Chapter 3
Thaddeus was looking over the reports from the latest Hulk experiments. Thus far, trying to replicate the accident had failed, and none of the subjects survived the explosion. The other experiments involving Banner’s blood had lead to deformed, grotesque creatures that writhed in pain for hours before they were finally put out of their misery. Medals of service were sent to each of the volunteers’ families, but the loss of his men was starting to grate on the general. If a man as spineless as Bruce Banner could survive the exposure, why couldn’t any of his weathered soldiers?
He was rereading the findings of Banner’s dissection when a movement outside his office window caught his attention. Ross turned just in time to see the glass explode around him, shards cutting into his arms where he had raised them to shield his face. The blast sent him flying back into his desk, blurring his vision with a crack to the head. He didn’t see the man before he heard him speak.
“General Ross.”
Instantly, the soldier whipped his head towards the sound of the voice, fixing the speaker with a glare that promised retribution. But the face he found was not the one he was suspecting.
“Stark?” Thaddeus laughed, lowering his arms with a grin. The man wasn’t even in his armor. He stood before the general with little more than a slightly muffed suit and sunglasses.
“I didn’t think you’d be the one the Avengers would send to do their dirty work, Stark. I thought you left that game?”
Tony stepped forward violently, snatching the man by the collar and hoisting him up with superhuman strength. It was then that the general saw the orb glowing beneath the billionaire’s shirt, and heard the whirr of machinery beneath his sleeves. So, he had a new model, then.
“I’m not here for the Avengers, I’m here for Bruce,” Tony growled, holding the older man a good two feet off the ground. His wrist didn’t so much as tremble under the weight, just like he’d intended for his new “stealth” suit.
“Banner? Isn’t it a little late for that? I already gave him back to you,” Ross laughed, despite the odds currently stacked against him. Angry men were stupid, and stupid men gave him a few more seconds for his soldiers to get there.
But Tony didn’t reply. Instead, a blade jutted from his sleeve, embedded in the black armor beneath it. Ironman held the point uncomfortably close to Ross’ jugular. Cool acceptance crossing his features, the general hung back his head, baring his neck to the blade. The suit may not have weakened under his weight, but it wasn’t weight that made the point against his neck tremble.
Neither one knew how long they stayed like that, before Tony finally swore and threw the general to the ground.
“Couldn’t do it, eh? You really have gone soft, Stark,” Ross huffed, relieved he had won his silent bet. He probably should have been running then, but he’d always been a competitive man. And now, he needed to put Stark in his place.
He wasn’t expecting the blade to be pushed towards his neck a second time, nor for the thumb of the other hand to close around his throat.
“You can thank Bruce for that,” Tony snarled, his faceplate cracking open to look the general face to face, “but now that he’s gone, no one is there to fight for your life anymore. The only reason you are not bleeding out right now is because I know it’s not what Bruce would have wanted.”
The general laughed, then brought his own hand to try and pry Stark’s metal fingers from his neck. His chuckle was met with a sharp sting on his neck, right over his jugular. He couldn’t help but swallow as the grin faded from his face. Stark’s eyes glinted with malice, his sadistic pleasure painted in a quirk of his cheek.
“You give me one reason, Ross. One reason to put you under, and I swear, I’ll end you so painfully that Bruce’s death looked painless. You make one move towards me or any of my friends, if you so much as mention Banner’s name again, you’ll regret it. And you better fucking pray that this is the last time you see me,” Tony spat, throwing Ross back down onto the floor with enough force to make the general smack his head again.
“Fine,” the soldier growled. After the Battle of New York, Iron Man was untouchable. To publicly accuse him of something like this was fruitless. Tony Stark would have already set up an alias, and found a way to erase his image from any security camera.
“Glad we could chat,” Tony said, retracting his armor from his head and neck, sliding his hands back into his pockets. The man jumped down from the second story window with no difficulty, and the general didn’t bother to watch him go. He could barely hear his door being forced open over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.