[Malibu Mansion. The Workshop.]
The news footage reflected off the glass walls of the lab. A reporter stood amidst burning ruins in a small village.
"The refugees have been displaced by the Ten Rings," the reporter said, her voice shaking. "Who are using the new Jericho missiles to cement their control over the region. The villagers of Gulmira have nowhere to go."
Tony stared at the screen. He saw the weapons. He saw the crates with STARK INDUSTRIES stamped on the side. He saw a father holding a child, fear in their eyes.
He didn't say a word. He just walked to the center of the room.
"J.A.R.V.I.S.," Tony said, his voice deadly calm. "Upload the flight plan."
"Sir, the suit is not fully calibrated," the AI warned. "And you have the Firefighter's Family Fund Benefit in two hours. Miss Potts will be... displeased."
"Upload it."
Tony stepped onto the assembly platform. The robotic arms whirred to life, lowering the heavy Gold-Titanium alloy plates of the Mark 3.
"Going somewhere, Young Master?"
Tony didn't turn around as the chest piece locked into place. "Don't try to stop me, Sebastian."
Sebastian walked into the light, holding a tuxedo on a hanger. He looked at the red and gold armor, then at the news playing on the screen. He didn't look worried. He looked resigned.
"I would not dream of stopping you," Sebastian said, hanging the tuxedo on a chair. "However, your absence at the Gala will be noted. Obadiah Stane is expecting you to crumble under the pressure."
The faceplate hissed shut. The eyes glowed a piercing blue.
"Let him expect," Tony's synthesized voice boomed. "I'm not crumbling. I'm cleaning up."
"And what shall I tell Miss Potts?"
"Tell her..." The thrusters engaged, lifting Tony off the floor. "Tell her I'm taking out the trash."
WHOOSH.
Tony blasted up the tunnel, shattering the sound barrier the moment he cleared the roof.
Sebastian watched the vapor trail disappear into the night sky. He picked up the tuxedo and sighed.
"Trash collection," Sebastian mused, straightening his gloves. "I suppose that makes this evening a solo performance. Pity. I do enjoy the hors d'oeuvres."
[Gulmira, Afghanistan. 3 Hours Later.]
Raza stood in the center of the village, shouting orders. His men were rounding up the women and children. He felt powerful. He had the Stark weapons. He had the territory.
"Kill the men!" Raza shouted. "Spare no one!"
His soldiers raised their rifles. The villagers huddled together, sobbing.
Thoom... Thoom...
A sound. Like thunder, but rhythmic.
Raza looked up.
Something fell from the sky. It hit the ground with the force of a meteor, kicking up a massive cloud of dust.
The soldiers stopped. Silence fell over the village.
As the dust settled, a figure emerged. Red and Gold. Sleek. Industrial. It looked like a demon made of metal.
One of the terrorists panicked and fired. The bullet pinged harmlessly off the gold chest plate.
Tony turned his head slowly.
"My turn."
He raised his hands. The repulsors fired—not single shots, but rapid, precise blasts. Pew-pew-pew.
Three men went down instantly.
The rest opened fire. Tony walked forward, ignoring the hail of bullets. He grabbed a terrorist by the collar and threw him through a brick wall. He punched another so hard the man flew twenty feet into a fruit stand.
It wasn't a battle. It was an execution.
Raza scrambled back, terrifying realization dawning on him. The mask... it's the mask from the desert!
"The Tank!" Raza screamed. "Use the Tank!"
A tank rolled around the corner, its turret turning toward the red and gold figure.
BOOM.
The shell hit Tony square in the chest.
Tony was knocked back, skidding across the dirt. He dug his metal heels in, carving trenches in the ground, and stopped.
Inside the helmet, warning lights flashed. "Shield integrity at 60%," J.A.R.V.I.S. reported.
"That's it?" Tony snarled.
He raised his right arm. A small compartment on his forearm opened. A tiny, pen-sized missile popped out.
"Tank missile," Tony commanded.
The missile launched. It zipped through the air, barely visible. It hit the tank.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then, the tank exploded from the inside out, the turret blowing off like a champagne cork.
Raza turned to run, but he found himself lifted into the air. Tony held him by the neck, dangling him over the terrified villagers.
"He's all yours," Tony said to the villagers.
He dropped Raza into the dust and engaged his thrusters, rocketing back into the sky before the dust could even settle.
[The Disney Concert Hall. The Gala.]
"Where is he, Sebastian?"
Pepper Potts looked stunning in a backless blue dress, but her expression was murderous. She cornered the butler near the chocolate fountain.
"Mr. Stark is... indisposed," Sebastian lied smoothly, handing her a glass of champagne.
"Indisposed? Is he drunk? Is he gambling?"
"He is currently suffering from a rather violent bout of food poisoning," Sebastian whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. "He insisted on eating street tacos against my advice. Trust me, Miss Potts, you do not want him here tonight."
Pepper's face softened from anger to disgust. "Oh. God. Okay. Well, Obadiah is making a speech. He's talking about filing an injunction against Tony."
"Is he?" Sebastian turned his gaze toward the podium.
Obadiah Stane was speaking to the donors, looking solemn. "Tony is going through a difficult time. PTSD is real, ladies and gentlemen. We must protect him from himself."
Sebastian narrowed his eyes. He felt a vibration in his pocket. It was Tony calling.
He stepped onto the balcony, away from the crowd.
"Young Master? I trust the cleaning is complete?"
"It's done," Tony's voice came through, accompanied by the roar of wind. "But I've got a problem. The US Air Force is on my tail. Two F-22s. They think I'm a UFO."
"Shall I call Colonel Rhodes?"
"No, I can handle it. Just... keep Pepper happy. And Sebastian?"
"Sir?"
"Make sure Obadiah doesn't sign anything tonight."
Sebastian looked back through the glass doors. Obadiah was shaking hands, looking triumphant.
"Consider it done, Sir. Do try not to get shot down. It would be a terrible waste of titanium."
Sebastian hung up. He straightened his tie and walked back into the party. He needed to cause a scene. A distraction so big that Obadiah's speech would be forgotten.
He walked toward the grand piano in the center of the room. The pianist looked up, confused.
"Allow me," Sebastian said, his eyes flashing fuchsia for just a second. The pianist scrambled away in sudden fear.
Sebastian sat down. He didn't play Mozart. He didn't play Bach.
He played a dark, haunting, impossible-to-play variation of Flight of the Bumblebee, his fingers moving so fast they were a blur. The sound was hypnotic. Every conversation in the room stopped. All eyes turned to the butler.
Obadiah's crowd abandoned him to watch the performance.
Sebastian smiled. Center of attention. Just as the Young Master likes it.
[End of Chapter 7]
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