From his vantage point on the VIP balcony overlooking the main stage, Alex watched Justin Hamr's pathetic attempt at showmanship with a kind of clinical amusent. The man was a walking, talking masterclass in insecurity, trying so desperately to fill Tony Stark's shoes that he hadn't realized they were ten sizes too big. His dance moves were cringe-worthy, his jokes landed with a thud, and the army of Hamr Drones he was presenting—Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marine variants—looked like cheap, clumsy knock-offs of Stark's elegant designs.
"I thought you never laughed," Natasha Romanoff's quiet voice remarked from beside him. She had remained near him since their earlier tense exchange, a silent, watchful shadow. "I was beginning to think your face was permanently fixed in 'brooding nace' mode."
"So things are so tragically pathetic, they transcend annoyance and beco art," Alex replied without looking at her, a small, genuine smirk touching his lips as Hamr nearly tripped over a stage monitor. "This is one of them."
Down on the stage, Hamr was wrapping up his cringe-inducing performance. "And now, to honor the man who has made this all possible, a true Arican hero... Lieutenant Colonel Jas Rhodes!"
From a platform at the rear of the stage rose Rhodey, encased in a heavily weaponized, gun-tal grey version of an Iron Man suit, retrofitted by Hamr Industries. The War Machine. The crowd roared its approval, the sound a dull, distant wave from Alex's balcony.
It was at that precise mont that the real star of the show decided to crash his own party.
A screech of jet engines cut through the Expo's carefully curated soundtrack. A streak of red and gold descended from the sky like a teor, executing a perfect, three-point landing right in the center of the stage with a thunderous CLANG of tal on tal. Tony Stark, encased in the sleek, portable Mark V armor, stood up, his faceplate retracting to reveal his triumphant, shit-eating grin.
The audience erupted. The roar was deafening, a wave of pure adoration for their returned hero. Flashing lights from thousands of phones turned the pavilion into a galaxy of tiny stars, all pointed at him. Justin Hamr's face, projected on the massive screens flanking the stage, curdled, his forced smile collapsing into a mask of pure, impotent rage. His spotlight had just been stolen in the most spectacular way possible.
"I'm not gonna lie," Tony said into his suit's external speakers, his voice booming across the pavilion, "It's good to be back!" He struck a dramatic pose, soaking in the cheers.
On the balcony, Alex just shook his head. "Showoff."
Tony ignored Hamr completely, his gaze locking onto the War Machine armor. He walked towards Rhodey, the festive atmosphere around him evaporating, replaced by a palpable tension.
"Tony, what are you doing?" Rhodey's voice, tallic and filtered through the armor's speakers, was tight with frustration. "You can't just crash the middle of the presentation like this!"
"Crashing the presentation?" Tony stopped a few feet from him, his voice losing its playful edge, becoming sharp, hurt. "I'm crashing your presentation of my suit? You gave them my tech, Rhodey. You handed over my armor to these… these clowns!" He gestured dismissively towards Hamr.
Rhodey's own frustration boiled over. "I didn't have a choice, Tony! It was a direct military order! Hamr was making the weapons for them anyway, and the suit has to be integrated. They said it would still follow my command!" He took a step forward. "This is about safeguarding the country, not your ego!"
Tony looked heartbroken, the betrayal clear on his face even through the glare of the stage lights. "I really want to have a long, long talk about your definition of 'safeguarding,' buddy. A very long talk. But first…" His head turned, his gaze sweeping the stage, then locking onto Hamr. "That psycho Vanko? The guy from Monaco? He's out."
Rhodey froze. "What?"
"Yeah. He just called . Threatened ," Tony said, his voice now cold as ice. "And guess what? That fucker is out because of this idiot." He pointed a gauntleted finger directly at Justin Hamr. "He faked Vanko's death, broke him out of prison, and set him up in a workshop to build these… these tin-can parade floats you're all so proud of."
"What?!" Rhodey repeated, his head whipping around to stare at Hamr. The crowd began to murmur, sensing the dramatic shift.
Justin Hamr, seeing the situation spiraling out of his control, scrambled for the microphone, his face slick with sweat. "What… what bullshit is this? He's lying! This is slander!" His voice cracked with panic. "He's just jealous! Jealous because I got the military deal! Because I am the future of Arican defense! Not him! If what he said was true, if this 'Vanko' was in control, then the drones would be out of control! But look!" He gestured wildly at the silent, stationary robots. "Everything is perfectly fine! Everything is under my control!"
Rhodey's helted head turned from Hamr back to Tony. He raised an armored hand, a gesture of confusion. "Okay, look… putting aside the whole 'future of Arica' thing for a second… he's right about one thing, Tony. Everything is under control."
"Look, Rhodey, you have to believe !" Tony insisted, desperation creeping into his voice. "He's playing you! He's playing all of you!"
"Believe you?" Hamr shrieked, fully embracing his role as the wronged party. "The great Tony Stark, jealous and bitter, trying to slander to stop from giving the Arican people the defense they deserve! It's a lie! Everything you've said is a lie, and everything here is under MY control!"
As if on cue, the head of the Army drone directly behind Hamr swiveled with a soft, nacing whir. Its targeting light, a small red laser dot, appeared on the back of Hamr's expensive suit jacket.
Tony raised an eyebrow, a grim, humorless smirk returning to his face. "Was that also under your control, Justin?"
Hamr, feeling the laser on his back, let out a small, terrified yelp. "N-no…"
And then it happened. Every single drone on the stage—Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine—whirred to life. Their heads swiveled in perfect, terrifying unison, dozens of red laser dots converging on a single target. Tony Stark.
Tony's smirk vanished.
"Rhodey," he said, his voice suddenly very calm, very serious. "Aren't they in your control?"
The tallic voice that replied was laced with dawning horror. "What control? Tony, even my suit is showing you as the primary target! I can't… deepshit, I can't control it!"
Tony looked at the sea of red targeting lasers painted across his Mark V armor, at his best friend trapped in a suit that wanted to kill him, at the army of hijacked drones powering up their weapons.
"Shit."
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