The terrorists had no intention of beating him up. Hearing that Tony Stark refused to make an Iron Suit, they simply left.
"For the next few days, switch to a different language when you talk. Tony Stark already learned Arabic from listening to Yinsen's conversations with you."
"Huh?" The Beast Soldiers were startled. Someone that monstrous really existed?
Zod had only noticed it because he'd been keeping an eye on Tony Stark. When Tony listened to other people speaking with Yinsen No. 2, he no longer wore that confused look from before. Instead, he looked thoughtful.
So Zod directly invaded his mind and confirmed it: Tony Stark had already mastered most of the Arabic they'd been using.
It was unexpected, but also completely reasonable. After all, this was Tony Stark.
So next, Tony Stark discovered that the terrorists had switched to a language he couldn't understand.
"Hansen, what language are they speaking?" Tony frowned.
"It's probably Hebrew, Israel's common language," Hansen answered, sounding uncertain. In truth, he was shocked inside. Tony Stark had actually learned Arabic, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to tell they'd switched languages.
Not good. This guy was a monster. At this rate, would they have to change languages every few days?
Zod wasn't worried at all. Once they ran through the Middle East languages, they could switch to the "rabbit's" languages. Dialects like Wenzhou dialect, the so-called devil language. If Tony Stark could even learn that, then there was still Hunan dialect, Cantonese, Minnan, and a whole pile more.
Tony Stark held out stubbornly at first, until he realized a full day had passed and the terrorists still hadn't arranged any food for him. Then Tony panicked.
Because he knew this routine. The previous group of terrorists had done the exact same thing. When he demanded red wine and steak and cheeseburgers instead of that sticky dough, they didn't say anything. They just stopped feeding him the dough for days. By the fourth day, Tony Stark was licking the plate cleaner than a dog.
The taste of hunger was something even the strongest will couldn't withstand. People would eat cotton and dirt, stuffing anything they could into their stomach, even if it killed them.
Torture by beating? Zod was afraid Tony's frail body would get sick after a few hits, leaving permanent damage and turning him into a weak, sickly wreck. Hunger punishment was far more effective, similar to waterboarding, and in Zod's view, even better.
Skipping a few meals wouldn't kill him. It could even help Tony lose that little belly, detox a bit, and prevent fatty liver, alcoholic liver, hardened blood vessels, high blood pressure, and cardiovascular disease.
After all, he ate high-calorie food and drank red wine. Red wine wasn't bad, but drinking every day without restraint was too much. Eating vegetarian for a while benefited both body and mind.
Tony Stark thought he could hold out longer this time, but he'd never undergone systematic starvation training. If anything, he handled hunger even worse. By the second day, he couldn't take it. He was starving so badly he wanted to stuff anything he saw into his mouth. In the end, Tony Stark could only surrender.
Then Zod had his men arrange a high-fiber meal plan for him to help clear out his intestines. Judging by Tony Stark's ashen, miserable face, it was obvious his years-long constipation had finally been cured.
Zod withdrew his attention from Tony Stark. With the Black Queen monitoring Tony twenty-four seven, any problems would be detected and reported to Zod immediately.
Zod's side plans
Under Zod's arrangements, Blonsky successfully returned to Great Britain, waiting for the day General Ross would come looking for him. No one knew how long it would take. The boss's mission for him was clearly a long-term one, and Blonsky could only suppress his impatience.
Zod had no intention of letting the Hulk go. His logic was simple: if you won't let me get the Hulk's blood openly, I'll get it by taking a detour.
The Ancient One could live until the Chitauri invaded New York, but Zod figured she couldn't possibly come out again just to stop him from obtaining the Hulk's blood, right?
Recently, people in New York had been mysteriously disappearing. But since the missing were all from Hell's Kitchen, it didn't draw much attention. That place was chaos, and people died there all the time. It wasn't considered a big deal.
However, with the Black Queen, Zod still found traces. The missing were all street-level powder dealers from Hell's Kitchen, small-time punks. At the same time, the Black Queen also caught fast-moving shadows on surveillance footage.
"Reapers?" Zod narrowed his eyes in thought.
There were plenty of monsters in Hell's Kitchen he could connect it to: the Hand's Black Beast, Daredevil and Punisher's enemies, and more. But considering the timeline, the most likely answer was the vampire strain, the Reapers.
He planned to take a look. After all, the RR virus behind Reaper mutation also had research value.
Hell's Kitchen, at night
In a deserted subway tunnel, groups of homeless people wandered aimlessly. In a global metropolis like New York, scenes like this were all too common. The brighter the surface, the more rotten the inside.
When these homeless people needed rest, most gathered in parks or abandoned subways like this. New York's subway system was old, so naturally there were many sealed, abandoned tunnels. Places like that became natural shelters for the homeless, though not all of them were truly safe.
This abandoned tunnel was exactly like that. A dozen or so homeless people drifted about. More precisely, they weren't wandering, they were standing in a loose formation.
Right in front of them, several neatly dressed men were checking people's bodies, then shoving them deeper into the tunnel. But homeless men coming out from time to time proved these weren't deadly people, especially when those pale-faced guys clutched cash in their hands and giggled with sparse, rotten teeth exposed.
"Brother, looks like it's your first time selling blood."
Maybe he was getting impatient from the wait. A skinny homeless man patted the shoulder of the tall guy sitting in front of him, starting a conversation.
The man ahead wore a tattered trench coat and a hood. He slowly turned his head, revealing a face that was clearly not normal. His complexion was deathly pale, like someone who had never seen sunlight.
There wasn't a single hair on his face, no hair, no beard, no eyebrows, nothing. In the dim tunnel, his pupils were hard to make out, but they might've been gray-blue. The strangest part was his chin: a distinct scar from a healed split, as if he'd undergone surgery.
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