"I never spin a pile of lies to make others think I'm a good person. How did the news media used to describe Tony Stark? A merchant of death."
Tony lay back in his chair and took a sip of soda. He could finally get away from that disgusting chlorophyll plant drink. Tilting his head back, he gazed at the starry sky, where countless points of light glittered across the dark canopy like a string of pearl necklace.
"You knew Howard, so you should know how he did business back then. Fund a warlord, and more people would come to buy Stark Industries weapons because they needed more weapons. That's how war works—you hit me, I hit you. Only arms dealers are absolutely impartial. They don't care why you started a war or what country you come from. If you can pay, they'll sell you even their souls."
"Howard was never a good man." Tony called his father by name. "I wasn't a good man either. I never cared whether the money I spent on sports cars or picking up supermodels was stained with blood. Nor did I care whether the bullets I sold killed terrorists or innocent civilians."
"If I had to think about all that, if my moral standards were that high, then I wouldn't be able to sleep at night."
Fury fell silent. As an experienced spymaster, he could have brought up countless grand principles and offered some lofty-sounding remarks. Yet that formerly cynical playboy had somehow left him speechless.
"But what I did in the past doesn't stop me from wanting to be a good person now."
Tony stretched out. The once wayward libertine now seemed somewhat steadier as he continued, "We all know how this world works. I don't know why you took Sean away,