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Anthony, like a modern Atlas, slowly descended, carrying lives in despair.
He descended very slowly, very steadily, full of ritual.
"Bang."
With a soft thud, the alloy tray landed steadily in the center of Times Square, without damaging a single taxi.
...
Times Square was still cheering.
The thirteen passengers tremblingly unbuckled their seatbelts and disembarked from the "tray" with lingering fear.
"Homelander!!!"
"Homelander!!!!"
"Homelander——!!!!!"
Anthony stood in front of the tray, his Stars and Stripes cape slowly falling behind him.
Then, facing the nearest Vought News camera, he displayed a "just right" look of exhaustion and a "relieved" smile.
"I just... did what I had to do."
"Everyone... is safe."
"Click! Click! Click! Click——!!!"
The flashlights instantly illuminated the entire square!
This photo of him holding the wreckage and saving thirteen people became the undisputed cover of major media and magazines within a day.
Ding! Gained Popularity Value +154015!
Ding! Gained Popularity Value +201240!
Ding! Gained Popularity Value +171552!
...Anthony closed his eyes comfortably, feeling the surging power within him.
While New York City residents were celebrating their hero,
Iron Man, Tony Stark, had just found a clue... Roxxon Dock, Florida.
The night was like a soaked black rag, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of diesel, dead fish, and sea salt.
A Tony without PTSD meant he wasn't building an army of Iron Men like a madman in his Malibu Underground Room.
He was still Tony Stark—arrogant, intelligent, and extremely reliant on his tin shell.
Therefore, while there was no Iron Army, there was still an Iron Man assault team.
However, at this moment, they were all rushing over from their California home, thousands of miles away.
"Jarvis, are you still there, buddy?" Tony whispered into a crude communicator on his wrist.
"Always at your service, sir. But the signal is extremely unstable." Jarvis's voice was intermittent.
"That bastard Killian is here."
Rhodes gestured towards the brightly lit oil rig area in the center of the tanker, "The President must be there."
They crept along the shadows, Tony feeling like he was playing Metal Gear Solid, and he didn't even have a cardboard box.
"Shit!" Rhodes abruptly pulled him into the shadow of a container.
Two soldiers glowing with an orange-red light walked past.
"Extremis..." Tony narrowed his eyes, "They're walking bombs. Jarvis, analyze their heat signatures. Where's the weakness?"
"Analyzing... Sir, their thermal core is in... the head. But their surface temperature can reach three thousand degrees Celsius."
"fuck."
"Hey, Rhodes," Tony suddenly pointed to a huge crude oil storage tank above, "Look at that."
Rhodes looked in the direction he pointed.
On top of the giant oil tank, which was five stories high, a figure was suspended.
It was U.S. President Ellis, looking utterly resigned, trapped inside the Iron Patriot armor.
"My God..." Rhodes gasped, "They hung the President on an oil tank!"
"That's a bit like a Viking funeral."
"Burned to death with oil?"
That wasn't a metaphor.
President Ellis, like a piece of cured meat, was tied with ropes and suspended directly above the giant oil tank. Below him, dozens of Extremis soldiers were patrolling.
The broadcast repeatedly played: "The live broadcast is about to begin, everyone return to your posts..."
"Who's there?!"
An Extremis soldier discovered the two of them.
"Damn it!" Rhodes cursed, raising his stolen pistol.
"Don't fire!" Tony shouted.
But it was too late.
"Bang!"
The bullet hit the Extremis soldier's chest, melting instantly like a pat of butter thrown into a furnace.
"Intruders!!"
The alarm blared throughout the entire oil tanker.
"Shit!" Tony grabbed his messy hair, "Jarvis! How long until the Christmas party guys arrive!!"
"Sir,... estimated arrival time, four minutes."
Tony pulled Rhodes, hiding behind a pile of pipes.
"Four minutes?!" He looked at a dozen humanoid furnaces rushing towards them, "Jarvis! Are you fucking kidding me? In four minutes, you'll only be able to collect my corpse!"
"Tony! Get down!" Rhodes tackled him to the ground.
"Boom——!!"
Where they had just been standing, an Extremis soldier punched a melted deep pit.
"Alright, alright..." At this moment, Killian elegantly walked out from the platform. He didn't even look at the President, but rather watched the two disheveled figures with interest.
"Woah! Tony Stark... and Colonel Rhodes. What a... pleasant surprise." Killian smiled calmly and at ease.
"Killian!" Tony stood up and brushed the dust off himself, "Long time no see. Your outfit... did you join some cult? Or is 'Despair Artist' your new collection this year?"
"Tony." Killian's face twisted, "You're nothing but a turtle who only hides in his shell!"
"You were looking for The Mandarin? There's no stand-in, I am The Mandarin, always have been! Haha!! And you... will die by The Mandarin's hand today!" Killian roared, and at his command, his subordinates swarmed out.
Just then.
"Whoosh——Whoosh——Whoosh——!!!"
Piercing whooshing sounds came from the western sky!
"They're here!" Tony was overjoyed!
Over a dozen booster lights streaked across the night sky, like a group of angry meteors, unleashing a concentrated barrage onto the oil tanker deck!
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
It was indeed the "Mark 17 Heartbreaker"! The "Mark 19 Tiger"! The "Mark 20 Python"! And Tony's latest development—the Mark 24 Tank! Along with eighteen other suits.
"Put it on, Rhodes!" Tony pointed to the black "Mark 12" suit next to them.
"Finally!" Rhodes rolled, and the suit quickly assembled on him.
Tony was also immediately enveloped by the "Tank."
"OK, barbecue racks!" Tony's faceplate closed, and his repulsor palms aimed at the Extremis soldiers, "Party time!"
However, reality was far more brutal than imagined.
Tony had not undergone the frantic upgrades after the Battle of New York; most of these dozen suits were early models, designed for conventional warfare.
And Extremis... was a BUG.
"Bang!"
An Extremis soldier grabbed the arm of the "Mark 22 Hot Rod" with his bare hands, melting it into molten iron with three thousand degrees of high temperature!
"Dada dada dada——!"
Rhodes, wearing the Mark 12, spewed flames from his arm-mounted Gatling gun. The bullet storm indeed forced an Extremis soldier to retreat repeatedly, but the guy just roared and charged through the hail of bullets!