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"Hide something? What exactly do you think I'm hiding?" Tony sneered, taking a sip of his drink before continuing dismissively. "The day I was attacked, a shady man showed up with a group of others, claiming they were there to 'save me.'"
He straightened up, looking directly at Fury. "So, what are you hiding? You intercepted Jarvis's distress signal and..."
Tony gestured toward the floating aircraft outside the villa. "That kind of tech? It can't be built by any ordinary organization. Jarvis identified your face and pegged you as FBI."
"What's your game here? To get close to me? Spy on me? Or maybe you're here to 'protect' me?"
Fury stared at Tony, watching as he drank the whiskey slowly, trying to glean information from his expression. Tony's personality was too distinctive, usually impossible to mask. But right now, Fury found it hard to read him. Tony's bloodshot eyes seemed to be mocking something, yet there was an odd calm behind them—far too calm for someone like him.
Even when he's being sarcastic, he's never this... composed, Fury thought.
"You're deliberately hiding the whereabouts of the people you just met," Fury asserted. Tony's dismissive expression didn't falter. Fury paused, then continued with a note of contempt, "You're smart, Tony. I'll give you that. And I can tell you, I'm not interested in you as a person. I'm interested in your mind."
"Much as I hate to admit it, like Howard, you're one of the few geniuses in the world."
"But right now, what concerns me more is what you've been through."
Tony frowned slightly at Fury's words, which only prompted Fury to keep going.
"Our agents risk their lives to keep the world stable, while you—" Fury's tone grew sharper—"you're out there screwing women on thousand-dollar beds."
"Trust me, we will track down those people you met. I don't care why you're concealing their whereabouts, but they could be a destabilizing force in the world."
Fury pointed two fingers at his own eyes, then pointed them back at Tony. The message was clear: I'm watching you.
Tony, however, simply looked at him with an expression that screamed mockery.
Seeing that he wouldn't get any more out of Tony, Fury turned and left the villa. Rumlow approached him as Fury made his way to his car.
"Sir, we questioned the security team. They claim no one was spotted entering, and the surveillance shows nothing out of the ordinary."
"Interesting," Fury muttered and scoffed. "So the people who showed up today were all ghosts?"
"This is definitely odd," Rumlow agreed.
"It reminds me of some other strange cases recently... except this time, it's not our agents."
Fury mulled over the situation for a moment before giving Rumlow his instructions and returning to his car. He started the engine and drove off. In typical S.H.I.E.L.D. fashion, all agents were evacuated in record time, leaving Tony's seaside villa in silence once more.
Inside the villa, Tony wandered to the balcony, gazing at the golden reflection of the sun on the distant sea.
Jarvis's voice broke the quiet. "Sir, based on facial recognition and data analysis, the search results show that on March 30, 1999, a war broke out in Sokovia. The city was engulfed in flames, with over 32,000 casualties. Records show a family who match the description. I believe them to be the parents, the Maximoff couple, of the individuals who threatened you."
"The Maximoff couple were killed, and their ten-year-old twins, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, were rescued two days later. The twins were placed in an orphanage but escaped six months later. Since then, their whereabouts have been untraceable."
As Jarvis relayed this information, Tony could almost hear the echoes of a war-torn land—screams and wails amidst the ruins, the ground littered with corpses. He could picture the terrified eyes of children left in despair.
His right hand clenched into a fist.
The girl's voice replayed in his mind.
"We relied on each other to survive. We were trapped in a collapsed building, staring at a missile that could go off at any moment. For two days, we just watched it."
"And the name on that missile? Stark Industries."
"Tell me, Tony Stark... do you think you deserve to die?"
Each word cut like a knife, digging deep into Tony's conscience.
The world of adults is driven by interests, especially for capitalists who care only about their profits and status. Why would they care about the lives of civilians?
In truth, Stark Industries only provided the weapons; they didn't start the war. The tragedy of Wanda and Pietro's lives wasn't Tony's doing, nor was he directly responsible for the events in Sokovia.
Yet, Tony was overcome with guilt. Unlike other capitalists, he had now a conscience. He might be arrogant and flamboyant, but he still had empathy, and that empathy made him willing to face the consequences of his action. Whatever his intention may have been, all those people did die. That was a fact that he couldn't change.
He would use all his wealth to establish charities, making his final contribution before facing his inevitable death.
Lost in thought, Tony stood on the balcony, the sea breeze ruffling his hair, unsure what to do next.
Meanwhile, at a riverside balcony in New York's Central Park, Natasha leaned on a railing, staring at the woman beside her. "So, is this really the only reason you let that playboy go?"
Wanda, now dressed in a casual shirt and a cap, gazed down at the river and responded softly, "I figured out a lot a long time ago."
"The real enemy was never him."
"Though, I admit that if he hadn't kept his cool till the end, I would've killed him."