The smoke still hung in the air. The scent of burning fuel, scorched metal, and something acrid from those glowing electric whips lingered over the track like a storm that hadn't quite decided to pass.
From their vantage point in the Stark VIP stand, Glenn leaned casually against the railing, arms crossed, cigarette dangling from his lips. His face was unreadable—amusement danced at the edges of his mouth, but his eyes were sharper, colder, calculating even as chaos still rattled the spectators below.
Illyana sat beside him, legs crossed, chin propped delicately against her palm. She looked like she was watching a theater play, her expression more entertained than alarmed. The sudden burst of violence hadn't made her flinch, hadn't even made her reach for her Soulsword. She had simply… watched.
Down on the track, Tony Stark stood over Ivan Vanko, armored in the sleek red-and-silver Mark V suit. The glowing whips that had shredded Formula 1 cars like paper now lay useless at Ivan's sides, their sparks dying out as Monaco's private security swarmed him. Ivan's face was bloodied, but he was grinning through it—grinning like a man who had proven his point even in defeat.
"Boring," Glenn muttered, flicking ash off his cigarette.
Illyana turned her head slightly. "Which one?"
Glenn smirked. "Both. Stark for needing to put on a tin can just to swat a fly, and the Russian for thinking he had a chance for revenge to begin with." He took a drag, exhaling smoke in lazy rings. "The moment Stark suited up, this was over."
Illyana's lips curved into the faintest smile. "You almost sound disappointed."
"Oh, I am," Glenn replied dryly. "If you're going to crash a billion-dollar race, at least give me a show worth watching."
---
Below them, Ivan was dragged away in cuffs, laughing through broken teeth. The crowd had shifted from terrified to exhilarated, feeding off the adrenaline of watching a live battle between a superhero and a supervillain. Phones were out, recording every second, voices chattered in a dozen languages.
Glenn stubbed his cigarette against the railing, watching as the convoy of guards escorted Ivan toward the holding cells beneath the circuit's main structure. He could already imagine how Stark would spin this later, all swagger and smirks, pretending it was all under control.
Illyana's eyes glimmered faintly in the sunlight. She tilted her head toward him. "What now?"
Glenn didn't answer at first. He reached into his coat pocket, retrieving another cigarette, rolling it between his fingers before lighting it. He inhaled slowly, savoring the silence between them.
Finally, he said, "We're going to pay our new guy a visit."
Illyana blinked once, curious but unsurprised. "The Russian?"
Glenn nodded, smoke curling in front of him.
Illyana raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. She just follow Glenn as usual without any question or hesitation when he came with a decision no matter what it is.
---
As Glenn walked through the corridors of grand prix, he tapped the intercom piece. The device gave a soft chime, connecting him directly to GLADIS, his ever-watchful AI assistant.
"GLADIS," Glenn said smoothly, his voice pitched low so only Illyana could hear. "Get me the Prince of Monaco."
The reply came instantly, warm and professional. "Of course, sir. Would you like me to make this a formal request or remind him of the outstanding favor he owes you?"
Glenn chuckled. "Always remind. People respond faster when they realize they owe someone specially like me."
Illyana smirked faintly, her chin still resting in her palm. "You have royalty on speed dial now?"
"I saved his cousin from a rather embarrassing situation in Marrakesh involving stolen art, a cartel, and a very angry mistress," Glenn replied, smoke drifting lazily from his lips. "Trust me, he owes me."
"Connecting now," GLADIS said.
---
It took less than a minute. The private comm line secured, and a voice came through—smooth, dignified, carrying that distinct blend of European nobility and carefully polished courtesy.
"Mr. Handyman," the Prince of Monaco said. "It has been too long."
"Your Highness," Glenn drawled, "always a pleasure to speak with you. I hope the little painting issue in Morocco was resolved to your satisfaction?"
The Prince gave a soft laugh. "More than resolved. My cousin speaks of you often, though perhaps with… mixed emotions."
Glenn smirked. "That means I did my job well. Speaking of jobs, I'm here in Monaco enjoying your little race when a certain Russian scientist decided to turn the track into his personal fireworks show. He's currently being hauled into your prison system."
"Ivan Vanko," the Prince said, his tone shifting. "Yes, I've just been briefed."
"Well," Glenn said, flicking ash off his cigarette, "I'm calling in that favor. I want him released into my custody."
There was a pause. Even through the secure line, Glenn could feel the Prince's hesitation.
"That is… complicated," the Prince said carefully. "He nearly killed Stark. He destroyed several vehicles. The press is already circling like sharks. To simply release him—"
"You misunderstand," Glenn interrupted smoothly. "I don't want it public. I don't want it noisy. I want him handed over quietly. Make it look like he's been transferred, raped by inmates then got crazy or lost in the shuffle, or whatever excuse keeps your hands clean. I'll take responsibility from there."
Illyana watched Glenn closely, her lips curling in faint amusement.
The Prince exhaled softly over the line. "You do not make small requests, Mr. Handyman."
"You owe me," Glenn reminded him, his tone calm but edged. "And I don't collect favors often. But when I do… I expect them honored."
Another pause. Then, finally, the Prince sighed. "Very well. I will see what strings can be pulled. But you must be quick. If the Americans involve themselves—Stark, SHIELD, perhaps even their government—my hands will be tied."
"Don't worry," Glenn said, smiling to himself. "By the time anyone realizes Vanko's gone, I'll already be gone too."
The line clicked. GLADIS chimed softly. "Shall I prepare the route to the holding facility, sir?"
Glenn exhaled one last plume of smoke before flicking the cigarette down toward the tarmac. "Do it."
He nudged Illyana with his elbow, his grin widening. "Come on, Snowflake. We're going to jail."
Illyana smirked, her eyes glinting in the Monaco sun. "You do know how to make a vacation interesting."
——
The Monaco police station was not built for spectacle. It was a low, squat structure tucked in between modern façades, its corridors painted in pale gray and illuminated by sterile fluorescent lighting. Yet tonight, it had become the unwilling stage for something far beyond its purpose.
The air inside the holding area was thick with unease. Two armed guards stood stiffly outside one of the reinforced custody rooms. Within, Ivan Vanko sat slouched in a steel chair bolted to the floor, his wrists cuffed but his demeanor anything but submissive. His long hair hung in sweaty strands across his face, and his faint smirk carried both defiance and contempt.
Across from him stood Tony Stark. He was out of the racing suit now, dressed once more in a sharp black ensemble, but his face showed signs of fatigue and annoyance. He leaned lazily against the wall, arms folded, speaking with the half-casual, half-sarcastic tone he reserved for those who had managed to get under his skin.
Jarvis had patched him through background checks already, but the conversation now was less about data and more about Tony's ego wrestling with curiosity.
"Let me guess," Tony said dryly, tilting his head as though he were speaking to a poorly made toy. "You thought strapping car batteries to your chest and walking onto a racetrack in front of the world would make me… what? Nervous?"
Ivan only chuckled, a guttural sound. His Russian accent dragged every word across the room like gravel. "If you could make God bleed, people would cease to believe in Him." His eyes gleamed dangerously. "There will be blood in the water, and the sharks will come."
Tony rolled his eyes. "Cute metaphor. Sharks. Blood. Seen Jaws too many times?"
But before Ivan could deliver another line of cryptic philosophy, the door buzzed open. The sound of the heavy lock disengaging silenced the room. Both men turned to see who dared to interrupt.
The first thing that entered was presence—not a body, but the weight of it. Glenn walked in as if he owned the place, his long coat shifting slightly with his movement. His boots made a deliberate sound against the floor. His hands were in his pockets, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharper than glass.
Behind him, one of the guards started to announce something but quickly silenced himself at Glenn's glance. The door shut again, and the three men were left in the room together.
Tony's brow arched. "Well, well, look who decided to drop in. Let me guess, you're here to tell me you called this one too?" His voice carried the sharp edge of banter, but beneath it, there was genuine surprise. He had not expected to see Glenn in a Monaco police station, much less in this room.
Ivan, however, reacted differently. The Russian's smirk faded instantly. His shoulders stiffened, and for the first time since his arrest, his façade of control cracked. His eyes darted to Glenn's hands, then to his face, and there was no mistaking it—fear. His breathing changed, shallow and uneven. His knuckles whitened as his fingers dug into the edge of the table.
Glenn didn't sit. He simply stood there, letting the silence stretch, letting Ivan squirm under his gaze. Finally, he broke the quiet with his gravelly voice, laced with amusement.
"Relax, Ivan. If I wanted you dead, you'd already be a memory," Glenn said with a half-smile. "You had your fun, huh? Told you, you won't succeed."
Tony straightened. "Wait a second, you know each other? You're here for him? And what is this definition 'fun' cause I'm pretty sure it doesn't almost slicing my dingdong." He pointed a finger at Ivan, his expression oscillating between disbelief and irritation. "Tell me you're joking. This guy tried to fillet me with an electrified spaghetti noodle, and you just stroll in like you're about to ask him out for drinks?"
Glenn smirked. "Drinks aren't off the table, but that's not why I'm here. Think of Ivan as a… child. A spoiled brat throwing tantrums for revenge with knock off toys too dangerous for his own good." He tilted his head toward the Ivan, whose eyes had lowered under Glenn's gaze. "So it is time for the guardian to say enough or he'll be grounded, literally and figuratively."
Ivan's mouth twitched, but he didn't speak. His fear was palpable, and the guards outside could have sensed it even through the steel walls.
Tony scoffed. "You've got to be kidding me. This guy's not a child—he's a lunatic with a body count. And you're telling me you want to what? Take him?"
"Yeah, pretty much." Glenn shrugged.
"So you knew him, huh? Is that why he have that arc reactor? I thought we're clear that you won't replicate it yourself? Ohhh wait, a loophole, huh. I thought were friends, Glenn." Tony shouted in exasperation.
Glenn rolled his eyes and said, "Use your goddamn mind, Tony. If I did that, do you think his arc reactor would be much more advanced just like the one you gave me?"
Tony froze and realize he make sense.
"So what is this, I don't understand."
"That's why I'm here. So let me introduce you both. This is Ivan Vanko, son of Anton Vanko who co-created the first arc reactor with your father, Howard Stark. Here, take a look at this blueprint, see if I'm talking shit with you." Glenn toss a scroll towards Tony.
Tony unfolded the scroll and saw that it was indeed the blueprint of arc reactor. Further down, he saw the two names mentioned by Glenn.
"Later after they created the first arc reactor, Anton Vanko was kicked out of the company. Heh— damn politics. That's why this stupid guy is trying to kill you, for taking away the life they should have when his father was banished from the Stark Industries."
Glenn continued
"I found them in Moscow just after your fight with Obi. That's how I knew him and offered a job to work for me. But this guy—was hell bent on taking revenge so I gave him a chance—"
"What the hell, he's trying to kill me and you gave him a chance?!" Tony exclaimed.
"You're seriously complaining to me about not intervening? I told him he won't succeed and that's what happened. I'm confident in your tech and strength, so why are you angry? Are you saying you're afraid of his glowing ribbon?"
"What? No! I can certainly handle that kind of thing. You know what, you're right. There's no way that guy will succeed. I mean, I'm Ironman, right?"
"Yeah, so what's the problem?" Glenn asked raising brows and asked.
Tony was lost in his thoughts as he muttered, "There's no way, right?"
"I feel like you are gas lighting me but since you are feeding my manliness, fine! I'll accept it."
Glenn grinned and said, "Don't worry, this is a one time thing deal with him. He won't try another attempt for your life from this day forward."
"But what if he did?"
"If he did... " Glenn squinted his eyes glancing at Ivan. "I will deal with him myself."
Ivan shuddered, including Tony because they felt the coldness in his tone.
"Remind me again, not to fight with you." Tony wiped the drops of sweat in his forehead.
"Right, Ivan? I need to hear it." Glenn said with sterness in his voice.
"Yes, sir. I won't do it again." Ivan replied quickly. His back was drenched in sweat.
"Good boy! Now, let's get out of here before I see some forehead in a suit."
Ivan looked at Glenn with both terror and reluctant fascination. He had faced Stark with smug arrogance, but in front of Glenn, that mask had shattered.
Tony finally shook his head. "You know, you're insane. Both of you. But especially you." He jabbed a finger at Glenn. "And the worst part is… I almost believe you."
Glenn chuckled. "Almost is enough for now."
"How did you even manage to get him out of here like it was just an unpaid parking ticket incident." Tony asked curiously as he followed them towards the back of the presinct. A very discreet location to drive away from the place.
"Oh that? I called the prince of Monaco. He owed me so.."
"Damn—I think I need to work on my connections."
"You should. You'd be surprised."