[The Basement Lab. 14 Days Later.]
The music was loud—Suicidal Tendencies—but the sound of the repulsors whining was louder.
"Day 11, Test 37. Configuration 2.0," Tony shouted over the music. He was hovering three feet off the ground, the silver Mark 2 armor gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The suit was sleek, stripped of paint, a pure machine.
"J.A.R.V.I.S.," Tony addressed the new AI he had coded to handle the suit's heavy math. "How are the stabilizers?"
"Stabilizers are at 99%, Sir," the cool, British-accented AI replied. "However, Mr. Michaelis is standing in the impact zone."
Tony looked down. Sebastian was standing right in front of him, holding a stopwatch.
"You're in the way, Sebastian," Tony said, his voice amplified by the suit.
"I am observing, Sir. You claimed this suit makes you 'invincible.' I am merely assessing the validity of that statement."
Tony grinned inside the helmet. "Oh? You want a demo?"
"Please," Sebastian gestured politely. "Do your worst."
Tony didn't hesitate. He raised his right gauntlet. The repulsor whined, charging up. This will knock him into the wall. He'll be fine, but it'll mess up his hair.
FOOM.
A beam of concussive energy blasted out, strong enough to shatter a concrete block.
Sebastian didn't dodge.
He moved his hand. A blur of silver.
CLANG.
The repulsor beam hit something and deflected upward, scorching a black mark across the ceiling.
Tony blinked. "Did you just..."
Sebastian was holding a silver serving tray. It was smoking slightly, but otherwise undented.
"Standard sterling silver," Sebastian noted, examining the tray. "Though I reinforced it with a minor hardening seal. Your aim is true, Young Master, but your telegraphing is dreadful."
"I telegraphed nothing!" Tony argued. "I just shot you!"
"You shifted your weight to your left heel two seconds before firing," Sebastian critiqued. "A common brawler's mistake. Again."
Tony narrowed his eyes. "Okay. No more Mr. Nice Butler."
He boosted the thrusters. The Mark 2 shot forward, closing the distance instantly. Tony threw a punch—a mechanical haymaker that could punch through a tank.
Sebastian caught the fist.
With one hand.
The shockwave blew the papers off the desk across the room. The floor beneath Sebastian cracked, spiderwebbing out, but the butler didn't slide back an inch.
"Good force," Sebastian said, straining slightly—or pretending to. "But rigid."
Sebastian twisted his wrist. He used Tony's own momentum to flip the entire 600-pound suit over his shoulder.
CRASH.
Tony slammed into the concrete floor.
"Damage report!" Tony groaned.
"Structural integrity at 98%," J.A.R.V.I.S. reported dryly. "Might I suggest not engaging in hand-to-hand combat with a demon, Sir?"
"Noted," Tony grunted, pushing himself up.
He flew up again, hovering near the ceiling. "Okay, ground game is yours. Let's see you handle air superiority."
Tony blasted both hand repulsors and the chest unibeam simultaneously. A wall of energy cascaded down.
Sebastian sighed. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out three silver knives. He threw them.
They didn't hit Tony. They hit the three power couplings on the wall behind Tony.
ZZZZT.
The lab went dark. The repulsors died instantly as the localized EMP from the short circuit cut the power to the suit's charging node (which he was still wirelessly connected to).
Tony dropped like a stone, landing on his feet with a heavy thud.
The emergency lights flickered on, bathing the lab in red.
Sebastian stood there, dusting off his lapel. "You rely too much on external power regulation, Sir. If I were a Hydra agent, you would currently be a tin can."
Tony popped the faceplate open. He was sweating, panting, and smiling like a maniac.
"That," Tony pointed a metal finger at him, "was awesome. We need to fix the power coupling issue. J.A.R.V.I.S., make a note. Independent power source only."
"I have prepared a protein shake," Sebastian said, picking up a glass from a side table that had miraculously survived the fight. "And Miss Potts is upstairs. She is asking why the house just shook."
Tony climbed out of the suit, stepping out of the disassembly rig. "Tell her... tell her we're renovating. Installing a bowling alley."
"I shall tell her you are working," Sebastian corrected. "And Sir?"
"Yeah?"
Sebastian pointed to the silver Mark 2. "Paint it. Silver is... a bit monotonous. Perhaps something more ostentatious? Gold, perhaps?"
"Gold is a bit much," Tony mused, looking at his hot rod parked in the corner. "Maybe... Hot Rod Red. With a little gold."
[The Desert. Sector 16.]
The wind whipped sand into Raza's eyes. He stood by the excavation site. His men had been digging for days.
"We found it!" someone shouted.
Raza ran down the dune. Half-buried in the sand was a twisted piece of scrap metal. A helmet. Crude, ugly, welded together from missile parts.
Raza picked it up. It was heavy.
"The mask of the demon," Raza whispered.
A black SUV pulled up on the ridge above them. Obadiah Stane stepped out, wearing a tailored suit and sunglasses.
"Did you find it?" Stane called out.
Raza held up the mask.
Stane smiled. It was a cruel, hungry smile. "Bring it to the jet. And the designs. I have some engineers in Los Angeles who are very eager to see how it works."
"And the butler?" Raza asked, climbing up the dune. "The one who killed my men?"
Stane's smile faded. "Don't worry about the butler. Once we build this... not even a demon will be able to stop us."
[End of Chapter 6]
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