"Hey, hey! What's this about?!" Lucas jumped up, pointing an accusing finger at Tony, face full of mock heartbreak. "You used to call Sweetie, and now it's Mada Ox! How could you do this to , you ruthless capitalist!"
"Get lost!" Tony snapped. "Sweetie? That's disgusting! And calling a capitalist? You're one too, you idiot—you're literally insulting yourself!"
It wasn't even wrong. Lucas really was a capitalist now. Besides the rent money from his apartnts, he also held a sizable amount of Stark Industries stock—technically making him one of the company's shareholders, albeit the last on the list.
Still, a shareholder was a shareholder. He was now part of the capital class.
"Wait, I'm a capitalist now?" Lucas blinked, genuinely surprised. "How co I don't feel rich? I don't even feel a hint of capitalist joy! I still wake up thinking I'm just a broke young guy who wants to dye his hair and ride a cheap scooter!"
Tony rolled his eyes. "Just shut up, I've got a life to save. Stay or leave, I don't care."
He brushed past Lucas and headed toward the storage room.
"Hey! At least clean up before you go!" Lucas shouted after him. "If I ever left my place this ssy, Wanda and Skye would literally kill !"
He surveyed the wrecked mansion—broken glass, overturned furniture, gadgets everywhere—and made a face.
"Jarvis, call a cleaning company. This place looks like a pigsty."
"Yes, Mr. Norman. I'll make the arrangents imdiately," Jarvis's calm voice suddenly replied from the speakers, making Lucas jump.
Later, back at his office, Lucas found Pepper sitting on the couch chatting with three other won. The topic? Gossip, of course. Apparently, that was a universal constant among won—no matter the ti or place.
When she saw Lucas return, Pepper stood imdiately. "You saw Tony? How is he?"
For all her scolding and anger, she still cared deeply about him.
"He's fine," Lucas said with a reassuring smile. "I gave him a good talking-to. He'll probably co pick you up in a few days."
He didn't tell her the full truth. So things Tony needed to say himself.
anwhile, Tony had dug out his father's old videotapes, watching them one by one. And finally—in the very last recording—he found the clue: The City of the Future.
That ssage also made him realize sothing he'd never understood before: his father had loved him. He just didn't know how to show it.
"Even in death, you're still teaching lessons, old man," Tony muttered as he stared at the 3D hologram Jarvis had rendered—a model of an entirely new elent.
For the next several days, Tony turned his entire mansion into a science lab. He tore down walls, installed pipes, set up energy channels, and mounted a massive focusing prism in the center of the room.
"Ready, Jarvis?"
"All systems online, sir."
Tony gripped a heavy wrench around the prism's control valve. "Let's do this."
The reactor humd to life.
BZZZZZT—!
A beam of blinding blue light shot through the pipes, searing through concrete and tal alike, cutting perfect lines across the walls.
Tony strained with all his strength to hold the valve steady as the energy built to critical levels. Sweat poured down his face.
Finally, the light converged into the prism.
As the brilliance reached its peak, Tony knew he'd done it. His father had saved his life—posthumously.
He had successfully created a new elent.
Without hesitation, he replaced the palladium core in his chest with the new arc reactor. The mont it clicked into place, he felt a rush of power—pure, clean energy flooding his veins.
Overwheld by the surge, Tony collapsed and passed out on the floor.
When he woke, the pain was gone. The poisoning—completely cured. No more chlorophyll shakes.
"Jarvis!" he shouted hoarsely. "Get a cleaning crew! I want to watch them pour every single bottle of chlorophyll down the toilet—every drop!"
He staggered to his feet, half laughing, half screaming. "If I ever drink that green garbage again, I swear I'm a dog! Never again!"
The new elent not only saved him—it reignited his genius. In the days that followed, Tony's creativity exploded. He opened dozens of new project files, sketching and designing upgraded armor after upgraded armor.
Then, without warning, Tony showed up at Lucas's apartnt—bags in hand.
And with his smooth tongue and shaless charm, it took him less than a day to win Pepper back.
Since his mansion had been reduced to rubble during the experint, Tony decided to rebuild it from scratch. Until the new one was finished, he'd stay in Lucas's building. After all, he'd paid double rent—so he was determined to eat, drink, and live there to his heart's content.
That evening, Tony lounged on the rooftop, enjoying the ocean breeze. Thanks to his money magic, the rooftop had been transford into an open-air lounge, complete with couches and a minibar.
Lucas and the others were a few ters away, grilling barbecue.
"You sure know how to enjoy yourself!" Lucas yelled over. "While we're slaving over the grill, you're just sitting there like a king!"
Tony didn't even look over. "I paid double, rember? I'm the landlord now—I eat when the food's ready!" He leaned back in his chair, sunglasses on, utterly relaxed.
Lucas sighed. "Fine! You're the boss!"
Money, as always, was the great equalizer.
anwhile—sowhere far away, in a dimly lit prison—Ivan Vanko's escape plan was unfolding.
Of course, "escape" was too generous a word. Every guard had already been bribed by Justin Hamr—from the warden to the night shift officers. No one stopped Vanko as he calmly walked out of the prison gates.
A car was waiting outside. Hamr himself stepped out with a grin that tried—and failed—to look genuine.
"Welco, welco, Mr. Vanko! Allow to introduce myself—Justin Hamr, your future employer!"
He extended his arms for a hug. Vanko rely frowned, clearly disgusted by the man's fake enthusiasm.
"What is it you want from , Mr. Hamr?" Vanko asked coldly. Of course, he already knew the answer. Aside from Tony Stark, he was the only man alive who could build an arc reactor—and Hamr had been desperate to create his own line of powered armor.
Sure enough, Hamr said exactly what Vanko expected.
"I'd like you to help design a new line of suits," he said smoothly, pretending it was a collaboration rather than exploitation.
Vanko smirked. Perfect. He could use Hamr just as easily as Hamr planned to use him.
Two n with ulterior motives—already bound in a fragile alliance.
"Whatever you need, just tell ," Hamr said eagerly. "Anything at all."
"I want my bird," Vanko said flatly.
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