Tony Stark watched the taillights fade, his expression unreadable behind his expensive sunglasses. He had already reviewed the archives via Jarvis. He knew about the 1963 fallout, the deportation, and the bitter poverty that had fueled the Vanko family's rage for generations. But in Tony's mind, his father, Howard, hadn't committed a crime—he had made a hard choice.
Tony understood better than anyone now that the Arc Reactor wasn't just a battery; it was a Pandora's Box. If the secret of its construction was leaked to the general public, or worse, to the highest bidder, the world wouldn't enter a golden age of green energy—it would drown in a sea of high-tech war crimes. He had seen his own name etched into the side of the Jericho missiles that nearly killed him in a cave in Afghanistan. That was enough of a lesson for one lifetime.
The Arc Reactor technology had to stay behind a digital iron curtain. Even the suit he was planning to build for Rhodey—a "War Machine" in every sense—would not contain the blueprints for the core. Rhodey could fly it, shoot it, and maintain it, but the heart of the machine would remain a Stark black box.
Of course, Huang Wen was the one outlier Tony couldn't control. With the "Silly Girl" AI proving it could dance circles around Jarvis, Tony knew that if Huang Wen really wanted the reactor specs, he could probably just reach through the internet and take them. But Huang Wen didn't seem to care about patents. The man was a walking, talking anomaly who fought with light and shadow; he didn't need a battery.
Tony knew he couldn't kill Vanko in cold blood here. It would ruin the "Iron Man" brand. But as a billionaire with his fingers on the pulse of the world's capital, Tony knew that a man in a high-security prison could suffer a "medical complication" very easily. Capital, after all, was often more lethal than a repulsor beam.
Huang Wen watched Tony's eyes and sighed. She didn't need to be a telepath to see the gears turning in the billionaire's head. She knew he was deciding Vanko's fate, but she didn't interfere. Vanko had chosen his path the moment he started shooting at civilians. In the grand tapestry of her "interstellar war plan," Tony was an essential thread. Vanko was just a loose string that needed to be clipped.
"Alright, the circus is packing up," Huang Wen said, breaking the silence. "The action was a bit lackluster—I was hoping for at least one drone that could put up a fight—but it's time to head home. A-Liang, Peter, are you two going to play neighborhood watch all night, or are you coming back to the gym?"
Peter Parker, still vibrating with adrenaline, shrugged and nudged Huang Liang. "I don't know, Boss. Fighting those drones felt kind of... hollow? It was like playing a video game on easy mode. No real weight to it, you know? Just metal and sparks. I was hoping for something with a bit more soul."
"Ahem!" Huang Liang coughed violently, his eyes darting toward Tony Stark. "Peter, maybe don't say the 'Iron Man suits' are boring while the guy who invented them is standing right there. Have a little social awareness, man."
Tony's head snapped toward Peter. He'd been listening. "You think my life's work is a 'video game,' do you, kid? I'll keep that in mind the next time you need a tech upgrade. Maybe I'll give you a suit that runs on AA batteries and optimism."
"No! Mr. Stark! I meant the fake ones!" Peter scrambled, remembering his uncle Ben's job prospect. "Yours are masterpieces! Those Hammer drones were basically glorified toasters with Gatling guns. Yours are... they're high art! Truly! Please don't fire my uncle!"
Tony smirked, his ego slightly soothed but his competitive streak fully ignited. "Nice save, kid. But I'm watching you. One more crack about 'easy mode' and I'm sending you a bill for the floor repairs."
Before the banter could continue, the sound of the crowd outside shifted from a muffled roar to a frantic, high-pitched scream. The heavy security barricades at the front of the Expo finally buckled.
"IRON MAN! WE LOVE YOU!"
"SPIDER-MAN! GIVE US AN AUTOGRAPH!"
"KUNG FU SPIDER! TAKE A SELFIE WITH ME!"
A literal tidal wave of fanatical fans, armed with smartphones and various pieces of superhero merchandise, surged into the hall. They didn't care about the lingering smoke or the fact that they were stepping on highly volatile robot wreckage.
"How terrifying," Huang Wen muttered, her eyes widening as she saw a group of teenagers sprinting toward them with a "Team Stark" banner. "I'm not paid enough for public relations. Everyone, grab on."
With a sudden ripple of golden light, the entire group—Huang Wen, Steve Rogers, the Spider-duo, and the rest—vanished in an instant. They didn't just leave; they erased themselves from the room, leaving only a few swirling dust motes in their wake.
Steve Rogers felt the familiar, nauseating tug of spatial travel and suddenly found himself back in the quiet, dim lighting of the Wing Chun school. He felt dazed. The battle had shocked him, yes, but the fans? That was a different kind of trauma.
He remembered his days in the 1940s. He'd been a mascot then, a dancing monkey in a star-spangled suit used to sell war bonds. He'd done shows for crowds, but they were polite, respectful—mostly kids and old ladies. He had never seen people storm a battlefield just to get a glimpse of the soldiers. The raw, manic energy of modern celebrity culture made him feel like he was standing on a different planet.
"Why are they so... aggressive?" Steve asked, leaning against a wooden dummy for support. "Back then, we just got letters and maybe a chocolate bar. They looked like they wanted to tear Tony's armor off with their bare hands."
"Welcome to the age of the influencer, Cap," Jack said, wiping sweat from his brow. "You aren't a soldier anymore. You're a brand."
Back at the exhibition hall, the fans came to a screeching halt. They stared at the empty space where their idols had stood seconds before. The floor was covered in blue ice, jagged metal, and Vanko's blood, but the superheroes were gone.
"Where did they go? Did Iron Man use a cloaking device?"
"No way! That was clearly the Spider-Man 'Shadow Leap'!"
"You're both wrong! It was the Kung Fu master! He's a wizard! I saw it on Reddit!"
The argument broke out instantly. A group of girls in "Iron Man" shirts began shouting at a group of boys holding "Kung Fu Spider" posters.
"Iron Man is the best! He has the best tech and the best house!"
"Tech doesn't matter when the Kung Fu Spider can punch a hole through a tank without a suit! Iron Man is just a rich guy in a tin can!"
"At least Iron Man doesn't wear spandex and hide his face! He's a man of the people!"
"A man of the people who just let his drones almost kill us? Spider-Man saved the whole front row!"
The military and police personnel, who had just returned to start the grueling process of clearing the "frozen" debris, stood in the doorway, completely bewildered. They had guns, they had orders, and they had crime scene tape—but they were completely powerless against a mob of angry fanboys arguing over power levels.