It seemed that events were now moving ahead of schedule.
Queens, New York.
After leaving Tony, Blaine returned directly to the villa. His apartment had been bombed, and this was the only place left for him to stay for the time being.
After his trip into the city—meeting Tony and saving Happy—Blaine realized it was already getting dark, and he hadn't eaten a single bite all day.
He took off the hunter suit and stored it away.
Heading straight to the refrigerator, he pulled out two slices of bread, spread jam on them with practiced ease, and ate. Ever since Gali had left, there was hardly anything left to replenish the fridge. Thinking of that, Blaine found himself missing the girl.
Although he could manage on his own, life had clearly been better with her around.
"Galactus, after solving the problem, I still need you to send Gali back. There's a lost hunter waiting to be comforted." Only Blaine could think like that.
Not dwelling on it, he chewed his bread with one hand and switched on the TV with the other. Then he sprawled lazily on the sofa. He had wanted to watch something to distract himself from the bombing of his home, but when the screen came on, it was another global broadcast.
Blaine muttered in annoyance. How could hackers in the U.S. keep breaching satellites so easily? Weren't the politicians doing their jobs? If it were this simple, then any terrorist could seize control of American networks at will. The thought of being threatened with his own "big treasure" disgusted him more than eating a dead fly.
Even watching TV had become forced.
"When I get the chance, I should learn more about this high-tech stuff," Blaine said to himself.
If he could hack into systems and seize a few valuable assets, that wouldn't be a bad idea. That thought drifted away as the image on the TV grabbed his attention. He recognized it immediately—Tony's oceanfront villa.
The distinctive design, the arc-shaped balcony, the giant capital "A"-like architecture—this was unmistakably Tony's house. And then, the attack unfolded.
A missile streaked in, trailing its exhaust. In an instant, the beautiful, majestic villa was obliterated. Anyone watching would feel the loss.
Turning off the TV, Blaine didn't think about it further. He just wanted a good night's sleep before heading to Tennessee tomorrow. According to the plot, that should be where the Mandarin was hiding—but it was only a façade. Even if there turned out to be nothing there, Blaine still planned to go. Perhaps there would be unexpected gains. He chuckled at the thought of Tony being captured and beaten.
"Tony, Tony… you said you wouldn't hire me. It wasn't my idea though…"
Meanwhile, New York State. Advanced Idea Mechanics (A.I.M.). This was Aldrich Killian's company.
"Mr. Killian…"
"You're back. How did it go, Sivians?"
"Razed to the ground, but Stark's body was never found…"
"Good. Move on to the next task."
Anyone seeing this man would have been shocked. Wasn't this the same operative who had piloted the helicopter that attacked Tony earlier that day? Wasn't Tony provoking the Mandarin? Why was Killian involved?
In truth, there was no contradiction. The so-called Mandarin was a cover created by Aldrich Killian. The broadcasts, the terrorist persona—it was all a smokescreen to hide the real hand behind everything. As the saying goes, a cunning rabbit has three burrows. If you're committing crimes, someone else has to take the blame.
If Blaine hadn't traveled into this world with knowledge of Marvel's true depths, he might also have been deceived by the false Mandarin. First, Obadiah Stane had pretended to be an ally. Now Aldrich Killian was running his own elaborate charade. Was it just a common trait of villains to assume the world's elites were fools?
One glance inside Killian's private room revealed the truth. The set used for the Mandarin's broadcasts—the one that had been force-fed into every American living room—was right there.
Killian had bombed Tony's home with purpose.
The story went back years. A poor, ambitious scientist, trying to push his fledgling company forward, had once managed to approach the genius Tony at a conference. Eager to share his groundbreaking research, he idolized Stark.
But Tony, arrogant and dismissive, brushed him off with a careless remark.
That moment planted a seed of hatred in Killian's heart, one that grew and festered. In a way, Tony himself had created this demon. Killian's resentment toward him ran deep.
Though the grudge might seem petty, Killian's vow was real. If Stark Industries had crushed his dreams without a thought, then Killian would ensure Tony experienced the same humiliation—reduced, trampled, powerless over his own fate.
Over the years, Killian channeled his rage into science. Harnessing his research, he developed Extremis, a virus capable of rewriting human DNA—transforming subjects into enhanced beings. Alongside it, he devised a far more sinister plan.
Wearing a white lab coat, Killian smirked as he lifted a tray and entered the testing chamber. A woman was strapped upright to an iron frame, her wrists and ankles locked in place.
Her mouth was gagged, but when she saw Killian, she thrashed desperately against her restraints. Her muffled cries filled the room, her eyes bloodshot with terror and pleading.
"Don't worry," Killian said smoothly. "This is the last time. Soon, you'll be free."
He pushed the syringe into her arm. The instant the unknown liquid entered her body, her skin flushed crimson. Wearing only a vest, every vein beneath her skin bulged, glowing like molten lava threatening to burst out.
Within seconds, the room's temperature skyrocketed. The transformation reached its breaking point.
With a deafening boom, the woman exploded.
Killian didn't even flinch, letting the molten residue splash against him. His own flesh burned, then shimmered with red light—and healed itself, as if nothing had happened.
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