"What the actual f—?!"
Obadiah Stane's eyeballs nearly launched out of the Iron Monger helmet when he saw it on his HUD.
A goddamn frying pan just ate an anti-tank missile like it was a breakfast burrito.
As a world-class engineer, Tony's only thought was: I need that alloy yesterday.
Stane swallowed the absurdity and growled, "I know you. Stark's pet bodyguard."
Daniel shrugged. "Call it quits, Obie. Your daughter's still waiting for you to tuck her in."
Stane: "???"
How the hell does he—
"Anyone who stands in my way dies!"
The Iron Monger charged, raising a fist the size of a wrecking ball and bringing it down like judgment day.
Daniel rolled aside with liquid grace. The pavement cratered exactly where he'd been.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Golden Desert Eagle barked, sparks dancing across the titanium plating like angry fireflies.
"Hahaha! Pointless!" Stane roared. "This armor is invincible!"
The right arm unfolded; six barrels spun up with a demonic whine.
BRRRRRRT—!
A solid wall of lead tore the street apart.
Daniel danced through it—sprint, roll, sidestep, roll—like he'd spent a thousand hours in Blighttown. Bullets kissed nothing but air.
While dodging he never shut up.
"Old lady crossing the street—old lady square-dancing—old lady moonwalking—"
Stane's blood pressure hit stroke levels.
"STANE!"
Tony saw his opening. Shoulder pods flipped open; a swarm of micro-missiles streaked out and detonated in a rolling fireball that swallowed the Iron Monger whole.
Smoke cleared. Not a scratch.
Daniel slid next to Tony and muttered, "Dude, your final boss is kinda overtuned."
Tony: "I'm patching that tomorrow."
"Shell's too thick. Normal attacks won't cut it. I've got a plan," Daniel whispered. "Keep him busy, then lure him to these coordinates in Jersey. Leave the rest to me."
"Got it."
Stane laughed as Daniel bolted. "Running away, bodyguard? Smart."
Tony smirked under the helmet. "Like your first wife did? Then the second? You even promoted her daughter to 'personal assistant.' Bold HR move."
"YOU'RE DEAD!"
Stane forgot Daniel existed and threw himself at Tony.
Minutes later the Mark III looked like it had lost a fight with a train. Tony was getting ragdolled, yet somehow the anti-concussion gel and inertial dampeners kept him from turning into paste. Clothing-damage-only mode, basically.
WHAM!
Another launch. Tony stabilized mid-air in the least dignified pose known to man.
Stane cackled. "Cute upgrades, kid. I upgraded too."
Thrusters on the Iron Monger's legs roared to life. The walking tank lifted off, wobbling like an angry fridge with rockets.
Copycat bastard.
Tony gritted his teeth and punched it toward Jersey. Stane followed, belching black smoke that would make the EPA weep.
They landed in an empty industrial lot.
"Energy critical: 4% remaining," JARVIS warned.
Tony spun around. "Daniel, where the hell—"
CLANG.
Iron Monger dropped behind him and wrapped him in a titanium bear hug.
"Picked a nice graveyard, Tony."
Servos whined. The Mark III groaned like it was being compacted.
"Structural integrity failing… air-conditioning nominal," JARVIS added helpfully.
"FLARES!"
Leg thrusters blasted a blinding cone of fire. Stane flinched; Tony slipped free.
"Emergency power engaged. 2%."
Stane advanced, laughing. "Ironic, isn't it? You wanted to end weapons. Now die by the best one you ever built."
A calm voice cut through the night.
"Hey, tin man. Over here."
Stane turned.
Daniel stood thirty yards away, RPG balanced casually on his shoulder.
Stane sneered. "That toy can't—"
"One rocket? No. But a hundred?"
"?"
Daniel fired.
The warhead didn't fly at Stane; it dove straight into the ground at his feet.
BOOM!
The earth exploded outward. Stane felt gravity vanish.
He plummeted.
Through smoke and dust he saw it: a perfectly cubic, impossibly deep mineshaft. Every block of dirt was a flawless 1-meter cube—clear signs of creative-mode excavation.
At the bottom, neatly stacked in endless rows, thousands of red-and-white blocks blinked furiously.
Big bold letters on every single one:
TNT