"Silence!"
The President slammed his hand on the desk. The Oval Office fell instantly quiet. All arguments ceased, and every pair of eyes turned toward him.
"We cannot bow to terrorists, Mr. President. The United States does not negotiate with terrorists," the Secretary of State said immediately.
"I have to make this call."
"I strongly object, Mr. President."
"I cannot stand by and watch people die."
With a dismissive wave, the President dialed the number.
Ring—ring—ring—!
On the other side of the broadcast, the phone beside the Mandarin suddenly began to ring. The shrill sound was clearly audible to everyone watching television.
The Mandarin's expression did not change. He did not answer the phone. Instead, he stared directly into the camera and slowly pulled out a handgun.
Bang!
The gunshot rang out. The hostage's head exploded like a watermelon.
Everyone—those in the Oval Office and those watching from their homes—froze in shock. The President stood there, phone still in hand, completely stunned.
"Final lesson, Mr. President," the Mandarin said coldly.
"Take your family and children and run. No one can save you—not your army, not your agents, not even that red, white, and blue tin can of yours. You know I have the power to do this."
He tossed the gun aside, his expression still eerily calm.
"We'll meet again very soon, Mr. President."
The broadcast abruptly cut out, every television screen dissolving into static.
"Get Colonel Rhodes on this immediately. Find that madman," the President ordered, turning to the Secretary of Defense.
"Mr. President, we've traced the signal. It originated in the southeastern Middle East. The Iron Patriot has already been dispatched," an aide reported after taking a call.
"Send Rhodes now."
The President took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. His mind kept returning to the Mandarin's words—and to the terrifying question of how his private number had been obtained.
---
After receiving his orders, Rhodes suited up and took off for the Middle East. Intelligence indicated that the signal source was a terrorist base. The Iron Patriot cruised at roughly Mach 3; it would take several hours to reach the destination.
Upon arrival, Rhodes plowed straight through the compound. Under his overwhelming firepower, the terrorists were caught completely off guard. Within minutes, the base was wiped clean—no survivors.
Boom!
Rhodes smashed open the entrance to a mountain cave with a single punch. Inside were more than a dozen terrorists, unarmed. A small missile launcher deployed from his arm, locking onto all of them at once.
Suddenly, his comm crackled to life. Tony Stark's face appeared on the HUD.
"Hey—Rhodey. Where are you?"
At Carl's agency, Tony was on the line.
"I'm in the Middle East, visiting a few friends. Why are you calling now?" Rhodes replied.
He lowered his arm slightly. His external speakers were still on, so the terrorists heard every word of the conversation loud and clear.
"That red, white, and blue suit of yours—was it redesigned by AIM?"
"Yes. They upgraded the weapons systems, though the operating system stayed the same."
Rhodes didn't understand where Tony was going with this, but he answered honestly.
"Didn't I make it crystal clear that no one was allowed to touch my armor?" Tony snapped.
"Did the Hammer Industries fiasco teach the military nothing? Or are they just determined to get played again?"
Tony was livid. Other people learned from their mistakes—apparently, the U.S. military preferred arrogance and repetition.
"Listen, Rhodey. I need your military clearance. I need to look up a few people."
Rhodes paused.
"My clearance? You've been hacking my account daily for years. Why are you asking now?"
He was genuinely baffled.
"You don't know? My house just got blown to hell by Killian—the AIM CEO who redesigned your armor. I'm at Carl's place right now. JARVIS's servers were wiped out in the blast."
Tony's anger flared again at the mention of AIM and Killian.
A guy he couldn't even remember had just leveled his villa—one he'd renovated not long ago. Even he couldn't burn money that casually.
"Well, looks like that 'Ann' guy really made an impression," Rhodes muttered.
"Congratulations. He finally got your attention."
"Damn it—just give me the login."
Tony gritted his teeth. This was an expensive way to remember someone. He'd prefer normal friendships in the future.
"The account's the same as always. You know it—WarMachine68."
"Got it. Password?"
"You seriously don't know? Then how have you been hacking my account all this time?"
"JARVIS did it. Why would I know your password?"
Tony sighed. Normally, all he had to do was talk and JARVIS handled the rest. Now that a missile had wiped out the servers, JARVIS was limited to suit support only.
"That bastard Killian…"
"Pepper, remind me to rebuild JARVIS's servers after this. I'm putting them in space this time. Let's see who can blow them up then."
Pepper rolled her eyes. Putting them in orbit was feasible—just another satellite—but it meant the tech teams would be pulling overtime again. Conveniently, Tony wasn't the one who had to explain that.
"The password—WarMachineIsAwesome—capital letters."
The moment Rhodes said it, Tony burst out laughing. Even the terrorists inside the cave couldn't help but laugh along.
Click—click.
The heavy Gatling gun deployed from Rhodes's back, aiming directly at the laughing terrorists. The laughter died instantly. The cave fell dead silent.
"Haha—still better than 'Iron Patriot,' though," Tony said smugly.
"Anything else?" Rhodes asked flatly.
"I still have guests to deal with here."
Tony ended the call.
---
On the other side, Skye was already at work. She breached the Pentagon's systems using Rhodes's credentials.
"Skye, pull up all records related to AIM's wounded-veteran aid programs," Tony instructed, standing beside her.
He removed a bead from his wrist and tossed it onto the table. Instantly, it projected Skye's desktop into the air—the Wakandan tech Shuri had given him.
Soon, a long list of names filled the screen. Every one of them was a retired, disabled soldier who had received aid from AIM.
Skye opened the first file. A video played, showing a young blond soldier.
"State your name," a man's voice asked from behind the camera.
"My name is Allen," the soldier replied. "Allen, sir."
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