69novels Chapter 102 Tony: He called you a dog
Chapter 102 Tony: He called you a dog
Chapter 102 Tony: He called you a dog
Second floor of the Manhattan Police Department precinct.
Li En and Brock stood side by side behind the iron railings of the observation deck, looking at the newly installed super-large screen TV in the hall.
The footage is playing news, showing a helicopter's aerial shot panning across a cratered, barren mountain in the Middle East.
The ground was littered with the wreckage of a bombed jeep and the ruins of a makeshift building that was still smoking.
Animated captions slide across the bottom of the screen: Mysterious red-armored figures raid terrorist stronghold; multiple hostages rescued.
Brock, holding onto the railing with both hands, read the entire report and then turned his head.
"This guy has time to go to the Middle East to bomb terrorists, why doesn't he stay in New York and help deal with those monsters?"
He pointed to the screen, his face full of incomprehension.
"Aren't the vampires roaming the streets more deserving of being attacked than those guys carrying rocket launchers in the desert?"
"They can't be killed by a bullet to the head, but they get infected from a bite. Doesn't that qualify them as terrorists?"
He didn't finish his sentence; he just sighed and shook his head.
Unlike many young people who have never experienced war and no longer know how to spell the word "politics".
In Brock's eyes, the so-called terrorists in the Middle East are not as black and white as the news headlines portray them.
He had personally been on the battlefield and spent half his life as a detective in Hell's Kitchen, so he knew better than anyone how many filthy deals were involved there.
Let's not talk about the distant past.
Frank Castle, captain of the first team of Hellsword, the man with the white skull printed on his chest.
He risked his life for the country in Afghanistan, and his medals cover half a wall.
And what happened? The report he brought back about the military's smuggling and reselling of weapons in Afghanistan almost sent him and his entire family to their graves.
The sniper in Central Park, the gang shootout in front of the amusement park—the person who orchestrated all of this still hasn't been named.
So, in Brock's view, Tony Stark flew to the Middle East in that red armor to fight terrorists.
That's utter nonsense.
Of course, it was Li En who told him that Tony was an Iron Man.
"That's armor they made themselves; they can fly wherever they want."
Lee En turned her gaze away from the television screen, her tone calm.
"As for whether he violated international law, that's a matter for the International Court of Justice, and has absolutely nothing to do with our Manhattan Police Department."
C
My phone rang in my pocket.
Li En took it out and glanced at the caller ID—Lester.
"Boss, those two lumps of iron are fighting in the street. I've already had my men block the road."
"I only have one armor-piercing round left in my gun, who should I shoot?"
Li En was stunned for a moment.
Two lumps of iron on the street.
A series of images flashed through his mind instantly.
After Tony Stark returned from Afghanistan, he announced the closure of the weapons division, causing Stark Industries' stock price to plummet.
Obadiah Stan smiles and clinks glasses with Justin Hammer at a charity gala.
Then he winked at Brock.
Brock immediately leaned over the railing and yelled down into the lobby.
"Have you received any emergency calls?"
The operator looked up, her hand still on her headset: "Temporarily—wait, wait a minute, it's here."
He quickly typed two keys on the keyboard, then looked up and shouted towards the second floor.
"At the intersection of Fifth Avenue and 52nd Street in the Upper Town, two unidentified mechanical entities are exchanging fire!"
"Vehicles have been overturned, and several people have been injured!"
"One big one, one small one—which one should I hit?" Lester's voice remained steady, with the sound of wind and the faint metallic clanging in the distance audible in the background.
"You keep an eye on the scene, I'll be there soon."
Li En hung up the phone, braced himself against the second-floor railing with one hand, flipped over and jumped directly from the observation deck to the lobby on the floor tiles. The surrounding police officers looked up at the same time.
He accelerated the moment he landed, pushed open the police station door, and rushed out.
The location on the street wasn't far; you could reach it after sprinting at full speed and turning a few corners.
Five minutes later, on Fifth Avenue.
Li En stopped at the end of the street, his combat boots leaving two short skid marks on the asphalt. The scene before him made him instantly understand the situation.
A nearly three-meter-tall iron-gray mech is lifting a family car.
The metal roof of the vehicle dented between the mech's fingers.
On the other side, Tony Stark was wearing his gold and red Mark armor.
Half of his body was stuck in the wreckage of a truck that had been smashed in half, and the arc-shaped reactor on his chest was flashing a pale blue light.
The internal affairs of the Stark Group.
Li En stood at the end of the street and looked around for a moment.
He doesn't want to get involved if he can.
The conflict between Tony and Obadiah ultimately boils down to a power struggle for control of an arms company.
The only difference was that the meeting room was replaced with the street, and the financial statements were replaced with machine applications.
But the next moment he saw a girl, probably not even ten years old, with her face pressed against the car window in the back seat of the family car that was being held up in mid-air.
The mouth was repeatedly uttering the same word.
He saw the lip movements clearly.
So Li En pulled out a vibranium dagger from the space warehouse and walked towards the two mechs.
"I absolutely love this armor, Tony."
Obadiah Stan's voice, coming from the Iron Monger's external speakers, had a distorted quality, as if it had been crushed by a power amplifier.
He held the car up with one hand, as easily as if he were holding a delivery package.
The four people inside the car were tightly strapped to their seats by the seatbelts. The driver was frozen behind the steering wheel with his foot still on the accelerator. The engine was idling, and white smoke was billowing from the exhaust pipe.
The two children in the back seat had already shouted themselves hoarse. They leaned back in their seats with their mouths still open, but their voices were completely drowned out by the roar of the Iron Monger's hydraulic actuators.
"Stan, put them down." Tony's voice came from under the helmet. The electronic filter stripped away a layer of the original tone, leaving only dryness and tension.
"This is between us; there's no need to involve innocent people."
"That's called collateral damage, Tony. You're always so naive."
Obadiah responded with a laugh that boomed from the loudspeaker, loud enough to be heard half a street away.
Tony didn't answer. The arc-shaped reactor on the chest of the Mark armor suddenly charged up, and a beam of blazing white energy shot out from the chest, hitting the Iron Monger's torso directly.
The Iron Monger was pushed back several meters by the impact, its feet carving two deep grooves in the ground. Its fingers loosened, and the car fell from mid-air.
Tony had already rushed forward.
He flew at top speed under the car, braced the chassis with his arms, and used the exhaust flames from the deceleration nozzles to burn a patch of charred black on the ground, placing the car steadily on the ground.
He looked up at the people inside the car.
The driver was still pressing the accelerator, his pupils dilated, repeating the same sentence over and over, his hands flailing wildly at the steering wheel.
The two children in the back seat had stopped crying; their faces were covered in snot and tears, and they were huddled in their seats, trembling.
Then the car lurched forward, the bumper slamming into Tony's chest before he could get up, sending him flying. He bounced twice on the asphalt road and rolled more than ten meters away.
Outside the blockade lines at both ends of the street, members of Hellsword Team 3 had completed their road closure deployment.
A black Hummer SUV was parked across the middle of the intersection, with four team members standing on either side of the road, their automatic rifles pointed downwards.
The visor of the riot helmet reflected the Iron Monger's shaky figure as he staggered back to his feet in the distance.
In New York now, whenever members of Hellsword appear on the streets fully armed, it's a no-brainer.
Normal citizens would consciously pull over, turn off the engine, place their hands on the steering wheel, and wait quietly.
Criminals won't break in, wanted criminals won't break in, and gang members certainly won't break in.
These guys are different from ordinary police officers; if they sense something's wrong, they'll fire a shot into the leg first.
If you dare to move again, the next shot will be aimed at your forehead.
No one would risk their life to test their firing speed.
Obadiah grabbed the barricade and lifted up a car that hadn't been moved in time, along with the driver, and slammed it towards Tony.
Tony caught it.
He flew up, using his armor to shield the car from the ground, and was slammed into the air, tumbling several times before regaining his balance.
On the head-up display inside the helmet, Jarvis's synthesized voice was continuously reminding him:
Nine percent of energy remains, eight percent of energy remains, and seven percent of energy remains.
"Almost depleted. We recommend leaving the combat zone immediately and finding a safe location to recharge."
Tony climbed out of the wreckage of the collapsed truck and knelt on one knee.
He looked up at the Iron Monger that was striding toward him, his mind quickly going through a list of all the weapons he could still use.
The shoulder-mounted anti-tank missile missed its target in the recent close-range explosion.
The auxiliary thruster on the arm had one of its nozzles broken off by the Iron Monger, making it impossible to maintain a stable flight attitude.
The reactor beam in his chest can fire one more shot, but the energy reserve will drop to zero immediately after that shot.
His eyes caught sight of a small window on the edge of the head-up display.
Jarvis automatically identified a figure walking slowly from the other end of the street, framed the face with a green box, zoomed in, and pushed it to the center of the screen.
He wore a black special operations uniform, without a helmet, and had a dagger of an unfamiliar design hanging on his right hip.
The blade reflected a cold, white luster under the glow of the flames burning on both sides of the street.
A line of text popped up on the label next to that face:
Li En, Manhattan Police Department Precinct Officer, Hellsword.
Tony breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled himself out of the truck wreckage. The reactor in his chest was still leaking electricity, with arcs crackling and jumping out from the gaps in his breastplate.
He stood still, not retreating, but instead spread his hands and shouted at the Iron Tyrant who was striding towards him.
"Obadiah Stan".
The Iron Monger paused for a moment.
Obadiah probably didn't expect Tony to suddenly start saying his full name at this moment.
"You wantonly vandalized public facilities, attacked civilians, and committed premeditated murder on the streets of New York."
Tony spoke slowly, enunciating each word clearly, as if reading an indictment in court.
"Do you know what this is? This is a crime."
There was a few seconds of silence inside the Iron Monument, then a burst of laughter erupted from the speakers.
"Tony, Tony, your biggest flaw is your naiveté."
Obadiah controlled the Iron Monger to take another step forward, the mech's right foot pressing down on the road, creating a deep crater in the asphalt.
Do you know how this world actually works?
"The rules are set by us rich and powerful people."
"I did destroy half a street today, smashed a few cars, and killed a few people, so what?"
He extended the Iron Monger's massive mechanical hand and pointed his index finger at Tony's chest.
"Once I get my hands on the arc reactor in your chest, Stark Industries will become the world's most powerful weapons manufacturer."
"At that time, even if dozens or hundreds of people die, let alone two or three, Congress will still sign the presidential pardon order."
"That's how this world works, Tony. You're smart, but you're incredibly naive."
Tony stood still, his hands bracing against the wreckage of the truck that had been smashed in half behind him, and slowly straightened up.
He looked through the visor of his armor at the Iron Monger's expressionless, iron-gray faceplate, his voice lowered several octaves.
"You've lost your humanity, Stan."
"What nonsense are you spouting, Tony?" Obadiah's laughter boomed from the loudspeaker, never stopping.
"We are the real human beings. Those guys who queue up for a few dollars' worth of fast food on the street and worry about the bills in their rented rooms, they are not human beings."
"They are resources, data, numbers on financial statements—don't you even understand that?"
Tony removed his hands from the wreckage of the truck.
He stood up straight, the arc of electricity leaking from the reactor in his chest still pulsating, but his tone of voice suddenly became very soft.
"No, you're just a criminal, and you'll be arrested by the police soon."
Obadiah's laughter finally stopped.
He lowered his head, the two round goggles on his visor aimed at Tony's face hidden behind the mask, and all the mockery in his tone vanished.
All that remained was a layer of cold, arrogant arrogance that no longer bothered to conceal.
"The police? Do you know how much Stark Industries donates to the NYPD every year?"
"Don't even mention the police, even if you mobilize the National Guard, you won't be able to touch a single hair on my head today."
"The New York police are nothing more than dogs we keep in our yard to guard the house."
Tony shrugged his shoulders slightly and tilted his head to the side.
My gaze passed over the Iron King's broad shoulders and landed on a spot two meters behind it.
He called you a dog.