Over the next two weeks, Leon Hall lived like a madman.
By day, he was the East Asian fortune teller under the Brooklyn Bridge, charging one dollar per session.
Business wasn’t bad.
The money he made was not only enough to pay rent and stuff his secondhand fridge with basic cold cuts and salads, but he even managed to save a little.
Every day he observed, learned, and imitated, gradually digesting the fleeting expressions on passersby’s faces and the trivial fragments left by fate.
He was slipping more and more naturally into his persona as a “Seer.”
By night, he threw himself into the brightly lit Queens Public Library.
Leon plunged into the ocean of free internet, combing through every scrap of information about Stark Industries and Tony Stark he could find online.
From corporate financial reports to tabloid gossip, from dry tech conferences to recordings of Tony’s filter-free rants during his student days—he didn’t miss a single detail.
He knew very well that against a genius like Tony Stark, whose arrogance was etched into his very bones, a casual “Obadiah is a traitor” would be completely useless.
He would only be dismissed as another fame-hungry clown, and might even be wiped out as junk data by the artificial intelligence named Jarvis the very next second.
He had to present something else.
A piece of [evidence] that no ordinary person could possibly know, and that even Tony himself might have overlooked.
This evidence had to pierce through the armor of arrogance forged by his science, blasting a hole in his purely materialist worldview that could never be patched.
That night, Leon spent the last of his savings to buy enough dry rations to last a week, and then locked himself inside his cold, damp rented room.
The final preparations were complete.
It was time to perform that “divination” on which he had wagered everything.
Sitting cross-legged on the cold floor, he cleared all distracting thoughts from his mind, mobilizing the meager spirituality he had accumulated through his “acting” over the past two weeks.
His objective could not have been clearer.
“An electronic communication channel that can bypass Jarvis, allow Tony Stark to see it with his own eyes, and is extremely difficult to trace afterward.”
“The exact model of the key weapon Obadiah Stane plans to use against Tony.”
As he finished silently reciting these two questions, the sounds and colors of the world were sucked dry in an instant.
Gray mist surged forward, swallowing him whole.
This time, he was no longer a bystander watching from the shore; he was dragged bodily into a vortex of information.
Countless fragmented images, noisy audio clips, and chaotic streams of data became red-hot steel needles, boring mindlessly into his brain.
He saw Stark Industries’ layered firewalls, Jarvis’s omnipresent data surveillance, and countless fan letters and death threats instantly tagged as “junk” and sinking into nothingness.
He couldn’t find it!
There was no such channel at all!
Just as his mind was about to be torn apart by this ocean of data, Leon bit the tip of his tongue with all his might, the sharp pain forcing back a sliver of clarity.
“In the name of ‘The Fool’…
I pray for greater divination abilities…”
To the gray mist that had given him new life, he offered his humblest and most devout prayer.
Deep within the gray mist, in a corner thoroughly buried by data and time, a speck of light flickered.
It was an ancient server port, digital trash left behind when Stark Industries acquired a bankrupt company years ago.
Nobody used it anymore, but it was still linked to an anonymous email address Tony Stark had used during his student days.
This is it!
He almost couldn’t hold back a shout of triumph.
But immediately after, the backlash from the second question turned his vision black, almost making him faint on the spot.
What he wanted to see was a key node in the future—the precise details of a vital item!
A blood-red explosion erupted before his eyes.
Countless distorted weapon schematics and complex technical specifications exploded in his mind, threatening to burst his skull open.
It felt as though his head was being split apart.
At the final moment, just as his spirituality was about to run dry and his consciousness was on the verge of fading, he managed to grasp a crystal-clear term from the bloody illusion!
“Ramsden…
K-2…
military sonic paralysis device…”
The illusion shattered.
Leon bolted upright from the floor, his throat letting out a wheezing gasp as he sucked in air greedily, his face drenched in cold sweat.
He stood up unsteadily.
The entire world was spinning, his feet feeling light and unable to find purchase.
The feeling of spiritually exhausting oneself was truly agonizing.
Just then, the voice of the news anchor on the run-down television set in his rented room, sounding as if they were on adrenaline, pierced his ears.
“…Billionaire Tony Stark, who has been missing for over three months, was successfully rescued by the United States Air Force today!
He is about to return to New York and is preparing to hold a press conference!”
The time had come.
Leon splashed cold water on his face, threw on his jacket, and dragged his leaden legs step by step toward the familiar public library.
He sat before the computer, his hands trembling so violently that it took him nearly ten minutes just to type the port address hidden beneath layers of digital junk.
A crude, almost antique email interface popped up.
With trembling fingers, he typed out the email that would decide his fate.
Recipient: T.Stark (Anonymous)
Subject: A Transaction
The body of the message was pitifully short:
Obadiah is your enemy.
Beware of the [Ramsden K-2 Sonic Device].
He wants the “heart” in your chest.
Sign-off:
—The Fool’s Fool
The moment he clicked “Send,” Leon’s vision went black.
He lost consciousness completely and collapsed onto the keyboard.
Gasps of alarm erupted around him.
…
At the same time, Stark’s private villa in Malibu.
Tony Stark had just finished speaking with his assistant, Pepper, leaving her to handle the rest of the press conference.
He was shirtless, the crude, prototype Arc Reactor in his chest glowing with a faint blue light, silently reminding him of his three months in hell.
He gulped down a large mouthful of whiskey, his face showing none of the relief of a survivor, but only a cold, almost manic intensity.
“Jarvis.”
“Always at your service, sir.”
“Pull up sales records and…
real combat data reports for all Stark Industries weapons over the past ten years,” Tony said, his voice somewhat hoarse.
“Sir, the volume of data is extremely large, and some of it involves top-secret classifications…”
“Then open up the top-secret access!” Tony snapped, then waved his hand irritably.
“Forget it, never mind that for now.
Right now, I—”
“Apologies for the interruption, sir.”
Jarvis’s calm electronic voice cut in.
“An internal testing port marked as ‘inactive for over fifteen years’ has just received an anonymous email.”
Tony scoffed, utterly unconcerned.
“Interesting.
Which bored hacker dug up my vintage toy?
Read it to me.
Let’s see if it’s another fan confession or if some conspiracy theorist has spun a new tale.”
“Email subject: A Transaction.”
Jarvis paused briefly before continuing in his flat, level tone.
“Obadiah is your enemy.”
“Pfft—”
Tony almost spat out his drink, highly amused.
“Another cliché.
What, is the next line going to say Captain America is still al—”
Before he could finish, Jarvis’s voice dropped.
“Beware of the [Ramsden K-2 Sonic Device].”
Tony’s voice cut off.
The hand holding his glass froze in mid-air.
The amusement on his face drained away, leaving behind only a razor-sharp coldness.
Ramsden was a minor, obscure supplier for the military, and their project…
Jarvis didn’t pause, reading the final sentence:
“…He wants the ‘heart’ in your chest.”
A bizarre silence fell over the lab, broken only by the soft clinking of ice cubes in his glass.
Tony slowly set down his glass, the bottom clicking softly against the desk.
He stared into the empty air ahead, as if examining an uninvited guest.
For the first time, a genuine chill seeped into his usually cynical eyes.
“Jarvis.”
His voice was low and steady.
“Erase all traces of this email and designate the sender’s address as a top-tier threat.”
“At the same time, search our non-lethal weapons research database for any information on the ‘Ramsden K-2 Sonic Device.’ Including where the prototype…
is located right now.”