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Chapter 107 – Morocco
🕑 Added 2025-11-10 15:53:13 +0000 UTCLucas wasn’t about to indulge that pompous senator. He gave the man a cold, dismissive glance, then calmly set his bucket of popcorn on the table and started eating, clearly treating the whole hearing as a movie.
“So this is a hearing, right? Why hasn’t it started yet? My time’s very valuable,” Tony said with a smirk, also munching popcorn as if he were at a comedy show.
“Ahem! We’ll now begin the hearing,” the senator declared, his tone full of self-importance. “In light of the fact that Tony Stark is in possession of a weapon of mass destruction, Congress has voted unanimously that the Iron Man armor must be surrendered to the United States government. Such technology, in private hands, poses a grave threat to public safety. Only under government control can it cease to endanger society!”
Tony let out a dry laugh. The man sure knew how to spin things—he’d turned Iron Man into a national threat with just a few words.
“A threat?” Tony scoffed. “I’m the superhero who protects New York. I stand for justice. My armor belongs to me and me alone—no one can take it from me, and no one can replicate it. I am Iron Man!”
He rose to his feet, spreading his arms wide as cameras flashed around the room.
“Order! Order!” the senator bellowed, his face dark with anger. “This is a hearing, not a circus!”
Tony’s attitude clearly humiliated him. The senator clenched his fists. “Very well, let’s call our first witness—Colonel James Rhodes!”
Rhodey entered the chamber and took a seat a few chairs away from Tony.
“Colonel Rhodes,” the senator began in a booming voice, “do you recognize the man seated at the center?”
“Yes, Senator. I know him,” Rhodey replied firmly.
“Then tell us, Colonel—what’s your assessment of Mr. Stark’s Iron Man armor? Would you say it qualifies as a weapon of mass destruction?”
The senator’s smirk showed he already knew the answer he wanted.
“I don’t think so, sir,” Rhodey said flatly. “If it were, it’d look a lot different—maybe a shoulder-mounted cannon, heavy machine guns, missile pods stacked head to toe. But that’s not what Stark built.”
“Very well,” the senator interrupted. “Then please direct your attention to this footage.”
The big screen flickered to life, showing a video of Iron Man’s mid-air clash with two fighter jets—the same incident from his return flight over the Middle East.
Tony’s eyes narrowed. Where the hell did he get that? That video shouldn’t even exist—Rhodey himself had only heard about the incident from radar chatter and the pilots’ reports.
“Where did you get that video?” Tony demanded.
“That’s not your concern,” the senator sneered. “Now, Colonel Rhodes—based on this evidence, would you say the Iron Man suit poses a threat to military operations?”
“…Yes, but—”
“That’s all. You may step down,” the senator cut him off before he could finish.
Rhodey sighed and shot Tony an apologetic glance before leaving the stand.
“Next, we’ll hear from Mr. Justin Hammer, CEO of Hammer Industries, for an expert analysis of Stark’s so-called ‘Iron Man’ armor.”
A tall, slick man in a designer suit and glasses strutted in, throwing Tony a sidelong glance full of smugness.
“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to dissect the engineering behind Stark Industries’ so-called revolutionary weapon…”
Hammer launched into a long-winded lecture full of technical jargon and self-congratulation. Finally, Tony couldn’t take it anymore.
“Excuse me, everyone,” he interrupted casually. “Let me show you something better.”
He pulled out his phone and tapped a few times. The live broadcast cut off abruptly—replaced by video footage of Hammer Industries’ own armor tests.
Every single one ended in disaster—explosions, malfunctions, and fatal accidents.
“Turn that off! Shut it down right now!!” Hammer screamed, lunging at Tony in a rage.
Bang!
Before he could reach him, Lucas’s foot shot out, catching Hammer square in the chest. The man flew backward and slammed into the front table, knocking over microphones and water glasses before collapsing unconscious.
Tony casually adjusted his tie. “As you can see, Hammer Industries has been secretly developing unauthorized weapons. The real question, gentlemen, is—who’s pulling the strings behind them?”
His words were pointed straight at the senator.
“You’re talking nonsense! You—filthy liar!” the man roared, his composure crumbling as he shouted like a fishmonger in a market.
Tony stepped forward. “No one takes my armor from me. It’s my creation, my legacy. I am Iron Man! And I alone can protect New York!”
His declaration brought the reporters to their feet in applause, flashes erupting like fireworks.
Lucas rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s see how long that confidence lasts.”
The hearing ended in chaos. The Senate failed to get what it wanted, and the senator’s outburst made the government look ridiculous. Though they tried to impose a media blackout, the press couldn’t care less—capitalism always trumped authority. Within hours, Tony Stark was once again the number-one headline across the world.
A few days later, he was in Morocco, gearing up for his first Formula 1 race.
His palladium poisoning had gotten worse—his skin was pale, his veins darkening around the reactor in his chest. Pepper was furious, thinking he’d finally matured, only to watch him spiral back into recklessness.
“Hey, how do I look? Handsome, right?” Tony’s muffled voice came from inside his racing helmet.
Lucas, in his own blue-and-white racing suit, fastened his gloves. “You look like a guy pretending he’s not dying. But sure, handsome.”
When Tony had invited him to join the Morocco Grand Prix, Lucas didn’t hesitate. Come on—it was F1! Who could resist?
He glanced at Tony’s ashen face and deepening eye circles. The poisoning was spreading fast, but this wasn’t the time to mention the new element. He’d wait until after the race.
The two climbed into their cars. Lucas’s blood surged with excitement. This was Formula One—the dream of every speed junkie!
The lights went green.
He slammed the accelerator to the floor—engine roaring, tires screaming. His car shot forward like a bullet.
The Moroccan track, mapped through the city streets, was narrow and brutal. Passing another car here wasn’t just difficult—it was deadly.
