The corridor air reeked of half-burned aviation kerosene and blood.
Behind his heavy sheet-metal faceplate, Tony Stark stared at the copper pipe on his wrist, still dripping fuel.
This is so fucking embarrassing. He swore to himself that no Mark Armor he built would ever have a flamethrower again. Not even over his dead body. Primitive weapons dependent on physical fuel were not only inefficient; they also failed at the worst possible moment.
"Ahem."
Tony cleared his throat, trying to recover some of his authority as the head of Stark Industries. He raised his bulky mechanical head and studied Yang Ming, who stood among the corpses, through the narrow viewing slit.
A white lab coat, gold-rimmed glasses, and no gun in his hands.
"Who are you?" Tony's voice sounded muffled as it resonated through the metal.
"Are you here to rescue me or kill me?"
Yang Ming slipped his hands into his coat pockets, stepped over the Russian Mercenary's headless corpse, and stopped three meters from the Mark I.
"A mercenary," Yang Ming answered expressionlessly. "I took the two-hundred-million-dollar bounty your personal assistant posted. She wants you brought back to New York in one piece. A million deducted for every missing hair."
At the mention of his assistant and the two-hundred-million-dollar bounty, Tony's tense shoulders sagged. It was Pepper. Only Pepper Potts would look for him at a time like this by throwing money at the problem so bluntly.
"Nice work, Pepper," Tony muttered. He turned toward Yinsen, who was still holding an AK-47 behind him, trembling all over.
"Yinsen, put the gun down," Tony called. "Relax. He's on our side."
Yinsen leaned against the rough rock wall, his chest heaving. He looked at the bodies strewn across the floor, then at the Asian doctor who hadn't gotten a single