"My name is Allen. Allen, sir."
The young soldier spoke calmly. It was obvious that he had lost his left arm.
"Very well, Allen," a voice said. "You will receive regular injections. During this period, you must not drink alcohol or take drugs, and you must maintain a disciplined, regular lifestyle."
The camera shifted, and Killian's face appeared on screen. Tony clenched his fists, resisting the urge to punch straight through the projection.
"Anyone who lacks self-discipline will be removed from the program," Killian continued coldly.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir. I understand," the young soldier replied immediately.
"Next one, Skye," Tony said.
Skye opened the second file. The content was largely the same. There were fifty names on the list in total—all of them disabled veterans who had volunteered for Killian's project in hopes of regaining their bodies after being broken by war.
"Skye, search for keywords related to the Extremis virus," Tony instructed, eyes fixed on the screen.
Skye typed in the term. Almost instantly, a new file appeared: Extremis Virus Injection Test.
The video showed all the volunteer soldiers being escorted into an underground facility. They were strapped to humanoid restraint frames and injected with an unknown liquid.
Soon, the first soldier reacted. His skin and muscles glowed like molten lava, and—miraculously—his severed arm began to regenerate. But before long, large areas of his body started emitting an intense red glow. The same thing began happening to the other soldiers.
In the footage, Killian urgently ordered all researchers to evacuate. The camera shook violently, then switched to a security feed inside the lab. One by one, the soldiers' mouths and noses began to emit red light.
The next second—
Boom.
The soldiers exploded. The video ended abruptly.
"So this is what you've been researching all this time?" Pepper said, turning to Maya Hansen in shock.
"Were you trying to save people—or kill them?"
Maya lowered her head, guilt written all over her face.
"Our original goal was to develop a treatment—to help injured soldiers regenerate damaged tissue and return to normal life," she said softly.
"But as you saw, Killian went insane. He turned them into bombs."
Killian was the mastermind, but in an avalanche, no snowflake is truly innocent. As one of the researchers, Maya could not escape responsibility.
---
Meanwhile, Rhodes had already swept through several terrorist bases without finding the Mandarin. This was the final location indicated by the signal trace.
A repulsor blast blew open the door as Rhodes entered the building. Inside, he found rows of women wrapped head to toe, sitting in front of sewing machines. Fabric was piled everywhere—it looked like a garment factory.
At Rhodes's entrance, the women recoiled in fear. A scan confirmed that none of them were armed.
"Iron Patriot reporting," Rhodes said dryly.
"Unless the Mandarin plans to attack the United States with cheap tracksuits next time, you've got the wrong location again. This is just a clothing factory."
He waved his hand, signaling that they were free to go. The women rushed forward, thanking him profusely. Some grabbed his hands, crying as they expressed their gratitude.
One woman stepped up, clutching his hand and speaking rapidly in a language Rhodes didn't understand.
"No need to thank me," Rhodes replied politely. "Just doing my job."
Suddenly, the woman's hand turned molten red. Searing heat surged straight through the Iron Patriot's armor.
The system instantly shut down.
With the power disabled, the immense weight of the armor collapsed onto Rhodes, slamming him to the ground.
"I've secured the Iron Patriot armor," the woman said calmly.
She pulled back her headscarf, revealing blonde hair and blue eyes—a white woman, not a Middle Eastern civilian at all. Rhodes immediately realized he'd been set up.
"If you want this armor," Rhodes growled, "you'll have to kill me first and pry me out of it."
"I was planning to," the woman replied coldly.
"Colonel Rhodes."
---
Back at Carl's agency, Skye had successfully hacked into satellite systems and was triangulating the Mandarin's broadcast signal—far more efficiently than the so-called military experts.
"I've got his location," Skye said, eyes widening slightly. "You'll never guess where he is."
"Where?" Tony asked. "North Africa? The Middle East? Eastern Europe?"
"None of those," Skye replied.
"The signal is coming from inside the United States—Miami."
With a tap, the coordinates were projected from the bead onto the screen, pinpointing a location in Miami.
"Miami?!" Pepper exclaimed.
"These people are insane—running terrorist operations right inside the country!"
"Send me the coordinates. I'm leaving now," Tony said.
He tapped the glowing arc reactor on his chest. The red-and-gold nanotech armor instantly enveloped him, and he strode out of the agency without hesitation.
Everyone turned to Carl.
"You're not going with him?" Skye asked.
"Do I need to?" Carl paused.
"Of course," Pepper said, watching as Tony shot into the sky.
"He's lost his cool."
"Great. As usual, I'm the one cleaning up after him," Carl muttered.
He stepped outside. Tony was already gone.
With a sigh, Carl unfurled his cloak and launched into the air.
"Skye, send me the coordinates—actually, just tell me which direction to fly," Carl said, pulling out his phone.
On Skye's screen, a red dot appeared—Carl's position.
---
Tony reached the target location: a massive private estate. A quick scan revealed dozens of armed guards on site.
"JARVIS, tag all hostiles. Highlight Killian," Tony said coldly.
He was done playing games. Killian was going to pay for leveling his home.
"Understood, sir. All targets marked."
Tony's vision filled with dense clusters of red indicators—every one of them an armed guard, now firmly in his sights.
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