CRASH-BOOM!
The corrugated iron roof of the Funhouse ruptured inward like cheap tin foil. Rain, broken wooden rafters, and scorched insulation rained down onto the main arcade floor as a red-and-gold streak descended with a deafening repulsor roar.
Tony Stark landed in a heavy three-point stance, his thrusters kicking up a hurricane of violet smoke, confetti, and blue Chitauri sparks. The golden faceplate flipped up with a crisp CLANG-SHICK, revealing a thoroughly irritated billionaire with his jaw set in pure annoyance.
"Alright, mime school reject," Tony said, stepping over a disoriented S.H.I.E.L.D. operative who was still clutching his ears from Jack's earlier cackle. "The show's over. FRIDAY, scan the core and prep an EMP charge."
[Scanning... Boss, the Chitauri core is operating at 300% efficiency. An unshielded EMP will detonate the copper containment ring, taking out half of Coney Island.]
Tony froze mid-stride, letting out a heavy, weary sigh. "Fantastic. Of course he turned a alien battery into a dirty bomb. Unbelievable."
Jack was standing right on top of the velvet throne, holding his brass microphone like a lounge singer at 2:00 AM. His lavender velvet blazer was soaked in rain and sweat, his white greasepaint dripping down his jaw in chalky streaks, and his bloodshot eyes glowing with an electric-blue [35.0% SYNCHRONIZATION] light.
He was still broadcasting live to every screen in the city.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF NEW YORK!" Jack shrieked into the microphone, pointing dramatically at Tony. "Give it up for our special guest star! The tin man himself! Fresh from his private jet, brought to you by corporate bailouts and unchecked industrial arrogance! TONY STARK!"
APPLAUSE-SOUND-EFFECT!
Jack pulled a small sound-effects machine from his coat pocket, pressing a button that played a loud, tinny track of sitcom crowd applause through the PA system.
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jack. You are broadcasting your face to four million people. Half of them are trying to watch the late-night news, and the other half are currently getting a migraine from your voice. Turn off the core."
"Turn it off?!" Jack gasped theatrically, placing a hand over his heart. "Tony! We just reached the best part! We were about to talk about your private whiskey collection! Did you know, folks, that Shell-head here keeps a seventy-year-old Macallan in his suit? Tastes like vanilla and tax evasion!"
From the dark upper catwalks, Natasha’s suppressed pistol clicked quietly, her steel-grey eyes locked onto Tony's un-armored head from sixty feet away. Felicia was crouching nearby on a steel beam, holding two high-voltage EMP grenades, waiting for Jack's signal.
Tony's eyes flicked up toward the catwalks. "Natasha. I know you're up there. I can see your infrared signature behind the cotton candy machine. Are you seriously helping him run a pirate radio station?"
Natasha didn't lower her weapon. Her smooth, velvet voice echoed down from the shadows. "He pays better than Fury, Tony."
"He pays in stolen black cards and stolen booze!" Tony yelled back, turning his gaze back to Jack. "Look, clown. Here's the deal. You shut down the signal, hand over the core, and I won't let Frank Castle anywhere near your trial. I'll even buy you a nice, comfy padded room in upstate New York with a ocean view."
Jack slowly leaned forward over the throne, his crimson lip balm scar stretching into a wide, wet, unhinged grin that filled every television screen in Manhattan.
"Oh, Tony..." Jack purred softly into the microphone, his raspy voice dropping into that dark, low frequency that made the Chitauri core pulse with blue light. "...a padded room? With an ocean view? But I ALREADY HAVE AN OCEAN VIEW! Look out the window, Shell-head! IT'S BROOKLYN! HAHAHAHA!"
Jack slammed his hand down on the control panel, triggering a secondary discharge from the core!
BZZZZZZ-BOOM!
A wave of blue sub-quantum energy blasted outward, knocking Tony's faceplate shut automatically as his HUD flickered with static!
"FRIDAY! Shut down his broadcast output manually!" Tony roared, charging his palm repulsors to maximum output!
"DARE TO MUTE ME, TIN MAN!" Jack screech-screamed, leaping off the throne straight toward Iron Man! "DARE TO TRY! HAHAHAHAHA!"
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