200. Masks Fall, Fires Rise. (Patreon)

James Rhodes POV:

Months.

For months, the face of the Mandarin had been burned into every screen, every news ticker, every terrified American household. A symbol of chaos,.of helplessness, of rage against a face with a beard and a voice that promised death like it was a sermon.

And now?

Now the supposed face of global terror was standing in front of me in an ugly robe, hair unkempt, eyes darting like a frightened animal, holding a beer with both hands raised as if it were a holy relic.

He was mewling.

I wasn’t entirely sure what mewling meant, but whatever it was, this guy was doing it and it felt appropriate.

I turned slowly toward Tony.

“This,” I said carefully, gesturing with my gun, “is the Mandarin?”

Tony’s helmet retracted, revealing that familiar, infuriatingly calm face.

“Yup,” he said. “Underwhelming, I know.”

I stared at the man again.

Then I shoved the barrel of my gun right up to his face.

“Please don’t shoot me!!!” he squealed, voice cracking into something unmistakably British and deeply pathetic.

“You killed innocent people!” I shouted, months of anger finally finding a target. “You put fear into millions of families!”

“It was all an act!!!” he shrieked, nearly dropping his beer. “A performance! A role! Thomas Richard and Roxxon they’re partners in this whole endeavor!!!”

He flailed a hand toward the blue-screen setup behind him, suddenly desperate to explain everything.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Oh, good. Corporate synergy. I was worried it was just old-fashioned evil.”

I clenched my jaw. “What does Roxxon get by collaborating with A.I.M.?”

Slattery swallowed hard, then blurted, “Access to a niche new market, innit? And uh possibly a foothold back into the global energy sector? There’ve been reports, see, of Roxxon findin’ somethin’… extraordinary… in the swamps of New Orleans.”

Tony whistled softly. “Let me guess. Glowing. Illegal. Probably wants to eat us.”

“Okay,” I said, forcing myself to stay focused. “Why did you agree to play the Mandarin?”

I turned to Tony, expecting some complicated answer.

“Because,” Tony said, shrugging, “he’s an actor.”

Slattery nodded enthusiastically. “That’s right! Nailed it, Iron Bloke. They gave me money, girls, a mansion, and a fantastic boat. Oh and they helped me with my cocaine addiction.”

I blinked. “They… got you therapy?”

“Oh no,” Slattery said cheerfully. “They just gave me more drugs.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course they did.”

Suddenly, there was a polite knock at the door.

“Mr. Stark,” a voice called, calm and professional, “I have a message for you from my boss.”

Tony straightened, instantly slipping into that infuriatingly casual tone. “Do come in, dear.”

A man in a tailored suit entered slowly, hands raised. In his right hand was a gun, which he carefully placed on the floor before gently reaching into his inner pocket.

He retrieved three small silver spheres and rolled them forward across the floor.

Tony crouched slightly, examining them.

“Hm. Portable holo-projectors,” he mused. “Bit old-school, but hey retro’s in.”

The spheres activated and the room filled with light.

Pepper appeared. Bound, suspended, her skin pulsing with ember-orange light in a slow, terrifying rhythm.

Beside her stood Aldrich Killian, smiling like a man who thought he’d already won.

“Oh look,” Tony said dryly, folding his arms. “It’s the fake entrepreneur of the future. How’s the megalomania treating you?”

Killian laughed. “You know, Tony, when I first took Virginia here...”

Tony’s eyes narrowed in anger.

“I thought it was simply to hurt you,” Killian continued smoothly. “But then I realized she’s perfect and I’m keeping her.”

I felt my stomach drop.

Killian went on, voice smug. “Also, I’m fairly certain my soldiers can dissolve Spartan IV armor.”

Tony tilted his head.

“Wow,” he said lightly. “You used her middle name which she hates by the way and you just referred to her like she’s property.”

His repulsors began to glow.

“I’m definitely killing you.”

He fired, vaporizing the projectors. The hologram vanished.

I exhaled shakily. “You don’t seem worried.”

Tony didn’t even hesitate. “Parker’s got it covered.” And somehow… that worked.

Because somewhere along the way, the name Peter Parker had become synonymous with certainty and inevitability.

Comfort for us. Terror for everyone else.

Peter Parker POV:

The Iron Patriot armor took President Ellis away.

I let it.

Because I needed him alive long enough to be expelled from office for his involvement in the Norco oil leak incident or get him to become a puppet.

Air Force One was already over the sea outside the Florida Keys when I finished evacuating the passengers. I deposited them safely on a random stretch of beach, scared but alive. Vice President Rodriguez of course ignored the warning, that's within my parameters.

The plane continued on with it's slow descent. Unmanned, which made it expendable.

The missiles streaked across the sky moments later, launched from a Parker Industries missile frigate. A test run for the USS Teicheronda, the first of the Century-class frigates, powered by a scaled down cold fusion reactor.

The explosion was beautiful in a cold, clinical way.

Perfect trajectory. Perfect detonation. Perfect data.

The Extremis terrorist onboard was dead.

I watched the fireball fade into the horizon, then opened a comm channel.

“Tony,” I said calmly, “we’re going to finish this.”

There was a pause.

Then his voice came through, buzzing with restrained adrenaline.

“Finally!!! Also, I’m bringing Rhodey.”

I smirked. “Knock yourself out.”

I angled forward, accelerating toward the final battlefield.

Masks were gone.

And now?

Now came the fire.