On the other side of the world…
Back at his villa, after four long hours of waiting, Tony Stark finally had his latest suit of armor completed.
He was seated on the sofa, calmly attaching a component to his right arm while watching the news broadcast on the screen in front of him.
The reporter on the screen was detailing the devastation in Mikula.
Mass displacement. A region now known as "The Road to Hell."
Tony remained expressionless as he screwed in the final piece of his gauntlet, eyes fixed on the screen.
"The culprits behind the recent wave of violence are believed to be a foreign militant group, known locally as—the Ten Rings!"
At the mention of the Ten Rings and the sudden appearance of Zala on the screen, Tony's mind flashed back to his days of captivity—the cold, dark cave, and the humiliation he suffered there.
He narrowed his eyes, whispering under his breath:
"So you weren't there when Smith came hunting last time. Guess you got lucky and slipped away."
"This time, let's see if your luck holds out…"
This was Ethan's hometown. Ethan… he'd be safe, right?
"Ethan…"
Tony couldn't help but worry about the kind doctor who had once saved his life. After their escape, Tony had offered Ethan a job as his personal physician in New York, but the man had refused. Ethan had insisted on returning to Mikula, saying his family was still there.
What Tony didn't know was… Ethan no longer had any family.
The TV screen suddenly changed.
Now it showed a man being hanged. Refugees in the background wept in anguish.
Tony's eyes widened in shock. All calm drained from his face.
The man on the screen—it was Ethan.
The same Ethan who had risked his life to help him escape.
Tony tightened the final piece of armor on his arm, then without hesitation, hurled the screwdriver across the room. It clattered uselessly to the floor.
Then he raised his hand toward the television—and fired a repulsor blast.
BOOM!
The TV exploded into sparks and shrapnel, but the destruction did nothing to cool his rage.
He walked slowly toward the bulletproof glass wall that led to his basement lab. Staring at his own reflection, he fired again.
Then again. And again.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Three perfectly reinforced panes of glass shattered under his fury.
Staring at the mess, Tony stripped off his gauntlet. He was going to Mikula.
For Ethan. For justice. And to destroy every Stark Industries weapon in that war zone.
Morning came.
In the workshop, Tony stood in front of his equipment bay. With the help of robotic arms, he donned the brand-new Mark III suit.
Then—he took off, rocketing toward Mikula.
---
The Assassin's League
Smith Doyle had just woken up and hadn't even started his daily training when Mr. X found him.
"Boss, I've got some intel for you—some real leads this time."
"We've activated our resources in Russia. According to what we've found, Red Guardian Alexei Shostakov is being held in a Siberian prison—a deep-shaft facility built during the Soviet era. It's where they locked up political enemies and super-soldiers."
Mr. X handed over a photo.
It showed a disheveled, overweight Alexei in a prison uniform. He looked completely broken, heavy chains draped over his body.
Smith gave an approving nod—this was fast work.
Mr. X continued, "As for Yelena and Melina, we've only located Melina. She's living alone on a farm in Russia, raising pigs. We kept our distance—she's extremely cautious."
"We haven't found Yelena yet. Apologies—it'll take some time."
Smith nodded in understanding. "That's already enough."
"Yelena… yes, she's a tough one to locate. Prioritize Budapest."
Mr. X nodded and left to give the necessary orders.
Alone again, Smith pondered Yelena's situation. As far as he knew, Natasha's sister was still under the control of the Red Room.
She had only broken free after being sent to kill another Black Widow, who injected her with the antidote. That snapped her out of the brainwashing.
So, if he wanted to reach her, he'd need to go through Dreykov—the head of the Red Room—and commission a job that required Yelena.
Of course, there was the issue of the antidote. It hadn't been synthesized yet. Even if they found Yelena now, she'd still be under Dreykov's control.
Still, there were options.
One: Kill Dreykov and isolate Yelena for a while. Like Natasha, prolonged separation from the Red Room's influence would eventually free her.
Two: Have Bulma or another scientist develop the antidote. Or try to see if the healing pods had any effect.
In any case, the current intel was enough to bring Natasha in for a conversation.
Smith called Fox.
"Fox, send Natalie Rushman to me. I have something I need to discuss with her."
Fox was puzzled. "Natalie Rushman? Isn't she my assistant? Why would you need her?"
Smith smiled. "Fox, your secretary isn't just anyone. She's actually an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.—Natasha Romanoff."
Fox's hand instinctively reached for the gun at her waist. She was furious—not at Natasha, but at herself.
How could she not have seen it?
"I'll kill her."
Smith waved her down. "No, no, no. That's not why I called."
"I want to talk to her. She may prove useful to us."
Fox hesitated, the word "double agent" flashing through her mind. Could Smith actually sway someone like Natasha?
"…Alright. I'll trust you."
"And I'll start screening new assistants more carefully. No more spies slipping through."
Smith chuckled.
Spies? Please.
Did anyone really think the Assassin's League hadn't been infiltrated before?
They'd existed for over a thousand years. S.H.I.E.L.D., Hydra… someone was always lurking in the shadows.
Not every member of the League was a top-tier assassin. There were average fighters. Even weavers and maintenance staff.
Gun-fu, bullet-bending, blade-parrying, and "bullet time"—none of these were easy to learn. Some required special bloodlines.
And some… were born to do the impossible.
—End of chapter—
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