Chapter 68: Stark's Vendetta - The Daily Bugle's Days Are Numbered

Stark regained consciousness quickly after being admitted to the hospital that day.

Without wasting a moment, he held a press conference from his hospital bed and announced the immediate shutdown of Stark Industries' weapons division.

Many reporters present had only one thought racing through their minds: Fuck, this guy isn't physically broken, but his brain certainly is, right?

Nevertheless, Stark's orders were carried out to the letter.

The weapons division was indeed shut down, and Stark Industries' stock price plummeted—even more dramatically than when Stark had disappeared.

After being discharged from the hospital, Stark turned a deaf ear to the outside world and focused entirely on his mechanized suit. With his unparalleled intelligence and talent, he quickly developed the Mark 2 and Mark 3 armors.

Yesterday, after learning that a substantial cache of Stark Industries weapons remained in Afghanistan, he flew there without hesitation at the crack of dawn.

On the return journey, U.S. radar detected him, and he was directly hit by two missiles. Though he managed to escape, his head was still ringing from the impact.

But he never expected that as soon as he turned on the TV, that bastard Jameson from the Daily Bugle would label him "The Human Can Man"!

Bullshit!

Has this little weasel always been so cruel? I'm a hero who saves lives, and you call me "canned human meat"?

Such an exquisite iron suit, with such brilliant gold and red coloring, and you call it a can?

Blind fool!

The more Stark dwelled on it, the more furious he became. A thought sparked in his mind: why not just buy the Daily Bugle and fire that pompous blowhard!

No, firing him would be too merciful. I should force him to praise me on television every single day!

Praising me as... the Can Man?

Damn it. I need to come up with a better name. Armor Man?

Steel Man? Billionaire Man?

Why don't any of these sound right?

For some inexplicable reason, the name "Iron Man" suddenly resonated in his mind.

Strange... why do I feel like I've lost something important?

Jason had just returned to Hopewell Sanctuary when David informed him that he had located Frank.

He paused for a moment, lost in thought.

Ever since his last encounter with the Assassin's Fraternity, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something about the Creed in the system that he hadn't yet deciphered.

This damn system didn't even come with user instructions, forcing him to explore most features through trial and error.

However, since receiving the [Spreading Creed] reward previously, he decided to continue building on this foundation.

Since I've already claimed the name of the Avengers, then...

Alias: Avengers, Real Name: Cult of Slaughter

Leader: Jason, Deputy Leader: Frank!

Official Members: Wesley, Blade

Pending Members: Deadpool, X-Men...

The reason Frank would become the deputy leader was his ability to gradually influence all members by instilling the creed of killing and redemption.

Without delay, Jason set out to find his deputy leader for the cult.

In a small diner, Frank, who had just returned from his construction job, was enjoying a modest dinner.

Suddenly, a man slid into the seat opposite him. It was Jason.

"Isn't that dinner a bit too simple? Will you have enough energy to fight tonight?" Jason said with a smirk, raising his hand. "Waiter, eight steaks, medium rare!"

"Who the hell are you?" Frank's face filled with suspicion.

Jason glanced at the spoon in Frank's hand and chuckled. "What, planning to kill someone with a spoon?"

He nodded toward the old pickup truck parked outside. "Don't worry, I've prepared pistols, rifles, submachine guns, sniper rifles, and grenades for you in the car. We're going to have quite the evening."

Frank's confusion only deepened.

Jason pulled out his phone and played a video of Operation Cerberus that Frank had participated in years ago.

After the video ended, Frank stared at the phone intently. "How did you get this footage?"

"How about we make a deal?" Jason proposed.

Frank gritted his teeth. "What do you want?"

"I'll help you get your revenge, and in return, you'll work for me."

Frank was stunned. Jason shook his head and continued, "You've killed the mercenaries who murdered your wife and children. But do you know why they did it? Do you want to know who was pulling the strings and why you were caught in this conspiracy?"

Frank's hand tightened around the spoon, and a glint of bloodlust flickered in his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"Tonight, I'll take you to exact your revenge and uncover all the conspiracies behind this tragedy. After tonight, you'll help me—help me save the world."

The waiter arrived with eight plates of steaks.

Jason casually picked up his knife and fork and began eating with gusto. "You can think it over while I finish my meal. If you decide to trust me, I'll let you have two of these steaks. Tonight's going to be intense—you'll need your strength."

Frank remained silent.

After a while, he suddenly picked up his knife and fork and started eating.

The mastermind behind the CIA drug trafficking operation was William Rawlins, director of the CIA's covert operations division. His collaborator was Navy Captain Monty Bennett, who oversaw matters related to military remains in Afghanistan.

Only by working together could they complete the grisly operation: gutting soldiers' bodies, stuffing them with drugs, and shipping them back to the United States.

According to intelligence Jason had gathered in Afghanistan, this drug smuggling operation was an unspeakable secret within the CIA. Each division showed their "talents"—the unscrupulous ones used corpses, while the more "refined" ones used military ammunition and supplies as cover.

The drugs weren't just sent to the United States. All of America's allies had accepted this "gift" from the CIA. Additionally, they often produced and sold their own product, helping "brother" units along the way.

As the director of covert operations, Rawlins's whereabouts were secretive and difficult to track, but Navy Captain Bennett was much easier to locate.

Under the cover of night, Frank assaulted the house where Bennett was staying alone.

Crack! Crack! Gunshots echoed through the air.

Bennett was protected by soldiers. After a fierce firefight that left most of his men dead, he finally managed to escape.

But he was terrified.

Just moments earlier, Frank had pressed the muzzle of his gun against Bennett's forehead, forcing him to reveal the truth about the operation in Afghanistan.

Fortunately, the soldiers guarding him had burst in and saved his life.

He scrambled into his bulletproof vehicle and frantically shouted to the driver: "Go! Go quickly! Find Rawlins—only he can handle this maniac!"

Bennett didn't realize that high above in the night sky, a pitch-black drone was tracking his every move.

Jason and Frank switched to an old garbage truck, which blended inconspicuously into the nighttime streets.

"I told you this guy was a coward. He's definitely running straight to William Rawlins, the man behind it all!" Jason said triumphantly.

Frank glanced at the tracking route on his phone. "How do you plan to deal with Rawlins, the head of covert operations? He must have extensive security."

By now, Frank had learned the whole truth behind the matter.

Jason laughed. "We'll just charge in—no need for elaborate tricks. Remember when I asked you to help me save the world? Who do you think I want to save it from?"

Frank frowned slightly. "Is it... terrorists? Ambitious politicians? Mad scientists?"

"Hahaha..." Jason erupted in laughter.

"What's so funny?" Frank asked, irritated.

Jason's expression turned serious. "Actually, the enemies you're going to face are alien armadas, out-of-control artificial intelligence legions, Nordic gods hell-bent on ruling Earth, and a terrifying space emperor wreaking havoc across the entire galaxy!"

Gulp!

Frank swallowed hard and thought, Fuck, will I even survive this?

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