Early the next morning, the familiar press conference hall was packed once again. Compared with the last time Tony had announced the closure of the weapons division, there were even more reporters below, and the atmosphere was tenser and more excited.
James Rhodes stood onstage before the multitude of reporters, explaining everything that had happened at the Stark Industries plant the previous night, though it was nothing more than official rhetoric meant to conceal the truth.
For instance, "a robot prototype malfunctioned," or "fortunately, one of Tony's private bodyguards stopped everything," and so on.
In short, the main point was this: the incident last night that had destroyed half a street, nearly blown up a building, and seemingly involved two "iron men" fighting in the road had absolutely nothing to do with Tony himself.
The atmosphere in the backstage lounge was completely different from that in the hall out front.
Tony sat on a stool, looking far better than he had the night before. Rarely, he held a freshly printed newspaper that still carried the scent of ink.
The front-page headline was printed in large, bold letters: "Who Is Iron Man?" Beneath it was a frontal photograph of Mark III standing in the middle of the road. Judging from the angle, some bold passerby must have found time amid the chaos to snap it with a phone or portable camera, then sold it to the newspaper.
Tony's gaze lingered on the photograph for a long time, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the edge of the paper.
Pepper walked over carrying a small box of medical swabs and disinfectant, then gently peeled the bandage off the bridge of his nose.
Tony let her work, but his eyes never left the newspaper. "Iron Man is actually a pretty catchy name. It sounds impressive.