Tony puffed out his chest, his voice dripping with smug pride as he addressed the general. "Three years ago, the military shot down one of our projects. This right here," He gestured to the gleaming black suit, "Is what we cooked up—a titanium-alloy battle armor built for the nastiest fucking fights you can imagine."
"After that shitshow in South L.A., where the feds got their asses handed to them, Rhodes told me most of those poor bastards took bullets to the head, chest, or throat. That tells me these lowlife bandits shoot like they've got goddamn laser sights in their brains."
"So let's flip the script and think like them," Tony continued, his eyes gleaming. "If I'm a scumbag robber and I know my intel's been leaked, I'm betting the other side's gonna roll out top-tier bulletproof gear—full-body armor, helmets, the works. To counter that, they'll load up on armor-piercing rounds. And the best ones on the market? Our very own Stark Industries M995 armor-piercing bullets."
The general raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "So you know they're coming with armor-piercing rounds, and you think this clunky-ass metal suit can stop them?"
Tony grinned, all cocky arrogance. "This ain't some cheap tin can, General. I told you, this armor's built for special combat. It's made from a custom high-strength titanium alloy we developed to laugh in the face of armor-piercing rounds."
The general's interest piqued, his eyes narrowing. "Alright, how does it hold up in tests?"
"Tested to hell and back," Tony said, leaning in. "The thickest part—the chest plate—can take over thirty M995 rounds to the same spot without breaking a sweat. Weaker areas? Thirteen to seventeen rounds. Even the joints—elbows, knees, neck—can shrug off at least eight. This thing's a tank."
The general frowned, pointing at the helmet. "No face shield? You expect your guys to fight blind?"
Tony shook his head, smirking. "This suit's all about total protection. We ditched the face shield to keep it practical. Instead, we've got a dozen hidden cameras on the helmet feeding live footage to an internal LCD panel. Your soldiers see everything, crystal clear, without exposing their pretty faces."
The general's eyes lit up, clearly impressed, but then he frowned. "If this suit's so damn perfect, why'd the military pass on it?"
Tony shrugged, his tone bitter. "Too fucking expensive. Your bean counters couldn't afford it." He paused, then added, "Oh, and it's heavy as shit. That didn't help."
At 120 kilos, the suit was a beast. Even the toughest SEALs would struggle to move in it for long, and combined with the sky-high cost of the titanium alloy, the military axed the project without a second thought. The production line was scrapped, leaving just 300 prototype suits gathering dust.
The general sighed, shaking his head. "Damn shame. If you could slap some electric assist on these to lighten the load, you'd rewrite the global power game."
Tony nodded, his mind already racing. "Yeah, well, the world's not there yet. We tried powering it with lithium batteries, but they're too weak and overheat like a bitch. Even stuffing the suit with them only gets you fifteen minutes of juice—nowhere near combat-ready. But Stark Industries is working on next-gen energy solutions. Watch this space."
"Looking forward to it," The general said, nodding. "Alright, seeing these suits puts my mind at ease. Your iron soldiers can handle the bank's interior. The military will lock down the perimeter—roads, sewers, everything. If Jason shows his face, he's trapped like a rat."
He turned to the ranks of security guards, his voice booming. "Soldiers! The nation's safety is in your hands!"
The ex-military guards snapped to attention, saluting in perfect unison. The general returned the salute, then glanced at Tony. "They're your men now. Say something to fire them up."
Tony grinned, stepping forward. "I've only got one way to motivate. After this job's done, on top of your company pay, I'm personally tossing each of you a hundred grand. Cash."
The stone-faced guards broke into grins, their eyes lighting up. 'Fuck dreams and duty,' Tony thought. 'Nothing gets the blood pumping like cold, hard cash.'
---
The Next Morning, Near Stark Industries Bank
Jason and Christine, disguised as a lovey-dovey couple in loose, casual clothes, strolled through the streets near the bank. They clutched a laptop, looking like just another pair of tourists, but their eyes were sharp, cataloging every detail—escape routes, blind spots, security cameras. They blended into the crowd, their movements deliberate but casual, marking key locations for the heist.
As they neared the bank, the streets grew packed, buzzing with chaos. Tony's billion-dollar challenge to America's most wanted fugitive had blown up, spreading like wildfire. The whole damn city knew about it. This wasn't just news—it was a fucking spectacle. People had flown in from across the country, itching to witness the showdown. Stark Industries Bank had become L.A.'s hottest tourist trap, rivaling Hollywood's Walk of Fame and Disneyland combined.
Jason and Christine weaved through the mob, blending in perfectly. The bigger the circus, the better for Jason. More chaos meant more cover to slip through the cracks, and the growing infamy was boosting his reputation. TV coverage couldn't compare to the raw, electric thrill of being there in person, and every gawking tourist added to his legend.
"Look! Armored trucks!" Someone shouted, pointing down the street.
Heads whipped around as ten military-grade armored vehicles roared toward the bank, sirens blaring. The crowd buzzed with excitement, snapping photos and shouting theories.
"That's gotta be one billion!"
"No way Stark's bluffing with that kind of cash."
"Only Stark Industries could pull strings to get military trucks for this shit."
A police escort led the convoy, followed by a news van, all disappearing into the bank's underground garage. Minutes later, the massive digital billboard outside the bank flickered to life, showing a live feed. A stunning female anchor appeared, her voice dripping with excitement as she clutched a microphone.
"Good morning, everyone! By now, you've all heard about the one-billion-dollar gamble that's got the nation glued to their screens. Some of you are wondering if Tony Stark really put up that kind of cash—or if it's even real money. Well, I'm here at Stark Industries Bank headquarters to get the truth. The armored trucks loaded with one billion dollars just rolled up to the vault!"
The crowd erupted, phones raised high, capturing every second. This wasn't just a heist—it was a fucking global event, and Jason was ready to steal the show.
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You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon.com/GreenBlue17
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