The morning after the eventful night, the Wing Chun Hall was surprisingly serene. The scent of breakfast—steamed buns and strong tea—filled the air, mingling with the soft click of chopsticks.
Huang Wen, Zhong Qiang, Logan, and Rhys Fisk were gathered around the table, having their routine morning meal, while a news program ran softly on Uncle Zhong's ancient, boxy television set in the corner.
The program, usually reserved for local traffic and weather, suddenly shifted to a sensational piece of national interest.
"We interrupt this program for breaking news," the solemn news anchor announced. "It is reported that local authorities and ordnance experts have discovered several massive, geometrically distinct craters in a sparsely populated region of the New York suburbs. The prevailing theory suggests these marks were left by a high-powered explosion..."
Huang Wen took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea, a slight, knowing smirk playing on his lips. Those 'craters' were the residual scars of his rigorous, if slightly overzealous, practice of the Baozi Lei skill. Three perfectly executed, energy-based explosions that he had used to test the limit of the new power he had gained from the system.
On screen, the news feed cut to an interview segment. A man in an overly sharp suit, sporting academic glasses and an air of intense self-importance, leaned into the camera.
"I can state with absolute certainty that these are not the residual marks of any conventional, recent explosive ordinance!" The scholar declared, his voice ringing with self-assurance.
"There is no trace of residual chemical residue, no shrapnel, no concussive scatter pattern consistent with modern military or terrorist devices. What we are looking at is pure, localized energy disbursement. I have reason to believe—strong reason, I might add—that the United States military has successfully developed a working, high-powered, concentrated Energy Bomb!"
Logan, who was currently wrestling a particularly dense steamed bun, glanced at the television, unimpressed. "Energy bomb, huh? Sounds like the kind of thing that makes a lot of noise and still can't put me down." He shrugged, dismissing the entire topic as irrelevant to his adamantium-infused existence.
Huang Wen suppressed a chuckle. He subtly shook his head, muttering under his breath, "Chemical components? It's something you can eat, Professor. It's the energy transformation of a doughy treat."
The Baozi Lei technique converted the substance of an object he bit into—in this case, three spare steamed buns—into concussive, explosive force. The resulting craters were indeed a perfect expression of kinetic energy, but the origin was far more bizarre than the military-industrial complex.
The host, clearly intimidated but attempting to maintain journalistic integrity, pressed the expert. "But Professor, if there are no chemical signatures, couldn't the marks be caused by something entirely natural? A large, high-speed meteorite, perhaps?"
The scholar bristled, his face contorting in irritation at the suggestion. "A meteorite? Impossible, sir! A complete and utter impossibility! We have extensively searched the immediate vicinity. There are no impact materials, no fragments, no unique geological signatures consistent with a terrestrial impact. This is not some space rock; this is a clear demonstration of advanced, directed energy weapons technology! It's the military, I tell you!"
The screen suddenly lurched, and a new figure, a stern-faced man in an immaculate military uniform, barged into the studio, cutting across the frame. The host's eyes widened in alarm, quickly looking off-camera at the director for guidance.
The director, shrugging off the sudden breach of protocol, signaled for the cameras to keep rolling. The segment was now live reality TV.
"Stand down, Professor," the military man commanded, his voice sharp and carrying an unmistakable authority. "I can confirm absolutely that this is not an energy bomb. Our military has not deployed any such weapon in the field, nor are we near deploying such a weapon." He strode to the desk and slammed a thick file of official-looking documents directly in front of the startled academic.
"According to our military scientific teams," the officer continued, his tone shifting to one of strained, official composure,
"the data confirms these are the impact marks of a high-velocity ice meteorite. The trace residues found in the soil—iron, nickel, trace ammonia, and cyanide—are entirely consistent with known ice meteorite compositions. Given its relatively small size and high entry speed, the object completely sublimated upon impact, leaving only the concussive crater patterns behind."
The professor, who was scanning the documents with disbelieving eyes, stammered, "But… I was certain at the time that this was…"
The military man subtly but firmly leaned forward, completely blocking the camera's view of the professor's face, and delivered a cold, piercing glance. The camera, focused on the documents, only captured the military man's intimidating profile.
The professor, visibly swallowing the lump in his throat, instantly backtracked, his conviction melting away. "I see now," he conceded, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"My initial assessment failed to account for the decomposition of volatile impact materials. My apologies. I was mistaken. It seems this was indeed a natural phenomenon. An incredibly rare, high-velocity ice meteorite impact."
"There you have it," the military man concluded, nodding curtly. "A natural, non-military, non-weapon-related incident. Nothing to see here." He turned and marched out of the studio just as quickly as he had entered.
Logan chuckled, pushing his empty bowl aside. "Ice meteorite, huh? That's the oldest trick in the book. Smells like a lie cooked up by a three-star general. They definitely have that energy bomb, kid."
"Possibly," Huang Wen agreed, knowing full well the extent of the lie. The military's overly aggressive denial—the dramatic entrance, the instant retraction—was a tactical masterstroke. The true purpose wasn't to fool everyone, but to introduce doubt and create a smokescreen.
By deploying a deliberately flimsy, easy-to-dispute story like the "ice meteorite," they achieved two things: they immediately shut down the public inquiry, and they implicitly suggested that the real cause, the "energy bomb," was so secret and so powerful that it required an official cover-up.
Other nations, and even competing defense contractors, would now have to factor in the possibility that the US military possessed a dangerous new weapon.
Miles away, in the gleaming penthouse laboratory of Stark Industries, Tony Stark was watching the exact same footage. He was clad in a custom, silk pajamas, sipping coffee, and surrounded by holographic displays.
"Energy bomb, Obie? Seriously?" Tony raised a skeptical eyebrow at Obadiah Stane, his business partner, who had rushed over to his private lab, looking genuinely concerned. "The military has someone who can pull that off? Jarvis, please confirm for Obadiah the current state of the Department of Defense's Energy Kinetics program."
"Of course, sir," JARVIS's smooth, synthesized voice responded instantly, filling the room. "Based on the penetration achieved in the current military database hack, their research project on high-powered kinetic energy devices began eighteen months ago. Current progress is limited to theoretical models, material stress testing, and the selection of suitable alloys. They have yet to produce a working prototype, let alone a deployable device capable of generating those crater signatures."
"See that, Obie?" Tony smirked, waving a hand dismissively. "It's a complete and utter smokescreen. The military is just using this random weird explosion—which I probably caused on a whim with one of my test missiles—to justify raising the price of their defense budgets and try to strong-arm us on our next missile contract negotiations." Tony paused, tapping his chin as he tried to recall the name of a recently developed, short-range warhead. "Wait, what was the name of that new explosive payload? Never mind what it's called."
He shrugged again, radiating supreme confidence. "Be careful, Obie. The military is playing games, trying to suppress our missile prices by dangling this fictional 'energy bomb' over your head."
Obadiah Stane, his massive frame radiating relief, nodded smoothly. He was a master of corporate espionage and defense procurement. "Thank you, Tony. That's a huge relief. That ridiculous 'ice meteorite' story had me worried that our leverage was gone. Don't worry, this is my domain. I'll make sure the military pays us what we're worth."
Obadiah paused, a glint of genuine avarice replacing the relief in his eye. "But, Tony, since you have Jarvis and all your resources… are you confident you could develop an energy bomb of that magnitude? It would revolutionize the market."
"Develop it? It wouldn't be difficult, Obie, not for me," Tony said, leaning back in his chair. "But why bother? You know I'm extremely busy with things that are actually interesting. Don't worry. The new Stark missiles will guarantee global security—and our profits—for at least the next decade."
Obadiah's expression didn't change, but he felt a familiar spike of frustration at Tony's arrogance and lack of focus. "Alright, Tony. You get back to your… busy work." He rose, offered a professional smile, and left the lab.
The moment the door closed behind Stane, Tony's playful demeanor vanished. His gaze went back to the news footage, a serious, scientific hunger replacing his corporate boredom.
"Jarvis, override the previous request," Tony commanded, his voice sharp. "Retrieve every single piece of data—official, unofficial, and hacked—pertaining to the explosion craters in the New York suburbs yesterday. I want high-resolution scans of the site, atmospheric analysis, ground samples, everything the military tried to bury."
Ice meteorite is definitely impossible, Tony thought. If a high-velocity chunk of ice big enough to make three massive craters fell in New York's backyard and I didn't detect it, my defense grid is useless. And since the military isn't ready for energy bombs, this is something new.
The data flooded his holographic displays. He scanned the information, swiping through geological surveys and atmospheric pressure models.
"Is that all there is?" Tony frowned, disappointed by the limited data available. "What about satellite surveillance? Surely the Defense Department had eyes on the New York airspace yesterday?"
"I am afraid not, sir," JARVIS replied. "No satellites captured images of the explosion in the New York suburbs yesterday. Our orbital assets are finite, and the location, a relatively uninhabited patch of scrubland, was not deemed a priority for continuous surveillance."
"So, what caused the explosion?" Tony demanded, crossing his arms and waiting for the final analysis.
"Based on the energy signatures, lack of chemical residue, and the precise geometric shape of the craters, my probability matrix indicates two main possibilities, sir," JARVIS reported.
"There is a 37 percent chance that an external, non-Stark, influential technological force—a rival corporation or government—has achieved a breakthrough in kinetic energy transference and deployed a test device. And a 63 percent chance that an unregistered individual with extraordinary powers—a mutant or similar meta-human—has recently awakened or debuted."
Tony leaned back, his interest instantly waning. "Mutant? Or some rival's boring tech? Eh. Call me when someone figures out true cold fusion or a practical flying car design." He dismissed the displays with a wave of his hand.
The world's most brilliant engineer was already bored. It wasn't a technological puzzle worth his time.