Yang Ming sat deep in the sofa, leaning back with his hands folded over his abdomen. He showed no surprise, the flickering light of the television reflected in his black eyes.
"The news was delayed by more than ten days." Yang Ming's tone was flat as he pinpointed the flaw in the logic behind the press conference.
Jessica turned to him, her face full of confusion. "More than ten days? How do you know?"
"Look at the oxidation on those Humvee wrecks, and the warning stakes half-buried by windblown sand along the cordon the U.S. Army soldiers set up." Yang Ming gestured at the screen with his chin.
"A fresh blast site wouldn't have that much sand covering it. It's worth noting that the Pentagon's public relations strategy has always been stupid and arrogant. They suppressed the news of the attack on Tony not to protect the hostage, but to claim the credit."
Yang Ming picked up his coffee and took a sip. Its harsh taste made him frown slightly.
"The military brass thought they had it all figured out. Suppress the news, send special forces to take out the enemy leadership and complete the rescue within twenty-four hours, then parade an unharmed Tony Stark in front of the cameras. That way, the Department of Defense would not only win overwhelming public support, but also leave Stark Industries owing them a favor."
"And then they screwed it up." Jessica caught on immediately and picked up where Yang Ming left off. "They spent half a month running around the desert like headless chickens and never caught so much as a glimpse of Tony."
"Exactly." Yang Ming set down his cup.
"You can't keep something like that under wraps forever. When a tech titan on Tony Stark's level doesn't appear at a single high-profile event for two weeks, Wall Street's money men smell trouble faster than bloodhounds. Stark Industries' stock price must have started fluctuating abnormally. The military couldn't withstand the pressure from all sides, so they had to dump the mess on the media."
The television cut to the Pentagon's press briefing room.
A military spokesman wearing the rank of major general stood at the podium, his forehead covered in tiny beads of sweat. The reporters below were like sharks that had scented blood, their cameras and microphones practically shoved into his face. The flashes merged into a blaze of daylight.
"General! Exactly when did Mr. Stark go missing?"
"There are rumors that the military deliberately concealed the attack, causing you to miss the critical window for a rescue. How do you explain that?"
"Have the Ten Rings demanded a ransom?"
The spokesman wiped away his sweat, bracing both hands firmly against the edge of the podium as he repeated empty diplomatic platitudes like a broken record. "The military is intensifying its search and rescue efforts for Mr. Stark. We have deployed our most elite reconnaissance units and will never compromise with terrorism..."
The picture changed again, this time to Stark Industries headquarters in Manhattan, New York.
Pepper Potts-Tony Stark's seemingly all-capable personal assistant-stood in front of the Stark Industries logo, dressed in an impeccably tailored dark gray business suit.
She wore no sunglasses, and the exhaustion in her eyes was impossible to hide. But her back was ramrod straight, and her presence was as cold and unyielding as a steel plate.
"Stark Industries demands a transparent and accurate account of the search and rescue operation's progress from the Department of Defense." Facing the cameras, Pepper spoke so quickly that the reporters had no chance to interrupt.
"Tony Stark is not only the soul of this company, but an American treasure. If the military's competence extends no further than reading prepared statements at press conferences, Stark Industries will consider hiring private military contractors to join the investigation. We cannot lose him."
The statement was uncompromising, grinding the military's reputation into the dirt. In the lower-right corner of the screen, Stark Industries' stock chart plunged in a disastrous green waterfall. Within just ten minutes of the market opening, tens of billions of dollars in market value had evaporated.
"That woman's got some fire." Jessica whistled. Ordinary people in Hell's Kitchen had little affection for Manhattan's wealthy elite, but Pepper's fierce, protective stance was right up her alley.
Just then, a stream of ghostly blue data appeared without warning across Yang Ming's retinas.
The system panel unfolded silently.
[Emergency main quest triggered: Rescue Tony Stark] [Quest background: The gears of the Marvel Universe have begun to turn. Tony Stark is trapped in a Ten Rings base in Afghanistan, and his life is in danger.] [Quest objective: Travel to Afghanistan within fourteen days and bring Tony Stark out of the controlled area alive.] [Quest restriction: Do not reveal the existence of the system or transmigrators to anyone.] [Quest reward: Ultimate taijutsu technique: Eight Gates (complete version)]
Yang Ming's breath caught for the briefest instant.
The Eight Gates.
As a surgeon who had transmigrated from his previous life, he knew all too well what those words meant.
In Naruto, it was a taijutsu technique that unleashed power beyond the body's limits by removing restrictions on its internal chakra pathways.
Setting aside the fantastical concept of chakra and analyzing it purely through modern medicine and anatomy, the Eight Gates were essentially an extremely violent form of "physiological overload."
To protect the body from being torn apart by its own muscular strength, the human cerebral cortex imposed strict safety thresholds. In everyday life, ordinary people could use only twenty to thirty percent of their muscle fibers' strength. The Eight Gates forcibly removed those safety valves.
The Gate of Opening and Gate of Rest removed the brain's restrictions;
The Gate of Life and Gate of Pain forcibly increased heart rate and blood flow, sending oxygenated blood surging violently through the entire body;
The Gate of Limit, Gate of View, and Gate of Wonder burned cellular energy to its fullest, pushing ATP production to its absolute limit;
As for the Gate of Death, it directly ignited the heart, trading one's life for a fleeting moment of godlike power.
The cost of this technique was devastating: widespread muscle fiber tears, ruptured capillaries, and multiple organ failure.
For ordinary people, or even enhanced humans, it was a suicidal skill that inflicted more harm on the user than on the enemy.
But for Yang Ming, it was practically a god-tier cheat tailor-made for him.
What did he have? He had world-class medical expertise, the full set of top-of-the-line life-support equipment Falcone would soon deliver for his Storage Ring, and, more importantly, the targeted cell activator he had obtained from inside Stark Industries.
As long as he didn't go straight to the eighth gate, the Gate of Death, and burn his heart to ashes, he was fully capable of forcibly repairing the physical damage caused by the first six gates, or even the seventh, after battle using the Hyperbaric Chamber and cellular repair solution.
The Eight Gates combined with top-tier medical support meant he would have extraordinary physical striking power available on a regular basis. In worlds like Marvel, where earth-shattering destruction was commonplace, and DC's Gotham, where monsters lurked everywhere, that was an absolute guarantee of survival.
Time for a trip to Afghanistan. Yang Ming quickly made up his mind.
It wasn't just for the quest reward. Tony Stark was the absolute heart of Stark Industries. Saving him would earn Yang Ming the friendship of the entire company and unrestricted access to its resources.
The returns would dwarf anything he could make selling arms to the Mafia in Gotham.
"What are you spacing out about?" Jessica waved her hand in front of Yang Ming's eyes.
"Did the TV fry your brain? Or are you mourning those Stark Industries shares you bought? I don't remember you buying any."
Yang Ming drew his gaze back, and the ghostly blue system panel faded from his retinas.
"Nothing. I just think the weather in New York has been terrible lately." Yang Ming stood and straightened his slightly rumpled shirt collar, his tone as calm as if he were discussing what to have for dinner.
"I'm going on vacation."
"Vacation?" Jessica froze, staring at Yang Ming as though he were an alien.
"You just beat down the gangs in Hell's Kitchen, and Kingpin's top assassin, Bullseye, is still lying in a hospital in a vegetative state. You're skipping town for a vacation at a time like this?"
"Maintaining a healthy work-life balance is a basic professional responsibility for a doctor." Yang Ming walked toward the triage desk.
"Besides, Kingpin is busy dealing with a joint investigation by the New York Police Department and the FBI. He won't have time to bother an Underground Clinic anytime soon. As for those small-time street thugs..."
Yang Ming stopped and glanced back at Jessica.
"With ten tons of strength in those arms, don't tell me you can't handle a few junkies with baseball bats?"