Having preferred the company of machines nine times out of ten for the majority of his life, seeing something so broken does chafe at him a little. It's not the arm that he really ought to be concerned about, however. The arm matters little. It's the man that arm belongs to that needs to be dealt with.

"Hate to go all Indigo Montoya on you," Tony says from behind the mask of silver. He hadn't bothered painting it. There's not much polish on this thing at all, but it works, it flies, and it can kill if needed.

He's starting to have second thoughts on the killing though. Sure, he's been the cause of a lot of it collaterally but this is different. This is a vendetta.

And Tony is rapidly losing his nerve.

"But you killed my father. And from what I've seen, a lot of people's fathers."