Chapter 91: Chapter 91

Tony roared back to his Malibu beachfront mansion in his sleek Audi, the engine purring like a smug bastard as he pulled into the driveway. The second he stepped out, Pepper Potts stormed toward him, her face a mask of icy fury, looking like she was ready to rip him a new one. “Have you lost your fucking mind, Tony?” She snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “You went on live TV and provoked a goddamn terrorist? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Tony caught a face full of her rage, and while part of him was touched by her concern, another part was pissed off. He hated being doubted. “You and Rhodes, always the same shit,” He growled, running a hand through his hair. “Why the hell does everyone think I can’t handle this? They’re just a bunch of lowlife bastards with decent aim. As long as they’re human, they don’t stand a fucking chance against me.”

Tony’s arrogance was practically a personality trait, radiating off him like heat from a furnace. He didn’t give a damn about government suits or corporate fat cats—he’d roast them all with a smirk. But Jason, some dirtbag terrorist who clawed his way up from the gutter? The more people hyped up this asshole, the more Tony wanted to crush him into the dirt.

“Tony!” Pepper’s voice cracked with worry, her eyes wide. “He’s the fucking number-one most-wanted fugitive in the country—”

“Enough!” Tony cut her off, his brows furrowing as he roared, “Just watch, Pepper! Three days from now, that bitch-born bastard either shows up and I take his head—worth thirty million bucks, by the way—or he chickens out, and I’ll still make him look like the spineless fuck he is.”

Pepper stared at him, stunned, her mouth half-open. “You’re fucking impossible!” She spat, before turning on her heel and storming off, her heels clicking angrily against the floor.

Tony watched her go, a pang of regret hitting him as he slumped into a chair. ’Fuck, I shouldn’t have snapped at her like that,’ He thought, rubbing his temples. ’But this is who I am—a prick with a temper, and I’ll probably never change.’

He waved a hand, summoning Happy, who jogged over like a loyal dog. “Boss!”

“Get your ass to the company right now,” Tony ordered, his voice all business. “I want you to handpick three hundred elite security guys. Minimum five years on the job, not a single fucking blemish on their records. If there’s even a hint of sketchy shit, they’re out. No exceptions.”

Happy nodded, already mentally running through the roster. “Got it, boss.”

“And tell them to lock this shit down—company headquarters, factories, this goddamn villa, everything. I want armed guards crawling over every inch of my properties. If we’re short on manpower, throw money at the problem. Hire the best mercenaries on the market. I don’t care what it costs.”

“On it, boss,” Happy said, already heading out to make it happen, his footsteps echoing with purpose.

—

Black Organization Hideout

Jason sat at a table, his mind racing as he calculated the odds of pulling off the heist of the fucking century. If Tony had baited him with three hundred million, five hundred million, or even eight hundred million, Jason wouldn’t have given it a second thought. That kind of chump change wasn’t worth the risk.

But one billion dollars? That was a game-changer. A fucking fortune that could buy him something straight out of a sci-fi wet dream—a superpower from system. For months, he’d been sifting through the options, weighing which ability would give him the edge. Now, he’d made his choice. With that kind of power in his hands, Tony’s army of hired guns and high-tech traps wouldn’t mean shit.

Still, Jason wasn’t some reckless dumbass. Before he dove headfirst into this suicide mission, he needed to lock down two critical details.

First, he had to confirm that the vault was actually holding one billion in cold, hard cash. No assumptions, no guesses—real fucking money.

Second, the vault door had to be open, just like Tony promised. Stark was an arrogant prick who loved to play the big shot, so if he said on live TV he’d leave the vault door wide open with one billion inside, he’d probably follow through just to flex. But this was a bank heist, the kind of job that could get your head blown off. Jason wasn’t about to bet his life on “probably.” He needed to scout the bank himself, get eyes on the setup, and make sure Tony wasn’t playing him for a fool.

If Stark tried to pull some sneaky shit, Jason and his crew would be fucked—game over, lights out. But if Tony kept his word, Jason could use Christine’s insane disguise skills to slip into the bank, grab the cash, and stroll out like he owned the place.

Risk and reward, always two sides of the same coin. After wrestling with the pros and cons, Jason made his call. He was going for it.

[Ding! New System Mission: “First Clash” | Reward: 20,000 Villain Points!]

[Mission Brief: Tony Stark is the future Iron Man, a pivotal figure who’ll shape the universe’s fate. But as the ultimate villain, your job is to fuck up those key players. Accept Stark’s challenge and leave him with a wound he’ll never forget!]

Twenty thousand villain points. ’Holy shit.’ The last time the system dangled ten thousand points, Jason got his ass handed to him by Kingpin, barely crawling away alive. This time, the reward was doubled, which probably meant the danger was too. ’Fucking capitalists,’ He thought. ’Their money always comes with a catch.’

Seeing the glint of reckless determination in Jason’s eyes, Christine and Harley exchanged worried glances, their stomachs churning.

Jason flashed a cocky grin, trying to ease their nerves. “Relax, you two. I’m not making a move unless I’m ninety percent sure I can pull it off. But we need to start prepping now.”

He turned to Christine, his tone all business. “I need you to get your hands on some serious gear. Every type of weapon and ammo you can find—handguns, rifles, whatever’s out there. Throw in some grenades, C4, top-grade body armor, the works. Buy the best shit on the market, no cutting corners. And get me a detailed map of the area around Stark’s bank—every street, alley, and fucking sewer line marked.”

Christine nodded, already mentally tallying her contacts. “Done. I’ll have it all by tomorrow morning.”

Jason gave her a curt nod and pulled out his encrypted phone, punching in a number.

Harley, practically bouncing with excitement, leaned in. “Who’re you calling, honey? We got some new badasses joining the crew?”

“Nah, no new blood,” Jason said with a sly chuckle. “I’m calling Tony. Time to accept his little challenge face-to-face.”

Harley’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck?! You know Stark’s got black-tech wizardry that can trace your signal in seconds. Why the hell would you call him?”

Jason raised a finger to his lips, smirking. “Shh. I’ve got this under control.”

—

Malibu Beachfront Mansion

Tony lounged on a deck chair, the ocean stretching out before him, his mind spinning with plans to screw Jason over. He sipped a whiskey, plotting traps like a chess grandmaster.

Suddenly, JARVIS’s voice cut through the crashing waves. “Sir, incoming call from an unknown number.”

Tony froze, a smirk curling his lips. ’That impatient bastard,’ He thought. ’I just called him out on TV, and he’s already crawling out of his hole to bite.’

“JARVIS, lock onto the signal source.”

“Understood, sir.”

Tony picked up, and Jason’s voice came through, calm and taunting. “Name’s Jason Walter. You’ve probably heard of me.”

Tony scoffed, his ego flaring. ’This prick’s stealing my lines?’ “Sorry, pal, I don’t—” Beep. Beep. Beep. The call cut off.

Tony blinked, dumbfounded. “What the fuck? He’s supposed to declare war, not hang up like a little bitch!”

Seconds later, JARVIS chimed in. “Sir, another encrypted call from the same source.”

“Patch it through!”

“Stark Industries is one of the top three arms dealers in the country,” Jason’s voice drawled. “Lots of folks are scared shitless of you, but me? I’m not impressed.” Beep. Beep. Beep. Hung up again.

Before Tony could curse, JARVIS spoke. “Sir, he’s calling again.”

“Let me guess, you think I’m just some spoiled rich kid riding my family’s coattails…” Beep. Beep. Beep.

“You’re right about one thing—I’m strapped for cash. I was planning my next big score when you went and served me one billion on a silver platter…”

“No way I’m passing up free money. That childish-ass challenge of yours? Consider it accepted, Stark…” Beep. Beep. Beep.

Tony stared at the phone, his blood boiling. ’This motherfucker’s toying with me.’

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