The car rattled down the road before suddenly pulling over beside a cornfield.
“Can’t you just hold it?” “Nope!” The door swung open, and Tony hurriedly scrambled out, unbuckling his belt to relieve himself.
“Aah…
that’s the stuff.” Tony tilted his head up, gazing at the dusk sky partially obscured by tall cornstalks.
A cool breeze brushed past.
Despite his disappointing prostate, this uninhibited release was a taste of freedom he hadn’t felt in a long time.
“I feel like a cowboy who just herded his horses back into the pen,” he said, turning toward Green, who was also taking a leak.
He happened to glance down, then peeked at Green, his lips twitching slightly.
“Guess I’ll leave you here to feed the coyotes then, cowboy.” “No need for that.” Tony subtly shifted a step to the side.
A gap that wide was an awkward truth no man wanted to face.
“Let’s go.
It’s another four miles to town.
We’ll get a proper meal first.” Green buckled his belt and turned to walk back.
“Okay, okay, give me twelve seconds,” Tony called out.
“Come on, bro, don’t embarrass me like this…” he muttered under his breath.
“Hey!” A loud shout barked from behind them.
Tony turned around.
*Rack!* A burly redneck stood there, aiming a racked shotgun straight at him.
“Get your dick out of my field.” “Okay!” Tony raised his hands.
“At least let me finish.” “Now!” the redneck roared.
“Okay!” Tony barked back in annoyance, frantically zipping up his pants.
Rural America was famously “hospitable,” and he wasn’t about to gamble on whether the man would pull the trigger.
In a cornfield this vast, the cops would never find his buried body.
“What’s that?” The redneck’s eyes darted down, landing on the iron mask hanging from Tony’s waist.
“Just my little toy.” “Hand it over.” Tony stared at him, speechlessly.
*What is this guy’s deal?
Making such a huge scene, and all you want is a mask?* “Fine.” He slowly lowered his hands, reaching for the cord binding the mask.
The redneck kept his gun raised, stepping closer step by step.
As the distance closed, he caught a clear look at Tony’s face.
“Are you…
Tony Stark?” he asked suspiciously.
“No, I’m Sherlock Holmes, private detective.” “No, no, you are!” A flash of greed lit up the redneck’s eyes.
“Get on your knees!
Hands behind your head!” he bellowed, spitting as he shoved the barrel hard against Tony’s chest.
“Shit.” Tony knelt down with a helpless look, glancing up at the man.
“Couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t see me?” “Fuck you!
Do you have any idea how much you’re worth?” The redneck kicked Tony onto the dirt, then reached into his pocket for his phone.
He wasn’t stupid—he needed to find a backer immediately to help him swallow a prime prize like Tony.
“I didn’t say that for my own sake,” Tony said, looking at him with a pitying gaze that made the redneck’s heart skip a beat.
Spitting on the ground to steel his nerves, the man raised his hand to dial.
But then he noticed his palm was gone.
His wrist ended in a smooth, clean stump, bone and flesh spurting blood into the air.
“Huh?” Blank confusion flushed over his face.
The next second, excruciating pain shot straight to his brain, contorting his features.
“AAAAAGH—!!!” The shotgun clattered to the dirt.
He clutched his severed wrist, wailing in agony.
Only then did he see his hand lying on the ground, the index finger still twitching from residual nerve twitches.
“My hand!
My hand!!” he shrieked.
“He was right.
Couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t see him?” Behind him, Green’s towering figure blocked out the remaining light, casting him entirely in shadow.
The tachi hanging in his hand licked warm blood behind the fading twilight.
Grabbing the redneck by the neck like a chicken, Green dragged him toward the front of the car.
“Uh…” Tony stood up, his mouth opening, but ultimately he said nothing.
Green popped the hood and slammed the redneck’s severed wrist directly onto the scalding engine block.
*Sizzle—!* Flesh scorched instantly, rising in a plume of dark smoke as the smell of roasted meat mixed with a foul, acrid stench.
“Ah…” Before the man could scream, Green knocked him out cold with a single punch.
The redneck collapsed limply, his severed wrist tearing away from the engine with charred strands of flesh, leaving a blurry burn mark behind.
“Now we have live bait.” Green grabbed him by the collar and dragged him toward the trunk.
The man’s body scraped over the gravel, making a sharp, dragging noise.
In the dim twilight, he was no different from livestock waiting for the butcher’s knife.
“Hey, Green,” Tony called out from behind.
“What?” Green turned his head.
“He’s just a farmer.
Tie him up and throw…” “Are you telling me how to do my job?” Green interrupted before he could finish.
“I’ll buy his life, alright?” Tony offered.
“No.” Green shoved the man into the trunk.
Tony opened his mouth to speak again.
“Get back in the car.
I won’t say it a second time,” Green said flatly.
“…Okay.” Tony paused for a moment, then turned, opened the door, and climbed into the passenger seat.
His mind raced.
Reaching out, he pulled open the glove compartment.
Inside lay a Glock 17 handgun, a few magazines, and a canister of pepper spray.
Hesitating for a fraction of a second, he made up his mind.
*Thump!* Green slammed the trunk shut and walked toward the driver’s seat.
Suddenly, the engine roared to life.
Headlights flashed brightly, and tires churned up gravel and smoke as the car lunged forward!
“Tsk.” The scar on Green’s lip twitched into a menacing sneer.
Before the car could pick up full speed, Green smashed through the side window with a single fist.
*Sizzle—!* At the same time, a cloud of acrid spray erupted from inside the cab.
As if anticipating it, Green exhaled sharply, blowing the mist back into the car and covering Tony’s face with it.
Reaching inside, he grabbed Tony by the hair and yanked him straight out through the shattered window.
Tony’s ribs scraped against the broken glass remaining in the frame, drawing a sharp cry of pain.
“Cough, cough, cough…” Tony tumbled onto the dirt, tears and snot streaming down his face as he coughed violently.
“An arms dealer, a war profiteer, playing the superhero?
What, did you take a shine to him?
Do you like his body odor that could kill mosquitoes, or his body hair that could knit a sweater?” Green stepped on the pepper spray canister lying on the ground, crushing it underfoot.
“I just…
*cough*…
didn’t want someone to die because of me.” Tony clutched the bleeding wound on his ribs, blood leaking out through his fingers.
“Come on, doesn’t that sound hilarious coming from you?
The missiles coming off Stark Industries’ assembly lines—do I need to remind you of their blast radius and fragmentation range?
The people you indirectly kill in a year could circle the equator.” Green didn’t bother wasting time on his “superhero” logic.
He kicked the shotgun on the ground over to Tony’s feet.
“Pick up the gun, get in the car, or die.
Your corpse can still be sold for cash—in fact, it’d probably be even more popular.” He turned, got into the car, and revved the engine.
Tony picked up the shotgun, gritted his teeth, and climbed back into the passenger seat, clutching his wound.
Neither of them spoke another word.
The headlights cut through the deepening night as they drove away from the cornfield.
…
It was pitch black by the time the car pulled to a stop at a street corner.
The tires squealed against the asphalt, kicking up a wisp of smoke.
Across the street, a tavern’s gaudy neon sign flickered, with drunk patrons stumbling in and out.
Green pushed the door open and stepped out.
A streetlamp cast a beam of stark white light.
A well-dressed couple walking along the curb were chatting and laughing, but the woman’s eyes locked onto Green’s towering, testosterone-drenched frame and couldn’t pull away.
“Grace,” her partner muttered in dissatisfaction.
But taking one look at Green’s height and aura, he didn’t dare say anything more.
The woman swallowed, reluctantly turning her eyes away.
On the other side, Tony staggered out of the car.
Although the wound on his ribs was bandaged, dark red blood still seeped through.
“You should be a male model.
I think the career prospects are better than being an assassin,” Tony remarked to Green, glancing at the girl who was still sneaking looks back at them.
“I’m not an assassin.
If I were, you’d already have turned from a cold corpse into warm cash.” Green slammed the door shut and walked toward the bar.
“The guy in the trunk might have a different opinion,” Tony muttered, keeping pace.
Inside the bar, Green walked straight to the counter and sat down.
A glamorous female bartender casually placed an empty glass in front of him and poured a measure of gin.
“Hey there, big guy.
What’ll you have?
First one’s on me.” “LF, mission code: Jeepers Creepers,” Green murmured, leaning in and casting a glance at the passed-out drunk beside him.
Hearing those words, the bartender’s eyes narrowed.
The lazy smile vanished from her face, replaced by a professional, cautious expression.
“Follow me.” She snapped her fingers, and a colleague immediately stepped up to take her place.
Turning, she headed toward the back door.
“Wow, getting a real *Men in Black* vibe here,” Tony whispered, keeping up.
“Let me take that,” Green said, rising.
“Not gonna take a sip?
What a waste.” Tony grabbed the glass of gin, downed it in one gulp, and followed behind.
processing through the back door, they entered a damp alley where flies buzzed around overflowing dumpsters.
An old van sat parked in the shadows.
Stepping over a puddle, the bartender pulled open the rear doors, reached in with one hand, and hauled out a heavy black leather bag, tossing it to Green.
“Everything’s prepared, including the lure.” She pointed toward a unconscious drunk inside the van.
“Already got the lure.” “Even better.
Saves me some cash, and I won’t have to clean up the aftermath.
What about the lure budget…?” She looked at Green expectantly.
“What budget?” Green unzipped the bag to inspect the gear inside.
“Yes!” The bartender pumped her fist in a low cheer, a smile blossoming on her face.
She could finally buy that new perfume set this year!
“You can go now.” “Thanks.
Next time’s on me.” She turned back toward the tavern, throwing Tony a flirtatious wink as she passed him.
“Girls around here are pretty hot,” Tony muttered, watching her hips sway as she pushed the door open.
“She’s a metahuman.
She’d snap you in half.” Green zipped the bag up and slung it over his shoulder.
He tilted his head to look up at the night sky, where a crescent moon peeked through the clouds.
His eyes narrowed, a dangerous gleam flickering in his gaze.
“Time to get to work.”