[Malibu Mansion. The Workshop. December 2012.]
Run Run Rudolph by Chuck Berry was blasting at maximum volume.
"Too fast! It's coming in too fast!" Tony yelled, standing in the center of the room in his underwear and a motion-capture headset.
"Sir, calibration is—" J.A.R.V.I.S. tried to warn.
WHOOSH.
A gold-plated gauntlet flew across the room at 60 mph. It missed Tony's hand and smashed into a glass display case.
CRASH.
"I told you to slow it down!" Tony snapped, his chest heaving. He wasn't just out of breath; he was panicking. His heart rate monitor was beeping erratically.
"If I may, Sir," a calm voice cut through the rock music.
Sebastian Michaelis stood by the workbench, catching a stray metal boot that had ricocheted off the wall. He held the heavy titanium plating with one hand, looking unimpressed.
"This new 'summoning' feature," Sebastian critiqued, inspecting the boot. "It lacks... elegance. You look like you are being assaulted by your own wardrobe."
"It's the Mark 42," Tony wiped sweat from his eyes. "Prehensile propulsion. It comes to me. Anywhere. Anytime."
"Useful," Sebastian admitted, placing the boot on the table. "Especially considering you haven't slept in the master bedroom in four days. You are nesting down here like a frightened rodent."
Tony flinched. "I'm working. The Mandarin bombings... I need to be ready."
"The Mandarin is a terrorist with a flair for theatricality," Sebastian poured a cup of herbal tea. "He uses fortune cookies and green screens. He is not a wormhole."
Tony froze.
The word triggered it.
The Wormhole. Space. Cold. The Chitauri. The nuke.
Tony gasped, clutching his chest. The room seemed to shrink. He couldn't breathe.
"Sir?"
"I... I can't..." Tony stumbled back, knocking over a tray of tools.
Sebastian was there instantly. He didn't use his speed; he just moved with purpose. He placed a hand on Tony's shoulder. His grip was firm, grounding.
"Look at me," Sebastian commanded. His voice wasn't gentle. It was absolute.
Tony looked up. The glowing fuchsia eyes of the demon bored into him.
"You are Anthony Edward Stark," Sebastian said. "You are the Merchant of Death. You are the Iron Man. You are my contractor. You do not have permission to break."
The panic attack hit a wall—the wall of Sebastian's will. Tony took a shuddering breath. The air returned to his lungs.
"Right," Tony exhaled, shaking his head. "Right. I'm good. I'm good."
"Drink this," Sebastian shoved the tea into his hand. "And put on some pants. You have a visitor."
[Stark Industries. The Lobby.]
Happy Hogan was not happy. He was Chief of Security, and he was currently tailing a suspicious man.
The man, Savin, had given Pepper Potts a strange vibe during a meeting. He chewed gum aggressively. He looked sweaty.
Happy followed him out to the Chinese Theater. Savin met another man. They exchanged a briefcase.
"Drug deal," Happy muttered to himself. "I knew it."
He walked up to Savin. "Hey! You! The briefcase. Hand it over."
Savin turned. His eyes were glowing a faint, molten orange.
"You're a persistent little fly," Savin smiled.
"And you're... burning up?" Happy frowned, noticing steam rising from the man's collar.
Savin grabbed the other man (the buyer). The buyer started to glow too. He was overheating. Exploding.
"Get down!" Happy screamed to the crowd.
BOOM.
The explosion was unlike anything Happy had seen. It wasn't fire; it was pure heat. It vaporized the buyer, the briefcase, and half the theater lobby.
Happy was thrown backward. He hit the pavement hard. His vision blurred. He saw Savin walk out of the flames, regenerating a missing leg in seconds.
Monster, Happy thought, before the darkness took him.
[ The Hospital. 12 Hours Later.]
Tony walked out of the ICU. He put on his sunglasses to hide the rage.
Happy was in a coma. Tubes everywhere.
Sebastian walked beside Tony. The butler was silent, but the air around him was freezing cold, despite the California sun.
"They said it was a bomb," Tony said, his voice low.
"Forensics found no bomb fragments," Sebastian replied, consulting a tablet. "Only biological residue. The heat signature was 3,000 degrees Celsius. That is not an explosive, Sir. That is... biological combustion."
Reporters swarmed them at the hospital exit.
"Mr. Stark! Is this the Mandarin? Are you afraid?"
Tony stopped. He took off his sunglasses.
"Hey," Tony said to the lead cameraman. "You want a quote? Here's a quote."
He looked directly into the lens.
"I'm not afraid. I'm angry. I've been a mess lately, hiding in my basement. But you hurt my friend? That's it. Holiday's over."
Tony leaned in close.
"Mandarin. I know you're watching. You want a fight? You got it. My name is Tony Stark. I live at 10880 Malibu Point. 90265. I'll leave the door unlocked."
Tony smashed the reporter's phone and walked toward his car.
Sebastian opened the car door for him.
"That was incredibly foolish, Sir," Sebastian said.
"I know," Tony got in.
"You just invited a terrorist organization to your glass house on a cliff."
"I know," Tony repeated. "You scared?"
Sebastian closed the door. He walked around to the driver's side. A small, cruel smile played on his lips.
"Scared?" Sebastian started the engine. "On the contrary, Young Master. I was worried you had lost your spine. It is good to see you have found it."
Sebastian put the car in gear.
"However," Sebastian added. "I shall have to cancel the window cleaning service. It seems we are about to have... messy guests."
[End of Chapter 21]
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