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"This guy really likes showing off," Natasha muttered, watching Marcus hold back Ivan's armored suit with a single finger.
The realization hit her all at once. Marcus had defeated the Abomination—an actual monster—in single combat. Ivan in a suit of armor? That was nothing.
Marcus wasn't struggling. He was playing.
Inside his armor, Ivan came to the same conclusion.
"Die!" he roared, lashing out with his other whip.
The electrified cable crackled through the air toward Marcus's head. Ivan had abandoned any thought of taking hostages. Now he just wanted to survive. And survival meant getting past this inhuman monster standing in his way.
His flight systems were disabled—somehow. His strength advantage meant nothing. His only hope was the whips.
Marcus watched the attack approach with complete calm.
"The one who dies here," he said quietly, "won't be me."
His telekinesis surged.
Ivan froze mid-strike. Every servo in his armor locked up simultaneously. The whip stopped inches from Marcus's face, energy crackling impotently.
"What—" Ivan's voice was strangled. "What is this? Magic? Witchcraft?"
"No," Marcus said. "Superpowers."
Then his telekinesis shaped itself into a massive invisible hand and backhanded Ivan across the room.
CRASH!
Ivan's armor smashed into the concrete wall hard enough to embed itself in the reinforced material. The impact rang through the building like a gong.
Inside the suit, Ivan's head bounced off the interior padding. His vision swam. Blood filled his mouth.
When his eyes finally focused, Marcus was still standing there. Calm. Unbothered.
"Who are you?" Ivan gasped. "Who the hell are you?"
Marcus tilted his head thoughtfully. "Just a superhuman passing through."
Behind him, Natasha stared at Marcus with exasperated disbelief.
That was a joke. He was making jokes right now.
But then again, Marcus was what, twenty-three? Twenty-four? For all his power and wealth, he was still basically a kid. Childish behavior came with the territory.
Ivan's face twisted with rage and despair. "Why?! Why does Stark always have this kind of luck?! Someone saved him in Monaco! Someone's here now!"
His voice rose to a scream. "But I haven't lost yet! You'll all die with me!"
"AAAAAHHH!!!"
Warning lights flashed across Ivan's HUD. He'd triggered the self-destruct.
The arc reactor in his chest armor shifted from white to red, pulsing faster and faster.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beepbeepbeepbeep—
Marcus's eyes widened. "Are you kidding me?! You're just going to blow yourself up?! What a sore loser!"
He spun and ran.
Natasha was already moving, sprinting down the corridor away from Ivan. Marcus caught up to her in three strides, and they ran together—ten seconds, fifteen, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the reactor about to go critical.
They made it maybe fifty meters before—
In the artificial park, Tony and Rhodes had just finished destroying the last of the ground drones.
Then the downed mechs started beeping.
"JARVIS, what—"
"Sir, all units are showing critical reactor destabilization. They're rigged to explode."
Red lights flashed across every fallen drone. Energy readings spiked.
"Get clear!" Tony shouted at Rhodes. Then his mind went to Pepper. "No—Pepper!"
He launched into the sky, repulsors screaming, racing toward the expo hall.
He found her on the front steps, standing near one of the downed drones. The same one Marcus had disabled earlier.
Thank God it wasn't moving. Thank God it wasn't active—
Tony landed next to her, armor clanking against concrete.
Pepper's eyes went wide. "Tony!"
Behind her, Ada Wong took one look at the situation, rolled her eyes, and very deliberately walked away to give them privacy.
She pulled out her phone to call Marcus.
The explosions hit before she could dial.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
All across the city, every Hammer drone detonated simultaneously. Fireballs erupted into the night sky, orange and red, bright enough to cast shadows.
Tony pulled Pepper close, shielding her with his armor.
When the shockwaves faded, they were still standing. Smoke and fire surrounded them, but they were alive.
Pepper looked up at Tony.
Tony looked down at Pepper.
They kissed.
At Hammer Industries headquarters, Marcus and Natasha had gotten maybe fifty meters away when Ivan's reactor went critical.
The explosion was massive.
Arc reactors contained incredible energy density. When one failed catastrophically, the result was comparable to a missile strike. And Ivan had been inside a building, which meant the blast was partially contained, amplified, channeled outward through corridors and doorways.
A wall of force, flame, and debris roared down the hallway toward them.
Natasha's face went white. She was enhanced—minor genetic modifications, chemical treatments, years of conditioning—but this was beyond her limits.
She was going to die here.
Marcus, on the other hand, remained oddly calm.
His telekinesis had already deployed, layering shield after shield behind them. He'd calculated the blast radius, the dispersal pattern, the force vectors.
The explosion would knock them down. But it wouldn't kill them.
Debris filled the corridor—chunks of concrete, metal fragments, glass shards, all of it wrapped in flames. Every piece that flew toward them hit invisible barriers and deflected away. The flames parted around them like water around a stone.
The shockwave hit.
Marcus and Natasha were thrown forward, tumbling across the floor in a tangle of limbs.
When the dust settled, they were both still breathing.
Natasha lifted her head, disoriented. No pain. No injuries. She was alive.
And she was lying on top of someone.
Specifically, she was lying face-first on Marcus's face. Her chest pressed directly against his eyes.
Marcus's muffled voice came from beneath her. "Can you get up, Miss Romanoff?"
Natasha's expression flickered for a fraction of a second—surprise, embarrassment—before smoothing back to professional neutrality.
She was a trained operative. She'd long ago mastered control over reactions like embarrassment or modesty. They were liabilities in the field.
She pushed herself up calmly and extended a hand to Marcus.
Marcus took it—her hand was smaller than his but callused from years of weapons training—and let her help pull him to his feet.
Once they were both standing, Natasha released his hand.
She looked him over. Not a scratch. Not even dust on his clothes, somehow.
Meanwhile, she had bruises forming, cuts on her arms from sliding across debris, burns on her uniform from proximity to the flames.
And Marcus looked like he'd just finished a casual stroll.
Natasha's lips curved into the faintest smile.
"..."