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CRACK! CRACK!
The electrified whips slammed into the concrete, punching small craters into the racing surface. Chunks of asphalt flew in every direction.
Tony scrambled backward, his heart hammering. He was in serious danger—the most danger he'd been in since Afghanistan, when terrorists had captured him and Ethan, and Marcus had shown up to save both their lives.
But Marcus wasn't here now.
Tony was on his own.
He kept moving, kept dodging, mind racing for any possible escape route—
Then Happy's car came roaring onto the track.
The vehicle slammed into Whiplash at full speed, sending the big man flying into the concrete barrier. The impact was brutal. Whiplash hit the wall hard enough to crack it, then collapsed to the ground coughing up blood.
If Happy hadn't hit the brakes at the last second to avoid hitting Tony too, the collision probably would've killed Whiplash outright. But between Happy's caution and the protection from Whiplash's power suit, the villain survived.
Barely.
Whiplash staggered to his feet, spitting blood. Then he lashed out with both whips, targeting the car.
The electrified cables tore through the roof and doors like tissue paper. Metal shrieked. Glass shattered.
Inside, Pepper screamed.
"Pepper!" Tony shouted. "The case! Throw me the case!"
She didn't hesitate. The car door was half-destroyed anyway—she shoved the silver briefcase through the opening, and it skidded across the asphalt toward Tony.
Tony ran for it, planted his foot on the center panel, and pressed down.
The briefcase exploded outward with a mechanical ka-CHUNK, transforming into a skeleton of articulated metal pieces. Tony grabbed the arm sections and pulled them up over his shoulders. The suit responded instantly, panels sliding into place, components locking together with precision engineering.
Within seconds, Tony was fully armored.
Mark V—his portable emergency suit. Not as powerful as his workshop models, but infinitely better than nothing. The tradeoff for portability was limited weaponry: repulsor beams and hand-to-hand combat only. No missiles, no fancy gadgets.
But it would be enough.
The crowd erupted into cheers.
"OH MY GOD!"
"IT'S IRON MAN!"
"IRON MAN IS HERE!"
People who'd been running for their lives seconds ago suddenly stopped to pull out phones and cameras. Because apparently, celebrity superhero sightings trumped survival instinct.
Tony ignored them. He walked toward Happy's damaged car and gave it a hard shove with one armored hand, pushing it several meters away from the combat zone.
Then he turned to face Whiplash.
Tony raised his right arm, repulsor charging—
Whiplash struck first.
The electrified whips hit Tony's armor from two angles simultaneously, wrapping around his arms and torso. Sparks flew. The servos in the suit screamed in protest, and Tony was yanked forward, then slammed side to side like a rag doll.
For a few seconds, Tony could only react defensively as Whiplash swung him around, bashing him into the ground, into barriers, into anything solid enough to hurt.
Then Tony's combat training kicked in.
He grabbed both whips with his armored hands. The electricity couldn't penetrate the suit—it was designed to handle way worse. He pulled himself forward, hand over hand, closing the distance despite Whiplash's attempts to keep him at range.
Within moments, Tony was face-to-face with his attacker.
He grabbed Whiplash by the shoulder and executed a perfect over-the-shoulder throw.
WHAM!
Whiplash hit the concrete hard enough to crack it. The impact drove the air from his lungs, and for a critical moment, he couldn't move.
Tony didn't waste the opportunity. He reached down and yanked the arc reactor right out of the center of Whiplash's chest harness.
The whips died instantly. The glow faded from the power suit. And suddenly, Whiplash was pinned under the dead weight of his own armor, unable to move.
Security guards swarmed onto the track, surrounding the downed villain with weapons drawn.
It was over.
But before they dragged him away, Whiplash looked up at Tony and started laughing. Wild, unhinged laughter that echoed across the circuit.
"You didn't win, Stark!" Whiplash shouted, blood on his teeth. "You lost! You lost!"
"HAHAHAHA!"
Tony stood there, holding the crude arc reactor in his armored hand, watching as the guards hauled Whiplash away.
At the Senate hearing, Tony had confidently declared that his technology couldn't be replicated. That the Iron Man armor was years ahead of any competition.
He'd just been proven spectacularly wrong.
The core of the armor was the arc reactor. And Whiplash—some random physicist Tony had never even heard of—had built one. Crude, sure. Rough around the edges. But functional enough to power a weapon suit.
If one person could do it, others would follow.
Tony squeezed the reactor in his hand until the casing cracked.
Watching from his office in New York, Marcus shook his head.
"Idiot," he muttered.
Ivan Vanko was brilliant—there was no question about that. Building an arc reactor from scratch with limited resources? That took serious genius.
But coming after Tony like this, in broad daylight at an international sporting event, with improvised weapons and a half-finished power suit?
That was just stupid.
If Ivan had sold the arc reactor technology, he could've made billions. Lived in luxury for the rest of his life. Instead, he'd thrown it all away for revenge against someone who hadn't even wronged him personally.
Anton Vanko's grudge had become Ivan's obsession, and now Ivan would spend the rest of his life in prison for it.
What a waste.
But not everyone saw it that way.
Justin Hammer sat in his office, staring at the television screen with intense focus.
He watched the footage of Whiplash's attack over and over. Watched that glowing arc reactor power those electrified whips. Watched Whiplash nearly kill Tony Stark on live television.
Justin's eyes gleamed.
That reactor. That technology.
If he had that, he could mass-produce powered armor. Whole armies of mechanical soldiers, all equipped with Hammer Industries weapons. The military contracts alone would be worth hundreds of billions.
And Tony Stark would finally, finally be obsolete.
Justin picked up his phone and made a call.
"I need you to look into something for me," he said quietly. "The man who attacked Stark in Monaco—Ivan Vanko. I want to know where they're holding him, who's guarding him, and how much it would cost to get him out."
He hung up and smiled.
This was his moment. Tony Stark had been untouchable for too long.
Time to change that.
In a holding cell in Monaco, Tony sat across from Ivan Vanko.
The guards had allowed him five minutes. Tony intended to use them.
"So," Tony said, studying the other man's face. "You built an arc reactor. I'm curious—where'd you learn how to do that?"
Ivan stared back at him with cold, hate-filled eyes. "You think you're the only genius in the world, Stark?"
"No. But I think I'm one of the only people who knows how to build a functioning miniaturized arc reactor. And your design—" Tony gestured vaguely toward Ivan's confiscated equipment, "—it's way too similar to mine. So where'd you get it?"
Ivan's lips curled into a sneer. "My father. Anton Vanko. He worked with your father, Howard, on the original reactor design. They built it together. And then Howard betrayed him. Stole the credit. Destroyed his life."
"That's not how I heard it."
"Of course not. Your father was very good at rewriting history." Ivan leaned forward, chains rattling. "He made himself the hero and my father the villain. But the truth? Your father stole everything. And you—" his voice turned venomous, "—you inherited stolen genius."
Tony felt anger flare, but he pushed it down. Getting emotional wouldn't help. "If that's true, then you should've sold the technology. Made a fortune. Proved your father was right."
"I don't want money," Ivan said flatly. "I want your family to suffer like mine did."
"Well, congratulations. You failed."
They stared at each other in silence for a moment.
Then Ivan's expression shifted—less rage, more satisfaction. Almost smug.
"Palladium poisoning," Ivan said quietly. "Doesn't feel good, does it?"
Tony's blood ran cold.
Ivan smiled. "I can see it. The way you move. The way you breathe. You're dying, Stark. The same technology that makes you a hero is killing you. How does that feel?"
Tony stood up abruptly. He didn't say another word. Just turned and walked out of the cell, the heavy door clanging shut behind him.
Outside, Pepper was waiting.
"Tony? Are you—"
"I'm fine. Let's go."
They left Monaco within the hour, boarding Tony's private jet back to New York.
Tony spent the entire flight staring out the window, not speaking to anyone.
Not long after Tony's plane departed, a riot broke out in the Monaco detention facility.
Inmates attacked guards. Fires started in multiple locations. In the chaos, several prisoners escaped.
By the time order was restored, one of the bodies recovered was identified as Ivan Vanko—burned beyond recognition in one of the fires, his features completely destroyed.
The official report listed him as deceased.
But no one looked too closely at the body. And nobody noticed the black van that left the facility's service entrance in the middle of the riot.
The research and development floor of Hammer Industries was pristine—all chrome and glass, carefully designed to look cutting-edge and impressive.
Justin Hammer sat at a conference table laden with expensive catered food. He'd barely touched any of it, too excited to eat.
A van pulled up outside. Moments later, several men entered, escorting a muscular figure in a prison jumpsuit.
Justin stood, smiling widely.
"Welcome!" he called out. "I'm so glad you could make it!"
The guards unlocked Ivan Vanko's handcuffs and stepped back.
Ivan rubbed his wrists, studying Justin with cold calculation.
Justin gestured to the chair across from him. "Please, sit. Eat. You must be hungry."
Ivan sat slowly, still silent.
"My name is Justin Hammer," Justin continued, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "I run Hammer Industries. We're—well, we're the second-largest defense contractor in America. We were the largest before Tony Stark got involved." His expression soured briefly, then brightened again. "But that's going to change."
He leaned forward.
"We have a common enemy, Mr. Vanko. Tony Stark. He's made both our lives difficult. But I have something you need—resources, money, facilities. And you have something I need—your brilliant mind and your arc reactor technology. Together, we could destroy him."
Justin spread his hands, smiling. "So what do you say? Partners?"
Ivan stared at him for a long moment.
Then, finally, he smiled—a cold, predatory expression that had nothing to do with friendship.
"Yes," Ivan said. "Partners."