Exhibition Center — Chaos After the Storm.
The moment had come.
Iron Man and Whiplash finally stood face-to-face.
As the wreckage of Hammer's steel soldiers still smoldered around them, the tension in the air was electric. Just moments ago, Justin Hammer, in a last-ditch effort to save himself, had cried out for Ivan Vanko—Whiplash—to appear.
And against all reason, he had.
Ivan Vanko stood amid the shattered glass of the expo ceiling, clad in a modified exo-suit of his own design. His face, cold and calculating, twisted into a sneer as he saw Hammer groveling nearby.
"This idiot..." Ivan thought with disdain. "He's been nothing but a puppet—used from beginning to end—and now, even after being humiliated, he's calling for me? Has his brain finally short-circuited from stress?"
Even so, Ivan Vanko couldn't care less. His focus was razor-sharp.
There was only one man in his sights.
Tony Stark.
"Tony Stark," Ivan snarled, eyes burning with vengeance, "you're not leaving here alive."
His voice echoed across the devastated hall, filled with murderous intent. "I wanted you to witness the strength of my Iron Soldiers… but your Mutant friends destroyed them. So now, I'll deal with you myself."
He gestured toward the media drones still recording overhead. "And since the live broadcast is still rolling, the entire world will watch as I make you—the great Tony Stark, the shameless thief—bleed."
Tony's face tightened under the helmet. His mind flashed back to Monaco—the racetrack, the chaos, the electric whips. He'd shown mercy back then. He shouldn't have.
Now this man had dared to call him out again, in front of millions.
"I stole your what?!" Tony spat. "Buddy, you're not even in my league."
Without another word, he launched into action.
BOOM!
The repulsors fired, and the upgraded Mark 6 suit surged forward like a crimson comet. The arc reactor in his chest blazed with power far beyond the older models. In a blink, Tony had closed the gap and slammed into Ivan at full speed.
The crowd barely registered what had happened before the two were airborne—a blur of red and silver streaking into the sky.
"Give me three minutes," Tony's voice rang out from the suit's loudspeaker, already a distant echo. "I'll handle him."
On the ground, the spectators stood frozen in silence.
But reality soon returned—with a vengeance.
The young boy's father turned back toward Logan, who still floated in the air, blood dripping steadily onto the pristine marble floor. His skin was pale, breaths shallow—each one sounding more like a gasp than a breath.
"We can't wait for Stark to return—we need to take him to a hospital NOW!"
Just then, a voice cut through the crowd.
"Get him into my car! Hurry!"
A striking woman with cascading red curls stepped out from the gathering. Her fitted black suit hugged her figure, and she carried herself with the presence of someone trained for action. Her identity did not go unnoticed by those paying attention.
"Black Widow…" murmured Joseph, who was watching from the sidelines.
She hadn't been on the official guest list. Joseph had secured all of Tony's VIP invitations in advance, and Pepper Potts hadn't been in attendance either. So her appearance here—now, at this critical juncture—was no accident.
S.H.I.E.L.D. was already moving.
Storm and Cyclops exchanged quick glances. Before they could act, Jean Grey stepped forward. Her eyes glowed faintly as she activated her telekinesis.
Logan's body lifted gently into the air, hovering weightlessly as if carried by an unseen cradle.
"Move!" Jean's voice was steady, composed—but the urgency behind it was clear.
The crowd instinctively parted. Cameras captured every second as Logan's bleeding form floated forward. Blood dripped from his wounds, forming a trail of red that marked the path they took—a tragic, vivid reminder of sacrifice.
The live feed zoomed in.
People watching around the world wept.
"God… bless him…" someone whispered.
The words spread like a prayer.
Elsewhere, at the back of the hall...
Joseph's sharp eyes followed every move.
He wasn't surprised by Black Widow's sudden appearance. Given the gravity of the night's events and the powerful individuals involved, S.H.I.E.L.D. would have been monitoring the situation closely. The X-Men, now thrust into the public spotlight, had suddenly become players in the broader world stage.
"Joseph…" Shadowcat stepped up beside him. "Tony's fighting. Shouldn't we… help?"
He shook his head calmly.
"That's a personal battle. Stark will finish it on his own."
His gaze was still fixed on the stage, where Justin Hammer, shaken and desperate, was quietly attempting to sneak away during the commotion.
Joseph narrowed his eyes.
"The real villain of tonight... is still trying to escape."
He raised his hand slightly. With a whisper of magic, his fingers traced an arcane symbol in the air.
"Confusion Charm—Level Two. Should do the trick."
A flash of faint blue shimmered briefly in the air.
At that very moment, a group of heavily armed NYPD officers entered through the main doors.
"Mr. Hammer," the lead officer said firmly, approaching the disgraced CEO, "you're coming with us. We need a full statement—at headquarters."
Justin Hammer turned, eyes wide with disbelief.
Then, he crumpled to the floor.
He didn't even resist.
On the road—racing against time.
Black Widow floored the gas pedal, weaving expertly through traffic with the kind of precision only a trained operative could manage.
Logan, still unconscious, was laid out across the back seat, his breathing irregular, his body trembling.
Following closely behind in another vehicle were Jean Grey, Storm, and Cyclops, all tense and silent.
In Natasha's earpiece, Nick Fury's voice crackled in.
"Natasha. Take him directly to Base Three. Agent Simmons is standing by. She's the best biologist we've got—if anyone can save a Mutant, it's her."
"Understood," Natasha responded quickly.
Her voice was steady, but her eyes flicked toward the rearview mirror, watching Logan with quiet concern.
Fury continued.
"Even if we can't save him, make contact with the other Mutants. We need intel. This appearance wasn't random—they were prepared. I want to know why."
Natasha's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.
"Yes, Director."
Fury added one final instruction.
"Coulson is on his way with a team. If Logan dies… and you fail to gain their trust... we must at least ensure that we retain the body for study."
That line hit her like a punch to the gut.
She said nothing.
But her grip tightened.
The car sped on.
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