[Circuit de Monaco. Monte Carlo.]
The engines screamed. The crowd roared.
Tony Stark was smiling, but his vision was swimming. The toxicity in his blood was at 53%. He could taste the metal on his tongue. He gripped the steering wheel of the Formula 1 car, pushing it to 200 mph.
If I'm going to burn out, Tony thought, taking the corner too fast, I'm going to leave a skid mark.
"Tony!" Pepper screamed from the VIP box. "What is he doing?!"
"He's driving," Sebastian replied calmly, pouring her another glass of champagne. "And his cornering technique is atrocious."
On the track, the race was turning into a nightmare.
A man in an orange jumpsuit walked onto the asphalt. He didn't look like a marshal. He looked like a walking power plant.
Ivan Vanko engaged his whips. CRACK-HISS. Two tendrils of pure plasma lashed out, glowing with blinding white energy.
A racing car zoomed past. Vanko flicked his wrist. The whip sliced through the carbon fiber nose of the car like a hot knife through butter. The car flipped, crashing into the barrier in a shower of sparks.
"Target acquired," Vanko grunted.
He saw the blue and white Stark Industries car approaching.
Tony saw him too. "Crazy pedestrian!" Tony swerved.
Vanko lashed out. The whip caught the front left tire and the suspension.
SLICE.
The car disintegrated. Tony spun out of control, the chassis scraping against the asphalt, sparks flying everywhere. He slammed into the wall, the world spinning.
Tony gasped, struggling to undo his harness. He crawled out of the wreckage, disoriented.
Vanko walked toward him, the whips crackling. Snap. Snap.
"Stark!" Vanko roared.
Tony stumbled back. He had no suit. He had no weapon. He was just a dying man in a fireproof suit.
Vanko raised both whips for the killing blow.
HONK. HONK.
Vanko turned.
A Rolls Royce Phantom was driving against the flow of the race, drifting around the corner with surgical precision. It wasn't slowing down.
Vanko tried to lash at it, but the car was too fast.
THUD.
The heavy luxury sedan slammed into Vanko, pinning him against the concrete barrier. The impact crumpled the front of the Rolls, but Vanko was crushed between the steel bumper and the wall.
Silence fell over the track.
The rear door of the Rolls Royce opened.
Sebastian Michaelis stepped out. He adjusted his tie. He smoothed his coat. He looked at the smoking engine of the ruined $400,000 car with mild annoyance.
"Parking is terrible in Europe," Sebastian noted.
He walked around to the trunk. Vanko was groaning, pinned but still dangerous, the electricity from his harness arcing wildly.
Sebastian ignored him. He opened the trunk and pulled out a red and silver suitcase.
He walked over to Tony, who was sitting on the asphalt, bleeding from a cut on his forehead.
"You called for your luggage, Sir?" Sebastian asked, holding out the suitcase.
Tony laughed, a breathless, hysterical sound. "You crashed the Rolls."
"It was a rental," Sebastian said dismissively. "Suit up. He is merely stunned."
Behind them, Vanko roared. He pushed the car away with a burst of hydraulic strength. He was bleeding, furious, and charging up his whips to maximum power.
"Give it to me!" Tony yelled.
Sebastian threw the suitcase.
Tony caught it. He kicked his foot into the case, pulling the handle.
CLICK-WHIR-CLANK.
The Mark 5 unfolded. It was a lighter suit, the plates locking over his chest, his arms, his legs. It wasn't built for flight; it was built for this.
The faceplate slid shut.
Vanko lashed out.
Tony caught the whip. The plasma burned against the gauntlets, but Tony held firm. He yanked Vanko forward, stepping into a powerful uppercut.
CLANG.
Vanko went down.
Tony ripped the Arc Reactor out of Vanko's chest harness, deactivating the whips.
The fight was over in thirty seconds.
Police sirens wailed in the distance. Tony stood over Vanko, breathing hard.
"You lose," Tony panted.
Sebastian walked over, holding a handkerchief. He dabbed the blood from Tony's exposed neck (where the suit didn't fully seal).
"A messy affair," Sebastian critiqued. "But efficient."
"Did you see that?" Tony pointed at Vanko. "He has a reactor. A miniature Arc Reactor."
"I see it," Sebastian looked at the glowing device in Tony's hand. His eyes narrowed. "It seems your father's legacy is not as exclusive as you thought."
"How is that possible?" Tony demanded.
"That is a question for the man under the car," Sebastian said. "But for now, the police are arriving. And Miss Potts is likely going to murder us both for ruining her vacation."
Tony looked at the destroyed race car. He looked at the destroyed Rolls Royce. He looked at the burning wreckage of the track.
"Yeah," Tony sighed, the faceplate popping open. "Let's go home."
[End of Chapter 13]
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