The repulsor blasts weren't enough to take Ivan down. With a snarl, Vanko's electrified whips coiled around Tony's neck, the current surging through the suit like liquid lightning.
But just like Lucas had done before, Ivan made the same mistake—he was charging Tony's armor.
In seconds, the suit's power levels spiked to two hundred percent. More energy meant more firepower—but it also meant imminent overload. Once the surge burned out, the Mark V would be nothing but scrap metal.
Tony grabbed hold of the whips and began wrapping them around his arms. Against the strength of the Iron Man armor, Ivan's brute force was meaningless. The whips were bolted into his mechanical frame, so as Tony pulled tighter and tighter, the Russian was dragged forward, step by step.
"Come here, big guy," Tony growled.
With a sudden heave, Tony yanked Ivan off balance and smashed his fist straight into the man's jaw.
BOOM!
Ivan crashed to the ground, teeth scattering across the track as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Bzzzt—crackle—pop!
Sparks burst from Tony's armor. Smoke hissed from the seams as systems began to fail.
"Sir," Jarvis's voice crackled through distorted static, "armor damage at ninety-seven percent. Immediate ejection recommended. Continued use will result in severe bodily harm."
"Do it," Tony barked. "Activate emergency disassembly."
The armor burst outward in a controlled explosion of panels, metal fragments scattering across the track before they locked safely into shutdown mode.
The crowd erupted in cheers. Cameras flashed like a thousand tiny suns. To them, this wasn't life or death—it was entertainment. Humanity, as always, chose spectacle over sense.
Since the arrest happened in Morocco, Ivan Vanko needed to be extradited back to the U.S. Among those pushing hardest for it were none other than the Hydra-linked senator and Justin Hammer.
Their motive was clear: they wanted the technology—the arc reactor itself.
So far, no one but Tony Stark had successfully replicated it. The suits were easy enough to copy; the power source was the problem. Hammer Industries had tested every kind of high-density battery imaginable. The best they managed could only keep a suit running for four hours—and that was without flight or weapons. Try to fly, and you'd be out of juice in twenty minutes flat.
The day after Vanko's extradition, Tony visited him in prison.
"Where did you get the arc reactor?" Tony asked, staring at him through the glass. To him, the question was absurd—the reactor was his invention.
"Heh," Ivan laughed darkly. "A thief asking about stolen goods? You and your damn father are the same—both thieves who steal from better men!"
Hatred burned in his eyes, a hatred that seemed to have been festering for decades.
"I don't know what you're babbling about," Tony snapped, losing patience. "Just tell me where it came from."
"You really think only you can build one? You think only the Starks are geniuses?" Ivan spat, his voice rising. "Your father stole that design—from my father! You're both parasites living off another man's mind!"
Tony frowned, unimpressed. Without another word, he turned and walked out.
Days passed—and Tony spiraled. He started showing up at parties in full armor, drinking, dancing, and even urinating in the suit in front of hundreds of people.
Pepper finally had enough. After a screaming match that shook the mansion, she packed up and left.
Now, surrounded by the aftermath of yet another destructive party, Tony sat slumped on the floor, still half-dressed in the armor. His eyes were hollow, the room silent but for the hum of the fading arc reactor in his chest.
"Jarvis," he murmured, "scan the palladium levels."
"Yes, sir," came the soft reply. "Your blood toxicity has reached sixty percent. At eighty percent, fatality becomes inevitable."
Tony's expression went cold. Chlorophyll therapy had stopped working days ago. There was no cure for heavy metal poisoning—not with current medicine. The only way to live was to remove the reactor. But without it, the shrapnel in his chest would pierce his heart.
"Jarvis," he said quietly, "create a new file. Store my will in it."
"Yes, sir. However, I would remind you—there are many forces on this planet beyond our understanding. Perhaps… a cure exists where science has yet to look."
Tony managed a weak smile. "Thanks, Jarvis. You're all I've got left."
"It's my honor, sir," Jarvis replied gently. His tone, for once, carried warmth.
Tony leaned his head back against the couch cushion, lost in thought—until a familiar, annoyingly cheerful voice echoed from the doorway.
"Well, well, if it isn't the great Tony Stark. What's the matter? Party's over already?"
Lucas strolled in with that trademark smirk, plopping down on the couch beside him.
"You heard?" Tony asked dully.
"Of course," Lucas said, crossing his legs. "I've known for a while."
"Then tell me," Tony said, turning toward him with a spark of hope. "Is there a way to fix this?"
Lucas grinned. "If there wasn't, I wouldn't be here, would I? Relax, Tony—you're not dying yet."
"Seriously?" Tony sat up, eyes suddenly alive again. "You actually have a cure?"
"It's simple," Lucas said casually. "Your father already left you the answer. All you have to do is look through his old things."
Tony froze, staring at him. He didn't doubt Lucas—but he couldn't believe the solution had been sitting in his father's possessions all along.
"Do yourself a favor," Lucas added, standing. "Fix your heart first. Pepper's been staying at my place, by the way—she's been yelling your name every day. You'd better show up in person to apologize."
Turns out, after storming out of Tony's mansion, Pepper had rented an apartment in Lucas's building. "Rented" was generous—she'd paid three times the normal rate to convince a tenant to move out. The guy left grinning ear to ear, using the payout to buy a villa in the suburbs.
Tony raised an eyebrow. "She's staying with you? Fine. At least she's safe there. That apartment's yours long-term now. Name your price."
Lucas rubbed his hands together, eyes gleaming. "For you, double the usual rate. And I'll throw in a full security package—100% guaranteed safety, as long as you don't leave the premises. Premium service, Mr. Stark."
Tony rolled his eyes. "You're already a Stark Industries shareholder, and you still nickel-and-dime me?"
"Hey, business is business," Lucas said with a grin.
"Whatever. Go," Tony waved him off. "I've got a few ghosts to dig up."
As Lucas left, Tony turned toward his father's old chest of relics—the legacy of Howard Stark. Somewhere in there lay the key to saving his life.
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