Amid the charred ruins of the Stark Expo, Tony Stark sat in a daze, staring blankly at the devastation.
Everything that had once remained of his father—every trace, every memory—had vanished into the flames.
For as long as anyone could remember, every new invention, every breakthrough, every shiny new toy from Stark Industries had been unveiled to the world at the Stark Expo.
Now there was nothing left but wreckage—torched by the Crimson Dynamo's rampage and then further demolished when Tony, in the Mark III, had arrived and turned the place into a battlefield.
"Pepper, get a head count," Tony said into the Mark III's comms.
Pepper was on the perimeter of the Expo grounds. She nodded at the sound of his voice, then remembered he couldn't see her. "I'm already on it. Where are you, Tony?"
Tony glanced around, his enthusiasm completely drained. "Right in the middle of this mess."
"What's wrong, Tony?" Pepper caught the emptiness in his tone and hurried to reassure him. "I'll call the insurance company, have them assess the damage. We'll rebuild. There'll be a new Expo before you know it."
Tony gave a faint, humorless smile and said nothing.
"Sir, based on your vitals, I strongly recommend you remove the suit immediately and return to the tower for a full medical scan," JARVIS interjected.
The warning snapped Tony out of his reverie, but he didn't change his mind. He stood, thrusters flaring, and lifted into the air.
"Sir, the palladium levels in your bloodstream have exceeded—"
"I know, JARVIS," Tony cut in, rocketing toward Stark Tower. "I know my own body. I'm not there yet."
"Sir, bottom-line protocols prevent me from forcibly placing an emergency call on your behalf, but—"
"Skip it, JARVIS. Just get me Peter Parker on the line."
A brief silence.
"I am unable to reach Peter Parker."
Tony's mood soured further. He soared above the glittering chaos of Manhattan's streets, irritation prickling under his skin.
Then—CRASH!
He whipped toward the sound without a second thought. It came from Oscorp Tower.
A pane of glass on the twentieth floor had exploded outward. A figure plunged from the window.
Tony banked hard, streaking toward the falling body—only to pull up short less than a hundred meters later when the figure twisted mid-air and changed direction entirely.
Tony hovered, staring. Another figure appeared at the broken window: pure golden light in human shape, then it dissolved into a bolt of electricity and vanished.
"JARVIS, replay the last thirty seconds of Mark III footage."
Tony said, one eyebrow arching.
The HUD replay showed it clearly this time: a gray-black, emaciated creature with wild hair, and a second being made of crackling golden energy.
"Oscorp test subjects on the loose?" It was the only explanation Tony could think of.
Still hovering in the Mark III, he didn't chase after them right away. Instead he asked, "JARVIS, remind me—what happened at Oscorp Tower about two weeks ago? What did the news say?"
JARVIS pulled the records instantly. "The Daily Bugle ran a full-page story. A U.S. Air Force lieutenant general named Ross took military oversight of Oscorp Tower…"
"That's not what I asked. The reports mentioned 'Batman,' didn't they?"
"Yes, sir."
Tony's eyes narrowed. "All right. Let's drop in on Oscorp. Maybe we'll find something about the Bat—and those two freaks might be connected to him."
This time he didn't hesitate. He leaned forward, thrusters roaring, and shot toward the twentieth floor of Oscorp Tower, coming to a smooth stop in front of the shattered window.
He'd come looking for clues about Batman.
Instead he found Harry Osborn collapsed on the floor, dragging himself inch by inch, and—ten yards away—Miles Warren, his body bent at impossible angles, barely breathing.
"Happy! Where are you—Stark Tower? Clear beds at Metropolis General, prep an O.R.—now!" Tony barked into his phone. "Move!"
He scanned the ruined lab frantically, searching for anything he could use to airlift both dying men to the hospital in one trip.
Nothing. Just a demolished wall trailing live wires, smashed equipment, shattered specimen tanks full of preserved organs, and a single insulated chair.
"And get an ambulance here, too," he added to Happy Hogan.
Harry was still trying to crawl. Tony rushed over, dropping to one knee and gently tapping the young man's shoulder.
"Hang in there. Ambulance is on the way."
JARVIS spoke up at once: "Apologies, sir. According to Mark III bioscans, neither Harry Osborn nor Miles Warren will survive until emergency services arrive."
Tony's jaw tightened. He was seconds from scooping one under each arm and flying them to the hospital himself when Harry suddenly stirred with the last of his strength.
He didn't look at Tony. His vacant eyes stared into nothing, one trembling hand reaching out as if to grasp something that wasn't there.
"Peter…"
"I'm not Peter," Tony said. Then, sharper: "Wait—Peter? Peter Parker?"
Harry gave the faintest nod. Finally his gaze focused on Tony. "You're not… Peter… you're… Iron Man?"
"I'm a friend of Peter's. What the hell happened here?"
Tony bit out.
Harry opened his mouth. No sound came. Blood poured from the gash across his throat.
Tony tried to press the wound closed, but crimson seeped between the metal fingers of the suit anyway.
"Sixtieth floor…" Harry rasped, every word a fight. "Under the desk… hidden compartment… one vial… of serum… my father… left it…"
The moment the sentence was out, Tony blasted upward through the broken window, rocketed fifty stories higher, and palm-repulsored his way straight through the sixtieth-floor glass.
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