Chapter 121: If It's Made by Pym, It's Guaranteed to Be Fine

One vehicle after another approached the laboratory, with Whitehall among them.

Military jeeps and armored vehicles were too conspicuous. Although Hydra had long since infiltrated the Puerto Rican military and police forces, they were not under Whitehall’s direct command. Pierce was unwilling to disrupt the military arrangements in Puerto Rico just for Whitehall’s sake, so only civilian vehicles were deployed.

Off-road vehicles, trucks, pickups—each was packed with Whitehall’s men, Pierce’s operatives, and heavily paid mercenaries and pirates. Every individual was armed with automatic rifles and outfitted with full combat gear, each set valued at over $200,000.

Personal equipment, explosives, drones, various firearms, artillery, even missiles.

This was the arsenal one would expect from a regular army—and then some.

Judging by the scale alone, it hardly looked like an assault on a mere laboratory; it resembled an offensive against a vast terrorist stronghold.

Such weaponry was never simply for sale, but Hydra had its means. They shipped the arms via sea to the port of San Juan, disguised as ordinary cargo, then transported them inland by trucks to be assembled and brought here.

Beyond conventional arms, there were also rare and expensive weapons—so costly that even Whitehall could only afford a few.

For this operation, he had staked everything.

“Doctor, we are five kilometers from the Dark Grimoire Laboratory,” Bucksy said beside Whitehall. “Just received word: Wilson Fisk, who secretly controlled the New York Police Department, and his subordinate known as ‘Bullseye’ were killed. The killer was Ghost Rider.”

“Additionally, before Fisk died, he likely transformed into the ‘Black Void.’ He was no longer himself but a beast—because right after his death, Hell’s Kitchen erupted into widespread crime once again, just like last time.”

Bucksy continued, “Last time, only the combined effort of the Immortal Iron Fist and Ghost Rider could drive the beast away. This time, it’s only Ghost Rider—and he’s even stronger than before.”

Ghost Rider in New York?

Whitehall’s mood brightened instantly. This was the only good news he had heard in some time. It meant there was only one truly formidable enemy to consider:

The Immortal Iron Fist.

Daredevil, Stick, and the like were insignificant—direct firepower coverage would surely kill them.

But the Immortal Iron Fist was not so easy to deal with.

“All our men are equipped with Stark Industries’ high-performance cryo-guns, originally intended for Ghost Rider. Such a pity,” Bucksy said regretfully. “Legend has it that Ghost Rider commands hellfire. I wonder if he can be frozen to death. If we could capture and brainwash him, he would be even stronger than the Winter Soldier. But for now, these weapons will do against the Immortal Iron Fist. I want to see if he’s truly immortal.”

“Ghost Rider? Why wasn’t I the one to become Ghost Rider...”

Like Jin Bing, who had long dreamed of becoming the ‘Black Void,’ Whitehall had once fantasized about becoming Ghost Rider after the apparition appeared.

Bucksy was clueless—Ghost Rider could never be brainwashed, though negotiations were possible.

The spirit of vengeance’s purpose was to endlessly consume the desire for revenge, gaining a foothold in the mortal world. If Ghost Rider were a normal person, he would resist, but if it were me, you could kill me as many times as you wished—I’d only fear you wouldn’t kill enough!

Determined to talk to Ghost Rider someday, Whitehall asked, “Have Pierce’s men entered the lab?”

“They have. Grant Ward leads fifty S.H.I.E.L.D. field agents,” Bucksy replied. “Lyle Moors!”

Bucksy called out, and another vehicle pulled alongside. Its open bed was filled with high-definition monitors—dozens of them—each displaying multiple live feeds.

Whitehall glanced at the screens, displeased. “The images are blurry.”

“Ward is a seasoned operative. Both Iron Fist and Ghost Rider have heightened senses; drones are easily detected. So we commissioned Pym Technologies to develop a new product... a secret contract, with Darren Klaus, a student of Hank Pym, unknown to both Dr. Pym and Pierce.”

Bucksy quickly explained, sensing his superior’s dissatisfaction. “We manipulate insects with specific electromagnetic waves and equip them with 360-degree, no-blind-spot miniature cameras. We dare not fly too close, hence the slight blurriness.”

“Pierce’s goal is to awaken the Winter Soldier and steal the Dark Grimoire and the Obelisk.”

Whitehall nodded slightly, a sinister smile curling his lips. “He trusts in technology and scorns those things that exist only in myth and legend. He will pay the price. Come, let’s see if he can stand against legends and myths!”

“You are the true myth—the living legend,” Bucksy flattered hurriedly, turning his gaze back to the screens.

He knew why his superior had not ordered artillery strikes or missile launches—the lab held something Whitehall coveted. The Winter Soldier would die if struck by a Jericho missile, and the Dark Grimoire and Obelisk could not be sturdier than vibranium.

Damaging any one of them would break Whitehall’s heart.

Not Whitehall’s own heart, but others’—his subordinates’.

Pym’s products were always masterpieces.

The living insects were perfectly suited to this season and environment—raising no suspicion.

There were hundreds of them.

Though fitted with miniature cameras, their tiny size and weak electrical signal rendered them silent.

They were scattered throughout the Dark Grimoire Laboratory, silently observing everything. Even if Daredevil sensed their presence, he would not perceive them as a threat.

On the screens, fifty S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were divided into ten teams, all under Grant Ward’s direct command, infiltrating different sections of the lab.

Though no drones had been deployed, they carried advanced detectors from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s tech division, capable of discerning details through several walls.

The lab appeared surprisingly empty, which unsettled Whitehall.

Had Fury neglected to send secret agents to protect it? Did he trust Iron Fist and the lab’s security systems too much?

For some reason, a sudden unease crept over Whitehall. He felt a chill down his neck, as if an invisible ghost were watching from behind.

Ward, true to his expertise, quickly located the lab’s key areas and ordered a search.

Whitehall nodded inwardly.

At this pace, they would find the Winter Soldier within five minutes. Pierce had chosen the right man to lead the team.

Though Iron Fist’s men were strong, their professionalism paled in comparison to Ward’s. Fury and Iron Fist were doomed this time.

None of the screens showed Iron Fist’s presence. He must not be here. This was an opportunity—the best chance ever.

No matter how fast Iron Fist was, he couldn’t outrun a vehicle. He was too late for this war.

Whitehall felt a pang of regret—this battle lacked challenge, far from his expectations. It felt like using a cannon to swat a mosquito.

“Look!”

Bucksy suddenly pointed at one of the screens and shouted.