"You're going to the race too?"
"Nope. Blind date," Clark sighed. He was almost 25, and still single. It was starting to feel embarrassing.
The Next Day, Monaco
After wrapping up the awkward date, Clark headed to the Paris hotel where Tony and the others were staying. Just as he entered the lobby, he saw Tony rushing onto the racetrack on the TV screen, saying he'd drive himself.
Clark didn't pay much attention at first. He vaguely remembered influencing Tony's decision to join the race today. Spotting Natasha and Pepper sitting in the lounge, he walked over and greeted them.
"Hey, why aren't you two watching Tony race?"
"He never told us he was entering. He shouldn't be out there—it's too dangerous. Natalie, did you know he was racing today?" Pepper turned to Natasha.
"Just found out."
"He can't race," Pepper muttered, now visibly anxious.
"I get it. How can I help?"
"Where's Happy? Where the hell is Happy? I need him. Find him for me."
"Got it. We're on it," Natasha replied, then turned and walked out to look for Happy.
"Uh…" Clark raised his hand awkwardly, but Natasha didn't even glance back.
"Clark, can you check on Tony?" Pepper suddenly thought of Clark's abilities. Maybe he could help.
"Make sure nothing happens to him, please." Her eyes were glued to the race on TV.
"Alright. I'm going."
But just as Clark stepped outside the hotel, he heard a wave of screams from the stadium.
"Something's gone wrong!"
Without hesitation, Clark took off his glasses and handed them to a random passerby. Then he darted forward, leaping into the air and soaring skyward.
"Hey, I'm not hotel staff!" Justin Hammer, confused, held Clark's glasses and was about to scold him when he looked up and saw Clark transforming midair into a blue-suited figure—and flying off.
High above the city, Clark spotted a strange robot—not one of Tony's designs. It had a black-gray paint job and wielded two electrified whips, standing in the middle of the track.
Something felt wrong. Using his x-ray vision, Clark scanned the inside of the armor—and found it empty.
"It's just a drone?"In his memory, this was supposed to be Ivan Vanko himself, the vengeful son of Anton Vanko. But here, it was just a machine.
Before Clark could think more, the robot lashed out, its whip slicing through an oncoming race car like a hot knife through butter. The car split in two, the wreckage flung into the air, flipping toward the grandstands.
"Damn it!"
Spectators scattered in panic, but the limited space caused chaos—people bottlenecked, nowhere to run. The car hurtled toward them like a missile.
Clark dove down, catching the wreckage before it could hit anyone. He gently lowered it onto the racetrack, then yanked open the door and unbuckled the terrified driver.
"Hurry. It's not safe here." Clark gave the man a pat and turned toward the robot.
Meanwhile, Tony had just arrived in his race car, pulling up to face the robot. On the other side of the screen, Ivan Vanko smirked.
To him, this wasn't a big deal. Just a drone. A test. If it worked and killed Tony—great.
Ivan had never expected to be captured by Justin Hammer and forced to work for him. But the real joke? Hammer's entire company was full of idiots. In the end, Ivan had to lead the armor project himself.
He pretended he lacked the tech to build a suit and instead asked for a robot prototype—then planted a hidden backdoor. None of Hammer's engineers noticed.
Today's attack had been in the works for a while, but Hammer's interference forced Ivan to launch early and control the drone remotely.
Back at the hotel, Justin Hammer was sweating bullets.
Unlike the rest of the crowd, who were just stunned, he recognized the robot instantly—it was supposed to debut at Stark Expo.
Worse, with the Grand Prix being nationally televised, over 80 stations were now broadcasting this live.
That realization hit Hammer like a truck. If people found out his robot attacked Tony Stark, he'd be out of a job by tomorrow.
Frantic, Hammer rushed into a corner and dialed Ivan Vanko's number—only to be met with a busy signal again and again.
"Damn it!" he growled, punching the wall.
"Screw this. I'm not sitting around." He called his assistant. "Book me a flight to New York. Now!"
In New York, Ivan ignored the call and smiled coldly.
Back on the track, the robot raised its whips, aiming directly at Tony. But before it could strike, Clark landed in front of the car and caught the electrified whips in his hands.
"Nice power source."
Clark's palms tingled, but that was all. He pulled hard—the robot stumbled and fell. Then Clark punched it, sending its head flying. The headless machine spasmed once, then went still.
"What the hell is this?" Tony walked up in his portable Mark V suit, just as Clark was examining the wreckage.
Tony bent down, his gaze locked on something inside the chest plate. It looked familiar—a power core, almost identical to the arc reactor in his own chest.
"Something's not right…" Tony muttered, lifting the core for a closer look.
Suddenly, the robot's eyes lit up, and a distorted voice emerged from its speaker:
"Palladium poisoning hurts like hell, huh? Hahaha! Goodbye!"
Hearing that, Clark's eyes widened. He finally realized what felt wrong.
In his memory, Ivan's robot… exploded.
And even though he realized it—he was still a second too late.
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