One Crazy Russian
“It’s been a while since I was in front of you. Maybe I’ll just do us a favor and just stick to the cards. There’s been speculation that I was involved in the events that occurred on the freeway and the rooftop…”
“Sorry, Mr. Stark, do you honestly expect us to believe that that was a bodyguard in a suit that conveniently appeared despite the fact that you historically despise bodyguards?”
“Yes.”
“And this mysterious bodyguard was somehow equipped with an undisclosed Stark high-tech-powered battle…”
“I know that it’s confusing. It is one thing to question the official story, and another thing entirely to make wild accusations or to insinuate that I’m a superhero. I mean, let’s face it. I’m not the heroic type. A laundry list of character defects, all the mistakes I’ve made largely public.”
“The truth is…I am Iron Man.”
“Ivan…” The voice that spoke was rough, sickly, and heavily Russian.
In the front hall of the dilapidated house, a man stood with his back to the man. As the man continued to call out in Russian, he turned and made his way back to the main room, a bottle of vodka in his hand.
As he sat down next to his father, the man spoke again. “That should be you.”
“Don’t listen to that crap,” Ivan told him, understanding that these were his father’s last moments.
Coughing, Anton sighed. “I’m sorry. All I can give you is my knowledge.”
He coughed again, and as Ivan held his face, he started to speak. That was when he noticed his father’s eyes closed. Grief and anger filled Ivan’s body as he held his father’s dead body. Then he started screaming.
…
Ripping papers from the table, Ivan sank to the floor and flattened out the blueprints in front of him. Staring at the plans for the arc reactor, he looked down at the bottom of the page and saw two distinct names: Howard Stark and Anton Vanko.
He would avenge his father. Then he would kill Tony Stark.