Iron Man
Chapter 38: The Freaks Come Out Tonight
It occured to Pepper Potts-Hogan that she, security consultant Bethany Cabe, and the man between them, were attracting a tremendous amount of attention as they made their way through the corridors of Stark Solutions. Usually, this was because both women were highly attractive redheads--although Pepper's attraction was more of the 'cute and sassy' variety. This was not the case this time. The fact was, the man was attracting all the attention and it wasn't difficult to know why. This man, who could be anywhere from 40 to 80 years old, was unwashed, unkempt, and smelled of body odor and waste. Dirt had taken seemingly permanent residence in the lines of the man's face, and his tattered mismatched clothing hadn't seen a laundry in years.
And yet, Pepper Potts-Hogan was convinced that the homeless man she and Bethany were escorting to see Tony was her ex-husband, Happy Hogan.
Which, in turn, beggared the question...who was dwelling inside the physical shell of Happy Hogan?
The commotion caused by two senior members of Stark Solutions leading a very ripe, ragged homeless man was bringing people out of their offices. Suzanne Tsuyama, the press agent charged with rehabilitating Tony Stark's, and Iron Man's, image, opened her door, her nose crinkling. "Buddha wept, I'm all for amping up the community service, but--"
"You knew things were gonna get weird when you took the job, didn't you, Tsuyama?" Bethany Cabe asked. She took the too tall, rail-thin woman by the elbow.
"Well, uh, yeah," Suzanne replied, trying to act as nonplussed as possible even though she sturggled to keep up with Bethany's stride.
"He told you you might have to do some strange things?" Bethany asked. Off to one side, contractors working to shore up a supporting wall snickered at the sight of three fashionable women walking with a smelly bum.
"Yeah."
"Well, here's the weird part," Pepper said, matching Bethany's determination with a degree of her own. "The mind of Happy Hogan, my ex-husband, is trapped inside this man's body."
"But then who's been hanging around claiming to be Hogan?" Suzannr asked.
"He called himself Strange," the homeless man said in a cracked, rubbed-raw voice.
"I'm going to find Tony," Pepper said.
Bethany stopped. "Good. I'll find Donnie and Clay. Happy, go with Pep. And Ms. Tsuyana, I want you to locate our erstwhile Happy Hogan and keep him contained. Who knows what he's up to in that body. Don't let on that we know, okay?"
Suzanne glanced about the area before nodding her head.
Pepper returned the nod. "Hap...come with me."
The homeless man looked at Pep with rheumy, bloodshot eyes. "How will you convince him?" he asked with a voice that sounded rubbed raw with steel wool.
"He'll know," Pepper replied as she resumed stalking down the corridor. "He just will."
Strange looked at the fallen security guard, tilting his head from side to side. The man was overweight, balding, and favored his right leg in a way that Strange had assumed was the onset of arthritis. And yet the man tried to bar his way--while he was housed in the body of a man who kept in top physical shape. Strange couldn't decide if this was due to extreme loyalty to Tony Stark or an extremely stupid overestimation of the man's skills.
Strange shrugged. There was no time for such speculation. His revenge was at hand.
Above him, was the office building that presently housed Stark Solutions--the latest iteration of Stark's business. It did occur to Strange that there were other businesses in this building, businesses that didn't deserve to have the fury of his revenge visited upon it.
But thinking of what Iron Man had done--of the empire the man had stolen from him in the name of Tony Stark--made any thought of mercy disappear. He had become the lowest of the low, a creature who crawled along in alleyways and scrounged for garbage scraps thanks to this man. If other people got hurt because they stood between Strange and his revenge, so be it; the way the political clime was going, Stark would be blamed.
Behind him, in the special van Strange had requisitioned from another Stark Solutions outpost, the sound of fists beating against specially reinforced walls could be heard. Strange turned, the malevolent power of his electric brain reaching out to seize his army's thoughts. As one, the beating stopped.
He took a moment to savor the calm before the storm, the last quiet minute of Tony Stark's misbegotten life...
and opened the doors.
"I'm telling ye, Wilson...the lad isn't here,"
Brendan O'Doyle, who had been the mercenary Mauler in a previous life and now served as one of two Iron Men in the employ of Stark Solutions, pulled up from the surface of Puget Sound. The sparkling blue waters glinted off his armor, the waves disrupted by the raindrops. The rumble of thunder made Brendan think that Seattle was in for another long stretch of being doused by nature.
"This is where he reported from last," Clay Wilson told him over his comm-unit. He could imagine the man sitting in that strange egg-shaped room called The Docket. "If he went under, he would be here."
"I'm tellin' ye, Gill t'isn't here. There's no sign of him at all. No heartbeat, no heat signature, nothing--and ye know that th' ordnance would preserve his body even if--"
"I know, I know." Brendan flew higher. Thoughts of returning to Los Angelos and the relative comfort of the West Coast Avengers compound--not to mention the comliness of his female co-workers--filled his head.
"Look," Clay said with a sigh. "Return to base. I'll ask Tony to requisition the Sea Armor, and you can dredge the floor. There could be a chance that the currents pushed Donnie out to sea."
"Oh, Jaysis wept, Wilson," Brendan shot back. "Ye know as much as I do that the armor th' lad is using is a mite heavy."
"It's a small chance, but it's a chance. We're up near the Arctic, and if there's some polar melt...just come on back."
Tony Stark kicked the teleconference module and cried out. He stumbled backwards, a throbbing pain now shooting up his leg. The venting of his fury was going to result in his toes bruised at the very least, which was something he definitely didn't want in addition to his already fragile constitution.
Hank Pym had just informed him that for the Avengers West Coast to continue, Iron Man had to be excluded from the new line-up. Now that he had severed the connection, Tony thought he maybe shouldn't have been so harsh in reacting to the news--but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. He and Hank were part of the original group that founded the Avengers, and he was responsible for the team never having to want, providing funding and equipment without question. But Tony had always thought that he would be welcome in their circle...
He gently squeezed the vial he clutched in his right hand. Tony looked down and wondered why he hadn't taken it yet...
The knock at the door interrupted his reverie. "Come in."
The smell proceeded them. It was one that was unfortunately far too familiar with Tony, and what prompted him to pump so much money into homeless shelters and soup kitchens throughout the Puget Sound area. It was the scent of unwashed, alcohol-soaked humanity, the smell of neglect and despair. It was the smell he had draped over his person during the time he had lost to his addiction years back. Tony found himself breathing through his mouth to minimize the heaviness of the mix of disease, waste and dirt.
Pepper Pott walked in with a jittery determinism, followed by what Tony had to assume was the source of the smell. It took a moment for Tony to see Pepper's companion through all the grime, but he appeared to be an older man. The way the dirt and soot caked in his wrinkles
made him look even older, bordering on anceint. His back was bent and he shuffled in a way that favored his left leg.
"Pep, I encourage being active in the community but--"
"It's Happy," she blurted out.
Tony's eyes went from Pepper to the man and back again. "I think I knew what Happy looks like, and--"
"It's me, Tony."
Tony stopped in mid sentence, his mouth hanging open stupidly like he endeavoring to catch flies. The voice that issued out of the man's mouth was cracked by age and seemed rubbed raw with alcohol abuse--but it spoke with the vocal inflections and tics of one of his oldest friend. He came out from behind his desk and studied the man. In the back of his head, Tony considered the possibility that this man was just a clever mimic--but all he had to do was remember all the things he had seen in his life to quiet that thouight. "Happy? What happened to you?"
"One of my clients at the soup kitchen was a meta...he somehow switched minds with me."
Tony leaned on his cane. "So the Happy who came back--"
"Is this...Strange character. I caught him pouring over some of the projects you had in the pipeline, highly advanced stuff that Happy couldn't grasp, nor wanted to--no offense, Hap."
The homeless stranger gave the girl a gap-laden smile. "None taken."
Tony paused. He seemed to tighten his grip on the vial; to the best of his knowledge, neither person knew what he had in his hand. "Wait one moment...this man who switched minds with you...is called Strange?"
"Yeah," the homeless man said before coughing. "That's the only name I knew what to call him."
"I once had a run-in, early in my career as Iron Man, with a lunatic named Strange. Madman who boasted of having an 'evil electric brain.'"
"Wait...that goofball? The guy you defeated because his daughter lent you some batteries out of her Walkman or something?" the man who claimed to be Happy asked.
"Yes!" Tony's lips curled into a strange, cold smile. "When I fought him back then, he seemed to just be very intellectually gifted. What if that electric brain of his continued to mutate, giving him some form of mental powers?"
"And considering the state you found him in, Happy--"
"He must have fallen pretty far...and come to resent you," The man who was Happy offered.
"Right." Tony moved toward the door. "I need to talk to someone. You need to get ahold of Donnie--"
"Beth's already on it. And Suzanne is looking for our false Happy."
"Good. Maybe we should call an administrative holday while we're at it--get what few employees we have left out and Strange in."
Suzanne Tsuyama once more questioned why she had taken on the position of Stark Solutions head of public relations.
Granted, the recommendation from Ling MacPherson and the fact that Ling's partner Bethany Cabe was part of the company played into it. And the challenge to take what on the surface was a true disaster--namely, a company and a figurehead that was now connected at the hip with a global war--and making it attractive again was attractive.
But the risks (and she knew there were risks) were beginning to creep her out. Ever since she had been admitted into the Stark Inner Circle and was told that part of her job would be rehabilitating and maintaining the new image of Iron Man, Suzanne had become increasingly aware of the bizarreness that happened around here on a regular basis. And the strange thing was that accepting that Pepper Potts-Hogan's ex-husband had had his brain exchange with a bum was one of the more normal things to happen to her.
She was making her way through the bottom of the four floors Stark had rented until the papers were finalized and the whole operation was moved to Long Island. The whole floor had been devoted to tempory archiving, which meant that the rooms had been emptied of furniture in favor of stacks upon stacks of banker's boxes filled with legal filings, plans, proposals and other ephemera--Bethany Cabe had once told her that there were three boxes filled with Stark's doodles going back to his childhood. The silence was oppresive save for the quiet murmuring of the skeleton crew of employees from both the floor above and the law firm below..
As she turned the northeast corner, Suzanne heard the chime of the elevator. She quick walked toward the bank in the central section just in time to see the double doors slowly begin to pull aside.
"Who's there?" she asked.
"Suzie?"
She reminded herself that even though the voice was familiar to her, the mind could not be. As Happy Hogan stepped onto the floor, she caught sight of weird shadows shifting in the soft elevator light. A low growling emenated from the cab. "Mr. Hogan...what are you doing here?"
Happy Hogan smiled lazily. "I could ask you the same thing, Suzie."
"I...," Suzanne shifted from one leg to the other, absently pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose. "Pepper and Tony are looking for you. They...they need to see you, like, now."
The elevator doors began to close. Happy slid his left foot so that it stopped the two sides from closing. "You didn't answer the question, Suzie."
"You better go. Tony...he really needs you." Suzanne was aware of how the way Happy said her voice changed...as if he was contempuous of her.
"I'll see him in a minute. After we take care of this." He snapped his fingers. Suzanne felt her heart beat quicker.
Suddenly, a hand the size of a basketball with grey, wrinkled skin grabbed hold of one of the door. Metal shrieked as the metal bent, the door tearing from its track and buckling. Suzanne stepped back as a pair of monstrous things squeezed out onto the floor, stray wisps of hair dotting thrie massive skull-like faces, their bettle-browed countenance revealing two deep-set eyes that glowed a dull orangish red. One let forth with a grunting shout, revealing a mouthful of needle-like teeth.
"Jesus!"
"Not Jesus...not Stark," Happy corrected her. "Strange did this. It's important that I destroy his ideas as well as his body...and these two Freaks shall leave nothing behind. Sorry you have to be part of that nothing."
Suzanne kicked off her shoes. She took off, running as hard as she could.
Clay monitored Brendan O'Doyle's vital signs as he headed back from trolling the Puget for signs of Donnie. He was surprised at how agitated Brendan had become after their last conversation. Ever since Tony had hired him back as the support man for the new Iron Men, Clay had assumed that Brendan was in it for purely mercenary means...but it seemed like a bond had formed between the older man and the ex-con. If he didn't know any better, it would seem downright familial.
Clay was checking the air lanes to make sure that Brendan could return home unimpeded when the cell went off. Clay triggered the speaker and was met with sounds that sounded like Hell had opened up.
"What the?"
"Clay!" he heard the publicist--Suzanne?--scream over the distant footfalls that sounded like a stampede. "I need Donnie NOW!"
"Donnie's...unavailable--what the Hell is going on?"
"Happy's got--"
There was a terrible crashing sound, a sound acompanied by the clatter of something falling, being overturned. The roar that followed prompted Clay to hail Brendan.
"Get over here," he called out before Brendan greeted him. "Something's going down bad."
Bambi Arborgast was away from her desk, briefing one of the temporary workers in preparing recent billing records. If she had been there at her post instead of a file clerk named Tiffany, she might have found a way to avoid injury and alert her boss, maybe even find a way to delay the charge of Strange's Freaks.
Tiffany was named after the pop queen of the 80's, and showed an uncommin interest in the latest crop of female bubble-gum pop singers. She had the radio on Ms. Arborgast's desk turned to the local Top 40 station and was singing along to Christina Aguilera's latest under her breath. She was thinking about the party she was going to go to that weekend, and hoped to run into Gil Rhysler and hook up there. The taste of the strawberry mint she had sucked on was still heavy on her tongue.
And when the Freaks punched through the elevator door and charged her, none of that mattered.
Save for her scream.
Suzanne fast crawled, her pace only exceeded by the rapid beating of her heart. She had tipped over one of the shelving units filled to bursting with file boxes (Thank God for cardio boxing, she thought) and headed to the ground, hoping that the obstacle would both slow these...things down slightly and maybe even inadvertantly prompt them to knock more stuff down in their haste to get to her. She could hear the two beasts roaring and stomping closer, and knew it was a matter of seconds until they got to the mess she made.
Surreally, she remembered a conversation she had with Ling MacPherson at one of those Asian-American Networking Parties the local PIRG threw to encourage community support--a conversation where both mocked the assumption that Asian women instinctively knew martial arts regardless of their background. The assumption was patently ridiculous, but Suzanne would have given anything for that assumption to be reality now...
There was a sound of crashing and tearing; the two creatures had hit the overturned shelving. She got to her feet and ran, taking a moment to kick over a trash can and push a copying machine into the alleyway proper. Anything to slow them down.
Just two more corners, she told herself, and then you'll be back at the elevators...and you can get the Hell out of here.
She looked over her shoulder. They were on their way, skin mottled and grey, club-like arms flailing about and leaving dents in the walls. Suzanne turned the corner, overturning a file cabinet once she was sure she was temporarily out of the creature's field of view.
To her left was a fire alarm. Suzanne grabbed hold of the red handle and yanked. The claxons called out shrilly just as the shadows of the things moved toward the sharp angle of the corner. Looking around quickly, she caught sight of a number of five-gallon bottled water drums stacked up against one wall.
It was true that Suzanne Tsuyama was not a fighter by trade. But she was far from stupid. With a grunt of effoty, she pulled another cabinet down as the first of the creatures started pulling apart the last one she threw in its way.
A quick scan of the surroundings revealed a construction lamp still hanging from a hook. Since this floor was only supposed to be for storage, Suzanne recalled that the decision was made not to fully wire the floor. Keeping one eye on the creatures as they pulverized the first cabinet out of frustration, she tore off the plastic seal on one drum, then another, then another until water flowed onto the floor in an ever-expanding puddle.
The creatures had finished destroying the first cabinet and started toward her. Suzanne backwards ran until the extension cord that powered the lamp was almost taunt. She waited, tamping down the fear as the monster approached.
Once they were at the edge of the expanding puddle, she smashed the light against the wall as hard as she could. Glass shards bit into her chest, but she ignored their stinging pain.
And then she threw the wreck, still connected to the wall outlet, into the water.
She didn't stay around for the light show as electrical current coursed through the creatures. By the time they were fully recovered--which admittedly was only a handful of seconds--she was at the elevator and mashed all the buttons. She wondered in her little truck had bought her enough time to escape, or if all it did was waste what was left of her life.
Luckily for her, Iron Man arrived.
James Rhodes came out of his office to see chaos riegning.
Something...somethings had invaded the Stark Solutions office. Already, the bloodied and battered bodies of workers littered the cubicles. And coming toward him were a number of grey-skinned, bald, barely human monstrosities. The coppery smell of their bodily fluids staining the walls and floors.
"What in God's name?" he asked, instinctively pulling a gun. With the skill of a top-notch military man and former mercenary, he snapped off a shot that dropped the creature to its knees, massive fingers scrabbling at its damaged right eye. To his horror, the two things immediately behind it trampled right over their injured compatriot. A sickening crunch rent the air as part of its skull gave in.
Out of the corner of his eyes before he rolled for the cover of the nearest cubicle, James caught sight of a human figure lost amidst the small cluster of creatures...someone unafraid to march amongst the things. Someone who looked like Happy Hogan.
James stood up quickly and fired off another two shots. These bullets glanced off the hide of the creatures. However, the attack did not go unnoticed; with a roar, one of the beasts threw the body it was carrying like a broken doll in James direction. It tumbled over the cubicle wall behind him, its limbs flopping at unnatural angles.
He was assessing what he could do before twin repulsor beams knocked the lead creature back and into one of its comaptriots. James looked over his shoulder to see what Tony had been referring to as The Evader Iron Man armor, slick and sleek and with a minimum of ornamentation.
"Are you alright?" This Iron Man asked as he stepped forward, firing again.
"Aim for its eyes," James advised the armored avenger. "They're vulnerable."
The man who could or could not be Happy Hogan laughed. "Iron Man...I was hoping you'd show up."
It was easy to determine which Iron Man came to her rescue--the bulky sihlouette that burst through the window to slam into one of the monsters marked this one as Brendan O'Doyle. Even though Suzanne perferred the more classic version represented by Donnie Gill (Hell, she preferred Donnie, period), she was secretly glad the wearer of the heavier armor was here to save her.
O'Doyle angled his flight, driving portions of the creature into the wall opposite the elevator banks. The second the creature's head of limb buckled the wall, O'doyle changed angle and smacked the creature into the opposite wall. The thing seemed dazed, each impact so hard dust and silt fell from the ceiling. By the time both Iron Man and the monster were near the end of the corridor, O'Doyle fired his pulsar bolt to send the creature through the opposite window, and a many story fall.
The Golden Avenger turned. He fired his repulsor rays at the approaching second creature, sending it skidding toward the broken window at the other side. It grunted in surprise as it found itself launched into the Seattle air. Along the floor, the various files and papers moved about, twirling and twisting randomly.
Over the wind whipping now whipping into the corridor, Brendan asked, "What's the sytch, gel?"
"It's Happy," she called back. "He's got more of these things."
"Right. Stay here.'
Suddenly, O'Doyle smashed through the ceiling.
Iron Man continued to fire, an action that seemed to have less and less impact on the advancing monsters. James tried to lay down suppressing fire and asked, "What's wrong?"
"It's light on armaments," The Iron Man answered. "And I'm running out of juice. O'Doyle's on his way."
As if on cue, one of the monsters found itself being driven into the ceiling by the arrival of a second Iron Man. Grasping the creature by its stomach, Brendan tossed him down into the copy machine below. "Where's Hogan?"
Three creatures remained. One grabbed hold of Brendan's ankle and swung the hero around, smacking him into a succession of office furniture. The other Iron Man flew low at the grey-skinned behemoth and cut its legs out from under it. It fell awkwardly and with such force it cratered the floor.
Brendan O'Doyle's gauntlet's crackled with electromagnetic energy. "Wilson, I gather?"
The lighter Iron Man swung his right arm around and let fire with a repulsor ray into another creature's eyes. "You gather right."
"Two Iron Men?" the man who wore Happy Hogan's face asked, confusion evident on his face. Brendan punched the creature which had a hold of him in the face, the magnetic intensifiers increasing the power of his punch threefold. The creature roared in pain, blackish ooze flowing from its smashed nose and threw its enemy aside.
Clay Wilson grabbed hold of the nearest cubicle wall and brought in down hard on his opponent's head. It did not seem to do much to slow the monster down--but it did delay him enough for Clay to fall onto his back and fire both boot jets right into its eyes. Brendan drifted backwards, the cuffs of his gauntlets spinning into position for the rail gun. As the creature started advancing, the tell-tale pokpokpok of the gun launched dense shot right through its eye.
"You don't have to kill them," Clay shot out.
"They don't feel the same way!" James Rhodes added as he tumbled into the hallway and fired at the remaining creature's kneecap. It howled in pain.
The man in Hogan's body smiled beatifically. "Even if you take down my freaks, I can make more. And I will not stop until everything that is Tony Stark is ruined."
"What happened t'ye, Hogan?" Brendan asked as he hoisted a desk over his head and brought it down on the remaining monster's back. "I thought ye was Stark' true friend."
"It ain't me," came an aged, cracked voice as a ragged homeless man barrelled into the man with hogan's face, taking him down in a full-contact tackle. As his opponent hit the ground, the homeless man rained blows on his face, neck and chest with skill born out of years in the ring.
"Okay," Clay said confusedly after smacking the remaining creature in the jaw. "Who's this?"
Rhodey moved closer to the two men fighting. Slowly, he reholstered his weapon. "I recognize that style...Happy?"
"Give me back my body, Strange!" the homeless man cried out. Behind them, the remaining beast lifted Clay up by the neck like a recalcitrant puppy. blood flowed freely from its smashed face, and it wove from side to side unsteadily.
Brendan landed before the beast and raised his arms. "I've lost one friend today, git. Release the other, or ye'll be dead."
If the creature could understand, it made no indication. It snarled and lifted him up higher--
And Brendan O'Doyle fired another shot through the creature's eye at close range. He quickly stepped aside to allow the carcass to land.
Meanwhile, the man with Hogan's face was bleeding from the mouth. Rhodey pulled the homeless man from off him. "Give it back, Strange!"
Rhodey's mouth grew into a thin, grim line. He unsnapped his holster and put his hand on the armgrip. "I concur."
"And I as well," came a third, feminine voice. All eyes turned as Tony Stark led an attractive woman of indeterminate middle age, her sandy blonde hair still cut in a style that was fashionable in the 60's. "Give it back, father."
"C-carla?" the man with Hogan's face asked unsteadily.
"She's been working for me all these years, Strange, in my accounting department," Stark said dryly. He leaned heavily on his cane. "You could have killed her with this stunt."
"She would deserve it...for abandoning me."
The woman knelt down besides the man with Hogan's face. "I never abandoned you, father...but you needed to be stopped. I had hoped you'd come back after prison--Mr. Stark would have been willing to give you a job...but you disappeared...you have to return to your original body, face what you've done here."
"But...but...," the man turned his face away. "That body is dying..."
"And I deserve to die?" the homeless man shouted. "After all the help I gave you?"
Rhodey's gun came out again. He placed it against the man with Hogan's face's head. "You give it back and die later...or you stay and die now."
"Please, father...don't make it worse."
The man was silent for a long time. Then, he slowly swiveled his head, his eyes glowing. The glow increased in intensity until it died out. The homeless man stumbled backwards and reached out a hand for support. Carla went to him and placed herself under his arm, giving him her strength.
And the man with Hogan's face felt his jaw and mumbled, "Never knew I could hit that hard." He looked at Rhodey and snapped, "Point that elsewhere, can't you?"
Brendan stared at the homeless man. the man looked broken in spirit and not just in body...and he was oblivoous to the obvious love in the woman's face. "The police are coming for you, old man."
"Take him out of here, Carla," Tony said and turned away."
"What the--ye are lettin' him go?" Brendan said.
"You can't do that...look at what he did!" Clay added.
"He's dying," Happy countered as Rhodey helped him to his feet. "I could sense it when I was in there. He's only got a few days, maybe some weeks left the way he wrecked his body. He'll suffer enough."
"Ye cannae be serious!" Brendan called to Stark. He followed his boss.
"If you can see this as a joke," Stark replied. "You're more creative that I thought, O'Doyle."
"Maybe the lad was right about ye, Stark," Brendan O'Doyle called after his boss. "This is not over, not by a yard it isn't!"
"You sure you want to go on this mission, Wilkins? I would think with your history with the target..."
The grey-haired man shrugged as they waited for the two technicians to unlock the chamber. "I volunteered precisely because of that history. Anthony Stark helped me regain my sanity. If I can repay the favor by helping him cooperate with a minimum of mayhem..."
"Fair enough." With a creak of thick metal, the two techs pulled back the door. A blast on chilled air hit the two men, cold enough to mist their breaths.
"How is he doing?" the other man asked. He was balding, the bags under his eyes pronounced.
The lead teach, a slim Indian man with a smiple silver earring in his left ear, looked back at the chamber, then at the two men. "He's been responding to the hypno-learning fairly well, but his engrams still show unrest...I've already prescribed a drug cocktail to lower his aggressive tendencies in the field--"
"That won't be neccessary."
"But Director Thomas--"
"I have to concur," Wilkins added. "Stark is a good man at heart. I don't think forcing B-1 to go into the field without any regulation is unwise."
Director Thomas coughed discreetly. He reached out and wiped condensation from the thick glass of the chamber. "MI-5 is rather keen on sending a message. They want to finally put an
end to the Si-Fan, and they want to make sure anyone who can help us knows we won't be polite in asking. Which is why he specifically wants Britannic, and he wants him brassed off."
Wilkins and the Director stared at the body that floated in the chamber, tubes providing respiration and nutrition. He was an uncommonly handsome man, with piercing blue eyes and wavy blonde hair. A faint, predatory smile seemed to flicker across the man's face.
"God help us," Wilkins said to himself.
"Those things that your bodyguard tossed out onto the street...they ran rampant through Pioneer Square. It took a hundred plus bullets to bring them down. The death tolls, the injured--"
Tony Stark put down the report. "I take full responsibility for this, Mr. Mayor. Stark Solutions promises--"
"Stark Solutions made a lot of promises when you came here, Mr. Stark," Mayor Greg Nickels said. The man's slightly pudgy face, usually tailor made for the jovial smile he frequently sported, was stern. "And what you brought us was property damage, death, and law suits. You made us Ground Zero for the worst war this planet has ever seen. The cost of having you here has far exceeded the benefits."
"But I have provided--"
"How many of these employees are now dead, Mr. Stark?"
Stark went silent.
The Mayor put his hand on Tony's shoulder. "I appreciate that you had the best intentions in coming here. I like to think I game you the best chance possible. But now, after this last outburst, I have no choice.
"As of today, you are no longer welcome in Seattle."