California, Malibu.
Cliffside mansion.
This place was once one of the top party destinations in the United States, a coveted spot for countless supermodels and celebrities.
But now, it's like a dead grave.
For a full thirty days, not a single champagne bottle was ever opened.
Moreover, all the smart sunshades in the entire villa went down, completely blocking out the California sunlight.
"Sir, your heart rate has spiked to 134 beats per minute, accompanied by a mild arrhythmia."
JARVIS's electronic voice carried a strong "motherly" anxiety. "According to Clause 7 of the medical protocol, I must advise you to immediately stop working and drink at least 500 ml of electrolyte water, otherwise—"
"Mute."
Tony Stark didn't even look up.
He was shirtless, wearing goggles, and holding a laser welding torch, making final adjustments to a massive object in front of him.
It is not a streamlined, elegant work of art with a red and gold color scheme.
It was a steel monster.
The entire piece retains its original dark gray titanium alloy appearance, without any paint, because Tony believed that would be a waste of time.
Its shoulders were disproportionately wide, carrying two sets of miniature six-barreled Vulcan cannons.
Its back bulges out, housing a simplified version of the " Jericho " missile launch pod.
"Sizzle--"
The welding torch went out.
Tony ripped off his goggles, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the mech he named " Mark 3 - Heavy Armor Variant ".
He learned a lesson in Siberia: elegance is worthless in the face of absolute power.
That bastard Barnes has a modified arm?
OK.
Then I'll equip myself with a hundred guns and a thousand missiles.
They've ingrained the "fear of insufficient firepower" into their DNA.
" JARVIS." Tony grabbed a bottle of whiskey and downed it in one gulp. "Search for a target. I need a shooting range."
" Stark Industries ' weapons testing range in Nevada is ready..."
"No."
Tony interrupted, tossing the empty bottle on the ground. "I want it alive."
"I don't understand what you mean, sir. Live testing violates the International Humanitarian Convention and—"
"Don't play dumb, JARVIS."
Tony walked up to the armor, opened his arms, and the mechanical arms began to dress him.
"You know what I'm looking for. Those scum who bought weapons from my company and are now ruling like bandits in some third-world country, Carnage civilians... There are these kinds of pests everywhere in this world. If we're going to test pesticides, of course we need to find real pests."
JARVIS was silent for two seconds.
" Afghanistan, Kunar Province. An armed group called ' Sons of Liberty ' has just raided a village. According to intelligence, they are equipped with Stark Industries -made Rattlesnake missiles and a large number of automatic weapons. Government forces there have abandoned the area."
That's right.
With a crisp click of hydraulic locking, the last piece of armor snapped shut.
A deep blue light shone in their eyes.
"Mark them; today is a good day for testing."
Afghanistan, Kunar Province.
Yellow sand filled the sky.
So-called " Sons of Liberty " militants are gathering in the village square.
They were celebrating wildly, firing guns into the sky.
The men were driven to a corner and executed, while the women were dragged to a truck.
The leader, Abu Bakar, sat in a jeep, fiddling with a missile fuse bearing the Stark Industries logo.
" Allah bless the United States," he grinned maliciously, "For creating such a wonderful killing toy."
"Boss! What's that?!"
One of the armed men on guard suddenly pointed to the sky, his voice trembling.
A white shockwave, generated by breaking the sound barrier, crashed straight into the center of the plaza.
"Boom!!"
The earth trembled violently.
The three militants closest to the impact point were blasted away by the shockwave.
The smoke and dust cleared.
A three-meter-tall steel Giant was crouching in the deep pit.
It slowly stood up, and the oppressive feeling it exuded terrified everyone.
"Fire! Fire!" Bakar screamed in terror.
"Da da da da da--"
When those bullets hit the armor, they only sent up a few inconspicuous sparks and made a crisp "clinking" sound; they didn't even scrape off a single piece of paint—oh, it didn't have any paint to begin with.
Tony stood amidst the hail of bullets, watching the red threat markers flashing on his mask display.
[Shield Integrity: 99.9%]
[External Threat Level: Extremely Low]
[Suggested Action: Ignore]
"Boring."
Tony raised his right arm.
It's not a palm-sized cannon.
His forearm armor popped open, revealing a miniature anti-tank gun.
"Bang!"
A loud bang.
The pickup truck, equipped with a heavy machine gun, exploded into a fireball, turning the gunman on board into charred remains.
"Now, it's my turn."
The armored panels on both shoulders suddenly popped open, exposing two rows of densely packed miniature missile pods to the air.
This is the simplified version of " Jericho ".
"Lock onto all armed targets."
"Target locked. Target quantity: 47."
JARVIS reported without any emotion.
"Full launch."
"Whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh--"
The ear-piercing sounds of something cutting through the air blended together.
Dozens of miniature missiles, trailing white plumes of smoke, hurtled towards every corner.
The explosions continued incessantly, and the flames turned the twilight sky blood red.
Bunkers, trucks, earthen walls...
Everything was shattered in the explosion.
The leader, Bakar, escaped by hiding behind the hostages.
His face was covered in blood, and he trembled as he crawled out of the ruins, looking at the steel monster standing in the sea of fire.
"Who... who are you? A new weapon of the US military? I am..."
Tony didn't even bother to let him finish speaking, and the thrusters on his back spewed out blue Flame.
But he didn't fly away. After hovering briefly, he landed heavily, one foot landing on Bakar's chest.
Tony raised his hand, and the arc pulse cannon in his palm began to charge, emitting a buzzing sound.
"In the past, that was business."
"Now, that's a death sentence."
"Boom!"
The pulse cannon explodes at point-blank range.
high altitude.
The killing just now did not bring Tony any satisfaction.
On the contrary, the emptiness of easily crushing his opponents made him even more anxious.
Too weak.
These terrorists are too weak.
It's impossible to test the limits of this " Mark 3 " suit.
That bastard is definitely a hundred times more troublesome than these people.
His speed, reflexes, strength, and that ever-present sense of oppression...
"Not enough..." Tony muttered to himself, "Faster... stronger..."
"We need more than just missiles."
"It also needs... laser... cutting... high frequency..."
His eyes were bloodshot, and his mind was already conceiving the prototype of the " Mark IV ".
Hatred is a poison.
And Tony Stark is already addicted.