Marvel's Iron Lady

Although Dr. Carlton Drake repeatedly emphasized the financial difficulties he faced, Miss Stark still couldn't help but be impressed by the Life Foundation's new research facility across from the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco.

The newly completed Life Foundation research center, perched on the hillside across the bridge, was part of a maritime park. Its central structure featured three massive, interconnected circular buildings that exuded a futuristic aesthetic and style, strikingly high-tech.

"I remember you mentioning that your finances were tight. Yet here you are, with this massive research facility?"

"Uh... technically, it was after the center's completion that the financial problems surfaced."

Miss Stark had come to the Life Foundation at Dr. Drake's invitation to assess the foundation's projects.

The Life Foundation focused on preparing for a possible apocalypse, ensuring that human civilization could survive potential future global disasters. Most of its projects centered on disaster engineering and biological research.

Strictly speaking, Miss Stark already had Dr. Helen leading her biotechnology research and didn't need another figure like Carlton Drake. Besides, Drake's biological expertise couldn't compare to Dr. Helen's, and there were few scientists worldwide who could.

Any smart investor would avoid putting money into two similar projects, wouldn't they?

However, Miss Stark chose to invest in the Life Foundation, not because of its potential, but because of Drake's utility as a pawn.

Aldrich Killian's AIM had been attacking the Life Foundation financially, bleeding it of funds, stalling research, and nearly forcing it into bankruptcy. This was a war that wouldn't end until one side was utterly defeated.

With her investment, Carlton Drake could relaunch the Life Foundation, creating an obstacle on AIM's path. Even if they couldn't completely obstruct AIM, they could at least be a nuisance. Moreover, the Life Foundation would serve as a perfect proxy, allowing her to probe AIM's true capabilities.

As for whether Drake would run off with the investment, that was impossible. The funds didn't just grant him a lifeline; they also secured Miss Stark a seat on the board, allowing her to appoint someone she trusted to oversee the foundation's operations.

As long as Carlton Drake had even a bit of sense, he'd never make the mistake of taking the money and running. Moreover—Miss Stark knew that within a few years, the Life Foundation would become the first human organization to encounter symbiotes.

After her assessments, she left Drake a report containing her evaluation of the Life Foundation's projects. In it, she cut two-thirds of its experiments, deeming them "wasteful and unpromising."

Whether or not those projects would ultimately be shut down was up to Drake; she was merely an investor, offering her own opinion.

Watching the sleek silver car drive off from the plaza outside the research center, Drake made up his mind. He would start by shutting down a few of the projects that indeed showed little promise. If that improved the foundation's finances, he'd continue shutting down the rest as she suggested.

For now, though, what mattered was that he had just secured a $30 million investment. No matter what, he'd have to show Miss Stark some results to get her to invest again in the future. As for the first order of business... Killian, you'd better watch out.

That evening, Miss Stark returned from San Francisco to New York.

The journey from JFK Airport to Manhattan wasn't particularly long or short, but factoring in traffic at intersections, it would take around an hour and a half. Originally, she didn't pay much attention to the drive.

However, during this hour-and-a-half trip, she noticed through her rearview mirror that a city service truck had been tailing her closely, never falling behind. She found it amusing—to think that someone would try to follow her in her own territory.

She waited patiently for her tail to make a move. She wasn't the type to panic like an ordinary woman; if anything, she was curious. Who was brazen enough to follow her, and what did they want?

Slowing down intentionally, she let her car travel from JFK Airport through Queens, across the Brooklyn Bridge, and into the heart of Washington Square. But to her surprise, the vehicle didn't make any moves, just followed her at a distance without incident.

It wasn't until her car halted at a red light near Central Park on the East Drive that she noticed the truck's engine shut off. A man in an orange-and-red work suit jumped out and started walking toward her.

He was a large man with long hair, distinctly Russian features, and a face etched with the weathered look of a man accustomed to cold climates. Built like a bear, he had a strikingly broad chest that seemed fuller than most women's.

Miss Stark's convertible Audi R8 had no roof, giving her an unobstructed view as the bear-like man bared a feral grin at her, letting two chains the thickness of her fingers slide down from his sleeves to the ground.

"Damn it… why did it have to be him?"

The sudden appearance of Ivan Vanko caught her off guard. She recognized him immediately.

After inheriting the memories of her counterpart from a parallel universe, she had come to know many people, including the man before her, Ivan Vanko. She hadn't, however, expected to run into him so soon.

It wasn't that she found Vanko threatening. In fact, among some records her father, Howard, left behind, she'd uncovered an old, obscure history. It was this piece of knowledge that had kept her from being overly wary or hostile toward Ivan Vanko.

But just because she bore no grudge against Vanko didn't mean he felt the same way. He was here for something important—revenge.

He had seen the Iron Man suit on TV, knew about the new head of Stark Industries, and had witnessed the stir she had caused across Afghanistan over the past few months.

But Vanko wasn't concerned with the scale of her actions or her motives. His focus was singularly on the glowing arc reactor at the center of the suit's chest.

That device… he'd seen it in the designs left by his late father, Anton Vanko, who had taken them from Stark Industries. In other words, it was something that should have rightfully belonged to their family—a legacy stolen and patented by another.

Ivan Vanko felt it was his duty to complete his father's unfinished business: to reclaim what was theirs and make Stark pay.

A genius in his own right and an expert in physics, he had spent two months studying and improving Anton Vanko's designs. He succeeded in creating an arc reactor along with a crude electric weapon and exoskeleton.

And why were his weapons and armor so crude? Because he was poor. Most of his money had been spent acquiring the materials for the reactor and booking passage from Russia to the United States. He had no funds left for improving his armor or weapons.

Now, equipped in a crude yet deadly powerful suit, Ivan Vanko stood before Miss Stark. This unexpected confrontation left her genuinely surprised.

Who gave him the courage to challenge her in New York City—essentially her home turf? Who gave him the nerve to take on her powerful Iron Legion with such crude weapons?

This challenge, like a moth drawn to a flame despite the stark power imbalance, amused Miss Stark. So much so that she felt reluctant to end this fight too easily by simply finishing off Ivan Vanko right there.

Vanko continued his slow approach toward her car, swinging two electrified chains in his hands. The high-voltage current coursed through the chains, burning away parts of his clothing and revealing his bear-like physique beneath. His chestplate had a crude arc reactor flashing at its core.

In the heart of Manhattan, pedestrians and drivers were never in short supply, and those sensing danger had already scattered, cautiously watching from afar. Vanko was indeed a walking hazard, clad in a suit of armor, however crude, with those electrically charged chains crackling menacingly.

No one here was foolish enough to ignore the danger, so they began fleeing, covering their heads to avoid harm from this bizarrely menacing figure. Some bystanders on the sidewalks even pulled out their phones to record the event.

Miss Stark opened her car door and stepped out, staring coldly at the bear of a man before her.

Ivan Vanko wasn't like the villains she'd encountered before; he didn't waste words. Instead, he swung one of the chains down from above, slicing through a car in front of him, cleaving it in two before kicking it aside. Nothing could stand in the way of his revenge.

When only one car separated them, a strange noise suddenly cut through the sky above. Stark didn't bother with pleasantries either; she kicked the car beside her straight toward Vanko.

The sleek, silver sports car spun sideways with a force most people couldn't imagine, tires screeching against the pavement before flying toward Vanko's position.

One of the electrified chains lashed down, its furious current slicing the car cleanly in two before it exploded into a fiery blossom, briefly filling everyone's vision.

Vanko took a couple of steps back but didn't hesitate to swing his second chain. He didn't care if the blast harmed him; he only wanted to kill that woman here and now, to end the Stark family myth.

The chain fell, but suddenly Vanko felt something strange—like he'd hit something, or maybe nothing at all. He tried to pull it back, but it wouldn't budge, as if something were holding it down.

He tugged twice more, even using the exoskeleton's full power, yet the chain wouldn't come free.

When the smoke from the explosion cleared, a red-and-gold figure appeared among the car's wreckage. The woman held one end of the chain, her face still uncovered by her helmet.

The moment Vanko had appeared, Jarvis had immediately activated a Mark-7 suit docked at Stark Tower. The tower was less than a kilometer from Central Park, so at full speed, the Mark-7 arrived in less than ten seconds.

"I know who you are, Ivan Vanko—and congratulations, you've succeeded in making me angry."

Perhaps to ensure she looked good for the headlines and news later, Miss Stark had opted to keep her face uncovered by the helmet. Everyone, including Vanko, could see her face, slightly smudged with dust but filled with unmistakable fury.

Vanko stared back at her with furious eyes, but Stark only kept walking forward with a proud stride, still gripping his chain. When he tried to strike, she beat him to it, landing a hard kick to his chest.

The force hurled him backward, and the chain yanked taut before snapping, sending him crashing to the ground. His crude reactor blinked erratically, like it could shut down at any second. After a few flickers, it finally went out.

The Iron Man suit itself hadn't augmented her power; it merely followed her own movements, completing the force of her kick.

That overwhelming strength came from the Extremis virus coursing through her, filling her body with heightened vitality. Paired with the external armor, Vanko's crude chestplate and reactor simply couldn't withstand it.

He struggled to his feet, clutching his chest, blood trickling from his mouth, his expression contorted with rage and pain.

"Stark... Your whole family… they're nothing but liars, thieves, butchers. I won't stop. I'll never stop…"

Vanko spat blood onto the ground, muttering under his breath. Miss Stark's eyebrows rose, her mood soured.

"Oh, you can call me a liar, sure, because capital is the biggest lie in this world. And you can call me a butcher, because plenty of people have died by my hand, either directly or indirectly."

"But a thief? You're maligning my good conscience, Ivan."

She felt justified in everything she'd done—especially when it came to those "stolen ideas." How could it be called stealing? She was simply making reasonable use of memories from another universe, claiming valuable concepts before anyone else. That was hardly theft. Since she'd brought these things to life, they belonged to her.

"You think my father stole your father's work. But I'll tell you now: technically, it was their shared work."

Her face softened into a strange smile before she continued.

"The reactor I'm using now doesn't even rely on anything from this reality. It was my father's concept, which I've realized. Are you really still using that outdated palladium core, Ivan?"

"I know why you're here, but as you are now, I don't even need to lift a finger—you'll die of internal bleeding before long."

She leaned down toward him, her face full of mockery.

"But I think letting you die like this would be far too boring. So I'll give you a chance—a chance to challenge me."

"Good luck, Ivan. I'll be waiting for the moment you appear before me again."

It was pure provocation. Miss Stark had successfully stoked Vanko's fury, a rage that burned hotter than ever, almost overwhelming him.

"You'll regret your arrogance, you damned woman!"

"Oh, don't worry about that. You'll be repaid for your impudence—several times over."

Ranting like a madman, Vanko seethed, while Stark gave him a dismissive smile. Sparing a regretful glance at her ruined sports car, she finally lowered her faceplate and took off, heading toward Stark Tower.

Only after she'd left did the NYPD arrive, their squad cars filling the intersection, surrounding Vanko. Shortly after, the battered Russian was loaded onto an ambulance.

Whatever he had done, whatever charges he faced, they could sort it out once he was out of danger.

In the corner of Central Park, a red-suited, human-sized duck sat on the wall, watching everything unfold from a distance.

"No matter how she changes the course of things, the future always returns to its original path. So this is what it means to be caught between an orderly universe and a chaotic one. Looks like the future of this world is only going to grow more tangled."

This suit-wearing, talking duck drew no attention. Passersby merely skirted around the police scene, paying no mind to the half-human-sized duck as though it didn't exist.

With the arrival of a disaster management truck, the duck's figure vanished without a trace.

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