Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1665 Boomerang

"Mr. Stark."

Tony Stark grimaced; the cloyingly sweet voice on the comms made him nauseous, but he couldn't show any emotion. "General, I'm checking the bomb sites and the terrorist hideouts." He forced himself to remain calm as he stepped into the brightly lit server room. He could clearly hear his own breathing and the slight hum of the armor's joint servers turning—things the general, who had landed on the other side of the city by helicopter and was now rushing back, couldn't hear. Others couldn't understand how he felt wearing the armor, but personally, the rarely used power armor inevitably smelled of fermented sweat. "The risks can't be ruled out yet."

"I know, I know. But the media wants to know what's going on inside the command center, so this is a brief interview," the general continued in his affected voice. Tony Stark could almost picture the general holding an A4 sheet from some right-wing media outlet, covered with interview questions. "The entire American news media knows you handled the bomb in the command center, Mr. Stark. This is your first counterterrorism mission since the Avengers disbanded, and almost the entire United States is watching your operation… I know there are other missions in Houston, but your mission is more important because you are protecting the American people and federal government property."

"Friday."

Tony Stark switched communication channels and deactivated his call with Pepper Potts.

The holographic tactical surveillance screen displayed the view outside the command center. As he expected, National Guard and SWAT armored vehicles were gathered there, and soldiers in camouflage combat uniforms and SWAT officers in black combat uniforms controlled the area. The onboard AI Friday locked onto one image for him: the general Tony Stark had met before, now standing a kilometer outside the cordon, giving a media interview at an absolutely safe distance. This caution made Tony Stark want to laugh, but at the same time, he felt utterly contemptuous, because it was the National Guard and SWAT standing there protecting the citizens of Houston, but the general's attitude was as if he were standing there, gun in hand, facing a ferocious brown bear.

"I can see you, General. I appreciate that you still managed to find time to enjoy a delicious pasta dish during this time."

Tony Stark spoke, pointing out the ketchup stain on the general's tie. He called out the female reporter's name, a sound that excited the reporter off-camera and embarrassed the general on camera. Clearly, the reporter and Tony Stark were old acquaintances. However, Tony Stark's next words softened the general's expression, at least indicating that the once-unruly billionaire had been brought to his knees by reality, leaving only a faint hissing sound as air escaped his throat.

"I'm sorry, I don't have time for an interview right now. After I defuse the bomb and hand the terrorist over to the Department of Homeland Security or the FBI, perhaps we can have a proper talk somewhere."

"I'd be delighted, Mr. Stark." The female reporter tossed her hair aside; even without cameras pointed at her, she hoped her exquisite makeup would catch some people's eye. "I'd love to do an exclusive interview."

"There are interviews about tuna and white wine."

Tony Stark muttered as he shut down the communication and continued walking among the massive servers that stood as silent as tombstones. The neat rows of colorful cables, the flashing indicator lights, the subtle noises from the electronic components, and the whirring of the cooling fans made it look like a quiet graveyard, where only the chirping of summer insects could be heard.

All evidence pointed to the terrorist hiding in the most heavily guarded server room. Tony Stark never believed a word the gilded demigod who had made promises to him spoke of, nor did he believe the so-called bomb threat was just a hoax. Given any opportunity to undermine America's scientific capabilities, the gilded demigod and his master would seize it—just like the raid on the UN headquarters in New York, a serious provocation against the nation's air defenses and military might. But Tony Stark knew now was not the time for true hostility. Facing a nuclear-armed nation capable of breaching air defenses, war was no longer a simple means of financial gain for the military-industrial complex. Who knew if that person would suddenly appear in the White House, kill all the key officials, and plunge the country into complete chaos and paralysis?

"I've found the target," Tony Stark said in a low voice. The colonel in charge of the general's security responded over the comms, briefly inquiring whether the target could be captured alive without detonating the bomb. Tony Stark looked at the Middle Eastern man standing opposite him. The man was pale, and even though he was right under the central air conditioning vent, his forehead was covered in sweat; he looked extremely nervous. "I'll try, but don't get your hopes up too high," Tony Stark broadcast the footage. "This guy looks like he's on a lot of stimulants; his finger is right above the detonator. I really don't know why these people chose this location for the attack."

"I don't know either," the colonel replied coldly. "But now is not the time to consider the thoughts of these scumbags."

"I'm sorry, Colonel, I don't entirely agree with your point of view."

Tony Stark activated the full row of close-in weaponry mounted on his shoulder.

These miniature firearms, firing 9mm ammunition, are normally concealed behind the shoulder and have only one firing opportunity. With the help of onboard computers and servers, these weapons can achieve perfect accuracy within fifty meters, rescuing key people or assets from criminals holding hostages or preparing to detonate bombs. More than the heavy bombs being pushed into the server hangar by a trolley, Tony Stark was more concerned about why this man had obeyed the orders of someone he knew and how many security loopholes in the country he had exploited for this attack.

More importantly, what terrified him most was how this man, who appeared to be a teacher, had ended up like this. He vaguely guessed why that person had brought this terrorist here. He suspected that he had the blood of this man's relatives on his hands, and he confirmed this from the anger and excitement in the terrorist's eyes, as well as from the facial recognition of past combat videos on Friday. The embassy had even sent him detailed information about the terrorist.

Although many mainstream media outlets in English-speaking countries have consistently claimed that his overseas counterterrorism operations have been lawful and have not resulted in casualties other than those of terrorists, he himself knows that the deaths of some innocent people are unavoidable; sometimes flying bricks and stray bullets can be fatal. These coincidences are beyond his control, and no matter how well he does or how carefully he tries to protect the safety of others, it will be to no avail.

He knew the kind of torture this man would suffer if he fell into the hands of the Department of Homeland Security and the CIA. General Ross had once invited him to visit Guantanamo Bay, a place that still refuses investigation by independent UN human rights organizations. The person who sent this terrorist there had employed a very vicious psychological tactic. If he captured the terrorist alive using non-lethal force, Tony Stark couldn't accept the possibility of him being tortured in a dark cell. With S.H.I.E.L.D. weakened, he also couldn't decide the terrorist's fate. If he killed the terrorist on the spot, he wouldn't be able to obtain any more intelligence.

"Fuck! I'll handle this my way. Colonel, I've located the terrorists, but don't send any squads here." He muttered under his breath, deactivating the 9mm pistol from his shoulder and retracting it beneath his shoulder armor. He spoke to the colonel on the comms. He didn't extend his hand, as that would be perceived as an act of aggression rather than a symbol of peace.

“I know where you’re from, my friend. I have a friend who lives in a nearby village. You may have heard his name, Ethan. He’s a good man,” he said, trying to be gentle. “Perhaps we should talk. I can guarantee you’ll get home safely, instead of falling into the hands of those people out there. I know you speak English, and I assure you, you won’t go to Guantanamo or any CIA dungeons. You’ll get home alive and live a comfortable, safe life. Please don’t do that. Think of your family.”

"Ethan was my teacher!" Tony Stark screamed hoarsely as he watched the terrorist tighten his grip on the detonator. "I know how he died, Stark! You betrayed him. You didn't bring us peace; you brought only bloodshed and chaos. I saw a girl take her clothes off to an American soldier just for a chocolate bar! She couldn't even take the chocolate home!"

"This shouldn't happen! I've provided so much help! I even bought a lot of food; you shouldn't go hungry!"

Tony Stark's face was flushed, and the terrorist standing opposite him was equally agitated. It wasn't that he couldn't control his emotions, but rather that every word the terrorist uttered negated all the efforts he had made since forcing Stark Industries to abandon weapons manufacturing—whether it was food aid or educational assistance, it seemed as if they would vanish without a trace once they hit that high-altitude desert.

"Then you should ask the officials at the UN World Food Programme where the food that was supposed to be given to us went. You might think I'm a terrorist with an extreme religion, but someone told me that the root of our poverty and vulnerability is not you, Tony Stark. I don't want revenge on you. Even if your efforts didn't make a difference, you still provided help."

(End of this chapter)