VCM As the days passed, Ethan found himself unusually free.
Though the Alkali Lake Hydropower Station and Stark Industrial Building had been demolished recently, it wasn't his responsibility anyway.
On the White Queen's side, he only provided occasional assistance.
Most of the time, she handled everything on her own, so there was no need for him to check in daily.
That left Ethan with a rare stretch of peace.
The shrill ring of his phone interrupted his moment of quiet.
He glanced at the screen—another unknown number.
Lately, there had been a lot of those.
"Hello, who's this?" Ethan answered, his tone flat.
"I'm Tony Stark. Of course, if you prefer calling me Iron Man, I won't object." Tony's unmistakable voice carried his usual cocky flair.
"Then how about Mr. Big Shot?" Ethan replied dryly.
"Why do I feel like you just insulted me?" Tony chuckled before getting to the point.
"Let's talk business. Your name is Nathan, right? Or something close to that?"
"Ethan," he corrected impatiently.
"Right, right. Look, about last time—there was a little issue. I want to continue that discussion. That red-haired woman who operated on me… she's your mentor, isn't she? So you must have her number."
Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why do you want it?"
"Well, I'm in Monaco right now for the Grand Prix. The race is great, but the parties? Even better. So, I was wondering if the lovely Miss Jean Grey might be interested in joining me…"
"No. Hang up and leave me alone."
"Hey, you can't just—"
"Don't ask again. If you want to live long enough for that second surgery next week, don't push your luck."
"Oh, that reminds me!" Tony said quickly. "I've decided to push back the operation by two months."
Ethan sat up straighter, frowning. "A two-month delay? Are you joking?"
"No joke. I've, uh, weighed all the factors. Thought about it carefully. You know, complicated stuff.
Bottom line: I feel great, I'm a little busy, and I think I can hold out. So about Jean's number—"
Ethan hung up immediately.
As he put his phone down, he wondered whether he should inform Cyclops about this nonsense.
"Didn't expect Tony to call you. Saves me some trouble," came a familiar voice.
Ethan turned to see Nick Fury standing there, smirking.
"So you're here about Stark," Ethan said, eyeing the director.
"What do you think about his situation?" Fury folded his hands, watching him intently.
Ethan's expression flickered. "Our billionaire playboy is probably dying."
Fury raised an eyebrow. "So you figured it out."
"It wasn't hard." Ethan scoffed.
"I remember reading in your files that his Arc Reactor runs on palladium, which is toxic. And last time, when I was tracking Obadiah Stane,
I noticed a pretty intense palladium energy reaction coming from Stark. If that stuff's running wild in his body, of course, he's on borrowed time."
Fury nodded. "Tony's got palladium poisoning."
"Should've seen that coming. A single palladium core could power his body for ten lifetimes, but it's also poisoning him.
Normally, he'd have a long time before it became a problem… but you forgot about the Iron Man suit."
Fury sighed.
"The Arc Reactor battery barely keeps the suit running for fifteen to thirty minutes at full power. During the fight with Stane, the high-energy output drastically worsened his condition. Now, things have reached a breaking point. If he keeps wearing that suit, he won't last two months."
"And if he removes it? He won't last ten seconds." Ethan leaned back, processing the situation.
"Last time Stane ripped the reactor out of Tony's chest, he barely survived ten minutes without it. The shrapnel in his body is still dangerously close to his heart."
"That's why he's postponing the operation, Fury." Ethan muttered.
"He knows he won't make it two more months. His body is already too weak to survive another surgery. And he's not giving up the suit, which means… he's choosing to die as Iron Man."
Fury's expression darkened.
"I had Agent Romanoff infiltrate his inner circle. According to her, he spends his days partying, avoiding responsibilities, and leaving everything at Stark Industries to Pepper. He's given up."
"Sounds about right." Ethan exhaled. "So why are you telling me all this?"
He suddenly had a bad feeling as he looked at Fury's unreadable expression.
"You're not seriously thinking of dragging Magneto into this, are you? Having him forcefully perform surgery with his powers?"
Fury said nothing.
"Are you out of your damn mind?" Ethan shot him an incredulous look. "That's impossible. You know that, right?"
While shutting down the idea, Ethan couldn't help but marvel at how much Fury seemed to care about Stark.
"You've clearly thought of that crazy plan. Have you considered more practical solutions? Something that could slow the poisoning down?" he asked.
"We've tried, but the results have been underwhelming," Fury admitted.
"We even explored more radical approaches—like developing a new element to replace palladium."
Ethan's thoughts went back to the Iron Man 2 movie for a second before scoffing in pretend.
"Developing an entirely new element? That's a stretch."
"Not as much as you think. Tony's father, Howard Stark, was already working on it decades ago. Technology back then wasn't advanced enough, so the project was shelved. Now, with modern advancements, we've resumed the research—but progress is slow."
'Fury must have thought that delivering the finished product itself would make Stark more indebted to them. Well, sucks for him—because there's no one else but Tony Stark.'
Ethan thought for a moment, then smirked. "You need an expert in this field? I can recommend someone."
Fury's eye narrowed. "Who?"
"Tony Stark."
Fury went silene for a few seconds, seemingly contemplating.
"You're suggesting we ask the dying man to solve his own problem?"
"Exactly." Ethan leaned forward.
"Tony is a genius, but right now, he's hopeless. If you throw him a lifeline, even the smallest one, he'll fight for it.
Give him a hint—let him think the answer is within his reach. I guarantee he'll do whatever it takes to survive."
Fury was silent for a moment, then took sigh.
"Howard did say he wanted his son to finish what he started…"
...
Blood toxicity: 53%.
In the opulent bathroom of his penthouse, Tony Stark stared at the small diagnostic device in his hand.
The number on the screen didn't lie. It was getting worse.
But this wasn't the cocky, larger-than-life Tony Stark the world knew.
This was a man slowly crumbling under the weight of his own mortality.
A genius who had defied odds, built miracles, and yet—against this—he felt powerless.
The dark veins creeping up his neck told the story.
The palladium poisoning was spreading, coiling through his bloodstream like venomous snakes, like parasitic centipedes feeding on his life.
He clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the sink.
With a sudden movement, Tony turned on the faucet, cupped cold water in his hands, and splashed his face.
He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus.
His reflection stared back at him—tired eyes, drawn features, the faintest hint of fear buried under layers of arrogance and bravado.
Then, something shifted in his expression.
Desperation gave way to something else.
Not hope.
Not determination.
Madness.
Tony smirked at his own reflection, his voice a hushed murmur,
"Well, if this isn't the craziest thing, then what is? But hey—who cares?"
Three minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom, his usual swagger firmly back in place.
The high collar of his suit concealed the spreading toxin lines.
To anyone watching, it was as if nothing had happened.
"Tony! My man!"
A familiar voice rang out. Tony turned, spotting a figure moving toward him with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Justin Hammer.
The military-backed arms dealer. The corporate parasite nipping at Tony's heels, forever desperate to be seen as his equal.
Trailing behind Hammer was a stunning woman in a sleek blue dress. Christine Everhart, Vanity Fair's editor-in-chief.
The same reporter who once grilled Tony in an interview.
This ought to be good.
Hammer spread his arms as if greeting an old friend.
"Tony, this is Christine. Editor-in-chief, top-tier journalist. But you already know that." He grinned, then turned to her.
"Christine, Tony and I? We go way back. Sure, we had a little... disagreement in that military hearing, but hey, it's all politics. Nothing personal."
Before Tony could say a word, Hammer threw an arm around his shoulder and gestured to Christine to take a picture.
Tony barely suppressed a sigh.
"Oh, really? Didn't know we were so close." He peeled Hammer's arm off him like it was an unfortunate accident.
Hammer, unfazed, grinned wider.
He had two talents—unshakable confidence and a skin thick enough to withstand nuclear blasts.
This was exactly why the military kept him around.
He wasn't a genius, nor a fighter, but he knew how to talk his way through anything.
He handed Tony a glass of champagne and smoothly shifted gears.
"Listen, Tony, I want a booth at your tech expo."
Tony downed the champagne in one go, smacking his lips.
"You don't need my permission. If you actually build something useful, I'll give you a showroom."
With that, he walked away, leaving Hammer standing there, jaw clenched, face twitching.
Tony didn't even consider him a rival.
And that—more than anything—was what stung the most.
"Mr. Hammer?" Christine's voice pulled him back.
Hammer snapped back to his well-rehearsed smile.
"Where were we? Ah yes, Tony. He's a bit of a jokester, but hey, that's just Stark for you."
He launched into his sales pitch, spinning Hammer Industries into the next big thing, hyping himself as a visionary and subtly contrasting his own 'generosity' against Tony's supposed arrogance.
He was in full flow—until Christine's attention wavered.
She turned toward a nearby television screen, eyes narrowing.
On the screen, Tony Stark, clad in a racing suit, stepped onto a racetrack.
Gasps filled the room.
Several women murmured in excitement. Hammer's face darkened.
"Tony and I aren't really competitors, we're more like—"
"Excuse me." Christine didn't even let him finish.
A billionaire genius throwing himself into a dangerous street race?
Now that was a headline.
On the racetrack, Tony slid into the driver's seat, gripping the wheel.
His pulse thrummed, not from fear—but from exhilaration.
"Come on, baby. Make me crazy."
The roar of the engine filled the air as he hit the accelerator, the car shooting forward, weaving effortlessly through the competition.
The speed, the danger—it was a perfect distraction.
Then, in an instant, everything changed.
A man stepped onto the track.
Tall, broad, covered in tattoos.
A toothpick dangled from his lips.
Before the crowd could even process what was happening, two glowing whips unfurled from his sleeves, crackling with raw energy.
With a snap, one of them slashed downward.
Tony's car was ripped apart in a single strike.
The world blurred.
Sparks. Screams. Metal tearing like paper.
Tony barely managed to escape the wreck, but the whips were already lashing out again.
Panic clawed at the edges of his mind.
No suit.
No weapons.
Just him against an opponent wielding stolen Stark technology.
Whiplash.
Blow after blow rained down.
Tony barely dodged, stumbling, heart hammering. He needed his suit, and fast.
As if answering his unspoken plea, Happy Hogan and Pepper Potts screeched onto the track in a car, flinging the briefcase at him.
The Iron Man armor deployed around him in seconds.
Now, it was a fight.
The battle was quick, brutal.
Whiplash was skilled, but Tony, even weakened, was still Iron Man.
With a final calculated strike, he took him down.
Whiplash, battered and coughing blood, just grinned up at him.
"You lose," he rasped, laughter bubbling past bloody lips.
Tony didn't respond.
His gaze locked onto the Ark reactor strapped to Whiplash's chest.
Identical to his own.
His face, hidden beneath the helmet, darkened.
Back in the VIP lounge, Justin Hammer watched the scene unfold on the TV screen.
His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.
It seemed he had just watched something interesting.