Chapter 81: Steve's Killing
A few weeks later, Hells Kitchen, a certain block.
The overcast clouds hung low, swallowing the daylight until only a layer of lead-gray afterglow remained; the dusk had no warmth, only cold.
The moisture accumulated on the ground over the past few days condensed into a thin mist, flowing slowly along the concrete like countless translucent snakes coiling in the shadows of the alley.
The mist was suddenly scattered.
Several hippie youths rushed into the alley in a panic, their footsteps chaotic, their breathing heavy.
They were running too fast and almost collided with several of their own kind who were bowing their heads to feed deep in the alley; those guys were squatting beside a corpse, dark red liquid still hanging from the corners of their mouths.
"Why are you in such a rush?" one of them raised his head, wiped his mouth, and smiled mockingly.
"There's an old antique chasing us!"
The hippie youths shouted as they ran, their footsteps splashing through the puddles in a panic.
As they passed the alley entrance, they almost collided with several vampires who were squatting on the ground to feed.
"What? Who?" one of the vampires raised his head, dark red liquid still hanging from the corner of his mouth, smiling carelessly.
"F*cking Captain America!!"
The group didn't look back, rushing past them.
"Are you guys high? Where is there any—" the vampireturned his head with a smile, looking in the direction they were fleeing.
Before he could finish, the last image his retina captured was the sharp edge of a shield rapidly enlarging in his eyes, occupying his entire field of vision.
Thwack.
Half of his skull was sliced off, tumbling in the air a few times before landing in the puddle, splashing a dark red blood flower.
"F*ck!"
The remaining vampires watched their companion's corpse slowly fall, so scared they sat down on the ground.
Blood was still oozing from the severed part of his head, and brain matter mixed with rainwater flowed all over the ground.
The shield ricocheted off the walls on both sides of the alley, refracting back and forth at strange angles that seemed to defy physics, before finally flying steadily back to the thrower.
A muscular blond man raised his hand to catch it, the arm strap on the inside of the shield fitting precisely onto his forearm.
"Killing humans, you all deserve to die!"
He walked over slowly, his blue eyes devoid of warmth, holding only cold, sharp killing intent.
"Is this really f*cking Captain America?!"
"We have legal citizenship cards!" another vampirehurriedly pulled a document from his chest and held it up.
"Yeah, we're citizens, you can't kill me!"
They shouted, putting on a brave front.
Steve didn't pause, striding forward.
"I've already been deregistered, so I don't care if you have a permit or not!"
He raised his shield and slammed it into a vampire's face with a shield bash.
The skull shattered, and the corpse swayed before falling straight down.
Screams echoed in the alley, sharp and miserable, piercing through the layers of alleyways and reaching the ears of the hippie youths who had already run far away.
"I'm done!"
One of the mohawked youths suddenly turned toward the exterior wall of the building.
He spotted the rusty fire escape ladder, exerted force with his legs, jumped up, grabbed the railing, and climbed up.
"Hey! Johnson, you son of a b*tch!"
A green-haired girl in the group cursed loudly, looking up at the figure climbing higher and higher.
"Forget him! Get out and head for the crowds!" the leader shouted, not stopping, breathing heavily.
"OK!" The green-haired girl obediently withdrew her gaze.
Bang!
Suddenly, a bullet passed through her skull. Her head exploded instantly—not with flesh and blood flying, but the entire head turning into a pile of ashes.
The ashes dispersed in mid-air like a black firework.
The headless body remained in a running posture, sparks still drifting from the severed neck, charging forward two steps before collapsing with a boom, crumbling into a pile of black powder.
"It's a silver bullet!" Everyone's pupils contracted sharply.
But immediately after, the surrounding iron objects began to vibrate, emitting a buzzing metallic hum.
The next second, they all shot forward.
In mid-air, those iron objects twisted and deformed, turning into sharp iron spikes, like a swarm of blood-gorged leeches, piercing through their bodies one by one.
Carrying black blood, they drilled out from the other side, changed direction, pierced in again, drilled out, and pierced in again.
"Get away!"
The leader reacted the fastest. He sidestepped, dodging an iron spike aiming for his face, and grabbed the companion beside him, pushing him out.
That person stumbled and blocked in front of him. Before he could even curse, an iron spike pierced through his eyeball.
Squish.
The iron spike entered through the eye socket and drilled out from the back of the head. His body twitched twice before sliding down limply.
"No..."
He raised his hand, pointing at the leader, his eyes wide open. Before he could finish, his body went still.
At the same time, a burning corpse fell from above, shattering into a pile of ashes—it was Johnson, who had just been climbing up.
"Sh*t! Sh*t!"
Sweat streamed down the leader's cheeks. He was trembling all over, his legs shaking. He didn't dare to look up, just running forward desperately.
On the edge of the rooftop, Laura stepped on the railing, leaning over to look mockingly at the fish that slipped through the net. She retracted her wolf claws, a cold sneer curving her lips.
Beside her, Gwen chuckled and retracted her pistol, bracing her hands on the edge of the rooftop, flipping down, and landing on the fire escape, walking down step by step with light footsteps.
The leader was still running. In his line of sight, the sidewalk at the end was getting closer and closer.
He could see it—the normal World that belonged to humans.
As long as he reached it, as long as he reached there!!
A light of hope lit up in his eyes.
Closer, even closer!
He rushed out of the alley entrance.
In that instant, he violently turned his head to look at Lauraand the others inside the alley, a smug smile squeezing onto his sweat-soaked face.
He raised his hand, gave them the middle finger, and his lips moved.
"F*ck..."
Bang!
On the sidewalk, a pickup truck violently slammed into him.
His figure was knocked out of the alley's view with a boom, like a kicked soda can, tumbling twice in the air before hitting the corner of a wooden bench on the roadside.
That thick bench corner pierced through his abdomen and out from his back, pinning him to the bench.
Blood gushed from the wound, streaming down the bench corner, dripping onto the ground, forming a small pool of dark red.
"Ah..." he groaned, bracing his hands on the bench, trying to pull himself off the bench corner that had pierced his abdomen.
He raised his head and saw the surprised passersby around him. Those people formed a circle a few steps away; some covered their mouths, some held up their phones, some widened their eyes, but not one stepped forward.
His expression twisted, he stretched out his hand, clawing wildly in the air.
"What are you looking at!" his sharp teeth pushing against his upper lip as he roared, "Come over and help me, you pigs!"
It would have been better if he hadn't said anything; at this shout, the onlookers actually took a few steps back. An old lady even grabbed her grandson and turned to leave without looking back.
"Mom, that person—" the child's voice was muffled by a palm.
"Don't look."
But one person did step forward.
It was a middle-aged man in a plaid shirt, clutching a bottle of pepper spray in his hand. He walked a few steps closer, his face as fierce as a ghost.
"F*ck you, vampire! My daughter was drained of blood and killed by you trash!!"
Sssss—
Pepper spray was sprayed all over his face.
"Ahhhh—!!" he screamed, covering his face, tears and snot mixing with blood streaming down. He let go of the hands braced on the bench, flailing wildly.
Just then, the iron trash can behind him suddenly made a slight clicking sound.
A spot on the bucket wall slowly bulged, and an iron spike pierced directly through his back, coming out from his chest.
He lowered his head, looking at the piece of iron tip that had suddenly appeared on his chest. His body twitched twice, his hands dropped powerlessly, and his head slowly tilted to one side, losing all life. Until his death, there was a question in his mind: How did a pickup truck spawn on the sidewalk?!
Passersby saw this and walked away as usual. They were accustomed to it, especially after seeing the pickup truck with its blood-stained front, they walked away as if completely ignoring it.
Some looked down at their phones, some continued chatting with companions, some quickened their pace to go around the pool of blood. Occasionally, a gaze would sweep over, but it was just a faint glance, then quickly shifted away.
Those recording also tacitly didn't point their cameras at the pickup truck.
For them, some of the tragedies that frequently occurred around them had clearly revealed the mystical side of the World before them.
Those creatures hiding in the shadows, those unknown slaughters, those screams that only rang out after midnight—they had seen too much of them.
And the person sitting in the pickup truck was the hunter guarding between the two Worlds.
It wasn't that they hadn't heard those rumors, about the bloody methods of this hunter, about the miserable ends of those who offended him.
They didn't care; whether it was fear or awe, in short, since he had been here, it had become much safer.
This was what they needed most.
The pickup truck didn't shut off, the engine roaring lowly.
In the passenger seat, the dark green energy light on Lorna's hands slowly extinguished. She looked at the results of her work, a mischievous smile curling her lips.
"The current range of my magnetic field control has extended from the initial twenty-seven meters to one hundred and fourteen meters." She tilted her head, her tone carrying a bit of pride.
"A very good improvement. As expected, it's only when you crave stimulating things deep in your bones that your potential can be stimulated."
In the driver's seat, Green Morgan puffed on a cigarette, slowly exhaling a cloud of smoke that drifted out through the gap in the car window.
During this time, these vampires were like mice beaten to death with a stick, a bunch of rat pups running out of the exploded belly, crawling everywhere.
Without a stronghold, their activity areas were scattered, but most still stayed in Hells Kitchen to feed.
The police couldn't catch them all, and they had to avoid the risk of infection.
Green Morgan simply threw these small groups to the three girls as experience packs. In reality, it was dragging them over to work for him: go to school to learn, and fight monsters after school, which happened to coincide with the routine of those rats.
It worked out well, they were his familiars, and the creatures they killed counted as his.
Likewise, the familiars Green Morgan acknowledged were also influenced by his aura, their basic physical potential constantly increasing.
That was why Lorna grew so fast; her talent was influenced by Green Morgan.
Of course, there were also factors of her own personality, which the system didn't display; it counted as a hidden benefit of being a familiar.
Lorna turned her head, looking at him.
In those fox-like eyes, some indescribable light flickered.
"Can I have a reward?"
"Why not?"
"Geography extracurricular practice, help me, um... help us complete it."
Lorna spoke softly, tilting her head. A bit of softness flashed in those fox-like eyes, the corners of her eyes slightly drooping, carrying a warm tenderness.
Chapter 82: Exploited Bone-Dry, Green's Vigilance
"Extracurricular practice?"
Green turned his head to look at her.
"Uh..."
Lorna's eyes darted away, and she shrugged as if she didn't care, "It's just... just going to some random location to record the characteristics and features there."
"Can I interpret that as a trip?" Green smiled.
"Actually, it's not that important. If we don't go, it's fine..."
"Knock, knock."
A few knocks on the car window interrupted the conversation inside.
"Tsk."
Lorna frowned and looked up impatiently.
Steve Rogers was standing outside the car, his shield still hanging on his arm, its edges stained with dark red blood. He looked like a thug who had just walked out of a black market, but in Lorna's eyes, he was just an oblivious idiot!
Green turned his head and rolled down the window.
"Seven pairs." Steve handed a small sheepskin bag through the window.
Green took it, pulled open the mouth of the bag, and looked inside.
A pungent smell of blood immediately surged out, and wisps of blood-colored threads drifted from the bag, writhing in the air like living things.
He casually blew away the aura and closed the bag again.
"Acceptable."
The fangs of pure-blood vampires were not only a symbol of their race but also a medium-to-high-grade magicmaterial.
Even if their bodies were pierced by peach wood or crushed by silver, these teeth would still remain.
"I also took out fourteen mixed-bloods. Do they count?"
"Working so hard, Comrade Steve Love-the-People?" Green joked.
Steve was expressionless: "I just don't want these things destroying my country."
"Alright, Steve Love-the-Country." Green nodded, his tone still teasing.
"So... does that count toward my commission?" Steve asked tentatively.
Who could sympathize with the hardships of a hundred-year-old man?
He woke up to find he had no legal identity, his home had become an exhibition hall, his equipment was in a museum, his pension had disappeared into someone's pocket, and his bank accounts were all frozen.
Then he faced two choices: first, accept Level 7 control from S.H.I.E.L.D., which offered freedom and a salary but required accepting missions; second, hide his identity, get a new legal status, and arrange everything else himself.
Due to certain irresistible factors, Steve didn't even have the right to choose. He passively obeyed Green's arrangements to come here and clear out the 'rats.'
"Of course not."
Green lied. In fact, he had privately taken on several mercenary missions from local gangs, and Steve had essentially done the work for him.
As for how Steve ended up here?
There was no other way—it was charisma.
Although Green had 'accidentally' let his informant in the Red-light district 'accidentally' record high-definition, uncensored footage of Steve's physical infidelity and 'accidentally' save it to a USB drive.
Then, after Green remembered to pick up an extremely exhausted Steve, the informant 'accidentally' gave it to him, and Green 'accidentally' played it in the car.
Then he 'accidentally' revealed the contact number for Agent Peggy Carter on his phone.
After that, Steve righteously declared: He existed solely to eliminate evil forces!
As for why Green had Carter's number?
It was simple.
During a mission, Green had saved her niece, Sharon Carter, several times while she was undercover.
The girl was blonde, blue-eyed, had two dimples when she smiled, and was quite skilled, though a bit stubborn. Also, he had 'accidentally' slept with her.
That night was chaotic—gunshots, hacking, then the dim yellow light of a small hotel room, and that touch of first-time red at the foot of the bed.
Then he was brought before Carter by a dozen elite Agents holding guns in a semi-forceful manner.
After some back-and-forth, Carter introduced him to that 'Black Braised Egg,' Nick Fury.
Then the 'Black Braised Egg' introduced him to Hill as an asset.
Hill, who had just come from a psychiatrist thinking she had escaped her morbid obsession with a certain someone, turned green in the face when she saw him.
What happened after that went without saying.
"Then give me my pay." Steve reached out his hand toward him.
"Mhm." Green took out a bundle of large bills, untied the string, and began counting with his fingers, the cash rustling between his digits.
Laura and Gwen walked out of the alley.
They glanced at Steve with indifferent expressions, then naturally opened the car door, sat in the back seat, and slammed the door shut.
"Why didn't you use the disguise I prepared for you?" Green said while counting, his eyes never leaving the bills.
"You mean this?" With a dark face, Steve pulled something from his lower back—a black bandit mask, complete with sunglasses.
"It's great." Green looked up briefly, then continued counting money.
"It leaves no facial features behind. I even specifically chose the version with sunglasses for you. If you ask me, you just don't have any taste. Put that on and stand in a bank, and you'd be the coolest guy there."
"...I am Captain America."
"Then I'll change it to one with a Hydra logo."
"I'm f*cking Captain America!" Steve's pupils shrank slightly, and he barked with an expression that was both angry and amused.
"Oh." Green nodded.
"So? I found the residence, I paid the utilities, I stocked the meat in the fridge, even your underwear was bought by me. Without me, you'd still be living in that broken boxing gym."
Steve fell silent. It's as if you weren't the one who caused this.
"...That underwear wasn't bought according to your size, was it?" He hesitated but asked anyway.
"Yeah." Green flicked the ash from his cigarette.
"But I use them as disposables."
"No wonder they feel so breezy on my ass..." Stevemuttered.
"What?"
"Nothing!" He waved his hand quickly. "Give me the money, I'll buy my own underwear!"
"Here." Green pulled a small stack from the bundle, a thin pile that looked to be less than two thousand dollars, and placed it in Steve's hand.
Steve looked down at the money in his hand with a bewildered expression, then looked back up at Green.
"What the f*ck?" He blurted out a curse.
"You're taking too much of a cut!"
"No, no, no~" Green raised his hand and wagged his index finger, then pointed at the shield.
"Your shield is locked up at S.H.I.E.L.D. and can't be taken out. Technically, it's still national property. So, just this high-strength lightweight alloy shield in your hand is enough for you to kill dozens more pure-bloods to pay off. This money is for you to buy underwear and drinks. Don't think there isn't interest."
Steve was shocked.
Steve felt that bad people in this era were terrifying.
Steve was glad he hadn't picked the first choice; otherwise, this S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent boss would have found even more ways to exploit him.
"If you don't want it, give it back." Green reached out to grab it.
"I want it!" Steve snapped his hand back. This was his hard-earned money! How could it go back into the hands of this evil capitalist!
Beside Green, Lorna was stifling a laugh, her lips twitching.
She remembered that when Green exchanged the fangs with the buyer, a single pure-blood fang was worth a million dollars, and they were rare enough to be priceless.
But at the time, Green had chosen to barter them for intelligence.
As for the shield in Steve's hand, it was just a random item from another cold weapon crate previously sponsored by the Vatican. There were a dozen more like it in the storage room at home.
"Well, if there's nothing else, get back to work." Green's conscience seemed to give a slight twinge, and he pulled a slip of paper from his pocket.
"There are a few stragglers who fled to Brooklyn. You can go there too."
The paper listed over a dozen locations. Naturally, he had taken mercenary missions for those places as well.
Steve took it with some hesitation, his eyes scanning the specific locations, then he looked up with a bit more sincerity in his eyes.
"Thank you."
"Of course, we're friends after all." Green pounded his chest with a fist, smiling meaningfully.
In fact, what Steve didn't know was that...
Back in the Red-light district, every time he slept with a woman, they were escorted out by Green's informants to have his 'gold' extracted and frozen, then transported to one of Green's secret bases for storage.
Otherwise, why would that woman in the cheongsam have been standing outside the door? Just to eavesdrop?
Steve's lip twitched, and he eventually stuffed the money into his pocket silently.
He stuffed it deep, his finger reaching the bottom to ensure there were no holes before patting it with relief.
"Perform well, and I'll take you back another day." Green winked at him.
"...No black women." Steve's face flushed red as he finally choked out this sentence.
"Heh, no problem." Green started the pickup truck and drove off the sidewalk.
Standing there, Steve watched the car drive away.
The two red taillights grew blurrier and more distant in the deepening twilight, like two stars falling into the dusk, until they were finally swallowed by a layer of gray light.
The light was like the ashes falling from the remains of a dead Sun, slowly covering the car and obscuring its last bit of silhouette.
He stood there, motionless.
After a moment, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jeans. His movements were slow, as if he were still thinking about something. He pulled one out, placed it between his lips, and lit it. The flame illuminated half his face before quickly going out.
Smoke curled up, drifting in front of him and partially obscuring those cold blue eyes.
Those eyes stared in the direction the car had disappeared for a long time without blinking once.
Green suddenly narrowed his eyes.
In that instant, he felt it—wisps of extremely pure Cursed Energy surging from behind the car and seeping into his skin.
"Tsk, something is definitely wrong."
Green's lips curled into a cold, sharp arc.
On the [True Heavenly Tyrant] template, the range for Cursed Energy absorption was indeed not broad.
But he had come up with another idea. He actively placed the marking trait of the [Drogon] template's [Blood Hunt Value] onto certain specific targets, forming an assist.
This expanded the absorption range to the maximum range of the mark.
Marking required actively harming the opponent, but it wasn't limited to physical harm; mental harm worked just as well.
Those late-night nightmares, those sudden nostalgic attacks, that forced awakening of guilt and anger—all of it counted.
However, the mark could only exist for seven days. While limited, it allowed Green to effectively master the ability to capture target hostility from a distance.
Just like now—across hundreds of meters and through layers of buildings, he could still clearly perceive it.
And this Cursed Energy...
Came from Steve Rogers.
And it wasn't just this once; it had happened three or four times before.
That Cursed Energy always came suddenly and disappeared quickly.
Green wasn't sure, so he kept testing him—giving him missions, giving him money, provoking his emotions, and then observing his reactions.
But this Cursed Energy came and went fast, as if after some sort of weighing, it was forcibly suppressed, and certain malicious thoughts were neutralized.
But... would the real Captain America produce such high-intensity Cursed Energy?
"Don't turn your back on Steve Rogers."
Green casually flicked his cigarette butt out the window as he spoke.
The words fell, and the car cabin went quiet for a moment.
Lorna and Laura, who were fighting over the passenger seat, stopped their movements simultaneously.
In the back seat, Gwen, who had been leaning back against the seat to relax, also opened her eyes.
Three pairs of eyes looked over at once, but they didn't question him, didn't press for details, and didn't even have an extra expression.
They simply nodded seriously.
The cabin became quiet again.
There was only the low hum of the engine and the rustle of tires over the road. The streetlights outside passed one by one, casting flickering shadows inside the car.
A moment later...
"By the way, did you ask?" Laura leaned over Lorna and spoke with her head tilted.
Her voice wasn't quiet, carrying a hint of intent, and she glanced at Green, whose hand was on the steering wheel.
Lorna's face turned slightly red.
"I asked..." she muttered, her voice muffled as if she were complaining.
"But someone didn't get back to me."
In the back seat, Gwen also quietly looked over.
She had originally been leaning back, but at some point, she had sat up straight, her blue eyes filled with a bit of expectation.
Clearly, this was something the three girls had discussed together.
"I'm free."
Green spoke up, not disappointing them.
The eyes of the three little ones lit up simultaneously, and smiles blossomed on their faces.
"I'll make the arrangements."
Green reached out and rubbed Laura's small head.
Laura bounced off Lorna in delight and lunged into Green's arms, wrapping her hands around his neck and burying her face in his chest, nuzzling hard like a pampered little beast.
Her nose pressed against his chest, smelling the scent of tobacco mixed with gunpowder on him, and she let out a satisfied hum.
A hint of helplessness flashed in Green's eyes.
Well, he should be free.
Even though something had happened.
For example... the Canyon exploded.
Chapter 83: The Couple Playing with Nukes
"They're idiots, aren't they? Right?"
Drake's face was so dark it looked like Water could drip from it. He spoke to Green, who had just stepped out of the elevator, his voice suppressed with barely contained rage.
"I can't even imagine that someone would destroy the canyon because of some so-called sense of justice."
Green stepped out of the elevator and glanced at him.
"I only came because I received your message saying 'the canyon blew up.' You're talking to me in such a muddled way that I don't even understand."
As he spoke, he walked familiarly toward the tea area, his pace as casual as if he were returning to his own home.
"See for yourself."
Drake handed over a tablet. Green took it and looked down at the screen.
The footage was from two high-positioned trunk-mounted cameras, as stable as if they were embedded in the trees.
At the bottom of the screen, a man and a woman stopped in their tracks, raising their guns to aim at a giant signal-type functional base predicted to be within 4.8 to 5.1 kilometers.
The two pulled their triggers simultaneously, sniping and blowing it up.
The next second, they turned and ran. Behind them, a powerful blast of wind caught up, followed by a near-liquid sea of Fire surging up, and the screen went completely black.
"Several layers of fixed automated camera units were set up around the canyon to upload information in real-time to the Black Lake Gene Company headquarters. I was just about to override this information reception..."
He paused and took a deep breath.
"I don't know what kind of madness gripped them, but they destroyed the satellite signal jammer, and then the self-destruct program ran automatically."
"Fuck! Countless genetic samples, these treasures, all gone!" Drake cursed as he swung a fist into the air.
"Just like a kid setting off firecrackers, what did they ignite that had such power?" Green asked calmly.
"A small-scale nuclear bomb, a nuclear self-destruct device code-named 'stray dog.' And within the blast radius at the time was the CEO and founder of Black Lake Group—Bartholomew."
"Well done." Green laughed, the corner of his mouth curving into an ambiguous arc.
"It's not funny. Look at what they've done!" Drake grabbed his tie and pulled it loose, revealing the bulging veins on his neck.
"They were being hunted. Are they not allowed to fight back?" Green walked to the sofa and sat down, sinking into the soft leather.
"Regardless, the money can't be short."
He reminded him, a glint of shrewdness flashing in his eyes.
"It's not a matter of money." Drake glanced at him somewhat helplessly. This guy was obsessed with money. He swiped the tablet screen.
The scene changed to a blurry perspective on the screen, a body cam view with only two or three seconds of footage. It shook violently, but the content made Green narrow his eyes.
A dilapidated small town.
A sinister purple light enveloped everything, moving through the ruins like a living thing. On the ground floated white mist shaped like living tentacles, winding everywhere.
The sky was filled with low-light yellow clouds pressing down, with sparks constantly falling.
"Wasn't it destroyed?" Green frowned. That was a nuke, not a firecracker. How could there be an intact entity left?
"Just yesterday in the early morning, the quantum field showed an extreme peak fluctuation..." Drake's expression was grave.
"Just tell me the conclusion."
Green interrupted him, opening a bag of Lay's chips (tomato flavor), picking one up, and tossing it into his mouth, crunching as he chewed.
"I don't understand science, and this phenomenon looks very unscientific."
Drake glanced at him, adjusted his wording, and said:
"This canyon was a biological virus research experiment left over from World War II, but it connected to the mystical side due to certain factors."
"Under years of continuous evolution and adaptation, it is suspected to have merged with this canyon, generating a primary instinctive consciousness—that is, an Active Ecosystem."
"Before the nuke exploded, the ecosystem here chose an extreme self-protection mechanism, hiding itself or actively accepting another reality very close to this reality dimension of the canyon, covering the interior of the canyon as a shield."
"But now, that shield can't be removed, and it is devouring the reality canyon here."
He gritted his teeth and took a deep breath.
"That nuke became a key. It opened a space-time rift that is still expanding. It's estimated to completely cover this canyon in 12 days and 6 hours."
"Oh."
Green responded, picking up another chip and tossing it into his mouth.
"Uh..."
Drake choked for a moment.
He looked at Green's calm face and felt a bit frantic.
"Can you show a little more surprise every time you hear these incredible things?"
"Then can you tell me some good news?"
"Aren't you here specifically for the bad news?" Drakeretorted irritably.
"Then that's that," Green said, spreading his hands.
"I'm still at the front line."
"I'm still the gold sponsor." Drake stroked his chin and walked over to sit on the sofa.
"What does the Vatican say?" Green asked.
"This rift seems to have concomitant events. Darkspawnriots have appeared across various states in America, and they're overwhelmed."
"Of course, we have them here too—Vampires—but they were resolved quickly. Other places aren't so lucky; many people have died.
But it's still within controllable limits. The government, the Military, and Vought Company aren't really getting involved."
"The X-Men, who were the most likely to support us, recently lost one of their major combatants, Phoenix."
"But she died in another operation. The rest of them who can move have also been sent out."
"Jean Grey is dead?" Green was genuinely surprised.
"Yes." Drake nodded. "Apparently, she was crushed by the flood."
"It seems to be the plot of X2: X-Men United..." Green lowered his eyelids.
[Note: In X2: X-Men United, Jean used all her power (the newly awakened Phoenix Force) to block a dam-burst flood and push away a heavily damaged jet that couldn't take off, ultimately being swallowed by the flood and sacrificing herself.
However, the Phoenix Force automatically protected its host and resurrected her, while Jean's own personality was also being guided toward the brink of losing control by the overly powerful Phoenix Force.]
"Then... Dark Phoenix isn't far off."
Damn, this World is so fucking dangerous; the jump in danger levels is truly fucking massive.
Green spat inwardly.
"And you?" His gaze landed on Drake's face.
"Don't tell me you spent so much to explore a hell-level canyon for the sake of World peace."
Drake laughed, a very honest laugh.
"As long as you can achieve a seal, or even just suppress the expansion of this rift, I have absolute confidence in having a say in the distribution of interests regarding this canyon."
"As for you, I can give you the highest authority in the Life Foundation second only to me. You can mobilize armaments, scientific research, and personnel from any state branch."
"I'm just an ordinary person, but I am still proud. I do all this simply to obtain transcendent power, to prove that even as weak humans, there is a possibility of roaming the starry sky."
"For that, I don't care if my methods are clean or not."
"Wow~~ how inspiring, but all I hear is that you still fucking want to be an astronaut," Green teased with a drawn-out tone.
"Fuck you," Drake laughed and cursed, grabbing a large handful of chips from the bag in Green's hand and stuffing them into his mouth.
He chewed and added indistinctly:
"One more thing, I am one of the heads of Hydra."
From his observations during this time, he knew Green's sense of good and evil was very blurred, so he was direct about his identity; there was nothing to hide.
But he still didn't see anything on Green's face; it was still that same indifferent, 'don't-give-a-fuck' cold expression.
"Me, a head of Hydra," Drake repeated, staring into Green's eyes as if to challenge him.
"Oh," Green responded, tossing another chip into his mouth. "If you were a dickhead, maybe I'd find it strange."
Did he know Drake's identity?
He didn't.
But to be honest, few of his allies were good people, so he didn't mind much.
Villains are more sincere; interests and conflicts, under greater danger, make for the most reliable teammates because neither side wants to die. As for after the danger has passed, that's a different matter.
Green believed Drake's words, but he wouldn't believe them entirely.
"...So, have you decided to go?" Drake asked.
"This is a request, not a demand. Of course, I couldn't force you anyway."
"Ah—"
Green poured all the remaining chips into his mouth at once, his cheeks bulging. He casually crumpled the empty bag into a ball and tossed it into a nearby trash can.
"Is the radiation level high?"
"There's no radiation, but there is an unknown Mutation Field covering the canyon. It's milder than nuclear radiation, but the mutation speed is faster.
"Without a protective suit, an ordinary human individual exposed inside the canyon for more than twenty-seven minutes will trigger the irreversible distortion effect of the Mutation Field.
The subject will undergo malignant transformation at the cellular level, eventually mutating into an eco-assimilated entity. The direction of mutation and the final form are unpredictable, showing high randomness."
"And with a protective suit?"
"Three hours at most."
"Three hours... that's enough." He grinned, his eyes shining—not with desire or greed, but with something more primal and pure.
"I like hunting," he said, his voice carrying a hint of eagerness.
"An ecosystem? A dimensional invasion? This will be a first."
"Depart tonight. An elite squad will accompany you for cover, and you have a teammate currently on the way."
Drake took a deep look at Green and patted him on the shoulder. He stood up and walked out of the tea room.
As soon as he left, several women walked in.
They were the kind of tall models seen only in fashion magazines, with features as delicate as Barbie dolls.
The fabric on their bodies was pitifully sparse, barely covering the vital parts and revealing large areas of collarbones, waists, and thighs. They walked in high heels with a cat-like gait, their eyes seductive and their mouths wearing perfectly measured smiles.
Green raised his hand and waved them out.
He lowered his head, his gaze returning to the data on the tablet. He flipped through the data, images, and analysis reports page by page.
Physical desire could indeed stimulate a dopamine rush, but right now, he cared more about his hunting targets and the potential death traps he might encounter.
In the face of such unknown crises, it would be laughable to get himself killed inside because of carelessness.
The women were stunned for a moment, then bowed slightly, draped on nearby robes, and tactfully withdrew.
But they didn't leave completely.
They would arrange Green's various upcoming itineraries, from accommodation to food, from transportation to equipment.
They would wait at the door, wait downstairs, and appear whenever he needed them.
They were functional assistants carefully selected by Drake for Green.
From a young age, they had been growing and learning in institutions under the Life Foundation—various types of knowledge, including languages, etiquette, finance, and politics.
Sexual skills were also a compulsory course.
And now, their highest order was to serve this man.
What did this mean? It meant that even Drake himself, the man who controlled the Life Foundation, could not directly deploy them.
Their existence, their authority, and their lives and deaths were all tied to Green alone.
This was Drake's sincerity, and also his means to bind Green to him.
Of course, he believed even more that he would be Green's best choice—not just one of them, but the best.
Just then, Green's phone vibrated twice.
He pulled the phone from his pocket and swiped the screen. As his gaze fell on a message that had just been sent over, a dark glint flashed in his eyes.
"What a hassle."
Green put his phone away and tucked it back into his pocket.
He stood up and casually turned off the tablet, tossing it onto the sofa. The tablet landed on the soft leather surface; the screen flickered once before going dark and automatically locking.
Then, he walked toward the door without looking back.
Chapter 84: A Feast at Hongmen? Betty's Choice
New York time, 7:21 PM. The pickup truck pulled up in front of a café, its exhaust pipe puffing out a few wisps of white smoke that quickly dissipated into the night breeze.
In the driver's seat, the female assistant in tight casual clothing had just unbuckled her seatbelt. "No need, wait here," came Green Morgan's voice from the back seat.
The female assistant paused. She turned her head and met Green Morgan's gaze in the rearview mirror for a fleeting moment. His face was hidden in the shadows, revealing only half of his chin and lips holding a cigarette.
"Yes, sir." She nodded, buckled her seatbelt back up, and rested her right hand on the grip of the pistol in her quick-draw holster, her fingertips pressing against the cold metal.
The engine was left running as Green Morgan opened the car door. The cool night air rushed in, carrying the dampness unique to the aftermath of rain and the burnt aroma drifting from the café. He stepped out, closed the door, and walked toward the illuminated glass door.
The door was pushed open, and the wind chimes gave a soft tinkle. The café was very quiet, with no customers; it seemed to have been cleared out in advance. There were only a dozen or so burly men in black suits scattered in the corners, their gazes all fixed on him.
The coffee machine was still running, steam hissing out. The air was filled with the burnt aroma of coffee beans and a faint scent of cologne.
At a table in the corner sat two people. One was a middle-aged man wearing an apron stained with flour, his hands resting on the table, fingers twisting together uneasily. When he saw Green Morgan enter, his eyes were filled with apology, making his whole posture seem to slump a bit.
Beside him sat a young woman with the aura of someone in a position of power. Her hair was meticulously styled, revealing a smooth forehead and a slender neck. She held a white porcelain coffee cup, the rim pressed against her lips in an elegant posture.
Green Morgan walked straight over, pulled out a chair, and sat down. "I'm sorry, Green Morgan, they threatened me with my children," the man said with a bitter smile.
"It's good to close early today, Beaumont. The rain has been frequent lately, bringing out the cockroaches from the sewers. Don't let them stink you up." Green Morgan pulled a wad of cash from his pocket, placed it on the table, and pushed it toward the man.
"Your coffee is quite good, manager," the woman said without looking up. She kept her eyes lowered, gazing at the coffee in her cup, a faint, indefinable smile hanging at the corner of her mouth.
The man was stunned. He looked down at the wad of cash, then looked back at Green Morgan, his lips moving as if he wanted to say something. "Understood!" Green Morgan gave him a bit more courage. He gritted his teeth, ignored the woman, picked up the cash, stuffed it into his apron pocket, stood up, and with his head bowed, walked quickly toward the back door to leave.
"Three sentences. Once you're done, you can die." Green Morgan flicked cigarette ash onto the coffee in the woman's cup. The grayish-white ash landed on the dark brown liquid, slowly spreading and leaving a small patch of soot floating on top.
The woman's gaze turned cold. She stared at the contaminated coffee, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly. It was the first time someone had dared to be so insolent in her presence. Clearly, she did not understand the temperament of a villain, nor did she understand the true rules of the Dark Dimension. She could have sought out Green Morgan in a gentle manner, but using force to threaten him was a provocation.
"First sentence." Green Morgan leaned back in his chair, his hand resting on the armrest, his eyes fixed on her face. "Do you know who I am?" The woman lifted her chin, her voice carrying a hint of arrogance.
"Second sentence." Green Morgan continued to stare at her, his eyes very calm. The woman was unnerved by his gaze, cold sweat breaking out on her back and soaking her thin shirt. However, her inner pride still supported her, keeping her back straight and her chin lifted. The bodyguards around them also moved silently, their hands reaching to their waists to undo the holsters' straps.
"I represent the Black Lake Gene Company in extending an invitation to you." The woman took a deep breath, steadying her voice. She tried hard to ignore his gaze, trying to make herself appear composed. "We know you are employed by the Life Foundation and are about to participate in the Canyon Operation. Our stance is different from the Life Foundation; we hope to maintain the status quo, and even liberate the rift when necessary."
Her tone gradually became excited, and her eyes lit up. "To allow the highly intelligent beings from that reality dimension to reach an exchange, and even a consensus, with us—imagine what a magnificent precedent this would be." She paused, waiting for his response. However, she did not get an affirmative reply.
"Time's up." The cigarette butt slipped from Green Morgan's fingers, hitting the floor and sparking a few embers. He stood up, his tall figure slowly rising from the seat, his head lowered, perfectly blocking the overhead light. "You deserve to die."
Across the table, the woman's face was plunged into shadow, everything from her forehead to her chin swallowed by that darkness. Her expression became somewhat uncomposed; a mix of disbelief and terror wove together into a distorted expression on her face. At this moment, she felt a bone-chilling cold. Her heart was beating so fast! Unusually fast!
A nosebleed flowed from her nostrils, warm and trickling over her lips, dripping onto her chin. She raised her hand to wipe it, and when her fingertips touched the sticky liquid, her pupils suddenly constricted. "Hey! Don't move!" "Sit down, or we'll shoot you immediately!" The surrounding bodyguards raised their guns one after another, the clicking sounds of safeties being disengaged echoing one after another.
"How scary." Green Morgan smiled, a glimmer of gold emerging in his eyes. There was no suspense. Bang, bang, bang! Sparse gunfire erupted in the café. Less than five seconds later, the doorbell rang again. Green Morgan pushed the door open and walked out calmly. The glass door behind him automatically pulled back and slowly closed, sealing off the carnage within the gap.
The female assistant in the pickup truck moved the moment she heard the gunshots. Without any hesitation, she pushed open the car door, her body lowering with the momentum, and she slid out from the driver's seat like a black shadow. Her right hand had already drawn her gun from the quick-draw holster, the barrel pointed toward the café, her index finger resting on the trigger guard, her gaze quickly scanning the doors and windows. Her movements were clean and efficient, like a programmed machine.
However, it happened too fast. She had just bent over, holding onto the car door, intending to peer through the window to assess the enemy's positions and firepower distribution, when the glass door was pushed open and Green Morgan walked out. "Ouch!" She couldn't stop her momentum in time and bumped into the car door frame.
"Sir, are you okay?" Seeing Green Morgan, she immediately lowered her gun. Her eyes still held the sharpness from the previous combat state, but there was a touch more concern when she looked at him. The spot on her forehead where she had bumped it was turning red at a visible rate, swelling into a small bump, but she seemed not to feel it, just staring at him and looking him up and down.
"What could happen to me?" Green Morgan glanced at her, a cigarette still unlit in his mouth. "What do you think I'm in charge of?" His gaze swept over her, not at her figure, but at her agility and professional quality. That series of actions just now: rapid reaction, tactical posture, covering position, vigilant observation... were all quite good. The "good" he referred to was the kind of good that stood up to comparison with Hill. It seemed the quality of these hounds Drake gave him was very high.
"Oh." The assistant rubbed her bumped forehead. This action, paired with her normally cold, stern face, revealed a touch of silliness, but she didn't put the gun away. It remained in her hand, the barrel pointing toward the ground, ready to be raised at any moment.
"Send people to clean up." Green Morgan pulled out a cigarette, put it in his mouth, flicked the lighter wheel to ignite it, and smoke spilled from his lips. Now he was openly at odds with Black Lake. However, since the helmsman of Black Lake was dead, the people below were probably busy fighting for power. The woman who died just now probably only represented the stance of a portion of the group, not the entirety of Black Lake. But it didn't matter. Whether they really gave him benefits or not, it didn't matter. Green Morgan didn't care.
That rift—he was going to close it. How chaotic this Worldwas, he didn't care, and it wasn't the turn of scum from other Worlds to come over and chirp. Whether it was invasion or indoctrination, in his eyes, they were all birds of a feather. This place was, after all, his World.
"Understood." The female assistant nodded, took out her phone, and began to handle it. Her fingers slid quickly across the screen, dialing several numbers and giving instructions in a low voice. Green Morgan smoked as he walked toward the back seat. Why should he drive when he had a driver?
He had just grabbed the car door handle when he suddenly paused. An unusual, heavy gaze. He straightened up, turned his head, and looked toward the opposite street. The passing vehicles were endless, their headlights drawing streaks of light in the night. In the gaps between the traffic, on the sidewalk across the way, stood a monk in yellow robes.
A large hood obscured the upper half of her face, revealing only the lower half. Her lips were slightly upturned in a faint smile, which inexplicably felt meaningful. The surrounding crowd seemed unable to see this strange person. Their gazes swept over her position as if sweeping over a puff of air; no one stopped, no one turned back, no one took a second look. She stood there on the bustling street, yet it was as if she were standing in another World.
A truck drove by. Its huge body blocked the view, its headlights flashing past, dazzling the eyes. The roar of the engine was deafening, and the container on the truck dragged a huge shadow in the night. When the truck drove away, the sidewalk across the street was already empty. The monk in yellow robes had disappeared; only a few sparks remained in the air, slowly extinguishing and being scattered by the night wind.
"Load up." There was no politeness in Green Morgan's tone. "What's wrong, Boss?" The female assistant had just finished handling the matter at hand and looked up at him, her eyes filled with questioning. "Let's go." Green Morgan opened the car door and sat in the back seat. "Yes." The female assistant didn't ask further, stepped on the gas, and the pickup truck slid smoothly into the night, its taillights drawing two red streaks in the darkness.
After turning through a few blocks, the car slowed down, accidentally passing the dessert shop where Lorna and the others had eaten last time. "Stop here." The female assistant pulled over, and Green Morgan pushed open the door and walked in. A few minutes later, he came out carrying several paper boxes.
He sat back in the back seat, a cake cup in his mouth, and handed the extra signature cake he had bought to the driver's seat. "Here." The female assistant was stunned. "I... I have one too?" She said, flattered, her voice carrying a hint of disbelief. Her hand hesitated before she carefully took the paper box, looking down at the exquisite cake inside.
Come to think of it... she had been training from childhood until now, and no one had ever bought her anything. She looked up at the rearview mirror. Green Morgan had already withdrawn his hand and was eating his cake cup, his gaze fixed outside the window. His face was expressionless, with a bit of cream on the corner of his mouth, which he couldn't be bothered to wipe off.
Something extra appeared in the female assistant's eyes. She lowered her head, a smile on her lips, and gently opened the paper box. The two in the car ate in silence. There was no conversation, only the slight sound of spoons hitting the paper boxes and the occasional sound of chewing. The cake was very sweet, so sweet it melted on the tip of the tongue, sweet enough to make one want to squint their eyes.
Green Morgan's phone suddenly rang. He took it out and glanced at it. It wasn't Drake; it was General Ross. He answered, tilted his head to press the phone against his ear, and continued to dig into the cake with his spoon. "Speak."
"The incident has escalated. One of my subordinates injected himself with Bruce Banner's blood without authorization and went on a rampage." "Oh, none of my business." "Don't forget what you've done; I can throw you in prison at any time!" General Ross's voice suddenly rose, threatening him. "I don't know what you're talking about." Green Morgan didn't leave a single linguistic trap and denied it directly.
"...The request you made before, were you serious?" Green Morgan laughed, that smile carrying a hint of mockery. "It seems it's blown up pretty big. Even the hardliner General Ross has to soften up."
"Hiss—" In the helicopter, the roar of the propellers drowned out General Ross's voice. Taking a deep breath, he understood the scumbag's chaotic personality. After all, his rapid rise had partly been thanks to this kid. He turned his eyes and looked down.
The street was ablaze with fire, and two behemoths were fighting crazily. Abomination was destroying everything like a large earth-moving machine. Hulk roared and pounced, smashing his fists into that ugly body, one punch after another. Every punch shook the ground, and every step crushed a car.
His face twitched. He glanced at his side; Betty was looking at the green monster below with a face full of worry, her fingers tightly gripping the armrest, her knuckles white. A hint of malice flashed in General Ross's eyes, but he closed them to cover it up. In the end, the reluctance of fatherly love overcame his disgust for his daughter.
He raised the communicator and roared into it: "I will give you the highest legal immunity, with full legal effect. Your public identity will have the same Military authority as that of a Lieutenant Colonel. Is that enough?" "Hmm..." Green Morgan drawled, pretending to think. "Don't push your luck, you bastard!" General Ross gritted his teeth. "No problem, I am firmly committed to defending the safety of the people of America!" General Ross hung up the communication directly.
Green Morgan looked at the darkened screen, a smile still hanging on the corner of his mouth. He finished the last bite of cake and set the empty cup aside. "Deliver the dessert to my house," he said to the female assistant in the driver's seat. "Received." The female assistant nodded.
Green Morgan pushed the door open and stepped out of the car. The muffled sound of the door closing echoed inside, a bang, and then it returned to silence. The female assistant sat in the driver's seat, watching in a daze as that tall figure walked around the front of the car toward the opposite street. The streetlights cast flickering light and shadows on him, stretching his shadow very long. "Obeying him... doesn't seem that hard to accept..."
As he walked, Green Morgan pressed the remote control button Tony had given him a few days ago. The small metal device vibrated slightly between his fingers, and a low roar came from a certain direction in the distance. Incidentally, he dialed another number from his contacts.
"Fuck!" After hanging up the communication, General Rosscursed. In his heart, he actually admired that kid a bit; he was ruthless enough, chaotic enough, and had enough disregard for the rules. "Even if you chose an owl..." He glanced at Betty, feeling that she was failing to live up to his expectations. "Choosing a loser who only knows how to get angry and is weak..."
At this moment, Betty's phone rang. Sensing her father's gaze, she glanced at him in a panic, then turned her head to the side, pressing against the cabin door. General Rossfrowned, but just assumed it was the girl's privacy and didn't think much more of it.
"Betty, General Ross has already told me his request. I have to say, he has paid quite a lot for your sake~ He has even spent more than half of his political capital..." The voice coming from the other end of the phone was a devil's whisper to Betty, especially with that unfathomable smile.
And this devil was one she had summoned herself, because she knew some of General Ross's secrets; she had stolen this devil's number. Betty bit her lower lip, her teeth sinking into the flesh until it turned white, leaving two deep tooth marks. A salty, metallic taste melted on the tip of her tongue.
She stared at the street ablaze with fire outside the cabin, staring at the green figure that was still roaring. Her eyes gradually turned red. She knew what her father cared about most in his life. Power, status, control over the Military—that was what he had traded decades for, traded for with countless battles, countless games, and countless sleepless nights. It was the proof of him climbing up this pyramid of power bit by bit. But now, for her...
"I'm sorry, Bruce, I love you, but I also love my father just as much." She whispered in her heart. She closed her eyes, her eyelashes trembling lightly. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes, flowed down her cheeks, gathered at her chin, and dripped down. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth with a trembling voice: "My father's original request... I accept it on his behalf." "Heh, anything?" "Yes..."
Chapter 85: Entering the Stage
Broken blocks, burning wreckage mixed with sludge-like corpses, slowly spreading in pools of blood.
The aftershocks of the two giants fighting shook the buildings on both sides; walls cracked, and glass poured down like rain.
Reality is always more tragic than the movies; death never grants amnesty to those who try to run further.
Behind the wreckage of a vehicle, a buck-toothed boy wearing a baseball cap huddled.
He covered his ears tightly with both hands, his body curled into a ball, knees against his chest, wedged into the angle between the wreckage and the ground.
He stared blankly ahead, his eyes looking as if everything had been drained from them, leaving only an empty hollow.
In the passenger seat, a woman's head was caught by the seatbelt, half-hanging from the twisted car door.
Her body leaned to one side, her neck bent at an impossible angle, and a piece of iron from somewhere was stuck in her abdomen, only half-exposed, with blood still dripping from the edges.
Her eyes, which would not close in death, hung down, the final terror still lingering in her pupils, as drops of blood slid from the corners of her eyes, dripping onto the boy's trembling cap brim.
Warm, sticky, a small patch of dark red spread across the brim.
"No... no... no..."
The boy's lips trembled, his teeth chattered with a light clicking sound, and his eyes were dazed, as if trapped in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.
It shouldn't be like this.
He should have just finished the restaurant dinner he had been looking forward to for a long time with his parents, and then practiced throwing balls in the yard; his father would praise him for a good catch, and his mother would smile at them from the doorway.
Why...
Why did this happen halfway through!!
His expression gradually turned ferocious.
In those hollow eyes, something was surging up.
Large tears slid down, mixing with the dust on his face to wash out muddy tracks; hatred burned behind those tears, burning his eyes red and making his pupils contract.
He reached a conclusion.
"These monsters... damn them!!"
At that moment, a shadow suddenly covered the firelight draped over him.
To be precise, it was a tall figure; a man walked straight past him, stepping over the wreckage.
The boy's eyes gradually widened.
He instinctively propped himself up, his palms pressing against the warm ground, lifting half his body; those originally hollow eyes now only reflected that back.
The battlefield in the distance was still roaring.
The bellows of the two giants made the air tremble, and sparks flew everywhere, landing on the man but extinguishing behind him, turning into a shadow lengthening on the ground.
That shadow stretched very, very long, reaching all the way to the boy's feet.
It looked so much like what he wanted to become...
"Hey, are your legs weak? Kid."
Suddenly, a steady and magnetic male voice interrupted his thoughts.
The man turned his head, and under his black spiky hair, a pair of cold eyes glanced at him.
The boy suddenly jolted.
"If you've got legs, then get lost." The man withdrew his gaze, his tone unmasking his disdain.
"Waiting to die?"
The boy froze for a moment.
He instinctively stood up, his legs still shaking, but he took a step and ran toward the edge of the battlefield.
Yet he couldn't help but look back, looking at that back, at that shadow lengthened by the firelight, at the man walking toward the giant.
But none of this had anything to do with Green.
The sound of helicopter rotors whistled in the sky, rumbling over the broken blocks.
The searchlight on the side of the fuselage lit up, its snow-white beam piercing through the thick smoke, scanning back and forth over the ruins.
"This is going to be a big story! A big story!"
On the cabin, a male reporter stood at the doorway, a camera mounted on his shoulder, the lens aimed downward.
"Elena! Quickly focus on that man! I have a feeling he'll be a hot spot!"
He shouted, but didn't notice that the girl beside him looked a bit dazed.
That figure... she had seen him before.
That rainy night, those monsters, those eyes as cold as ice.
"Elena!" the reporter shouted again, his voice carrying dissatisfaction.
"Oh, yes."
Elena pursed her lips, lowered her head, and moved her fingers on the lens, deliberately slowing down the focus; he was wearing a mask, maybe he didn't like being exposed...
The male reporter excitedly adjusted the searchlight, pressing the snow-white beam downward.
Before it could touch Green,
A huge dark shadow swept across from high above.
A steel giant dived down from above the battlefield, creating wind pressure that buffeted the helicopter.
"Shit!"
The male reporter cried out, being knocked over and falling into the cabin.
Elena quickly grabbed the handrail of the cabin door, the wind stirring her hair at the temples; those stray hairs flew wildly around her face, whipping her cheeks, along with the amazement in her eyes.
"A... Gundam? Isn't it a Kamen Rider? Maybe I really should watch some Tokusatsu shows."
The steel giant descended from high above, its massive body casting a huge shadow under the reflection of the firelight.
The palm thrusters on both hands spewed dazzling blue-white flames, adjusting its descent posture as it landed.
Of course, there was also a flashy gold-and-red armor that knelt on one knee and hit the ground, making a crisp metallic clanging sound.
"This hero-style entrance posture is really not bad." Tony's frivolous voice came from the armor, carrying a bit of pride.
"Maybe I should go apply for a patent."
Green walked past him, glancing at that kneeling posture.
"Your underwear is caught in the armor."
Tony instinctively lowered his head, his neck twisting inside the armor's collar as he tried to look down, then he realized, stood up, followed him, and retorted:
"Bullshit, where would I get underwear? I'm wearing a full bodysuit; of course, there are times when I don't wear anything."
"For example?"
"For example, now."
"That's quite breezy then; you'd better set up an independent cabin for your bird too, or it'll hurt a lot in a while."
Tony choked for a moment.
Green had already walked toward the iron monger.
Compared to the previous crude workmanship, this armor was now clearly much more refined.
Every joint was equipped with anti-collision devices, and precise hydraulic cushioning structures could be seen on the metal shell.
The weapon modules were streamlined and perfected, with all redundant baggage removed, leaving only the most practical parts.
It looked like it had gone from a heavy-industry farmhand to a three-meter-tall armored giant.
The cockpit of the iron monger opened, and Green jumped up, stepping on the edge to enter.
"I've practiced a few moves during this time." Tony's voice came from behind, sounding a bit defiant, "Including my bird."
"Heh."
The cockpit closed.
The moment the hatch shut, most of the external clamor was cut off.
The inside of the mask projected a blue multi-module screen, the light reflecting softly on his face.
[Hi, Sir.]
A gentle female voice sounded.
[I am your personal AI butler, Thursday. Would you like to enable the intelligent tutorial driving mode?]
"Confirm."
Green wasn't so amazing that he would know how to drive this thing the moment he stepped in.
[Self-checking...]
The armor shell automatically vibrated, the metal plates began to tremble slightly, and the vents emitted wisps of white steam as each part began its self-check.
Meanwhile, on the screen in front of Green, a set of control commands was briefly formed.
Simply put, it was like real game buttons.
Direction, attack, jump, jet, weapon switch.
Every button was clearly labeled, with simple animation demonstrations next to them.
"Cool." Green grinned.
"Variable thermal weapon modules, high-precision pseudo-state neural receiving circuits—this big guy is a combat Titan."
Tony explained from the side, his voice carrying a bit of showing off.
He watched Green control the mechanical arm, those huge alloy fingers flexibly opening and clenching, the hydraulic devices emitting a precise hiss.
"Additionally..."
Before he could finish.
A Ford car smashed him away; Tony, along with the car, crashed into the building ruins behind him with a boom, sending bricks and stones flying.
Clearly, the two big guys didn't want to hear him blathering anymore.
"I'm listening."
Green stood where he was, his tone flat.
Simultaneously, he drove the iron monger; the massive armor suddenly shifted sideways, its hydraulic legs stepping out two shallow pits in the ground.
Hulk flew past his shoulder, his green body tumbling and roaring in mid-air before smashing into the street behind, plowing a long trench in the ground.
"There's some weight to it, but I'll adapt."
Green spoke, but his tone suppressed a certain excitement.
That cold faceplate turned forward; Abomination was charging over, pounding its chest.
"Roar—"
On its brown, hairless head, its eyes were filled with uncontrollable rage, and the hideous bone spurs on its back pushed forward with the rhythm of the charge like rows of upright spearheads.
Clearly, in its brain, which had shriveled to the size of a walnut, it had already targeted the iron monger as a provocation.
The iron monger leaned forward.
The shoulder armor slid open, revealing two rows of miniature missile launch slots; the silver warheads glinted coldly in the firelight, each one aimed at the charging monster.
"Fire!"