Makiya's words left Matt's mind filled with question marks. Shouldn't a normal person be thanking me for saving their life? What's with giving me an activation code? Besides, I'm blind—how the hell am I supposed to play a game?
Although he had a thousand complaints he wanted to vent, Matt suppressed the urge. He took the business card and tucked it away as if possessed. "Fine, I'll give it a try when I have time. Go straight and turn left to leave Hell's Kitchen. This place is very unfriendly to ordinary people like you, especially wealthy ones."
The clothes Makiya wore were styles arranged by Unit 3, appearing to be custom-tailored with exquisite materials and a perfect fit. The design was simple, but the ensemble radiated a sense of high fashion and wealth.
This was the primary reason the thugs had targeted him for a robbery.
"Understood." Makiya nodded, then kindly pointed at the three thugs lying on the ground. "Are they going to be okay? They don't seem to be moving."
"Don't worry, they're probably just unconscious," Matt said casually. He knew his strength was measured. They were thick-skinned; they'd wake up only to realize they were back in a police station.
But as Matt focused his attention on the three men, he suddenly realized he could no longer hear their heartbeats. Even the rise and fall of their chests had stopped. Their breathing had vanished into thin air.
What's going on?!
Startled, Matt rushed to the three thugs. He crouched down, focusing his perception entirely on their condition. The result was unbelievable; they had died at some unknown point, and they were very dead, with absolutely no hope of resuscitation.
But how was that possible? He clearly hadn't hit them that hard.
"They... Huh?" Matt looked up in surprise. The game company boss who had been talking to him at the mouth of the alley just a moment ago had abruptly vanished, disappearing completely from his perception.
What happened? Was that boss an enhanced individual? Was he a superhero or a villain?
Matt leaped onto a rooftop to expand his perception. Various chaotic noises flooded his ears, but even at his maximum range, he couldn't find a trace of Makiya. It was as if the man had vanished from the world entirely.
Could he teleport?
Regardless of what his ability was, that guy was extremely dangerous!
Matt's perception had long reached a level where he could tell if someone's constitution was abnormal just by the sound of their organs. Yet, during his close-range conversation with Makiya, he hadn't noticed anything unusual at all, assuming the man was just an ordinary person.
Matt remained silent for a moment, then pulled the business card from his pocket. It thoughtfully included Braille. Though he didn't strictly need it, he felt a strange sense of human consideration.
Daredevil's abilities were quite absurd; he could determine the color of an object just by touch. Being blind wasn't much different from having sight for him.
"CEO of Future Tech... Virtual Reality Game..."
Running his fingers over the activation code on the back of the card, Matt suddenly became curious about this game. He planned to use his connections to investigate who the legal representative and actual controller of this company really was.
In an anonymous small town in Siberia.
Snow and wind blocked the sunlight from above. The cold wind, laden with snowflakes, hurried past, slipping into the necks of pedestrians at every opportunity to steal their already meager body heat.
In this era, many people froze to death in the snow. Even during the day, not a soul could be seen on the streets. Most people huddled at home to escape the severe cold, roasting potatoes around a stove; the wealthier families might sprinkle a bit of salt on theirs.
Makiya's clone stood in the air. The heavy snow seemed to be blocked by an invisible wall, with not a single flake landing on him.
He was a master of fire and felt nothing toward this cold air. While his superior constitution kept him from feeling the chill, he still preferred warmth.
Dozens of wooden houses were scattered along both sides of a straight road. Some houses were dark; in this environment, humans had to light a fireplace to survive, or they would surely freeze in their sleep. The dark houses either belonged to those who had already perished or those who had fled.
A ripple appeared in space as Makiya's main body appeared beside the clone.
"Second house on the left, Ivan Vanko lives there," the clone said with a smile. "That guy's old man is very sick. If he didn't go to the pharmacy so often to buy medicine, we might have actually missed them. This place is way too remote."
The Shadow Clone vanished, and its memories returned to Makiya's brain. According to the pharmacy owner's records, Ivan Vanko's father had been clinging to life on medication recently, and his situation was grim.
Where there's a need, there's a way. Makiya wasn't a villain; he preferred fair and mutual trade over acting like a common bandit and taking things by force.
Westerners became powerful by being shameless, but Makiya cared about his reputation most of the time—at most, he'd throw out a few 'Excuse mes' while working.
Who knew how long the blizzard had been raging? The snow had already buried half of the Vanko family's door. Makiya waved his hand to clear a path.
Thud, thud, thud...
The heavy knocking sounded. Inside, Ivan Vanko, who was tending to his father's medicine, looked up warily. He squinted at the door. Usually, no one visited his home, let alone during a blizzard.
The firelight from the hearth illuminated Ivan's face. After a moment of hesitation, he set the cup back by the fireplace and quietly picked up a double-barreled shotgun, chambering a round. "Father, wait a moment. I'll see who it is."
Anton Vanko lay on a dilapidated wooden bed. His deathly ill lips were cracked and dry. His breath was shallow, looking as though he might pass away at any second. He coughed twice and whispered, "Ivan, be careful."
"Don't worry, Father. I know."
Gripping the shotgun, he walked to the door. With a creak, Ivan pulled it open.
Makiya was about to speak when he saw a dark muzzle pointing at him. He raised an eyebrow. "The local hospitality is quite fierce, but I really don't like having a gun pointed at me—in any sense of the word."
Ivan Vanko remained unmoved, his finger tight against the trigger. If Makiya made any sudden move, he wouldn't hesitate to fire.
"Who are you, and what are you... What the hell?!" Ivan's question was cut short when he realized the barrel of his shotgun had suddenly become incredibly soft. The hardened, high-strength steel had turned into something like a rubber hose, drooping limply.
What happened?
Ivan blinked, making sure he wasn't hallucinating due to lack of sleep or hunger. The barrel truly was as useless as a flaccid rag.
What kind of sorcery is this?!
Ivan cursed under his breath and immediately tossed the shotgun aside. He pulled a dagger from his sleeve to hold in front of him, only to find the originally sharp blade had also become soft and useless, as if suffering from a mid-life crisis.
"Ivan Vanko," Makiya said in a deep voice. "I come with goodwill. Don't be so agitated."
As he spoke, Makiya pointed toward Anton Vanko inside. "Are you sure you don't want to let me in first? He looks like he's about to hit his limit."
Because the door had been left open, the icy blizzard had blown inside. The weak fire in the hearth flickered wildly, and the temperature in the room plummeted. The already frail old man was nearly finished off by the draft.
Ivan Vanko's face was grim as he squeezed out a sentence through gritted teeth. "Come in. You'd better not make any unnecessary moves."
Makiya shook his head. Even if he did make a move, Ivan wouldn't be able to stop him. Why did every villain love acting tough? Was it hard-coded into their DNA?
Ivan's massive frame moved aside. Once Makiya entered, Ivan immediately slammed the door shut, cutting off the invading storm.
The firelight finally stabilized. Makiya looked around at the furnishings. Though it was dirty, messy, and dilapidated, it was filled with the atmosphere of daily life. Besides various tools, the table was covered in a pile of nameless medicine bottles.
"Are you KGB? FBI? MI6? What do you want with us?" Ivan's voice came from behind.
He wore a ragged cotton coat and had hair similar to Black Widow's style. Hardship had aged him; gray strands were mixed into his hair, making him look closer to fifty despite only being in his thirties.
"None of the above. Do I look like an agent or a spy?" Makiya immediately stated his position, showing he had no connection to government lackeys. "In fact, I frequently get FBI warnings just for watching movies. I have no love for them."
Makiya walked over to the workbench by the bed. The blueprints for the Arc Reactor were pinned to the wall behind it. These were just conceptual designs; the actual data was far more extensive.
"Truly an epoch-making design. As one of the lead designers of the Arc Reactor, does it sit well with you to die in a blizzard, guarding your own patents?" Makiya remarked casually while admiring the drawings. Then he stated his purpose: "I've come for the Arc Reactor. I want to buy out the design data and exclusive implementation rights."
"Impossible!" Before Anton could even open his mouth, Ivan rejected the offer on his father's behalf.
"Don't be so quick to refuse. You might want to hear my compensation first."
"It's nothing but some filthy money," Ivan sneered. "Take your cash and get out. I've seen plenty of people like you. We'd rather starve and freeze to death in Siberia than take a single bite of anything from you Americans!"
"Talking about money is so vulgar." Makiya waved a hand and pointed at the bedridden Anton. "I can cure your father's illness and give him a healthy body—at least no worse than others his age. It's a very fair trade, isn't it?"
The dutiful son, Ivan, was stunned. Then his eyes narrowed. "How do I know you're not lying? If I find out you're deceiving me, I will kill you!"
His father was Ivan's only weakness. Once the old man died, this unfortunate kid would go straight to Iron Man for revenge. Anton's current plight was largely due to the sins of Tony's father.
Years ago, Anton Vanko and Tony's father, Howard Stark, had researched and developed the Arc Reactor together. After succeeding, the greedy Anton wanted to profit from it. Howard discovered this and reported him, eventually leading to his deportation on espionage charges and his exile here.
Makiya, however, hated Ivan's rhetoric. It was always 'I'll kill you' this and 'I'll kill you' that. If you could really do it, then do it. People who talked big without the strength to back it up usually died very quickly.
"Whether or not I can cure your father—why don't you experience it for yourself?"
Makiya raised an eyebrow, and two sparks flickered in his hand. Under Ivan's terrified gaze, they gradually turned golden, winding around his hands like sentient shadows.