Chapter 226

The outer skeleton of Stark Tower unfolded with a roar, the mesh structure supporting the triangular tower retracting inward, the cylindrical metal frame opening to reveal primary support structures, cannons aligning and embedding themselves as layers of casing unfolded and armed themselves.

Countless identical processes repeated endlessly, metallic glimmers like sunlight floating on the sea, intricate steel skeletons emerging like fish breaching the surface; within seconds, Stark Tower unfolded and evolved from top to bottom, countless gun emplacements and weapons surging forth.

After all the small turrets on the uppermost level had deployed, a row of launchers rose between the two vertical metal pillars at the tower's apex, then rotated with a hum to face the two opposing forces locked in stalemate.

"Defense protocol activated. Standard defense measures deployed. Locking… Locking complete… Preparing…"

Beyond layers of hardened metal and perfectly fitted internal structures, levers lifted, gears turned, energy traveled along circuits, preheating, firing pins trembling, primary and secondary barrels blooming like flower buds—light descended upon the muzzles.

A rain of fire poured down; Rhodes' Stark mech unit took off, withdrew, and provided cross-cover with disciplined precision, while Justin Hammer's Hammer mech unit fully demonstrated what "blind flies" meant.

In the instant he attempted to take off, half of the hundred-plus mechs were obliterated by the furious rain of light.

Smoke-choked fragments tumbled to the ground, rolled a few times, wobbled twice in place, then dissolved entirely into powder.

Everyone brought to Stark Tower's secure level watched a missile, shrieking through the air, catch up to a mech—after a violent explosion, countless shards rained down.

Then dozens more missiles streaked past, trailing smoke, their whistles like wailing demons in the night; behind the glass walls, all observers were silhouetted by the blinding flashes of explosions, looking up to see fireworks blooming in the daylight sky over New York.

Hammer had assumed today's spectacle would be a robot war—but it proved that ground-to-air missiles and comprehensive ground-to-air fire coverage were the best weapons against these mechs.

Stark, having experienced the arrival of mechanical domination, no longer wished to engage in close-quarters combat with any enemy.

The current Iron Man believed such combat methods were an insult to machinery; in the flood of steel, every enemy deserved a death tailored precisely to them—cool, accurate, and fully armed, as industry and machinery pursued their ultimate goal.

The true Iron Man had thousands of ways to eliminate his enemies: disassembling them, shattering them, turning them into fireworks, burning them to ash—but none of these methods should ever include charging into battle in a mech and swinging fists.

Obadiah stood behind the glass wall of his office, watching Stark hover in midair; as Stark waved his arm, missiles surged like shark pods chasing prey, Hammer's mech force fled in panic, and under the intense fire coverage, neither Justin nor Whiplash could find an opening to approach Stark.

He recalled Stark fighting the mech piloted by General Johnson—back then, Stark had been driven to desperation, even severely wounded; now, the support structures flanking the glass wall were layered with gun emplacements, the flashes of bullets obscuring Obadiah's view of the outside.

Obadiah lowered his head, lit a cigarette, then picked up his phone; before the call connected, he murmured: "Looks like your son finally woke up…"

When Stark's firepower fully unleashed, military helicopters arrived—but none dared approach the fire zone; even Justin's advanced mech collapsed instantly under such ferocious coverage, and armed helicopters stood no chance against this assault.

But their problem was this: after Stark Tower was converted into a cluster of gun emplacements, the fire coverage area had become too vast—they couldn't even speak face-to-face with Stark, and could only call him from afar.

The first voice in Stark's mech was Obadiah's; he heard his uncle speak calmly: "The military will call you soon. The interests you gave away must be reclaimed. Do as I say…"

Two minutes later, Rhodes' voice came through Stark's mech: "Military requests negotiation. Shall we connect?"

"Reject the connection. Take your armed mech unit and eliminate the few remaining mechs that weren't destroyed. Ensure no armed forces remain except Justin's and Yin Fan's personal mechs."

"Understood, static…"

Two minutes later, JARVIS' voice sounded: "Scan confirmed… Threats fully cleared. Fire coverage contracting… Military communication connected…"

Before the other side could speak, Stark said: "Send helicopters. We'll talk in person."

Looking at the countless gun emplacements still extended across Stark Tower's facade, the military liaison said: "We can't approach. Please leave your fire coverage zone, then…"

"Leave my fire coverage zone?" Stark's tone dripped with sarcasm. "Do you have a new moon landing plan?"

"We— we—" Static crackled through the military line; soon, Stark heard a deeper, older voice: "In ten minutes, we will send representatives to Stark Tower for negotiations…"

Under the watchful gaze of military helicopters, Stark descended slowly, retracted the armor covering his body, and walked back inside the building.

Soon, the gun emplacements on Stark Tower's exterior retracted one by one; the crowd released from the secure level surged out like a flood, pouring through narrow doors.

2k novel

As dusk fell, the massive school of fish gradually dispersed, returning to their proper places; lights flickered on one by one between the towers.

Tonight, New York burned with light, sleepless.

The Global Times, the Daily Bugle, the New York Daily News—in the buildings of every major newspaper, inside the windows, countless workers bent over their desks; photos were fed into printers, newspapers flew out of the presses like butterflies, flapping their wings over New York, tracing smooth arcs through the air.

Newspaper staff who had worked all night stood before the coffee machine, watching amber-brown coffee drip into cups, splashing ripples, stirring up frothy bubbles.

When the foam faded, Shieler set down his cup, removed his glasses, rubbed his temples, closed the newspaper in his hand, and asked Rhodes beside him: "So, did the military negotiate with Stark?"

"They had to, eventually." Rhodes' tone was relaxed; since returning from vacation, his military sternness had softened. He sipped his coffee and said: "But the military made one mistake."

"What?"

Rhodes smiled, recalling the scene after yesterday's battle.

Rapid, heavy footsteps echoed through the first-floor lobby of Stark Tower; the elevator doors opened, several pairs of boots stepped inside, and the generals' grim expressions vanished as the doors slowly closed.

"Ding." The elevator arrived. Following the light's guidance, they pushed open the conference room door—but the person inside was not the expected Tony Stark, but another: the one they least wanted to see.

The lead general's face twitched; he muttered a name lowly: "…Obadiah Stane."

Shieler sipped his coffee, turned the newspaper page, and read as he spoke: "I can already imagine how horrific they looked."

"Maybe even worse than you imagine." Rhodes' tone carried a touch of schadenfreude. "Ever since I left the military and took a spectator's view, I realized how foolish it was for me, once standing in their shoes, to demand everyone sacrifice for the nation."

"So you won't go back?"

Rhodes shook his head. "I can't fully escape this system—I've walked too far down this path."

"I'm waiting for the right moment, when I can change it—even if only a little."

"After all, I can't take Tony's paycheck and work solely for him—that way, I'd lose the right to punch him when he acts like an idiot."

"I can tell you really want to punch him."

"I said I'm waiting for the right moment." Rhodes shrugged and smiled.

"Tell me more about the negotiations. Did Justin Hammer and Yin Fan Wanke attend too?"

"Yes. Their part was the most spectacular."

After the generals entered, behind them came Justin Hammer and Yin Fan Wanke, battered, smoking, and broken.

Rhodes and several other mechs escorted them in. Obadiah sat at the conference table, not glancing at Hammer once—his gaze fixed on Yin Fan.

When Stark entered, dressed in a suit, spotless from head to toe, he saw Justin's mech, walked over with a grin, and slammed his hand hard against its shoulder—*crack*—the shoulder armor fell off, internal wiring sparked in a chain reaction, then *boom*—the forearm armor exploded.

Stark grinned. "What did you call this thing again? Ex-wife? Is this all a married man can manage? Hahaha!"

Yin Fan tried to swing a punch; Rhodes stopped him. Whiplash's electric whips had been confiscated, and the room was filled with Stark's mechs—he had no choice but to surrender.

Obadiah kept staring at Yin Fan. He tapped the table, signaling everyone to sit. Tony and Rhodes took the left side; the military, Hammer, and Yin Fan sat on the right; Obadiah sat in the center.

He looked first at the military and said calmly: "I understand you meant to knock. But your method was as crude as ever."

He glanced at Justin Hammer. "The gloves you found are nowhere near his father's. The knock sounded terrible."

With Obadiah present, Stark slipped into his usual daze—he made no effort to grasp what Obadiah meant, nor did he care to analyze the current situation. Beyond these gestures, all he could do was glare at Yin Fan.

Skipping the lengthy mutual probing, polite exchanges, and nostalgic reminiscing; bypassing debates over right and wrong, morality and ethics; leaping past the pleasantries and utopian visions of world peace—an hour later, the meeting finally turned to substance.