"Trust me. Rhodey, please. I can help you!"
"Help me?" The Laughing Rhodes tilted his head, his scarred smile widening into a grotesque caricature of joy. "But... I don't need help, Tony! Right now, I feel incredibly... free!"
Rhodes spread his arms wide, stepping toward the Iron Man armor.
"You know, Tony? We've always been bound by rules. Civilization! Laws! Morality! All of these things constantly restrain us, keep us locked in little boxes—"
"Enough!" Tony roared, his mechanical voice trembling with fury. "You've been completely brainwashed by the Joker!!"
Seeing that words would never reach the broken mind of his best friend, Tony raised his gauntlet again. The blinding white glow of the repulsor flared, making Rhodes instinctively raise a leather-clad arm to shield his eyes. Rhodes wasn't worried about being incinerated; Tony wasn't a cruel man, and Pepper was lying right behind him.
But Tony didn't fire a lethal blast.
Thwip.
A sound like a suppressed firecracker rang out from the armor's wrist housing. Before Rhodes could even blink, twin electrified taser darts struck his chest.
Thousands of volts of non-lethal electricity surged through his nervous system. Rhodes convulsed violently, his manic laughter turning into a strangled gasp as he collapsed onto the asphalt, twitching uncontrollably.
The miniature launcher housing on the back of Tony's gauntlet slowly retracted, concealing the two empty firing ports.
"Did you... did you kill him, Tony?" Pepper asked weakly, struggling to sit up.
"Just an electric shock," Tony replied, his voice heavy.
Tony rushed to Pepper's side, his armored fingers delicately slicing through the heavy zip-ties binding her wrists and ankles. As he helped her up, Tony looked back at Rhodey's unconscious, painted face. The expression beneath the Iron Man faceplate was incredibly complicated.
He had imagined countless scenarios of their eventual reunion. This particular nightmare had never crossed his mind.
[Malibu - The Seaside Villa]
After rescuing Pepper, Tony called for a secure private transport to bring them all back to his Seaside Villa.
The adrenaline having faded, Pepper had finally fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep under Tony's careful watch.
But out in the living room, Tony stood in silence. Rhodey was securely restrained to a reinforced chair. Looking at his best friend, Tony Stark—the genius who could solve any mechanical problem on earth—had absolutely no idea what to do.
Early the next morning, a private jet touched down, bringing several of New York's most famous and exclusive psychiatrists to the villa. Backed by Tony Stark's limitless financial power, no doctor could resist the temptation of a single consultation that paid a year's salary.
One by one, the psychologists entered the room to begin their evaluations.
One by one, they left, their faces pale and defeated.
Only after the final psychologist departed did Tony slump powerlessly onto the living room sofa.
"Mr. Stark," the words of the last doctor kept echoing in Tony's mind. "In his current condition, I strongly suggest you commit him directly to a maximum-security psychiatric facility. His mind has been entirely restructured. He... is already beyond redemption."
These men and women were the most authoritative experts in the field of human psychology. If they had officially sentenced Rhodey to this fate, then human science had failed.
Suddenly, Tony jerked his head up. His bloodshot eyes widened.
A person who hadn't crossed his mind in a long time abruptly surfaced in his memory.
'John Constantine!' Tony thought, his heart hammering with a sudden spark of hope. 'He's from the exact same world as the Joker. If human science can't cure this... the last hope lies with magic!'
Tony didn't hesitate for a single second.
"J.A.R.V.I.S., prep the suit!"
The Iron Man armor locked around his body, the thrusters igniting with a deafening whine. He blasted out from the villa's balcony, charting a direct supersonic flight path for Hell's Kitchen.
[Hell's Kitchen - Paranormal Detective Agency]
"Are you... really reliable?"
Grace looked back and forth between the spandex-clad lunatic and the rumpled, chain-smoking Brit in front of her. She felt an overwhelming urge to turn around and walk right back out the door. But thinking of her daughter, Lila, suffering at home, she forced herself to stand her ground.
Even so, she couldn't help but voice her profound doubts.
"Hey! What's with that look!" Wade Wilson protested, waving his arms. He slung a casual arm around John Constantine's trench-coated shoulder, puffing out his chest proudly. "The two of us are the most well-known paranormal detectives in this entire neighborhood!"
Thinking of the desperate rumors she had tracked down to find this rundown office, Grace's expression softened considerably. According to the whispers in the underworld, Constantine genuinely possessed mysterious, supernatural methods. That was the only reason she was here.
"It's not that I need a normal investigation," Grace said nervously, clutching her purse. "Rather... my daughter, Lila. She seems to have been targeted by something terrifying."
Hearing those words, Wade's white, expressive lenses widened. He impatiently shoved Constantine off him and leaned directly into Grace's personal space.
"Targeted by something terrifying?" Wade gasped dramatically. "So... is it some pervert? Need me to take that guy out for you? Lady, un-aliving creeps is the job I am best at!!"
Wade whipped out his beloved Desert Eagle, pressing the cold steel of the barrel affectionately against his cheek. He turned and shot a fierce, warning glare at Constantine. "Don't you dare try to steal this gig from me, Johnny-boy!!"
Grace took two slow steps backward. 'This guy really is a psychopath,' she thought, terrified.
Wade blinked, looking at his potential employer with huge, hopeful eyes. God knows how he'd been getting by lately. Ever since the massive payout from saving Tony Stark, he hadn't received a single mercenary commission. He had spent every day hanging out in dive bars with Constantine, effectively turning this dingy agency into his second home.
But unlike Constantine, who was a miserable old bachelor, Wade had Vanessa. He had a girlfriend to support, and he was watching his wallet grow emptier by the day. He was desperate for a paying gig.
Faced with the erratic, heavily armed man in red spandex, Grace firmly decided the chain-smoker was the safer option. She sidestepped Wade completely and walked directly toward Constantine's desk.
'As expected,' Wade slumped dejectedly, his arms swinging listlessly at his sides. 'When will this shallow, looks-obsessed world ever treat me kindly?'
John Constantine's rumpled, cynical appearance was undoubtedly a bit more comforting than Deadpool's. When Grace looked into the occultist's weary, story-filled eyes, her panicked heart finally began to calm down.
"The Hellblazer. John Constantine," Grace said, sitting down in the creaky chair opposite him. "I've heard you have ways to deal with demons. That's why I'm here. For this."
Grace reached into her coat, pulled out a photograph, and placed it face-up on the cluttered desk.
John looked up at her through the haze of smoke. The raw, maternal terror on Grace's face was completely unconcealed. He took a final drag, stubbed out his Silk Cut cigarette in an overflowing ashtray, and picked up the photo.
"A week ago, Lila went camping with her classmates in the woods," Grace explained. Unconsciously, her voice started to choke with unshed tears. "This kind of school activity happens often, so I wasn't worried. But this time... this time was different."
Grace wiped her eyes, her voice trembling.
"Ever since she came home, her behavior started becoming completely wrong. She sits in the dark, and she often shows these... these terrifying smiles! It wasn't until the incident last night that I realized I needed professional help!"
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