[Miami, Florida. The Mandarin's Estate.]
Tony Stark lay in the tall grass, watching the guards patrol the perimeter. He wasn't wearing a billion-dollar suit of armor. He was wearing a hoodie, jeans, and a backpack filled with items he bought for $84.50 at a hardware store.
"Check your six," Tony whispered to himself.
He threw a Christmas ornament. It wasn't festive; it was filled with magnesium shavings and fertilizer.
FLASH-BANG.
The guard was blinded. Tony lunged, slapping a modified gardening glove onto the man's neck.
ZZZZZT.
The high-voltage taser (made from a disposable camera capacitor) dropped the guard instantly.
"One down," Tony smirked. "Who needs a suit?"
He crept toward the mansion. He felt lighter. For the first time in months, the panic was gone. He didn't need the armor to protect him. His brain was the armor.
[The Front Gate.]
Sebastian walked up the driveway. He didn't hide in the grass. He walked right up to the heavy iron gates.
"Halt!" A guard shouted.
Sebastian ripped the gate off its hinges with one hand and tossed it aside.
"I am here to collect the trash," Sebastian announced.
Suddenly, three men stepped out from the shadows. They weren't wearing uniforms. They were wearing polo shirts. One of them was Savin, the man who blew up the theater.
"The Butler," Savin grinned. His skin began to glow—an angry, molten orange pulsing beneath his veins. "Killian said you were tough. Let's see how you handle a barbecue."
Savin breathed out. Steam hissed from his mouth.
He charged.
Sebastian moved to intercept, aiming a palm strike at Savin's chest.
Ssssss.
Sebastian's glove incinerated on contact. The skin of his palm blistered and blackened instantly.
Sebastian hissed, pulling his hand back. He looked at the charred flesh. It was healing—smoke rising as the demon tissue knit itself back together—but it hurt.
"3,000 degrees," Sebastian noted, his eyes narrowing. "Impressive. You are essentially a walking kiln."
"We're the future!" Savin roared. He grabbed Sebastian's arm. The heat burned through the tailcoat, searing the flesh down to the bone.
Sebastian didn't scream. He looked at the glowing hand gripping his arm.
"The future?" Sebastian laughed. It was a dark, guttural sound that made the other two soldiers hesitate. "I have seen the future, you little matchstick. And it is much colder than this."
Shadows erupted from Sebastian's feet. They weren't just darkness; they were physical, sharp tendrils of void.
Sebastian ignored the pain in his burning arm. He drove his other hand—now transformed into a clawed, demonic limb—straight through Savin's chest.
He ripped out the Extremis-enhanced heart.
Savin gasped. The glow in his skin faded. He dropped to the ground, dead.
Sebastian stood over him. His coat was ruined. His arm was a mess of burnt meat and regenerating muscle.
"My favorite coat," Sebastian whispered, his eyes glowing a violent, hellish fuchsia.
He looked at the other two soldiers. They were backing away, terrified by the sight of the butler healing in real-time.
"You ruined my coat," Sebastian took a step forward. "I am afraid the cleaning bill... will be your lives."
[The Master Bedroom.]
Tony kicked the door open. He rolled across the floor, aiming his homemade potato gun (loaded with a stun charge).
"Nobody move!" Tony yelled.
At the exact same moment, the window shattered.
Sebastian Michaelis flew into the room, landing in a crouch. His clothes were smoking, and his left arm was still knitting itself back together.
Tony aimed the potato gun at Sebastian. Sebastian aimed a silver knife at Tony.
They froze.
"Sir?" Sebastian stood up, hiding the knife. "You look... rustic."
"And you look extra crispy," Tony lowered the gun. "What happened to you?"
"I had a disagreement with a toaster," Sebastian brushed ash off his shoulder. "Are you unharmed?"
"I'm fine. I MacGyver'd it. Where's the Mandarin?"
They both turned to the bed.
Sitting there, surrounded by supermodels and empty beer cans, was a confused old man with a British accent.
"Ello?" the man slurred. "Are you the drug dealer? I ordered the... the herbal stuff."
Tony blinked. "That's the Mandarin?"
"He smells of cheap lager and desperation," Sebastian critiqued, walking closer. "This is not a terrorist leader. This is an actor."
"Trevor," the man hiccuped. "Trevor Slattery. An actor. A toast of Croydon, actually."
Tony looked at Sebastian. The realization hit them both.
"It's a fake," Tony said. "Killian. It's Aldrich Killian. He invented the terrorist to cover up his experiments."
"A puppet show," Sebastian nodded. "Clever. He provides the villain, and then he sells the government the cure."
Suddenly, Tony's phone buzzed. It was Rhodey (War Machine / Iron Patriot).
"Tony! I found them! I'm at the shipping yards! It's a trap! They have the President!"
"Rhodey!" Tony yelled.
The line went dead.
"They have the President," Tony looked at Sebastian. "And they have Pepper."
Sebastian's healing arm finished regenerating with a sickening snap. He flexed his fingers.
"Then we have a destination," Sebastian said coldly. "And Sir?"
"Yeah?"
"I am going to stop holding back. I trust this will not disturb you."
Tony loaded a fresh battery into his taser glove.
"Seb," Tony grinned, a dangerous light in his eyes. "At this point, if you don't turn into a dragon and eat someone, I'm gonna be disappointed."
"I shall see what I can do," Sebastian bowed.
[End of Chapter 24]
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