The dealer expertly shuffled the cards and passed them out to the four people sitting at the Blackjack table. Slot machines chimed, coins jingled, and various other noises competed to be heard in the background of the casino, but the local atmosphere of the high rollers section was quiet, almost anticipatory. Nearly a million dollars in chips were sitting on the table; most of it in front of one man.
The air was surprisingly clean, with little of the cigarette haze so common in the casinos of Las Vegas. There were also no complimentary alcoholic beverages in the vicinity of the table, either next to the players or in the hands of the few privileged (and universally gorgeous) onlookers. This was highly unusual and generally against the Strip's policy. Drinking and smoking go hand in hand with gambling, and if no one is gambling, the house isn't making any money.
But policies were meant to be bent or even broken under special circumstances. Usually these circumstances involved hosting a special (specifically financially special) guest. The man at the table with most of the chips doesn't care for second hand smoke, nor does he care to drink. What makes the casino care is that this particular man has a net worth rivaling that of Bill Gates. To be honest, if the well-dressed man with the perfectly styled dark hair and precisely groomed mustache had wanted the entire casino to himself, the house manager would have tripped over himself to get it done as quickly as possible.
Anthony Stark often had that effect on people.
Each player at the table was a billionaire. Even multimillionaires would think twice about the $100,000 minimum bet limit. Sharing the table with the famous multinational corporate genius was a Saudi prince, one of the Wal-Mart heirs, and a founder of a successful Silicon Valley startup. Gathered around the table were a dozen or so beautiful women of various races. Their primary job was scenery, although no doubt they were capable of more interactive services as well.
Mr. Stark tolerated few vices, but the fairer sex was one of them.
"Oooo, Mr. Stark!" cooed one particularly ample blonde as his second card was revealed to be a seven of clubs. In addition to his nine of hearts, he now had 16. Stark glanced at the dealer.
Two face cards. "Dealer stands at 20."
"Call me Tony," he replied to the woman as the Saudi cursed in his native tongue and left the table with three of the lovely ladies. The Wal-Mart heir had 12, while Silicon Valley had 15. The dealer collected the Saudi's lost chips and waited patiently.
"Well, you can call me anytime!" replied the cute brunette on his left, not so subtly caressing his upper arm.
Tony smiled in reply, "Hit me."
"Me, too," said Wal-Mart, while Silicon Valley decided enough was enough.
"Yes, sir," The two cards sliced neatly through the air. Wal-Mart nervously flipped up his card and revealed a six of spades.
Tony casually peeked at his card, smiled and turned it over.
Five of diamonds.
"I believe that's 21."
"Indeed it is, sir. You win another $300,000."
The crowd burst into applause.
Wal-Mart gaped at him, "Geeze, Stark, you're on a streak tonight."
Tony smiled back, "Fortune favors the bold, my friend."
An hour later, Tony found himself on a private elevator to the casino's penthouse. Despite the protests of no less than a half dozen of his female entourage, he was alone.
He watched as the neon circus that was the Vegas Strip came into view and his personal encrypted cellular link completed the call to his Long Island headquarters of Stark Enterprises. Surprisingly, someone answered the call.
"Mr. Stark's office, Mrs. Abrogast speaking."
"Mrs. Abrogast? What are you doing there? It must be---" checking his watch "after midnight!"
"Yes, sir, but you've gotten behind in your corporate email again, and I thought I'd try to get you caught up."
"Mrs. A, you know I don't pay you overtime," Tony teased.
"Sir! If you think I'm doing this just so I can get some more money—"
"Joking, Mrs. A! Joking. But seriously, go home. Take a sick day."
"I'm sorry, sir, but there is simply too much work. I couldn't possibly—"
"Consider it an order, then. I don't want to hear that you've come into work until next Monday."
"But—"
"End of story," he said firmly, as the elevator stopped, opening into a luxurious hallway that led to an equally magnificent penthouse.
"I assume you did call for a reason, sir," Mrs. Abrogast replied, switching gears abruptly.
"What? Oh, yes. There will be an electronic transfer of 1.6 million dollars coming in tomorrow. I want half of that to go to the Maria Stark Foundation and the rest to whichever charities have been having the greatest problems raising money lately. Pick one local, one national, and one international. Anonymous donation, of course."
"Of course, sir. Anything else?"
"Any word from Ms. Dria?"
"No, sir. Not a word from her," his executive secretary replied coolly. Mrs. Abrogast never did care much for his choice of companions.
"Okay, Mrs. A. Thanks."
As the connection ended, Tony looked about his spacious apartment, barely glancing at the amazing vista spread out before him beyond the huge windows.
Alone, again. He sighed. Naturally.
- - - - -
"What are you, crazy? You can't rob a casino!"
The huge man in the trench coat reached out casually with one of his massive hands and lifted the shocked security guard effortlessly off the floor of the main casino. The portly man's feet dangled nearly a yard from the ground as he was brought face to face with the reddish-haired, unshaved visage of his captor. The giant had to be nine or ten feet tall with vastly proportioned limbs and torso.
"Do I look crazy?" he said pointedly.
He looked mean. In fact, he looked like the kind of man who was used to getting what he wanted and wouldn't think twice about popping his head off like a bottle cap. He could probably just use he thumb to do it . . .
The guard found his voice, "Uh, n-no sir. O-of course not."
"Good." He dropped the guard casually. "Now where's the cash?"
"The vault's in the back," the guard stated, scrambling to his feet warily and backing off, "But there's a yard of concrete surrounding it, not to mention all the guards and security devices. You'd need a tank to get through it all!"
The man shrugged off his trench coat revealing some crazy kind of brown armor, complete with boots and a dome-like helmet which the man quickly attached to his shoulders. The guard shrank back, terrified recognition in his eyes.
"Nothing can stop me," the armored man said simply.
And he began to walk.
- - - - -
Tony Stark was brushing his teeth when he felt the first tremor and had the armor half on when he heard the first explosion. The night air of the penthouse patio felt cool on his face as he stepped outside, finishing the start up procedure and polarizing the armor around him. The sound of wailing sirens was briefly muted as he put the red and gold helmet over his head, locking it into place. The HUD lit up, showing all systems at peak efficiency. Boot jets ignited, catapulting him into the crisp night air of Nevada, as he mentally tuned into the local law enforcement channel.
Never a dull moment . . .
- - - - -
The teenage boy watched the bus leave the station before he turned to take in his surroundings. He was a handsome young man, sixteen and a half years of age, with intelligent blue eyes and black hair. Dressed casually with baggy jeans, sneakers, an Eminem concert T-Shirt, and brown bomber-style leather jacket, he slung a stuffed black backpack over a shoulder and began to walk through the crowd towards an exit.
He had wanted to get here during a weekday, but getting away from his family had been harder than he thought, and so here he was late on a Friday (or was it early Saturday?) night. He wasn't sure exactly where he had to go, but he was a pretty bright kid and knew how to read a map. He'd read somewhere that the New York City subway system was one of the most extensive in the world.
One of the lines had to go near the Long Island Stark Enterprises compound.
- - - - -
The MGM Grand casino was a mess.
Slot machines and game tables were tossed everywhere like a child's discarded toys, while police and security forces attempted to evacuate patrons, half of whom running for their lives while the rest attempted to pocket as many coins and chips as possible. The lion habitat's glass walls had been breached, and Iron Man had had to waste precious minutes rounding up two of the escaped felines and repairing the wall with the thermal setting on his Unibeam. It wasn't pretty, but the animals weren't going anywhere for a while.
Taking to the air again, Iron Man scanned for the source of the destruction. A path of carnage led straight to the rear of the promenade, where most of the civilians had been removed. A rather impressive hole in the wall showed where the perpetrator had gone. A couple higher-ranking police officers were peering into it warily.
"What's the story, officer?" The Golden Avenger asked, landing neatly by them.
"Who the hell---" the shocked lieutenant did a double take and then composed herself, "Oh, thank God! Iron Man, you have to help us! We're really not equipped to deal with this type of thing. He's gone right through everything we've got and---"
"Slow down, Lieutenant---" glancing at the badge "Ramirez. Where is he now and are there any more civilians in danger?"
"He was at the vault but we think he went out the back. He could be back on the streets by now so I don't know about civilians."
"There was a back exit near the vault?"
"Uh, no," Ramirez said, "He might have gone right through the wall."
"Okay, I'm on it. Tell your superiors to handle crowd control while I take care of this guy. Try to evacuate a several block radius. These things sometimes get out of control." He turned to go.
"Be careful! He's HUGE!"
"Don't worry, I'm sure I've handle worse."
Iron Man took off and followed the path of destruction through the casino. Sure enough, it led up to and through the vault, and out into the street. Several over turned cars marked the path of the thief as well as bread crumbs ever could.
- - - - -
"Out of my way!" A casual flip of the wrist and an SUV went tumbling like a Matchbox car. Another car swerved to avoid him and ended up hitting a parked van.
All he had to do was get out into the desert and let things die down for a few days. He must have scored at least a million, maybe more. Enough to live comfortably in some Central American rat hole for several months. He was overdue for a vacation and sick of dealing with Charlie and his mutie followers. Piece of cake.
The ground exploded in front of him, jarring him from his thoughts. A crater about 15 feet across blocked his way.
"I thought that would get your attention." A metallic voice boomed from above as a red and golden armored man slowly lowered in front of him.
Cain Marko recognized him and frankly didn't care.
"Better move along, Iron Man. You can't stop me."
"I'm sorry, friend, but you have me at a disadvantage. You know me, but I can't say I've had the pleasure of beating you." Repulsor blasts emitted from both palms, slamming into the large man with spectacular force.
And did absolutely nothing.
"I am the Juggernaut." The giant hefted a mini-van with one hand and tossed it at the Avenger. "And you're just wasting your time."
Iron Man darted to the side, catching the vehicle magnetically, and setting it down gracefully across the street. The two combatants faced each other from across the crater.
"Juggernaut, huh? You've fought the X-men before, right? Well, welcome to the major leagues." Boot jets flared, and the Avenger charged at his foe.
Juggernaut lurched forward slightly and brought one arm up, connecting with the human projectile, and sending him careening twenty stories up into a nearby hotel.
"Idiot."
- - - - -
The rooms Iron Man crashed through were fortunately empty as his momentum utterly destroyed them. He came to rest near a bank of elevators somewhere in the center of the high rise. Standing back up carefully, he checked his systems and armor integrity.
So far, so good. He thought, But what the hell is that guy made of? Some kind of force field apparently.
He ran a scan with his sensors. Force fields could be taken down or overloaded. Once he had a frequency, the armor could make the proper adjustments and---
SCAN COMPLETE, the armor informed him, FORCE FIELD COMPOSED OF UNINDENTIFIED ENERGY SIGNATURE. DOES NOT CORRESPOND WITH ANY KNOWN RADIATION INCLUDING GAMMA, DARKFORCE, PSIONIC, IONIC, PLASMA, OR ELECTROMAGNETIC. CONCLUSION: MYSTICAL IN NATURE.
"Great. Magic. I hate magic."
This is going to be harder than I thought.
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Technically, this should be filed under Iron Man, but I wanted people to know it's out there so I put in under Marvel. Leave a review. Iron Man is my favorite hero of all-time and I want to know if you think I've done him justice.
NEXT ISSUE: Iron Man vs. Juggernaut. 'Nuff Said.