The moment Tony Stark's silhouette disappeared over the ledge, the atmosphere in the room shifted from shock to lethal aggression.
For the Special Forces unit, this was a catastrophe. Their primary objective—the highest-value asset in the US military-industrial complex—had just committed suicide on their watch.
The shadow of a failed mission loomed over every soldier's head. Panic turned instantly into rage.
"Target is hostile! Open fire! Kill him!" the Captain screamed over the comms.
Every rifle swiveled toward the man in the purple suit.
"Whoa..."
The Joker tutted, his hands moving to the lapels of his jacket.
"You boys sure are impatient."
Under the gaze of a dozen laser sights, the Joker yanked his suit jacket open.
The soldiers froze. Their fingers hovered over triggers, turning white with tension.
Lined inside the purple jacket were rows of C4 explosives and fragmentation grenades, all wired to a dead man's switch gripped tightly in the Joker's hand.
"Hey!"
The Joker grinned, his eyes dancing with madness.
"Keep cool. Unless you all want to go to heaven together? I hear the harp music is lovely this time of year."
The Special Forces Captain signaled a hard stop. If they shot him, the dead man's switch would release. The entire top floor of the Addison Hotel would vanish in a pink mist.
Taking advantage of their hesitation, a canister slid from the Joker's sleeve into his palm. He pulled the pin with his teeth and dropped it.
Clink.
"Get down!"
"Grenade! Get down!!"
"Bye-bye! See you in the funny papers!"
Thick, grey smoke erupted from the canister, instantly filling the room.
"My friends!" The Joker's voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere.
Within the swirling fog, a strange, unnatural blue light flashed—not like technology, but like a tear in reality.
When the ventilation finally cleared the smoke seconds later, the hall was empty. The Joker was gone.
"What the fuck?" The Captain whispered, his voice trembling. "Command... target has vanished."
Outside the window, the wind roared like a jet engine.
Gravity had claimed them. Tony's brilliant mind, usually processing a mile a minute, went silent. There was only the rushing wind and the woman falling beside him.
He reached out, grabbing Pepper and pulling her into his chest. He hugged her tightly, shielding her head with his hand.
They were falling from the fiftieth floor. Terminal velocity. There were no safety nets. No Iron Man suit. Just physics.
"Hey! Don't worry, I've got you!" Tony shouted over the wind, though he knew he couldn't stop the ground from rushing up to meet them.
"We might be about to die," he choked out, the reality hitting him. "There's something I should have said a long time ago."
He looked into her terrified eyes.
"I LOVE YOU, PEPPER!"
In the final seconds of his life, the reckless, narcissistic Tony Stark was gone. In his place was just a man who didn't want to die alone.
Tears welled in Pepper's eyes, whipped away instantly by the wind. She didn't speak—she couldn't—but her arms tightened around him, burying her face in his shoulder.
They closed their eyes, bracing for the end.
Captain George Stacy stared upward, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He watched the two small figures growing larger, plummeting toward the concrete. He felt a wave of nausea. He was witnessing the death of an American icon and an innocent woman. His career, his city, it was all about to shatter.
Around him, the reaction was sickeningly different.
"It's Stark! He jumped!"
"Get the shot! Get the shot!"
The paparazzi and reporters didn't see a tragedy; they saw a payday. Shutters clicked in a frenzy, flashes lighting up the night like a disco. They were ready to capture the exact moment a billionaire turned into a stain on the pavement.
But fate—or something stranger—intervened.
Just twenty feet from the ground, a spark of golden light ignited in the air beneath the falling couple.
It expanded instantly, weaving itself into a complex, glowing geometric web.
THWUMP.
Tony and Pepper hit the construct. Instead of concrete, they met a surface that gave way like a rubber band. The light-web stretched, absorbing the kinetic energy of their fall, dipping dangerously low before bouncing them gently back up.
After a few bounces, the web stabilized.
Tony and Pepper lay tangled in the glowing strands, gasping for air, their hearts beating out of their chests. They were alive.
Tony was the first to recover. He scrambled over the shifting light to Pepper, checking her frantically.
"I'm okay," she gasped, trembling. "I'm okay."
They embraced, oblivious to the glowing magic beneath them.
Captain Stacy slumped against his squad car, letting out a breath he felt he'd been holding for ten minutes. He didn't know who cast that web, but he wanted to buy them a drink.
"Get the ladder truck!" Stacy barked, snapping back into command mode. "Get them down! Now!"
Ten minutes later, Tony and Pepper were on solid ground, wrapped in shock blankets.
Although they were miraculously unharmed, the paramedics insisted on a hospital checkup.
As they walked toward the ambulance, the shark tank overflowed.
"Mr. Stark! What happened up there?"
"Stark! Did you provoke the Joker?"
"Why did you jump? Was it a stunt?"
"Mr. Stark, is it true you endangered the hostages?"
The microphones were shoved in his face like spears. The chaotic noise buzzed around him like flies on a carcass.
Tony Stark stopped. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a cold, burning anger.
He grabbed the nearest microphone, yanking the reporter forward.
"I provoked him?" Tony snarled, his eyes wild. "You want answers? Go ask the Joker!"
He shoved the microphone back into the reporter's chest hard enough to make the man stumble.
"And while you're at it, go to the hospital and get a CT scan. Even your senile grandmother wouldn't ask a question that stupid."
Tony didn't wait for a response. He pushed through the crowd, flipping a crisp, elegant middle finger to the wall of cameras behind him.
"Boss! Boss, are you okay?"
A plump, frantic figure barreled through the police line. Happy Hogan, Tony's bodyguard and driver, looked like he was about to have a heart attack.
"I'm fine, Happy," Tony muttered, waving him off. "Just get us out of here."
With Happy acting as a bulldozer, they finally broke free of the mob and reached the sanctuary of the ambulance.
Across the street, under the flickering light of a broken streetlamp, a man stood alone.
He wore a rumpled trench coat over a suit that had seen better days. His face was unshaven, haggard, and wore the cynical expression of a man who had seen too much of the world's dark corners.
As the ambulance doors closed, the man casually flicked his finger.
Snap.
Instantly, the glowing web of light dissolved into sparks and vanished into the ether.
The man watched the ambulance drive away, his lips curling into a smirk—the look of a child who had just found a new toy to break.
He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a pack of Silk Cut cigarettes, and placed one between his lips. A flame sparked from his thumb, lighting the tobacco.
He took a long drag, exhaling a cloud of blue smoke into the night air.
He turned his head slightly, looking directly into a nearby security camera. He knew exactly who would be reviewing this footage later.
"Tony Stark... interesting bloke," he rasped, his accent thick with British cynicism.
"My help doesn't come cheap, mate. You owe me one."
With a swirl of his coat, John Constantine turned and walked into the darkness, vanishing as if he were never there.
He knew Tony would come looking for him. And when he did, the real game would begin.
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