In the office of the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., a knock on the door interrupted Nick Fury, who was buried in paperwork. Without looking up, he continued processing the documents and said casually, "Come in."
As the door opened, a tall woman in a Kevlar uniform walked in. She had a sharp, attractive face and a cold demeanor.
The female agent approached Fury's desk, placing a file within his reach. "Sir, there's news from Agent Fisher," she reported.
"Hmm? How's the investigation going?" Fury immediately stopped his work, raised his head, and began flipping through the file.
"It's not going well. One of the key leads has completely dried up, making the investigation difficult. Agent Fisher has requested assistance from the Science Department."
"Blurred tire marks, two cars vanishing into thin air?" Fury read through the report, his face emotionless. After setting the document down, he tapped his pen on the desk absentmindedly, deep in thought.
"This is getting interesting. Seems like we're dealing with things beyond our usual scope."
Various possibilities flashed through his mind. However, based on the existing clues, there wasn't enough to form a solid analysis. The only thing he could confirm was that the large-scale destructive power observed had no smoke or explosive reaction, indicating it wasn't caused by modern synthetic materials or conventional munitions.
Fisher had applied to involve the Department of Science and Technology because he suspected that the energy reaction wasn't of human origin.
"Mutants, maybe?" Fury pondered. But most of the world's dangerous mutants were already under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surveillance, so it seemed unlikely.
Fury felt a headache coming on. The energy fluctuation was terrifying. Although it had lasted only for a brief moment, the intensity made him briefly think the military had detonated a nuclear bomb on U.S. soil.
The damage shown on the screen covered only a few thousand meters, but that was due to the yield. With a higher yield, the explosion would have covered a larger area, yet the energy itself was almost comparable. The temperature at that moment had been so extreme that parts of the surface had been directly carbonized.
That's why the impact of this incident is so severe. It's not that local nuclear tests haven't happened before—most civilians don't know about them because the government and military have suppressed the information. While the government and military are aware of those incidents, this time, an energy equivalent to nuclear power exploded on the mainland without their knowledge.
This is a major breach, and it's causing a lot of tension.
The government and the military are still arguing over the incident.
Agent Fisher seemed to agree. Fury tapped the table thoughtfully before something came to mind. "I remember the Department of Science and Technology recently brought in two new members with impressive credentials, right?"
"Yes, Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons."
"Send them both to investigate."
"Yes, sir."
After giving the order, Fury raised his head and looked at the female agent in front of him. "Hill, any news from Tony Stark yet?"
"No, sir. Coulson has been keeping an eye on it, and none of Tony Stark's friends in the military have given up."
"Alright, tell Coulson to keep at it. Stark's not the type to die so easily. This kidnapping probably has something to do with Stark Industries."
"Understood," Agent Hill replied, then turned and left after Fury's explanation. Fury gazed at the pictures in the document he was holding, his single eye filled with deep contemplation.
"The strange disappearance is somewhat similar to that incident. Could it be those people?"
The Middle East, with its vital strategic location, has long been a region of conflict due to competition over freshwater and oil resources, as well as deep religious and cultural differences. The region is marked by perennial instability. Its dry, hot climate and plateau terrain block moist ocean air, worsening the area's drought and giving it a predominantly tropical desert climate.
In a remote desert area in the Middle East, the sun blazed overhead, and the heat distorted the air. A temporary camp was set up there, with over a dozen military vehicles and several helicopter gunships parked in its vicinity.
Colonel James Rhodes, a close friend of Tony Stark, stood frowning at a distribution map of the Middle East displayed on his computer. A large, dense red area was highlighted on the map—the region he had been searching for over the past few months.
Still, there was no sign of Tony Stark.
In fact, as early as the first month after Tony's disappearance, the military had lost interest in continuing the search. It was Rhodes who insisted on pressing forward. Tony's secretary, Pepper, had assured him that all the search expenses were being covered by Stark Industries. With that support, Rhodes had withstood the pressure and led a military team to continue the search.
But now, even Rhodes was beginning to feel a bit hopeless. He closed his eyes, sat on a bench, pulled a cigarette from his pocket, and lit it, letting the nicotine fill his lungs with its familiar, intoxicating sensation. In his exhaustion, the nicotine was the only thing that could offer him some relief.
No one disturbed him during this moment of solitude. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but as he neared the end of his cigarette, a strange feeling crept over him. This sense of unease immediately put his instincts on high alert. A veteran warrior, Rhodes reacted swiftly—his eyes snapped open as his hand reached for the pistol strapped to his leg, pointing it forward in an instant.
The moment his eyes opened, he realized what had triggered his discomfort.
A graceful figure had somehow appeared in his camp, silently observing the map of the Middle East on his computer, which marked the areas where the search for Tony Stark had been concentrated.
The intruder had short, slightly curly burgundy hair, and was dressed in a short-sleeved vest, tight combat pants, and white shoes. Although Rhodes couldn't see her face, the tall, elegant silhouette suggested she was likely a very beautiful woman.
But none of that mattered. What mattered was that she shouldn't be here—not now, not in this place.
Rhodes frowned, noticing she hadn't turned around yet. He warned her, his voice calm but firm: "If I were you, I'd turn around immediately and tell me who you are and why you're here. Then maybe I'll consider not arresting you."
In the Middle East, where warlords waged constant battles, anyone—man or woman—could be an assassin or a suicide bomber. He couldn't afford to take any chances.