I know how to control it?” Tony stops in his tracks and turns to face James Rhodes once more.
“It acts as an extension of your body, James. Will your right arm to move and it shall. And please, call me Tony.” Tony turns once more and walks out of the large warehouse. He walks briskly to his car and reaches into the small refrigerator in the back seat, pulling from it a small flask of gin. He takes a quick drink and turns his attention to the warehouse.
“Testing, testing. Can you hear me, Tony?”
“Loud and clear James, loud and clear.”
“Starting leg and arm thrusters now.” Tony takes another drink of his gin and turns his attention to the colonel overseeing the whole operation.
“Just take the damn thing up James. Have a little fun while you’re at it.”
“If you say so, Tony.” Out of the warehouse comes a streak of grey leaving behind a pure blue trail. “It flies like a beauty, Tony. This is amazing.” Tony glances over at the soldiers readying weapons to fire at Sergeant Rhodes.
“Fire missiles one through four at him, now!” Tony calls over to the colonel, who relays the message quickly. Four missiles blaze through the skies in seconds, aimed directly at the IMATA. “Rhodes, your hands have weaponized thrusters. They work the same as the rest of the suit. Just concentrate.” The rockets reach Rhodes and to blue bursts of energy fire from his palms and destroy the two closest rockets, the explosion destroying the remaining two.
“Not fucking bad, Tony. Not fucking bad at all.”
“I hear the smile on your face, James. That’s good. Now bring her down and take out the tank three kilometers east of our position. It’s a Taliban tank, planning a sneak attack on the base. You have roughly four minutes before it fires high-powered missiles at us. Please, save our lives.”
“Fucking shit!” James Rhodes flies off in a flurry of metallic grays and blues at a minimum of a hundred miles an hour east. Just over a minute later and explosion is heard. “Got the damn thing, Tony. How’d you know it was there?”
“It pays to know things like that. Bring her back; I’ve got one more test for you to run.” He takes another quick drink from his flask and turns his attention to the returning IMATA.
“What’s the last thing?”
“Thrusters: Off.” Tony’s voice rings through the communications device and the armor shuts itself off, the IMATA falling quickly to the ground. Less than five seconds later it hits the ground with a powerful CRUNCH and sends sand and dust in every direction. The suit opens and James Rhodes stands out of it not angered, but excited.
“The damn thing isn’t even scratched Tony! This thing is the ultimat—“ James is cut off by the sounds of hundreds of missiles launching simultaneously at their location. Once glance at the sky above reveals a minimum of three-hundred powerful rockets heading straight for them.
“Everyone, get to cover!” The colonel shouts in a frantic voice. But Tony just stands there, dumbfounded. James Rhodes quickly hops back into the IMATA to save himself. When the rockets fall, everything goes black…
NEXT TIME, WONG CHU AND THE VIET CONG!!!