The VIP lounge at the Circuit de Monaco.

  On the television monitors, the feed had cut from the race to the chaotic scene in the pit lane. Tony had just kicked the driver of the Stark Industries car out and climbed into the cockpit.

  "He's doing what?" Pepper yelled at the screen, her hands gripping the back of a chair so hard her knuckles were white. " tell me he isn't getting in the car. Natalie! tell me he isn't in the car!"

  Natalie Rushman aka Natasha was typing furiously on her phone, looking surprisingly calm. "He's in the car, Ms. Potts. The race marshals can't stop him. He owns the team."

  I sat on a leather sofa near the window, watching the track below. The blue and white Formula 1 car moving past, the engine note high and piercing.

  "Let him drive, Pepper," I said, not looking away from the asphalt. "He needs the speed. It drowns out the noise in his head."

  "He's not a professional driver!" Pepper snapped, spinning around. "He's going to crash!"

  "Probably," I admitted. "But the car has a reinforced carbon-fiber tub. He'll be okay I guess."

  I took a sip of water. I knew the crash wasn't the problem. The problem was walking onto the track right now, wearing an orange jumpsuit and carrying electric whips.

  On the track, the cars were coming around the hairpin.

  Then, it happened.

  Ivan Vanko stepped over the barrier.

  From my vantage point, he was a small figure, but the twin tendrils of plasma he ignited were unmistakable. Snap-hiss. He slashed the lead car. The vehicle flipped, airborne, crashing into the barriers in a shower of sparks.

  The crowd screamed.

  "Oh my god," Pepper gasped, seeing the flames on the screen.

  "Happy," I said, standing up. My voice was calm, but it carried a weight that made Happy Hogan snap to attention. "Get the case. Drive. Now."

  Happy didn't ask questions. He grabbed the red and silver suitcase- the Mark V and ran for the door. Pepper followed him, shouting into her phone.

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  I didn't follow. I walked out onto the private viewing balcony.

  Below, the chaos was happening. Vanko was walking down the center of the track, waiting. Tony came around the bend.

  Slice.

  The front of Tony's car was sheared off. The vehicle cartwheeled, slamming into the wall.

  The panic in the stands was absolute. People were shoving, climbing over seats, trampling each other to get away from the "terrorist" on the track.

  I looked down at the section of the stands directly below the crash site.

  Tony's car had disintegrated on impact. A massive piece of the rear suspension- a jagged, heavy steel arm attached to a spinning tire had broken loose. It was flying through the air, arcing upward, directly toward the VIP box below mine.

  A group of school children, winners of a "Future Engineers" contest, were frozen in the front row. They were screaming, but they couldn't move. The debris was moving at eighty miles an hour. It was going to turn them into paste.

  I leaned over the railing.

  I didn't yell. I didn't wave my hand. I didn't summon a barrier of red energy that would be visible on camera.

  I simply looked at the spinning metal.

  I focused my will. The Noblesse authority over matter.

  Cease.

  My pupils contracted. A microscopic burst of pure telekinetic pressure slammed into the object.

  To the cameras and the terrified onlookers, it looked like a freak occurrence. The suspension arm didn't hit an invisible wall; it just... unraveled. The steel bolts sheared simultaneously. The carbon fiber lost its structural integrity.

  In mid-air, ten feet from the children's faces, the deadly projectile exploded into a cloud of harmless dust and small rubber chunks. It looked like the object had just vibrated itself apart.

  The dust showered over the kids. They flinched, waiting for the impact that never came.

  I blinked, the red glow in my eyes fading instantly.

  Down on the track, Tony crawled out of the wreckage. He was bleeding from the mouth. He looked terrified. Vanko was walking toward him, the whips cracking the pavement.

  "Come on, Happy," I whispered, gripping the railing.

  I watched as the Rolls Royce smashed through the barrier, slamming into Vanko. It was messy. It was desperate. But it bought Tony the seconds he needed.

  Happy threw the case. Tony grabbed it.

  Click-whirr-clank.

  The Suitcase Armor deployed. It was thinner, weaker than the others, but it was armor.

  The fight that followed was brutal. Vanko had the reach; Tony had the repulsors. I watched Tony struggle. I watched him realize that his technology wasn't untouchable. He needed this fear. He needed to know that his "privatized world peace" was a lie.

  Finally, Tony ripped the Arc Reactor out of Vanko's chest suit. Silence fell over the track.

  Police sirens wailed in the distance.

  I stepped back from the balcony edge before anyone looked up. My job was done. The kids were safe. Tony was alive. And the world had just seen Iron Man bleed.

  I walked back into the empty lounge. I picked up my phone.

  "Natalie," I said when she answered. "Secure the perimeter. I'm heading back to the jet."

  I hung up.

  "Ivan Vanko," I muttered to the empty room. "You were easier to deal with than the paperwork this is going to cause."

  I adjusted my cuffs and walked out. The "Monaco Incident" was over. The real war for the company was just beginning.