Begin from the original form of torture and become immortal

Chapter 1733 Hydra: Hungry, hungry, all hungry!

Outside Whiteman Air Force Base in Wyoming, anti-war activists formed a human chain with signs that read "Guam as bait, the graveyard of the Pacific!", directly criticizing the operation for using Guam as a decoy target and exposing the public to risks.

Meanwhile, Wall Street also experienced significant turmoil.

Stark Industries' stock price plummeted due to the astronomical budget and immense uncertainty surrounding Project Abyss, while Pepper Potts is grappling with shareholder inquiries and financing difficulties.

Tony Stark's name has shifted from a tech icon to the center of a controversy—savior? Or a dangerous monopolist?
S.H.I.E.L.D., Hydra's offices... no, the consultants' offices.

The wine glass spun slowly between Alexander Pierce's fingers, the amber liquid reflecting the low, muted light in the enclosed room.

The walls, disguised as a data backup center, isolated the outside world. Only Brock Rumlow's breathing, steady as some kind of precise mechanical rhythm, could be heard over the encrypted communication channel.

“'Abyss Fortress'…”

Pierce's voice flowed through the confined space, carrying a refined, icy sarcasm, "Fury was blinded by Stark's arrogant act. He thought it was just monsters? No, Rumlow, it's an unparalleled treasure!"

He took a sip of wine, his gaze piercing through the glass, as if he could already see the giant crimson cocoon. "A life form that can 'evolve' at the center of a nuclear explosion and be forcibly frozen in that critical state... The energy rules contained within its body, the evolutionary equation that was forcibly stopped... Its value is enough to make Zola's algorithm look like a child's doodle, and to make the Cosmic Cube seem... too mild."

On the holographic screen, Rumlow's face appeared blurred and hardened under the encrypted ripples.

"Fury put me in the surveillance team with limited authority. Stark's fortress... Jarvis's tentacles are everywhere. The physical barrier is a hybrid of vibranium, sub-kryptonite, and gold-titanium alloy, with astonishing strength. The Iron Man suit patrols are like ghosts; forcing our way through would be like broadcasting our funeral march across the entire frequency band."

"Force our way in?"

Pierce let out a barely audible chuckle, like the faint cracking of ice beneath the surface. "That's the choice of a brute. Fury's been shouting about 'transparency' and 'multinational regulation,' hasn't he? We'll help him... make this show even bigger."

He set down his glass, tapped the sleek console, and brought up a draft outline. “I will propose a motion at the emergency meeting of the World Security Council—given the global extinction risk of the contents of the Abyss Fortress, a Joint Oversight and Evaluation Committee must be established, comprised of top scientists from S.H.I.E.L.D., the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), and major nuclear powers. Stark can’t keep it as his private wine cellar on Long Island forever.”

A sharp glint flashed in Rumlow's eyes, like a lurking viper finally locking onto its target: "Create chaos, fish in troubled waters? Under the banner of 'Unity,' send our people...into the open and aboveboard?"

"exactly."

Pierce nodded, his eyes devoid of any warmth. "John Garrett's 'scientific team' is in place. They are reassuringly experienced in handling... 'non-standard' biological samples."

He paused, his tone as precise and sharp as a scalpel, “What we need is an opportunity to make contact, Rumlow. Even just the surface data stream, even just a microgram of sample leaking from a container due to deep-sea pressure or the erosion of time… the information it contains is enough to forge the sharpest spearhead for Project Insight. That cocoon is the key to unlocking a new era.”

He leaned forward slightly, his single eye burning with undeniable ambition: "Simultaneously, activate all our media channels. Portray Tony Stark as a madman bewitched by power, attempting to monopolize the doomsday trigger. Stir up the island nation's radiation fears to the extreme, and ignite Tian'o's suspicions of Stark's monopoly. Chaos is not an obstacle, Rumlow; it is our best cloak and blade. Remember, the 'equation' within that cocoon must belong to Hydra. This is the authority bestowed by fate." "Understood."

Rumlow's answer was as brief as a bullet being loaded.

Communication ends.

The shadows once again enveloped Rumlow's figure, who stood silently in a corner of a S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house, like a lifeless black basalt statue.

He silently opened the special equipment box at his feet.

Deep inside the enclosure, within a separate layer treated with extreme electromagnetic shielding, several items gleamed with a faint metallic luster under the cold light: a tiny data needle, no bigger than a fingernail and bearing the Hydra emblem, which integrated an ultra-high-speed quantum entanglement signal transmitter.

Several thin electromagnetic shielding patches that can adapt to the surrounding materials; and a device disguised as a standard environmental sampling pen, whose tip is actually a microprobe that can instantly release an ultra-low temperature freezing field, enough to peel off and seal a tiny amount of biological tissue upon contact without alerting any biological monitoring alarms.

His fingers traced the cold surface of the needles, Pierce's whispers still echoing in his ears: "Hydra needs a new head, and that head is in the depths of the Pacific Ocean."

He closed the box, and the shadows enveloped him again, except for a pair of eyes that shone brightly in the darkness—the eyes of a predator locking onto its prey.

In the depths of the Pacific Ocean, the seawater is eternally black, and the immense pressure penetrates every crevice.

The massive containment facility, codenamed "Abyss Fortress," is like a steel heart sinking into the throat of hell, silently pulsating on the cliff face of a ten-thousand-meter-deep trench.

It is encased in thick, multi-layered alloy armor, with intricate energy-conducting patterns etched on its surface, continuously resisting the terrifying pressure that could crush a submarine.

The interior space is vast yet oppressive, with a crisscrossing network of cold steel structures and thick energy conduits winding along the walls and ceiling, emitting a low, constant hum.

The ubiquitous cold white light source could not dispel the deep shadows in the corners. The air was filled with the clean smell of high-pressure sterilization, mixed with the metallic coolant and a faint, indescribable, faintly salty smell that seemed to come from an ancient abyss, icy and bone-chilling.

At the very heart of the fortress lies the massive cylindrical main containment area.

A beam of pale light, projected from a high-energy constraint field, struck the central, soul-chilling object like a pillar of judgment—a gigantic, crimson cocoon over a hundred meters tall.

It is not completely still; the deep red and almost black veins on its surface pulsate extremely slowly. Each imperceptible expansion and contraction causes the light in the surrounding space to be bizarrely distorted, as if the light itself is being swallowed and digested by it.

(End of this chapter)