Tony Stark hadn't slept a single minute the night before. His mind was boiling over with new ideas, holographic screens filled with formulas hastily scribbled across them, and microscopic adjustments to his latest obsession: the new line of Mark armors. Thanks to his joint efforts with Arthur in the study of nanotechnology, he had already surpassed countless limits. Now, he was working on what he proudly called the "Mark X"—a series meant to surpass every single previous model in efficiency, power, and versatility.
When his body finally gave in to exhaustion, the clock had already passed nine in the morning. Stark collapsed on the couch in his own living room, still dressed in wrinkled clothes, a cold, empty coffee cup resting by his hand.
A few hours later, when he opened his eyes again, he didn't even think about food or a shower. His natural instinct guided him straight to the very heart of his life: his workshop. The place was bathed in dim bluish light, filled with floating projections, scattered components, and the soft hum of systems left in standby. As soon as his feet touched the metallic floor, an involuntary smile formed on his face.
"JARVIS, is the prototype ready?" he asked, his voice trembling with expectation.
[It is ready, sir.]
The AI's response was calm, almost impassive, but Tony already felt the excitement swelling within him.
At JARVIS's command, panels began to slide open in the floor, and slowly, a new armor rose before his eyes in all its splendor. On the outside, it didn't seem to differ much from the previous models, but the true evolution lay inside.
"Simply perfect…" he whispered.
[As requested, I modified non-essential components and integrated support nanomachines.]
Tony circled the armor with gleaming eyes. To him, this wasn't just metal, circuits, and code—it was a piece of himself, his genius crystallized into tangible form.
But his moment of awe was interrupted. A sudden sound echoed in the workshop: an incoming call notification. The screen showed only one thing—"Unknown Caller."
"Hm?" Tony raised an eyebrow and answered, sarcasm intact.
On the other end, a bitter voice oozed through the line:
{'Hey, Tony Stark.'}
The smile vanished from his face. He knew that voice. Ivan Vanko.
"What the…? Wasn't this guy in prison?" he muttered, stunned.
"I don't think you should be calling me directly from a cell."
{'Why don't you watch the news?'}
Tony frowned. The last thing he wanted was to waste time with a criminal's riddles.
"Nah. I'm busy with something way more important."
{'You should find it important, Stark. The Hammer Expo just kicked off. I imagine you sent someone from your company to represent Stark Industries there.'}
The pause that followed was ice cold.
{'Soon, you'll be collecting their corpses.'}
The line went dead instantly. Ivan knew Tony would try to trace him, which was why he gave no chance.
[Sir, I was unable to locate the source of the call.]
Tony's eyes narrowed with fury. He knew exactly who was in danger: Pepper and Happy, who were at the Expo.
"JARVIS, prepare everything. We're field-testing this armor. Right now."
[Understood, sir.]
In seconds, the donning process of the new Mark X began. Metallic plates slid and locked into place around his body with flawless precision. As the last piece sealed, Tony immediately felt the difference. This armor was astonishingly lighter, faster than its predecessors. And the power… it was as if every fiber of the suit roared with newborn energy.
The roof split open and, in an instant, Tony blasted into the sky. Flying had never felt so natural. Adjustments to the thrusters—enhanced by nanomachines—gave him perfect stability, without the need for constant bursts of flame from his hands. He hovered effortlessly above New York, taking in the view below, and a quick thought crossed his mind:
Arthur's suggestions were really good…
Locating the Hammer Expo, he accelerated toward the event, leaving only a blazing trail across the sky.
---
Meanwhile, elsewhere in New York, the true mastermind was already moving his pieces.
Ivan Vanko, cold and merciless, snuffed out the life of the guard who had been watching him. The body hit the ground without ceremony as Ivan seized control of a computer. Data about the Hammer Industries drones scrolled across the glowing screens.
A grim smile spread across his face.
When Justin Hammer had become obsessed with acquiring Arc Reactor technology, he hadn't hesitated to pull Ivan from prison and offer him a chance at "cooperation." Hammer believed he was in control, but to Ivan, he was nothing but a tool—a useful idiot.
Truth was, Ivan could've struck at Tony much earlier. But he preferred to wait. To feed his hatred, to refine every detail, to mold his resentment into strategy.
And, of course, because Justin Hammer was a complete fool.
To Vanko, the man was nothing more than a vain peacock, blind to reality. Every armor model produced before was worthless—fragile, insecure, ridiculous. In the end, Ivan had to rebuild everything himself, wasting precious time just to correct someone else's incompetence.
But now, the pieces were all in place. The moment was right. The perfect instant.
Ivan fixed his gaze on the drones ready to be unleashed and muttered to himself with a crooked smile:
"Finally, Stark… it's time to settle the score."
---
At that very moment, inside the grand Hammer Expo, the spectacle reached its peak. Spotlights swept across the stage with exaggerated flair, and Justin Hammer, his smug smile plastered across his face, raised his arms as if he were the conductor of an orchestra of steel and gunpowder.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present to you the latest technological jewel of Hammer Industries, in collaboration with our glorious military!" His voice boomed through the sound system, full of forced excitement.
The audience leaned forward eagerly. Many hoped to see something that could rival Tony Stark—after all, that was the unspoken promise of the night: that Hammer would finally prove he wasn't lagging behind the billionaire genius.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you… the War Machine!"
The crowd erupted with excited murmurs, and Hammer paused for dramatic effect before continuing:
"And it will be piloted by none other than the fearless Air Force Major… James Rhodes!"
BOOM!
A metallic crash thundered through the hall as a gray figure plummeted from above and landed on the stage with deafening impact. The floor shook, sparks scattered, and the audience gasped and screamed—half in fear, half in awe.
Pepper, seated in the crowd beside Happy, widened her eyes at the familiar silhouette.
"That's…" she whispered, barely believing it.
"Isn't that one of Tony's armors?"
Happy frowned, leaning forward. The silver metal reflected the stage lights, but the design was unmistakable.
"Yeah, looks a lot like one of his Marks…" he muttered.
"The color's different, but the style, the lines… no denying it."
By now, anyone with the slightest technological sense knew the truth: this machine had Tony Stark's genius written all over it. And the unease twisting in Pepper's stomach only grew stronger.
The helmet lifted slowly, revealing the face of James Rhodes. The audience exploded into thunderous applause—not for recognizing Stark's work, but for the military figure now piloting the suit. Some chanted Rhodes's name, others cheered at the idea of an official government weapon.
Pepper, however, wasn't impressed.
"Did Tony ever mention giving a suit to Rhodes?" she muttered, pressing a hand against her temple.
Happy, still watching the stage closely, crossed his arms.
"Maybe… it could've been a gift, one of his older Marks." His eyes narrowed as he examined the modifications.
"But it looks like they didn't like Tony's style. They changed the design, repainted it, and stuffed it with weapons…"
It wasn't just loyalty to Stark—Happy had a sharp instinct for when things didn't feel right.
Pepper sighed, rubbing her forehead as a throbbing headache began to form. None of this felt right.
And before she could even process it, another explosion of sound shook the hall.
WHOOOSH!
A new figure descended from the sky at high speed, engulfed in the blazing glow of thrusters. The moment it landed, the entire audience fell silent, breath stolen—only to erupt moments later into cheers and screams louder than before.
The classic red-and-gold armor gleamed under the stage lights. Inescapable. Unmistakable.
Some spectators, unable to contain themselves, shouted in unison:
"IRON MAN!!!"
The contrast between the two figures onstage—the imposing gray War Machine and Tony's iconic red-and-gold Iron Man—sent the entire place into a frenzy of anticipation.
The spectacle, already grand, had just transformed into something far greater.
---
(End of chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."