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Racetrack – Spectator Stands
Justin Hammer gazed down at the track, a strange and excited smile curling across his lips. He turned to Christine and said,
"This seat offers the best view. You'll get to enjoy quite the performance in a moment."
"Thank you, Mr. Hammer,"
Christine replied, her eyes flickering with a hint of admiration.
Justin noticed that glimmer in her eyes and felt secretly pleased with himself. Checking the time on his phone, his grin grew even wider.
"I have an urgent matter to attend to—just for a short while. I'll be right back," he said.
Christine nodded. "Alright, I'll wait here for you."
Without a shred of hesitation, Justin turned and left.
Watching his retreating figure, Christine's eyes flashed with suspicion.
Something's off.
Given what she knew about Justin Hammer, a woman practically throwing herself at him should've had him panting like a dog, desperate to take her right there. But now… he didn't seem interested at all?
That wasn't like him.
Her instincts as a journalist flared. Curiosity piqued, she quietly followed.
Something told her a big story was brewing.
She trailed Justin from a distance, all the way to the outer edge of the racetrack. Then she saw him climb into a large cargo truck. Christine's curiosity deepened.
Just then, cheers erupted from inside the stadium.
Have the races started?
She muttered to herself, but didn't budge from her hidden spot.
Whatever Justin Hammer was up to, it was definitely worth sticking around for.
A minute or two passed before the back of the cargo truck opened, and Christine's eyes went wide.
A yellow-and-black Iron Man suit stepped out.
What the hell?!
That… that was Iron Man's armor?
No—wait.
This armor was clearly different.
Tony Stark's Iron Man suit fit him like a second skin—sleek, elegant, and somehow beautiful in its fusion of metal and mechanics.
But this one?
This armor screamed brute force and violence. It was bulkier, rougher, far less refined.
Christine fumbled for her phone, trying to snap a few pictures. But before she could get a shot, the armored figure turned its head—cold, glowing eyes locking directly onto her.
A shiver ran down her spine.
Without hesitation, she bolted for the corner.
But she hadn't run far when another armored figure dropped from the sky, landing directly in her path.
"You just couldn't behave, could you?"
Justin Hammer's voice was tinged with regret. He looked at the terrified woman and said,
"I was actually planning to celebrate with you after today's events. I even booked a hotel."
Christine, panicking, rushed to explain, "Mr. Hammer, don't worry, I won't say anything, I—ugh!"
Her sentence cut off as Justin's steel-plated hand closed around her throat and lifted her off the ground.
"P-please… let me go…"
She struggled to speak, clawing at the iron grip while her legs kicked wildly.
"Sorry."
He shook his head and took off—soaring into the sky with her still in his grasp.
—
Meanwhile, inside the racetrack, the race had officially begun.
Cars tore across the track, their engines roaring like beasts. The wind of their speed howled past, stirring the crowd into a frenzy.
Spectators cheered and screamed themselves hoarse in excitement.
Suddenly, something black streaked down from the sky, trailing fire.
"What is that?"
As the object grew closer, people squinted toward it. Then someone shouted—
"Is that… a flying person?!"
"A suit of metal? Is that Iron Man?!"
"Iron Man?!"
But as soon as they spoke the name, confusion followed.
Wasn't Tony Stark already at the racetrack?
Before anyone could fully process what they were seeing, the iron figure crashed down onto the track with a thunderous boom. It raised one massive leg and kicked an approaching racecar, sending it flying. Then, with a burst of machine gun fire from its arms, it shredded another car into metallic scraps.
BOOM! BOOM!
Explosions rocked the air.
And then came the enraged voice from inside the armored suit—
"TONY STARK!"
The crowd erupted into screams of panic, scattering in all directions.
Tony, watching the metal giant approach, didn't slow down—instead, he accelerated toward it.
At the same time, he shouted into his comms,
"Happy! Bring the suitcase from the back of the car—NOW!"
WHOOSH!
He narrowly dodged a downward smash from the iron giant's arm and raced past it. The massive suit hesitated, then fired its jets and gave chase, spewing flame as it pursued Tony.
"Take photos! Now! What are you doing just standing there?!"
Seeing Clark frozen in place, Lois grabbed the camera from his hands and dragged him through the fleeing crowd toward the front.
Clark stared at the scene, brows furrowed.
Tony's in serious trouble…
He looked at the hand tightly gripping his arm, then turned and grabbed Lois by the wrist.
"Are you insane? It's way too dangerous over there!"
"I've faced worse!"
Lois shouted back, raising her camera and snapping a photo.
But in the very next second, she was hoisted over Clark's shoulder as he bolted toward the edge of the racetrack.
"Put me down!"
She pounded her fists against Clark's back.
Clark growled,
"You're such a pain! Just shut up for a second!"
And with that, he gave her a firm smack on the butt.
Lois froze, face instantly turning crimson.
But at least she stopped struggling.
"…Thanks,"
she muttered, now calm.
It had been a long time since she'd stumbled upon a story this explosive. The adrenaline had clearly gone to her head.
Clark set her down, and the two of them continued running away from the track.
Elsewhere…
WHOOSH!
The grotesque and bulky Iron Monger suit caught up with Tony's racecar, lifting the entire vehicle off the ground like it weighed nothing.
Tony, slippery as an eel, tumbled out of the cockpit, rolled twice on the ground, and scrambled to his feet in a panic.
But before he could get far, the very car he'd just escaped was hurled into his path, slamming down in front of him.
BOOM!
A missile struck the wrecked car, and the resulting explosion sent Tony flying. He crashed to the ground, rolling across the pavement before a massive metal hand clamped down on his head and hoisted him into the air.
"Who are you?"
Tony growled through gritted teeth, glaring at the glowing arc reactor in the chest of the hulking suit.
His eyes widened in both rage and disbelief.
CLANK!
The three-meter-tall Iron Monger suit opened its chest plate, revealing the man inside.
A familiar bald head stared back at him.
"…Obadiah?!"
Tony's voice cracked in shock.
"What the hell is going on? You—weren't you in prison?!"
"In prison?"
Obadiah let out a cold laugh, his eyes burning with hatred.
He'd suffered greatly behind bars.
Just when he thought he'd rot there for the rest of his life, Justin Hammer had pulled him out.
Hammer hadn't done it out of kindness—he wanted to see if Obadiah knew the secrets behind the Iron Man suit.
And Obadiah did.
The very first thing he'd noticed about Iron Man was the arc reactor in Tony's chest—almost a miniature replica of the massive one inside Stark Tower.
So, Obadiah led Justin to a disgraced former collaborator of Howard Stark: Anton Vanko.
Anton had long since passed away in despair, but he had left behind a son—Ivan Vanko.
Ivan, embittered by his father's legacy and his own miserable downfall, bore a deep hatred for the Starks.
And so, united by a common enemy, the three men had formed an unholy alliance.
Together, they had reverse-engineered the Iron Man suit. And now, Obadiah had his shot at revenge.
(End of Chapter)