Chapter 122: I Am Not Fighting Alone

Whitehall quickly looked over. A dark shadow flickered across the screen and vanished.

"So fast!" Whitehall raised an eyebrow. "Could it be the Iron Fist?"

"...Judging by the physique, it should be a woman." Bakshi hesitated, but decided to speak the truth. "'Black Sky' Elektra, a terrifying woman."

Whitehall nodded. Scientifically speaking, it was possible for the Iron Fist to be a woman. Modern medical technology made gender reassignment easy, and one could never be certain if the Iron Fist was simply a cross-dresser or a trap. His subordinates had reported that the Iron Fist’s skin was more delicate than a woman’s. However, based on all available analysis, Elektra was the more likely candidate, especially since the figure appeared to be clutching two thin blades.

Elektra was indeed terrifying, perhaps even insane. As they spoke, the woman silently arrived behind a S.H.I.E.L.D. field team, and then... attacked.

The field agents were no pushovers; their high-tech gear allowed them to spot Elektra instantly. Yet, her speed was so great that they could not react in time. In less than fifteen seconds, the entire team was wiped out.

"Decisive, well-trained, and while she rarely uses guns, she clearly understands them well." Bakshi, always keen to seize an opportunity to impress, added, "She bears the marks of a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. She must have joined them; she is Fury’s secret operative now!"

"I want that woman," Whitehall’s eyes gleamed. He had no sexual interest in her, only interest—the interest of a dissector and researcher.

Humanity had spent millions of years shedding the bestial nature governed by primitive desires, yet now, so many wasted their time on reproduction and courtship. It pained him; he viewed it as a degradation, a regression. In his eyes, organs were merely differentiated by shape and color, and he never associated them with anything else. This was not the world he desired, nor the humanity he recognized. It had to change.

Data indicated that Elektra had mastered "Chi," but he had not expected her to be this powerful. Was it due to the "Black Sky"? Was there a remnant of the "Beast's" power within her? What interested him most was that while Elektra appeared calm, he could sense a madness deep in her marrow. She was very much like him.

In truth, he had always wanted to dissect himself. Had he not feared accidentally killing himself, he would have done it nineteen years ago. *Compared to the Spirit of Vengeance, perhaps the "Beast" is more suited to me?* he mused. Everyone harbored a "Beast" within; some were controlled by it, while others controlled the "Beast." This was the fundamental difference between people. He was confident he was the latter.

"The other two have appeared!" Bakshi warned.

Whitehall rubbed his neck, feeling an increasing chill and a growing sense of panic. *Could the transplanted organs be failing? I must have them checked when I return.*

On the screen, three masked figures in uniforms appeared. The others were clearly Daredevil and Stick. The trio acted with clear purpose and direction, as if they had known exactly where the enemies were and how many there were from the very beginning. Their strikes were swift and precise; they hit and vanished without a second’s hesitation.

"It is said that Daredevil’s sensory abilities are astonishing, even stronger than the files suggest. Pierce's men are finished." Bakshi looked grave. "Doctor, I suggest launching the Jericho missiles. We have locked onto the most critical locations; the Winter Soldier, the Darkhold, and the Obelisk are likely there. As long as we avoid those specific spots, there will be no issues."

"Is it as effective as you say?" Whitehall cared little for high-tech weaponry and knew little about it.

Bakshi nodded. "Some say the best weapon is one you never have to use, but Tony Stark says the best weapon is one you only need to use once. He was referring to the Jericho. Don’t let its size fool you; it contains the pinnacle of Stark Industries' technology, including the finest guidance systems and rapid-response capabilities. The military believes the Jericho is the trump card for victory on any battlefield."

"We have our people in the military who obtained the detailed schematics. This missile uses metallic hydrogen as an explosive. Unlike nuclear weapons, it leaves no contamination. While its power is less than a nuke, it won't face international sanctions or boycotts. It is extremely precise with a massive coverage area. Although we only transported three, a single one is enough to blanket ten laboratories, and the resulting shockwave would kill anyone inside. Even if the Iron Fist and Ghost Rider were there, they wouldn't survive such an intense bombardment!"

Whitehall grunted. "Launch."

The launcher was raised, holding three Jericho missiles. Though confident one would suffice, Bakshi ordered all three to launch simultaneously for maximum coverage, leaving no room for error. Ward and the others were still alive, but that was irrelevant.

An operator prepared to press the button. Suddenly, he felt a cold breeze blow against his neck. The hairs on his body stood on end instantly. This was not a natural chill; it felt as if it originated not from the flesh, but from the soul. A hand grasped his, gently moving it away.

"Something this expensive shouldn't be wasted like this," a voice whispered in his ear.

The operator wanted to do something, but he was paralyzed, unable to move. A strange power controlled his body, and he felt a terror so profound it was indescribable. Another hand rested gently on his neck. With a soft squeeze and a snap, his neck twisted, and he drifted into an eternal sleep.

"Iron Fist! It's the Iron Fist!"
"Damn it, how did he get in? Kill him! Quickly, cover the Doctor's retreat!"

Seeing the suddenly appeared, slightly plump figure, Bakshi screamed in alarm. *How is this possible?* Everyone here was elite; how could they not have noticed someone infiltrating? And the man had simply manifested in his line of sight, like a magic trick. Could it be... was there truly such a thing as ghosts in this world? Was the Iron Fist a ghost?

The off-road vehicle roared to life, speeding away. Hundreds of guns turned simultaneously, automatic rifles and pistols firing alongside heavy machine guns. Thousands of bullets hailed down on Old Wang, weaving into an inescapable web in the sky.

"He's dead for sure," Whitehall sighed in relief. These men were well-trained; they hadn't just aimed at the Iron Fist, but had completely blanketed him and the surrounding area. No matter how fast he was, he couldn't be faster than bullets. Every round was custom-made, not to mention the cryo-guns. *I hope he isn't shredded too badly; a whole corpse would be best for dissection.*

He never considered the possibility of losing, as the enemy was one, while they were hundreds. These thoughts flashed through his mind, but what he saw next exceeded his imagination.

Old Wang suddenly multiplied into four.