Chapter 10: Extremis Warriors
"But wasn't the Blade's long-range flight still untested?" Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow. The suggestion sounded cool on paper, but the Blade armor had been designed primarily for ground combat.
Tony gave him a look like he'd just asked if billionaires used coupons. "Who said you need to fly there? We've got a plane, don't we?"
Of course. Rich guy logic.
"Jarvis, pull up the data," Tony ordered before glancing back at Ethan. "Lesson for the day — use the resources you've got to solve problems."
"Fine. You've got the money, you call the shots," Ethan muttered, following him down into the lab.
Tony was already rattling off modifications. "I've reinforced the armor plating — their weapons pack a punch. And since we're headed to Florida, I've thrown in anti-seawater seals. Saltwater's a nightmare on the joints."
When Stark got into his engineering groove, he talked non-stop — half to remind himself of each detail, half to bleed off that anxious energy he'd been carrying for days. Ethan had noticed it during the last round of system checks. For all his swagger, there was a gnawing edge to Tony's mood lately.
"Alright, let's get this over with," Ethan said, stretching out his arms. Even with the assist servos, wearing the Blade was like jogging with a car strapped to your torso.
"Step up," Tony called.
Ethan grinned and hopped onto the platform. Even after several test runs, there was still something exhilarating about gearing up.
Mechanical arms whirred to life, snapping armor segments into place — chest plate, gauntlets, greaves — while Stark's smaller, clunkier helper bots scuttled over to secure the joints and calibrate the seals.
"Looks good. For this run, I'm locking a few systems — this is just a field test," Tony said, eyes glued to the readouts.
"Understood. Ready to go."
"Jarvis."
"Yes, sir."
With a hydraulic hiss, the roof panels retracted. The platform tilted, reconfiguring into a launch ramp. Overhead, a Stark Industries cargo plane flew in low, its belly hatch yawning open.
Ethan's eyes widened. "Wait… is this a launch?"
"What'd you expect, an Uber?" Tony smirked. "You'll thank me later. Or hate me. Could go either way. Good luck, kid." He raised his glass, took a sip, and hit the button.
The magnetic clamps released with a bang, and the platform catapulted Ethan upward like a human missile. His startled yell echoed through the comms before it was drowned out by the rush of wind and the clang of armor hitting steel — hopefully not face-first.
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Florida – Seaside Motel
Claire lounged on a motel bed, counting stacks of cash with a grin so wide it hurt her cheeks. "Ah… smell that? Nothing like fresh U.S. currency to get me going."
Benny, sprawled beside her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "We could get even higher, babe," he said, that sly spark in his eyes.
She gave him a knowing smirk. "Tempting."
But just as the moment heated up, a loud metallic crash came from the next room. Claire groaned.
"Forget it, ignore him. Let's keep going," Benny urged, clearly unwilling to lose the mood.
"Not happening," she said, pulling away. "I don't like an audience."
With an exasperated sigh, Benny stomped over to the adjoining door and banged his fist against it. "Hey, pal, keep it—"
The door swung open to reveal Agent Jasper Sitwell, who greeted him with a fist to the eye, followed by a swift over-the-shoulder throw. Benny hit the carpet hard, groaning, as Sitwell cuffed his hands.
"Hello there, handsome," Sitwell said dryly. "The bank robbery game ends here."
Still holding the struggling Benny, Sitwell glanced toward Claire, ready to take her in too.
But Benny, fueled by adrenaline and sheer bad luck, kicked a stereo off the table, sending it crashing to the floor. "Claire! Run! It's the cops!"
Claire didn't hesitate — she snatched up an alien energy gun from the nightstand. "Get down, baby!" she yelled.
Sitwell and Benny both dove for cover just as a searing blast tore through the wall.
Claire, her wrist aching from the recoil, peered through the dust. "Babe? You still breathing?"
Benny appeared, gag stuffed in his mouth, eyes wide, shaking his head furiously.
Her instincts screamed that something was off, but before she could back away, Sitwell lunged, knocking the gun aside and clocking her across the jaw.
Seeing Claire hit triggered Benny into a desperate tackle, sending both men sprawling. The alien gun skidded across the floor, its core pulsing ominously.
All three froze. One wrong move and someone was getting vaporized.
The gun discharged with a sharp crack, the blast ripping through the motel wall. Burnt cash fluttered in the air as smoke filled the room.
Sitwell retrieved the weapon, sliding it into a containment case. "After the Battle of New York, we recovered forty-seven abandoned alien weapons. Yours is the only one we've seen activate. My job is to take it back… and deal with anyone involved."
He pulled a dagger from his coat, voice dropping cold.
Claire and Benny's eyes went wide — not at the knife, but at something behind Sitwell.
He felt it too — a wave of oppressive heat rolling over him. Slowly, he turned.
A molten figure stood in the doorway, lava-like cracks glowing across armor plates, white eyes burning with restrained fury.
"Trying to nap," the voice growled. "And what do I get? Flirting, blasting music, and setting off fireworks. You clowns are really testing me."
Sitwell's instincts screamed at him to bail — jump through the window, anything to get out of that room. The presence behind him was pure predator.
"Listen, pal," Sitwell said carefully, raising both hands. "We're on the same side here—"
"Pal?" the molten figure — Ethan — cut him off with a humorless laugh. "I don't make friends with suit-wearing government stooges."
Claire's eyes rolled back, and she fainted with a whisper: "Devil…"
A sonic BOOM rattled the building as Ethan dropped into a low crouch, armor steaming from reentry.
From outside came the bark of police megaphones. "People inside! You're surrounded! Come out with your hands up!"
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