Chapter 54: Twin Dragons Playing with a Pearl

"Twin Dragons Playing with a Pearl!" Toothpick Man thrust his index and middle fingers forward with sudden force.

With a soft pop, the burly bodyguard's eyeballs burst.

"Don't get cocky, kid. It's meaningless," Toothpick Man muttered as he let go of the man. The guard collapsed to the floor, clutching his face in agony.

Their screams rang through the room. Annoyed by the noise, Toothpick Man grabbed a chair and smashed it down on each of their heads. The room went silent.

He grabbed a plastic cord, looped it around both their necks, and yanked it with brutal strength.

Crack!

The bones in their throats snapped. The two men twitched a few times before going limp, their bodies dangling like sausages drying in the wind.

Toothpick Man spat out his toothpick, picked up a chunky cellphone, and dialed Tony's number.

"Hey, Tony. Guess who?"

"Perfect timing! Old Wolf's treating us to chicken. So what if you're calling and I didn't pick up? Beating me won't change a thing"

Tony, drenched in sweat, lay sprawled on the bed. Meanwhile, Betty Ross had stepped into the fully transparent shower to wash off.

Still catching his breath, Tony glanced at the unfamiliar number on his phone.

"Who's calling at this hour? That blonde receptionist from work who's been eyeing me? Or maybe that leggy Harvard finance grad from accounting? Or" He picked up anyway.

An old man's voice came through. In Russian.

Completely confused, Tony barked, "Paul, translate that!"

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Haha, what? Forgotten my voice already? Forgot how you and your little girlfriend were running around like rabbits when I whipped you that night?"

Tony bolted upright.

It was him, Master Ivan of the Five Consecutive Lightning Whips.

"You heroes really do have short memories," came Ivan's sinister drawl.

"Cut the crap or hang up. I don't have time for your theatrics," Tony snapped. He had once felt pity for this old man while watching the movie—but real life told a different story. Ivan had no qualms about harming innocent civilians, even whipping a few Americans to death.

Pity often hides poison.

"Well, well, well…" Ivan crooned, swinging his hairy legs off the bed.

"I'm here to tell you—your good days are numbered. You'll pay for what you've done!"

"Paul, trace the call!"

A holographic blue screen flashed onto the steamed glass of the bathroom.

Ivan's voice pressed on:

"I'm reclaiming what's rightfully my father's. The Stark family's legacy ends today. What your father did to mine forty years ago, I'll do to you in forty minutes!"

"Paul, where is he?"

"He's on the Oracle network. Tracking… U.S. East Coast. Tri-state area—Manhattan and nearby districts!"

Tony stalled for time.

"Ah, very eloquent. My deepest apologies."

"Now wash your ass and wait for me to wreck you!" beep-beep-beep—

Ivan hung up.

"Trace failed!"

Tony slammed his fist into the wall. A visible crack snaked across the surface.

"Damn it!"

A dark sense of dread crept into his chest. Pepper and Natasha were attending Hans Industries' new product launch tonight…

"Paul, prep my Iron Hellfire Armor!"

Whoosh! A burst of flame rocketed into the night sky.

Pepper and Natasha climbed the steps in sleek, form-fitting black dresses. Their curves were perfectly accentuated by the snug fabric, and every step exuded elegance.

Their long, slender legs and graceful movements caught every man's eye. One bald tycoon nearly stumbled forward, hypnotized by their swaying hips.

"Wow…"

As soon as they took their seats, a massive screen bearing the Hans Industries logo lit up. Thunderous applause erupted—the product launch had officially begun.

Blues music blared as Hans made his grand entrance, clad in a crisp suit, tapping his feet to a choreographed rhythm.

Pepper and Natasha exchanged glances, bewildered by whatever act Hans thought he was pulling.

"Thanks for coming!" Hans spun dramatically, threw in an Elvis-style shuffle, and ended with a classic Michael Jackson finger-gun pose.

"Are you ok?!"

Hans shouted to the audience.

Silence.

It was the kind of silence that falls when leaves scatter on an empty street.

But Hans didn't flinch. As long as he wasn't embarrassed, no one could make him feel it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, for decades, our nation's soldiers have put their lives on the line. Then Iron Man arrived, and we believed the era of casualties was over. But he chose not to share his tech. That's unfair—not just morally, but logically too."

"Idiot," Pepper muttered under her breath. "Then why don't you share your stock portfolio? America's poor could use some handouts too."

"Oh no! What a tragedy! Still, what an invention! It made headlines worldwide. But today, those same headlines aren't enough. They'll need gold leaf to print tomorrow's story!"

"Friends! I now unveil the future of American warfare—Hans' Iron Soldiers!" he roared, as patriotic marching music thundered through the auditorium.

Hundreds of Iron Soldiers began to rise from the stage.

Dun-dun-dun-dun…

"Behold the Army Iron Soldiers! Look at that energy! Dressed head to toe in camo, standing steady like mountains!" Hans was high on the rush, basking in the spotlight.

For a moment, he felt like a god.

"Next, the Navy Iron Soldiers! Dragons from the deep, graceful and fierce!"

"And finally, the Air Force and Marine Iron Soldiers—here to defend the skies and shores!"

"Bravo! Bravo!"

All the applause came from extras hired by Hans Industries—forty bucks and a boxed lunch for the day.

The camera zoomed in on a man in the crowd crying.

Oscar-worthy.

Hans made a mental note to tip him a hundred bucks.

"I'm proud to introduce the fully integrated Threat Response Combat Armor—our latest innovation! With these Iron Soldiers, battles can be won with just a push of a button!"

"Uh… what's that?"

Hans squinted into the distance.

A black silhouette was streaking across the sky, blazing like a meteor.

(End of Chapter)

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