There was no further warning. The air in the main pavilion of the Stark Expo filled with the deafening, high-pitched whine of spinning minigun barrels and the crackle of charging energy cannons as every drone on stage, and those that had been revealed in the gantries above, opened fire simultaneously.
Tony Stark's new triangular arc reactor blazed to life, feeding imnse power to his Mark VI suit. He didn't hesitate. Repulsors fired from his boots and palms, launching him straight up into the sky, a red and gold blur against the dark, vaulted ceiling of the pavilion. The initial volley of fire, hundreds of rounds of high-caliber ammunition and dozens of energy blasts, chewed up the stage where he had been standing, sending sparks, shrapnel, and chunks of pulverized flooring flying in every direction. Justin Hamr, no longer a showman but a terrified, whimpering man, scread and dove for cover behind what was left of his presentation podium.
Dozens of the aerial Hamr Drones, their forms clumsy compared to Tony's sleek suit but their numbers overwhelming, launched in hot pursuit. The sky within the massive glass biodos of the Expo beca a chaotic, three-dinsional kill box. Tony weaved, dodged, and barrel-rolled, his suit's flight surfaces adjusting with microsecond precision. His repulsor blasts lanced out, vaporizing drones, which exploded in satisfying fireballs of cheap tal and faulty wiring. But for every one he destroyed, two more took its place, their relentless machine-gun fire stitching lines of destruction across the glass ceilings. Deadly shards, so as large as dinner plates, rained down on the panicked crowds below.
On the ground, it was a vision of hell. The terrestrial drones—hulking, bipedal monstrosities ard with cannons and rocket pods—began their indiscriminate advance. They weren't targeting Tony; they were targeting everything. Security personnel were cut down in hails of gunfire. Panicked civilians, trapped in the open plazas between exhibits, scread and scrambled for cover that wasn't there. A Marine drone swiveled its torso, its shoulder-mounted rocket pod locking onto a food court packed with terrified families.
From the VIP balcony, Alex watched the pandemonium unfold, his face hardening into a mask of profound annoyance. This was ssy. Inefficient. Human.
He saw a family—a mother, a father, two small children—cowering behind an overturned, flimsy information kiosk as one of the hulking Marine drones stomped towards them, its cannons glowing as they charged up. The father was trying to shield his family with his own body, a futile, pathetic, and undeniably brave gesture.
That was enough.
Alex lifted his left wrist, the sleek blue faceplate of the Omnitrix glowing with a soft, steady light.
"Alex, you know you can't."
The voice was Natasha's, quiet and urgent, right beside him. She hadn't moved, but her entire posture had shifted. She was no longer a corporate assistant; she was an agent, assessing threats, calculating outcos. "You're restricted by the Aethelgard Accords. You use a high-yield power here, on U.S. soil, and you start an international war."
Alex turned to her, his eyes chips of ice. "Are you seriously giving a lecture about international law while people are about to be turned into pavent stains? Look down there."
"I don't an it like that," she clarified, her gaze intense, never leaving his. "I just an you can't turn into… one of them." She was referring to the forms that had earned him his own special clause in the accords—the planet-shakers, the city-killers. "The governnt knows they can't stop you if you truly cut loose, but they fear it. If you use one of those forms here, like it or not, they'll see it as a nuclear weapon walking on Arican soil. The fallout would be… uncontrollable."
Alex actually let out a short, dry laugh. "Please. I don't need to use a nuke for this… children's playground." He looked down at the chaos, then back at her, his expression one of supre, almost insulting, confidence. "Watch and learn, Agent Romanoff."
He tapped the faceplate of the Omnitrix, twisting the dial. He didn't even need to look. He knew the one he wanted. He slamd his palm down.
A brilliant flash of blue light enveloped him. His form wavered, then shifted. His body beca a floating, vaguely humanoid shape, its surface a dark, almost black tallic material with glowing green lines of circuitry etched across it. His head was a smooth, tallic horseshoe shape with a single, glowing green slit for an eye. Where his feet should have been, there was only a tapered point, and his hands ended in large, pincer-like claws. His entire being pulsed with an unseen, powerful force. This was Lodestar, a Biosovortian, a master of magnetism.Without a word, Lodestar floated over the balcony railing. Below, the Marine drone had its cannons locked on the terrified family. Just as it was about to fire, it froze. Its tal chassis groaned, a high-pitched squeal of protesting tal. With a sharp gesture from Lodestar, the drone was ripped apart from the inside out. Its armor plates tore away from its skeleton, its weapon systems were pulled from their mountings, and its internal chanisms were crushed into a compressed ball of scrap. It collapsed into a heap of junk, its charging cannons fizzling out harmlessly.
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Lodestar descended into the plaza, a silent, imposing figure. Panicked civilians who saw him scread, unsure if he was friend or foe. He ignored them. He raised his hands, and a powerful magnetic field erupted from him. Every piece of loose tal in the vicinity—lampposts, trash cans, railings, even the steel rebar from shattered concrete—was pulled into the air, swirling around him to form a crude but incredibly effective shield of debris.
Another ground drone fired a volley of rockets at a group of fleeing teenagers. Lodestar simply thrust a hand forward. The rockets froze in mid-air, their guidance systems scrambled. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he sent them hurtling back towards the drone that had fired them. The drone was obliterated in a massive fireball.
He moved through the chaos with thodical precision. He didn't just destroy the drones; he unmade them. He pulled the pins from their grenades while they were still in their launch bays. He reversed the polarity of their power cores, causing them to overload and detonate. He tore the armor plating from their bodies and used it as razor-sharp projectiles to slice through other drones. He was a one-man recycling plant of death and destruction. At the sa ti, he used his powers to protect. A section of the glass biodo roof, shattered by the aerial dogfight, began to fall towards a crowded exit. Lodestar raised a hand, and the thousands of falling shards froze, then gently floated to the ground like tallic snow, forming a harmless pile. He was a whirlwind of controlled chaos, saving lives and taking chanical ones with equal, unnerving efficiency.
High above, in the chaotic skies, Tony was fighting a losing battle. "J.A.R.V.I.S., how many are left?" he grunted, executing a tight barrel roll to evade a missile.
"Approximately 42 aerial drones still active, sir. Your suit's power is at 19 percent. The Mark VI armor was not designed for sustained, high-intensity combat against a nurically superior force."
"Yeah, well, add that to the list of design flaws," Tony muttered. He managed to connect his comms. "Pepper! Pepper, can you hear ?"
"Tony! Oh, thank God! Are you alright?" Her voice was tinny, filled with panic.
"Peachy, just dancing with a few dozen of Hamr's killer robots. Listen to , Pep, you have to get out of there. But first, I need you to do sothing for . This isn't Hamr. It's Vanko. Ivan Vanko is controlling these things remotely. You have to find him. You have to shut him down. That's the only way to stop this."
"Vanko? But… how? Where?"
"I don't know! Hamr brought him in! That two-bit, snake-oil-selling son of a bitch has to know where he is! Find Hamr, Pepper! Find him and make him talk!" The line went dead as Tony was forced to dodge another volley of fire.
Pepper, huddled with Happy Hogan behind a large, overturned planter, relayed the information to Natasha, who had made her way down from the balcony and was now moving through the panicked crowd with the calm grace of a shark.
"Vanko," Natasha repeated, her eyes instantly hardening. "Hamr's the key." She spotted him—Justin Hamr, no longer a showman but a sniveling coward, being hustled towards a service exit by a phalanx of his own terrified-looking bodyguards. "I've got him."
"Nat! Be careful!" Pepper called out.
Natasha didn't reply. She was already moving. Happy, ever the loyal head of security, moved with her. "Stay behind , Natalie," he said, puffing out his chest. "I'll handle this."
Natasha gave him a look that was almost pitying. "Happy, with all due respect, just try not to get in my way."
They intercepted Hamr's group near the exit. "Mr. Hamr!" Natasha called out, her voice calm, professional.
Hamr's bodyguards imdiately ford a protective wall. "Stay back, lady! We've got a situation here!" one of them barked.
Happy stepped forward. "Hey, fellas, easy now. We just need a word with your boss."
"Beat it, tubby," another guard sneered, shoving Happy back.
That was all Natasha needed. She moved with a fluid grace that was terrifying to behold. She grabbed the first guard's outstretched arm, twisted, and used his own montum to throw him into the second guard. A quick, precise jab of her fingers into the third guard's neck caused his eyes to roll back as he collapsed from a targeted nerve strike. The fourth pulled a gun, but she was already on him, disarming him with a sharp twist of his wrist, followed by a vicious elbow strike to his jaw that sent him crashing to the floor. The entire fight took less than five seconds.
Happy Hogan just stared, his mouth agape. "I… I had him," he mumbled weakly. Pepper, who had followed them, looked equally stunned by the lethal efficiency of her "notary public."
Natasha ignored them both, stepping over the groaning bodyguards to block Justin Hamr's escape. He was backed against a wall, his face a mask of pure terror.
"Where is Ivan Vanko?" Natasha demanded, her voice cold as steel.
"Vanko? Who? I… I don't know anyone by that na!" Hamr stamred, sweat pouring down his face. "I swear! I'm the victim here!"
Natasha didn't waste any more ti with words. Her hand shot out, a blur of motion, and she punched him squarely in the face. The crack of his nose breaking was audible.
"AAGH! My nose! You broke my nose!" he shrieked, clutching his face as blood poured between his fingers.
"Let's try this again," Natasha said, her voice dangerously soft. "Where. Is. Vanko?"
"I don't know! I swear to God!"
Natasha's leg shot out, her stiletto heel connecting with brutal, pinpoint accuracy to Hamr's groin.
Hamr let out a high-pitched, strangled scream that was inhuman in its agony. He collapsed to his knees, sobbing, clutching himself. "Okay! Okay! Stop! Please, God, stop!" he cried, tears and blood mixing on his face. "He's at the Hamr Industries main complex! In the experintal lab in the Japanese garden! Just… just don't hit again!"
Natasha looked down at the pathetic, whimpering man with utter contempt. She turned to Happy, who was still staring, completely dumbfounded. "Get the car. Now."
Happy snapped out of his trance and nodded, turning to run back towards the VIP parking area. Natasha grabbed Pepper by the arm. "Co on. We're getting you out of here, then we're ending this."
As they hurried away, leaving Justin Hamr crying on the floor, Natasha was already relaying the location to Fury, her mind focused on the next phase of the mission. The night was far from over.
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