A Witch's Fury (First Update)

"Dr. Hank Pym's letter... What an old-fashioned guy, still using handwritten letters. He claims this has nothing to do with the dispute between him and his student, that he is not seeking your help but wishes to discuss academic matters—we haven't even said anything yet. He also says... the old man claims that if you believe he came to you for help, he will shoot you in the head. According to the Intelligence Department's investigation, Hank Pym may choose a .45-inch Colt cartridge and an M1911A1 semi-automatic pistol, with muzzle energy of approximately 468 joules. Although I do not believe modern high-pressure loads reaching 821 joules can be ruled out, neither poses a threat to your skull. To prevent the assassins from cutting up a valuable scholar, I think you should send someone to speak with Dr. Pym briefly, lest you miss important information."

"I'm afraid other people's skulls aren't as hard as mine." The Arcanist shrugged. "But I have no interest in seeing him."

"Then contact him by telephone. Dr. Pym's request is a trivial matter. What we need to address next is Whitehall." Praetorian Guard Zero drew a breath. His silver armor, worn over a crimson robe, was covered in exquisite patterns. Beneath its plating lay precise mechanical structures and electronic components. This armor came from the Brotherhood of the Shield. After being modified by the Research Department, its life-support system could help him endure the pain following genetic modification surgery and continuously release medication to promote further growth and development. Growing pains were quite lethal; he felt as though the bones in his legs might poke out through the soles of his feet at any moment.

He felt that the armor was slowly stealing his body heat.

The underground city was very cold. This artificially excavated and