Meanwhile, at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Fury looked at the search and rescue report regarding Tony Stark's attack, his brow furrowing even tighter.
He had already received the news and had dispatched elite S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents to Afghanistan to conduct the search and rescue, but the Afghan desert was vast and infested with Terrorists; the search and rescue efforts were progressing slowly, with no leads so far.
Fury looked down at a character profile in his hand; the photo on it was none other than Mavuika, specifically Mavuika's new identity after Tony Stark had updated it.
Ever since the last Skrull incident, after Mavuika appeared before Fury, Fury had quickly found Mavuika's identity information upon returning.
It was forged, after all, and even though the person who forged it was Howard, it was easy for someone with Fury's status and ability to find it.
Now, Tony Stark had been missing for three days, and for S.H.I.E.L.D., Tony Stark's disappearance was a major event.
Stark Industries was too massive; if Tony Stark's disappearance caused this mountain to shake, it would affect the landscape of the entire World.
Therefore, S.H.I.E.L.D. did not want to see this situation arise, and they also wanted to ensure Tony Stark's safety.
But with no clues to be found now, Fury even began to consider whether to contact Mavuika to ask for help.
For so many years, after finding Mavuika's identity, Fury had never proactively contacted him.
Perhaps Fury felt it wasn't the right time yet, or perhaps he had other plans; in any case, he was very cautious in his handling of Mavuika.
This was the first time he had considered contacting Mavuika for this, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Fury quickly dismissed it himself.
With Tony Stark in trouble, Howard, who was closer to Mavuika, was surely more anxious than him and might have already sought Mavuika's help.
He probably didn't need to worry about it.
Thinking of this, Fury put down the information in his hand.
"I hope you don't bring me more trouble, Stark..."
...
Endless yellow sand.
This land was forgotten by time, scorched by the scorching sun, and torn apart by the flames of war.
The wind was the only master here; it sculpted the contours of the sand dunes day and night, erasing the traces of human activity.
In the deepest part of the valley, a natural cave had been artificially converted into a dungeon.
The rough iron door was covered in rust, with a heavy padlock hanging on it, and the chain made a slight, unsettling clicking sound in the draft.
The interior of the cave was divided into two parts: the outer room was piled with various mechanical parts, welding equipment, rolls of wire, and several crates of ammunition.
The inner room was a cell, with three sides being natural rock walls and one side being iron bars, with a dirty blanket spread on the floor, and the air filled with a mixed smell of machine oil, sweat, and festering wounds.
Tony Stark sat leaning against the rock wall in the inner room; the expensive custom-made suit he was wearing was already tattered and stained with oil and sand.
There was a fresh bruise on his left cheek, and a scab had formed on the corner of his mouth—the marks of the beating he received three days ago when he was uncooperative.
But the most shocking thing was his chest, where the shirt had been cut open to reveal a metal device embedded in his flesh.
Three days ago, he woke up from excruciating pain to find himself lying in this cave with this terrifying thing in his chest.
In the center of the ring was a buzzing electromagnet, with exposed wires like spider legs winding and connecting to a black battery pack the size of a car battery nearby.
The skin around the device was red, swollen, and festering, oozing yellowish-white pus, and burns could be seen at the edges; it was clearly "installed" directly with a welding torch without anesthesia.
Tony Stark looked down at the device, his fingers trembling as they touched its edge.
Every breath brought a stabbing pain in his chest, and every heartbeat caused the electromagnet to vibrate slightly, reminding him that the shadow of death was close at hand.
"You were hit by shrapnel, and those pieces went into your heart."
The speaker was Ethan, an Asian man in his fifties, thin, wearing a pair of broken glasses held together by tape.
He was wearing a grease-stained white coat, sitting on a stool made from an ammunition crate, holding a relatively clean cloth, and carefully wiping the cold sweat from Tony Stark's forehead.
"I am a physicist." Ethan continued, his English carrying a distinct accent.
"Or rather, I used to be, until they caught me and brought me here. The device in your chest... I made it. Sorry, the conditions were limited, and this is all I could do."
"A car electromagnet." Ethan pointed to the device.
"Taken from one of their pickup trucks. The battery is a motorcycle battery. I made some modifications to keep it powered for at least a week. The principle is very simple: the magnetic field generated by the electromagnet holds the shrapnel in your body, preventing them from moving further toward your heart. But if the power is cut for more than three minutes, or if the magnetic field strength drops by more than 20%..."
"The shrapnel will pierce my heart, and I will die within thirty seconds." Tony Stark finished for him, his tone terrifyingly calm.
"Yes." Ethan nodded, his expression complex.
"So... don't try to remove it, at least not until you leave here and find proper medical equipment."
Footsteps came from outside the dungeon, and the chain on the iron door was pulled.
Three men walked in; they were all wearing traditional local robes, but their heads were wrapped in black turbans, and their faces were covered with masks, revealing only their eyes.
The leader was burly and held an AK-47, the muzzle pointing casually at the ground, but the threat was self-evident.
These people who attacked and kidnapped Tony Stark were from the Ten Rings Gang.
"Mr. Stark." He said in English with a heavy accent: "You are awake. How do you feel?"
Tony Stark looked at them without speaking.
"We know who you are." The man continued, walking to the workbench in the outer room and picking up a missile sketch designed by Tony Stark.
"The smartest person in the World, the most powerful weapon manufacturer. We want you to build missiles, Jericho missiles, like the ones you demonstrated at the press conference."
"Impossible." Tony Stark finally spoke, his voice weak but his tone firm.
"Even if I wanted to, there is no equipment here, no materials, no..."
"We have everything you need." The man interrupted him, walked to the corner, and lifted a piece of canvas.
Under the canvas was a pile of wreckage from Stark Industries equipment, clearly looted during the attack on the convoy.
There was a half-burned laptop, a shattered monitor, several boxes of electronic components, and even a small piece of palladium metal plate.
"Our people are very careful." The man said: "We took everything we could. As for other materials... we can go grab them, buy them, get them, as long as you are willing to do it."