Chapter 12: Chasing the Monger
Rain lashed Los Angeles' streets, a cold, stinging curtain that transformed the asphalt into slick, oil-dark glass. The tires of Happy Hogan's sports car screamed in protest, the high-pitched whine echoing off the canyon of downtown buildings as he gunned the engine. It roared like a caged, furious beast, the city blurring into a watercolor smear of neon and shadow.
Adam's Stamina was now at a critical 15%, running on sheer adrenaline and fanboy necessity. His Guilt had reached a debilitating 70%, a number that felt less like a percentage and more like a fever he couldn't break. His hazel eyes were bloodshot, scanning the pursuing black SUVs in the rearview mirror. His fingers were frantically fraying the sleeve threads to steady his trembling, almost useless hands.
"Why this chase? Stane's playing for keeps now. He wants Tony dead, and I'm barely holding onto consciousness, let alone my power. This is the final act."
Tony, hunched in the passenger seat, was a study in controlled agony. He clutched the car battery, its faint, steady Hum a fragile, electric lifeline against his chest. His face was pale, reflecting the pale streetlights, but his eyes were blazing with a cold, almost inhuman vengeance. Rain dripped from his lank hair.
"Why him? He's fighting for his life with a car battery, and all I can give him is a single, desperate, non-lethal Push. I'm his last backup, and I'm a mess."
Happy's knuckles whitened against the leather of the steering wheel, the rain a constant, blurring assault on the windshield. The pursuing black SUVs were headlights in the rearview mirror, glaring like relentless, hungry predators, their modified engines a low, terrifying growl that promised violence.
"Why this mess? Boss is half-dead, running on D-cell batteries. The kid looks like a ghost who hasn't slept in a week, twitching like a junkie. And I'm driving them straight into a military contractor's trap. This is why I get paid too much."
He glanced sideways at Adam, whose face was a mask of pale, desperate resolve. The kid wasn't a soldier, but he was holding on, his intensity burning off his exhaustion.
"He's no soldier, but he's got more damn guts than any mercenary Stane hired. He needs to pull off a miracle here, or we're all toast."
"They're on us!" Happy yelled, his voice raw and strained, swerving violently to dodge a merging taxi he hadn't seen. "Two of 'em, moving fast! Look out!"
Adam didn't hesitate. He forced the passenger window down, the cold, stinging rain immediately soaking his shirt, chilling his already exhausted skin. The Intent Sensor exploded in a blinding field of red: Hostile/Pursuit/Lethal Engagement. Guard F's grim, determined face was visible in the lead SUV's window, a weapon glinting in his grip. His intent was clear: Stop them. Permanently.
"Why now? No kills. Tony is the priority. I have to clear the path, but I have to be perfect. One slight tremor, and it's a kill, and 80% Guilt. No."
"Happy, brake hard on my mark!" Adam shouted, his voice hoarse, cutting through the twin roars of their engine and the wind. He channeled his entire remaining will, visualizing a microscopic, precise Push—not a direct, crushing blow, but a tangential strike to the lead SUV's front axle, disrupting its traction completely. His head throbbed, a splitting headache blooming behind his eyes.
"Now!"
[PUSH INITIATED. STAMINA: 15% (-15%). GUILT: +10%. GUILT: 80%.] [SYSTEM WARNING: Stamina Critical. Phase-Coma Imminent. You are overdrawn, Pusher.]
The SUV did not explode. Instead, it fishtailed violently, tires screaming a desperate, futile song against the slick, dark asphalt. It spun for a horrible, drawn-out moment before skidding broadside into a concrete freeway pillar with a bone-rattling, sickening CRUNCH. The impact blocked the second vehicle entirely.
The acrid, choking scent of burnt rubber mixed instantly with the metallic, faintly coppery tang of fresh blood and the clean bite of the rain, which immediately began washing the debris into the gutters.
Adam slumped back into the seat, his vision tunneling to a small, gray pinprick. His Stamina had fallen to a horrifying 0%, his body screaming silent, profound protest. The system's hum was a high-pitched, insistent shriek, and the ozone stung his nose like smelling salts.
"Why the cost? Non-lethal, barely. But the Guilt is crushing me. 80%. I'm still a monster, just a slightly less murderous one. I'm running on stolen power and borrowed time."
He forced a weak, utterly exhausted smirk.
"Pay up, Stark," he managed, his voice barely a whisper, his head swimming. "Five-star maneuver. Titanium refund. Don't tell Pepper about the leather."
Tony, clutching the battery with one hand, used the other to clap Adam once—gently, not touching his shoulder, but the seat beside him. His voice was weak, but his trademark snark was back, a sign of life.
"On the clock, kid. Keep that mouth running. Almost there."
"Why his trust? I'm a glitch, a walking bomb, a liar. But he's betting his life on me. And I'm going to honor that bet."
Happy slammed the car to a screeching halt inside the colossal warehouse, its cavernous interior smelling overwhelmingly of salt, damp metal, and machine oil. Their tires finally found purchase on the oily concrete floor.
The Iron Monger's hulking, dark frame loomed on a makeshift dais, a colossal, twisted mirror of Tony's genius. Stane stood next to it, already sealed inside the massive suit's cockpit, his cold sneer visible on the monitor screen, a final, chilling promise of betrayal. The suit's stolen arc reactor core glowed with a terrifying, malevolent orange-red light, a low, menacing Growl filling the vast space.
"Why Tony? You built an empire, and I was going to help you run it. But you pushed me aside. So I'll take it. And I'll take your goddamn heart while I'm at it." Stane's voice, amplified and distorted by the suit's speakers, boomed with triumph.
Tony staggered out of the car, battery still clutched to his chest, his face contorted in an expression of raw, visceral pain and blinding rage.
"Why Obie? You mentored me. Now you're standing in a weapon that stole my life. I'll make you regret every second."
Tony didn't wait. He immediately slapped the car battery into a charging terminal on the floor. "JARVIS, initiate Mark III deployment. Adam, you know the job." Tony began sealing the red and gold pieces of the suit around his body, the hydraulic hiss and CLANK of the armor closing a sound of desperate, necessary hope.
Adam phased to the Mark III's compartment, using his last reserve of mental focus. The quantum cold was no longer a chill, but a searing, agonizing ice-shock that pierced his bones. It felt like his atoms were tearing themselves apart, the cost of the Phasewalk under a 0% Stamina banner.
The seized repulsor conduit, a tangle of heavy, stubborn metal, was now bathed in the ethereal, internal glow of his phase state. His hands trembled so violently that holding his phase-state focus was an ordeal. He had to be delicate, using a micro-Push internally within the phase space to free the component.
[PHASEWALK USED. STAMINA: 0% (-5% Overdrawn). PHASE-COMA RISK: EXTREME. FATIGUE: +30%.] [SYSTEM ALERT: Hostile Action Override. You are operating on Willpower. Stop. Immediately.]
"Why the strain? I'm saving him again, right here at the razor's edge. But I'm one single Push from blacking out and leaving them completely defenseless. I'm operating entirely on borrowed time."
He collapsed against a stack of metal crates as Tony sealed the final piece of the suit. Repulsors hummed, charging to a violent pitch. The Mark III gleamed gold and crimson, a magnificent beacon of defiance in the warehouse's gloom. The system screamed a high-pitched, digital alarm in his head, the grid flickering red and black.
[WARNING: STAMINA CRITICAL (0% - OVERDRAWN). PHASE-COMA IMMINENT. RECOMMENDED: Total Cessation of Action.]
Tony's voice, muffled by the helmet but firm with desperate authority, cut through the system's noise.
"Adam, ground support. Stay conscious. I need you to run the fire extinguisher protocol when I signal. You're my last backup."
Tony blasted through the warehouse roof with a tearing roar of hydraulics and propulsion, rain and ozone flooding the interior. The Iron Monger rose to meet him, its stolen heart glowing, a colossal, twisted mirror of Tony's genius and a testament to Stane's greed.
Adam staggered to his feet, the dizzying breath. Guilt and isolation were predicting a battle that would scar them all, but he had a job.
"Why fight? To keep his heart beating, even if mine breaks. To use the fire extinguisher instead of my power. To prove I learned something from this guilt."
He gripped the heavy fire extinguisher, its weight a sudden, profound lifeline, its brass cold against his sweaty palm. His eyes were fixed on the gaping hole in the roof, where Tony's Mark III was already clashing with the Monger. The final battle had begun, and he was the weakest, most critical piece on the board.
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