[Mission "The Hulk's Wrath" Completed!]
[Rewards: +3000 XP, +50 S.H.I.E.L.D. Reputation, Equipment: "Hormone Gun", Items: "Unassailable", "Invisibility Potion"]
[Equipment: Hormone Gun — Fires multiple tracking healing rounds, slowly restoring HP while suppressing abnormal states.]
[Item: Unassailable — Negates any single attack. Can be used to block an Unassailable, or even block the Unassailable that blocked an Unassailable (theoretically infinite recursion).]
[Item: Invisibility Potion — Grants total invisibility for thirty minutes.]
The rewards this time were exceptional.
Darren grinned with satisfaction, particularly at the "Unassailable." Blocking any attack once was as close to godhood as an item could get.
He made a mental note to give this game a five-star review.
"Uh… could you maybe help me find some clothes?" Bruce asked sheepishly.
Because of the transformation, his remaining piece of clothing—a pair of overstrained, XXL purple shorts—was hanging on for dear life. He had to hold it up with both hands just to walk.
"Oh, that's easy. Come with me." Darren waved and led him toward a nearby alley.
Bruce, confused but too polite to argue, followed along.
A few blocks later, they ran into a gang of street thugs—your standard mix of bad tattoos and bad decisions.
Seeing the two newcomers, the thugs immediately triggered what seemed to be their default AI routine: surround and extort.
"Yo, got any cash—oh crap, big bro, don't shoot!"
The moment they noticed the gleaming Desert Eagle in Darren's hand, every single one of them raised their hands in perfect synchronization.
Darren turned to Bruce, who was staring in disbelief. "Go ahead, take your pick. Grab whichever outfit you like. Oh—and what's your preference for underwear style?"
Bruce: "…"
Five minutes later, Bruce was dressed West Coast–style, complete with shades and a shirt two sizes too big. It wasn't high fashion, but at least it wasn't falling off him.
Once he'd cleaned up, Bruce insisted he had something important to take care of and needed to go.
Seeing the determination in his eyes, Darren called Nick Fury to report.
Fury thought for a moment. "Let him go. I'll have people shadow his movements from now on."
"Understood, sir."
"…Also, my car—"
Click.
The call ended.
No hesitation. No guilt.
Because as far as Darren was concerned, a car driven away was a car earned.
Even the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't get exceptions.
...
The Next Day
Darren was lounging at home, flipping through a comic book.
To his amusement, he discovered that this Marvel-based world actually contained DC Comics.
That was… meta.
After all, Marvel and DC were legendary rivals—two titans constantly competing for the same spotlight. To see DC's books inside a Marvel reality felt like stumbling onto a glitch in the Matrix.
He couldn't resist opening one.
He quickly found himself hooked.
The parallels were uncanny. Batman and Daredevil—both vigilantes, both nocturnal, both partial to pointy-eared masks and tragic backstories. Both dedicated to protecting their city while clinging to that fragile "no-kill" code.
Except, of course, Matt Murdock didn't have Bruce Wayne's billions. The poor guy had to fight crime at night and lawyer by day just to pay rent. A true working-class hero.
And the Joker?
Yeah, the Joker radiated "player energy."
Chaotic, unpredictable, completely unhinged—he'd fit right into Darren's kind of crowd.
Just as Darren was halfway through the comic, the familiar synthetic voice of the system chimed in:
[Player Attention: Boss Event Activated!]
[Target: "Whiplash" Ivan Vanko]
[Objective: Defeat the Boss. Rewards scale based on damage dealt—more damage, better loot!]
"Huh?"
Darren raised an eyebrow. "Who the hell triggered a boss event without me?"
...
New York — The Stark Expo.
Tony Stark was in full armor, streaking across the sky, thrusters roaring.
Behind him, a squadron of mechanized soldiers pursued relentlessly, peppering him with missiles and gunfire.
Leading the charge: Colonel James Rhodes—War Machine.
"Rhodey!" Tony shouted over comms, narrowly dodging a rocket. "Tell me this isn't personal!"
"Blame Vanko!" Rhodey shot back, voice strained. "He hacked Hammer's entire system. I can't override it!"
Tony groaned. "And that's why you don't let Hammer Industries touch anything you own. Their cybersecurity's worse than a public bathroom—everyone walks in without knocking!"
Besides Rhodey, the rest of the steel soldiers were Hammer prototypes—built, coded, and corrupted by the Russian madman himself, Ivan Vanko.
The same lunatic who'd attacked Tony at the Monaco racetrack, nearly turning Iron Man into Charred Man.
Now, he'd come back with an army, and his sole purpose was to kill Tony Stark.
But this time, Tony had an edge.
Thanks to Darren's earlier "green elixir incident," Tony had developed a clean new energy source to replace palladium. His arc reactor now ran flawlessly. His power reserves? Practically infinite.
"Romanoff here," Natasha's voice cut in over the comm. "I've infiltrated Hammer's servers. Beginning remote reboot on Colonel Rhodes's suit."
Tony smirked. "Knew I could count on you, Agent Romanoff."
Within moments, War Machine's systems flickered, rebooting under Natasha's control.
Tony landed hard inside the expo's simulated garden dome, drawing the bots' fire away.
"Now, Natasha!"
War Machine's systems finished their reset—control restored.
Tony and Rhodey exchanged a quick nod.
No words. Just action.
The next few seconds were an orchestra of chaos—repulsor beams and explosions lighting up the night.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
By the time the smoke cleared, dozens of armored suits lay in smoldering heaps.
Both Tony and Rhodey's suits were dented, scorched, and barely holding together—but they were alive.
Just as Tony took a deep breath, JARVIS's voice cut in.
"Sir, I'm detecting a massive energy spike overhead. Power levels far exceed any unit encountered so far."
Tony's eyes narrowed. "Ivan Vanko."
A shadow fell across the sky.
Then, with the force of a meteor, a hulking, new armor crashed down in front of them.
Sparks flew as its metallic frame settled, steam hissing from vents.
The faceplate opened slowly—
revealing Ivan Vanko's scarred, greasy grin.
He looked down at Tony, voice thick with his Russian accent. "Good to be back."
Dramatic. Perfect.
The kind of entrance that screamed main villain energy.
Ivan expected fear, awe, maybe even desperation on Tony's face.
Instead, Tony just looked… confused.
And a little amused.
Ivan frowned. "What? Stark, are you stunned? Afraid?"
Tony's gaze shifted slightly—to somewhere behind Ivan.
A small twitch of his lips.
"You ever heard the phrase…" Tony said lightly, "no one pilots a mech suit without a helmet?"
"Huh?"
BANG!
One clean gunshot.
A golden flash.
And just like that—
Ivan Vanko's eyes went blank. His head snapped back.
The rest of his shiny new suit toppled forward with a heavy clang.
Behind him, standing in the crowd's shadow, was Darren—Desert Eagle still smoking.
Tony stared, speechless. Rhodey blinked twice.
"…Did you just—?"
Darren blew the smoke from the barrel. "What? He left his hitbox wide open."
And that was the end of it.
The great Whiplash, self-proclaimed nemesis of Iron Man,
the fearsome boss the system had hyped up for ten whole seconds—
defeated in fewer than two hundred words.
One shot. One kill.
Tony facepalmed inside his helmet.
Rhodey muttered, "Man didn't even get to monologue."
Darren holstered his gun and shrugged. "What can I say? Efficiency's an art."
Somewhere, the system dinged softly:
[Boss Defeated. Event Terminated.]
And thus ended the reign of a villain who never got to finish his first sentence.