Midnight draped itself over the industrial district of Stark Industries.
At Sector 16, a S.H.I.E.L.D. tactical team led by Level 7 agent Phil Coulson stormed into Obadiah Stane's hidden R&D facility. Their mission: locate and secure the stolen Iron Man tech.
But before they could even spread out, two blinding white lights cut through the dark—
and a thunderous hiss of hydraulics echoed through the hangar.
A metallic titan—three meters tall, plated in heavy steel—emerged from the shadows, its cold body gleaming under the floodlights. The air itself seemed to shrink beneath its oppressive weight.
"Open fire!"
Coulson's command was sharp, immediate. The agents raised their rifles and unleashed a storm of bullets.
The factory exploded into gunfire and sparks, but the hail of lead barely scratched the monster. The bullets pinged harmlessly off its armor, leaving only faint white scuffs that vanished beneath its next step.
"Get out of my way!"
Stane's voice bellowed through the loudspeaker, distorted by metal and rage.
The Iron Monger lunged forward. One of the agents had no time to react—the behemoth's massive frame slammed into him like a freight train, launching him into a wall with a sickening crunch.
Panic rippled through the rest of the team. They ducked behind machinery, firing in vain, but it was useless. The monster wasn't even interested in them.
Stane's goal lay beyond.
The Iron Monger crashed straight through the reinforced wall, concrete shattering as it burst onto the main road outside.
For a moment, traffic froze. Drivers stared in disbelief at the steel giant towering over their cars.
"What the hell—"
Then the creature grabbed a semi-truck over a hundred tons—and flipped it like a toy.
Panic detonated across the street. Screams, horns, and chaos erupted in every direction.
And then—
"STANE!!!"
A roar ripped through the night sky, followed by a golden-red streak descending like a meteor.
BOOM!
The Iron Monger staggered as Iron Man slammed into it head-on, the impact rattling windows blocks away. Both suits tumbled across the asphalt, sparks and flame trailing behind them.
When the dust settled, the Iron Monger rose first.
Its crimson optics flared, locking onto the red-and-gold armor across the street. Inside the cockpit, Stane grinned.
"Tony," his voice grated through the speakers, thick with arrogance. "What do you think of my new suit?"
"Shut up, you knockoff bastard!" Tony snapped.
He didn't even need to analyze it—his fury was instant, instinctive.
That suit… was his.
Every curve, every joint, every functional element of the Iron Monger armor screamed Mark I. It was his first design, his crude prototype—only scaled up, bulked out, stolen.
And worst of all—its glowing chest reactor was the one ripped straight from his body.
It wasn't just theft. It was violation.
"Tony," Stane sneered, "you're a genius, but genius means nothing if you can't protect your ideas."
The Iron Monger's right arm lifted, and the rotary barrels of a mounted Gatling gun began to spin.
The night exploded into thunder.
Bullets poured out like a waterfall of fire. Tony was forced back, sparks spraying across his armor as he raised both palms, repulsors charging—
BOOM! BOOM!
Twin blasts burst from his hands, slamming into Stane's chest and forcing the monster a few steps back.
"Sir," Jarvis warned calmly, "power levels at eighteen percent."
"I know!" Tony snapped. His stomach clenched.
The arc reactor in his chest—the old one—wasn't built for sustained combat. Every blast, every repulsor pulse drained it faster. He could feel the power bleeding away.
And Stane's armor wasn't just thick—it was massive, built on brute strength and brute fuel. Tony's sleek design had no advantage against sheer tonnage.
"Dammit!" he hissed.
The Iron Monger roared, pistons firing as it charged.
WHAM!
Tony barely had time to cross his arms before the impact hit him like a charging bull. The world turned upside down—metal screeched, asphalt cracked, and he slammed into the ground hard enough to dent the street.
Before he could rise, Stane's shadow loomed above him.
"You see, Tony?" Stane's voice dripped with triumph. "My armor's better than yours."
Tony gritted his teeth. "Bullshit!"
He might have looked like Iron Man, but right now, he felt like a helpless husband catching his wife in bed with a bald imposter.
Every hit from Stane's lumbering copycat was an insult. Every dent screamed betrayal.
Original work, crushed under its cheap imitation. Was there anything worse?
The Iron Monger pressed its steel foot onto his chest, grinding him into the asphalt, then casually lifted him and hurled him like a rag doll into a nearby bus. The vehicle folded under the impact with a groan of twisted metal.
As Tony tried to move, coughing, Stane's heavy steps approached again.
"This company was mine before you were born," Stane said coldly. "And no spoiled little genius is going to stand in my way."
The shoulder plates of the Iron Monger lifted, revealing the launch tubes of a shoulder-mounted missile system. A red light locked onto Tony.
Tony froze, eyes widening behind the helmet.
That sight—he'd seen it before.
"Ah, hell—"
The missile fired.
Flames spat from the tube, streaking toward him. He barely had a second to react, ready to brace for impact—
CLANG!
A metallic sound cut through the air, followed by an explosion that lit up the entire street.
BOOOOM!
Fire and shockwaves rippled outward, throwing debris across the road.
As the smoke cleared, a familiar figure stood between Tony and the explosion, completely unscathed.
Darren.
Holding a frying pan.
"Opening a boss fight without me?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
Tony could only stare—half-relieved, half-dumbfounded—while Darren spun the dented frying pan in his hand like it was Excalibur.
The street burned around them. The Iron Monger towered ahead, gears grinding, eyes glowing red.
And Darren grinned, stepping forward into the flames.
"Alright, baldy. Let's play."