Phil Coulson chose not to kill Robert on the spot.
He had to bring this suspicious intruder back to headquarters and interrogate him. After all, this secret lab was established by Obadiah Stane to research steel armor, and even S.H.I.E.L.D. had only recently learned about it from Tony Stark's assistant. How had this stranger found out about it?
Time was tight. Coulson pulled out a compact device that resembled a USB stick and plugged it into the locked computer terminal. In moments, streams of code scrolled across the screen, and the system was unlocked.
"You figured it out after all," a familiar voice said casually behind him.
Startled, Coulson turned his head—just in time to feel a cold sting in his thigh. He looked down in disbelief to see a tranquilizer dart embedded in his leg.
Struggling to stay upright, he turned to see Robert smirking behind him.
So… he hadn't been knocked out at all?
Coulson's electric shock device had enough voltage to incapacitate an adult instantly. How did this guy resist it?
"You..." Coulson managed weakly.
Robert raised both hands innocently. "Don't blame me. You were the one who zapped me first. I'm just returning the favor."
Coulson wanted to call for backup, but his body refused to respond. His limbs felt like lead, and in seconds, he collapsed to the floor.
Robert stepped over him, muttering, "You could've just waited. But hey, thanks for cracking the password."
He looked at the now-accessible screen. Sure enough, it was packed with technical blueprints and data logs of the steel armor—everything from schematics to materials lists.
Robert let out a low whistle. "S.H.I.E.L.D. really is something else. If Coulson hadn't unlocked this, I'd probably still be stuck trying to guess passwords. That man's truly a public servant."
In a rare moment of gratitude, Robert rearranged Coulson's body and gently propped the unconscious agent's hand across his forehead, shielding the infamous reflective bald spot from the ceiling light.
"That's better. Let's maintain some dignity for the hero."
Then he unplugged Coulson's device and inserted his own. It was a data extractor bought from Weasel—no branding, no tracking, but incredibly effective. As soon as it connected, the files began copying automatically. Everything would be downloaded in a few minutes.
While the data transferred, Robert skimmed through the files. As he expected, this version of the armor—Iron Monger—was an oversized, crude imitation of Tony Stark's Mark I prototype from the Afghanistan cave. The workmanship was messy, but the concept still held value.
More importantly, it gave Peter something concrete to study.
But there was one glaring issue: the power source.
Given the armor's bulk and power requirements, standard fuel wouldn't cut it. It needed something far more compact and energy-dense.
Robert's eyes narrowed as he thought of the iconic glowing core in Iron Man's chest—the miniature arc reactor, capable of outputting 3 billion joules per second.
But that reactor was Stark's exclusive tech. Getting his hands on one would be tricky.
Boom!
Suddenly, the ceiling exploded overhead.
Two steel-clad figures—one massive, the other more streamlined—crashed through and blasted through the outer wall in a trail of sparks and debris.
Robert instinctively ducked, shielding his eyes.
Through the gaping hole, he watched as the two armored titans landed on the nearby highway, causing chaos among the halted traffic.
The bulkier armor was unmistakably the Iron Monger. The sleeker, gold-and-red design? Mark III.
Tony Stark had arrived.
Robert raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his face.
"Well, isn't that convenient?"
…
On the expressway, traffic came to a screeching halt. Drivers stared, slack-jawed, as the two suits of armor squared off in the middle of the road.
Suddenly, the Iron Monger roared and flung aside a civilian car that blocked its path. Screams erupted, and horns blared as people scrambled to escape.
Inside the hulking armor, Obadiah Stane's distorted voice echoed with triumph.
"I love this suit! Tony, look at what you made—shutting down the weapons division only to make a bigger, better weapon in secret. You're just like your old man, a hypocrite!"
Tony's cold, digitized voice shot back, "You don't get to talk about him."
His voice might have been calm, but inside the Mark III suit, Tony was on edge.
The arc reactor in his chest—his original, outdated version—was running low on power. Obadiah had stolen the newer, more efficient unit. Without it, Tony's energy levels were barely enough to keep the Mark III running.
And the Iron Monger was huge. Crude, yes—but thick armor and brute strength more than compensated for the lack of finesse.
Boom!
Iron Monger charged, metal fists crashing toward Tony like freight trains.
Tony raised his arms to block, but the momentum sent him flying backward. He crashed across the asphalt, tumbling like a tin can.
Before he could recover, a weapon system popped out of Iron Monger's shoulder—an anti-tank missile locked onto him.
WHOOSH!
The rocket launched, trailing fire as it slammed into the Mark III with devastating force.
BOOM!
Tony was hurled into the air again before slamming to the pavement, sparks flying from his scorched armor.
Dazed, he struggled to sit up. His thoughts were sharp despite the situation.
The Iron Monger armor was a hack job. Sloppy. Obvious design flaws. The arc reactor was stolen. The suit's movements were clumsy.
But none of that mattered.
His own suit didn't have enough juice left to take advantage of those weaknesses.
For Tony Stark—the genius, the billionaire, the original creator—to be helpless against a thief wearing his copied design… it was maddening.
And now, Obadiah was charging at him again.
The original inventor was about to be beaten down by a second-rate imitation.
Tony gritted his teeth.
There had to be a way out.
---
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