A quiet prison located near the coast of France.
This place held Ivan Vanko, a lethally dangerous terrorist, but to a pathetic, ambitious man like Justin Hammer, it was nothing more than a warehouse of talent to complete his 'Dream Team.'
Hammer had spent a fortune hiring mercenaries, dreaming of a grand plan involving a sophisticated prison break to bring Tony Stark to his knees.
However, there was one thing he had overlooked.
The fact that the 'True Bad Guys' of this neighborhood—the ones who had already monopolized Tony the Wallet—were watching.
"Hey, Nid. Look at this scrawny prick. He's trying to poach our wallet... I mean, Tony's enemy... for his own benefit? Isn't this just blatant theft?"
Two men sat atop the prison wall as comfortably as if they were in their own living rooms.
Níðhöggr, showing off his decadent beauty while filing his nails, and Ratatoskr, who was busy crunching a mouthful of acorns.
Níðhöggr yawned lazily, looking down at Hammer's mercenaries scurrying about below.
"It’s an infringement of business territory, Rata. Even among villains, there is a code of ethics. For a third-rate bottom-feeder to try and intercept the prey we've claimed... it’s a violation of professional morality. It puts me in a foul mood."
"Right? Hey, let's blow things up before those guys do. Just looking at that scrawny bastard's face makes my acorns get stuck in my throat! I can't stand seeing a guy like that acting like a big-shot villain anymore!"
Ratatoskr cracked his knuckles and stood up.
Just as Hammer's mercenaries were about to press the detonators for the C4 charges placed on the outer wall, a massive shadow descended from the sky at hyper-speed.
"Move aside, you third-rate punks! The real deal has arrived!"
Ratatoskr dropped vertically from the sky, slamming into the ground with the force of a meteor.
KRA-KOOM!
The prison courtyard buckled as if hit by an earthquake. The mercenaries who had been setting the explosives were swept away by the shockwave, flying in every direction before they could even let out a scream.
Níðhöggr walked gracefully through the air, descending toward Justin Hammer, who was about to pop champagne while watching the monitors inside his extraction truck.
Níðhöggr ripped the truck door off like it was a sheet of paper and winked at Hammer.
"Hello, Puppy Dog. Meeting again? Did you come for a prison tour this time? Your outfit looks rather... cowardly."
"N-Níðhöggr! Why are you here...! I'm just conducting legitimate business..."
"Business? Playing the villain in this territory without my permission is illegal. Moreover, did you really think you could touch my 'exclusive wallet' without my consent?"
As Níðhöggr snapped his fingers, the high-tech weaponry Hammer had prepared—worth billions of dollars—instantly turned into rusted scraps of metal and crumbled to dust.
Ratatoskr punched through the prison wall with a single blow, reaching into the cell to grab Ivan Vanko by the scruff of his neck as if he were plucking a wet shirt off a drying rack.
"Hey, Electric Eel. You owe our Nid quite a lot, don't you? Let's start with a beating. Your eyes are way too arrogant."
Ratatoskr's merciless 're-education' began. It was pure, unadulterated carnage.
The prison walls crumbled, and the mercenaries Hammer had hired were kicked into the stratosphere. Hammer's ambitious plan was ground into powder before it even began.
Paralyzed with terror, Hammer soaked his pants as the police sirens drew near. He was dragged away wailing, "I'd rather be in prison away from those monsters!"
As a result, Justin Hammer's corruption was laid bare, his entire fortune was confiscated, and he was completely buried by society.
However, the fallout of this chaos splashed in an unexpected direction.
"JARVIS... my head... is what I'm seeing real? Or is my optic nerve malfunctioning?"
The living room of the Malibu mansion.
Tony Stark stared into the mirror with an expression of pure despair.
He had spent several sleepless nights dealing with the legal mess of the 'Prison Decimation' incident caused by Níðhöggr and Ratatoskr. His stress was at its limit from fending off government pressure, legal battles, and the media's onslaught on their behalf.
Tony's hairline was subtly, yet definitely, receding further than usual.
"Congratulations, Tin Man. You've finally become a real man. The badge of middle age—balding—has begun!"
Níðhöggr lay stretched out on the sofa, sipping wine and snickering.
Tony gripped his bangs with trembling hands and screamed.
"This is because of you! You reptilian bastards! Who just destroys an entire prison?! The Department of Defense calls me a hundred times a day telling me I'm responsible! My hair follicles, which were protecting my genius brain, have all burned away from stress! This is murder—hair follicle murder!"
[Sir, your frontal hair density has decreased by 15.4%. Should I display a hologram of wig catalogs? For the record, I believe the Sean Connery style would suit you well.]
"JARVIS! Shut up! I'm not wearing a wig! I'm Tony Stark!"
As Tony's desperate scream filled the living room, Natasha Romanoff entered with heavy steps.
She held S.H.I.E.L.D.'s specially encrypted radio, from which a familiar voice was crackling through the static.
Natasha turned on the radio in a corner of the room. Nick Fury's voice, patch and all, burst out irritably.
[Romanoff, why is the report so late? We have reports that Níðhöggr was involved in the French prison incident. We need to recalculate his power levels. Identify his weaknesses and report back immediately. This is an order involving national interest.]
Natasha looked down at the radio for a moment.
Her gaze shifted to Níðhöggr, who was lying on the sofa and shooting a smirking wink her way.
That decadent gaze, and the afterimage of the man who had treated her as a complete woman and provided overwhelming pleasure, flashed through her mind.
Natasha wore a cold smile as she brought the radio to her lips.
"Director. I have one last thing to report."
[Go ahead, Romanoff. Is it useful information?]
"I'm not following your orders anymore. No, to be precise, I'm quitting S.H.I.E.L.D. as of this moment."
[What? Have you lost your mind?! Have you forgotten your status? This is desertion!]
"Because I've decided to become this man's woman. Don't look for me. Actually, if you come looking... Níðhöggr might put an eyepatch over your remaining eye. Oh, and if you don't want to walk around in your underwear like last time, you'd better keep quiet."
Natasha threw the radio to the floor and crushed it under her heel without hesitation.
Nick Fury's agitated shouting vanished forever along with the sound of the shattering device.
Níðhöggr slowly stood up and approached Natasha.
He pulled her waist toward him firmly, a victorious smile playing on his lips.
"Wise choice, Spider Girl. A villain's embrace is much hotter and more enjoyable than a dreary place like S.H.I.E.L.D."
Natasha wrapped her arms around Níðhöggr's neck, pressing herself completely against him.
"Since you've ruined my life... you'll have to take responsibility until the day I die, Nid."
Instead of answering, Níðhöggr took her lips in a deep, lingering kiss.
Tony Stark, watching the scene while clutching his falling hair, collapsed onto the sofa and shrieked in agony.
"Hey! You crazy lunatics! Do your flirting somewhere else! Do I really have to watch a spy defect in my own home?! What about my hair follicles! You reptilian bastard, bring back my hair!!!"
The night in Malibu deepened, colored by the screams of a billionaire losing his hair, a spy who chose love and lust, and the laughter of a dragon mocking the world.
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