*'Di-Di-'*
Stane was still standing at the entrance of the evening party venue, watching Tony interact with a group of media reporters. Suddenly, he received a notification on his communicator device tucked in his suit pocket. He answered and lowered his voice to inquire, "What's going on inside? Did the Card Bearer complete the Mission?"
"No. Somehow, right in the middle of the assassination attempt by the Card Bearer, something..." The waiter on the other end hesitated.
"And then what happened? Spit it out!" Stane demanded in a cold tone.
"He just ran away." His subordinate replied, finding the situation rather unbelievable. Wasn't this supposed to be a professional assassin?
"He ran away before even starting the operation?" Stane exclaimed with an astonished tone. Who the hell does that?
"Could he be trying to swindle us? I've already transferred 100 Million Dollars to him! That Raza, that bastard, said these guys were reliable!" Stane grumbled in frustration.
Stane blew a puff of air through his mustache, then contemplated for a moment before speaking with a stern tone, "Thank goodness I didn't place all my hopes on others. Proceed with the operatives we've planted inside the ballroom. There's no need to continue with the charade. Eliminate the target and withdraw from the evening party venue!"
"Yes!" His subordinate acknowledged.
Inside the evening party venue,
As a classical song approached its final part, Kyle and the Black Queen gracefully danced together. The man was tall, the woman was beautiful, and their dancing skills were not inferior to those of professional dancers. What was originally a social dance had been transformed into a mesmerizing performance filled with charm and beauty.
Elle, sitting on the sidelines, watched with fascination and at this moment, she regretted not bringing a camera crew with her.
As the music neared its end, the two dancers entered the final climax of their performance.
It was at this moment that Elle's sharp peripheral vision caught sight of several tall men in suits suddenly rushing out from among the VIP guests. They wore black hoods and had one hand hidden inside their suit jackets, obviously gripping something.
Firearms!
Elle, being a reporter for The New York Times, quickly assessed the situation and shouted in alarm, "Be careful! Terrorists..."
Before she could finish her sentence, the men in suits had already drawn their pitch-black handguns and surrounded Kyle at the center of the dance floor. They decisively aimed their weapons at him, fingers on the triggers.
*Bang! Bang! Bang!*
The sound of gunshots echoed through the ballroom. In an instant, the distinguished guests who had been attending the evening party screamed in terror. They huddled together, cowering with their heads down and bodies low, desperately trying to escape from the ballroom.
Outside the entrance of the evening party,
Gunshots rang out from inside the ballroom, and the panicked guests rushed out. Everything had happened so suddenly. The group of media reporters hurriedly made way for them and turned their cameras toward the fleeing guests, transitioning into live broadcasts.
Tony instinctively looked towards his sports car. When he realized Kyle wasn't in the back seat, he hesitated for half a second, then gritted his teeth and ran towards the direction from which people were fleeing, namely the inside of the ballroom.
For some reason, after hearing about the Devil Card incident from the media earlier in the day, Tony gradually recalled Mr. Carl's appearance and words over the past few days. That growing sense of familiarity had become more and more intense.
At the entrance to the evening party venue, Tony collided with the flow of people rushing out from inside. It was difficult to make progress.
"Damn it, why didn't I bring my Iron Man suit!" He complained while keeping his gaze firm.
Gunshots continued to ring out inside the ballroom.
Elle, who had quickly taken cover behind a table, was worried about Kyle and the Black Queen. When she nervously redirected her gaze back to the center of the ballroom, she was dumbfounded once again.
After enduring several rounds of gunfire, Kyle and the Black Queen continued dancing as if nothing had happened. They were still dancing to the rhythm of the music, seemingly treating the terrorists with handguns as mere decorations.
This sight not only left Elle in a state of shock but also bewildered the five or six terrorists. They stared blankly at the two individuals who seemed to pay no attention to them, and it was as if they weren't even human.
What was even more shocking was that the bullets fired at Kyle earlier now seemed suspended in mid-air, floating about three meters away from the two dancers.
Unbeknownst to anyone, in the Black Queen's beautiful eyes, a faint silver light began to shimmer.
Outside the evening party venue,
Media reporters and VIPs were in chaos, and screams echoed one after another.
Stane stood with his hands behind his back, observing coldly from a corner. He saw Tony rushing into the ballroom without any interference and couldn't help but sneer.
"Just perfect, you can go in and pick up the pieces for him. Consider this my warning!" Stane chuckled, convinced that the Carl guy was as good as dead from the moment the gunfire started.
"Let's all calm down. I just called the police, and I believe they'll arrive soon..." Stane was about to continue his speech when suddenly, a rapid succession of police sirens sounded in the distance.
"How can they be this fast?" Stane's expression changed slightly. He turned to look at the road, and the next moment, his eyes widened in shock.
One police car after another, with sirens blaring and lights flashing, were just for clearing the way. Following them were over a dozen armored military vehicles with mounted cannons. And further behind were heavily fortified armored vehicles reserved for military officers.
Stane felt like he was in a daze as a buzzing sound overhead made him look up. He saw a multitude of military green helicopters converging on the scene, with an exaggerated number of them filling the night sky.
Was this the scale of a war about to unfold?
While Stane was still in a stupor, various vehicles crowded onto the venue's road. The doors opened, and fully armed police and soldiers poured out, directing the evacuation of the people outside.
Helicopters hovered at a fixed height, and ropes were lowered from the cargo bays. Special forces and agents descended swiftly, armed with high-quality firearms, efficiently securing and controlling the scene.
Finally, the armored vehicles came to a stop. A black youth in a military officer's uniform quickly stepped out and scanned the surroundings with authority. He shouted, "I'm Colonel Rhode. Who's in charge here?"
Stane snapped out of his daze and hurriedly walked forward. "It's me, the President of Stark Industries. Colonel Rhode, we've met before..."
Rhode paid no attention to his attempts at familiarity and quickly said, "Very well, on behalf of the military, we're taking control of this venue. You don't have any objections, do you?"
"Of course not," Stane replied, sensing that something was amiss. He nervously asked, "Colonel Rhode, such a massive operation for a terrorist attack, is it necessary?"
"Terrorist attack? I didn't come here for that. First, tell me, where is Mr. Carl?" Rhode asked in a grave tone, his words tinged with unprecedented respect.
"He's... inside the ballroom," Stane replied, trying to maintain a calm facade while his heart raced. He was gripping a handful of sweat in his palm, and a sense of foreboding grew stronger.
Just then, various individuals from the arriving vehicles and helicopters approached and presented their credentials to Stane.
"I'm representing the CIA!"
"I'm from the FBI!"
"I'm a SHIELD agent!"
Clearly, these were not just ordinary elite individuals. They gathered around, their faces filled with excitement, exchanging greetings in hushed tones.
"Don't disturb the old man too much when he comes out. I'm just here to pay my respects on behalf of the bureau."
"That man still holds the position of Chief Adviser to SHIELD. If you want to meet him, at least notify our agency first."
Listening to their enthusiastic discussions, Stane's complexion became even paler and more unsightly. He asked hoarsely, "Who exactly is this, Mr. Carl?"
"Who is he?" Representatives from the military and various agencies responded almost simultaneously:
"He's the Symbol of Peace!"
(End of this chapter)