In the S.H.I.E.L.D. underground warehouse, rows of Iron Man suits stood neatly on their operational platforms.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, dressed in black bodysuits and about to embark on the mission, were being fitted with the Iron Man armor by both robotic arms and technicians.
Amidst the muscular men, there was one dazzling sight.
A black leather suit wrapped around Natasha Romanoff's... voluptuous... figure. Her alluring face and graceful S-shaped curves made it impossible for the technicians to look away.
"Hey! Focus," Natasha reminded him, her expression flat.
"Oh, sorry... Go ahead and stand on the platform," The engineer said, embarrassed, quickly lowering his head to operate the computer.
Natasha nodded, stepped onto the platform, and let the Iron Man suit enclose her.
She was already used to this kind of attention.
Not only did she not dislike it, but she was, on the contrary, very good at it and happy to use her physical advantages.
For a female agent, a captivating body was the best tool for completing a mission.
The engineer typed furiously on the keyboard and finally pressed the Enter key.
An industrial, artistic mechanical sound whirred, and the robotic arms began to assemble the Iron Man suit.
Thirty seconds later, the suit was fully assembled, appearing to have no issues.
The engineer executed the exit program and asked, "System is all normal. Does it fit you well?"
"It's too tight up here, it's pressing down and hurts a little," Natasha muttered, rubbing the sore spot as if no one was watching.
"Whew..."
A lewd whistle sounded from nearby.
Everyone looked up and saw Tony leaning against the doorway, a lecherous expression on his face as he stared at Natasha.
"These suits were all built to the standards of an adult man. If I had known you were participating in tonight's operation, I would have custom-made one just for you, to save that part of you from being flattened by the chest plate."
Ever since becoming a S.H.I.E.L.D. consultant, Tony had been a regular here—not because he liked to work, but because of Natasha.
After seeing her stunning beauty and figure, Tony had been possessed to ask her to spend a "wonderful night" with him. The result was a knee to the groin from a furious Natasha, which nearly... finished him... for good.
Learning that this was a rose with thorns, Tony didn't dare make a wrong move again and resorted to sweet talk instead.
He was thick-skinned, and all kinds of flirtatious, dirty jokes rolled off his tongue, giving Natasha a huge headache.
She couldn't hit him, and scolding him didn't work. Over time, Natasha began to just ignore him, but Tony remained persistent.
Looking at Tony's flashy clothes, Natasha shook her head in resignation and said with a stern face, "Why are you here?"
Tony walked over with a smile, pushed the engineer aside, and placed his hands on the keyboard.
"I'm here to check on the condition of the Iron Man suits. And while I'm at it, to remind that 'Black Mamba' not to get himself killed, and even if he does, not to drag me down with him."
Hearing this, Natasha sneered, "Heh, are you scared?"
"No."
"You are. You're afraid Jason will blame you for everything S.H.I.E.L.D. is doing."
Tony's brow furrowed, and he violently shoved the keyboard away.
Clack! The keyboard hit the floor, and several keycaps popped off.
"I've seen the plan! Is that not the truth? You guys start a mess, and I take the fall. Isn't that how it is?"
Tony's roar instantly silenced the underground warehouse.
Natasha's expression was cold, but her tone was tinged with sorrow. "Believe me, if there was a better choice... we would never have chosen a coward like you."
"Hah, I'm a coward." Tony snorted contemptuously and said viciously, "You had no parents since childhood, no friends, you're cold, you don't understand fun. Of course you can't understand how I feel!"
Tony's words were like daggers, stabbing deep into Natasha's heart.
Her face instantly darkened. Her fists clenched so tightly they audibly cracked. In a chilling tone, she said, "Is that so?"
"No! Stop!"
Tony realized he had said the wrong thing and quickly retreated to a safe distance.
"Forget it! Do whatever you want, just don't get me involved." After saying his piece, Tony quickly walked out of the underground warehouse.
"Oh, by the way, I checked the suits, no problems. Good luck."
Natasha watched his retreating back with cold eyes. After taking a few deep breaths, her iron fists slowly relaxed.
"Fucker!"
.........
Nightfall. The Joker Organization's Los Angeles branch.
The thousands-of-square-meter factory floor on the B1 level had been cleaned, decorated with lanterns and banners, and filled with a festive atmosphere.
Hundreds of square dining tables were evenly placed throughout the factory, their white tablecloths laden with champagne and fine food.
Over a thousand official members of the branch were gathered in the factory. They tasted the food, drank and made merry with their companions. The factory was filled with laughter and cheers.
For them, today was a special day.
The Joker organization had burned down Notre Dame in Paris and stolen the world-famous painting, the "Mona Lisa."
This was the organization's first victory overseas, worthy of celebration by all its members.
Most importantly, their leader, A-Train, was one of the two operatives in the Paris terrorist attack. This made the members of the Los Angeles branch feel immensely proud.
Thus, this banquet, gathering all official members, was held as a matter of course.
Several high-definition projectors were also placed in the corners of the factory, playing footage of the Paris attack on a loop.
Every time the fire blazed and an explosion roared, the members would raise their glasses and shout.
The scene was rather like a religious cult meeting, a pandemonium of demons.
However, not everyone who saw this scene could smile from the heart.
Among them, several members were laughing and joking on the surface, but their eyes were filled with anger and vigilance.
They were all S.H.I.E.L.D. moles, planted in the Los Angeles branch over a period of several months.
To ensure their identities were not suspected, each of them had been stained with... blood... before joining the organization.
This meant that for the rest of their lives, they could only be undercover personnel hiding in dark corners—even if their victims were all criminals who had been bailed out of prison.
They bore infamy, abandoned their families, all to infiltrate the Joker organization step by step, steal important intelligence, and... give the Joker organization a fatal blow.
......
The party continued late into the night. Empty bottles of whiskey and champagne were piled high. All the members were flushed and slurring their words.
The opportunity has come!
Several agents made eye contact across the tables. The highest-ranking one quietly left the venue and walked into the restroom.
The already small restroom was filled with several passed-out drunks.
Of the five toilet stalls, four were emitting... unspeakable... sounds.
The agent's face showed disgust. He then pretended to be drunk and stumbled into the last stall.
Pulling a miniature transmitter from his collar, he listened intently to the sounds outside while quickly typing a message on the device.
After confirming the message was sent and a reply received, he walked straight out of the restroom, returned to the factory, and gave a signal to the other agents.
After receiving the signal, the agents stood up one by one, blended into the crowd, and quietly left.
Their true identities were highly classified. Within S.H.I.E.L.D., only the former director, Nick Fury, knew.
If they didn't leave in advance, once S.H.I.E.L.D. stormed in, they would be killed by their own people.
.........
S.H.I.E.L.D. Hideout.
Fury sat at his desk, waiting anxiously.
This kind of nervousness was something he hadn't felt in a long time, not since he'd gotten into this line of work.
Ding!
The transmitter beeped. Fury snatched it up instantly.
Looking at the content on the device, his tense nerves finally relaxed. He smirked, "Since you're all gathered together for a party, that saves me the trouble of hunting you down one by one."
With that, Fury strode out of the conference room and went to the underground factory on the B1 level.
All fifty new-energy suits had been fully prepped and were just waiting for his command.
"Word has come from our inside man. All official members of the Joker's Los Angeles branch are at mission point one, having a party. And most of them are already drunk."
Hah, a bunch of rabble, just as I thought.
Hearing this intel, the agents all showed mocking smiles.
"This is a golden opportunity. We must kill all the members of the organization tonight. At the same time, we must capture those few branch leaders alive if possible. Begin the operation!"
As soon as he finished speaking, all the agents eagerly entered the Iron Man suits. The engineers immediately initiated the activation sequence.
Robotic arms extended from both sides, rapidly assembling the armor. The pleasant sound of machinery echoed through the underground factory.
Once assembly was complete, the fifty Iron Man suits marched out of the hideout in single file.
Electromagnetic pulses shot from their boots, and they soared into the air, flying towards the target.
.........
Los Angeles Branch Hideout.
Even though they were throwing a party, the branch still had some men stationed around the perimeter for defense.
However, the branch members had been comfortable for too long and had completely lost their vigilance. They never imagined anyone would dare to attack a Joker organization branch. As a result, the guards were each holding a bottle of whiskey, all of them red-faced and drunk.
In the dark sky, one after another, points of light appeared. But the guards' eyes were hazy, and they didn't notice a thing.
This armor squad was led by Natasha. After entering effective range, she immediately activated tactical identification mode, tagging all enemies on the perimeter and sharing the data with the other agents.
"Exactly fifty targets on the perimeter. One for each of us. We must ensure silent kills."
"Roger!"
Receiving the order, the armor squad immediately adjusted course in mid-air, flying towards their respective targets.
Natasha's target was a man sitting on the factory roof, drinking.
They were less than a hundred meters apart, but the target was still unaware. His binoculars were placed to the side, gathering dust. All he knew was to keep pouring booze into his mouth.
Natasha accelerated toward him.
When she was less than ten meters away, the target finally sensed something was wrong. His drunkenness vanished instantly.
"Oh, shit!"
Unfortunately, that was the last word he would ever say.
Because in the next second, Natasha grabbed his neck with one hand and, with a single squeeze, completely crushed his throat.
She threw him onto the roof. He clutched his throat, making only a "gurgle," unable to say a word.
In his bloodshot eyes, the cold, merciless face of the Iron Man armor was forever imprinted.
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