Bang!
The solid copper door of Monaco's premier ocean-view suite buckled under a kick from a foot in a battered Martin Boot. The lock shattered, sending screws flying across the expensive Persian Carpet.
"Stark! Stop hiding in there and playing dead! Where's the seafood feast you promised?!"
Jessica Jones strode into the living room, still clutching half a bottle of Romanée-Conti she had swiped.
The spacious living room was unlit. Heavy blackout curtains were drawn tight, and the air reeked of strong alcohol, machine oil, and some kind of scorched metal.
Tony Stark lay slumped deep in an enormous leather sofa. His suit jacket was off, and his white shirt was stained with blood and dust.
He held an empty Whiskey glass. The Arc Reactor in his chest cast a ghostly blue glow over the blue-black veins spreading grotesquely up his neck like dead branches.
He ignored Jessica's entrance and simply stared fixedly at a holographic projection on the coffee table.
It was an old recording of his father, Howard Stark.
"Was he really a thief?" Tony's voice sounded as though it had been scraped over sandpaper, heavy with exhaustion and confusion.
"That's not covered by medical insurance, Mr. Stark."
Yang Ming walked through the doorway Jessica had smashed open, his hands tucked into the pockets of his casual suit trousers. He adjusted his Gold-Rimmed Glasses and glanced at the black lines on Tony's neck.
"Your palladium poisoning has already exceeded eighty percent. The toxins are eating into your central nervous system." Yang Ming walked up to the coffee table and casually switched off Howard's hologram.
"Drink another two bottles of Whiskey, and you can go ask your father in hell whether he was a thief."
"Leave me alone." Tony waved irritably. "Just give me some peace."
"Can't do that."