Time flies—half a year gone.
Los Angeles, Malibu, beachside villa.
Evening. Tony Stark was in his villa's lab, working.
On a spacious workbench lay a red-and-gold Iron Man suit.
Since Obadiah and the board kicked him out of his own company, the former genius playboy vanished from the public eye.
Tabloids even claimed he was bedridden with some terminal disease.
Truth was, for nearly eight months, Tony had been grinding, not even touching a woman.
His relentless work paid off big time.
He spent five months cracking the miniaturization of the arc reactor, creating a palladium energy ring less than ten centimeters wide, pumping out over three billion joules per second.
The suit's power problem was solved, but Tony didn't rest. He dove straight into building the Mark series Iron Man suits.
The basement display case was revamped, now holding two suits.
From left to right: Mark I and Mark II.
Mark I was the suit Stark Industries pitched to the military three years ago, shot down for lacking stable power. Basically, a giant turtle shell. In a battle in L.A. months back, Jason fucked it up bad.
That led to Tony getting roasted by the media, with Hammer Industries publicly humiliating him daily over it.
That suit became Tony's deepest wound.
With Pepper's help, Tony shook off the gloom and vowed to build a suit that could take Jason down.
He dug out the trashed suit, named it Mark I, and kept it in the lab as a reminder.
Every glance at the wrecked armor stung his heart, fueling endless rage that turned into relentless drive.
To the right of Mark I was the sleek, silver Mark II.
Built two months ago, it was slimmer, designed to test the suit's performance.
Mark II ran on the Jarvis OS, capable of target scanning and locking multiple enemies.
It had GPS and real-time vitals monitoring.
Powered by the palladium ring, its hands and boots fired arc pulses for high-speed flight or hovering.
But due to material issues, it iced up at high altitudes, causing system failures.
Still, Mark II was a massive leap.
It gave Tony the boost to keep going, immediately starting on Mark III—the suit on the workbench.
Inspired by his classic car, Tony gave Mark III a slick red-and-gold paint job, the best-looking of the trio.
Weapon-wise, it packed shoulder-mounted six-barrel miniguns, Stark Industries' micro anti-tank missiles, and flare decoys. Its combat power was no joke.
It also swapped materials, fixing the high-altitude icing issue.
"OK, finally done."
Tony wiped sweat from his brow, slotting the repaired mechanical arm into the automated suit deployment system.
He went upstairs, showered, and noticed Pepper wasn't back yet. It was only 7 p.m., so he decided to take a spin.
He slipped into a tight bodysuit, stepped onto the lab's smart floor, and activated the deployment system.
The floor opened, the suit rose from below, and robotic arms swiftly assembled it onto Tony's body.
The faceplate snapped shut, the helmet's HUD lit up, and Jarvis came online.
"Good evening, sir!"
"Jarvis, let's go for a ride."
Tony's hands and boots fired arc pulses, lifting him off the ground.
He adjusted his stance and rocketed out of the garage exit.
The suit shot out of the villa, soaring into the dark sky.
"Wooo… hahaha…"
Since starting the Iron Man project, Tony had flown over a hundred test flights, each one pumping his blood like nothing else. No woman could match this high.
Flying free felt fucking incredible.
Mark III was fast, capable of sustained supersonic flight.
In minutes, he'd looped all of Los Angeles.
Just as the thrill faded and he planned to head home, Jarvis spoke.
"Sir, I'm detecting an alert signal."
"Where?" Tony perked up.
Lately, he'd been secretly playing vigilante, not out of some noble bullshit, but because he loved being worshipped like a god.
"Location: southside warehouse."
Tony shifted his flight path, speeding toward the warehouse.
…
Southside warehouse. A five-man armed robbery crew was hitting passing cars.
They'd pulled this shit multiple times, using obstacles to stop vehicles, then robbing and killing the drivers.
*Bang! Bang!*
Two shots rang out. A couple next to an Audi collapsed, blood pooling from their chests into the dirt.
"Boss, these Audi drivers are loaded. Over twenty grand in cash, not counting the chick's jewelry."
The leader, pleased with the haul, barked, "Move the car. We're selling it tonight."
A goon nodded, eager to slide into the Audi and feel the vibe.
Then, a roar cut through the night sky.
The five looked up as a fiery glow sped toward them.
Tony dropped fast, landing with a *thud* on one knee in a badass pose.
The crew, just small-time punks, froze, scared shitless.
Tony glanced at the bodies nearby. "Jarvis?"
"Sir, they show no vital signs."
Tony's mood darkened. Too fucking late.
He stood, glaring at the murdering bastards, rage boiling in his chest.
He advanced, palm repulsors charging energy.
Only then did the robbers snap out of it, shouting, "Sh-shoot!"
*Bang! Bang! Bang!*
They drew handguns, unloading on Tony's suit.
*Ding! Ding! Ding!*
5.56mm rounds hit the red-gold armor, doing nothing but scraping paint.
*Click! Click!*
Magazines empty, the suit unscratched, the crew panicked.
The leader, quick on his feet, snatched a joker card from the ground, waving it. "We're… we're with the Joker Organization! You know the rules—touch us, and Mr. Walter will fuck you up."
"Joker Organization!"
Tony's eyes narrowed at the card's twisted grin.
.
.
.
.
You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon.com/GreenBlue17
500 power stones.
Top 50. All time.