After reviewing the available intelligence, Natasha couldn't help but complain,
"Are rich people wired differently? This is the Middle East—arguably the most chaotic region on Earth—and he decided to separate from the military convoy and travel alone? Has he never faced death before?"
"Who knows?" Hawkeye replied, wiping sweat from his brow under the blazing sun. "Our job is to locate him. The rest comes later."
The Middle East was vast. Deserts. Mountains. Countless armed factions.
The military had confirmed that the attackers used weapons manufactured by Stark Industries.
Unfortunately, that detail was almost useless—Stark weapons were everywhere in the region.
That only made the search harder.
The Middle East had effectively become a geopolitical chessboard for global powers. Conflicts were concentrated here for a reason.
If wars weren't confined to a region like this, the entire world would be in flames.
"No matter what, I'm operating solo," Natasha said calmly.
With Ren inside her, she couldn't risk exposure.
And with Ren's enhancements, she could move freely through hostile territory.
"Are you sure?" Barton frowned. "This isn't a one-person infiltration. This is reconnaissance over massive terrain."
"I have my reasons."
He studied her for a moment, then shrugged.
"Fine. Don't get yourself killed."
Outside the briefing room, Natasha lowered her voice.
"You're confident?"
"As long as we get close, I'll sense him," Ren replied quietly. "Search valleys. Natural cover. Higher probability."
Ren already knew the location from memory.
But he couldn't just point at a map and say, "He's right there."
That would raise questions.
"Why valleys?" Natasha asked.
Ren snorted.
"Camouflage. Cover a valley with military netting and aerial reconnaissance sees nothing. You're an agent—you know this."
She smiled awkwardly.
Right.
That made sense.
Afghanistan had concentrated mountain ranges—ideal terrain for hiding weapons and captives.
Even Natasha didn't know why she trusted him so readily.
If he were wrong, Tony's survival chances would drop drastically.
Yet she followed his suggestion and began analyzing valley zones.
Meanwhile.
In a remote Afghan valley.
Bare rock cliffs rose on both sides. Loose gravel and dust filled the center.
Stacks of munitions were piled beneath camouflage netting, each crate stamped:
Stark Industries Manufacturing
From the air, the valley looked empty.
On the ground, it housed over a hundred armed militants.
A bearded commander stepped out from beneath a tent—behind it, a cave entrance concealed their most valuable prisoner.
"That damned Tony Stark," he muttered. "Selling weapons like these to our enemies? Now he will build them for us."
He approached the cave entrance.
"Tony has shrapnel near his heart. Remove it," he ordered.
Standing before him was a thin man in glasses and a worn suit.
Ho Yinsen.
After the commander left, Yinsen accepted a crude set of surgical tools from a soldier.
He turned to the two armed guards at the entrance and forced a polite smile.
"I hope you both get headshotted tomorrow by the U.S. military."
They didn't understand English.
They smiled back and patted his shoulder.
Idiots.
Inside the cave, Yinsen whispered a brief prayer.
"These men actually dared to ambush Tony Stark… If the U.S. finds this valley, they'll be obliterated."
The surgical environment was primitive. Lighting was poor. Sanitation nonexistent.
He could only do what he could.
The rest depended on Tony's will to survive.
Fortunately for Tony, fate favored him.
As one of the central figures of this universe, his luck bordered on absurd.
Unless he actively tried to kill himself, survival tended to bend in his favor.
After the surgery concluded, Tony's breathing stabilized.
Hours later—
His eyes fluttered open.