In the few seconds Ivan was blind, Tony had suited up.

The high-tech transformation, the iconic red-and-gold armor, the glowing, cold faceplate… The guests who hadn’t managed to cram themselves into the elevator were actually screaming with excitement. The rich, single Parisian women, in particular, looked like they were ready to pounce.

“Go, Iron Man!”

“Kill that piece of trash, Tony!”

“Tony! Je t’aime!”

The high-pitched squeals were deafening, a true display of that “French passion.”

Pepper just scowled and muttered, “Bitches.”

Happy stood beside her, pretending he hadn’t heard a goddamn thing.

Ivan rubbed his eyes, his vision clearing. He looked at the armored figure and said, “You… You don’t deserve… to wear that.”

A minute ago, Tony was just a terrified, unarmed civilian, forced to just take Ivan’s taunts. But now, in the suit, he was a superhero. His confidence was back.

“I only have one question,” Tony snorted. “How did you know I was in Paris?”

Ivan gripped his whips. “You rich motherfuckers… you fly private. It doesn’t cost much on the black market to get your flight logs.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “Good to know. Thanks. Next time… I’ll fly commercial.”

“Next time? There is no next time!” Ivan roared, charging, his whips snapping through the air.

“Sir, incoming!” JARVIS warned, highlighting the whip’s trajectory and flashing a dodge vector.

Tony followed the suggestion, leaning his torso just slightly to the right. The electrified whip cracked past his armor, centimeters away, and slammed into the floor, leaving a blackened, sizzling scar.

Tony glanced at it, completely unimpressed.

That’s it?

He’d gone toe-to-toe with Jason, a real goddamn villain. Their fights leveled blocks. This… this was pathetic. He had no idea where Ivan got the balls to try and attack him.

Tony wasn’t interested in this cat-and-mouse bullshit. He raised his gauntlet and fired a repulsor blast.

Ivan tried to block it with his other whip. Snap! The brittle weapon just disintegrated, and the blast hit him square in his homemade arc reactor.

BOOM!

Ivan was blasted off his feet, flying a dozen meters and smashing into the wall. The reactor, his power source, was ripped from his chest and clattered to the floor.

Tony walked over and picked it up.

“JARVIS.”

“On it, sir.”

A 3D schematic of the crude reactor appeared in his HUD. Tony glanced at the pathetic output specs and, with a look of utter disdain, crushed the “toy” in his hand. It was a piece of shit. Not even worth studying.

Ivan, clutching his chest, struggled to his feet, a bloody laugh bubbling from his lips. “Tony… haha… you… you lose… you lose…”

Tony had no idea what the fuck he was talking about. “You’re insane.”

He raised his hand and fired one more low-power blast, knocking Ivan out cold.

The restaurant was silent for one second… and then erupted.

“Oh, thank you, Iron Man!”

“Tony, you’re the best!”

The fight was over. They were safe. The socialites and rich old swarmed him, patting and stroking the cold metal armor.

“Ooh, it’s so hard!”

“Tony, can it fly?”

“Mr. Stark! Can I buy one?”

Tony was mobbed. He was used to the beautiful women, but the men… the men were rubbing up against him, too. What the fuck?

Just then, the elevator doors opened again. The GIGN team had finally arrived. They stepped out, weapons ready, and just… stared at the bizarre, party-like atmosphere.

This was a goddamn terrorist attack? Did some asshole call in a false alarm?

Tony saw the soldiers and sighed in relief. “Hey! You guys in charge here?”

The soldiers just looked at each other. Holy shit. It’s Iron Man.

The team leader walked up, and Tony and the other guests explained what happened. The leader thanked Tony, ordered his men to bag the unconscious Ivan, and then got on the phone. He relayed an invitation from the President himself.

With the date ruined, Tony and Pepper weren’t in the mood for sightseeing. Happy pulled the car around, and they drove back to the Four Seasons.

………

Paris burned all night.

Even with every fire truck in the city, the Notre Dame fire raged for ten hours. By dawn, the 800-year-old landmark was a fragile, blackened shell, a hollowed-out skeleton. Countless priceless artifacts were just… gone.

And that wasn’t all. The Louvre had been hit. The Mona Lisa… was stolen. The entire nation was in shock.

Then there was the attack on the Eiffel Tower. Even with Iron Man’s “lucky” intervention, dozens were still wounded or dead.

The sky over Paris was a grim, overcast gray, as if God himself was mourning.

Thousands of Parisians flocked to the streets, leaving flowers for the cathedral, for the museum, for the dead.

And that profound, national grief… it curdled, fast, into pure, unadulterated rage.

When the Joker Organization was fucking up America, the French had been cheering. They loved it. It was “God’s punishment” for America’s arrogance. French economists had gleefully calculated the billions of dollars in damage. The Joker was a “cancer” that would, in ten years, drag the American superpower into dust.

And best of all, there was no cure.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The Joker Organization had been popular overseas. They were called “anti-American freedom fighters.” Some politician dipshit had even wanted to give Jason a medal.

But no one… no one… ever thought the Joker Organization would be this arrogant.

You don’t fight a war on two fronts. The Führer had proven that. But these Joker assholes, they just didn’t give a shit. They pissed off America, and now they’d come to take a shit on France’s doorstep.

Suddenly, the French got it. They finally felt the same violation, the same pain, that Americans had been feeling. And they hated the Joker Organization for it.

The internet, once full of praise, was now a sea of anti-Joker vitriol. Protests erupted. The French people were demanding blood.

The public’s rage put the President in a vise. He had to act.

He locked the goddamn country down. Airports, train stations, ports… everything. No one in, no one out without a full-cavity search. Forensics teams swarmed the crime scenes. Immigration was ordered to pull the manifests for every single person who had entered the country in the last two weeks. Especially… Black people.

It wasn’t racism, the government insisted… it was just that all the witness videos from the square showed two Black men.

The entire nation became a machine, hunting.

By dawn, a thick file was on the President’s desk. It contained over a hundred potential suspects.

His aide pointed. “Sir, these are all… possibilities. But the last page… these two are our prime suspects.”

The President flipped to the end. It was Franklin and A-Train.

“They entered yesterday morning,” The aide explained. “They hired a student as a tour guide. But… they didn’t rest. They didn’t check into their hotel and crash. They went immediately to the Louvre, and then to Notre Dame.”

“We pulled the CCTV. They showed zero interest in the art. They just walked through. They took no pictures. No selfies. Nothing. It’s completely inconsistent with typical tourist behavior.”

The President frowned. “That’s all circumstantial bullshit.”

“Sir, there’s more,” The aide pressed. “The stolen Audi used to drive to the suburbs? It was boosted five minutes from their hotel. The Four Seasons. Separately, these mean nothing. But together? The probability is too high.”

“What’s your plan?” The President asked.

The aide’s face was grim. “First, we detain the guide. We see what she knows. Then, we hit the hotel. We ‘question’ them, we pull their surveillance, we lean on the staff. If we can prove they left the hotel at all during the time of the attacks… we arrest them. Then we interrogate them.”

“Sir, these are Joker operatives. They won’t leave a trail. We’re never going to get ‘conclusive’ evidence. These are… special circumstances. They require… special measures.”

The President knew exactly what special measures meant. He nodded.

“Good. Do it.”

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You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.

pat reon.com/GreenBlue17

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep