A Family Party with Some Guests Missing

Wu Yanzu, like a modern-day Atlas, held up lives in despair as he slowly descended.

He landed very slowly, very steadily, with a sense of ceremony.

"Bang."

With a soft thud, the metal tray landed steadily in the center of Times Square without damaging a single taxi.

"..."

Times Square was still erupting in cheers.

The thirteen passengers shakily unfastened their seat belts and stepped off the "tray," their hearts still pounding.

"Homelander!!!"

"Homelander!!!!"

"Homelander—!!!!!"

Azu stood before the tray, his Stars and Stripes cape slowly settling behind him.

Then, facing the nearest Vought News camera, he revealed a perfectly measured smile of exhaustion and relief.

"I just... did what I had to do."

"Everyone... is safe."

"Click! Click! Click! Click—!!!"

Camera flashes instantly lit up the entire square!

The photo of him holding up the wreckage and saving thirteen people became the undisputed cover image of major newspapers and magazines within a day.

Ding! Popularity gained: +154015!

Ding! Popularity gained: +201240!

Ding! Popularity gained: +171552!

Azu felt the surging power flooding into his body and closed his eyes in comfort.

And while the people of New York City celebrated their hero,

"Iron Man," Tony Stark, had only just found a lead.

Florida, Roxxon Pier.

The night was like a soaked black rag, and the air reeked of diesel, dead fish, and sea salt.

Tony without PTSD meant he had not gone crazy in his Malibu basement and built an Iron Army.

He was still Tony Stark—arrogant, brilliant, and excessively dependent on his metal shell.

So while there was no Iron Army, he still had the Iron Strike Team.

At the moment, though, they were all rushing over from their California home thousands of miles away.

"JARVIS, you still there, buddy?" Tony murmured into a crude communicator on his wrist.

"Always at your service, sir. But the signal is extremely unstable." JARVIS's voice came through in fragments.

"That bastard Killian is here." Rhodey gestured toward the brightly lit drilling platform in the middle of the tanker. "The President has to be there."

They crept along through the shadows, and Tony felt like he was playing Metal Gear without even a cardboard box.

"Shit!" Rhodey suddenly pulled him into the shadow of a shipping container.

Two soldiers glowing orange-red all over walked past.

"The Extremis Virus..." Tony narrowed his eyes. "They're walking bombs. JARVIS, analyze their heat signatures. Where's their weak point?"

"Analyzing... sir, their thermal core is located in... the head. However, their surface temperature can reach three thousand degrees Celsius."

"Fuck."

"Hey, Rhodey." Tony suddenly pointed at a massive crude oil storage tank above them. "Look at that."

Rhodey followed his finger.

A figure was hanging from the top of the enormous tank, which stood five stories tall.

It was the President of the United States, looking utterly dead inside and trapped in the Iron Patriot armor.

"My God..." Rhodey sucked in a cold breath. "They hung the President on an oil tank!"

"This is kind of like a Viking funeral."

"Burning him to death with oil?"

That was not a metaphor.

President Ellis was like a slab of cured meat, bound with ropes and suspended directly above the giant tank. Below him, dozens of Extremis Soldiers were patrolling.

The broadcast kept repeating, "The live broadcast will begin shortly. Return to your posts..."

"Who goes there?!"

An Extremis Soldier spotted them.

"Damn it!" Rhodey cursed and raised the pistol he had stolen.

"Don't shoot!" Tony shouted.

But it was too late.

"Bang!"

The bullet struck the Extremis Soldier in the chest like a pat of butter thrown into a furnace, melting instantly.

"Intruders!!"

The alarm blared across the entire tanker.

"Fuck!" Tony grabbed his messy hair. "JARVIS! How long until the guys from the Christmas party get here?!"

"Sir... estimated arrival time: four minutes."

Tony pulled Rhodey behind a cluster of pipes.

"Four minutes?!" He looked at the dozen humanoid furnaces charging at them. "JARVIS, are you fucking kidding me? In four minutes, you'll only be coming to collect my corpse!"

"Tony! Get down!" Rhodey tackled him to the ground.

"Boom—!!"

The spot where they had just been was punched into a molten crater by an Extremis Soldier.

"All right, all right..." Killian stepped gracefully out from the platform. He did not even glance at the President, instead watching the two disheveled men with interest.

"Whoa! Tony Stark... and Colonel Rhodey. What an... unexpected delight." Killian smiled with calm, effortless poise.

"Killian!" Tony got to his feet and dusted himself off. "Long time no see. That outfit... did you join some kind of cult? Or is 'Desperate Artist' your new look this year?"

"Tony." Killian's face twisted. "You're nothing but a turtle hiding inside its shell!"

"You were looking for the Mandarin, weren't you? There's no stand-in. I am the Mandarin. I always have been! Hahaha!! And you... will die at the Mandarin's hands today!" Killian roared, and at his command, his men swarmed out.

Just then.

"Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—!!!"

A piercing rush of air came from the western sky!

"They're here!" Tony was overjoyed!

More than a dozen booster trails tore through the night like a swarm of furious meteors, unleashing a concentrated barrage onto the tanker deck!

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

They were Mark 17 Heartbreaker! Mark 19 Tiger! Mark 20 Python! And Tony's latest development—Mark 24 Tank! Eighteen suits of armor in total.

"Put it on, Rhodey!" Tony pointed at the black Mark 12 beside him.

"Finally!" Rhodey rolled, and the armor rapidly assembled around him.

Tony was immediately enveloped by Tank as well.

"Okay, barbecue grills!" Tony's faceplate closed, and his repulsors aimed at the Extremis Soldiers. "Party time!"

However, reality was far crueler than imagination.

Tony had not gone through the mad upgrades following the Battle of New York. Most of these dozen or so suits were still early models, designed for conventional warfare.

And the Extremis Virus... was a bug.

"Bang!"

An Extremis Soldier grabbed Mark 22 Hot Rod's arm with his bare hand and melted it into molten metal with a temperature of three thousand degrees!

"Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat—!"

Wearing Mark 12, Rhodey unleashed a stream of fire from the Vulcan cannon in his arm. The bullet storm did force an Extremis Soldier back again and again, but the man merely roared and charged through the hail of bullets!