The Batwing cut through Metropolis's night like a shadow given form, its modified engines nearly silent as Bruce studied LuthorCorp tower through enhanced optics. The building's security systems painted his displays in wireframe precision - access points, structural weaknesses, power distribution networks that shouldn't exist.
"Thermal imaging shows twenty-seven hostiles on the executive floor," Alfred reported through their encrypted channel. "Though Metallo's radiation signature is making accurate readings difficult."
Bruce's eyes narrowed as he analyzed defensive positions, already mapping multiple infiltration routes. The power radiating from Metallo's chest cores would overwhelm his suit's shielding in minutes if he wasn't careful.
"The radiation's affecting local communications," he noted, watching tactical frequencies dissolve into static. "SHIELD's coordination is breaking down." His hands moved across holographic controls, the Batwing responding with liquid grace as he circled for a better angle. "They're not equipped for this kind of threat."
"Rather like yourself, sir?" Alfred's tone carried that particular dry concern Bruce had grown too familiar with. "I feel compelled to remind you that your armor wasn't designed for such radiation exposure."
"I know." Bruce's voice was pure Batman now as he studied structural scans. "But those people in there don't have a choice. We adapt or they die."
Forty-seven floors below, Lex Luthor's fingers danced across holographic displays in his private command center. Security feeds showed his father's growing isolation as automated systems locked down escape routes, while carefully edited data streams painted a damning picture of LuthorCorp's illegal activities with Stane Industries.
"Quite a show you're putting on." Mercy's voice carried knowing amusement as she studied the feeds. On one screen, Lionel was trying to reach his private elevator, only to find access denied. "Though I suspect Daddy dearest is starting to realize the trap."
Lex's smile never reached his eyes as he adjusted information flows, making sure federal investigators would find exactly what he wanted them to see. "The beauty of it is in the details." His fingers traced patterns through data streams. "Every weapon shipment, every illegal contract - all carefully documented with dear old Dad's fingerprints all over them."
The memory hit without warning - Lionel's hand around his throat, twelve-year-old Lex struggling for breath while Lena screamed in the background. "Weakness is unacceptable in a Luthor," their father had snarled, alcohol heavy on his breath. "If you can't handle basic business negotiations—"
Lex forced the memory down, focusing on the present as he orchestrated his father's downfall. News channels were already running with the story - decorated soldier John Corbin transformed into a weapon by LuthorCorp's illegal experiments. Carefully edited security footage showed Lionel personally overseeing the cybernetic enhancements with Obadiah Stane, their partnership forming the foundation for a weapons program that violated every international law.
"The timing is perfect," he said quietly, watching federal response teams struggling to contain the situation his father had created. "Metallo's instability, the civilian casualties, the revealed weapons programs - everything points to a desperate man trying to maintain control through force."
"And your own involvement?" Mercy's eyebrow rose slightly. "The board might have questions about the heir apparent's knowledge of these programs."
Lex's laugh carried genuine warmth - Mercy was the only one he allowed to question him so directly. "Why would they? I'm the whistleblower who exposed it all." His smile grew colder. "The son trying to save his father's company from corruption, forced to watch helplessly as Dad's illegal weapons turned on innocent people."
A darker memory surfaced - Lena sobbing as Lionel's belt left welts across her back, their father's voice carrying that particular cruel precision that came with calculated abuse. "You need to learn," he'd told his daughter while Lex watched, unable to move through his own injuries. "Actions have consequences. Disobedience will not be tolerated."
"Sir." One of his security teams reported in, breaking through the memory. "We've locked down all access to the executive floor. Mr. Luthor's private security detail is... experiencing technical difficulties with their communications."
"Excellent." Lex studied the feeds showing his father's growing frustration as every escape route closed. "Maintain isolation protocols. We wouldn't want anyone interfering with this unfortunate situation."
Mercy's eyes narrowed slightly as she caught something in his tone. "The son watching helplessly," she repeated softly. "Like you used to watch when he—"
"That's enough." The words came out sharper than intended, making Lex pause to collect himself. "The past is irrelevant. What matters is the future - one where LuthorCorp's direction is determined by vision, not violence."
On his displays, Lionel was growing more agitated as his calls for help went unanswered. The great Lionel Luthor, who'd built an empire through fear and manipulation, finally understanding what it meant to be truly powerless.
"Your sister would be proud," Mercy said quietly, knowing she was the only one who could mention Lena without risking his rage. "Seeing you finally stand up to him."
"Would she?" Lex's voice carried an edge as he remembered Lena's tears, her desperate attempts to protect him from their father's worst rages. "Or would she see me becoming exactly what he always wanted? Using his own methods against him?"
The memory resurfaced with painful clarity - Lena at sixteen, her eyes carrying that particular determination that meant she'd made a decision. "I have to go, Lex," she'd whispered, packing a bag while their father was away on business. "If I stay, he'll kill me. Or worse, he'll make me like him."
"You could come with me," she'd offered, hope warring with fear in her voice. "We could both escape, start over somewhere he can't find us."
But Lex had already seen the truth - there was no escaping Lionel Luthor's influence. The only way to beat him was to play his game better than he ever had.
"Sir." Security reported again, breaking through his thoughts. "We're detecting an anomaly approaching from the north. Something's interfering with our tracking systems."
Lex's attention snapped back to the present as he studied the readings. Whatever was coming wasn't showing up on conventional radar, its signature masked by technology that shouldn't exist.
"Interesting." His fingers moved through data streams, analyzing patterns. "Gotham's Dark Knight decides to expand his territory." A smile touched his lips. "Make sure our guest has an appropriate welcome. But maintain focus on the primary objective."
"And if Batman actually manages to reach Metallo?" Mercy's tone suggested she'd already calculated multiple scenarios. "The radiation will overwhelm his suit's shielding in minutes."
"Then he becomes another tragic casualty of my father's desperate attempts to maintain control." Lex's voice carried that particular precise cruelty he'd learned at Lionel's knee. "The World's Greatest Detective, dying while trying to stop LuthorCorp's illegal weapons program. It writes itself."
High above, Bruce was finalizing his approach when new data scrolled across his displays. "The building's automated defenses are activating," he reported, watching weapon systems come online. "Someone's orchestrating this from inside."
"Young Mr. Luthor, if I had to guess." Alfred's tone carried grim understanding. "Convenient timing, wouldn't you say? His father's illegal weapons program exposed just as he's positioning himself to take control of the company."
Bruce's jaw tightened as he recalled his research into the Luthors - the police reports that never went anywhere, the hospital visits explained away as "training accidents." He'd recognized the patterns from his work with abuse victims in Gotham.
"The son becoming the father," he said quietly, remembering how Lex had changed after his sister disappeared. The brilliant boy who'd attended charity galas with bright eyes replaced by something colder, more calculated. "Using everything Lionel taught him to dismantle what he built."
The Batwing's sensors detected automated targeting systems attempting to lock on, but his countermeasures kept him ghosted. Through the executive floor's windows, he could see Metallo, radiation pouring off his frame as Sarah Corbin's struggles weakened.
"The hostages don't have time for family drama." Bruce's voice was pure Batman now as he prepared for insertion. "Whatever game Lex is playing; those people need help now."
"Do be careful, sir." Alfred's concern carried through their encrypted channel. "This isn't like dealing with Gotham's usual rogues. That thing in there nearly killed Superman."
"Then I'll have to be better." Bruce's hands moved across controls with practiced precision, the Batwing responding like it was part of him. "Smart instead of strong. Use what he's become against him."
In his private office, Lionel Luthor was finally beginning to understand the trap. Every call for help met dead air, every security system denied his access, every escape route mysteriously malfunctioning. The empire he'd built through decades of manipulation was turning against him with methodical precision.
"Lex." The name came out like a curse as he studied security feeds showing his son's orchestration. "My own blood, using my lessons against me." Pride warred with rage as he recognized his own tactics being employed with devastating effectiveness.
A memory surfaced - Lex at fourteen, blood running from his split lip as Lionel lectured about weakness. "The world doesn't care about fairness," he'd told his son while Lena watched with haunted eyes. "Power is the only truth that matters. The only language people truly understand."
Now his son was speaking that language with terrible fluency. The weapons program he'd developed with Stane, the experiments that created Metallo - all of it carefully documented and ready to be exposed with his fingerprints everywhere.
"Well played." The words carried bitter appreciation as he watched federal response teams surrounding the building. Everything would trace back to him - the illegal contracts, the human experimentation, the partnership with Stane that had nearly killed Tony Stark.
Through his windows, he caught movement - something dark detaching from the storm clouds, its signature masked from conventional tracking. Batman's arrival wasn't entirely unexpected - the Dark Knight had been expanding his operations beyond Gotham lately.
"Sir." His private security channel crackled with interference. "We're experiencing technical difficulties with—" Static consumed the rest as Lex's algorithms isolated him further.
Lionel's laugh carried no humor as he poured himself a drink, watching his son's plan unfold with terrible precision. The boy he'd molded through pain and fear had become a master manipulator, turning the father's weapons against him.
"The son surpasses the father." He raised his glass in bitter salute toward the security cameras he knew Lex was watching through. "Though I suspect you learned more than just business from our lessons."
The memory rose unbidden - Lex shielding Lena from his rage, taking the belt across his own back rather than let his sister suffer. The look in his son's eyes afterward hadn't been fear or hatred, but something worse - calculated understanding of how power truly worked.
The building shook slightly as something impacted several floors below - Batman beginning his infiltration, no doubt. But Lionel's focus remained on the security feeds showing his son's orchestration.
"You were always the stronger one," he mused, swirling amber liquid in crystal. "Even when Lena ran, you stayed. Learned. Adapted." Pride colored his voice despite everything. "Became exactly what I taught you to be."
Another impact rattled his office windows as Batman drew closer. Lionel knew it didn't matter - his son had ensured there would be no escape from what was coming. Every crime would be traced back to him while Lex emerged as the hero who saved the company from corruption.
"The student becomes the master." He finished his drink, watching emergency vehicles gather below like vultures circling a dying beast. "Though I wonder, my son - in destroying me, have you become exactly what you hated?"
Bruce's grapple caught the 47th floor's exterior with perfect precision, the line's specialized coating protecting it from automated defense systems. His suit's shielding was already beginning to strain from proximity to Metallo's radiation, but he pushed that concern aside as he prepared for breach.
"Thirty seconds until system overload," he reported, setting shaped charges with practiced efficiency. "The radiation's worse than our models predicted."
"Perhaps a tactical retreat might be in order?" Alfred's suggestion carried no real hope of being heeded. "Live to fight another day and all that?"
Bruce pressed the detonator.
The charges blew with surgical precision – just enough force to breach the wall without risking anyone inside. No debris, no shrapnel, just a controlled opening that appeared as if carved by laser. He slipped through before the dust settled, moving like a shadow given form.
The boardroom told its story in blood and broken bodies.
Sarah Corbin lay twisted near the conference table, her neck bent at an angle that left no doubt that she was dead. Amy huddled against Lois Lane, the reporter's arms wrapped protectively around the child while keeping her eyes turned away from her mother's body. The girl's shoulders shook with silent sobs that seemed too big for her small frame.
Metallo stood framed against Metropolis's skyline, radiation bleeding from fractures in his chest plate. The perfect machine precision Bruce had studied in footage was deteriorating – subtle hitches in his movements, occasional sparks cascading from exposed circuitry. Hawkeye's arrow protruded from a joint where his shoulder met his neck, the specialized tip having found one of the few vulnerable connections in his frame.
"The Dark Knight ventures beyond his gargoyles." Metallo's voice fluctuated between mechanical coldness and something disturbingly human. His head tilted with a jerk, the movement no longer fluid. "Have you come to witness man's evolution, Batman? Or just to die outside your territory?"
Bruce cataloged everything in heartbeats – the radiation levels climbing toward lethal thresholds, the structural damage to the room, the way Metallo's left leg occasionally trembled from failing hydraulics. Most importantly, the proximity of the survivors to his unstable power cores.
"John." Bruce pitched his voice low, authoritative – the voice that made hardened criminals reconsider their choices. "You've already lost her. Don't make your daughter lose you too."
Metallo's gaze shifted to Sarah's body, something like confusion disrupting his mechanical features. A tremor ran through his frame, violent enough that panels across his torso briefly opened then snapped shut.
"This wasn't..." Static crackled through his vocoder, genuine horror bleeding through machine programming. "I wasn't supposed to..."
The moment shattered as his cores flared brighter, drowning that flicker of humanity in waves of sickly radiation. Bruce's suit sensors flashed urgent warnings – the energy signature was becoming dangerously unstable, harmonics shifting toward patterns consistent with containment failure.
"Your primitive understanding cannot grasp what I've become." Metallo's words came slower now, fighting through failing speech processors. "They took a broken soldier and made him better. Stronger."
Blue energy arced unexpectedly between the cores, making Metallo stagger. His right hand clutched at the fractured housing, chrome fingers digging into his own chest as if trying to contain what was breaking loose inside him.
"Better?" Bruce took a careful step forward, positioning himself between Metallo and the survivors. "Look at what you've done, John. Look at your daughter. Is this what 'better' means to you?"
Amy's sob cut through the tension like a blade, small and broken and undeniably human. "Daddy, please stop. Please."
Something changed in Metallo's posture – the terrible purpose faltering as John Corbin briefly surfaced through cracks in machine programming. His sensors fixed on his daughter with terrible focus, taking in her tears, her fear, her grief.
"Amy..." The name came out almost normal, the father breaking through the monster he'd become. "I didn't mean to..."
Another cascade of sparks erupted from his damaged housing, cutting off whatever humanity had briefly emerged. The cores spun faster, their containment systems visibly deteriorating as radiation leaked in irregular pulses. Part of his chrome plating had begun to melt, warped by heat that shouldn't have been possible.
"Your systems are failing," Bruce said, voice calm despite the radiation warnings flashing across his HUD. "Whatever LuthorCorp promised you, they lied. Those cores aren't evolution – they're killing you, corrupting what makes you human."
"Human?" The word emerged as a bitter laugh, vocoder distortion making it sound like broken glass. "Weak... fragile... abandoned when broken..." Metallo took an unsteady step forward, compensating for failing balance gyros. "I transcended humanity through pain. Through fire."
He gestured at the devastation around them, movements jerky as system failures cascaded through his frame. "This is power, Batman. This is what evolution demands."
"No." Bruce's response carried absolute certainty. "This is what fear creates. Your fear of being weak again. Of being unable to protect your daughter." He gestured toward Amy, still crying against Lois's shoulder. "Look at what that fear has cost you, John."
Metallo's sensors tracked to his daughter, then to Sarah's body, systems struggling to process emotional input they weren't designed to handle. His frame shuddered as competing commands fought for control – the machine's programming versus the man's anguish.
"I just wanted to be strong enough." The words came out broken, human grief bleeding through mechanical distortion. "So she wouldn't have to watch me break again. So I could protect her."
The irony hung in the air between them, terrible and undeniable – in seeking the strength to protect his daughter, he'd become the very thing she needed protection from.
"I know," Bruce said quietly, genuine understanding in his voice. "But this isn't strength, John. It's surrender – to pain, to rage, to everything that tried to break you before."
Another power surge wracked Metallo's frame, violent enough that his left arm briefly went limp. The cores' housing cracked further, radiation bleeding through in patterns that made Bruce's sensors scream warnings. Containment failure was no longer a possibility – it was becoming inevitable.
"Your weapons cannot harm me." Metallo's voice was more machine than man again, though the perfect synthesis of earlier was gone, replaced by erratic fluctuations between mechanical coldness and human desperation. "Your tactics cannot stop what I've become."
Panels slid open across his frame, revealing weapons that powered up with ominous hums, though several sparked and malfunctioned, damaged by the unstable energy coursing through his systems.
"But please..." A terrible smile formed on his chrome features as weapons locked onto Batman. "Try. Show everyone watching how powerless their heroes really are."
—
Coulson stepped into the darkness of Sector 16, the beam of his tactical flashlight cutting through shadows. His agents moved with practiced silence, pistols drawn and ready. Pepper followed behind them, her heels clicking softly against concrete despite her attempts to move quietly.
The facility felt abandoned – too quiet, too empty. Pipes hummed overhead, and somewhere in the distance, machinery whirred with ominous purpose. Their flashlight beams caught dust motes floating in the air, dancing in the disturbed stillness.
As they rounded a bend, their lights fell upon a massive form. Pepper's breath caught until the beams fully illuminated what stood before them – a reconstruction of Tony's original suit, the crude Mark I armor that had saved his life in Afghanistan. It stood silent and imposing, cables still attached to its frame like mechanical veins.
Coulson approached it cautiously, studying the riveted metal plates and primitive eye slits. "Looks like you were right," he said, glancing back at Pepper. "He was building a suit."
Pepper moved beside him, her expression a mix of relief and confusion. This wasn't the technological nightmare she'd expected after seeing those files. "I thought it'd be bigger."
She ran her fingers along the workbench beside it, finding blueprints and component schematics. Obadiah had been methodical, reverse-engineering Tony's work piece by piece. But something didn't add up – why rebuild the original when Tony had already created far superior models?
A noise echoed through the facility – metal against metal, followed by the distinctive sound of hydraulics engaging. Sparking wires hung from the ceiling nearby, casting erratic, dancing light across the industrial space.
One of the agents moved toward a computer terminal, its screen still active and glowing with blue light. "Sir," he called to Coulson, gesturing toward the display. The screen showed detailed schematics for something much larger than the Mark I – a massive suit of armor designated "Iron Monger." The designs showcased weapon systems that would make military contractors salivate, built around what appeared to be an Arc Reactor core.
Pepper's attention was drawn to movement in the shadows – chains dangling from an industrial hoist system near the back of the facility. They swayed gently, disturbed by something massive moving beneath them. The concrete floor vibrated subtly beneath her feet.
Two brilliant white lights pierced the darkness, rising slowly higher as whatever housed them ascended from below. Those weren't lights, Pepper realized with dawning horror – they were eyes, glowing with cold mechanical purpose.
The massive form of the Iron Monger suit emerged from its hidden bay, towering over everything in the room. Where Tony's suits were sleek and elegant despite their power, this was brutal industrial might given form – exposed weaponry, massive hydraulic joints, and overwhelming firepower.
Pepper's scream echoed through the facility as she realized who must be inside.
The agents reacted instantly, opening fire despite the futility. Bullets ricocheted off the massive armor with metallic pings that barely registered above the whir of its systems powering up. It swept aside the first agent who approached, the man's body crumpling against a far wall.
"Run!" Coulson shouted, shoving Pepper toward the exit as he and his remaining agents attempted to provide covering fire.
Pepper ran. Her heels threatened to betray her with every step, but adrenaline kept her upright and moving. Behind her, gunfire mixed with the mechanical roar of the Iron Monger as it gave chase, each thunderous footstep sending tremors through the floor.
A massive metal hand reached for her, barely missing as she ducked through a narrower doorway. The wall beside her exploded in a shower of concrete as the Iron Monger simply smashed through it, refusing to be slowed by mere architecture.
Pepper burst through the doors into the Arc Reactor building, lungs burning and legs aching from the desperate sprint. She pushed through another set of doors, emerging into the night air of the Stark Industries complex.
Tony streaked through the night sky, the armor's systems pushing well beyond their tested limits. City lights blurred beneath him as he forced the suit to its maximum speed, knowing every second counted.
"How do you think the Mark One chest piece is going to hold up?" he asked, watching power levels fluctuate with each course adjustment.
"The suit's at 48% power and falling, sir," JARVIS reported with characteristic precision. "That chest piece was never designed for sustained flight."
"Keep me posted," Tony replied, pushing the thrusters harder as Stark Industries came into view. He toggled his communications system. "Pepper!"
Her voice came through immediately, breathless and panicked. "Tony! Tony, are you okay?"
Relief flooded through him at hearing her voice. "I'm fine. How are—"
"Obadiah, he's gone insane!" Her words tumbled out between gasping breaths.
"I know," Tony responded, his voice hardening. "Listen, you'd better get out of there."
"He built a suit," she managed, the fear in her voice making his blood run cold.
"Get out of there right now!" Tony pushed the thrusters beyond safety parameters, the HUD lighting up with warning indicators that he ignored completely.
But through the comms, he could hear that it was already too late. The ground trembled beneath Pepper, concrete splitting apart as something massive forced its way up from below.
The Iron Monger emerged from the shattered pavement like some mechanical leviathan, standing at its full height before Pepper. The blue glow of a stolen Arc Reactor pulsed in its chest, powering systems designed for pure destruction.
"Where do you think you're going?" Obadiah's voice boomed through external speakers, distorted into something barely recognizable. The massive helmet tilted downward, brilliant white eyes fixing on Pepper with predatory focus. "Your services are no longer required."
The gatling gun mounted on the side of the Iron Monger's right arm whirred to life, its multiple barrels beginning their deadly rotation. The weapon was built directly into the armor's forearm, a permanent fixture of Stane's war machine rather than a deployable system. As the barrels spun faster, Pepper stood frozen, the weapon mere inches from her face, unable to move as death stared her in the face.
"STANE!"
Tony's shout from above caused Obadiah to turn, the gatling gun swinging away from Pepper and unleashing a wild spray of bullets into the night sky. Before Stane could fully locate the source of the voice, Tony slammed into the Iron Monger with every ounce of momentum his suit could generate. The impact sent both armored figures crashing through the perimeter fence and onto the road beyond, cars swerving wildly to avoid the suddenly materialized battle.
Stane crashed through an eighteen-wheeler, the truck's trailer splitting open as the massive armor tore through it like tissue paper. The Iron Monger rolled into oncoming traffic, his bulk causing an immediate chain reaction. Headlights swept in chaotic arcs as drivers desperately tried to avoid the mechanical behemoth suddenly occupying their lanes.
Metal screamed against asphalt. Brakes squealed. Horns blared in futile warning. Tony struggled to his feet, his HUD flashing damage reports from the impact. He'd known the Mark III wasn't designed for taking on something three times its size, but the reality of that disadvantage was becoming painfully clear.
A minivan skidded to a halt directly in front of the Iron Monger, its tires smoking from the emergency stop. Inside, a woman clutched the steering wheel in white-knuckled terror, her children's screams audible even through closed windows. Their faces, illuminated by dashboard lights, showed pure, primal fear.
The Iron Monger rose to its full height, towering over the vehicle. With terrifying casualness, Stane reached down and wrapped metal fingers around the minivan's frame. The chassis groaned as he lifted the entire vehicle, the family still inside, their screams intensifying as their world tilted sideways.
"I love this suit!" Stane's voice carried genuine delight, like a child with a new toy – if that toy happened to be capable of mass destruction.
Tony pushed himself upright, his armor's servos whining with the effort. "Put them down!" The command came through gritted teeth, desperation bleeding through his usual sarcasm.
Stane turned toward him, the minivan held aloft like a trophy, the family inside bouncing against seatbelts and windows. "Collateral damage, Tony." The casual dismissal of human life chilled Tony more than any threat. This wasn't the calculating businessman he'd known – this was something much worse.
Tony's mind raced through options, discarding each as quickly as they formed. The suit's power levels were dropping dangerously, and any conventional attack risked the family. There was only one option.
"Divert power to chest RT," he ordered, bracing himself for what came next.
The arc reactor in his chest surged, drawing power from throughout the suit's systems. The familiar blue glow intensified, brightening until it was almost white-hot. Energy gathered, coalesced, and then erupted from his chest in a concentrated blast that struck the Iron Monger dead center.
The unibeam's force sent Stane flying backward, his massive frame crashing onto the hood of another vehicle. The minivan dropped from his grasp, and Tony lunged forward, catching it before it could hit the pavement. The sudden weight threatened to overwhelm his armor's hydraulics.
"Power reduced to 19%," JARVIS reported with clinical detachment.
Tony grunted with effort, servos whining as he struggled to lower the minivan safely. The vehicle's weight was pushing his damaged systems to breaking point – he'd sacrificed too much power for the chest blast. Slowly, painfully, he lowered himself to one knee, trying to control the minivan's descent.
"Lady!" he called through external speakers, hoping the driver could hear him. "No, no, no, no, no, no!"
The woman inside seemed to not understand. She hit the accelerator the moment the vehicle's tires made contact with asphalt. The minivan lurched forward with Tony still attached to its hood, his armor scraping against metal as he lost his grip. He slid beneath the vehicle, the undercarriage grinding against his armor with a sound that set his teeth on edge.
Desperate to avoid being dragged under the wheels, Tony grabbed the rear axle, lifting the back of the minivan enough to slide himself out. He released his grip, letting the vehicle speed away to safety as he rolled onto the pavement.
He barely had time to register the family's escape before movement caught his peripheral vision – the Iron Monger leaping toward him with surprising agility for something so massive. Stane grabbed a passing motorcycle in mid-air, the rider barely having time to dive clear before the machine was weaponized against Tony.
The motorcycle struck him with crushing force, sending him careening into a parked car. Metal crumpled around him as alarms blared inside his helmet. Through the HUD's flickering displays, Tony saw civilians fleeing in all directions, their panicked faces illuminated by street lights and burning vehicles.
Before he could regain his footing, metal fingers wrapped around his torso. The Iron Monger lifted him until they were face to face, Stane's rage palpable even through layers of armor and circuitry.
"For thirty years, I've been holding you up!" Obadiah's voice carried decades of resentment, each word punctuated by tightening pressure on Tony's armor. Metal groaned as systems struggled to maintain structural integrity.
With casual brutality, Stane slammed him into the ground. The impact sent warning indicators cascading across Tony's HUD, pain lancing through his body despite the armor's protection. A massive metal foot descended onto his chest, pinning him to the cratered asphalt.
"I built this company from nothing!" Each word carried Stane's spittle, visible even through his faceplate's environmental systems. His rage had transcended mere business – this was personal, visceral, the culmination of a lifetime spent in Howard Stark's shadow.
Tony activated his hand repulsors, trying to push the foot away, but the Iron Monger's weight was too much for his depleted systems. Stane reached down, metal fingers closing around Tony's armor like a child grabbing a toy.
"Nothing is going to stand in my way!" With those words, Stane hurled Tony's armored form through the air. The world spun around him until he crashed into a bus, the impact folding metal around him like a cocoon. Warning alerts competed for attention in his HUD as systems failed throughout the suit.
Through damaged sensors, Tony saw Stane stomping away, only to turn back with deadly purpose. A panel slid open on the Iron Monger's shoulder, revealing a short-range missile system. Targeting lasers danced across the bus's surface, finding Tony among the twisted metal.
"Least of all you!" Stane's declaration came half a second before the missile launched.
The explosion transformed the bus into a fireball, concussive force sending Tony's armored form spinning through the air like a rag doll. Flames licked at his armor, sensors overloading from the heat and pressure. For a moment, he thought this might be it – the end of Tony Stark, incinerated in a vehicle he wouldn't have been caught dead riding in during civilian life.
Then muscle memory kicked in. His arms extended outward, flight stabilizers engaging despite damage. The repulsors in his palms and boots fired in sequence, arresting his fall and bringing him to a hover several meters above the burning wreckage.
Through the smoke and flames, Tony saw Stane's expression change from satisfaction to surprise, then calculation. The Iron Monger's massive head tilted upward, those soulless white eyes tracking Tony's flight path.
"Impressive!" Stane called up to him, genuine admiration mixing with his rage. "You've upgraded your armor!" The words carried that particular tone Tony remembered from board meetings – Obadiah acknowledging a good move by a competitor before countering with something better.
"I've made some upgrades of my own!"
Panels opened on the Iron Monger's back and legs, revealing rocket assemblies that shouldn't have been possible given the armor's bulk. With a roar that drowned out even the burning vehicles, the rockets ignited, sending the massive suit skyward in a plume of smoke and flame.
"Sir, it appears that his suit can fly," JARVIS observed with characteristic understatement.
Tony watched the Iron Monger rising toward him, feeling a cold dread that had nothing to do with altitude. His lighter, more advanced suit had maneuverability advantages, but Stane's brute force approach could overwhelm him, especially with power levels dropping toward critical.
"Duly noted," Tony replied, mind racing through scenarios, most ending badly. There was only one option – one gambit that might work, if the laws of physics cooperated. "Take me to maximum altitude."
"With only 15% power, the odds of reaching that—" JARVIS began, calculations already showing the futility of the attempt.
"I know the math!" Tony cut him off, already accelerating upward. "Do it!"
He shot skyward, repulsors straining against gravity and depleting power reserves. The night sky opened above him, stars becoming clearer as he left Malibu's light pollution behind. Behind him, Stane followed, the Iron Monger's rockets leaving a trail of smoke and fire like some demonic comet.
Far below, Pepper watched both suits diminish to points of light against the night sky Bruce didn't flinch as Metallo's weapons hummed to life. He'd faced death before—in Crime Alley as a child, in the mountains with Ra's, in Gotham's darkest corners. Fear was an old companion he'd learned to harness rather than surrender to.