Tony's POV

Peter's face went as white as a sheet, a horrified look pasting itself on it.

"Ned." The single panic stricken word traveled from his lips, filling the room.

"Who" I asked, the name on a distant bell but I could not think of who Peter might be talking about. But instead of giving an answer. Peter started to ramble.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Stark, I gotta go. My friend, he- the guy-" Peter trailed off, not even seeming to realize that he did so. Instead his eyes were attracted to his bulky phone as his fingers tapped at inhuman speeds.

" You know what, go." I blurted, Peter looked up from his phone, his expression saying he forgot I was there.

"Thank you, I promise I'll make it up to you." He stammered already walking towards the door, giving no mind to the robots swerving around him. I watched him as he exited my lab, the hesitant attitude he had before now full-blown panic. He turned the corner out of the lab and passed my field of vision. I was just going to turn back to my latest project when his head of brown hair popped back into view.

"I'll watch Percy, I promise. I won't let you down."

His head swung back out of sight. I sat perfectly still, listening to his footsteps fade out of range. My attention was caught on what he had said, 

I'll watch Percy. Not Perseus or Mr. Jackson but the name that Perseus called himself.

How close were they?

I let my mind wander through me and Peter's conversation, searching for any other information he may have dropped. As I pondered through the last 10 minutes, my mind latched on to one thing he said,

I don't think your dad murdered anyone too, unless he wrote about it in his diary.

The sentence swirled around my head, repeating like a song on loop. I knew my subconscious must be telling me something, but what? I closed my eyes, trying to think.

He wrote about it in his diary. Diary. Journal.

My eyes snapped open, infused with vigor.

Finally a lead, after all the bad luck maybe my luck could change. His journal, of course, how could I have not thought of this before. I thought as I got up from my desk.

I turned towards the small cabinet beside my desk, rifling through it. File after file flipped across my fingers, my eyes scanning briefly over the neatly organized papers and mechanical parts that Pepper had spent so much time making neat. My knuckles bang against the metal of the back of the last drawer, and I slammed the drawer shut.

Nothing.

I strode over to the next shelving unit, searching, again, for the journal.

"Come on..."

I tore through the papers frantically, leaving them scattered everywhere, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I reached out to grab another file, my hands skimming against the edge of the cabinet. As I extended my hand it tore across a nail that protruded from the smooth metal. The nail ripped through my skin, drawing bright red blood to the surface, but I didn't stop.

I couldn't stop.

Blood condensed from the wound in my hand but I felt no pain. The only thing I could feel was the raw panic running through my veins.

Where is it?

Where is it?

Where is it?

This must be it, I told myself as I brushed aside the last file, right underneath. 

But below the file glared back at me nothing but rusted metal. I stared down in horror, this couldn't be the last place to look, but as I surveyed my lab before me I knew there was no more hope. Scattered all around were papers and files, cluttering the floor, robots rolled over them smearing tire tracks on the important papers.

I collapsed against the file cabinet as wave after wave of hopelessness threatened to drown me. That journal was my only lead. I ran a hand over my face, a drop of blood falling from the cut. It landed on the ground with a quiet drip, staining the dark red against the pale gray of the concrete floor. The blood stared up at me, taunting in its silence. As it glared up at me it twisted and morphed, the red of the blood becoming a bright crimson background, and the light gleaming off the liquid forming into the dreaded tentacles and skull of the Hydra symbol.

I dragged my hand over the drop, serving only to smear the offensive liquid. I scrubbed at it more, spreading it all over the floor. The blood covered my hands, staining them scarlet, and no longer with the blood mine.

It was Rhodney's, dripping off my hands as he lay on the green prairie field. I invited him to come fight my battles for me, and this was how he was repaid. Taking the punishment that should've been mine.

It was Peppers, smeared across her brow as she was kidnapped by Killian. Paying for nothing more than being associated with me.

It was Peter's, caking with dust as he faded away. Looking up into my eyes, his clouded with pain as he apologized for my forthcomings.

I swayed on my feet. Then slowly sunk to the floor, arms held out for balance. I didn't trust my ability to stay on my feet as a kaleidoscope of light blurred my vision. My hands touched the cold ground and I collapsed onto the smooth cement, the solidness of it calming in the storm of my emotions.

In, out, in, out.

My breath slowed to a reasonable pace as I felt myself calm down a little. I risked sitting up, relieved when the only thing that happened was my head spun. I carefully stood, grabbing the file cabinet to pull myself up.

As my head cleared the top of the cabinet, my eyes landed again on the smear of blood. This time I tore my eyes away from it before I could look more closely. I grabbed a crumpled piece of paper that lay next to the blood, and not caring what was on the paper as I used it to wipe away the liquid.

Holding the blood stain paper away from me like it was mold, I stumbled towards the trash bin that stood not 10 feet from the file cabinet. I don't remember the trash bin being there, but it was no surprise. I rarely worked on this side of the lab, for it held only old, failed inventions, and files that were now strewn on the floor.

But as I threw the crumpled paper into the bin I noticed light glint off something that lay in the bin. I stepped forwards to investigate, trying to drown my hopes.

There is no way.

At the bottom of the garbage can, underneath a couple of screws, was a journal. I lunged for the garbage can, yanking out the leather bound book. I threw open the cover, a sigh of relief escaping from my throat as I recognized Howard's familiar, messy scrawl.

I had looked through my dad's glorified diary only once before when I was trying to find a solution to my palladium problem. But that time I was only seeking a formula of sorts, giving up halfway and throwing the notebook into the trash, and in my laziness had skipped through everything that wasn't equations.

I cursed myself now, why had I been so blinded by my arrogance. Maybe if I had seen past my loathing for my dad, I would've been able to stop this. Instead I stood staring down at the leather bound pages, my last hope at finding the truth. I let out a sigh, and started to read the first page.

By the tenth I was ready to give up. What had started out as hopelessly disorganized descended into chaos as the journal carried on. Equations overlapped one another, arrows coming off them made references to other pages that did not exist, and Father's hand written notes were so illegible they seem to be nothing more than scribbles in the margins. My eyes started to glaze over, taking in only the barest detail.

I flipped to another page and just like that I was on high alert. Unlike the other pages this page was carefully planned out and even the handwriting was legible, as if every word was thought through. At the top of the page read Project S. S. S., But while the page was neat, it seemed to purposely conceal what project S. S. S. was about.

Notes referenced back to an E, and two pages talked about S's blood. Formulas and equations were lined up in rows, each one more complicated than the next. The notes stretched on for pages, The date on the top of the pages going from weeks of working on it two months, to a year. Journal entries became more and more common as the weeks went by, each one ending with the same words,

I'm so close.

I read on, enraptured, thinking each page that the next page would be the right one, the one that would explain everything. But each one was just as cryptic as the last, until they stopped, just as abruptly as they had started. A page filled with equations and writing, ending with the words, I'm so close. Then the next page, just two sentences and a formula underlined and circled. A bunch of chemicals and three letters B. O. G.. Underneath that, reading,

I did it.

Start human testing tomorrow.

Welcome to the plot! Do you have any guesses what project S.S.S. Is?