"Forget it. Do you really think those people can still be trusted?" Tony stopped Rhodes before he could act.
"How else do you think Killian knew the President's itinerary? Someone was clearly feeding him information."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" Rhodes spread his hands helplessly. "I can't exactly go with you unarmed. I used to be inside a suit—now I don't even have something for self-defense."
"Here, take this. Make do with it for now."
Carl tossed Rhodes a small fruit knife. The blade wasn't even as long as one of Rhodes's fingers.
"Don't mess with me," Rhodes rolled his eyes and tossed it aside. "That thing wouldn't even cut through clothing. If you want me dead, just say so."
"JARVIS, bring Mark Five over here," Tony said, tapping his bracelet.
"Yes, sir. Estimated arrival time: ten minutes. Please remain cautious."
High above Earth, a Stark Industries satellite suddenly activated. A cocoon-like metal pod was launched from it, hurtling toward New York at extreme speed.
"I'll loan you Mark Five for now," Tony said. "Once this is over, I'm taking that damned Iron Patriot back. The military will never get so much as a single fragment of my armor ever again."
Just thinking about the military's meddling made Tony furious. His armor had been butchered beyond recognition, stolen by terrorists, and used as if it had been designed for them from the start.
"Sir, Mark Five is approaching. It will land at the entrance in ten seconds," JARVIS reported.
Moments later, with a thunderous boom, a red-and-gold suit of armor dropped from the sky and stepped through the door.
This suit resembled Tony's early Mark II—the War Machine prototype—differing mainly in paint. Its weapons were basic: repulsors as the primary armament, with a few small missiles and a laser cutter. Overall, its loadout was fairly simple.
It wasn't that Tony didn't want to give Rhodes a better suit—most of his remaining armors simply didn't suit Rhodes's combat style. Rhodes favored heavy firepower, while Tony's newer suits relied almost entirely on energy weapons, many of which no longer even included laser cutters.
"It's yours for now. JARVIS, update the system—add Colonel James Rhodes's biometric data."
"Yes, sir."
Moments later, the armor unlocked. Rhodes stepped in, excitement written all over his face. This suit was clearly superior to the Iron Patriot in both performance and power supply.
After moving around to get used to it, Rhodes deployed all the weapons.
"Firepower's a bit lacking, but it'll do. Still, I miss my Gatling gun. That—that was romance."
"Let's move. Skye, share the coordinates," Tony said, not bothering to respond.
The three of them took off. Carl left Onion behind at the office—this fight didn't require him yet.
They headed straight for their destination. Soon, the vast Atlantic Ocean stretched endlessly beneath them, fish occasionally breaking the surface of the water.
Near midnight, they finally spotted the cargo ship.
They halted high above it, keeping their distance as Tony and Rhodes scanned the vessel.
"Plenty of people onboard. This is definitely the place," Rhodes said, looking at the dense cluster of red dots in his HUD.
"Let's move. We'll sneak aboard first," Tony said.
Tony and Rhodes cut their thrusters and dropped straight into the ocean. Their boosters would be too visible in the dark, so they chose to approach underwater. Carl, on the other hand, had no such concern—his cloak allowed for completely silent flight.
By the time Carl reached the deck, Tony and Rhodes had already climbed up from below.
At the center of the ship, a crane suspended the Iron Patriot armor. Its faceplate was open, revealing the unmistakable face of the President of the United States.
"Damn…" Rhodes muttered. "They've got the President hanging over a bunch of oil pipes. Looks like they're planning to roast him alive."
"Well, would you look at that," Carl said, giving Rhodes a thumbs-up.
"Didn't expect Americans to know how to make roast duck—hanging it up and cooking it from below. Very authentic."
"This is not the time for jokes!" Rhodes snapped. "That's the President!"
"Huh. Now that you mention it, I kind of want roast duck," Tony nodded thoughtfully. "When we get back, I'll have the chef make some."
"…You're unbelievable," Rhodes said, then sighed. "Now you've got me hungry too."
"Alright, what's the plan?" Rhodes asked, forcing himself to focus.
"A plan?" Carl shrugged. "Why bother? Just charge in. With your suits, regular bullets won't do a thing."
As the group's so-called master strategist, Carl offered his brilliant idea: go in head-on—full brute force.
"No stealth, no nonsense. Just go all out."
"That'll get the President killed," Rhodes shot back immediately.
"The moment we show ourselves, Killian could detonate the oil lines."
"It's fine," Carl replied casually. "It's just a President. You really think anyone wouldn't replace him immediately if he died? He's just a puppet of big capital anyway. The world won't stop turning without him."
"Get lost!" Rhodes snapped. "We came here to save him. If he dies, then what was the point of all this?"
"Wasn't the main goal settling scores with Killian?" Carl said with a grin.
"When did this turn into a rescue mission?"
Just then, Killian's voice echoed over the ship's broadcast system.
"All personnel, prepare yourselves. The live broadcast is about to begin. Take your positions."
"Excellent. Start with Camera One, then slowly pull back. Switch to Camera Four. Camera Three, give me a close-up of the President's face…"
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