Inside the armor, Rhodes suddenly felt an intense heat rising from his abdomen, the temperature climbing rapidly. The suit's alarm system immediately activated, flashing warnings that the abdominal plating had exceeded safe thermal limits.
"Don't be nervous, Colonel," Killian said with a smile. Red veins were already spreading across his face. "I'll help you out very soon. Then we can talk face to face."
Beep—beep—beep—
The alarms grew more urgent. Emergency protocols appeared on Rhodes's HUD: in cases of overheating or critical failure, the armor would automatically open to allow the pilot to evacuate.
"Cancel protocol! Do not open—abort emergency procedures!"
Rhodes barked the command at once. But the protocol was hard-coded into the system, a mandatory failsafe.
The armor split open.
Rhodes lunged forward the instant he was free, driving a punch straight into Killian's face.
Killian didn't even bother to dodge. He took the blow head-on—and nothing happened. Not even a scratch.
Killian's eyes burned crimson. He opened his mouth, and a jet of fire erupted outward. If Rhodes hadn't reacted instantly, the flames would have burned straight through him. Even so, the metal railing behind him melted in seconds.
"You… you can breathe fire too?!" Rhodes exclaimed in shock.
Before he could recover, Killian's subordinate struck him down with a single punch.
"Proceed with the next phase," Killian said calmly.
"Tony Stark has already found this place," the subordinate replied, holding up a tablet displaying the villa's security feed.
"Prepare to withdraw," Killian ordered. "Activate the timed explosives."
The subordinate tapped the screen, triggering the bombs planted throughout the villa.
"Sir," JARVIS reported, "multiple timed explosives have been activated. Would you like me to mark their locations?"
At that moment, a red-white-and-blue armored figure shot into the sky. Tony looked up just in time to see the Iron Patriot flying away.
"Rhodey's here?" Tony muttered, confused.
His comms suddenly chimed—an unfamiliar number.
"Tony, where are you?" Rhodes's voice came through.
"Rhodey, that armor just now—was that you?"
"No!" Rhodes snapped. "That bastard Killian stole my suit!"
Tony clenched his jaw. "Damn it. Doesn't the armor have biometric authorization? How could anyone else use it?"
"The military researchers removed it," Rhodes said bitterly. "They said it would make modifications easier."
"Damn those idiots," Tony growled. "When this is over, I'm taking back that so-called Iron Patriot. I'll melt it down and turn it into a toilet."
He was furious. That suit was still his property. He'd only lent it to Rhodes to keep the military off his back—and now they'd butchered it beyond recognition. Tony couldn't fathom how people that stupid ever became generals or scientists.
Rhodes said nothing. He'd long since grown tired of watching useless researchers tamper with his armor, but he had never had the authority to stop them. Now, at least, the real owner was furious. After this, if the military wanted an armored suit, they'd have to build one themselves—and even with a hundred years, Rhodes doubted they could.
"Rhodey," Tony said sharply, "go to the main villa and secure everyone inside."
He cut the connection and headed back toward the main building where Trevor was being held.
---
"Carl? You're here too?"
Rhodes arrived at the main villa and froze at the sight before him.
Carl was sitting on the sofa with Trevor, the two of them casually drinking soda while watching two women play table tennis nearby. The ball bounced back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm—surprisingly mesmerizing.
"Yeah," Carl replied lazily. "Came with Tony. Haven't had any chance to do anything."
He took a sip of cola and gestured to Trevor.
"Trevor, this is Colonel Rhodes. Rhodes, this is Trevor—veteran Hollywood actor."
Rhodes nodded, then, inexplicably, sat down as well, joining them in watching the game.
When Tony walked in, he saw three grown men sprawled on the couch, drinks in hand, calmly enjoying the view while two women played ping-pong.
"I'm outside risking my life defusing bombs," Tony snapped, "and you idiots are relaxing in here watching a match?"
He looked like he was one second away from firing a repulsor.
"Tell me everything you know about Killian's plan," Tony said sharply, sitting down as well. "Don't leave out a single word."
"Well," Trevor said, eyes still glued to the game, "I know it involves a big ship. Somewhere in the Atlantic, south of Miami. Don't know the exact location."
"Anything else?"
"I heard something about the Vice President," Trevor added. "They mentioned him a few times."
Carl frowned, suddenly remembering something.
"The Vice President is probably compromised. He's likely working with Killian."
"An insider?" Rhodes said, startled. "The Vice President is involved?"
"Not completely sure," Carl replied, "but it's very likely. You should secure him—and his family—immediately."
Rhodes pulled out his phone and made a call. After more than ten minutes, he returned, his expression grim.
"I've passed on the warning," he said. "And there's worse news. The President has been taken by Killian."
The words hit like a bomb.
Everyone except Carl stared at Rhodes in disbelief—Tony, Trevor, and even the two women.
---
While Tony was busy dismantling explosives, the White House airfield was already in motion. Air Force One stood ready for departure as the presidential motorcade arrived.
"Has Colonel Rhodes arrived yet?" the President asked as he stepped out of the car. Soldiers on both sides snapped to attention.
A streak of flame cut through the sky. The Iron Patriot landed directly in front of the President.
The President smiled in relief. With the Iron Patriot here, there was nothing to fear from terrorists.
"Colonel Rhodes," he said politely, saluting, "I'll be counting on you."
The Iron Patriot returned the salute—without a word.
Moments later, both boarded Air Force One, and the aircraft lifted smoothly into the sky.
High above the clouds, the Iron Patriot dragged two unconscious presidential bodyguards into a cramped storage compartment. Using the intense heat generated by the Extremis virus, the armor melted the door handle shut, sealing them inside.
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