"General Ross, all units are in position. The wealthy residents nearby have been evacuated, but for secrecy's sake, we didn't inform Tony Stark."
In the darkness, a shadowy figure with no visible face whispered into a radio, reporting to General Ross.
"Tony Stark?" Ross's gruff voice came through the line, cold and calculating. "Good. His relationship with Leo is murky—who knows if he'd leak it."
Ross sat inside a command vehicle a thousand meters away, his face illuminated by the faint glow of monitors.
"Don't worry about Stark. If he's unlucky enough to get caught in the crossfire, that's his problem. Bad luck, not ours."
After hanging up, he raised his night-vision binoculars, scanning the perimeter.
"Stop! Everyone listen carefully!" Ross barked through the comms. "Take off your boots. There are two superpowers' people in that villa. Not a single sound before I give the order to attack."
"Understood!" came the hushed responses.
In the dark, the soldiers silently removed their boots, advancing barefoot across the cold ground. Their breaths were shallow, their expressions grim.
They knew what kind of monsters they were up against tonight. Charging into this mission was like walking straight into the jaws of death.
Closer… and closer…
The distance to the villa was barely two hundred meters, but every step felt like crossing an endless void. Sweat trickled down their faces, soaking their uniforms.
"Relax! Deep breaths, everyone! Stay calm!" their captain whispered over the earpiece, though his own voice trembled slightly.
They tried—but the more he spoke, the more their hearts pounded.
These weren't hardened mercenaries; they were young men used to living easy—good food, good pay, girls, games.
Suddenly being told to carry out a suicide mission? Who wouldn't panic?
But orders were orders. They had already written their wills before coming here.
Even if they succeeded, more than half wouldn't return.
Still, they had confidence—because this time, they were carrying America's latest forbidden weapon: neurotoxin rifles.
Each cartridge contained a biochemical nerve agent so potent that a single box could knock out an elephant. They carried hundreds.
No one could survive that—not even those "Masters."
Rules of warfare? International conventions? Nonsense. They were the United States. Rules existed for others to follow.
As long as Leo and his companion took a single breath of the gas, they'd collapse before realizing what hit them.
Unfortunately for them, every move outside was crystal clear to No. 18.
Three hundred distinct life auras creeping toward the house—like fireflies in the night. How could she not notice?
Watching their clumsy sneaking, No. 18 almost burst out laughing.
She tapped her communicator. "Master, the fish have taken the bait. They're preparing to strike. Please come back."
Though she could have wiped them all out easily, she knew Leo had a bet with Banner. It wouldn't be fun to end things too soon.
Leo's amused voice came through immediately. "The fish have taken the bait? Excellent."
He hung up and turned toward Banner. "Let's go, time to have some fun."
Banner groaned. "Lost again… why do I always end up on the losing side?"
His tone was one of pure despair. Not only did Hulk get beaten half to death last time, now he had to tag along for the show.
Leo clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "Cheer up."
With a flash of energy, both vanished from Tony's villa.
Tony, left standing there, could only drool with envy. "Teleportation… that bastard."
Back at Leo's villa, he and Banner reappeared just as the soldiers outside finished surrounding the courtyard.
"Everyone, unlock your cases! Prepare the neurotoxin rifles and await my signal!" the captain whispered over the radio.
They quickly obeyed. The mission seemed to be going smoothly—almost too smoothly. Some soldiers even felt relieved.
They didn't realize they were being watched like a live comedy show.
On the villa's monitor feed, No. 18 leaned back lazily, snickering. "Master, do you think they'll celebrate after firing their so-called superweapon?"
"When they start cheering, we'll give them a real surprise. Hehehe."
Banner sighed from the couch. "This isn't a surprise—it's suicide."
He rubbed his temples, muttering, "Ross must have a death wish. And he's dragging me into it."
Outside, the captain's voice finally came through:
"On my mark… FIRE!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Crash! Crash!
Hundreds of toxin rounds smashed through the villa's windows. Within seconds, dark green gas surged through the interior like a toxic storm.
"Beautiful! Absolutely beautiful!" Ross shouted, slamming his hand on the command table. "Perfect execution!"
He laughed maniacally, deep wrinkles folding across his face like cracks on a cliff. His excitement bordered on madness.
The operation had gone far too smoothly—almost unreal.
"General," his deputy said cautiously, "don't you think it's strange? The lights are on, no one's left the house… It's too quiet."
Ross waved dismissively. "You worry too much, Colonel. Yes, they're powerful, but they're young. Overconfident. They'd never expect an ambush from us."
He smirked, quoting mockingly, "As the Dragon Country folks say—'young people are smooth-faced and unreliable.'"
His logic sounded convincing—too convincing.
But before the colonel could respond, a slow clap echoed through the command vehicle.
Clap… clap… clap…
A teasing voice followed, laced with amusement.
"Hahaha… General Ross is absolutely right."
The blood drained from Ross's face.
That voice wasn't coming from his radio.
It was coming from inside the vehicle.