The crowd's chanting built into a rhythmic thunder that shook the very ground beneath the stage. Thousands of voices merged into competing waves of sound.
"TONY! TONY! TONY!"
"SMITH! SMITH! SMITH!"
The enthusiasm was electric, infectious, the kind of energy that only massive crowds could generate when swept up in spectacle and genuine admiration.
General Ross stood among the VIP section, arms crossed, watching the two figures commanding the stage with effortless charisma. He shook his head slightly, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
"They both look so glamorous at all times," Ross muttered, half to himself.
Blonsky stood at his shoulder, eyes tracking every movement on stage with professional assessment. "They represent the two most outstanding fields on Earth. Technology and the human body pushed to their absolute limits."
He paused, then added with the blunt honesty Ross had come to expect from him, "General, to be honest, I haven't fought Iron Man yet. I don't know how his technological prowess compares to Smith Doyle's physical capabilities."
Ross didn't address the implicit challenge in Blonsky's words. "You're all heroes in different ways. Perhaps we'll fight side by side someday."
He'd secured Blonsky's war hero status, gotten him added to the military honors roster, and protected him from prosecution. The price had been Ross's own career trajectory—this would be his final term in his current position, rather than the extended tenure his colleagues enjoyed. But he'd gained a controllable super-soldier and positioned himself for a political career.
A fair trade, all things considered.
On stage, the music reached its crescendo and faded. The dancers executed their final formation and exited smoothly, leaving only Smith and Tony in the spotlight. Tony stepped forward to the microphone, his showman persona fully engaged.
"Hey, it's good to be back!" His voice carried perfectly through the sound system, reaching every corner of the Expo grounds. "It looks like everyone missed us!"
He paused for comedic timing. "Let's blow something up!"
The crowd roared approval, some people genuinely believing he might detonate something for effect.
Tony raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, I was just joking. We save the explosions for the bad guys."
His expression shifted to something more genuine, the practiced smile gaining real warmth. "In this world, there are people who change everything just by existing. People who save lives, who inspire others, who make the impossible look easy."
He turned, gesturing to Smith. "I have such a friend. He's pulled me out of danger more times than I can count. Given me opportunities to rise from the ashes when I should've stayed down."
Tony's voice gained strength, carrying conviction that transcended performance. "He's a superhero. Some call him God. Some call him the savior of Earth. He's also the second-largest individual shareholder of Stark Industries and chairman of the Universal Capsule Company."
He paused for dramatic effect. "Most importantly, he's my friend. Smith Doyle!"
The spotlight swung to illuminate Smith fully. The crowd erupted again, the chanting building to almost painful volumes. Smith raised his arms in acknowledgment, waving to different sections of the audience, his expression warm but measured.
Tony stepped forward, and the two men embraced briefly—the kind of quick, masculine hug that said volumes about genuine friendship without excessive sentimentality.
During those few seconds of contact, Smith's enhanced senses cataloged Tony's condition automatically. Elevated heart rate. Slight tremor in the hands. And visible now that they were this close—dark veins creeping up Tony's neck, the telltale sign of advanced palladium poisoning.
Worse than the original timeline, Smith thought grimly. He's been pushing himself harder, using the suit more frequently.
They separated, and Tony slung an arm around Smith's shoulders, turning them both to face the crowd. "I was just thinking about something," Tony announced, his voice taking on the slightly self-deprecating tone he used when he was actually being sincere.
"I didn't say that the long-term peace the world has enjoyed over recent years is because of me."
The crowd cheered anyway.
"I didn't say that nobody in world history has ever risen from the ashes quite like I have, defying death and coming back stronger."
More cheers, louder now.
"And I certainly never said that the US government—and honestly, most governments worldwide—can relax a little because nobody dares challenge me one-on-one when I'm at my peak."
The audience went wild. Tony's hero credentials were solid—not just because of the flashy armor, but because he'd genuinely made cities safer. Crime rates in the greater Los Angeles area had dropped significantly since Iron Man started patrolling. People felt protected.
"But," Tony continued, his voice cutting through the noise, "this isn't just about me. It's about my good friend Smith Doyle too!"
He squeezed Smith's shoulder for emphasis. "Because of both of us—and others like us—world peace isn't just an ideal. It's a reality enforced by people who actually care. No country wants to start a war when they know Iron Man and God might show up to stop it."
The crowd's roar threatened to shake the structural supports. Tony and Smith's names echoed across the Expo grounds in alternating waves, a call-and-response that would've made any rock star jealous.
Tony raised his hands for quiet, a conductor asking his orchestra to pause. The noise gradually diminished to a manageable level.
"Of course," Tony said, his tone shifting to something more serious, "we're not important. And neither are you."
The unexpected statement created confused silence.
"None of us individually are important," Tony clarified. "What's important is legacy. What we leave behind. What we build for future generations."
He turned, gesturing to encompass the entire Expo. "So starting tomorrow, for the first time since 1974, the greatest minds from different countries and companies around the world will gather here. I'm providing the resources, the platform, the infrastructure. They're bringing the vision."
His voice gained intensity. "Together, we're going to create a better future. So it doesn't matter who we are individually. What matters is what we build collectively."
He paused, then smiled that trademark Stark smile. "So all I want to say is... welcome back to the Stark Industries Expo."
Another pause, perfectly timed. "But before we continue, someone else wants to welcome you. Someone who understands legacy better than anyone. A special guest, returning from the past to explain what this is really all about."
Tony gestured to the massive screen behind him. "Please welcome my father. Howard Stark."
The lights dimmed. The screen flickered to life, showing vintage film footage—slightly grainy, clearly from the 1970s based on the fashion and film quality. Howard Stark appeared on screen, younger than anyone in the audience had ever seen him, full of the same charismatic energy his son had inherited.
As Howard began speaking about the future and innovation, Tony stepped back from center stage, moving to where Smith stood in the shadows.
"How's it going?" Tony asked quietly, his public persona dropping away now that they were out of the immediate spotlight. "Did today's opening set the whole audience on fire?"
Smith smiled slightly. "It seems you're planning to bleed your bank account heavily this time. A full year of this? The costs will be astronomical."
Tony pulled a small device from his pocket—a blood toxicity monitor, sleek and discrete. He pressed his thumb against the sensor pad and waited. The device chirped, displaying results on its small screen.
Blood Toxicity: 39%
Tony didn't try to hide the reading. Smith's enhanced vision read it clearly even from his position.
Thirty-nine percent, Smith thought. In the original timeline, Tony hit forty percent right before Monaco. He's running out of time faster than expected.
Howard's video concluded with inspiring words about building tomorrow, and the host's voice took over, beginning to introduce the Expo's schedule. Tony and Smith moved backstage, away from the cameras and crowds.
Once they were in the private area behind the stage setup, Tony turned to face Smith fully. His expression had shifted from showman to something more vulnerable—not desperate, but definitely concerned.
Smith didn't make him ask. "Tony, it seems your palladium poisoning is quite severe. Have you made any progress finding a replacement element?"
Tony's shoulders sagged fractionally, the admission of defeat clear in his body language. "I've tried every stable element on the periodic table. Nothing works. The power requirements of the arc reactor combined with the output needed for the suit... there's nothing else that can handle both."
He ran a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of frustration. "The next Dragon Ball tournament is a year away. I'm not sure I can hold on that long. Not at this rate."
Smith studied him for a moment, then made his decision. "There's a medical pod in my base. Advanced technology—beyond anything currently available on the commercial market."
Tony's attention sharpened immediately.
"It can purge the palladium toxicity from your system completely," Smith continued. "Clear you back to baseline in a single treatment session."
Hope flared across Tony's face, then dimmed slightly as his analytical mind caught up. "But it's only a temporary solution."
"Exactly," Smith confirmed. "It treats the symptom, not the cause. You'll need to find a new element to replace the palladium, or you'll just get poisoned again the next time you use the suit."
"But it buys me time," Tony said, his mind already racing through the implications. His eyes lit up with renewed energy. "That's fantastic, man! You should've told me about this earlier—I'd have been pestering you for access weeks ago."
He gripped Smith's shoulder, genuine gratitude evident. "As long as I can clear the toxins and get my cognitive function back to a hundred percent, I'll have enough time to research properly. The poison's been making me sluggish, affecting my concentration. With a clear head and a working body, I can find the right direction."
Tony's frustration had never been about lack of intelligence or capability. It was time pressure—trying to be Iron Man while the suit was killing him, trying to research solutions while his brain was being poisoned, trying to maintain his company while his body deteriorated. He'd been fighting a three-front war with diminishing resources.
But Smith had just given him a ceasefire on one front. Room to breathe. Time to work.
"When can we do this?" Tony asked. "How long does the treatment take?"
"The procedure itself takes about an hour," Smith said. "Recovery is minimal—you'll feel better immediately. But Tony, you need to understand something."
He met Tony's eyes directly. "This is a stopgap measure. You need to find a permanent solution. The medical pod can save your life, but it can't save you from yourself if you keep using the poisoned reactor."
"I understand," Tony said seriously. "Temporary fix, permanent solution needed. I'm already on it."
He paused, then added with a slight smirk, "Though I have to ask—what other miracle technology are you hiding in that base of yours? Should I be worried you're going to put me out of business?"
Smith smiled. "Let's focus on keeping you alive first. Business competition later."
"Deal," Tony agreed. "Now, I believe we both have product presentations to prepare. Shall we show these people what the future actually looks like?"