In a forgotten part of Russia, a flickering television screen showed Tony Stark's press conference on a loop. Ivan Vanko watched. He watched Tony Stark say "I am Iron Man." He had watched videos of Stark flying through the air. Fighting the enemies of America. The more he watched, alone except for the television and his cockatoo Irina, the more he hated Tony Stark.

His father, Anton, had passed away just three days before. Since then Ivan had turned his small apartment into a workshop, because before Anton Vanko's death, he had told his son many things—and shown him many things. Ivan had learned the true stories of Anton's work and Tony Stark's crimes. He had absorbed as much of his father's knowledge as he could. He had sorted through old records and plans, notebooks and loose sheaves of paper covered in diagrams and equations.

Ivan shuffled through boxes and found a cardboard blueprint tube. On the peeling label he read the English words: stark industries. Underneath were two names: howard stark and anton vanko. Ivan returned to the worktable and spread out the blueprints in the spill of lamplight. It was time for him to claim his heritage . . . and for Tony Stark to learn the bitter truth about his own. t+3hJkXC8lGkPkcyOtFL4dcA8xr/RJOPWlWk1tG0g3z4r74Rifty6oDvFH+xSXI9