"You know it's me?"
Tony Stark frowned inside his damaged Mark III suit. He hadn't removed the helmet yet, so how did this masked guy know who he was?
Robert rolled his eyes. "Come on, man. All the dogs in my neighborhood know you're Iron Man."
Tony's expression froze. He had thought his identity was still under wraps, but then again—Colonel Rhodes knew, Pepper Potts knew, Obadiah obviously knew, and let's not even get into the terrorists who kidnapped him or the S.H.I.E.L.D agents snooping around. Maybe he hadn't been as discreet as he thought.
"…Fine," Tony grumbled. "Maybe my confidentiality has some… minor issues."
Still, he didn't seem too worried. With his personality, it wasn't surprising. The bigger concern was that this stranger kept calling him "Iron Man."
"But I'm curious," Tony added, raising an eyebrow. "What's this 'Iron Man' name you keep throwing around?"
Robert leaned casually against a pipe on the rooftop, camera still slung over his shoulder. "Every superhero needs a name, right? 'Iron Man' just fits. Unless you'd prefer something like... 'Optimus Prime'?"
"Iron Man. I like it." Tony didn't even hesitate. "J.A.R.V.I.S, log that. From now on, Iron Man is me."
Robert blinked. "Wow. That's capitalism for you—quick and decisive."
But watching Tony claim the title so easily sparked a wild idea in Robert's mind. What if he registered all the future superhero names—Green Goliath, Black Widow, Hawkeye—and used them for business ventures? Like "Hawkeye's Archery Supplies" or "Widow's Silkwear." The branding possibilities were endless.
Still, he knew it would end badly. If any of those heroes caught wind of it, he'd probably find himself at the center of an impromptu Avengers raid. Better to stay alive and out of court.
As Robert continued filming, Tony shot him a glare. "You do realize your video infringes on my image rights, right? I could sue."
Robert snorted. "As if your lawyers could touch mine. I've got a guy who can bury a hundred attorneys before breakfast."
Tony looked genuinely stunned. For once, he found someone more arrogant than himself. He opened his mouth to reply—
—just as a deafening crash sounded behind him.
Instincts kicked in. Tony started to pivot, only to be greeted by a massive metal arm slamming into him. Obadiah's Iron Monger armor had returned.
Before Tony could react, he was yanked into the air and smashed against the rooftop like a ragdoll.
"Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S reported urgently, "left arm module compromised. Several weapons offline. Suit integrity at critical."
Tony shouted, "Incendiary bomb, now!"
The Mark III's legs blasted a torrent of flames, forcing the Iron Monger to loosen its grip. Tony tumbled out of the enemy's grasp, but he was far from safe.
"Power levels?" he asked, panting.
"Two percent remaining," J.A.R.V.I.S warned. "At current levels, chest arc reactor will fail in under sixty seconds. Risk of shrapnel entering cardiac tissue is 78%."
"I get it," Tony snapped. He didn't need a health report right now—he needed a plan.
Through the smoke, he activated his comms. "Pepper, I need you to go to the central console and activate all the power circuits. When I give the signal, hit the override switch."
Pepper's voice crackled nervously. "What are you planning?"
"I'm gonna blow the whole place. That's the only way to stop him."
And with that, Tony launched himself at the Iron Monger. Using a brief burst of his repulsors, he reached the exposed junction at the back of Obadiah's armor. He plunged his arm in and yanked out a cluster of wires.
"Vision systems offline!" J.A.R.V.I.S confirmed.
Inside the Iron Monger, Obadiah bellowed, "TONY!"
Blinded and enraged, the mechanical behemoth flailed wildly and managed to catch Tony again. With one furious motion, it hurled him to the ground and raised a heavy foot to finish the job.
The Mark III suit was fading fast. Its lights dimmed, its joints sputtered. Tony could barely move. The armor that once protected him now trapped him, a coffin made of steel and failure.
"This is it," Tony thought grimly.
Then, like a cruel twist, the Iron Monger's cockpit began to open.
Obadiah wanted to see him die.
"You see this, Tony?" he growled, stepping out enough to leer at the man beneath his foot. "I'm going to watch you die with my own eyes. You gave me this weapon. Now I'm using it to end you."
Tony glared up at him. "You know, I'd ask you to put my helmet back on. It's kinda cold."
BANG!
A gunshot echoed.
Obadiah's triumphant smile vanished. A bullet hole appeared in his forehead. Blood seeped down the side of his face as his massive body collapsed back into the suit.
Standing a few steps away was Robert.
Camera in one hand, pistol in the other.
He walked up, shrugged, and muttered, "Seriously, who brings a mech to a fight and doesn't wear a helmet?"
Tony lay there, stunned.
Helmet-less, armor-fried, nearly dead—but alive.
He looked up at Robert, who was casually recording the aftermath like a nature documentary.
"Not all heroes wear capes," Robert added. "But helmets? Those are mandatory."
--
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