The wind howled past his ears, the roar of the engine like a blazing symphony, shutting out the rest of the world.
The corners of Tony's mouth curved upward uncontrollably—excitement.
He loved this feeling.
The feeling of having everything under his control.
The Formula 1 car darted through the track under his command.
Every corner, he cut in at the perfect angle.
Every acceleration, he squeezed the engine to its limit.
"Hey, JARVIS," he spoke quickly into the comms.
"Be honest with me. That drift I just pulled through the corner—what score would you give it? I'd say at least 9.9, right? I'm just leaving that 0.1 so I don't get too cocky."
Ever since taking the serum, his reflexes had far surpassed ordinary humans. To him, all this felt slow. Painfully slow.
"Sir, according to my analysis, your cornering speed was 0.2 seconds faster than that of professional F1 drivers," JARVIS replied meticulously.
"However, I must remind you—your heart rate has already exceeded 180 beats per minute. I suggest—"
"—I suggest I drive even faster? Great idea, JARVIS. You're starting to really get me." Tony cut him off, then slammed the accelerator again!
The red car shot forward like lightning, instantly overtaking the struggling vehicle ahead.
In the stands, the atmosphere had already exploded.
Everyone was on their feet, waving their arms, cheering and screaming for the spectacular display.
Pepper and Happy stood tensely by the pit barrier, their palms slick with sweat.
Just then, a greasy, fake voice drifted over from behind them.
That tone was so distinct, you didn't even need to turn around to know it belonged to a clown.
"Oh my, if it isn't the beautiful and radiant Miss Potts." Justin Hammer strolled over with a champagne glass, plastering on a smile. "I must say, Tony's performance today is quite the surprise. I thought he only knew how to throw parties and chase women."
His words dripped with sarcasm, cheap envy layered underneath.
Honestly, worse than a clown. At least the real Joker didn't go around jealous of Bruce Wayne—or shove his face in just to be laughed at.
Pepper didn't even bother turning. Her voice was cold:
"Mr. Hammer, I believe your seat isn't here. Or are Hammer Industries' security systems so advanced now that you can just walk into someone else's pit at will?"
Her words left him choking, his grin stiff.
Still, he pressed on. Casting a glance at Tony's car, which was leading far ahead, he muttered sourly,
"I'm only worried about Tony, you know. Racing is dangerous. If anything were to happen to him here, it would be a huge loss for our entire defense industry."
He sighed, feigning concern.
"But don't worry, Miss Potts." His tone shifted, his face twisting into what he thought was a charming smile.
"If Tony really were to meet with an accident, Hammer Industries would be more than happy to take over all of Stark Industries' business."
As he spoke, he even started reaching out to pat Pepper's shoulder.
But before his hand could fall, another much larger one clamped around his wrist like an iron vise. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't break free. His face flushed red, while the man holding him stayed expressionless.
It was Happy.
He stood like a wall in front of Pepper.
Those eyes, usually kind and simple, were now filled with a chilling warning.
"Mr. Clown," his voice was low and grim.
"I'll remind you: this is Stark Industries' pit. If you don't leave immediately, and if you dare say one more useless word to Miss Potts, I might just throw you into the Mediterranean to feed the fish."
Clown?! Who are you calling—wait, no—insulting?!
Hammer wanted to bark back, but seeing Happy's massive frame and those warning eyes, his courage wilted.
He pulled his hand back with a sulky mumble:
"Just a damn bodyguard…"
And slunk off into the crowd.
Pepper rolled her eyes. Happy withdrew his hand.
But before Pepper could say anything—something changed on the track.
A man in a ragged orange prison jumpsuit, body covered in tattoos, walked slowly out of one of the pit lanes.
In his hands, he carried two electrified whips crackling with lightning.
It was Whiplash—Ivan Vanko—Tony Stark's all-too-familiar nemesis.
He strode to the middle of the track and stopped.
"What the hell?!"
"Oh my god! Who is he?! What's he doing?!"
The audience gasped, then erupted into panicked screams.
But the man ignored the chaos.
He stood motionless, eyes burning with hatred and madness, locked on the scarlet F1 car speeding toward him.
"RAHHHHH!!!"
With a roar, he lashed out a whip at a passing green racecar.
SZZZZT!
A shrill crackle split the air.
The multi-million-dollar car was sliced clean in half like paper!
BOOM!!!
Flames erupted sky-high!
The entire racetrack fell into chaos and terror.
"TONY!!!" Pepper screamed, staring into the inferno in despair.
On the track, Tony's expression hardened as his eyes fixed on the figure bathed in fire.
"There's always some idiot looking to ruin my fun," he muttered.
Instead of slowing down, he slammed the accelerator again!
The red car charged like an enraged bull straight at the whip-wielding man!
At the last second, Tony stomped the brakes!
SCREEEECH!
With a sharp screech, the car drifted into a 180, halting squarely in front of Ivan Vanko.
Then, before everyone's stunned eyes, Tony thrust his left arm out of the cockpit.
In an instant—
A golden-red liquid metal surged from his arm like a living thing!
It flowed upward, covering, reshaping—
In less than a second, a gleaming Iron Man gauntlet appeared before their eyes!
Tony grinned at the dumbstruck Ivan Vanko.
He raised his arm, repulsor charging with light.
BOOM!!!
A blazing energy beam blasted Ivan straight in the chest!
He didn't even have time to react before he was launched like a ragdoll, crashing violently into the barriers at the trackside.
Tony climbed casually out of the cockpit.
He looked at Ivan, struggling on the ground, his whips now powerless with their core destroyed.
Tony smirked.
"You kidding me?" he sneered.
"Some half-wit electrician who can't even wire a circuit properly dares challenge me?"
He didn't even bother summoning the full armor.
After all, he'd injected himself with an upgraded super soldier serum.
Against a disarmed, ordinary man?
Wearing the suit would almost feel like an insult.
***
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