At eight o'clock in the morning, New Yorkers followed their daily routines—waking up, washing, and preparing to start their day. Many absently switched on their TVs to catch the morning news while eating breakfast.
It didn't take long for them to realize something was different today. The news anchors were discussing... vampires and werewolves? Was this some kind of delayed April Fool's joke?
But today was April 10th. April Fool's had long passed.
Viewers changed channels with growing unease, only to discover every news outlet was covering the same story.
On the second floor of Hopewell Sanctuary, Jason and David sat transfixed before the television, watching the Daily Bugle's broadcast. J. Jonah Jameson, the paper's publisher and the station's most bombastic host, was ranting with characteristic fervor.
"This is an absolute disgrace!" Jameson bellowed, his face flushing with indignation. "Our city government, the federal administration, the Pentagon, the White House, and the Senate have deliberately deceived the American people!"
"They've concealed the existence of vampires from us! Look at these photographs and footage—these are literal demons feeding on human blood! I demand answers from our elected officials and our esteemed President Darius Freeman. How could this happen? How dare you keep your citizens so dangerously uninformed?"
"Are we living in the United States of America or the Soviet Union?"
After his tirade, Jameson wiped his mouth with visible disgust, preparing to launch into another diatribe when his attention shifted. An assistant rushed onto the set with obvious anxiety, leaning in to whisper urgently in Jameson's ear.
David observed the scene with a cold laugh. "The government's response time is impressive."
Jason shook his head. "They can't suppress this. It's literally life and death. Nobody wants to be going about their business only to have their blood suck out by a vampire. Didn't you emphasize that point in the materials we released?"
"I certainly did," David replied with a grin. "I featured several such cases from the evidence you collected. As they say in your native country, 'One minute you're enjoying hotpot and singing karaoke, the next a vampire is ripping out your jugular!' Even the media executives must be terrified by the thought of vampires lurking everywhere."
While they spoke, Jameson's expression on screen had grown increasingly troubled. He appeared to be wrestling with an impossible decision.
"My dear viewers," he began, his voice strained, "I... I..." He paused dramatically. "Ah, to hell with it! Just disregard everything I've said. There are no such things as vampires in this world!"
Despite his words, Jameson's eyes had reddened noticeably, his body trembling slightly—the very picture of a man suffering profound injustice.
"What the hell is he doing?" David exclaimed.
Jason leaned forward, intrigued. "Is he... acting?"
David's eyes widened. "Has he had a change of heart? Is he actually going to defy government pressure?"
"No way... he doesn't have that kind of backbone."
On screen, Jameson continued his performance of wounded integrity: "Rest assured, everyone, you won't be ambushed and drained by vampires in dark alleys on your way home. You won't be sacrificed at glamorous parties as refreshments for vampire revelries."
His voice cracked with emotion. "And I certainly won't be threatened by mysterious forces who promise to shut down the Daily Bugle unless I retract my statements about vampires!"
Tears welled in his eyes, giving him the appearance of someone valiantly resisting powerful oppression.
The audience could easily deduce the identity of these "mysterious forces," now nakedly exposed before the public.
A collective thought crystallized in viewers' minds: The Daily Bugle truly is the last bastion of journalistic integrity!
David turned to Jason. "Be honest—did you secretly bribe him?"
"Don't be ridiculous. How much money would it take to get a performance like that?"
"So he wrote and directed this all by himself?"
Jason raised an eyebrow. "Is it too late to buy Daily Bugle shares?"
David tapped a few keys on his laptop and snorted. "Far too late. The stock is already soaring."
"No matter. Whatever his motivation, he's serving our purpose beautifully."
Jason stood and walked to the balcony, gazing out over Hell's Kitchen. "Let the news simmer for a few days. Then all those who've targeted me will reap what they've sown."
David swallowed nervously. Only he understood that this wasn't just a prediction—it was a declaration of war.
At noon, Jason was leisurely tending to the overgrown plants in the church's back garden.
His enhanced senses detected an approaching presence. Without looking up, he continued his gardening.
After a moment, a confident male voice broke the silence: "Well, what do we have here? The legendary Iron Man is actually a humble priest. You're full of surprises."
Jason raised his head to find Tony Stark regarding him with characteristic swagger. He offered a benevolent smile. "Good afternoon, Mr. Stark. Would you care for some tea?"
Stark's expression cooled. "You don't seem surprised by my arrival."
"On the contrary, I've been expecting you."
Jason maintained his composed exterior, but internally he was cursing. How the hell did he find this place?
"Aren't you curious how I tracked you down?" Stark asked, as if reading his thoughts.
By now, Jason had led him to the small chapel. He gestured toward the crucifix. "I know. You're here under divine guidance."
Stark narrowed his eyes. This guy was a complete smartass the last time we met. Now he's playing holy man?
Jason pivoted unexpectedly: "I heard Stark Industries participated in the Defense Department's missile contract bidding recently. You were successful, I assume?"
"What?" Stark looked momentarily confused. "You're interested in defense contracts?"
"When are you scheduled to visit Afghanistan?"
"How did you—" Stark's composure faltered. The bidding information was public knowledge, but his upcoming trip to Afghanistan for weapons demonstrations remained classified.
Jason pressed further: "Have you considered abandoning weapons research altogether? Contributing to global peace instead of enabling more efficient killing?"
Stark was thoroughly disconcerted. What game is he playing?
Sensing he'd seized control of the conversation, Jason smiled. "What brings you here today, Tony Stark?"
After a brief silence, Stark gathered himself. Originally, he'd intended to confront this mysterious figure about their previous encounter. But now his curiosity had been redirected.
"I want to know who you really are," he demanded. "You, that imposing man in the leather jacket with his shotgun, and Marcus Van Sciver from the party—who are you people?"
Jason's smile never wavered. "Marcus was a pure-blood vampire elder. Blade is a vampire hunter. And I am dedicated to the cause of justice, fighting resolutely against all forms of evil."
"Like Daredevil?"
"My methods are considerably cleaner and more efficient than his."
"So you're all... enhanced individuals?"
"Each of us has unique circumstances. Our only commonality is our commitment to punishing evil and promoting good." Jason took a step closer, meeting Stark's gaze directly. "Tell me, Tony, why not ask if you can join our ranks? Contribute your considerable talents to humanity and world peace?"
Stark appeared momentarily stunned before his trademark arrogance resurfaced. "I'm not interested in your vigilante fantasies. I can't imagine spending my nights in a leather mask, sweating through the streets, dispensing so-called justice—only to drag myself to work the next morning."
Jason laughed softly. "Are you certain that's how you truly feel, deep down?"
His voice took on a more penetrating quality. "Stark, you possess the most brilliant mind on the planet, yet you live the emptiest existence imaginable. When you're old and reflecting on your life, you'll realize you've made no more impact than the homeless beggar on the corner. The world will forget you because you never truly changed it. When you die, that's the end—nothing remains. Is that what you want, Tony Stark?"
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