Chapter 50: A Thousand Miles to Deliver the Iron-Headed Man

Justin Hammer wasn’t boasting—at least, he didn’t think he was. Especially when dozens of Iron Soldiers representing the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines rose up from beneath the stage, the spectacle instantly electrified the crowd, who had no idea what was truly going on. Hammer Industries had really done it—Iron Man had been mass-produced. These gigantic figures, which looked like oversized action figures, would utterly change the world.

And when War Machine, fully armed, appeared on stage, the audience reached a fever pitch. If the Iron Soldiers still bore traces of imitation, making people wonder whether they could truly match Iron Man’s power, War Machine erased all doubt. It was obvious at a glance that War Machine was cut from the same cloth as Iron Man—even that iconic, somewhat awkward face was cast from the same mold. But War Machine was further equipped with a host of external weapons, especially that massive cannon mounted on its shoulder.

Perhaps it was because the pilot was a Black man, but the cannon seemed especially enormous—so large it couldn’t be slung at the waist and had to be carried on the shoulder.

“Now, I am the king of the world!” Justin Hammer roared inwardly, preparing to bask in the adulation of the thousands present and the untold millions watching from their televisions.

But just then, a streak of fire descended from the sky without warning.

The mood in the hall soared another dozen notches—because Iron Man had arrived.

Iron Man, here to face his imitators, would surely present the audience with a visual feast the likes of which they’d never seen. Everyone waited in breathless anticipation.

What the audience didn’t know was that Iron Man wasn’t here for an exhibition match. He’d come either seeking trouble or because trouble had found him.

As always, Iron Man would not disappoint. Wherever he went, war followed—on that point, you could always count on Iron Man.

“Where’s Vanko?” Iron Man stepped forward, confronting Justin Hammer directly.

Inside War Machine, James Rhodes was utterly baffled. “Vanko? Ivan Vanko? Isn’t he dead?”

Not long ago, there had been a prison explosion in Monaco; Ivan Vanko had been blown to bits, the news had reported. After all, he was the bold man who’d tried to assassinate Iron Man—the event had caused a sensation.

At the time, it was as sensational as the inexplicable Tesla crash into a divider and power pole.

Though the explosion had seemed suspicious, with the official report confirming his death, no one questioned it—not even military personnel like James Rhodes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—who’s Ivan Vanko?” Justin Hammer feigned ignorance, putting on an indignant act as if to say, “Don’t slander me, or I’ll sue.”

But at that moment, behind Iron Man, every Iron Soldier—including War Machine—suddenly raised their weapons and aimed at him.

Sensing something was wrong, Iron Man turned in confusion—just as James Rhodes shouted from inside War Machine, “Get out! I’m being controlled!”

With Rhodes’ warning, Iron Man reacted instantly, blasting off and trying to escape the expo hall. The space was too confined; he needed to take the fight outside.

Iron Man’s jets trailed fire as he shot upward, and the Iron Soldiers on the ground raised their weapons and opened fire. But as Iron Man was about to break free of the building, a net of electricity appeared before him, blocking his path.

Unable to stop in time, he crashed into the net. With a sizzle of electricity, Iron Man’s suit shut down, the lights dimmed, and he dropped like a heavy chunk of metal from the sky.

The Iron Soldiers and War Machine showed no mercy—seizing their chance, they unleashed a barrage of bullets at the fallen Iron Man.

The staccato of gunfire was deafening. For a moment, Iron Man was caught in a hailstorm of bullets, his body suspended and jerked by the relentless impacts.

The stray shots from the Iron Soldiers tore through the glass ceiling of the exhibition hall, sending thousands of shards raining down on the crowd like hail.

Screams erupted.

“Help!”

“Run!”

In that instant, the well-heeled dignitaries and luminaries in the audience scrambled for the emergency exits in a wild panic. No one stopped to shout, “Let women and children go first.”

In the face of true disaster, civilization’s thin veneer of etiquette vanished completely.

Justin Hammer, meanwhile, had already bolted for safety the moment Iron Man took to the air.

He knew Iron Man couldn’t escape—the electrified net had been designed and installed by him and Ivan Vanko specifically to trap Iron Man if he appeared. The net emitted a special electronic pulse that instantly drained the arc reactor of power. At the same time, the hall’s signal jammers activated, blocking all frequencies except those used to control the Iron Soldiers. Even JARVIS, Iron Man’s AI, was locked out.

Now, Iron Man was a fish in a barrel, a lamb for the slaughter, a fish on a cutting board, a grasshopper after autumn—doomed.

What awaited him was only death.

Justin Hammer was not the bumbling fall guy from the movies, duped by Ivan Vanko. He knew of Vanko’s plan, and even tacitly approved it. Vanko had a vendetta against Tony Stark, and as a partner, Hammer saw it as only fitting to help him take revenge.

His feigned innocence was just an act.

Hammer wasn’t worried about dealing with Iron Man and the Green Goblin—once they were taken down, as the victorious sole military partner, he could pin any crime he wished on them. Guilt and innocence were simply a matter of narrative. As long as the money kept flowing, crooked lawyers and officials would line up from New York to Washington to trump up charges against Tony Stark and Harry Osborn.

Above, Iron Man’s armor was riddled with bullet holes, but the suit’s systems still wouldn’t reboot, and even JARVIS couldn’t connect. Panic crept over Tony Stark. Without JARVIS, with the suit dead, he was nothing but a sitting duck—a stationary target, only waiting to be torn to pieces.

In fact, War Machine and the Iron Soldiers were already opening their missile bays, preparing to give Iron Man a final, explosive send-off and claim Tony Stark’s head for good.