"Blood Toxicity: 53%." In a luxurious restroom, an upper-class man held a small testing device in his hand.
He was Tony, but not that flamboyant playboy. He was a defeated man with despair written all over his face. He was a proud genius, yet even he, who had once succeeded at everything he did, now felt powerless.
He could only watch as the toxicity in his blood rose, inching him closer to death step by step, with no solution in sight. Anyone faced with something like this would fall into despair. The bruised veins caused by the poison had already crept up to his neck, writhing faintly along his blood vessels like venomous snakes and centipedes, making one sick to the stomach.
"Splash, splash!" Tony turned on the faucet, scooped up cold water, and slapped it hard against his face several times, making himself look a little more alert.
Tony silently stared at his dejected reflection in the mirror. After a long while, a powerful emotion suddenly erupted from his hopeless eyes.
"Is there anything crazier than this? But who cares?" Tony suddenly smiled at the mirror, but there was no optimism in that smile—only madness with a strong urge for self-destruction.
Three minutes later, Tony swaggered out of the restroom, the obvious poison marks on his neck concealed beneath the collar he had deliberately pulled up.
It was as if everything in the restroom had been an illusion. Tony looked as though nothing had happened at all.
"Hey, Tony!" A warm voice called out just then.
When Tony turned around, he saw a familiar figure striding toward him. It was Justin Hammer, an arms tycoon propped up by the Military.
The two did not get along well. Hammer had always regarded Tony as his lifelong rival, while Tony had