Tony Stark

"So... why were we here? Did you want to steal a few race cars and modify them?" Old Bartender asked helplessly.

New Jersey lay in northeastern America, not far from New York. Ocean City was a coastal city with access in all directions, convenient transportation, and thriving commerce. The two of them drove all the way there, taking shortcuts into Ocean City. Not long ago, they had found a place to disguise themselves for convenience. Old Bartender had spent years on the run and was highly skilled at makeup. To him, disguising himself was the most basic means of survival.

At Donnie's repeated insistence, the two came here, the largest and most famous racetrack in the area, just as a race was about to begin.

Spectators packed the place from every direction, filling the vast stands to the brim. The fervent atmosphere and explosive excitement were astonishing. Every so often, someone could be seen wildly shouting through a megaphone, waving flags in support.

"To meet someone. A very interesting person—a playboy and an arms-dealing tycoon. I didn't expect to run into him here."

Donnie stared at the racetrack, occasionally reaching up to scratch his head. The wig was making him extremely uncomfortable, though thankfully it was merely worn rather than glued on like Old Bartender's disguise.

The announcer switched on the broadcast and enthusiastically addressed the audience, placing special emphasis on one of the racers. Every word he spoke drove the already heated atmosphere to greater heights, until the crowd was nearly insane. Some young and beautiful women in particular screamed themselves hoarse, flushed with excitement and looking ready to faint at any moment.

"Let us welcome our final racer, the renowned genius and head of Stark Industries—Tony Stark!"

The entire venue exploded in an instant. Countless spectators leaped to their feet, roaring and screaming at the top of their lungs. Megaphones blared one after another, bright flags waved wildly, and the stands erupted like water splashing into a pan of boiling oil.

"Tony! Tony! Look over here! Oh God, I can't take it anymore! He's so handsome, so charming! I think he's even more handsome than Wayne... I'm going to pass out!" A young married woman clutched her chest, her ample breasts rising and falling with her ragged breathing, leaving the men beside her staring dumbly.

Even Old Bartender was stunned by the crowd's madness. He leaned close to Donnie's ear and shouted, "You came just to see him? What was so interesting about him? We should get on with our real business!"

Ever since setting out, Old Bartender had been fixated on killing Vampires. He wanted to personally make those things pay a painful price.

On the track, a middle-aged man waved his arms in every direction. Every movement drew another round of cheers from the stands, until every section of the audience was chanting one unified cry: "Stark! Stark! Stark!"

The middle-aged man gave the audience a deep bow, his movements impeccably polished. Then he repeatedly blew kisses toward the areas with the most women, causing many of them to faint on the spot from excitement.

Even from far away, Donnie could feel that overwhelming air of flamboyant showiness.

Some men were jealous and envious, muttering among themselves in bitter dissatisfaction.

"Did you hear? That playboy Stark slept with the latest cover girl last night. What a guy. Hasn't he slept with every cover girl from last year's Motto magazine?"

"Tabloid gossip says he couldn't fit in the March one, so he had no choice but to let her go. But the December ones were twins, and it's true that he made it all twelve."

"I'm handsome too. Why don't women ever come looking for me?"

A provocatively dressed mature woman heard him and eagerly turned around to inspect the self-proclaimed handsome man. He was a lecherous old man who had to be seventy or eighty. She immediately turned back around and threw up.

Donnie burst out laughing. He truly couldn't hold it in.

"What's so funny, young man? Do you have a problem with me being handsome?" the boastful old man snapped. "When I was young, I was a real heartthrob."

The old man put a hand on Donnie's shoulder. Donnie's hair was rather long, and the man accidentally tugged several strands—then pulled off the entire wig...

A dazzling bald head was revealed to the world, reflecting countless rays of sunlight. Without warning, it blinded the eyes of innumerable innocent bystanders and drew a chorus of curses!

"Which bastard brought a mirror in here? Where are your manners?"

Several burly men whose eyes had been blinded cursed and looked around, ready to find the person holding the mirror and beat him up.

Donnie's face darkened as he glared viciously at the old man. "I hate it most when people touch my hair. You're finished! Don't think I won't hit an old man!"

The old man looked awkward at first, but the moment he heard that, his temper flared. He immediately puffed himself up. "So what, you're bald? You can be bald, but nobody else can look at you? I was a fitness enthusiast when I was young too. Go ahead and hit me! Young people these days have no idea what they're doing. Guys like that Donnie are the worst, leading the way with all that ridiculous punk nonsense and corrupting the youth. And now I run into another bald guy like you. You must have used plenty of sunscreen on that head, huh? Otherwise, why would it shine so brightly?"

More and more people joined the search for the mirror, because another group had been blinded. They shouted loudly, determined to drag out the hateful culprit. Who brought a mirror into the stands? It was outrageous.

"You, you, you..." Donnie glared fiercely at the old man, aggrieved and helpless. He hurriedly put his wig back on, threw out one final threat, then turned and left in humiliation.

Old Bartender followed behind him, laughing all the way with a raspy cackle. He mocked Donnie for using too much sunscreen, making Donnie so angry that he kicked him.

"You still haven't told me—why exactly did you want to see that Stark? That guy is powerful and incredibly talented. Every big shot in America fawns over him. Everyone wants to see him build even stronger weapons. Did you want him to build you a war chariot?" Old Bartender casually got up and chased after Donnie, demanding an explanation.

"Would you believe me if I said I was drawn here by the advertisements along the way... Fine, I'm considering investing in Stark Industries. I want to buy some shares in the Stark Family. Making money work for you is the fastest way to earn more money." Donnie explained that he already had eight or nine million dollars. With the coming attack on Deacon, he would seize another batch of valuables, antiques, paintings, and other expensive items. Once they were liquidated, he would have more than ten million dollars in hand. He might as well use it all to buy Stark Industries stock.

Old Bartender scoffed. More than ten million dollars sounded like a lot, but throwing it into a trillion-dollar corporation like Stark Industries would barely make a ripple.

"Not many people would easily sell Stark Industries shares, and anyone who did would demand a high price," Old Bartender said.

"Don't worry about that. Just watch." Donnie knew perfectly well that when Stark went missing, and when he returned and announced the closure of the weapons division, Stark Industries' stock would plummet. That would be the best time for him to make his move.

Elsewhere, Tony Stark removed his helmet, revealing a face covered in sweat. He had often taken part in thrilling activities like racing when he was younger, but he had not enjoyed himself this much in years, because there were always people stopping him from participating in dangerous events like this.

Tony strolled toward the restroom, where his loyal bodyguard Happy stood outside like an iron tower. Happy had wanted to follow him in, but the proud Tony refused.

"Happy, I don't like having a man staring at my back while I'm using the bathroom. Just stand at the door," Tony said.

What he did not know was that several strangely dressed people had been lying in wait inside the restroom for some time. The moment Tony entered and let down his guard, they rushed him from behind, pinned him down, and pressed a drug-soaked cloth over his nose and mouth.

In his final moments of consciousness, Tony barely saw several strange figures wrapped tightly from head to toe surrounding him. The eyes behind their lenses seemed to carry a hint of mockery.